When morality becomes a substitute religion: Why the debate about sex work so often fails

There are discussions that are exhausting. And there are discussions that no longer want to be discussions at all. The debate about sex work increasingly falls into the latter category.

Those who publicly advocate for the rights of sex workers today often encounter a striking pattern: facts are ignored, scientific findings are selectively interpreted or completely dismissed, emotions replace arguments, and ultimately, there is a total moral condemnation. This often resembles fundamentalist religious groups more than an open democratic debate. 

It's supposedly about human rights. But the closer you look, the clearer it becomes: For many opponents of sex work, it's not primarily about the lived reality of sex workers. It's about controlling which forms of sexuality are considered legitimate. 

The moral is clear – the evidence is just a nuisance. 

Particularly striking is the selective perception of scientific findings. Studies that confirm one's own worldview are celebrated, even if they are methodologically questionable. At the same time, empirical findings are ignored as soon as they do not fit the desired narrative. 

Research has shown for years that sexuality is far more complex than the simplistic notion of "men buying bodies." Studies on sexual services repeatedly demonstrate that so-called "girlfriend experience" services are among the most frequently requested forms of sex work: intimacy, conversation, tenderness, attention, and shared time. 

The motivations of many male clients are also far more complex than the stereotypical image of the sex-crazed john suggests. Serious research repeatedly documents the desire for social intimacy, emotional connection, and a space where touch and closeness are possible without judgment. 

There's no need to romanticize it. But one should at least be prepared to acknowledge reality. 

Instead, many activists against sex work react almost allergically to any description of consensual, voluntary, or even positive sexuality in the context of payment. Apparently, it threatens the ideological foundation of their arguments. 

If it had to be acknowledged that some people voluntarily offer sexual services and some people voluntarily use them, then the simplistic black-and-white narrative falls apart. And that seems to be precisely what is intolerable. 

The fear of female decision-making power 

The real core conflict certainly lies deeper. It also concerns the question of whether women are granted the ability to make decisions about their own bodies and their own sexuality. We encounter this pattern elsewhere as well: in the fight against abortion, in the moral panic surrounding pornography, in debates about surrogacy – and, of course, in sex work. 

It is constantly claimed that women need to be "protected." And surprisingly often, protection ultimately means one thing above all: control. The idea that women might make decisions that don't fit into a paternalistic, repressive, or romantically normative image of sexuality seems unbearable for many. Then, suddenly, the question is no longer what women want, but what others consider morally acceptable. 

The consequence is fatal: women are denied their capacity for judgment. Their consent no longer truly counts because they are supposedly incapable of making free decisions. This is precisely where the frightening similarity to dystopian narratives like "The Handmaid's Tale" begins. In Margaret Atwood's religiously totalitarian depiction, female self-determination is not openly abolished, but rather paternalistically reinterpreted: women are supposedly to be protected, morally guided, and led to their "true destiny." Their own will loses its significance as soon as it contradicts societal moral norms.

Female autonomy is replaced by male control, and women's bodies become objects of societal moral politics. 

The parallel is uncomfortable, but revealing: whenever women are denied the ability to make autonomous decisions about their bodies, their sexuality, or their reproductive capacity, a politics of external control over female existence arises.  

Consensus or control? 

Of course, exploitation, violence, and coercion exist in sex work, just as in many other industries. But the existence of these abuses doesn't automatically mean that all forms of sex work are illegitimate. On the contrary, those who categorically discredit or criminalize consensual sex work often worsen the conditions for precisely those people they are supposed to protect. 

When legal spaces disappear, violence and exploitation don't disappear with them. They become less visible. The crucial question, therefore, is not: "Do I find sex work morally acceptable?" but rather: "Do I accept that consenting adults should be allowed to make decisions about their sexuality?" That is the real conflict. 

Ultimately, it's about choice. About freedom of choice. About recognizing that people have different ideas about sexuality, intimacy, and relationships. A liberal society must tolerate this diversity, even if it doesn't align with its own tastes. 

The victim narrative only works with double standards. 

The contradictions become particularly apparent when it comes to the issue of sexual assistance and sexual support for people with disabilities. Suddenly, the moral tone shifts radically. What was previously condemned as fundamentally degrading "forced prostitution" now appears as socially valuable support, as inclusion in action, almost as a form of modern charity. 

This is revealing. Because apparently, sexual services can appear perfectly legitimate – as long as they fit into a caring, preferably desexualized narrative. This is precisely where a central contradiction in many debates about sex work becomes apparent: Sexuality is often only accepted when it can be interpreted as care work. This fits perfectly into traditional female roles: the caring woman who provides emotional closeness, the woman who heals, the woman who nurtures. 

But what about the woman who offers sexual services autonomously, sets boundaries, demands payment, and defines her service as work? This is precisely the figure that seems unbearable to many. Because she defies the classic victim image. And without a victim image, the entire moral framework of many anti-sex-work campaigns crumbles. 

Of course, sexual assistance is important. Of course, people with disabilities deserve access to closeness, intimacy, and sexuality. But precisely for this reason, the question should be allowed as to why sexual services suddenly become acceptable as soon as they fit into a social-pedagogical or welfare-oriented interpretive framework. Because this shows that the real problem for many opponents is often not the payment for sex at all. The real problem is female sexual self-determination outside of morally accepted roles. 

The new prudishness is being sold as progress. 

What is particularly disconcerting is how often authoritarian sexual morality appears today in progressive rhetoric. Where conservative moral guardians once fought against "immoral behavior," today arguments are made using terms like protection, empowerment, or feminist responsibility—though often without granting the women affected any real self-determination. The result is a strange alliance of old prudishness and new identity politics. 

Those who speak of sexual diversity often only mean those forms of sexuality that are ideologically accepted. Consensual paid sex is often explicitly excluded. But freedom is not found where we accept decisions that conform to our worldview. Freedom is found where we must accept that other people want to live differently than we do. 

Perhaps we should relearn how to tolerate ambivalence. 

Reality is complicated. Not all sex work is empowering. Not all clients act thoughtfully. Not every decision is made under ideal conditions. But that's true for many other areas of human life as well. People make decisions under economic pressure. People sell labor, physicality, emotions, and time in a wide variety of contexts. 

Why sexuality, of all things, is declared an area where consent is supposedly fundamentally impossible is a question that opponents of sex work rarely answer honestly. Perhaps because the answer would be uncomfortable? Perhaps because it was never just about protection? But always also about the fear of sexual self-determination?  

Beyond fundamentalist fantasies of prohibition, the fact remains: those who want to strengthen women's decision-making power create structures in which women are no longer victims. Not of economic hardship, not of failed migration policies, not of violence, and not even of self-appointed saviors. But structures that empower women. Where they truly have a choice. Because in sexuality, too, the principle should apply: it's all about choice.