Psychological Coercion as Rape

Artist Credit: Teresa Yoon ’26, Washington and Lee University

Abstract:

In this paper, I argue that while the feminist move to expand the definition of rape to include psychological coercion is morally compelling, it is ultimately counterproductive to apply this expanded understanding within the legal framework. First, I will provide a historical overview of the evolution of rape laws, tracing their development from patriarchal property-based notions to modern frameworks centered on personal autonomy. Drawing on this expansion of personal autonomy, I will next examine the arguments advanced by feminist scholars advocating for the inclusion of psychological coercion, emphasizing the ethical imperative to address subtle, systemic power dynamics. After that, I will critique the challenges of legally implementing this broader definition, highlighting key issues with proportionality in sentencing, societal chilling effects, and potential political backlash against the broader feminist movement. Finally, I will conclude and suggest a focus on moral adaptation rather than legal reform. 

1. Background

The legal conception of rape has evolved significantly over time, shaped by cultural, societal, and legal norms. 

Historically, rape was framed not as a violation of an individual’s autonomy, but as an offense against property. This view dominated early legal systems, for example, in Roman law, where rape was treated as a crime against a man’s proprietary interest in his wife, daughter, or another woman under his control (Dripps 1992, 1780-1781). In such frameworks, the harm of rape was seen as reducing a woman’s value, particularly if she was a virgin (Yung 2015, 15). English common law similarly adopted this property-based approach, assigning harsher penalties for the rape of virgins than for married women, as the former were deemed more valuable (Dripps 1992, 1781-1782).

Over recent centuries, this narrow, patriarchal perspective governed the law’s treatment of rape. Women were considered incapable of being legally autonomous agents, and their experiences were often subordinated to the interests of male relatives or spouses. For example, until the late 20th century, many jurisdictions explicitly excluded marital rape from legal definitions of sexual violence​ because a husband’s access to his wife’s body was presumed to be a right inherent in marriage (Yung 2015, 15).

Legal reforms beginning in the 1970s challenged these deeply ingrained norms. Feminist scholars such as Susan Brownmiller, Susan Estrich, and Catharine MacKinnon spearheaded critiques of rape law, arguing that it perpetuated gender hierarchies and failed to protect women from harm (Hanus 2016, 1143-1144). They contended that the focus on physical force and resistance ignored the broader dynamics of coercion and failed to account for the realities of gendered power imbalances (Hanus 2016, 1143-1144). Their efforts catalyzed a wave of legislative and judicial changes aimed at redefining rape as a violation of personal autonomy rather than property rights.

One significant reform involved the elimination of the “utmost resistance” doctrine, which required victims to physically resist their attackers to the greatest extent possible for an assault to be considered rape. Under the property-based approach, it was better for an interested party if the woman put up the utmost resistance. This increased the likelihood of both not being raped and not surviving the rape. That way the interested party would not be left with damaged goods. Feminist scholars pointed out that this standard placed an unreasonable burden on victims, often putting them at greater risk of harm and perpetuating victim-blaming narratives. In response, modern statutes have largely abandoned this requirement, recognizing that resistance is not a necessary component of non-consent, thereby affirming survivors’ autonomy in deciding how to respond to assault (Yung 2015, 15)​.

Continuing this trend of expanding survivor autonomy, legal definitions of rape began to broaden beyond penile-vaginal penetration to include other forms of non-consensual sexual acts, such as oral and anal penetration or digital penetration, depending on the jurisdiction. Rape laws also became gender-neutral, acknowledging that men and nonbinary individuals could also be victims of sexual violence (Yung 2015, 15). These changes marked an important shift in recognizing the diverse experiences of survivors.

Marital rape exemptions were another significant area of reform. These exemptions, rooted in outdated notions of spousal consent, began to be repealed across jurisdictions. By the late twentieth century, every state in the U.S. had removed such provisions, recognizing that consent must be obtained regardless of marital status​ (Bergen 2006).

Despite these advances, traditional frameworks for understanding rape often remain tethered to the concept of force. Many jurisdictions still require proof of either physical force or explicit threats, which can exclude subtler forms of coercion, such as emotional manipulation or psychological pressure. This focus on overt actions reflects a lingering adherence to archaic norms that prioritize visible harm over the lived experiences of survivors. 

Coercion: Expanding Beyond Force

The gradual inclusion of explicit threats in rape law following the Model Penal Code of 1980 laid the groundwork for understanding coercion as a critical factor in defining sexual violence (Tracy 2012, 5). The gradual acceptance of coercion in rape law reflects the modern shift from viewing rape in terms of property rights to autonomy rights because coercion constitutes a violation of autonomy, undermining an individual’s ability to make free and voluntary decisions. Recognizing coercion as central to rape law reflects a growing acknowledgment that sexual violence extends beyond the realm of physical force and includes subtler forms of manipulation​.

