Eroticised Refusal Narratives and Perspectival Rape Myths

1. Introduction

Ignoring sexual refusal is one of the most severe ways in which one person can wrong another. Nevertheless, it is common to see depictions in which one character rejects another’s sexual advances but, when their refusal is ignored or overpowered, they seemingly surrender to passion. Consider, as an example, the following scene from the James Bond movie Goldfinger (Hamilton 1964):

Bond Scene: James Bond and Pussy Galore are in a barn. Bond flirts with Galore, but she rebuffs him. Twice, Galore tries to leave the barn, but Bond grabs Galore’s arm and pulls her back. Galore breaks Bond’s grip by throwing him to the floor, and the two begin to fight. Bond climbs on top of Galore, pinning her down. Galore attempts to push Bond away with her hands around his neck. As Bond pushes forward to kiss her, Galore grimaces and twice turns away. After a moment, Galore relents in her struggle to stop Bond and holds him as he kisses her.

During their fight the score is playful, reaching a romantic swell as Galore relents. We are meant to conclude that Bond has not sexually assaulted Galore, he has seduced her. This scene is not (meant to be) horrifying and against her will, but playful and sexy. It is a paradigmatic example of what I term an eroticised sexual refusal narrative.¹

This paper concerns how these narratives may be harmful: I develop a novel analysis of how these depictions may obstruct recognition of sexual violence. Drawing on work in aesthetics on the influence of fiction, I argue that engaging with these narratives can lead the viewer to adopt a perspective, a suite of open-ended interpretive dispositions, which disposes one to excuse ignoring sexual refusal and misinterpret sexual assault as seduction.

There has long been concern that depictions like Bond Scene may operate as propaganda for women’s sexual subordination and promote ‘rape myths’ (Langton 1993; Langton 2017; MacKinnon 1989a; McGowan 2017; Mikkola 2011; Novaes 2018). However, these various analyses have largely neglected the aesthetic properties of these depictions, particularly their persuasive power qua narrative. This paper remedies this oversight, analysing how these narratives frame sexual refusal, and connecting research on narrative in aesthetics to social research on ‘rape myths’.

I shall argue that the narrative framing (the way the scenario is depicted) of Bond Scene depicts the narrative contents (the scenario itself) as playful and flirtatious. Bond Scene thereby prescribes a perspective on which we interpret Bond as seducing Galore. On this prescribed perspective one is disposed to interpret Bond’s advances as ultimately desired by Galore, and thus excuse Bond ignoring Galore’s refusals.

Contrast this with the following depiction:

Police Report: Man and Woman are in a barn. Man flirts with Woman, but she rebuffs him. Twice, Woman tries to leave the barn, but Man grabs Woman’s arm and pulls her back. Woman breaks man’s grip by throwing him to the floor, and the two begin to fight. Man climbs on top of woman, pinning her down. Woman attempts to push Man away with her hands around his neck. As Man pushes forward to kiss Woman, she grimaces and twice turns away. After a moment, Woman relents in her struggle to stop Man and holds him as he kisses her.

I take it that one is much more disposed to interpret this scene as horrifying, against Woman’s will, and neither playful nor sexy. Engaging with Police Report disposes us to conclude that Man has sexually assaulted Woman, he has not seduced her.² Our attention is drawn to Woman’s refusal of Man’s advances, and we take these refusals at face value as evidence she does not want to have sex.

The relevant difference between Bond Scene and Police Report is not in their narrative contents, but merely a slight change in framing. All that has changed between the two vignettes is the title and the characters' names. Even this modest change of framing directs us towards diverging interpretations of the contents. When viewing Goldfinger, the score, direction, genre and context all cue a favourable interpretation of seduction. In Police Report these exculpating cues are absent. In Bond Scene the interaction is presented as flirtatious and ending with mutual desire, whereas the tone of Police Report is more sinister. This illustrates the interpretive power of narrative framing.³

On this analysis, these narratives offer a kind of ‘standard story’ for seduction and are exemplars of a sexual script which facilitates sexual violence. Briefly, the argument developed in this paper goes as follows. Eroticised refusal narratives prescribe a perspective on which overcoming sexual refusal is erotic and excusable. These narratives may act as a kind of illustrative example which exemplifies (Elgin 2009; Elgin 2017) this perspective, enabling viewers to export it. This perspective obstructs recognition of sexual violence by disposing one to notice and produce excuses for ignoring sexual refusal. It thereby constitutes a perspectival rape myth, which need not correspond to overt beliefs but regulates precisely the sorts of interpretive dispositions which guide our responses to cases of sexual violence.

This paper proceeds as follows. In Section 2, I present an account of narrative framing and argue that the narrative framing of Bond Scene prescribes a perspective which eroticises sexual refusal. In Section 3, I develop an analysis of the eroticising perspective these narratives prescribe and how it operates to excuse conduct such as Bond’s in Bond Scene. In Section 4, I turn to consider how these perspectives may be exported from our engagement with fiction into the real world: I contend that the narrative may exemplify a perspective. I then argue, in Section 5, that eroticised refusal narratives are exemplars of a seduction ‘script’ which eroticises overcoming sexual refusal. In Section 6, I examine how this perspective obstructs recognition of sexual violence and argue that it constitutes a pernicious and overlooked form of ‘rape myth’. Finally, in Section 7, I conclude and present some upshots of this analysis.

2. Narrative Framing

Feminist scholars have long argued that depictions in which sexual refusal is ignored, seemingly permissibly, are harmful because they make viewers less likely to recognise and respect sexual refusal (Langton 1993; Langton and West 1999; Mikkola 2011).⁴ Pornographic depictions of this kind have been described as, inter alia, a kind of Pavolovian programming (MacKinnon 1993, p. 16; Scoccia 1996), an authoritative command (Langton 1993; McGowan 2003), and a form of propaganda (McGlynn 2016; Novaes 2018; Sunstein 1986).⁵ However, these analyses have neglected the power of narrative. In this paper I remedy this oversight.

