The sexual revolution of the 1960s is commonly presented as one of the great emancipatory achievements of modern Western society. According to the conventional progressive narrative, the weakening of traditional Christian sexual morality liberated individuals from repression, challenged patriarchal institutions and allowed women, in particular, to exercise unprecedented control over their bodies and personal relationships. Yet more than half a century later, the results deserve a much more critical examination. The extraordinary expansion of pornography, the commercialisation of intimacy through platforms such as OnlyFans, the normalisation of casual sexual relationships and the growing difficulties associated with marriage and family formation suggest that sexual liberation has carried costs that its early advocates substantially underestimated. From a Christian conservative perspective, the central problem is not sexuality itself, which Christianity traditionally regards as a good within its proper context, but the progressive separation of sexual activity from love, commitment, responsibility and the enduring obligations of family life.
The revolution promised freedom, but freedom from traditional moral constraints did not necessarily produce freedom from exploitation, insecurity or commercial manipulation. Indeed, one of its most striking consequences has been the transformation of sexuality into something resembling an ordinary consumer commodity, available for purchase, display, exchange and disposal. What was once understood as an intensely personal expression of human intimacy has increasingly been incorporated into the logic of the marketplace. The consumer is encouraged to pursue novelty and immediate gratification, while the commercial producer competes for attention, revenue and market share. In this environment, the language of empowerment can obscure the uncomfortable reality that intimate aspects of human life are being converted into products, and that the people supplying those products may bear costs that are not reflected in their financial rewards.
Katherine Dee's recent article in The Spectator, "Cornell and the Myth of Pre-Sexual Revolution America," raises an important challenge to conservative nostalgia. Discussing the 1977 film Looking for Mr. Goodbar and contemporary allegations of sexual assault involving Cornell University students, Dee argues that the supposedly orderly sexual world preceding the 1960s was never as safe or virtuous as its admirers sometimes imagine. Women experienced sexual exploitation, coercion and violence long before the sexual revolution, and traditional moral expectations did not invariably protect them. Her argument deserves serious consideration, particularly her insistence that sexual assault cannot be excused by a woman's behaviour or attributed to her failure to observe traditional sexual morality. Yet acknowledging these truths does not establish that the sexual revolution improved relations between men and women. A society can possess serious moral failings before a revolution and nevertheless experience further deterioration as a consequence of it. The existence of sexual exploitation before the 1960s does not vindicate the subsequent dismantling of restraints intended, at least in principle, to connect sexuality with fidelity, responsibility and enduring commitment.
The traditional Christian understanding of sexuality was never simply a collection of arbitrary prohibitions designed to frustrate human pleasure. At its strongest, it reflected an understanding of sexuality as an activity with profound personal, relational and social consequences. Sexual intimacy was ideally situated within marriage, where affection and desire were accompanied by mutual obligations, fidelity and responsibility for children. This ideal was frequently violated, and Christian societies were certainly not immune to hypocrisy, male irresponsibility or the exploitation of women. Nevertheless, the ideal imposed a moral standard against which such behaviour could be judged. A man who abandoned a woman after impregnating her, betrayed his wife or treated sexual partners as disposable was violating an established moral obligation. The sexual revolution weakened some of these expectations by increasingly presenting sexual satisfaction as a private consumer preference, disconnected from obligations extending beyond the immediate participants.
The introduction and widespread availability of reliable contraception were central to this transformation, although technological change was only one element of a broader cultural movement. Contraception offered women greater control over reproduction, an important practical benefit that should not be dismissed. Yet the separation of sexual activity from the likelihood of pregnancy also contributed to changing expectations concerning sexual availability. When sexual relationships could be pursued with a reduced risk of conception, some of the traditional incentives encouraging commitment and marriage weakened. This did not automatically benefit women. It could also benefit men seeking sexual access without the responsibilities historically associated with marriage and fatherhood. The rhetoric of liberation sometimes concealed this asymmetry: women were encouraged to regard sexual availability as an expression of independence, while men could enjoy fewer expectations of enduring commitment.
