The Feeld Guide to Celibacy

In the spring of 2024, celibacy was put under a very specific spotlight. Celibacy is generally understood to mean voluntary abstention from sexual activity, and in that context, culture seemed to display an almost voyeuristic fascination with it. Celebrities such as Lenny Kravitz and Julia Fox spoke openly about their decision to remain celibate; advertisements from a dating app that positioned celibacy as punishment or a fate to be avoided were met with powerful backlash. 

Celibacy itself is not a new concept, having been practiced in some form or another throughout human history. It translates across religion and societies, whether as a path towards enlightenment, a way to prevent offspring, or a lifestyle choice. Is there a reason or a purpose to this particular contemporary moment of popularity? How should we interpret celibacy as an individual choice, a social pattern, or something else? 

Celibacy and its origins

Celibacy, as a term, was originally defined as abstaining from marriage. Today it is often associated with a  religious belief or mandate, and it is notable for being an element that has been, or still is, present in most major religions of the world (though not everyone is expected to practice it).

Paul the Apostle extolled the virtues of celibacy, saying the “unmarried man is anxious about the affairs of the Lord, how to please the Lord.” Early Christians went as far as to believe that the imminent apocalypse made the idea of starting a family somewhat irrelevant, while martyrs such as Saint Lucy felt compelled to vow virginity in order to achieve spiritual purity. In the Hindu, Jain, and Buddhist monastic traditions, the concept of celibacy, or Brahmacharya, has long been integral to religious practice, with a variety of expressions and levels of intensity. 

Priests are famously celibate, but rules formalizing the abstinence of Roman Catholic clergymen weren’t established until the 12th century. These had practical roots, as well as ascetic: it was a way to show dedication to the Church via denial of the flesh, but also to prevent pesky children from popping up and demanding to inherit church property. Renouncing sex for God was spiritually necessary and logistically simpler. 

Not every religion has venerated or even supported celibacy across time. Judaism and Islam, with their emphasis on family life, opposed this position. Outside of religion, cultural views of celibacy could also be negative for similar reasons. The Romans went as far as to introduce a law that required everyone between certain ages to get married as a bid to counteract falling birthrates. 

Why choose celibacy?

As early as the 1980s and 90s, celibacy began to enter conversations in the mainstream media, notably with Gabrielle Brown’s 1983 The New Celibacy. In a 1999 article in the Globe and Mail, Elizabeth Abbott, author of The History of Celibacy, wrote about the “New Celibates” and their reasons for abstention; one being a “respite from the time-consuming burdens of housewifery.” In her argument in favor of celibacy, it re-emerges as a decision with spiritual, as well as practical, undertones. Perhaps it’s not surprising that celibacy first started to see mainstream appeal here. It can be argued that the change in attitudes to celibacy is a form of liberation and signals greater sexual autonomy, especially when embraced by women; a way to redefine sexuality and what it means, especially in the context of the sexual revolution of the 1960s and 70s, which often still prioritized the male sexual experience, even as it celebrated developments such as the contraceptive pill.

Today, some people report choosing celibacy as a way to free themselves from a pattern of toxic relationships. If a person has experienced sexual trauma, specifically, the decision to forgo sexual activity might be an empowering decision, releasing them from any sense of societal obligation to participate in an activity that is a site of anxiety and pain.

Other times celibacy is positioned as a self-care issue, concerned with the benefits of spending more time on the relationship with oneself rather than focusing on pursuing others. For many, the experience of dating has become a gateway to burnout, rather than exploration.

The actress and model Julia Fox, who recently spoke about practicing celibacy for 2.5 years, also explained that, for her, it felt like a necessary response to the overturning of Roe v. Wade and the broader erosion of reproductive rights in the US. When sex becomes part of a landscape of fear and lack of bodily autonomy, it’s not surprising that the popularity of celibacy also rises—as a way to keep oneself safe, as well as a form of  protest. 

There is an age-related dimension too, as the landscape of sex is redefined by every new generation. According to a 2021 study by the Kinsey Institute, one in four Gen Z adults have never had sex, with reasons cited including problems in communication, pressure, and the barrage of online sexual content.

Whatever the reasons for choosing this path, a key element of celibacy is that it’s a decision focused inwards, on oneself and one’s personal experience with sex—as opposed to outwards, on the relationship to others. 