Work in aesthetics highlights that a central way in which narrative fiction may influence viewers’ attitudes is via the narrative framing equipping the viewer with a new perspective on, or ‘way of looking’ at, the subject matter (Camp 2017; Eaton 2003; Gaut 1998; Goldie 2012; Nussbaum 1992).⁶ A narrative does not present us merely with a sequence of events but, as it were, a version of events. The contents have a narrative ‘structure’ imposed upon them, conveying which events are the most important or foundational; which events depend on or explain others; and so on. Rachel Fraser highlights this by contrasting the serial description of events in an annal, listing events by year,⁷ with two narrative descriptions of the same events:

2) The years between 709 and 717 saw many hardships: there were floods, poor crops, and hard winters. In 718, the situation further deteriorated: the Saxons invaded. But the year after they invaded, Charles fought against them with great destruction. And after he won, there was a great harvest.

3) The century began with a hard winter and Duke Gotfried’s death. Things soon became much worse: in 712, there was a terrible flood. Over the next ten years, Charles fought the Saxons several times, and was victorious at least once. But not until ten years after the flood did the land recover enough to produce great crops once again. (Fraser 2021, p. 4044)

The two narratives construct sharply contrasting stories, framing the described events differently. This alters which events are salient and central and which fade into the background. In a mere serial record, we are free to impose judgements of what is important and what is insignificant, but the narrative makes those judgements for us. Fraser writes that these differences “suggest that the encoded information should be mentally organised in different ways […] the victory against the Saxons looms larger given the first narrative presentation; the flood given the second” (Fraser 2021, p. 4044).

We may, therefore, distinguish the narrative contents (what is depicted) from the narrative framing (how it is depicted). Bond Scene and Police Report subtly frame their contents in diverging ways. Here, the differences are modest in comparison to Fraser’s example; the events are not reordered or redescribed, merely renamed. Yet even this modest alteration in language is sufficient to alter how we are disposed to interpret the narrative contents. Bond Scene directs us to an interpretation of seduction, drawing our attention to Galore holding Bond at the end as an indication of desire. Police report, by contrast, leads us to focus on Man’s forceful persistence and Woman’s resistance when she places her hands around his neck.

Reflecting this distinction between contents and framing, Anne Eaton (2003) insightfully distinguishes two ways in which a depiction may be eroticising. She analyses Titian’s The Rape of Europa, which depicts Europa being carried away on a bull who is Jupiter in disguise. The first kind of eroticisation relates to how we are to interpret the events depicted: “the painting eroticizes Europa’s rape by representing her as complicit and taking pleasure in the act” (2003, p. 163). That is, we are directed to interpret what takes place as erotic for those involved. The second relates to our own response as viewers: “the painting calls upon us to have [erotic] feelings about this event […] it presents Europa’s sexual subordination in a way aimed to sexually arouse the viewer” (2003, p. 166). While Eaton emphasises arousal as the prescribed response, I consider the broader range of interpretive dispositions which the narrative prescribes: these include not only arousal but broader favourable responses (such as finding the interactions romantic).

This second sense captures the perspective the depiction prescribes; the audience see what is depicted as erotic. As Eaton (2003, p. 166) notes, ‘prescription’ need not presume claims of authorial intention (see also Gaut 1998).⁸ Therefore, we can describe a narrative as eroticised both with respect to what is taken to have occurred (the overcoming of refusal is erotic for the refuser) and how we view these events (we take up a way of looking at these events as desirable and erotic). These two may often work in tandem – to interpret the narrative contents as erotic for those involved may facilitate the audience’s ability to adopt an erotic perspective – but may come apart. For instance, if a character’s sexual gratification is depicted as tragically self-destructive, evoking sympathy rather than arousal, it is eroticised only in the first sense. Alternatively, if sincere refusal is itself eroticised, then we have eroticisation only in the second sense. Thus, it is useful to delineate these two dimensions in order to consider how they may interplay.

Bond Scene is eroticised along both dimensions Eaton identifies. Firstly, Galore’s submission to Bond is presented as giving in to sincere desire, succumbing to his advances due to passion rather than fear. Secondly, this interaction is depicted as erotic to the viewer, with Bond cast as enviably irresistible. Of course, once again, these dimensions interact – in taking up a favourable way of looking at these events, we produce an interpretation which excuses them – but nonetheless the distinction remains fruitful.

Export of the perspective prescribed by the narrative framing is distinct from export of contents. Content export occurs when, for instance, one gains beliefs about the Tudors from reading Wolf Hall, taking the fictional world and the real world to be alike in some relevant aspect. The case of perspectival export is different, as when one gains new insight from allegorical fiction. What we typically gain from engaging with allegorical fiction like Animal Farm is not some descriptive belief about the world (e.g., how farming typically operates) but a more malleable ‘way of looking’ at the world (e.g., a more holistic view of how power corrupts). Analogously, my proposal is not that one necessarily exports a belief that submission following sexual refusal is realistic and common, but rather that one exports a disposition to interpret sexual refusal from the prescribed perspective – as a stage in a seduction.

Langton and West (1999), in their widely influential analysis of how eroticised refusal narratives in pornography may promote rape myths, only consider the risks of content export. Drawing on Currie (1990), Langton and West draw a parallel between the default accommodation of presuppositions in conversation and the presumed ‘background’ truth of fiction. For instance, without reason to think otherwise, we take the layout of Sherlock Holmes’ London to match that of real-world London (Langton and West 1999, p. 315). This can lead to error when these background fictional truths diverge from the real world. Langton and West (1999) argue that in the case of pornographic eroticised refusal narratives, rape myths (e.g., that women secretly want to be raped, that their sexual refusal is insincere) are the backdrop against which the fiction takes place. This may, the worry goes, lead one to form corresponding false beliefs about the world.

