This post first appeared in January 2006, and it reflects a more conservative view than I now hold today.

I’ve generally held in recent years that sex outside of the context of "commitment" falls short of both a feminist and a Christian mark.  Several of my secular feminist allies (and MRA opponents) take issue with that conclusion, and others expressed some curiosity about what it was I meant by "commitment" — an admittedly pliable term that can be used to describe a very wide variety of arrangements.

I see sexual  "commitments" as appearing on a ladder — or a hierarchical continuum — rather in a simple dichotomy.  The most basic commitments we make are to certain principles that do not create obligations to one specific person.  The obvious example here is the commitment to be honest.  Even the most enthusiastic defenders of a relaxed sexual ethic tend to be firm proponents of the honesty principle, and the moral obligation to be clear with one’s partner(s) about one’s intentions and expectations.

But rising up the "commitment" ladder, we encounter other essential virtues. Here, the commitments shift from being general principles that help us deal with the world (like honesty), and become more focused on the person with whom we are sharing physical intimacy.  The obvious components of a commitment here are concern for a specific  partner’s pleasure, safety, and emotional well-being.  Again, most of my friends who believe that non-monogamous sexual relationships can be ethical stress that in their encounters and exchanges, they take responsibility for these things too.

I would never suggest that caring and concern only manifest themselves in enduring monogamous relationships.  It is theoretically possible to be kind to and honest with any number of people at the same time; I’ve seen it done, often with aplomb.  But despite recognizing the possibility for virtue in the transitory, the fleeting, and even the promiscuous, I’m convinced that all such relationships fail to reach the highest level on the ladder of commitment.

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These days, since becoming a father and moving to West Los Angeles, I get a lot less rest than I was once wont to. (HCRS has been restless at night again, and I spend two hours a day commuting, a significant increase from the ten minutes I enjoyed until June.) As a result, by Thursdays, I’m usually so sleep-deprived that my cognitive abilities are mildly compromised. I have no intention of complaining about my joy-filled life, but will say that at times, such as this morning, I sit down to write at the computer and my brain simply goes blank. I gots nothin’. So, another reprint, this one from July 2007:

A reader named “Bob” writes:

I’m wondering though what you think about the concept of sexual frequency “normalcy” in marriage or committed relationships. In other words, if one partner has a higher sex drive than the other, what are the responsibilities (if any) of one to the other?

But how does a feminist feel about this? What do you do (if anything should be done) about unequal libido within a committed relationship? As the partner with a higher drive in my marriage, I constantly question my desires. Am I too dependent on my wife for sexual fulfillment? Maybe I should show more restraint as an independent person and a Christ follower. Perhaps this is my thorn in my flesh, a test from God. But then the Christian ideal of marriage seems to say much of “two becoming one,” some kind of mysterious interdependence, or even a combined identity. To have two different ideals of sexual unity, or any other ideal for that matter, seems counterproductive to the married unit.

Obviously, my first recommendation to Bob and his wife is that they seek counseling. That doesn’t mean I’m pathologizing his wife’s low sex drive or Bob’s more boisterous one. I am a great believer, however, in the marvelous progress that can be made with a good marital therapist. There are increasing numbers of Christians who work as marital therapists, and they integrate spiritual and psychological insights very effectively. Most married couples could benefit from a periodic therapeutic “tune-up”, even if no burning problem seems to be presenting itself.

Too often, we do tend to over-analyze incongruent libidos. It’s a staple of pop psychology that the partner with the lower drive is “repressed” or perhaps dealing with abuse issues from his or her childhood. Similarly, we often assume that the partner with the stronger drive is emotionally needy, or someone who seeks to soothe their anxiety and stress through sexual activity rather than a more appropriate outlet. Too often, partners can get into a tail-spin; the more the one with the higher drive presses, the more the one with the lower drive resists. The one with the higher drive feels neglected, unattractive, anxiety-ridden, frustrated; the one with the lower drive feels pressured, nagged, frustrated. Most people who’ve been in long-term relationships can recognize themselves in one (or both) of those roles!

It is by no means always the case in heterosexual marriages that it is always the man with the lower sex drive. But that’s Bob’s situation, and that matches up with our stereotype, so I’ll say a little about it here. I’m not going to rehash the great and mysterious words of Paul in 1 Corinthians 7. I will note that the New International Version says:

The husband should fulfill his marital duty to his wife, and likewise the wife to her husband.

In the context of a chapter on marital sex, that does make clear that a married couple do have sexual obligations to each other. But it would be a huge mistake to assume that Paul means that the lower-drive partner must always acquiesce to the one who’s hornier. I like how the Message version handles this same passage:

The marriage bed must be a place of mutuality—the husband seeking to satisfy his wife, the wife seeking to satisfy her husband. Marriage is not a place to “stand up for your rights.” Marriage is a decision to serve the other, whether in bed or out.

That’s really good, especially the bit about marriage not being a place to “stand up for your rights.” The mystery lies in how we each serve the other without ever insisting on those rights. For the higher-sexed person to demand that his or her partner provide sex on some sort of a schedule is clearly not what Paul is suggesting. At the same time, each partner is called to be deeply concerned with the well-being of the other — and of the partnership itself. That concern will manifest itself in the higher-sexed partner practicing self-control, not only in terms of physical restriction but also by refraining from nagging and pestering. The higher-sexed partner can’t come from a place of entitlement. Continue reading →

From December 2006:

I want to get back to the topic of teaching and self-confidence. In yesterday’s post, I cited an article that claimed that 94% of University of Nebraska faculty considered themselves to be “better than average” teachers when compared to their colleagues. If the word “average” is to have any meaning at all, somethin’ must be wrong with their self-assessment. Even if the best teachers in the world are all to be found in Lincoln, it’s still more or less impossible for 94% to be “above average.”

In the comments, Sally writes

That’s really interesting, because I have a friend who does teaching evaluations at her university, and she says that grad student teachers consistently underestimate how good they are. She says that grad students will claim to be utter disasters in the classroom, and then when she comes and observes their teaching, they’re perfectly fine, if not particularly exceptional. I wonder if something changes between the grad student and professor levels?

Well, I know something sure changed for me between the grad school and professorial levels! My first teaching experience happened in the spring quarter, 1991. I was TA-ing a Classics survey course at UCLA. Before meeting my first section, I went to the bathroom in Bunche Hall and threw up; I was overcome with terror. I was not-quite 24, and though I had years of background in drama and was the son of two college professors, I felt like an utter fraud who was about to be exposed. And in my first few quarters of TA-ing, I had some awful moments that left me despondent. I would not have ranked myself highly, back in the day. So yeah, one’s confidence grows with time.

I’d also say that the degree to which one worries about being liked diminishes with time, and that helps. When I was a TA — or even in my first few years here at the college — most of my students were only a few years younger than I. I saw them as slightly junior peers, and it’s generally the case that we are particularly anxious to win approval from our peers. Being liked, being perceived as competent, being thought interesting; all of these were wrapped up together. Today, I am still very much concerned with being competent, and I am hopeful that I am still found interesting — but the anxiety about winning approval has dropped. And I find that the less anxious I am about winning approval, the more likely I am to have self-confidence. Part of self-confidence, at least for me, is rooted in a sense of one’s own skills; it’s also rooted in a willingness to be unaffected by the capricious judgments of others. Continue reading →