Elizabeth Oldfield speaks with writer and founder of The Quietus, Luke Turner. 05/06/2024
Elizabeth Oldfield interviews Luke Turner about his Christian upbringing, his wrestling with homosexuality and masculine identity and sexual abuse.
Luke is a Music Journalist, Co–Founder of The Quietus and Writer of ‘Out of the Woods’, a memoir about sexuality, shame and the lure of the trees.
Introduction: What does fully aliveness mean to you?
Elizabeth
Luke, I am going to ask you something that I’m just beginning to ask people as our kind of let’s get deep fast question. And that is, what does fully aliveness mean to you?
Luke Turner
I have been thinking about this quite hard since you gave me that hint that you’d be asking me this question. And that’s quite a diving board into the deep end, a bottomless deep end I think. I’ve been really thinking about that because I’m not sure I’m going to know that until more of my life is done and possibly nearer the end of it, which is quite a morbid way to start! But I was really thinking about that, I think it’s something I can only feel on reflection. I’m not someone who’s particularly good at living in the moment all the time. I’m sort of beset by worry a lot of time, and self–doubt, so I find it very hard to find fully aliveness. This is probably a little cliched and maybe twee, but since having a child, when I’m with him, I feel extremely alive and fully alive. And those little intimate moments where you just are together, or when I’m giving him a cuddle to get to sleep, or taking him to a steam railway, which he loves – I feel very fully alive then. I feel it’s often with my family now these days, which is really lovely. And I feel it doing the things that I no longer have time to do because I have a child: fishing, cutting down trees in Epping Forest, things like that. And I used to feel it in a lot of actually quite unhealthy pursuits. A lot around sex actually did make me feel fully alive, which is why I think they’re quite complicated aspects of aliveness sort of aspects of sex maybe sexual overindulgence is the way to put it.
Elizabeth
Yes, it’s one of the things that we won’t talk about much, because we’re going to focus on the theme of lust later in this conversation. But in the chapter in the book I have coming out on gluttony, I reflect a lot on addiction, Nick Cave says in his book, you know, his heroin addiction was about a hunger for more, for depth, you know, and, and that’s what he’s also looking for in religion. You know, more! Beyond the banal, beyond the quotidian, intensity.
Luke Turner
Yeah, exactly. That’s something I very much relate to, I feel like I’ve spent most of my life looking for quite extreme sensation, or the feeling of perfection that something’s going to be so overwhelming that everything else doesn’t matter. And I mean you could do that in a lot of things, definitely in extremely loud music. I found nightclubs sort of mind altering, I suppose drinking, to an extent, things like that. And I think that is a quest that some people just have a hunger for escape, and shutting themselves down, maybe? To try and escape to something else. And that’s something that we’re teetering slightly on the edge of it, we’re working out where I sit in that.
Elizabeth
I also want to ask you about your values, because I think those two things are maybe related. But I’m not sure I’m just kind of working out how these two things work together. Having listened to The Sacred a little bit, I think, what do you think are your deep guiding principles?
Luke Turner
I mean, I think all of my deep guided principles are from Christianity and my family, and I realised that now, I’m very happy about that. I was I was brought up in a very Christian family, my dad was a Methodist minister, my mum is a very keen Christian. And that surrounded me since I was born, I’ve never known anything else, you know, I absorbed it fully. And I was never able to reject it and therefore I feel that it has utterly shaped me and it’s why I find Tom Holland’s writing about the way Christianity is shaped everything in our society very interesting. Because I feel like that as a human individual in the same way I think our society is shaped by it. My day job is being a music journalist, and I slightly feel like lots of music journalists and people don’t like this way of doing it, but I’m definitely a bit of a preacher in what I do. I have these artists who I love, and I will bang on about it endlessly and I’m a lot more tolerant of things I don’t like now, but I used to very much have a pantheon of sinners as much as saints
Elizabeth
Hellfire and damnation?
Luke Turner
Oh yeah, I’ve reigned hellfire and damnation for quite a few artists over the years, some of them to be honest, utterly justifiably! They deserved it, some possibly less so and it was just a sort of exercise in cruelty writing it. But I do feel that sort of Christian value system has impacted even how I do that. And I think, in writing about books, that value system is kind of like a Christian humanism, I think it shapes everything I’ve done. I mean, it’s interesting, my mum’s side of family were in the Plymouth Brethren, and they have a very strict kind of orthodox Christianity. And it’s probably, to lots of them, or people on that wing of Christianity, or the Evangelical wing, it’s maybe not particularly Christian values. But it’s my interpretation of them, but I can’t really escape that shaping of Christianity throughout how I try and live.
Elizabeth
Yeah, so tell me a bit more about your childhood, paint me a picture. I know you’re born in Yorkshire but ended up moving Essex way, is that right? In your primary school years, what would we have seen if we’d dropped in?