Langton and West’s influential analysis thus concerns the first dimension Eaton identifies: in these depictions ignored refusal is erotic for the refuser. The corresponding background fact – that ignoring refusal is erotic for women – is what may be exported, such that what is true in the fiction is mistakenly taken to be true in the real world. My own focus is instead on the second way in which narratives like Bond Scene eroticise refusal: they prescribe a perspective on the depicted events which eroticises them. One may not mistake the narrative contents as realistic, but nonetheless export the prescribed perspective, being disposed to interpret sexual refusal as permissible to ignore. I term this the seduction perspective. I will argue that this perspective constitutes a pernicious, implicit rape myth: in the next section, I analyse the dispositions comprising this perspective in more detail.

3. The Seduction Perspective

Eroticised refusal narratives feature sexual refusal, which is overcome, where this interaction is framed as erotic. In this section, I unpack the notion of perspective and develop an analysis of the seduction perspective characteristically prescribed by eroticised refusal narratives.

To imaginatively engage with a narrative, one must take on the version of events the narrative prescribes. To use a common visual metaphor, when imaginatively engaged, we see the events of the depiction in the way the narrative presents them (Camp 2017; Gaut 1998; Gendler 2000; Goldie 2012; Nussbaum 1992).⁹ Elizabeth Camp has developed these widespread visual comparisons into a fruitful account of perspective (Camp 2017; Camp 2020) as open-ended interpretive dispositions to “notice, explain, and respond to situations in the world” (Camp 2017, p. 78).

Borrowing an example from Camp, the events of Pride and Prejudice may occur against the backdrop of the Napoleonic War, but the narrative is not about the Napoleonic War (Camp 2017, p. 89). Correspondingly, while we might imagine much the same sequences of events organised into a different retelling which was about the war, this would create a distinct narrative. If we refuse, or fail, to adopt the interpretation the narrative prescribes (for instance, by treating Pride and Prejudice as being about the Napoleonic War) we are not properly imaginatively engaged with the work (Currie 1990; Walton 1990). Likewise, Bond Scene prescribes a seduction perspective, on which Bond’s overcoming of Galore’s refusal is seen as erotic.

Building on Camp’s account of perspective, Fraser (2021) helpfully characterises perspective as a suite of interlocking dispositions, which I here adapt:¹⁰

Attentional Dispositions to notice (or fail to notice) some information, shaping what strikes one as salient.

Inferential Dispositions to draw certain inferences and adopt explanations.

Evaluative and Affective Dispositions to form certain evaluative and affective responses.

Inquisitive Dispositions to pursue certain lines of inquiry and find certain answers (un)satisfying.

The perspective we inhabit will thus determine what we are disposed to notice, how we think it matters, whether it requires explanation, and at what point we close our inquiry. Together these interconnected dispositions constitute a holistic interpretive tool; when we adopt a perspective, this shapes how new information will be immediately received. The interpretive dispositions which constitute a perspective are deeply interconnected. For instance, priming certain emotions alters what we find salient and whether we are disposed to make positive or negative evaluations: what one interprets as a nervous gesture in one affective state might appear sinister in a different affective state (Camp 2017; Tversky 1977). I contend that eroticised refusal narratives prescribe a perspective on which one is disposed to interpret ignoring sexual refusal as excusable and erotic. Here, I illustrate this by analysing Bond Scene, considering these interpretive dispositions in turn.

The events of Bond Scene are presented favourably: specifically, Bond’s advances are presented as playful and flirtatious rather than sinister or traumatising. Various factors combine to construct Bond Scene’s favourable tone. Some are background familiarity on the part of the audience, such as the certainty that Bond is the hero and familiarity with the role of ‘Bond Girls’. Bond Scene in Goldfinger is accompanied by a playful string score. And, of course, there is the name “Pussy Galore” itself. One’s cued affective and evaluative dispositions are correspondingly positive. One is, if imaginatively engaged, disposed to view the interaction in a playful, flirtatious light.

Next, let us consider the viewers’ attentional and inferential dispositions. From the seduction perspective which Bond Scene cues, one will be disposed to interpret Bond’s advances as ultimately desired by Galore and, correspondingly, disposed to notice signs that Galore desires Bond’s advances. This has an interlinked attentional and inferential dimension: one is both disposed to notice possible signs and interpret them as signs of desire. For example, Galore makes a noise as Bond pushes forward to kiss her; this could be interpreted as expressions of effort to sincerely push him away, but the narrative disposes the viewer to interpret them as expressing sexual arousal.¹¹ One will also be disposed to make exculpating inferences, for example, inferring from Galore’s apparent arousal that Bond’s use of force was permissible.

The disposition to make exculpating inferences of this sort is characteristic of the perspective Bond Scene, and eroticised refusal narratives more broadly, prescribe. The specific content of these inferences may be open to interpretation by the viewer (i.e., not a fixed narrative point from which one cannot depart without failing to be properly narratively engaged). Indeed, not only may the specific excuse be underdetermined by some narrative, but a specific excuse might not be produced at all; one might instead simply regard the interaction as clearly excusable. Part of the narrative framing in many of these depictions may be to direct us away from considering why this is permissible at all.

These attentional and inferential dispositions give rise to corresponding inquisitive dispositions. In Bond Scene, from the prescribed perspective, Bond and Galore are engaged in a kind of ‘cat and mouse’ interaction, which is resolved when Galore gives in. Galore’s ceased resistance thus gives us narrative closure, it “invites us to regard the narrative events as a sealed and complete whole” (Fraser 2021, p. 4045).

