Yet here we are again, disqualifying a possible White House aspirant because he couldn’t keep his pants on. After two decades of high-level political sex scandals, we seem to have reached a consensus that marital fidelity is actually pretty important in a leader. Given the choice, we would prefer peace and prosperity to presidential rectitude. But we really want all three, and we think we can have them.

Call it residual puritanism or an overdose of religion if you want, but most Americans think wedding vows are not to be disdained. In recent decades, sexual mores have gotten considerably more relaxed, with one major exception: extramarital affairs. A 2009 Gallup poll found that 92 percent of us think adultery is “morally wrong”—which presumably means there are a lot more people who commit it than defend it. Only 40 percent of Americans think premarital sex is morally wrong, and only 47 percent say that of homosexual relations.

So Barney Frank’s career survived his romp with a male prostitute, while John Edwards’ fling with a campaign aide made him politically radioactive. Sex without marriage is OK. Sex in violation of marriage is not.

Why not? Because adultery, unlike a frisky bachelor lifestyle, connotes a reckless dishonesty at odds with our basic notions of integrity. Because it shows a lack of respect for the most important commitment that most of us will ever make. Because it indicates that the adulterer will always place his selfish desires above those who depend on him.

There is a cost to this approach, obviously. It disqualifies some smart, dedicated, and able people merely because they suffer a single flaw—and one that apparently is pretty common among the politically ambitious.

[…]

Americans think those elected to positions of public trust should have enough regard for the public to conduct themselves in an honest, upright way even in matters unrelated to their official duties.

Is it naive of us to believe that a politician who keeps his commitments to his wife will also keep his commitments to us? Probably. But not as naive as thinking that if he betrays her, he’ll treat us any better.

Why Adultery is Political Suicide: Lessons from the Sanford affair - Reason Magazine

squashed:

Rachel Hills linked to an NPR story about dating, sex, and hooking up.

The story (which is an intersting read) argues that the increasingly popular (and theoretically committment-free) hookup has largely supplanted dating among single twenty-somethings. The hookup is supposed to be a about self-indulgent fun. Dating, presumably, would focus on a relationship and eventually marriage.

Rachel (correctly and insightfully) points out that none of this is particularly new. (Follow the link to her full comments, which are, as always, worth reading). The generational trappings have changed, but whether the year is 2009, 1969, or 1925, you have a lot of boys and girls seeking pleasure in eachother’s company, and frequently doing things that would shock their parents. This is nothing new—and it certainly needn’t induce a moral panic. The sexual mores have changed in the last century, but otherwise things are more or less the same.

And yet…

But I like a bit of moral panic, so let me offer a contrasting view to Rachel’s. I think that opportunity cost of a self-centered hookup culture (or forty years ago, dating culture) is intimacy and a chance at meaningful relationships.

(In full disclosure, I’ve never been very high on hedonism. Even my youthful fantasies tended toward staying up all night talking philosophy.That Star Trek “go where no man has gone before” mandate that has caused so many problems for so many people did not manifest itself in me sexually—though I certainly wanted to be remembered. The trail of carnage, while different in form, was not particularly diminished in severity. The hookup always struck me as an inferior and rather pointless bond. When reading my thoughts on the matter, bear in mind that I may be defective.)

Yet despite the purportedly casual nature of the hookup, it isn’t an emotional get out of jail free card. The promise of intimacy without emotional consequence is frequently a lie. All sorts of neurochemical things go on during sex, and I worry that anybody who can fully shrug that all off has lost touch with some critical bit of human vulnerability. People inadvertently bond physically and emotionally. Do you think ripping those bonds apart won’t hurt?

At least, that’s what I want to believe, because the alternative seems a lot worse. Have we successfully removed intimacy from sex? Is a hookup simply consequence-free physical exchange that makes two people feel good for a night before they get on with their unaltered lives and forget eachother? Is the human connection gone? Are we comfortable being so forgettable? If we’re merely looking for pleasure in convenient packages, have we considered heroin?

But beyond this, I think the casual hookup screws with our expectations. Since there is no expectation of commitment, the whole exercise becomes self-serving. People become objectified because we are primarily interested in them as objects. Do we care what they think so long as we get what we want? Perhaps to a limited extent—but isn’t caring sort of discouraged when hooking up? What’s been accomplished? Are we proud of ourselves? (Maybe.) Have we soothed an ego in need of affirmation? (Probably—though basing our self-worth on whose willing to have casual sex with us is itself a psychological red flag). Has anything gotten lost in the process?

