Cruising Down the Slippery Slope Toward Sexual Hell

We should see the pattern that is evident in these evolving claims, and be prepared to call them what they really are:

Argument #1:

I have homosexual desires
Therefore I am a homosexual person (with “homosexual” being a newly-created category of “person” in 1973)
You must respect me as a person
Therefore you must respect my homosexual desires.

That does not follow. You are not “a homosexual person”. You are a person, yes, but your homosexual desires are harmful to you. I acknowledge that not many in our culture see it that way.

But we see it again in this Salon article, entitled “I’m a pedophile, but not a monster”:

Argument #2

I have pedophile desires
Therefore I am a pedophile person (with “pedophile” being the newly-created category of person)
You must respect me as a person
Therefore you must respect my pedophile desires.

Pretty soon, as in Argument #1, where the next line item became “laws must be created to protect my homosexuality”, we will start seeing a new line item in Argument #2: “laws must be created to protect my pedophilia”. All of this in the name of equality.

I want to point to a particularly egregious section in this Salon article:

When I was seven years old, I was fondled in the front yard of my grandparents’ home by a man I barely knew. It was a one-time event in my life and not a particularly traumatic one. A man I’ll call Hans, a German who was acquainted with my uncle and aunt from when they lived in Nuremberg, had come to visit America. He spent a day and a night at their place, and they lived next door to my family along with my grandparents, who shared their two-story brick house. That day, the man lingered in the house with my grandma, who was stuck with him while everyone else had gone to work, and as neither could speak the other’s language, it quickly became uncomfortable for both.

Grammy’s solution was to send Hans outside with one of the grandkids. As I happened to be in the room at the time, I was assigned the task. “Take him out and show him Papa’s garden,” she told me. “Tell him the names of the vegetables. He’d probably enjoy that.” I agreed. Besides, even though I knew not a whit of German, I was very much at ease in Hans’s presence. He was painfully thin, with a messy mop of hair and large glasses. I should point out that the men in my life, including my father, were gruff blue-collar types who could intimidate me. Hans was different: gentle, soft-spoken and appealingly awkward—a lot like me!

I took the man’s right hand with my left (my good hand) and led him out into the garden, which took up most of the front lawn at my grandparents’ place. I escorted my new friend down the rows of veggies, calling out each one as we passed it, and Hans would gleefully parrot the names. This went on until we made our way through the entire garden. I was proud to find myself educating an adult rather than the other way around. When the English lesson was over, Hans plopped himself down on a patch of earth near the garden and patted the spot next to him, indicating he wanted me to sit there. I did. I couldn’t believe this peculiar man I barely knew was so eager to connect with me, the weird little kid nobody liked. It felt good.

For long minutes we simply enjoyed each other’s company. Then, out of the blue, Hans slipped a hand into my shorts, even though we were only about 30 feet from the poorly paved country road that meandered through this stretch of country. This went on for several minutes. I was confused but not frightened or troubled. The only thing I could think to say while this was happening was “Peepee,” continuing the English lesson with my pet name for my genitalia even in the midst of my own abuse. Hans chortled and repeated the word: “Peepee.” Eventually this came to an end, and Hans, having gotten what he wanted, shooed me away. I can’t imagine why it didn’t occur to him that I would immediately rat him out; maybe he knew and just didn’t care. Anyway, he could hardly ask me not to, could he? I raced back to Grammy and promptly informed her of what had happened. She deliberated over what to do, in the end asking me to keep it a secret from everyone, including my parents, and ordering me to stay away from Hans. No authorities were called, and life went on as usual. Hans stayed that evening with my uncle and aunt and left the next day. I never saw him again.

We see this fact over and over again: homosexuality is not inherent in one’s personhood. It is caused by early exposure to misplaced (sinful) sexual stimulation. And it causes the recipient of the abuse to have confused thoughts about sexuality. To think that the abuse is a good thing.

We see it happening in this article as well. Instead of the author saying “this was wrong and it affected me in a sinful and harmful way”, this author is saying, “well, this experience wasn’t so bad, and it made me a pedophile, which I suffer with, so feel sorry for my condition”.

We need to challenge this line of thinking in its tracks. The alternative: our culture will adopt more and more of this type of confused and muddled thinking, and worse, more children are certain to be abused and therefore harmed, and who will grow up to be harmful and predatory adults themselves.