The narrative framing of Bond Scene thus prescribes a perspective on which Bond’s overcoming of Galore’s refusal is interpreted as excusable, wanted and erotic. It is characteristic of eroticised refusal narratives that they depict ignored sexual refusal as a seduction; they prescribe a perspective which eroticises refusal. By contrast, on an assault perspective like that of Police Report, Woman’s ceased resistance is neither so central nor so exculpating. On this perspective, one may – interpreting Woman’s initial resistance as earnest – be more disposed to interpret her ceased resistance as mere submission to Man’s force and, therefore, not exculpating the preceding actions. If the assault perspective is applied to Bond Scene we are left without narrative closure, because our attentional and inquisitive dispositions have been directed towards different, unresolved, questions. For instance, we may wonder about the emotional aftermath of the assault for Galore and be puzzled by the subsequent lack of animosity between her and Bond. Conversely, ‘why did she give in and kiss him back?’ will be saliently unanswered on the seduction perspective if it is suggested that this interaction constitutes assault.

In summary, eroticised refusal narratives are characterised by a shared narrative blueprint or ‘story schema’ (Fraser 2021, pp. 4043–4045). The narrative contents show a sexual advance which is refused and/or resisted, but this refusal is ultimately overcome. This sequence is framed as a seduction, where the refused advance is wanted, and the interaction is erotic.¹²

The target of this critique is more specific than general incongruence between impermissible sexual conduct and a favourable tone of depiction. Firstly, a narrative may trivialise sexual violence in ways other than eroticising it. Care must be taken to distinguish eroticised refusal narratives from related tropes, some of which are especially common in depictions of sexual violence against men.¹³ For instance, in Get Him to the Greek (2010) a male character is penetrated without his consent by a female character. This is trivialised – the tone is comedic – but there is no doubt that the sexual contact is unwanted: this is the intended source of humour. By contrast, I am concerned with cases in which the audience is meant to conclude that this contact is (at least, eventually) wanted and take up an eroticising perspective; this does not include all trivialising depictions of sexual violence.

Secondly, it is not necessary for a narratives’ contents to amount to sexual violence to constitute an eroticised refusal narrative. I do not claim that all putative cases of ignored sexual refusal are cases of sexual violence; consequently, my analysis is not restricted to claiming that only depictions of sexual violence as erotic are pernicious. For instance, in some cases the contents of a narrative may be, on the prescribed interpretation, an instance of insincere (or ‘token’) refusal, or the refuser may be persuaded by permissible means. While the contents of such narratives do not constitute sexual violence, in prescribing a seduction perspective on ignored sexual refusal these depictions nonetheless constitute eroticised refusal narratives. Thus, the scope of my argument is not limited to narratives in which the contents ought to be deemed sexual violence, but rather extends more broadly to narratives which depict the overcoming of sexual refusal as erotic.

Perspectives are interpretively powerful. Flawed and distorting perspectives thus have the potential to be deeply damaging. The seduction perspective eroticised refusal narratives prescribe is, I suggest, deeply pernicious; if exported, it could substantially obstruct agents’ abilities to identify real-world sexual assault.¹⁴ Tuerkheimer (2021) highlights that taking a sexual assault allegation seriously has three dimensions; that it happened, it was wrong, and it matters. These intertwined judgements are profoundly shaped by the perspective one takes up. In the next section, I examine how this perspective may be exported into the real world.

4. Exemplification & Export

The central concern with depictions like Bond Scene is how they can cause harm in the real world. I suggest that they may do so by exemplifying (Elgin 2009; Elgin 2017) the seduction perspective. On this analysis, these narratives are akin to an illustrative example, from which one gains a new perspective on ignoring sexual refusal is permissible and erotic.

It is widely argued in aesthetics that narratives have the power – for better or worse (Goffin and Friend 2022) – to equip us with new perspectives (Eaton 2003; Camp 2017; Currie 1990; Gaut 1998; Gendler 2000). Nussbaum (1992) argues that one of our key reasons for engaging with fiction is to gain new ‘moral perspectives’. For instance, we may come to think differently about all-consuming obsession from reading Moby Dick. This is not akin to content export wherein we take the depiction to be realistic, as might be the case if we came to form beliefs about the nature of the whaling industry from the novel. Rather, the perspective that the narrative equips one with may be extracted from its specific content and applied to new targets (Camp 2017). I, therefore, propose that the seduction perspective that depictions like Bond Scene prescribe may be exported. If so, the exculpating dispositions described in the previous section could be deployed in the real world.

Before proceeding, it is worth addressing a salient objection. Clearly, whether narrative fiction in general and eroticised refusal narratives in particular are actually ‘exported’ in this manner is a primarily empirical question – one that this paper does not answer. While there is some evidence that fiction can sway our attitudes by reducing vigilance (Prentice and Gerrig 1999), the influence of narrative fiction remains contested (for an overview see Currie et al. 2024). Research examining short-term ‘priming’ effects has proven difficult to replicate and such effects may be short lived (Currie et al. 2024, p. 134; Dodell-Feder and Tamir 2018). In the absence of decisive evidence, the proposal presented here remains conditional; if these interpretive dispositions are exported, then they will obstruct recognition of sexual violence. With the current empirical terrain contested, theoretical proposals of this kind contribute to wider empirical investigations by identifying potential mechanisms of harm which can guide which lines of inquiry we pursue.

I here draw on Elgin’s (Elgin 2009; Elgin 2017) account of how fictions may exemplify a way of thinking, thereby equipping the viewer to deploy it in other contexts. Exemplification, on Elgin’s account, is a kind of illustrative example which enables us to understand the target. For instance,

[a] sample problem worked out in a textbook exemplifies a reasoning strategy that students are supposed to learn. Each sample or example highlights some of its own properties, makes them manifest, draws attention to them. (Elgin 2009, p. 322)

In this case, the sample textbook problem is an exemplar. By working through the steps of the model solution, we may grasp the exemplified reasoning strategy.