Is love too old fashioned a word? Is it too moralistic to hope that the bedrock of our relationships is what we can give, not what we can take away? The camping motto, leave only footprints, take only memories, works well enough for the wilderness, but I want more out of a relationship.

Courtship?

Some more conservative, generally-religious subcultures have rejected the hooking-up and dating culture entirely. They offer a “courtship” model instead. The basic form at first looks almost avant garde in its rigid adherence to antiquated forms. The man asks the girl’s father for permission to court his daughter. The whole relationship becomes a community affair. I would normally laud a movement that hearkens back to a more arbitrary and frankly Victorian ethic as a brilliant counter-cultural move. It’s like a declaration that we’ve found the contemporary norm lacking and, longing for some sort of structure, we’ve affected an earlier era, as imperfect as it may be. Except that it’s not really countercultural. Its proponents don’t seem to realize that there’s anything weird about it or that maybe some of the Victorian mores were left behind for a reason.

The courting couple endeavors to discern whether or not they should get married. There’s something appealing in a form that deliberately looks toward the future rather than getting lost in the present. But it leads to some creepily high pressure situations. You met somebody a few weeks ago and suddenly you’re trying to decide whether you should get married? Perhaps you should try to decide whether you enjoy eachother’s company first. And what happens when the answer is, “No. Getting married is a bad plan. We’re just not compatible.” Theoretically, such a clear answer should mark a successful courtship. Afterall, you’ve mutually arrived at a decision that could save you a lot of heartbreak. Now you can be friends. No regrets. Except … it doesn’t generally go down so smoothly.

And focusing exclusively on the serious business of choosing a life-partner is sort of a buzz kill. While the hookup model focuses on the hedonistic present, categorically denying any thought of the future, the courtship model denies the legitimacy of immediate desire to look exclusively at the future. While the immediate desires  of the young and in love can be tempered, categorical denial tends not to go so smoothly. Falling in love is exciting because it is wild and unpredictable. It makes you do stupid things. A couple can try to follow a rigid set of rules to keep things orderly and under control. But love isn’t a rational thing, and it’s a mistake to pretend it should be. A deliberate, intentional, and purposeful approach to romance is like a deliberate, intentional, and purposeful approach to winter shopping cart racing. It’s a thrill. Enjoy it.

Perhaps the biggest issue with this courtship model is that it tends to sublimate the individual to standard expectations. It insists that there is a specific, correct way for a relationship to proceed. In a way, it becomes the twisted mirror image of the model it is reacting to. Just as the hookup forbids emotional attachment, the courtship model insists you not be swept away by the moment. Despite our best efforts, we form emotional attachments. We get swept away. The rigid, formulaic approach fails. By trying to protect ourselves from the emotional consequences of love, we miss the point.

So what, then?

I don’t know. If I had any answers on how to handle relationships, I would write a book and retire young. (Incidentally, if you want to give me a contract to write on the topic, I’ll make up some answers. Nobody will notice the difference. Relationships don’t obey books. My book is tentatively titled I Kicked Joshua Harris in the Teeth.) I do know that we shouldn’t expect our relationships to be simple or predictable. Getting to know somebody in a meaningful way requires a lot of vulnerability. That isn’t a bad thing. Love is a messy business.

reform:

This week on “I’m a celebrity get me out of here” Stephen Baldwin talked about why his charity choice is Love146. He asked the question “how far would you go if this was your child?”

For me, this question was answered by the fact that I’m actually watching a reality show about celebrities camping in the jungle.

All joking aside, the longer Stephen stays the more awareness and funds will come. Within the first hour that Stephen mentioned us on NBC we received 5,000 hits on our website. We have also seen donations come in over the past two days from people saying they heard about us through Stephen.

This reality show is definitely not something I would normally tune in to but we are grateful to Stephen and each of you spreading the word for joining the collective shout.

I think of the girl that returned to our safehome this week. She has no idea that her life is being affected by people in the US watching a TV show. I think of all the children who will never know sex slavery because our prevention programs are being funded by people hearing about Love146 through Stephen Baldwin. You know, there are weird things that happen in the world everyday and there are some deeply beautiful things as well, and then there’s a reality TV show that’s bringing them both together.

Thanks friends,

Desirea | Love146

Wow, this is very cool.

I was driving home late the other night, flipping stations, and I ended up listening to Loveline–a syndicated radio show that claims to focus on relationship issues, but seems to revolve primarily around sex. I tuned in right as a Canadian girl called in. She told them that, due to her religious beliefs, she considered sex before marriage a sin; however, she admitted to enjoying just about every sexual act short of actual intercourse. She also observed that every time she fooled around, it coincided with being drunk. During the entire description, she was cracking jokes about alcohol and her sexual activities.

