What The Odyssey Gets Right About Pornography: The Siren Song of Desire
Have you ever watched a scene in a movie and thought, That captures my story of brokenness so perfectly?
That happened to Clint recently while watching The Odyssey.
There is a powerful scene involving Odysseus and the Sirens—mythical beings whose beautiful song lured sailors toward destruction.
Odysseus knows the song is dangerous, so he tells his crew to fill their ears with wax. But he wants to hear it for himself.
His solution?
Tie him to the mast.
And no matter what he says, no matter how desperately he begs, do not untie him.
As the Sirens begin to sing, you can watch something change inside of him.
At first, it is curiosity.
Then desire.
Then longing.
And eventually, desperation.
The song seems to promise him everything he has ever wanted—everything his heart has been searching for.
And as Clint watched that scene, one thought immediately came to mind:
That is pornography.
Pornography Promises More Than Sex
For Clint, pornography never simply promised sexual pleasure.
It promised something much deeper.
You’ll belong here.
You’ll feel powerful here.
You’ll feel wanted here.
You’ll finally feel like you’re enough.
That is what makes pornography so deceptive.
It attaches itself to legitimate desires—the desire to belong, to be known, to feel accepted, to feel powerful, to feel wanted—and offers a counterfeit way of satisfying them.
The Sirens promised fulfillment.
But following their song led to death.
Pornography makes similar promises.
It tells us, Come here and I’ll give you what you’ve been missing.
But instead of producing intimacy, it creates isolation.
Instead of freedom, bondage.
Instead of connection, disconnection.
Instead of helping us feel known, it often drives us deeper into hiding.
The deeper question becomes:
What are we actually longing for?
Because so often, sexual brokenness is about far more than sex.
We All Inherited a Story About Sex
As we continued talking, we realized something else.
None of us enters adulthood—or marriage—with a blank slate when it comes to sexuality.
We all inherited a story.
Culture told us something about sex.
Music told us something.
Movies and television told us something.
Our friends told us something.
Our experiences taught us something.
Our parents communicated something—sometimes through what they said, and sometimes through what they never said.
And the church communicated something too.
Years ago, we attended a sexual discipleship gathering where we were challenged to look back and identify all of those different voices.
What had culture taught us about sex?
What had our families taught us?
What had church taught us?
What had our own experiences taught us?
That exercise was eye-opening.
We realized just how many narratives had shaped both of us long before betrayal ever entered our marriage.
Yes, betrayal caused tremendous damage.
Yes, pornography created deep wounds.
But we were both carrying sexual brokenness into our marriage before either of those things happened.
Healing eventually required us to go back and ask:
What did I learn about sex?
Where did I learn it?
What did I believe sex would give me?
What desires was I trying to meet through relationships, attention, pornography, or sexuality?
Those questions helped us understand our stories with much greater compassion and clarity.
When Culture Is the Loudest Voice
One thing became especially clear as we looked back.
Some of the loudest messages about sexuality came from culture.
And some of the quietest places were our homes and churches.
That matters.
Because silence communicates something too.
If our children hear messages about sex from music, movies, social media, advertising, friends, and the broader culture—but rarely hear healthy conversations about sexuality at home—culture naturally becomes the loudest voice.
We recently experienced this firsthand while walking with our boys through an outdoor shopping center.
We passed a large advertisement featuring a nearly topless woman.
All of us saw it.
Our boys clearly noticed it.
And there was a decision to make.
Ignore it?
Create shame around it?
Or talk about it?
We chose to talk.
Not because we wanted to make sexuality scary, but because we want our kids to know that they can bring these moments to us.
We talked about beauty.
We talked about attraction.
We talked about honoring another person rather than consuming them.
We talked about what happens in our bodies when we notice something beautiful.
And most importantly, we tried to remove shame from the conversation.
Because we want our kids to understand something we wish we had understood much earlier:
Our bodies are not bad.
Beauty is not bad.
Desire is not bad.
These things simply need to be understood through the goodness and design of God.
Healing Changes What We Pass On
This is where our own healing has changed so much for us as parents.
There was a time when conversations about sexuality would have been much harder.
Shame would have been present.
Fear would have been present.
Unresolved brokenness would have been present.
But God has done an incredible work in our lives.
And because He has done an incredible work in us, He can now do an incredible work through us.
Our healing has allowed us to approach conversations about sexuality differently with our kids.
Not from panic.
Not from shame.
Not pretending the world around them isn’t sexualized.
But from a place of freedom, truth, and safety.
We want our home to be a place where our boys can say:
I noticed something.
I felt something.
I have a question.
I wanted to keep looking.
And know they aren’t going to be shamed for bringing it to us.
Because if we can help them understand sexuality through God’s design before culture defines it for them, we can give them a completely different foundation than the one many of us received.
What Are You Really Longing For?
The scene from The Odyssey reminded us that desire has a way of promising us something.
But not every promise deserves to be followed.
Sometimes what looks like the answer to our deepest longing is actually leading us farther from what our hearts need most.
Pornography cannot tell us who we are.
Sex cannot make us enough.
Another person cannot satisfy every longing inside of us.
Ultimately, underneath our desire to belong, be known, be accepted, and be loved is an even deeper longing for our Creator.
And that is where the hope of healing begins.
Jesus doesn’t simply teach us how to manage our behavior.
He gives us a new identity.
He removes shame.
He restores what has been broken.
He teaches us to see ourselves, our bodies, our sexuality, and one another differently.
And as He rewrites our story, we get the opportunity to pass a different story on.
Culture doesn’t have to be the loudest voice anymore.
Our past doesn’t have to determine our future.
And the places where we once experienced the most brokenness can become the very places where God brings freedom—not only for us, but for the generations that come after us.