Luke Turner
Yeah, well, I mean up North, I loved it. I was a very happy kid. I was born in Bradford, don’t remember that, but then we lived in Halifax. Dad was minister at St. Andrews Methodist Church, really beautiful building in Halifax. And I just remember that strong feeling of the North being friendly and nice, and it had hills, and all the houses were built of stone, everyone was jolly and funny and lovely. And I remember about eight or nine we moved down south to St Albans in Hertfordshire, which was quite a jolt for me. I used to have quite a strong Northern accent and that went very, very fast. You know, life was very much built around church; it was Sunday School, always people round for tea, like the smell of tea is just so engrained into my senses. You know that churchy smell of after–church tea
Elizabeth
The sound of an urn bubbling?
Luke Turner
Yeah, exactly! The lethal urn in the corner spouting away, large tea pots. I’m quite obsessed with municipal tea pots, even wrote about them in the second book, I think a lot of them are probably made from melted down Second World War aeroplanes! And then that the hum of voices downstairs from church evening groups, and tea massive trays of tea. My parents have got a ludicrous amount of mugs from that. So that was a sort of very happy church childhood really. And I guess it’s just that thing when you get older, when I was sort of probably 11 or 12 started to really think about, well feel, sexuality in a stronger way. And then go to an all–boys state school, that was pretty tough. And you know, 90s masculinity was pretty… I mean, I don’t like the term toxic masculinity these days, but I think then I really felt that I didn’t fit in. And I just felt this sort of sense of alienation from many things really: from church to an extent, even from family. I mean, it’s all normal stuff teenagers go through, you’re trying to separate yourself, aren’t you? But I think the sexuality element and then religion, which had always been this huge comfort for me. I remember when I was a kid, I used to do sermons, I would do little orders of service and do services for the family, I wanted to be a vicar like Dad, and all of this sort of stuff. Suddenly, when I was a teenager, all of that came up in opposition to this sort of growing confusion about sexuality and feeling of sin. Also things that were slightly frowned upon like: music and swearing in music and so on that I was kind of finding an allure in.
So that was the childhood history, this sort of utter content to be honest. I was preacher’s, kid, we never had any money. We were very poor growing up, I didn’t have Star Wars toys, didn’t have fancy trainers didn’t go on holiday. So we’re always a bit weird, there’s always a difference if you’re a preacher’s kid. I actually really liked that, I sort of thrived on that. In secondary school, Dad came and did a service for the entire school in St. Albans Cathedral, I was a bit awkward about it but then he was brilliant! My first music business thing I ever did was put on a Christian gig at secondary school, with this band called ‘Why?’ – people might have heard them, kind of sound a bit like The Levellers. And I put a Christian gig on I was very happy being open about my faith and so on. But this sort of sexuality thing just started eating away at myself because I inherited all that stuff about sin and things around in some of the Christian magazines that were probably knocking around at home that focus on the family. Stuff like that just started gouging away at my sense of self.
Not fitting into boxes: Bisexuality, faith, masculinity
Elizabeth
And how related do you think that is to the fact that you were exploring what I think you’d probably now describe as bisexuality? Do you think, if it had been the sexual awakening that everyone has, it might have been less alienating? Or do you think that that sense of actually becoming a man, that separation from your parents, might have happened anyway?
Luke Turner
That’s a really interesting question because there was like the no sex before marriage, and all of that. And I was always like, yeah but people in Biblical times were really young when they got married, this rule is kind of mad. And I remember I went to Crusaders on a Sunday afternoon. And I’m a bit rusty on the Old Testament, but there was a bit where David sticks a tent peg or gets someone to stick a tent pole through someone’s head so he can have it off with their wife. And I was kind of like this is a bit weird this no sex for marriage thing, so I don’t think it would have been as toxic. I mean, it wasn’t just religion I need to stress that, it was the sort of homophobia of society at the time and AIDS, that was this thing that gay people get AIDS, and this is what is going to happen to you. The school was really homophobic, there were 900 pupils a year for seven years and there was not a single out gay kid in my school. It even got called up for homophobic bullying two or three years ago, you know, it’s still not really changed. So, I think it was this confused sexuality, and then you know, bisexuality wasn’t really present so much in culture. I didn’t really know about David Bowie or, or James Baldwin, or any of those people. So it was like, am I just a repressed homosexual? What is this thing that I’m feeling? I still like women, but I like men. Am I just so repressed by religion, that I’m deluding myself that I can be in a relationship with a woman? Maybe if I reject religion, I can be a fully gay man? And it’s only now I could sort of rationalise those arguments. At the time, it was just this sort of feeling of hopelessness, and being very lost, and there was no one to really talk to about it. So, it was definitely the confused sexuality side. But it was religion and society, I’ve never solely blamed religion, or Christian doctrine for it.
Elizabeth
Yeah, your book is very nuanced about the various pressures on you as a teenager that made working out what a man was, let alone what your sexuality was. Incredibly different for aspects of gay culture, aspects of just the presentation of masculinity, aspects of what you were hearing and in religious culture. I’d love to hear just a little bit more about that masculinity part because it’s a thread and so much of your work, you know, how do we think about what a man is now? What are the stories that we’re telling? And it really struck me how much all the way through I can sort of hear you as a child and teenager trying to work out what box you fit in, right? You hated PE but quietly you really liked football. But in music land, you aren’t supposed to like football because that’s not cool. And you’re really into the into the War and soldiers but then you’re queer, so is that okay? And were there any queer soldiers? And what does it mean? Now like having spent a long time thinking this through, how do you reflect on that time and, and the way we think about maleness?