Analogously, a narrative may exemplify a perspective. In the case of the textbook solution, having acquired the exemplified technique, one may apply the technique to unseen problems. Just as the model solution illustrates the specific mode of reasoning by application to an example, the narrative takes some series of events (the narrative contents) and illustrates a perspective on these contents. Successful imaginative engagement with the narrative – such that one ‘sees’ the narrative contents as prescribed – may equip one with a perspective that can be applied to new targets. In the case of James Bond, for instance, the franchise and titular character exemplify a particular ideal of masculinity. Bond is an exemplar of what masculinity is and what men should be:¹⁵ intelligent, brave, resilient. Bond’s conduct exemplifies traits (in rather extreme ways) which are paradigmatic of a particular conception of masculinity. These narratives thereby exemplify a particular perspective on masculinity.¹⁶

One needn’t think that viewers are mistaking depictions like Bond Scene for reality – a viewer needn’t think that Galore’s reactions to Bond’s use of force is realistic – for them to be equipped with new ways of thinking about and interpreting sexual refusal. Indeed, Elgin (2017) highlights that departures from realism may aid exemplification. Bond may be a somewhat cartoonish representation of a masculine ideal, and these exaggerated properties may enable one to more readily access the perspective exemplified, just as simplified models may enable us to more readily grasp some theoretical concept. In this case, I propose, these narratives may be exemplars of a pernicious ‘script’ for seduction.

5. Script & Schema

Eroticised refusal narratives have a common underlying structure around which they are organised: sexual refusal, met with persistence, followed by the refuser’s submission. This sequence of events is a ‘story schema’; a blueprint which guides how we interpret the narrative (Fraser 2021, pp. 4043–4045). Story schemas facilitate the interpretation of a narrative and guide how its contents are mentally organised (Mandler 2014). Our familiarity with this standard sequence enables us to engage with the narrative. Just as we know that a story which starts ‘once upon a time’ will (typically) end with ‘happily ever after’, we know that given the right genre expectations, a sexual refusal will give way to desire.

The story schema of eroticised refusal narratives corresponds to a sexual ‘script’. Social scripts are a kind of malleable blueprint, or schema, for navigating social contexts (Boutyline and Soter 2021; DiMaggio 1997; Schank and Abelson 1977; Sewell 1992). Eickers (2023) characterises scripts as “a set of guidelines that specifies expectations about others’ behaviour” which may be brought “together in integrative ways to make sense of what’s going on and how to interact appropriately” (Eickers 2023, p. 87). Sexual scripts guide behaviour in sexual contexts. Such scripts are both predictive, shaping one’s expectations of others, and normative, setting standards for how agents ought to act. Scripts correspond to perspectives: while one may attempt to mechanically follow a script, ‘mastery’ of the script means one will be guided by the script, to expect conformity with it, respond negatively to departures and so on.

I contend that Bond Scene is an exemplar of a seduction script on which resistance is not merely compatible with seduction but, rather, is a paradigmatic feature of seduction: the overcoming of sexual refusal is itself erotic.¹⁷ This conception of seduction is embedded within a pervasive system of social scripts and norms on which men initiate and pursue sex while women merely respond. Women are positioned as gatekeepers of sex, the domain of their agency restricted to whether they grant or deny sexual access (Gavey 2018; LaPlante et al. 1980). These asymmetric roles produce two different (gendered) seduction scenarios. Male sexuality is understood in terms of pursuit (Gavey 2018, pp. 98–99) – consider, Odysseus being driven to wreck his boat on the rocks when seduced by the sirens. Conversely, female sexuality is understood as gatekeeping sex (Gavey 2018, pp. 99–100), so to be seduced is to cease resisting. Thus, for a woman to be seduced is to be unable to sustain resistance, as these scripts confine her sexual role to allowing or denying access.¹⁸ This seduction script is, centrally, the erotic overcoming of sexual refusal, turning a ‘no’ into a ‘yes’. It is important to emphasise here that my claim is not that seduction itself, under this conception, is a moral wrong or constitutes sexual violence. Rather, the claim is that these scripts can operate to obscure recognition of sexual violence.

Here, two crucial clarifications are in order. The first concerns the notion of “persuasion”, which I take to be at the crux of this script. To say that the script is characterised by persuasion and overcoming initial refusal is not to say that instances of this script must feature sincere refusal and genuine persuasion. Consider the case of ‘token refusal’ in which the refuser merely feigns resistance. This would still constitute an instance of the same script: Notice that the idea of ‘token refusal’ in which one feigns resistance is itself a ‘playing out’ of this script and presupposes that pursuit is erotic. A sexual ideal in which virtuous women will resist sexual advances, produces a sexual practice on which ‘token refusal’ is liable to occur, in turn entrenching the broader disposition to dismiss sexual refusal.

As Judith Butler emphasises, writing on gender norms, “the norm only persists as a norm to the extent that it is acted out in social practice and reidealized and reinstituted in and through the daily social rituals of bodily life” (Butler 2004, p. 48). Consequently, “the norm cannot be reduced to any of its instances, but I would add: neither can the norm be fully extricated from its instantiations” (Butler 2004, p. 52). This script of seduction, as eroticised refusal, is likewise neither wholly reducible to specific instances of seduction (whether real or in media) nor fully abstractable from them. To speak of instances of this script includes both instances of overcoming genuine, sincere refusal and cases in which this script is merely acted out via ‘token refusal’.