Celibacy and patriarchy

The resurgence of celibacy in popular discourse inevitably intersects with the reactionary structures that have always sought to regulate sexuality. The United States’s purity movement, an abstinence-focused ideology specifically aimed at younger, religious people, encourages them to refrain from sexual activity until marriage. Manifestations of this ranged from the deeply sinister—such as “Purity Balls,” where daughters and fathers dress up in formalwear, the daughter pledges a vow of abstinence, and the father to protect her “purity”—to more mainstream examples such as Purity Rings. These examples of purity culture in the US  may feel of their era (the 1990s and early 2000s), but the emphasis on someone’s “purity” as connected to their virginal status, and their value connected to their purity, as in traditional norms around chastity and ownership, has long permeated our culture and continues to, its expression changing over time and across culture.

A long way from the purity rings and prom dresses of the 90s is the historic Balkan tradition of women declaring themselves “Balkan Sworn Virgins.” In this tradition, women declare themselves men, vow to live a chaste life, and are subsequently exempt from marriage pacts. This status enables them to participate in parts of life only available to men such as smoking and taking part in decisions of the community. There is no going back on this decision, and the virgin is never again referred to as a woman. However, the very existence of such a tradition is another manifestation of these ideas of ownership and value.

While the practice has essentially died out, it’s a fascinating (and resourceful) feature that gets around the limitations of a strictly patriarchal system, where women could notinherit property, or partake in the same activities as men.

What celibacy is and isn’t

Celibacy is not to be confused with asexuality or demisexuality, where someone does not experience much (or any) sexual desire. Those on the asexual spectrum may also choose to be celibate, or they may not; but the position of possessing an asexual sexuality doesn’t automatically mean celibacy is how one expresses it. 

There’s no one experience of sexuality for those who choose to be celibate. Some may naturally have a lower sex drive, or identify with the asexual spectrum; others, conversely, may choose celibacy after experiencing sex addiction, the way someone may choose sobriety.

A 2023 Cosmopolitan article coined the term “Celibate Sluts”—introducing the idea that one can embrace their sexuality and still decide to opt out of sex. In this case, slut as a term is reclaimed as an identity, a state of mind, “a hedonistic expansiveness untethered to something as literal as sex.” Just as a bisexual person in a relationship with someone of the opposite gender doesn’t invalidate their identity, the article argues, being someone who is not actively engaging in sexual relationships doesn’t invalidate your status as a spiritual slut—whatever that means for you.

Voluntary versus involuntary celibacy

In contrast to those who choose voluntary celibacy, there are those who consider themselves to be involuntarily celibate, or incels. This is a subculture largely made up of heterosexual men who are known to blame heterosexual women for their lack of romantic and sexual success, with misogynistic associations, and it isn’t to be confused with the practice of choosing celibacy consciously and with purpose—whether that purpose is spiritual, as a way to heal trauma, an opting-out of sex, or any other reason. The most compassionate reading of those who claim to be involuntarily celibate is that they, too, are suffering under patriarchal and capitalist expectations around sexual availability. Recognizing that does not mean we shouldn’t hold participants in this toxic belief system accountable for the harm they are capable of causing by propagating these ideas.  

Celibacy: denial or empowerment?

Perhaps, as with the aforementioned idea of celibate sluttery, celibacy’s radical potential truly lies in its capacity to redefine and expand our ideas of what sex can mean and do for us. If sex can be transformative, can making the active decision to refrain from it also be? By thinking more deeply about the power that celibacy holds in this way, we can avoid falling prey to preconceptions—instead understanding it as a choice that can expand horizons, opening up conversations and pathways to better understand ourselves, making room for other connections and motivations beyond the physical.

Sex can be fraught and literally dangerous, putting us at risk of both physical and emotional harm. It can strip us of bodily autonomy and result in unwanted outcomes. It can also be the place where we discover ourselves, where we connect truly and deeply with others in ways we may not have anticipated. How do we reconcile it all? It’s entirely understandable that the cost, for some, can feel too high. Here, to liberate oneself entirely from navigating sexual activity, especially if it has become a site of pain rather than pleasure, can be a way to move towards a truer, easier way of existing in the world.

Every decision we make for ourselves when it comes to sex is intensely personal. With our own varying histories, sexual preferences, backgrounds, and the countless other factors that have made us into the people we are today, maybe it’s in taking a step back from sex itself that we can see the entire landscape most clearly, reaching a greater understanding of ourselves and our needs, individually and collectively.