Luke Turner
Well, I think back then it was just so binary. It was like, you’re a lad and you like football, and you’re kind of being crude about girls. Being gay is not part of your world. If you’re gay, you might be camp, there’s a different cultural thing – you definitely can’t be gay and be into football. I was very into the War – ‘into the War’ just sounds really wrong, doesn’t it? But I was fascinated by the war and, built model aeroplanes and all that sort of stuff. And then, when I got to being a teenager and particularly around the Euros in 1996, when all the jingoism of like the two World Wars and One World Cup coming up, and all this sort of anti–German sentiment. That really made me think that my interest in the War was toxic, and that belongs to those men. And it’s been in the past sort of 5 or 10 as a reaction to be honest, to the some of the conversations around ‘toxic masculinity’. And kind of going, oh, actually, but that’s who I am. I am a cis man, I think my gender identity was more confused when I was younger, you know, I used to wear ladies’ blouses and bit of makeup and I had sort of borderline anorexia for a while. I didn’t like eating and I was pretty thin I’m sort of quite broad–shouldered, tall bloke really and I was trying to get away from that. But as time has gone on, I’ve kind of become more comfortable in that male bodily identity. And I’ve got very angry actually, about the way that men are just lumped into a sort of bin and described as toxic and, and I think there’s no salvation for masculinity in that. It’s not helping people, and we can see that. I think that conversation is pushing people directly to the manosphere of people like Andrew Tate.
And so, I started really thinking about how I related to masculinity. Football is a great example really, Dad’s a West Ham fan. West Ham are one of those teams where you’re never going to be particularly good, I inherited this burden off him. And I was very into football, not to kind of like posters on the wall level, but I followed it all the time. And then again, Euro ‘96, all that lad culture jingoism just put me off it. I was very open about sexuality from the age of 18, but I was a closeted West Ham fan, closeted football fan. And then, in recent years, just kind of exploring and thinking about masculinity, I got back into it. I found the Pride of Irons, who are the West Ham LGBT group, who were amazing. And then I realised that you could be queer and into football, and the sexual and gender identities of the people in that group, it’s almost like a church thing. Pride of Irons is people from all walks of life: very working–class people, ponces like me who write things, and film producers and things like that. There are people of every spectrum of sexual identity, and gender identity, and it’s amazing! And actually, the way Pride of Irons operates can, I think, teach the world a lot about how we deal with masculinity, because it everyone works hard to be accepting. There’s none of this sort of reflex judgement and casting people out, which I tend to feel tends to happen when around masculinity these days. So, you know, I think I found a male identity, again, which I lost as a teenager, and I find that a really positive thing. I do feel that men are under attack at the moment, possibly justifiably so after centuries of dominance and the behaviour of a minority and, people like Andrew Tate. But I’m very wary of the sort of the constant attack because as soon as you start feeling defensive, and I do think this is probably a male trait, you tend to go on the attack. I can feel that urge in myself and it’s a difficult thing to control sometimes. I think it’s very complicated, but I think we need to start seeing masculinity as a lot more complicated than we do and as a beautiful thing. Recently, I’ve been going to a lot of model railway exhibitions and steam train things with my little boy. I find those spaces fascinating, they’re almost like a safe space for me now – to use the vernacular – these very male spaces. I mean, I used to cross the road to avoid football fans or get off the train to avoid football fans. Now if I go to see West Ham, I kind of feed off that energy and feel it in a completely different way.
Elizabeth
As I was reading a book, I was writing copious notes in the margins because I found it so thought provoking. And one of the things that I was at least narrating it to myself in your kind of teenage years in your early 20s was that there was a model of masculinity that was a straight man, and there was a model of masculinity that was a gay man, and that you were bisexual, which neither had high visibility nor fitted easily in those categories and indeed, carries quite a lot of stigma with it. Have you just relaxed into not needing there to be a box for that? That there are men, and they come in all different shapes and sizes?
Luke Turner
Yeah, I did feel that everything was in boxes before. And now, you know, I think sexuality is on the spectrum, I think gender identity is on a spectrum and there’s a lot of grey areas. I’m always fascinated by grey areas, and I think we exist within those grey areas. And if we’re allowed to exist in them, which is hard because society does want to push you into boxes, then that’s – we’re talking about aliveness – I think that’s where you can feel that. You know, I feel that sometimes when I go to West Ham and we’re all singing I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles, you’ve got 60,000 people singing that. And I know that around me, men who possibly all do present a certain way, like there’s a lot of like, Peaky Blinders, hats and so on. But I know that out there, the Pride of Irons, men or trans men and women and lesbians and trans women, and we’re all there as part of this whole. I find that incredibly beautiful. If we’re talking about aliveness, that’s where I feel it because it feels quite subversive in a way that we’re all there and we’re all present within this thing. People, particularly in West Ham, who have a reputation of being quite a right wing, city for football violence sort of club, that that within this 60,000 people in the London stadium, there is this absolutely beautiful, diverse array of masculinities going on. And I think that’s really wonderful. And when I’m feeling optimistic, which isn’t very often, I kind of think we’re moving more in that direction. And if we can just sort of push through against these reactionary people who are, let’s face it, older and possibly not going to be around to inflict their judgement on the rest of us, then we can reach a better place for masculinity where these boxes are broken down, and we can live in grey areas in a more beautiful way.