The psychologist host of the show, Dr. Drew–most definitely not a Christian–ripped into the caller for her blase attitude towards her drinking habits and her sexual activity. Here’s a rough paraphrase of his reaction to her, off the top of my head:

Do you want help or not? You clearly have an alcohol problem here, which is a serious issue, and you’re crapping on that by making jokes. You’re also crapping on your religious beliefs. You’ve admitted that your drinking habits are what get you into situation where you compromise your religious beliefs, and you aren’t taking this seriously. Now, do you want help or not? [She answers yes]

OK. Now, I believe that if you [crude description of intercourse] then that’s considered sex–that you’ve lost your virginity. And all this technical getting-around-it is bogus. I’m pretty sure that when the guys in the Bible were writing these rules, they weren’t sitting around a whiteboard with diagrams of body parts, deciding which were allowed to touch and which part could go where. They had no idea what kinds of things people these days would come up to rationalize away their behavior into a technicality. The point of those rules was chastity.

As I listened, my jaw dropped. This guy nailed it–and he, as an unbeliever, nailed a supposed Christian to the wall on her rationalizing away actions that directly violated her professed beliefs.

Five minutes later they were onto another caller, discussing his propensity to scour local bars for transsexuals. But for 2 minutes I observed him speaking Truth by a common grace.

The following is from a NYT story about coping with prostate cancer. Writes Kevin DeYoung: “A story like this doesn’t have ‘blockbuster romantic comedy’ written all over it. But it’s the most touching, hopeful, honest, and moving piece of romantic sentiment I’ve come across in quite some time.”

These days, I epitomize the “in sickness” part of the wedding vows that Deb and I took back in 1981. Since we learned last April that I have prostate cancer, I’ve had my prostate removed, found out that the cancer was shockingly aggressive, undergone a 33-session course of radiation and am finishing up hormone therapy.

Right now, I’m not quite what you’d call “a catch.” I wear man-pads for intermittent incontinence, I’m a bazaar of scars, and haven’t had a full erection in seven months. Most nights, I’m in bed by 10. The Lupron hormone shots, which suppress the testosterone that can fuel prostate cancer, have sent my sex drive lower than the stock market, shrunken my testicles, and given me hot flashes so fierce that I sweat outdoors when it’s 20 degrees and snowing.

Even so, Deb has taught me that love is in the details. Humid professions of undying love and tear-stained sonnets are all well and good, but they can’t compete with the earthy love of Deb helping me change and drain my catheter pouches each day when I first came home from the hospital.

Yes, in the details. She measured my urine, peered into places I couldn’t (literally and figuratively), and strategically and liberally applied baby powder, ice and Aquaphor to my raw and aching body. She battled our intractable insurer, networked, tracked down the right doctors — and took thorough notes all the while.

I was wounded. She protected me. She chose to do these things.

Deb and I have been married for 27 years, have two sons (22 and 19), and have ridden the usual Ferris wheel that comes with a long marriage. But our love for each other has deepened in this time of prostate cancer.

We talk more often about the life we’ve built together, about sex and money, about the joy we take in our sons, about the uncertain future. When cancer moves in, there’s nothing you and your spouse can’t talk about.

Our love has been seasoned with a bitter pinch of mortality, and the classic quarrels of marriage hold little power over us anymore. When I say to Deb, “I love you,” I mean it. And when she responds, “I love you more,” she means it, too. We understand that time, perhaps, is not on our side.

Time, we are told, will give us our sex life back. As I said, the hormone shots have shut down my sex drive. And my poor penis is still in recovery — from the surgery and the radiation. But as we wait, I’ll tell you this: Love abides.

Yes, yes and yes — lust is essential. But right now, sex seems quaint, old-fashioned. Oddly enough, it can’t compete with the depth and gravity of a light touch, a sly glance. I’m in the mood for the Beatles and “I Want to Hold Your Hand,” not Grace Jones growling, “Pull up to my bumper, baby.”

Don’t get me wrong. I really, really like sex. But given a choice between the mere biology of lust and the deep soul of love, I’ll take love. My body has changed — but my doctors say my libido will be warming up again before I know it. Deb understands, and we’ve adapted.

Deb’s love is one to live up to, one to reciprocate. Who else is going to snuggle up to me on the couch, smile, listen — and nod knowingly — as I complain about my hot flashes?
In the long shadow of prostate cancer, I’ve learned that I married the right woman.