The second, related, clarification concerns the ethical evaluation of specific instances. As noted above, the script may not be wholly abstracted from its instances, but nor can it be wholly reduced to them. The object of my analysis here is the script itself and the effects of narratives which exemplify it. I claim that this script, and thus its exemplars, obstruct recognition of sexual violence. One may here wish to object that in cases of ‘token refusal’ – and some, perhaps many, cases of genuine persuasion – what occurs is not sexual violence because genuine consent is obtained. However, to object in this way would be to misinterpret my argument. It may well be that many such instances (occurring in real life or depicted in media) are indeed morally permissible with respect to consent. I do not claim that all instances of this script constitute sexual violence. It is instead the script itself which I claim is pernicious and, thus, the exemplification of this script via eroticised narrative that I argue facilitates sexual violence. While many such narratives feature, at best, ambiguous consent, even in cases where the depicted interaction is itself ultimately consensual they may be harmful by undermining and obscuring sincere sexual refusal.¹⁹

The seduction script eroticises overcoming sexual refusal: it is not merely compatible with seduction, but a core feature of seduction scripts (Littleton and Axsom 2003; Ryan 2011). On the seduction perspective, resistance giving way to submission makes accessible the inference that the refuser has given into desire. Initial refusal is part of the script, so raises no saliently unanswered questions nor prompts a negative response: compare customs of etiquette in which offers of second servings of food are expected to be initially declined. One learns that initial refusal is not a reliable signal. Consequently, persistence in the face of that resistance is not viewed as sinister or meaningfully unwanted, but normalised. When this perspective is deployed, sexual refusal – perhaps even sincere sexual refusal – is not diagnostic of sexual violence (Camp 2017, p. 80; Tversky 1977). It is to be expected that seduction is likely to involve some overcoming of refusal, and submission in the face of persistence is interpreted as giving in to desire. Consequently, this submission offers closure; applied to such events, this pernicious perspective leaves us with no lingering questions. These narratives exemplify a perspective which disposes one to interpret persistence in the face of sexual refusal as desired and, therefore, excusable.

These intertwined norms of female passivity and chastity “rationalise force” (MacKinnon 1989b, p. 175; see also MacKinnon 1993). This is made chillingly clear in an example given by Tuerkheimer (2021), in which a rapist, participating in a reconciliation meeting with his victim, explained why he ignored her refusals: “I know you’re a good girl, and I thought all good girls have to fight a little the first time” (Tuerkheimer 2021, p. 211). From the seduction perspective, resistance is to be expected; the seduction perspective is characterised by attentional and inquisitive dispositions on which initial refusal raises no questions. The dispositions of this perspective include noticing and producing excuses for persistence, interpreting the refused advance as desired, inferring that partial or ceased resistance reveals desire and so on. When this seduction perspective is deployed in cases of ignored sincere refusal, they simply ‘look like’ seduction.

Let us return to Bond Scene. Bond is irresistible to women in this sense, as illustrated by his interaction with Galore. Galore has many pragmatic reasons to refuse him and ostensibly attempts to do so. Yet, on the prescribed interpretation, in the face of Bond’s physical persistence and the kiss he forces on her, engaged viewers are to interpret Galore as giving in to her desire for Bond. It is in this respect that Bond Scene exemplifies seduction and eroticises refusal. ²⁰ That Galore initially attempts to resist Bond is not a caveat to his seductive powers but testament to them; it is an erotic victory proportional to the resistance overcome. Overcoming refusal is a core erotic dimension to this game of chase.

The story schema of eroticised refusal narratives in general, as outlined in Section 3, corresponds to this seduction script of the erotic overcoming of refusal. Eroticised refusal narratives thereby exemplify the corresponding seduction perspective. I contend this seduction perspective operates as a kind of rape myth.

6. Perspectival Rape Myths

I next argue that the seduction perspective exemplified by eroticised refusal narratives disposes one to misinterpret sexual violence as seduction, constituting a pernicious form of perspectival rape myth.

The seduction perspective will dispose one to misinterpret cases of sexual violence which resemble the seduction script as seduction. Empirical research has found that common features of ‘seduction scripts’ include initial reluctance, persuasion, and regret (Littleton and Axsom 2003; Ryan 2011). There is substantial overlap between these scripts and cases of sexual violence (Koss 2011). Compounding the problem of the similarity between these instances of sexual violence and the script for seduction is their comparative lack of resemblance to the dominant stereotypical script for rape. The stereotypical ‘blitz’ rape script is a case in which the (typically female) victim is assaulted by a stranger at night, outside the home, and strenuously resists but is overpowered with force (Littleton and Dodd 2016; Ryan 2011; Tuerkheimer 2021, pp. 37–41). Many cases of rape appear to be closer the seduction script than the paradigmatic rape script (Lonsway and Archambault 2006).

The seduction perspective disposes one to interpret lack of refusal as desire – this perspective makes an interpretation of sexual violence correspondingly inaccessible. Consider the case described in Police Report and suppose this is non-consensual. If seduction perspective prescribed by Bond Scene is applied to the case of Police Report, it will be miscategorised as seduction and misinterpreted as not being wrongfully against Woman’s will. The seduction perspective thus operates to obstruct recognition of rape. The proximity of the exemplar(s) to instances of sexual violence operates to infringe on the cases which would be aptly categorised as rape, the interpretation of seduction eclipsing that of rape. This perspective thereby wrongly limits the set of cases recognised as sexual violence.

I contend that this perspective constitutes a neglected perspectival form of ‘rape myth’. Rape myths are standardly characterised as "attitudes and beliefs that are generally false but are widely and persistently held, and that serve to deny and justify” sexual violence (Lonsway and Fitzgerald 1994, p. 134). Paradigmatic examples of rape myths include (see Hänel 2022, p. 537; Jenkins 2017, p. 192; Tilton 2024, p. 410):

• ‘Many women have an unconscious desire to be raped.’

• ‘Women often lie about being raped.’

• ‘Women could resist rape if they really wanted to.’