Writing about sex and early sexual experiences
Elizabeth
I want to ask you about another element of your teenage years that is potentially very painful. So, it goes without saying, say what you’re comfortable with. But I’d love you to just sketch in the topic you come to reasonably late on in the book, which is experiences of what you would now call abuse or sexual exploitation but didn’t quite know how to understand at the time. Are you comfortable just saying a little bit about that?
Luke Turner
Yeah, I felt it was very important to have it in Out of The Woods, because it was very formative for me. Also, I basically had fumbly teenage experiences with a friend at school, which were high risk and strange, in lessons. But then there was also this sort of seeking out or putting myself in a position where I was sought out by sort of grim old and older old men in public toilets and things like that. Which, for years, I used to brush it off and make a joke out of it, I’ve always had a sort of fairly bracing, sense of humour – I always used to say I was performing care in the community for the OAPs and things like that. And I still find there’s a slight amusingness to that, but it’s actually really bleak and sad, trying to justify it in that way. It’s very icky in gay culture, because I think it’s one of the things that gay culture doesn’t like confronting, doesn’t like looking at in its recent history, the kind of connection between teenage boys and older men, you know, not talking about eighty I’m talking much younger. And it was seen as part of the cultural, you can see in all the research I’ve done for both books, it’s present throughout 20th century gay history, and obviously before. I think it’s a bit taboo to kind of critique it in some ways, but I was very vulnerable. And it was exploitative, and those situations brought me a huge amount of shame, and self–loathing, but were also very addictive. They were high adrenaline, high reward, highly exciting, they felt subversive because I’d be like, everyone at school, you think I’m a geek, but look what I’m really doing!
I’ve spent a fortune on therapy, talking about this and that’s been very interesting. My therapist is not religious, not Christian at all or anything. And she says, I wasn’t very much of a rebel at home, you know, it wasn’t the kind of kid who’s in your face or anything like that. And she said, this was your rebellion, but you had to keep it secret because you loved your parents and you had the framework of religion that you didn’t want to upset, so your rebellion was very secret. I think it’s very interesting. But they were very life shaping things, there’s still the consequences of that, which I’ve written about in the books. I think this stuff is a lot more prevalent than is realised, the statistics for unwanted touching are pretty horrific, not insignificant minority of people have experienced that. And I think maybe, with Me Too, I think maybe the women talk about it more, but it’s still so taboo, among men to speak about it. I understand why a lot of gay, queer men don’t want to talk about it, because there is that association by the right wing and homophobes between paedophilia and homosexuality, that is used to justify homophobia. So, I can see why there’s a bent gate, people in queer culture don’t really like discussing it. I think it’s fair to say that that that exists in straight culture too, it’s just not weaponized in straight culture against the men who are doing that. I think it’s probably more widespread when women have had to suffer that as girls and young teenagers more than men have. Obviously for a lot of straight men, it’d be deeply shameful and something they want to lock down. Some people can brush it off, they go, ‘I learned a lot, you know, it was my induction into gay life’, whatever. And that’s fine if they’ve been able to deal with it, and it took me a long time to sort of understand how it had been damaging for me. And I do think it’s one of these things we really need to have a more honest and open conversation about as a society, you know, paedo demonisation is a popular British pastime. And I think there’s a more complicated conversation to have about cycles of abuse, and how those perpetuate, and how to break them, and how therapy is important and so on.
Elizabeth
Thank you for sharing that, Luke, I really found the way you wrote about it, so compassionate. As you said, when I heard you do an interview where you said, “I thought I’d written a book about Epping Forest, and I realised I’d written a book about sex and death.” Writing about sex is really is really sensitive. It’s one of the areas I think that goes deepest into our sense of self, it’s the easiest place to trigger shame, or a sense of being judged, and therefore to trigger people into defensiveness. And I can hear you wanting to write about your experiences with sexuality, abuse, and sexual compulsion. But again and again, having to say, because that wasn’t life giving for me, doesn’t mean I think you’re a terrible person. As you as you realise you’re writing a book about sexual compulsion, and about all of these things that are coming out, did you feel scared about some of the things you felt you needed to say to be honest?