Traditional legal approaches to consent have focused on overt, measurable actions, such as physical resistance or the presence of explicit threats. Virginia, as one example, defines rape as “If any person… causes a complaining witness… to engage in sexual intercourse with any other person and such act is accomplished (i) against the complaining witness’s will, by force, threat or intimidation of or against the complaining witness or another person; or (ii) through the use of the complaining witness’s mental incapacity or physical helplessness” (Va. Rev. Code 2024, § 18.2-61). Although this is just one example, this type of language is standard for every U.S. state. Feminist theorists have argued that this perspective, while clear-cut in its evidentiary requirements, fails to account for the complexities of human behavior and relational dynamics. One of these feminist theorists, Susan Estrich, argues that it fails to address the realities of coercion as it is experienced by many victims. Estrich notes that legal systems historically prioritized overt violence while ignoring psychological and emotional pressures, which are often more common in intimate relationships (Estrich 1987)​.

Psychological coercion operates through manipulation, emotional withdrawal, or the creation of fear. Unlike physical force, it often leaves no visible trace, making it harder to recognize and prosecute. The World Health Organization (WHO) highlights this distinction by defining coercion as including not only physical force but also any “coerced penetration,” which would include psychological intimidation, abuse of power, and threats of harm or deprivation (World Health Organization 2022). The idea behind this claim is that this broader definition recognizes the need to consider the relational context in which coercion occurs, particularly in settings where victims feel unable to resist due to anticipated repercussions such as retaliation, social isolation, or economic deprivation.

Feminist scholars argue that nonphysical coercion disproportionately affects women in heterosexual relationships due to existing gendered power dynamics. Catharine MacKinnon, for instance, frames coercion as inherently tied to societal inequalities, where women’s economic and emotional dependence on male partners makes them more vulnerable to subtle manipulations (MacKinnon 1989, 173-175). This dependency creates a power imbalance that men can exploit, using psychological tactics to elicit compliance without resorting to overt threats or violence.

Moreover, the perception of coercion is shaped by the victim’s circumstances and the broader social context. Scholars such as Sharon Cowan emphasize the importance of relational autonomy, suggesting that coercion cannot be fully understood without examining how societal norms and interpersonal dynamics shape individuals’ choices (Cowan 2007, 52). For instance, women may consent to unwanted sexual activity to maintain peace in a relationship, avoid emotional withdrawal, or fulfill societal expectations of caretaking​. These actions may legally meet the criteria for consent but are, in reality, coerced through emotional pressure.

The inclusion of coercion as a broader category also addresses systemic factors, such as economic and social pressures. Threats to withdraw financial support, expose private information, or harm someone’s reputation can be profoundly coercive, especially for individuals in marginalized positions. These forms of coercion illustrate how power imbalances—whether economic, social, or relational—can be weaponized to undermine autonomy.

2. Assessing Coercion

This expanded definition of coercion provides a robust moral standard because it reflects the complex ways in which power dynamics operate to undermine individual autonomy. By including subtle mechanisms like language, gestures, and societal norms, as Susan Estrich argues, this framework highlights the pervasive and often invisible forces that shape perceptions of agency (Estrich 1987, 19-23). Such an understanding aligns with broader ethical principles of justice and respect for autonomy, which require us to scrutinize not only explicit actions but also the structural and interpersonal practices that constrain meaningful choice. This moral standard underscores the obligation to dismantle systems and practices that perpetuate coercive conditions, thereby fostering environments where individuals can exercise genuine agency. By repeatedly enacting socially prescribed roles, individuals may internalize power dynamics that limit their sense of agency and consent (Butler 2020). These repeated patterns of behavior, while appearing innocuous, can have profound effects on autonomy and self-determination. The subtlety of these coercive mechanisms, while challenging to discern, emphasizes the importance of moral accountability in addressing harms that evade more traditional, force-based conceptions of coercion (MacKinnon 1987, 141). Consequently, adopting this nuanced understanding of coercion as a moral standard ensures that ethical evaluations consider both visible and invisible constraints on autonomy.