Rape myths are deeply pernicious. In empirical research, ‘rape myth acceptance’ has been found to be widespread and to predict a range of harmful outcomes (Hänel 2022). It has, unsurprisingly, been found to predict rape proclivity (Bohner et al. 2005; Malamuth 1981). Police officers who accept rape myths about the frequency of false accusations – research indicates many do – are more likely to not pursue cases (Dellinger Page 2010). Acceptance amongst jury members decreases the likelihood of conviction (Burrowes 2013). Victim-survivors may also pre-emptively withhold accusations if they recognise the likelihood that their accusations will be dismissed in this way (termed ‘testimonial smothering’ by Dotson 2011) – in such cases the script may have an indirect ‘chilling’ effect. Further, among those who have had experiences which meet the legal definition of rape, acceptance of rape myths which pertain to cases like their experiences reduces the likelihood they will categorise those experiences as rape (Peterson and Muehlenhard 2004).

There are various rape myths which interact to excuse and legitimise sexual violence (see Bourke 2007; Hänel 2022; Tuerkheimer 2021).²¹ My focus here will be on what Jenkins’ terms ‘consent myths’: “Rape myths that obscure what counts as consensual sex and what counts as rape” (Jenkins 2021, p. 40). Central among these is the ‘myth’ that sexual contact is only rape when resisted with the ‘utmost force’. This standard has historically been a legal requirement in many legislatures and even where it has since been relaxed, this tacit expectation remains influential (Bourke 2007, pp. 67–76; Tuerkheimer 2021, pp. 44–47). The seduction perspective operates to sustain this standard, by disposing one to draw exculpating inferences from ceased resistance.

Ryan (2011) highlights that there are two ways in which we may understand the ‘myth’ of rape myths. In the first sense, a myth is a specific, (pervasive) false belief (e.g., the prevalence of false accusations). Emphasis to date has primarily centred on this first sense. In the second sense, however, a myth is “a story that is embedded in history, religion, and culture […] provid[ing] prototypical stories that guide behaviour” (Ryan 2011, p. 774). This resembles Lindemann (2020)‘s notion of ’master narratives’ which are “the socially shared stories that everybody knows” (Lindemann 2020, p. 287). These master narratives “depict how we are supposed to behave in specific settings” (Lindemann 2020, p. 288) – i.e., they are scripts. They form a central element of what is sometimes termed the ‘social imaginary’ which Medina (2011) characterises as “a symbolic repository provides the representational background against which people tend to share their thoughts and listen to each other in a culture” (Medina 2011, p. 33; see also Langton 2012; Haslanger 2010; Haslanger 2017; Haslanger 2020b; Haslanger 2020a).

Perspectival rape myths are, I propose, myths in this latter sense. My contention is that eroticised refusal narratives exemplify the seduction perspective which constitutes a perspectival rape myth. The contours along which the seduction perspective obstructs recognitions of sexual violence reflect paradigmatic consent myths, e.g., if someone doesn’t resist they have consented. The exculpating inferences which the seduction perspective disposes one to, such as inferring that because someone stopped resisting, they desired sex, mirror these paradigmatic myths: “women could resist rape if they really wanted to”; “women often ‘say no but mean yes’”; “if a woman doesn’t resist with the utmost force she has consented”. The seduction perspective thus fulfils the characteristic function of rape myths; excusing and legitimising rape. As such, the seduction perspective ought to be categorised as a perspectival form of rape myth.

One may wonder whether these perspectival myths are best characterised as rape myths, when their putative subject matter is seduction.²² However, several paradigmatic rape myths have consent as their subject matter, or else are ambiguous. Consider the myths that most closely reflect the characteristic inferential dispositions of the seduction perspective: ‘if a woman doesn’t resist, then she has consented’, ‘no means yes’. Both are “consent myths” on Jenkins (2017)‘s taxonomy – but note that this is a taxonomy of types of rape myths. It is thus a subtype, rather than a distinct category. Further, to distinguish such myths by their putative subject matter faces serious drawbacks. The belief that ’if a woman is really raped, then she will resist with the utmost force’ plausibly expresses the same sentiment as ‘if a woman doesn’t resist, then she has consented’. Yet emphasising subject matter would treat these as distinct obstacles to the recognition of rape, studying them individually. The claim that ‘no means yes’ appears, similarly, to be ambiguous on the proposed distinction: should we interpret this as a myth about consent or rape? The answer, surely, is both. They are unified in their operation to persistently “deny and justify” sexual violence (Lonsway and Fitzgerald 1994, p. 134). The seduction perspective operates to produce these same interpretations and, therefore, ought to be categorised as a (perspectival) rape myth.²³

The difference between doxastic and perspectival rape myths is important because a flawed perspective operates to obstruct the recognition of sexual violence in ways that differ from false beliefs. Much of the emphasis in discussions of rape myths is doxastic; the widely used definition of “prejudicial, stereotyped, or false beliefs” (Burt 1980, p. 217) reflects this. While empirical investigations of rape myth acceptance have explored more subtle mechanisms (Littleton and Axsom 2003; Payne et al. 1999; Ryan 2011), the doxastic emphasis remains pervasive in wider discourse. It is particularly apparent in educational resources which seek to ‘debunk’ rape myths with ‘facts’ such as statistics (e.g., about the rarity of false accusations) and assertions such as “submission is not consent”.²⁴

Jenkins (2017) highlights that agents may be acquainted with the concept of ‘rape’ without correctly deploying it under all circumstances (see also Yap (2017)). It is not uncommon for there to be a gap between the extension of a concept one possesses and the cases in which one deploys it (Engelhardt 2019; Putnam 1973). Perspectival rape myths are one way in which such gaps can emerge, leading agents to fail to categorise interactions which plainly violate consent as rape. The seduction perspective itself is a malleable disposition to notice and produce excuses. When deployed, one is disposed to excuse ignoring consent, notice explanations as to why this particular case isn’t rape.