Luke Turner
I think I was very worried about the impact on my family, and my parents and what they would think. I was scared of the judgement of not the people you might expect. You know, I’ve kind of lived with the feeling of religious judgement, or conservative judgement my entire life. Culture was my safe space away from Christian conservative judgement. It was the place where taboos were broken, where you could say anything, where you pushed boundaries, and visited extremes. In recent years, I felt that the judgement has crept into the cultural world. There’s now a morality and the set of values, particularly in the cultural world I exist in maybe the bit of literature I’m in or nonfiction and certainly in the music world I’m in. There’s a morality from the other side. And I was quite worried about in Out of The Woods, being judged for what I was saying about sexuality and the complexities of the abuse systems. I had similar concerns in Men at War, which is a very different kind of book, but because I wasn’t writing a ‘Britain is bad, the history is bad, these people were bad’. I do find it’s one of the things that I find most difficult in the contemporary moment is this feeling that in this cultural world, that was my safe space, there’s a lot of the judgement, and moralizing, and moral values of saints and sinners, and people being cast out with no forgiveness.
I’m always arguing with my friends, who say cancel culture doesn’t exist, and I think it does. I don’t think it exists for Harvey Weinstein or some of the big people, but I think people on the lower level very much are removed for infringement or perceived infringements of a moral code. Some of them possibly justifiably, but I don’t like the way there’s no way back. And that’s where I find Christianity to be increasingly appealing and counter to this because it does have a way back, there is salvation, and redemption, and forgiveness. And I find it very difficult at the moment. I get afraid of saying this, because it’s beyond critique sometimes, the current sort of cultural moment where there is a sort of moral judgement. You know, is your music collection ethically sound? Are the books you read ethically sound? Are they diverse enough? I just hate this idea that we’re judged on our appreciation of culture. You know, culture saved my life, music particularly saved me when I was a teenager, it really did. And the idea that now some of it might be ‘sinful’, is the word I go to straightaway, and that I can be judged on it. It’s like ugh, this is where I came for salvation, and now it’s been rejected. With all of that in mind writing both books, I was afraid of judgement. With Out of The Woods, my editor, when she got it she goes, ‘Ooh, it’s right God–bothery this book!’ And I was like, yeah, I didn’t intend to write so much about religion, but I’m really glad I did. But I didn’t give a hoot about sort of right–wing Christians or whatever saying I was a sinner and, you know. Those people don’t bother me, I’m used to them, it’s like water off a duck’s back. It’s the other side who I am more afraid of or make me feel insecure.
Anger and your parents and God
Elizabeth
It was funny, because there’s a line where you say, “I thought there was something wrong with me, because I didn’t feel angry at my parents.” And you’re very honest, that there are points where you’re exploring your sexuality, that your mum does, you know, hold a traditional position on sexuality, at least at points in your story. And that’s painful and caused difficult conversations. But what comes through is the love. Like, I have probably never read a book that is more loving. It made me cry a lot. It’s just like, oh, Lord, let me be as good parent, as Luke’s parents were to him. Because even though there was this big, hard, dark thing that you were wrestling with, you have this line at the end, you said, “it was their great gift of love that in the end helped me save myself.” And I can hear you being like, I’m supposed to be cross, I’m supposed to be angry with them and I’m not and I’m just going to be honest about that.
Luke Turner
Yeah, I think in a lot of books, like Out of The Woods, you end up with quite a lot of anger towards the parents. And I could hear an argument that, ‘You were just a coward’, you know, ‘you should have been angry, it would have helped you to be angry.’ But I never could, because everything was done with love. And they’ve not read Out of The Woods, but I sort of asked them not to, and I wasn’t sure about that for a while. But then, since I’ve had a son, I’m like God, if he writes a memoir, even if it hasn’t got half that stuff, and I don’t want to read it! That’s his life, it’s a different thing. They both read the second book, not the first one, and I’m very happy about that. They kind of know what it is because they’ve read all the reviews and lots of their friends have read it. But it was interesting when I was writing, it’s like how much do I put in? Am letting them off almost? But then I was like, no, this is an honest reflection of how they are, and how they are very loving. And I know, they prayed a lot around sexuality and their views have changed over the years and I’m really proud of them for that. You know, when Dad came into conflict with the aspects members of the LGBT Christian community, he sat and prayed with them to try and find a meeting space. Sorry, I find this stuff kind of sets me off as well.
Elizabeth
We can have a cry together, it’s all good.
Luke Turner
But this is the thing because it’s this deep, sort of tense zone, you know, when you get that kind of ‘brr’, and only makes you cry. We had arguments about it, we had a lot of rows, you know, as you pointed out in your book, just the thousands of bits of the Bible which are about money versus how much is about is about sex. And that was the thing for me like anger with my parents is also anger of God, the two were entwined. Like I write in the book, I had three parents, God, Mum and Dad, and my lack of anger at my parents is also a lack of anger at God. I probably have tried atheism, or tried to conceptualise atheism, or to think, is atheism possible for me? And I think a lot of my friends – the vast majority of whom are total atheists, or, at ‘best’ agnostic – probably think I’m a bit weird because of it. But I find anger at God a very, very strange concept. I get it, it’s almost a bit obvious. It’s a bit, you know, atheist shouts at cloud, that’s what I feel like when I see people ranting about religion. And so, the anger at my parents would have been anger at God as well. If I did feel that I’ve processed it, and I’ve dealt with it and all I felt from my parents and from the Christian faith, is love. Because I think it’s very easy to, if people are being hateful and justify with Christianity, I can very simply go well, that’s a perversion of faith, it was not hard for me to look at teachings of Jesus and go what they’re saying is complete nonsense! I’ve never had that problem. I just see people that are the problem, it’s not the system that’s the problem less necessarily. I wanted the book to be dedicated to Mum and Dad, and it ends with them. That’s the last line in the book, it’s about them and they’ve never read it. But in a way, that’s one of those sorts of paradoxes I quite enjoy really.