The feminist critique of these developments is not confined to religious conservatives. Radical feminist writers such as Andrea Dworkin and Catharine MacKinnon argued that sexual freedom in societies marked by unequal power could reproduce rather than overcome the exploitation of women. Their objections to pornography were particularly significant because they challenged the assumption that removing sexual restrictions necessarily increased female autonomy. From their perspective, the commercial sexual marketplace could reinforce patterns in which women's bodies were evaluated primarily according to male desire. Although Christian conservatives and radical feminists differed profoundly in their underlying philosophies, their criticisms sometimes converged upon the same uncomfortable question: whose interests were actually being served by the new sexual freedoms?
Pornography represents perhaps the clearest expression of sexuality transformed into a consumer commodity. The commercial product is not an enduring relationship between persons but a manufactured experience designed for consumption. Its economic logic rewards novelty, stimulation and the capacity to retain attention. The person appearing on the screen risks being reduced, in the consumer's perception, to a collection of desirable physical characteristics or performances. The broader industry operates within a market in which intimacy is detached from personal knowledge, affection and reciprocal obligation. From a Christian perspective, this is a profound distortion of sexuality because it encourages the consumer to seek sexual gratification without the interpersonal responsibilities that ordinarily accompany intimate relationships.
The empirical evidence concerning pornography is complex. Research has identified associations between pornography consumption and relationship difficulties. A longitudinal study published in 2016 found that more frequent pornography viewing predicted lower subsequent marital quality, particularly among husbands. Another longitudinal analysis found an association between beginning pornography use and increased divorce risk. These findings do not establish that pornography alone caused marital breakdown, but they challenge the assumption that its widespread availability is necessarily harmless to intimate relationships.
The arrival of OnlyFans and comparable subscription platforms has taken the commercialisation of sexuality a stage further. Unlike conventional pornography businesses, these platforms allow individuals to sell intimate material directly to subscribers, sometimes creating an appearance of personal connection between producer and consumer. Advocates describe this arrangement as empowering because participants may exercise greater control over their content and receive payments without relying upon traditional industry intermediaries. Yet the underlying economic relationship remains one in which sexual display is converted into a marketable service. Attention becomes revenue, personal boundaries become commercial decisions, and the distinction between authentic intimacy and purchased interaction becomes increasingly blurred. The language of entrepreneurship does not resolve the moral question of whether everything that can be sold ought to be sold.
There is a particular irony in presenting this development as a triumph of feminism. Earlier generations of feminists objected to the reduction of women to sexual objects, insisting that women should be valued for their intelligence, character, achievements and full humanity rather than their physical attractiveness. Yet the contemporary marketplace can reward precisely the sexualised presentation that those earlier campaigns challenged. A woman may voluntarily choose to participate in such a market, and her individual agency should not be denied. But individual consent does not settle every question about the wider cultural effects of commercial practices. A society in which intimate self-exposure becomes a normalised income-generating activity may be encouraging young women to measure their economic value through sexual desirability. That is a troubling conception of emancipation, particularly when digital material may remain accessible long after the circumstances surrounding its creation have changed.
The consumerist mentality also affects men. The sexual revolution did not merely alter expectations placed upon women; it encouraged a model of masculinity in which sexual success could be measured by access, variety and conquest rather than fidelity, responsibility and commitment. The commercial pornography industry can reinforce this mentality by presenting sexual partners as interchangeable and pleasure as something obtainable without emotional investment. This is not an inevitable response among all consumers, and individuals differ considerably in how they interpret sexual material. Nevertheless, a culture saturated with commercial sexual imagery provides a very different moral education from one that emphasises mutual respect, restraint and the obligations of marriage. The Christian conservative objection is therefore directed as much towards male irresponsibility as towards the broader culture of sexual permissiveness.
The consequences extend into marriage and family formation, although the historical relationships are difficult to disentangle. Marriage rates have declined across many Western societies, while cohabitation, delayed parenthood and non-marital childbearing have become increasingly common. These changes reflect numerous influences, including housing costs, economic insecurity, women's increased participation in higher education and employment, changing religious commitments and altered cultural expectations. It would be simplistic to attribute them all to the sexual revolution. Nevertheless, the weakening of the cultural connection between sexuality, marriage and parenthood is an important part of the transformation. When marriage ceases to be regarded as the expected institutional framework for sexual relationships and childrearing, the social meaning of commitment changes. The potential consequences for children, parental responsibilities and family stability deserve more serious consideration than the language of individual liberation often permits.
