This post first appeared October 30, 2007.

So the discussion is spirited (if inclined to the anti-feminist ad hominem) below yesterday’s post on marriage and feminism. One anti-feminist does ask a question that deserves a better answer than I’ve given so far:

You’re in a “passionately feminist marriage”? What does that even mean?

I gave my “row boat” description yesterday, and I’ve written before about the central importance of Ephesians 5:21 and the appealing notion of “mutual submission.” I’m aware, of course, that different people have different visions of what equality looks like. Many who do like the comfort of strict gender roles insist that their marriages also reflect equality, arguing that “equality doesn’t equal sameness.” I’ve seen some of those marriages, seen how they thrive, and I don’t disagree that they can be wonderful. And as we’ve discussed recently around here, it’s possible to have healthy, loving marriages in which BDSM plays an important role. That’s not my vision of domestic bliss, but there’s certainly more than one path to marital happiness.

But what do I mean when I say my marriage is “passionately feminist”? In the eyes of the anti-feminists, that may conjure up an image of a timid and fearful Hugo, walking on eggshells around his domineering wife, asking her permission for everything. Anti-feminists tend to think that any man who embraces real egalitarianism has essentially been emasculated, and has surrendered his capacity for action to his wife. Or perhaps they imagine that we have a little dry erase board in the kitchen, on which we keep track of how much time each of us has spent on domestic duties, in order to ensure that each of us is putting in precisely the same amount of effort as the other. And God only knows what the anti-feminists imagine about our bedroom. Perhaps they imagine my wife is some sort of dominatrix, or that our sexual behavior precludes penis-in-vagina intercourse, as that would indicate our acceptance of the “hegemony of the phallus.” Jeepers, the mind boggles at the possibilities!

So if none of that silliness is true, what is explicitly feminist about this marriage? For me, feminism is both a political ideology and a guideline for private praxis. (Similarly, my Christian faith gives me a “public theology” and a private moral code.) As my beloved brother says, we’re all called to “match our language and our lives”. Fighting for justice and inclusion in the world while being a domineering jerk at home is to have missed the point entirely. Obviously, my wife and I have a private life that is not open for public inspection. But even in our most intimate moments, even in the sacred space of our bedroom, we’re called to act in a way that is congruent with our values. Continue reading →

This post originally appeared in February 2007.

Jill and Jessica posted a little card with a graph (click on their names to see what I mean) that nicely illustrates the ancient double-standard about “studs”, “sluts” and the number of sexual partners it takes each sex to earn those very different labels.

In various ways, I’ve written about how we think about our sexual pasts. See here, for example, or here, or here. (Read them all, you might see a chronological evolution in my thinking.)

I’ve mentioned this before, but I have dear friends of both sexes whose sexual experience is enormously varied. I have two male buddies, both dear to me, who have each had but one partner: the woman to whom they are now married. I have two other buddies, also dear to me, whose “numbers” are reliably well into the triple digits. (One, who has finally settled down into happy monogamy, knows his exact number, and shares it so often I am tempted to greet him with “What’s up, Mr. 119?” The other friend has at least three times that many, and has long since lost count. He, unlike most of the rest of us who are committed these days, is still out there working his shtick. His number climbs inexorably higher.)

I have no intention of disclosing my number here. It’s obviously more than 1, and it’s less than my buddy’s 119, and I’m not going to so much as hint at where it stands. (I am happy to say it hasn’t moved in many years, and Lord willing, it never will.) I will say that I see no evidence that my straight, heterosexual friends who have an exhaustive catalogue of experience with different women have learned much about relationships or love as a result; I can say that my friends who have had rich and varied experiences with the same woman have taught me far more about how to be a loving husband. That doesn’t mean that an abundance of experience is automatically an impediment to intimacy, mind you! It just means that an abundance of experience doesn’t automatically lead to wisdom or sensitivity, either.

I only post today because I have a few folks in my life — of both sexes — who have told me recently that they wish that their number was higher. They daydream, from time to time, about what it would have been like to take more risks and more chances when they were younger and single. And I have other friends, again of both sexes, who still struggle with some shame around their number (dear Mr. 119 is not among them), wishing that it were lower, wishing that they could have some “do-overs” that would reduce the overall sum. I am happy to say that I am in neither camp.

Two categories of folks earn my rebuke. First those, like one of my friends above, who view their ever-growing number with pride. I don’t need my strong Christian faith to tell me that using other human beings to boost one’s ego is adolescent at best, pathetically narcissistic at worst.

Second, I have little patience with those who cling to the nasty, archaic slut/stud dichotomy, and use a woman’s “number” to try to shame her. One clear sign that a boy has failed to develop into a man: an obsessive focus on his girlfriend’s past lovers. Probing questions, pleas for reassurance, passive-aggressive displays of judgment and anxiety — these are indefensible. To quote myself:

A true lover can say, “Before there was an ‘us’, there was a ‘you’ and a ‘me’, and I will never use what you did in the past against you. I honor your right to have lived the life you chose to live before we were together, and I ask that you honor my right to my past as well.” True love focuses on the joy of the present and a shared commitment to the future; it seldom dwells on the past.

…from a spiritual standpoint, there’s a huge difference between holding oneself to a high standard and expecting that same standard from everyone else. A good Christian might well desire to be a virgin on his or her wedding night; it doesn’t follow that a good Christian has a right to demand that his or her spouse have an equally low level of sexual experience.