Intersections on differing Christian sexual ethics
Elizabeth
So we’ve both just demonstrated how tender these topics can be. And I’m really grateful for you being willing to talk to me, in general because I really loved your work, but also because I wanted to talk to someone about the Christian sexual ethic. And I wanted to talk to someone different from me, because I am like a weirdo outlier, in that I didn’t have sex before I got married and have a very satisfying sex life with one person. And one of the things I wanted to write about in the book is, there’s not a lot of presence in our culture for anything other than poor oppressed woman who has not explored her full self. And a similar thing with you in that every so often, I’d sort of question myself be like, am I repressed? Am I missing out? The script doesn’t quite fit my life, I was single for a long time. I had these very kind of – this is going to weird some people out – erotic adjacent experiences in prayer. My definition of what the erotic is, is bigger than just sort of genital contact. So, I have received the Christian sexual ethic as mainly very much going with the grain of my soul and going with the grain of my feminism. And what I see is the underlying principles about protecting the vulnerable, and being extremely careful with power, and refusing to treat other people as objects as just in line with the rest of my theology, in line with my politics, you know, just making sense to me. But that was so out of whack with the broader story about what the Christian sexual ethic is, and how harmful it is and those kinds of things. So, I was reading a book and this very different story from mine, I think you won’t mind me saying, you have had a lot more sex than I have with all genders in all situations, all over the world. And you write about it in ways that are sometimes very funny, sometimes very kind of like joyful and sensual, and that you’re having fun. And sometimes, you’re really clearly not having fun. And there’s complexity there, and shame, and compulsion. You have read my attempt to write about the Christian sexual ethic, given our different life experiences in this area. What did it leave you thinking about? And if you radically disagree with me, or want to push back on things, I would love to hear it.
Luke Turner
No, I thought what you write about is something I identified with, though the two things are very different. I think that idea around the values that shaped the rest of Christian belief of not being exploitative, being respectful, and so on, I think that is possible, whether you’ve slept with one person or many. I don’t think you’re judgmental in the book as well, which is really, it’s just so important to hear a Christian voice being as open as you are in that. And the idea of erotic prayer, I thought that was amazing! I thought that was really interesting. So why should the relationship with God not have a sensual, physical element or an emotionally sensual element, I think that’s really interesting. And I think if you look at, like you quote from in the book, some of the female mystics, there was there was something about that in there that’s very interesting and very complicated. And I like the way, from your perspective, because you don’t come across as repressed or whatever, because you write about those sorts of erotic experiences, and masturbation, and fantasy and things like that. You bring that within a Christian framework and that’s, I think, very positive. And my views around sexuality and Christianity are probably really far from the mainstream of Christianity and, and so on. But, you know, the Church of England was founded purely so King Henry VIII could go and shag another woman! When I sort of worked that out one day, I was just like, I’m not taking any lectures about whether my sexuality is immoral from these people! Well, there were other things going on, obviously, Henry VIII wanted all the money from the monasteries and things like that. It was such an immoral foundation to the entire established Church in many ways so I’m not taking any shit about my sexuality. Of course, you know, some of the things I participated in and subjected myself to were incredibly destructive. But they were sinful, because they were destructive, they were they were bad because they were destructive. And they’re bad because they stop the aliveness. They end the feeling of aliveness, like you write through the book about connectedness, they remove that.
But then again, it’s two very similar situations that I might have been in around sexuality, one could have been actually I look back, and it was fun, enjoyable, rewarding, funny, it’s a good story, it’s something odd, I don’t really have regrets. But something quite similar, because of the dynamics of the other involved, could be something that then comes back to be shameful and toxic and I have to be careful about that memory. So, I think it’s very complex. In terms of Christian sexual ethics, you embrace that in the book to sort of say, doesn’t matter whether you said one person or 100 people, it’s complicated, and you have to look at how it affects you and what behaviour patterns it’s connected to, and so on and try and avoid the judgement of others, which is very difficult in a Christian context. And I can see that I did a Q&A at Greenbelt in the summer, and it was one of the most moving things I’ve ever done. There was a load of obviously, trying to work out their faith and sexuality seeming quite queer, gender non–compliant, gender fluid, sexually fluid, young people come up after, some of whom saying, “Thank you for saying that”, because they were so conflicted. And I think it’s a tragedy that the church often pushes people away in that way, and I’ve really found sort of engaging with OneBodyOneFaith, very rewarding. I went to a service of atonement for kind of queer Christians lost suicide, and it was a beautiful service. And that’s been one of the rewarding things about writing Out Of The Woods, is discovering this queer Christian world, and queer clergy, and a Christian sexual ethic which is really beautiful, and really powerful. And people with all sorts of different sexual identities and gender identities, who are still able to be Christian, I think they’re incredibly brave people. Because of that dichotomy, but I’ve always felt between faith and sexuality, or masculinity and so on, I’ve never been able to be quite as forward as them, or even as you are, you know, that sort of led to deep thought and prayer and so on. But I find that world incredibly inspiring. I really want to write about it. Of course, in Britain, secular media is never particularly interested! They hate writing about God!