The nature of perspectival rape myths is therefore importantly different from doxastic myths; ²⁵ these differences make the above ‘debunking’ approaches unlikely to be wholly effective. Suppose we tell an individual who is implicitly disposed to misinterpret lack of resistance as desire that “it’s really common for people who experience rape […] to find they can’t move or speak”.²⁶ If they accept in principle that lack of resistance does not entail consent, yet systematically misinterpret it in practice, this correction is unlikely to prove effective.

It is therefore crucial to examine how the seduction perspective may operate as a perspectival rape myth in these contexts, as this will require distinctive interventions. Perspectives are powerful interpretive tools; perspectival rape myths are thus pernicious. Moreover, many of the contexts with which rape myths are concerned are ones in which perspectives are crucial. Notably, both individuals’ interpretations of their own experiences (such as claiming or rejecting victim/survivor identity) and juror deliberation have been characterised as a process of narrative construction (Pennington and Hastie 1993). Tuerkheimer (2021) highlights that to recognise that an accusation is credible requires taking the accuser to have the competence to “discern, recall, and make sense of the facts about their lives” (Tuerkheimer 2021, p. 72, emphasis added) – that is, we must trust their narrative.

Consequently, the seduction perspective eroticised refusal narratives exemplify ought to be recognised as a form of perspectival rape myth and the distinctive nature of perspectival rape myths must be considered.

7. Conclusion

Eroticised refusal narratives are pervasive and intuitively concerning. Many have argued that these narratives promote harmful attitudes towards sexual violence and normalise ignoring sexual refusal. Here, I have developed a novel account of how they may do so. I have argued that their narrative framing prescribes a perspective which disposes one to notice and produce excuses for ignoring sexual refusal. In doing so, I have identified an overlooked way in which these narratives may obstruct recognition of sexual violence.

The narrative framing of Bond Scene directs us to interpret the narrative contents positively, as a playful and (eventually) mutually desired encounter. The prescribed perspective eroticises the overcoming of Galore’s apparent resistance. We are directed to make exculpating inferences and interpret Galore's ceased resistance as desire, resolving the scene's tension. Eroticised refusal narratives more broadly depict sexual refusal as something which is negotiable, which is permissible to ignore, and which is erotic to overcome. I have argued that these narratives are exemplars of a seduction script on which overcoming refusal is central. They thereby exemplify a perspective which eroticises refusal.

The perspective eroticised refusal narratives prescribe operates to obstruct recognition of sexual violence. Many instances of sexual violence resemble this story schema. A disposition to deploy this perspective when interpreting sexual encounters is, thus, a disposition to miscategorise, and wrongly excuse, sexual violence. I have argued that this perspective should, therefore, be categorised as a form of rape myth. On this proposal, one may not export a specific excuse for certain cases, but a malleable disposition to excuse. Agents with these dispositions may reject overt rape myths yet systematically fail to recognise the cases in question. Attempting to dismantle these obstacles demands different strategies to tackling flawed beliefs. Common ‘debunking’ strategies will be of limited use if this mechanism is at work.

Attending to the potential for eroticised refusal narratives to promote perspectival rape myths has important consequences for attempting to mitigate these harms. One consequence is that it diminishes the significance of a narrative's fictional status. In the philosophical literature, the emphasis on content export has led to a doxastic focus on the risk that viewers may gain false beliefs by mistaking fiction for reality. This focus on ambiguous fictional status is also prominent in discussions of educational interventions (see McGlynn, 2021; 2022): many educational interventions seek to mitigate the potentially damaging effects of pornography by emphasising its fictional and unrealistic status. However, as noted, if one learns from narratives like Bond Scene the way one learns from allegories, then pointing to a lack of realism will not necessarily mitigate perspectival export. I simply do not need to believe 1984 is ‘realistic’ for it to shape my perspective on government authority. These interventions are ill-suited to challenging specifically perspectival export. Perspectival rape myths will thus require distinct interventions.²⁷

A second consequence of my analysis is that it diminishes the distinctive significance of pornography. There are various reasons that we may think that pornographic eroticised refusal narratives are poised to be more harmful. One is the fact that audiences typically masturbate while engaging with pornographic materials, which may strengthen their capacity to condition their responses. However, this consideration does not apply to the specific analysis developed in this paper. By contrast, I wish to end by highlighting an alternative consideration on which ostensibly more harmless media may be better positioned to enact the specific harms I have put forward in this analysis.

I have suggested that these depictions may serve as exemplars for a harmful kind of seduction script; that is, these narratives may perpetuate and entrench norms. In light of this, the public nature of mainstream depictions of erotised refusal narratives, even if ostensibly less extreme, may make them more powerful in this regard. Social conventions, including sexual scripts, rely on a shared common ground; we adopt them in part out of expectations that others will do the same. At present, pornography is primarily privately consumed; even if I know, or suspect, that most people consume pornography, I possess minimal information about what they are watching.²⁸ However, mainstream media, such as Bond films, are consumed publicly. When I watch them, I can gain information about what others think men should be and beliefs about what others consider erotic. In this regard, less extreme but more mainstream depictions of eroticised refusal may have a greater influence over our shared social schema and scripts.

The analysis of eroticised refusal depictions developed here began by proposing that we shift our attention to the role of narrative framing. In doing so, we shift our attention from specific beliefs to the broader mechanisms which influence the sorts of beliefs we are disposed to form. This, in turn, reveals how obstacles to the recognition of rape may emerge at the level of open-ended interpretative dispositions which reveal systematic cues for withholding categorisations of rape. Attending to the role of perspective is, thus, essential for a complete analysis of the potential harms of these depictions and for developing interventions to mitigate these harms.²⁹