The feminist movement has long sought to bridge the gap between this expanded moral conception of coercion and the legal definition of rape, advocating for a legal framework that reflects the nuanced ways in which power and inequality shape consent. Scholars such as Catharine MacKinnon argue that the traditional focus on physical force or explicit threats in rape law fails to capture the broader social and psychological dynamics that often render consent meaningless (MacKinnon 1987, 172). Feminists contend that the law must account for coercion as a spectrum of behaviors—including psychological manipulation, economic dependency, and cultural expectations—that can undermine an individual’s ability to give voluntary and informed consent (West 1993). This effort reflects a commitment to aligning the law with a moral framework that recognizes the full scope of coercive influences, ensuring that legal definitions of rape are not only procedurally sound but also substantively just.

This expanded understanding of coercion would allow statements that are currently completely legal under many United States jurisdictions such as, “If you don’t have sex with me, I’m going to report you to immigration” or “If you don’t have sex with me, I’m going to file for divorce and make sure you never see the kids again” to be considered rape if they lead to sex (Hanus 2016, 1141). These examples illustrate how coercion operates not through physical force but through threats that exploit an individual’s vulnerabilities—such as their relationship with their children, immigration status, or emotional ties. Similarly, even less overt but still harmful threats, such as, “If you don’t have sex with me, I’m going to break up with you,” reflect how psychological and relational pressures can be weaponized to override autonomy. Currently, in many U.S. jurisdictions, such behaviors fall outside the scope of rape law, which often emphasizes explicit threats of violence or physical force (Hanus 2016, 1141).

3. Sulking

These extreme cases represent the clearest and most troubling examples of consent-undermining behavior. However, this broadened feminist conception of coercion also extends to more subtle forms of relational manipulation, such as sulking with the intent to pressure a partner into sexual activity. While such actions may not involve explicit threats or immediate consequences, they similarly undermine consent by exploiting interpersonal dynamics to compromise an individual’s autonomy. By situating these lesser behaviors within the same analytical framework as more egregious coercive acts, the broader definition invites critical evaluation of the thresholds for legally actionable harm and challenges the traditional force-centric paradigm of sexual violence.

At its core, sulking operates within Estrich’s account of coercion by creating an emotionally charged environment in which the target feels compelled to alleviate the sulker’s discontent. A traditional example would be as follows: a man decides to make a sexual advance on his partner and is turned down. Then, the man proceeds to lock himself in a different room and refuses to interact with his partner for the rest of the night. This tactic relies on the implicit understanding that, in future cases, failure to comply will result in continued emotional withdrawal, disruption of harmony, or even relational deterioration. Unlike direct threats, sulking leaves room for plausible deniability—the sulker can claim innocence, portraying their behavior as merely an expression of personal feelings rather than an attempt to control (Patwardhan 2024, 359-360). This ambiguity exacerbates its coercive potential, as the target’s response is driven by an unspoken but palpable pressure to restore equilibrium.

In intimate relationships, sulking often exploits preexisting power imbalances. For instance, societal norms often socialize women to prioritize relational caretaking, making them more susceptible to emotional manipulation. This can compel women to prioritize relational harmony over their own autonomy. A sulking partner may implicitly frame their mood as the responsibility of the other, creating a dynamic in which non-compliance equates to failing in one’s role as a caretaker or partner. The pressure to appease the sulker is thus not merely interpersonal but also deeply tied to gendered expectations and cultural scripts about relational roles (Patwardhan 2024, 362). Moreover, sulking can intersect with other forms of systemic coercion, such as economic or social pressures. For instance, a financially dependent partner may feel compelled to acquiesce to the sulker’s demands out of fear of losing support, even if those demands are not explicitly stated.

The Moral and Legal Challenges of Categorizing Sulking as Rape

While sulking is morally problematic, categorizing it as rape presents substantial challenges. The intuitive pushback arises from the incongruity between the act and traditional notions of rape. Three key critiques highlight these difficulties:

1. Issues with Minimum Sentencing
   Even in the least punitive states, rape convictions mandate a minimum sentence of three years (Eskew Law n.d.). Characterizing sulking as a rape offense deserving of a prison sentence of at least three years appears excessively punitive. While sulking manipulates autonomy, its impact differs significantly from physical violence or overt threats. Thus, applying such a severe penalty to this behavior seems disproportionate. Legal scholars often emphasize proportionality in sentencing as central to maintaining public confidence in the criminal justice system (Ashworth 2015, 102-103). Punishments that appear excessive for what are perceived to be morally ambiguous behaviors risk delegitimizing the law and eroding trust in its judgments.
2. Chilling Effect on Sexual Relationships
   If sulking after being denied sexual activity could lead to legal consequences, individuals might avoid expressing desires or initiating intimacy altogether. This could create a sanitized dynamic, where natural relational expressions are stifled by fear of legal repercussions. Vicki Schultz’s analysis of overregulation in The Sanitized Workplace Revisited provides a useful parallel. Schultz argues that excessive focus on eliminating ambiguous forms of misconduct can create a sterile environment that discourages natural human interaction and reinforces managerial control (Schultz 2009). Applied to intimate relationships, overregulation might stifle communication and spontaneity, paradoxically undermining the very autonomy the law seeks to protect.
3. Political Resistance
   Labeling sulking as rape may provoke significant political resistance, potentially undermining the feminist movement’s broader objectives. Historical precedents, such as the feminist anti-pornography campaigns of the 1980s, illustrate this risk. These campaigns, which sought to ban pornography, faced substantial backlash from civil liberties advocates and segments of the public who viewed them as overreaching and infringing on free speech. This failure to garner widespread support not only hindered the anti-pornography efforts but also led to a delegitimization of feminist concerns in the public eye (Basiliere 2009). Similarly, redefining sulking as rape might alienate potential allies and provide ammunition to critics who argue that feminism seeks to impose excessive moral regulations on personal behavior, thereby stalling progress toward gender equality.

Addressing Minimum Sentencing Concerns

To address the disproportionate impact of rape sentencing on cases of sulking, two primary options emerge. First, the law could lower minimum sentences for all rape cases and allow softer punishments for cases of sulking. This solution would grant judges greater discretion. However, research consistently shows that increased judicial discretion exacerbates racial disparities in sentencing. A fact sheet by the Sentencing Project found that Black defendants are more likely to receive harsher penalties than their white counterparts when judges have wide latitude in sentencing decisions (Nellis 2024). This solution risks perpetuating systemic inequities in the justice system. A more promising approach involves creating subcategories within rape law or introducing a new non-felony, legal classification, such as “psychological coercion.” Sulking would then fall under a lesser offense, with penalties proportionate to the harm caused. This could involve more restorative forms of retribution, such as individual therapy or advocacy work. This solution would ensure that sentencing is reflective of the actual crime committed. However, while this approach addresses concerns of proportionality, it might not resolve the chilling effect and only partially relieves the potential backlash against the movement. Additionally, by relegating psychologically coercive behaviors like sulking to a lesser offense, the law implicitly affirms a hierarchy of violations in which the psychological autonomy of victims—disproportionately women and marginalized genders—remains secondary to the physical.

Addressing Chilling Effect Concerns

In response to concerns about the chilling effect, a conservative reaction might argue that the chilling effect on sexual relationships is desirable, as it reduces the likelihood of ambiguous consent. From this perspective, erring on the side of caution ensures that potentially coercive interactions are minimized, protecting vulnerable individuals from harm. For instance, if individuals are discouraged from pressuring their partners after rejection, instances of coercion would theoretically decrease. However, this response neglects the broader implications for autonomy and equality. Vicki Schultz critiques overregulation for reinforcing other forms of control rather than promoting substantive equality. Schultz argues that focusing narrowly on eliminating sexual misconduct often diverts attention from addressing systemic inequalities. This approach emphasizes punitive measures that consolidate authority to those in power, allowing them to dictate behavior without tackling broader inequities that perpetuate inequality (Schultz 2009).

In intimate relationships, similar overregulation could lead to disproportionate targeting of marginalized groups. Expanding legal definitions of coercion risks entrenching existing disparities in the justice system, where minorities are more likely to be accused, prosecuted, and convicted. For example, subjective behaviors like sulking could be interpreted through cultural or racial stereotypes, intensifying discrimination. By prioritizing overly broad legal standards, the focus shifts away from addressing the structural power imbalances that make individuals vulnerable to coercion in the first place. This parallels Schultz’s concern that overregulation creates a veneer of protection while neglecting deeper inequalities, perpetuating harm instead of fostering genuine autonomy and justice. Additionally, the chilling effect undermines relational spontaneity and open communication, essential components of healthy intimacy. If individuals fear that expressing disappointment could be construed as coercion, they may withdraw from relationships altogether, fostering isolation and mistrust.

Addressing Political Resistance Concerns

One response to concerns about political resistance is to assert that backlash, though inevitable in the pursuit of transformative change, is not intrinsically harmful and may even function as a catalyst for critical societal conversations. A defender might argue that focusing excessively on the potential for backlash risks paralyzing progress by prioritizing public comfort over necessary moral and legal reform. They might caution that if feminist activists avoid advancing policies out of fear of opposition, this could set a dangerous precedent, freezing the movement altogether and ultimately causing greater harm than the backlash itself.