Sex addiction vs sexual compulsion: psychology and non–judgement
Elizabeth
Maybe it’s changing though, Luke? I think something’s on the move. There’s lots of ways that your story touches on divide and differences and some of the stigma around bisexuality and queerness. But one of the things that I found most moving about the book was writing about and I wanted to check this, you’re very clear, you talk about sexual compulsion, not sex addiction, is that fair? Is there a distinction there? What’s your thinking around that?
Luke Turner
That’s a good question, I haven’t really thought about the specifics. Compulsion feels like something that you are compelled to do. And to my mind, that compulsion is often the result of those kinds of abusive situations that I went through. But it’s interesting, because this is one thing, Christianity doesn’t have any guidance on whatsoever. You have to kind of go to a therapist, and my therapist specialises in people who’ve endured abuse. And it’s that kind of sexualization as a child or as a teenager, gives such a powerful sense of reward, and comfort and pleasure, really, unfortunately, that then that’s what compels further behaviour patterns. So maybe a compulsion leads to addiction, in a way?
Elizabeth
So you have a particular line about how the public narratives about sex addiction, specifically, are always used when someone has been outed as a predator. Then they say, you know, “I’m gonna check into rehab for a little while to deal with my sex addiction.” And you’re, rightly, really angry about that. You can find a behaviour compelling, or compulsive, and not use your power to impose that on other people without their consent, and that your compulsive sexual behaviour was fully consensual with other people looking for that kind of casual sex. And what this podcast does, even though we think of myself as a reasonably non–judgmental person, and I’m probably sort of more than average–ly open minded, it helps me uncover layers of prejudice that I didn’t know were there. And I think probably, until I read your book, someone who was using Grindr and Tinder at quite the level that you were at periods in your life, I would have been a bit like, ‘hmm well, that is not my world! And those are not the choices I would be making’ and have some, I hope mild and compassionate, but some judgement about why. And, as you say, for some people that’s just straightforward sex positivity, and it’s a hobby!
Luke Turner
Yeah, it’s true!
Elizabeth
There must be some people, you know, well the studies show that some people have very high socio–sexuality and all those kinds of things. But, to hear you really spell out that psychiatrists think that most people with sexual compulsions experienced early sexualization, i.e. abusive experiences in their childhood and teenage years was one of those like, ‘Oh, Liz, you watch your heart!’ moments. And I had had a similar experience speaking to Clementine Morrigan, who also has dealt with addiction and homelessness, and her life just a spiraled completely out of control. They were, you know, in and out of abusive relationships and with people who were in and out of prison and were violent. And I don’t think I ever would have consciously been judge–y about her, had I met her, but understanding just how traumatic childhood was made me go, of course. My life would have looked like your life too. Like my stability, and my impulse control, and my access to resources, and my strong attachment – these are all gifts and privileges, which I did not deserve and have not earned, and that not everyone can access. Sorry, that was a real diversion into my world. But I guess my question is, for those who, like me, have not experienced sexual compulsion, perhaps have stories about people who have compulsive sexual behaviours, or actual sex addiction, what would you like them to understand to help us build that empathy of other humans?
Luke Turner
I mean, I do think it’s a case of, where does that behaviour come from? I mean, it’s one of the things I was slightly worried about afterwards, was making that connection between sexual promiscuity and abuse, because the sex positive movement kind of rejects that a bit. And I’ve even spoken to people back in that time, when I was writing the book, and I was, and I was single, and I was very interested in meeting people who were kind of similarly minded, and so many of them said things had happened to them when they were younger. And some were like, but this is my way of dealing with it, and I’m fine with that. And, you know, I respect that. Possibly because of the Christian framework, I couldn’t have just gone, ‘Right. Okay. That’s it for the rest of my life. I’m just going to be a rather keen on having sex with lots of people.’ Maybe it is because of Christianity I couldn’t do that, but that’s fine. That’s my story. So, I think it’s trying to understand what has created it, and then just being non–judgmental. I think Russell Brand is a sort of very interesting case when we talk about sexual compulsion, and addiction. Because when everything came out about him, everyone knew that he was very into sex. He had lots of sexual partners. And then you read about his biography, and his behaviour patterns, and he is absolutely a sex addict, who was, I believe abused when he was younger?
