Having mentioned celibacy in the previous essay, I now want to return to it and unpack in full.

Celibacy is a more complicated term than it seems on the surface, because we don’t consistently distinguish it from abstinence: witness the rise of the term “incel,” or “involuntary celibate,” which might be more appropriately framed as “inab.” Abstinence, in the sense of limited-time disengagement from sexual activity, can happen for a wide array of reasons, all the way from purification and discipline, to saving one’s energy (physical or spiritual) for other purposes, to birth control, to waiting for marriage, to the incel situation of not being able to attract a partner. (Though in that latter case, many of them are unlikely to be refraining from masturbation, which abstinence proper would usually imply.) By contrast, celibacy often takes on the more specific meaning of a lifelong vow to forgo sexual activity of all kinds. That vow is most frequently taken in a religious context, and as such, it goes hand-in-hand with other kinds of religious asceticism.

For certain kinds of people, that vow may come as a relief. While celibacy and asexuality are not the same thing, the religious justification for celibacy can free asexuals from the societal expectation that they will marry and have children. (For them it is not a sacrifice, and celibacy is supposed to be a hardship one undertakes for the betterment of one’s soul, but it can still be a good option.) Homosexuals in a homophobic society may likewise find refuge in celibacy . . . though since that often entails living in a single-sex community, it can lead to intensified temptation as well.

For women, it means freedom from the significant risks posed by childbearing — and for that exact reason, many societies have side-eyed the prospect of women taking such vows. Too many nuns would mean not enough children, and in pre-modern society, that’s not merely a threat to patriarchal control; it could genuinely lead to population decline. But if you were female and horrified or terrified or merely bored by the prospect of giving birth, devoting yourself to God/the Buddha/some other religious focus instead offered an escape hatch.

It’s worth noting, though, that the celibate life can be taken up at any point in time; it doesn’t have to be synonymous with virginity. Plenty of people throughout history have sworn off sex after years of marriage and reproduction — because while celibacy is not restricted only to monastic communities, the link between those is extremely widespread, and retirement into religious life was a common end-point for those who made it that far and could afford the graceful exit. (Monasticism will get its own essay at a future point!)

It’s even possible to be celibate and married. While some of those retiring into monasteries are widowed, others still have their spouses. So, even though “celibate” etymologically refers to the state of being unmarried, in some contexts people can formally vow not to have sex with their husband or wife again. (Historically this often accompanied entering a monastery, but not always: some couples remained in secular life.) Unsurprisingly, the traditions that allow it often require that both parties agree! No abandoning your partner to a cold bed without their permission. If divorce is allowed, one spouse might vow celibacy and the other go off to remarry, but if it isn’t, both have to take the vow.

We in the West, of course, are likely to associate celibacy above all with priesthood. I’m not going to attempt to rehash here the entire complex discussion of which branches of Christianity have required celibacy for which levels of clergy and when they have required it (because the answer has changed over time); that could fill a whole book on its own. But where it is encouraged or mandatory, the rationale is much like that for asceticism in general — only more so.

Because it isn’t just about abstaining from sexual experience. (Yes, masturbation is usually outlawed, too. Monks and nuns often sleep fully clothed, and some orders mandate shared dormitories rather than solo cells specifically to stop people from doing anything in private.) Before quite recently, sex in these societies went almost universally hand in hand with marriage and children, and therefore with a host of worldly obligations. A married man or woman had to provide for their household, invest time and energy in the raising of children, and make arrangements for their futures: apprenticeships, spouses, inheritances, and so forth. No one could properly attend to those things and focus on the divine.

. . . though yes, it’s true that more than a few supposedly celibate clergymen had bastard children running around. Some of those clergymen were very highly placed; some of them even got their bastards high places within the Church itself. Just because they were theoretically focused on God rather than the advancement of their kin didn’t mean they followed through in practice.

But not every faith says that marriage and devotion to God are incompatible. In fact, some of them go the other way! Shinto priests are welcome to be married; Islam does not require marriage but certainly promotes it, and the same is true in Judaism. Sikhs are supposed to be householders, i.e. engaged in normal married existence. In some ancient Greek cities, failure to marry could mean a man lost his citizenship! For those religions, the godly life is not separate from the ordinary business of living, but intimately bound up with it.

As for whether one can be relieved of a vow of celibacy — not just abandon it, but be let out — that can be complicated and situational. I’m pretty sure I’ve read of historical shenanigans in the Catholic Church, usually in situations where a nobleman’s younger brother took holy orders and then was suddenly needed to continue the family line when his elder sibling died, but I can’t remember the specifics well enough to look them up. (If any of you know what I’m thinking of, let me know!) In general, though, the answer is no: if you ditch your vow, then you’re officially condemned for it. After all, a promise doesn’t mean much if you’re allowed to break it at will. That having been said, Vestal Virgins — the only instance of Roman culture championing celibacy — were allowed to exit that life after thirty years of service, though not all of them took the proffered out.

Celibacy, like asceticism, is something we rarely see in main characters. A huge percentage of our stories feature romantic relationships as at least a minor side plot, and where asexual protagonists appear, they generally don’t want to have sex, as opposed to it being an impulse they have chosen to deny. When a major character is under such an oath, odds are high they’ll wind up breaking it before the end of the story. We’re sufficiently invested in the idea that people should act on on their (non-harmful) desires that it’s difficult to sell many readers on the triumphant resolution of someone feeling sexual attraction and then not following through on it. (And if you write that story, the odds that someone will immediately write fanfic where they do get it on are pretty high.)

But there’s power in the notion of celibacy — including the sort I mentioned in the last essay, a literal spiritual power generated by the denial of that impulse. I’d be interested in reading stories that make use of it!