However, criminalizing sulking presents distinct risks of backlash, setting it apart from other feminist reforms by challenging entrenched notions of what constitutes criminal behavior. Many people view sulking as an unpleasant but natural part of emotional conflict rather than a coercive act warranting legal scrutiny (Hardecker 2022,389-391). This policy, by appearing to conflate psychological discomfort with systemic harm, could fuel narratives that feminism seeks to micromanage personal interactions. This could provoke not only resistance from traditional opponents of feminism but also substantial pushback from moderates who may view the policy as trivializing genuine oppression and detracting from the movement’s efforts to address more concrete systemic injustices. Moreover, this backlash is particularly concerning because it is likely to emerge from groups that traditionally align with feminist causes. For instance, advocates of mental health awareness might oppose the policy, arguing that it stigmatizes emotional expression or punishes individuals for poorly managing interpersonal conflicts. Such resistance from within feminist-aligned communities uniquely undermines the broader feminist movement by eroding its coalitions and credibility in ways that typical backlash against feminist policy does not. 

4. Conclusion

The feminist movement’s push to expand the legal definition of rape to include psychological coercion reflects a commendable moral impulse to address the multifaceted nature of sexual violence. It seeks to elevate lived experiences of autonomy violations and to challenge deeply ingrained societal norms that have historically dismissed or minimized such harms. However, as this essay has argued, the transition from moral recognition to legal codification is fraught with significant challenges that undermine the practicality and effectiveness of this approach. The inherent tension between morality and legality in this context is both unavoidable and necessary.

From a moral perspective, broadening the understanding of rape to encompass psychological coercion aligns with contemporary values of justice, equality, and autonomy. It addresses systemic power imbalances and acknowledges the subtle, often invisible ways in which coercion operates, particularly within intimate relationships. The ethical case for recognizing psychological coercion as rape is powerful because it emphasizes the importance of dismantling structures that perpetuate gendered vulnerabilities and relational imbalances. Yet, this moral clarity does not translate seamlessly into legal application.

The practical limitations of the legal system to accommodate this expanded definition present a compelling argument against its immediate adoption. The perceived ambiguity of psychological coercion—manifesting through behaviors like sulking or emotional manipulation—undermines proportionality in sentencing, imposes a chilling effect on intimate relationships, and risks undermining other feminist goals. Overregulation could inadvertently harm the very individuals it seeks to protect. Expanding legal standards without addressing systemic inequalities within the justice system risks perpetuating biases against marginalized groups. Legal interventions must be cautious not to entrench existing disparities or create new ones, especially when dealing with behaviors as contextually nuanced as psychological coercion. The feminist vision for justice must consider the broader implications of its legal strategies, ensuring that efforts to expand protections do not come at the cost of relational spontaneity, open communication, or systemic equity.

Ultimately, the disconnection between morality and legality in this instance is not a failure of principle but a recognition of the limitations inherent in legal frameworks. Laws must be enforceable, consistent, and proportionate, qualities that the inclusion of psychological coercion as rape currently challenges. Legal standards demand clarity and universality to ensure fair application, yet psychological coercion often resides in the subjective and relational dynamics of human behavior, making it difficult to codify without risking inconsistent or overbroad enforcement. This does not diminish the moral harm such coercion can inflict but highlights the need for distinct approaches in addressing it.

Rather than forcing psychological coercion into the constraints of legal categorization, efforts should pivot toward recognizing and addressing it as a moral issue. Moral advocacy is well-suited to illuminate the ways in which coercive behaviors undermine autonomy and foster harmful power dynamics. One way to achieve this emphasis on psychological coercion as a moral issue is by focusing on education. By shifting the focus to education, societal norms around relationships and consent could be reshaped without the risks of overreaching legal frameworks. For example, comprehensive educational programs in schools and workplaces could emphasize the ethical dimensions of healthy relationships, fostering a culture that rejects coercive behaviors without necessitating criminal sanctions. By emphasizing education, society can cultivate a culture that rejects coercion and prioritizes autonomy, without the challenges of enforcing such norms through the legal system. This approach complements legal efforts to address tangible harms while allowing moral discourse to address the subtleties of human relationships, advancing the broader goals of feminist advocacy.

In conclusion, the feminist objective of redefining rape to encompass psychological coercion represents a necessary moral evolution in how society understands sexual violence. Yet, the challenges of translating this expanded definition into the legal realm demonstrate the need for a nuanced approach that balances moral ideals with the pragmatic demands of justice. By maintaining a deliberate separation between morality and legality in this context, society can better navigate the complexities of addressing psychological coercion while preserving the integrity of legal institutions and relational dynamics.