Elizabeth
Yeah, he was.
Luke Turner
And I just think, you know, what he did, and the way he behaved is awful. You read those accounts, and they are grim, they are really grim. And he was obviously not able to process that abuse in a way that didn’t impact people, and he became the abuser who had abused him. And I think the only way to break those patterns is for the outside world, to be non–judgmental, and to listen to people who’ve been through these situations, and to try and understand them. Even with what I experienced when I talk to my therapist, and when we try to understand why I got into these things when I was just such a nerdy teenager. You know, putting on Christian gigs at your school, into model aeroplanes, bullied on non–uniform days because I was wearing crappy clothes or whatever. I was a real nerd. And then we look at why as this nerdy, innocent kid in a very loving family did I go for his hyper risky sexual situations as a young teenager? The therapists are I go through it and we think possibly something did happen before and that tends to hit me quite hard. Sometimes, if I go there, there’s a visceral physical reaction, which can suggest a buried trauma or something. And that’s something I’ll always have to process and deal with; I can’t remember it. And, obviously, my therapist, being somebody who’s bit sceptical about religion says, “Was there anyone in church?” You know, churches were notorious as places where kids were abused. I can’t place anything, but there is a feeling of something of, why at age 14 did I do these things that were so out of character? The psychiatrist’s analysis would be that, because something had happened before, and you’re trying to recreate that feeling of comfort and excitement, that unfortunately, that sexualization brings. So having lived through all of this, and then worked on the compulsive behaviour.
I understand how it’s hard for people, particularly Christians, to process these kind of, outré sexual behaviours. But I think, one way that would be positive and helpful is to just try and understand it, and understand the patterns, and understand that the only way people are going to be able to break those patterns – like you write in the book, about forgiveness being such a powerful energy. And I think that forgiveness and understanding is the only way to sort of break these cycles and to help people. And, you know, people still want to be sexually promiscuous, and that’s their way of dealing with it, then I think we ought to try and be non–judgmental about it. There are many ways to exist sexually. And some are seen as acceptable by the church, some power dynamics in sexuality that the church and Christianity condones. And I have problems because there’s, you know, a definite power imbalance going on or, the instruction of women to obey and things like this. So, it’s complicated. It’s just like with everything, I just always want there to better be understanding and to try. You know, I like to leap to judgement, well not like to, but I do! It’s just trying to control that urge. Judgement is a compulsion, like anything. Judgement is addictive, I think, as well.
Elizabeth
It is, it’s a high. And it feels to me, like one of the most radical things my tradition offers, and one of the most offensive, is the claim that nothing is unforgivable. And everyone is redeemable. And as you said, like even mentioning the fact that Russell Brand was abused, will probably get some people saying, ‘Stop making apologies for abusers’, like ‘Stop trying to explain away bad behaviour. Other people were abused and didn’t go on to be rapists.’ And there’s reasons to not be glib about the possibility of forgiveness and non–judgmentalness. But I wrote a piece about it on my Substack, and I find it is one of my most controversial opinions that everyone is forgivable. No act is beyond the reach of salvation, and every human heart is fragile and foolish, and we are all in need of grace. We are all in need of grace, I believe from God, and from each other. And that it’s only when we approach each other with a posture of grace, and the radical non–judgement, that Jesus very explicitly says, “Judge not lest you be judged.” That’s the bit about Christianity that people find offensive right now, which is interesting.
Luke Turner
Yeah, which is interesting, because that’s the bit I I’m increasingly drawn to is Jesus’s non–judgement. It’s the biggest lesson I could learn from Jesus is to be less judgmental, and I really, I have to fight it really. My instinct is to judge, to judge the judges, even my non–Christian therapist says, “That’s a judgement, you’re making a judgement.” And I say, “But they’re being judge–y!”, She says, “You’re judging the judge!” And we’re in a time where we’re fuelled by the dopamine, and social media, and the feeling of being in the ‘in group’, that ‘people like me’ concept that you write about. We’re in a time where people want to feel good and to have an in–group, and the problem with online is, you can feel together with people scattered all around the world by judging other people. And I do find it very difficult not to judge the judges but it’s very toxic. I get angry, about the way people are behaving like that. I think maybe sexuality is actually a way where we can learn the most about non–judgement? Because it’s traditionally the easy way to judge people, it’s the one that people tend to go for rather than agreeing and not paying your taxes or whatever. Maybe there is more justified judgement that’s probably where Christian tradition is most genuinely judge–y, is against selfish hoarders of money, but there we go. Agh, that’s me being judge–y again!
Elizabeth
It’s really hard!
Luke Turner
It is difficult.
Elizabeth
We will come to the love of money on a future episode. I’m going to find someone to talk to you about avarice. I could have talked to you for a lot longer, Luke, but I’m very grateful for your time, your honesty, your reflections, and for being a guest on this special Fully Alive series of The Sacred Podcast.
Luke Turner
Thanks so much for having me on, I’ve really enjoyed that. Thanks, Elizabeth.
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