Christian conservatism offers a different understanding of freedom. Freedom is not merely the absence of restraint or the multiplication of available choices. It also involves the capacity to order one's desires towards goods that are enduring and worthwhile. A person who cannot resist an immediate impulse may possess numerous legal liberties while lacking the self-discipline necessary for a flourishing life. This distinction is familiar in other areas of human behaviour. Society recognises that unrestricted consumption of alcohol, gambling or other potentially addictive pleasures does not necessarily produce wellbeing. Yet sexuality is frequently treated as though the expansion of choice must itself represent progress. The Christian tradition challenges this assumption by locating sexual fulfilment within a broader moral framework of fidelity, self-control, personal dignity and responsibility towards others.
None of this requires pretending that the pre-1960s world was a moral paradise. Women frequently faced economic dependence, restricted opportunities, double standards concerning sexual behaviour and inadequate protection against domestic violence. Those injustices deserved reform, and the expansion of women's educational, professional and legal opportunities represents an important historical achievement. The mistake was to assume that genuine improvements in women's independence required the abandonment of traditional sexual ethics. Greater equality before the law, better employment opportunities and protection against exploitation could be pursued without accepting the proposition that sexual intimacy should become detached from commitment or commercialised as another form of entertainment. The choice between an oppressive past and an unrestricted sexual marketplace was always a false dichotomy.
The Cornell controversy discussed by Dee also illustrates why moral criticism must be carefully distinguished from blaming victims. Allegations of sexual assault must be assessed according to evidence and the applicable law, with the presumption of innocence maintained until guilt is established. Sexual assault is the responsibility of the perpetrator, not the person subjected to it, regardless of clothing, alcohol consumption, previous relationships or sexual history. A Christian conservative critique of the sexual revolution does not require any retreat from that principle. Indeed, an ethic that insists upon the dignity of every person should condemn coercion and exploitation unequivocally. The broader question is whether contemporary sexual culture adequately encourages the restraint, respect and responsibility necessary to reduce the opportunities for exploitation.
There is also a deeper philosophical problem with the reduction of intimacy to consumption. Consumer markets are organised around preferences, competition, novelty and the possibility of replacing one product with another. Human relationships operate according to a different moral logic. Their value often depends upon continuity, loyalty, sacrifice and obligations that persist even when immediate satisfaction diminishes. Marriage, at its best, is not a transaction continually renegotiated according to changing desires, but a commitment through which individuals accept responsibilities extending beyond themselves. When the consumer mentality is imported into intimate relationships, partners may increasingly be evaluated according to whether they satisfy current preferences rather than whether they share a lasting moral undertaking. The resulting instability is not an inevitable consequence of modern sexuality, but it is a foreseeable danger when personal gratification becomes the dominant measure of relational success.
The sexual revolution therefore deserves to be judged not simply by the freedoms it proclaimed but by the kind of society it helped create. Its defenders can point to genuine gains in autonomy, reproductive control and the removal of unjust restrictions. Its critics can point to the commercialisation of sexuality, the weakening of traditional commitments and the emergence of industries that turn intimate human experiences into products. These outcomes are not all attributable to a single historical movement, and the evidence does not support the claim that every woman was made worse off. Nevertheless, the Christian conservative argument remains substantial: liberation understood primarily as freedom from moral restraint may leave individuals exposed to new forms of exploitation, loneliness and commodification.
The tragedy is that an authentic concern for women's dignity became increasingly entangled with a commercial culture that profits from the sexualisation of women. What was advertised as emancipation has, in some of its most conspicuous manifestations, become a system in which intimacy is purchased, bodies are marketed and human attention is monetised. Pornography and OnlyFans did not create this cultural transformation, but they vividly demonstrate its possibilities. The Christian alternative is not a return to every social arrangement of the 1950s, with its genuine injustices and limitations, but the recovery of a moral understanding in which sexuality is valued precisely because it is more than another consumer preference. Human intimacy deserves protection from the logic of the marketplace, and genuine liberation should mean freedom to form relationships characterised by love, fidelity, dignity and enduring responsibility. The sexual revolution promised to free women from exploitation, yet its commercial legacy raises the disturbing possibility that it helped create new markets for exploitation under the attractive language of personal choice. That is a legacy which demands critical examination rather than unqualified celebration.
https://spectator.com/article/cornell-and-the-myth-of-pre-sexual-revolution-america/