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There’s just one problem with the Virgin Mary story (and it isn’t immaculate conception)

Instead of teaching young girls and women that they are more than their bodies, it reinforces this narrative that sex, abstinence and motherhood are the sum of their worth, writes Katie Edwards

Wednesday 25 December 2024 05:00 EST
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Vatican's famed nativity display opens to public

My niece and nephew recently starred in their school nativity play. Well, I say “starred”... one was a “townsperson” and the other, incredibly, was cast as an angel – both parts only a minor step up from being the back end of the donkey.

Anyway, I spoke to a few of the parents before the play began – you know, when you’re all trying to appear dignified while tightly packed into the hall, sitting on tiny plastic chairs designed for the Borrowers – and one mum told us that her son had asked what a virgin was. Everyone laughed.

“Oh god. What did you say?” asked a man sitting next to her.

“I told him to ask his dad.” More laughter. “He was really clever, actually – I was quite impressed. He said that a virgin is a lady who hasn’t had a boyfriend.” Cue the collective “ahhhhhhh…”, as the group considered the wisdom of this definition.

Another woman said that her daughter had also asked, and she’d told her that a virgin was “a very nice lady”.

I stared into my paper cup of acrid-tasting coffee. Why, I wondered, aren’t more people helping kids to think critically about the things they see around them? Why don’t more people use Christmas as an opportunity to talk to kids about the concept of virginity?

I mean, what is it? It isn’t a medical concept. It’s not a physical state, despite the stubborn myths that there are physiological differences between women who have and haven’t had sex. No, virginity is a social construct – and it’s one that continues to be damaging for children. Especially girls.

Look in a thesaurus for synonyms of virginity and what do you find? The true meaning of the concept, that’s what. “Sinlessness”, “purity”, “innocence”, “virtue”, “spotlessness”, “decency”, “honour’,’ “respectability,” “dignity”... All the good things. Because virginity is a good thing – particularly for girls.

The best, most valued, most revered girls are virgins. And at Christmas, we’re reminded of this cultural conceit more than ever. The best, most valued, most revered girl of them all – the ultimate virgin – is everywhere. From cards to carols, nativity plays to Netfix; Mary, Mother of Jesus, takes a star turn during the festive season. And, as Christianity’s Mother of God, as well she might.

As a biblical scholar, I’m used to hearing people tell me about how great the Virgin Mary is for women – how she’s a feminist icon and how important and empowering it is for girls to see an example of women’s power aside from their (hetero)sexual appeal.

In a culture where women and girls are persistently objectified and sexualised – and popstars are adored for their bodies and glorified for their sexiness – isn’t it refreshing to see a woman portrayed as something other than a sex symbol? Isn’t it a blessed relief to see a woman venerated for being a mother?

I’m not so sure.

First, Mary is sexualised. It’s right there in her name: The Virgin Mary. Virginity is inherently a sexual term – it invokes sex. It fetishises women and girls who haven’t had sex. The language around virginity is telling; virginity is something to take or steal – and something to lose.

Of course, there’s nothing wrong in bringing up kids to have self-respect and to teach them ownership of their bodies. But it’s one thing to teach children about body autonomy, boundaries and consent; it’s something entirely different to allow kids to absorb cultural assumptions that women become somehow spoiled or sullied once they’ve had (hetero)sexual intercourse – that they become less valuable.

Second, should we celebrate one biblical character every year for her role in giving birth to a half-divine male? Really? I mean, yes, it’s (mostly) lovely to be a mum. I’m sure to some women it feels miraculous and transformative to give birth. I can also believe that some women feel positively goddess-like after experiencing their body creating, growing and then giving birth to a little human. That’s wonderful.

But venerating motherhood as well as sexiness is the flip-side to the same coin, isn’t it? It’s still valuing women for their bodies – and that value is still based on traditional social functions. Women, we’re taught, are lauded for either not having sex, being considered extremely sexy, or being a mother. Extra worship points if you can manage to combine them.

Obviously, a virgin mother is an impossible ideal, but it’s one we tell our children they should aspire to. That’s almost a bit cruel, though, surely? Teaching girls that they’ll never achieve true purity. The consolation prize? That, whilever you protect it, virginity makes you special, superior to the sexually active. Even if you don’t tell them outright, that’s the message of Christian imagery and stories we see all around us at this time of year.

Not that the glorification of virginity is limited to Christmas. It’s not. The assumption that virgins are “pure” and “innocent” is always subtly there, reminding us that sexual violence isn’t so bad if it happens to women who don’t abide the rules: those who dress “provacatively” or have multiple sexual partners. That girls need to protect their honour at all costs – that their virginity is something to be cherished.

For girls, the concept of virginity can be yet another bar on the window of their prison cell – yet another pressure on their self-imagery and sexual development, and yet another way to control girls’ sexual autonomy.

Let’s face it: perpetuating the concept of virginity doesn’t do anyone any favours. Least of all our children.

Katie Edwards is an author, broadcaster and academic specialising in the use of the Bible in contemporary culture

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