Which kind of cheating is worse? And why?

A lot of us have seen the statistic that men, on the whole, worry more about sexual infidelity in relationships while women worry more about emotional infidelity. (I’m writing this real quick-like in the middle of studying, so I can’t be bothered to look up a citation… perhaps some commenter can oblige, or I’ll edit it in later.) This statistic is usually explained by the evo-psych theory that men’s great reproductive danger was being duped into raising another man’s genetic offspring, while a women’s great reproductive danger was losing her mate’s financial support for herself and her children.

This theory irks me for a number of reasons: the most rational being that it assumes that basically modern gendered family roles were present in the environment men and women evolved in. It assumes monogamous pair-bonding with the female dependent on the males’ support; if you’re having trouble imagining any other possibility, consider a small, close tribal community where resources are shared fairly equally among the whole tribe, as opposed to won and hoarded by a particular nuclear family unit. Consider an economy based largely on foraging, where women’s childbearing role would not hamper them from obtaining resources nearly as much as in a more labor-intensive agricultural economy. The “men evolved to be sexually jealous to ensure their hard-won resources nourished their own offspring” idea makes little sense if human brains evolved in such communities, as does “women evolved to be emotionally jealous to ensure their mates’ continued provision.”

An alternative theory is based on our culture’s intense conditioning of males and females around sexuality and emotion. Men are taught from an early age that being highly emotional is unacceptable. While women are allowed to cuddle and form intimate emotional bonds in many kinds of relationships (with family, with friends, with children), men’s sole source of both affectionate touch and emotional intimacy is in the sex act. For this reason, I think it’s often misleading to make a distinction between men’s sexual and emotional needs: very often the two are conflated, because our culture deems non-sexual emotional needs as “unmanly.”

From the women’s side, we are socialized to view male sexuality as rampant and uncontrollable: that a man will have sex every chance he gets, and with as many women as he can, is often viewed as natural and inevitable. And from that standpoint, it is likely to be much more forgivable. Men’s sexuality, in our culture, is cheap: easy to gain access to, and thus less valuable and less jealously guarded. Men’s emotional commitment and intimacy, on the other hand, is rare and difficult to obtain (see the above paragraph). Therefore for a woman’s male partner to give emotional intimacy to someone else is a much higher violation than for him to give sexual intimacy. (I use the word “give” as opposed to “share” deliberately: the idea that intimacy of either kind is a commodity is fundamental to the very idea of infidelity, so it seems logical to use that language even though it’s contrary to my own philosophy.)

In my view, our cultural constructions of gender, and particularly the severe suppression and distortion of male’s emotional selves, is entirely sufficient to explain the “women are more worried about emotional infidelity, men are more worried about sexual infidelity” statistic. Problematic and possibly counterfactual evo-psych theories are, in this case, superfluous.

Bonding, commitment, and exclusivity

Sometimes the blogging stars are aligned… you have a text message conversation with your best friend about something, then you read a blog touching on the same subject, then you read another blog where someone’s asking for advice on the exact same thing. And you think to yourself, “I guess that’s what I’m writing about today.”

When I first started dating Shaun, and was explaining polyamory to my friend, many of them had a similar reaction: “How can you be happy with someone who will never commit to you?” One friend asked if he would ever consider getting married, to which my response was, “Why not?” To their minds, the idea of a nonexclusive sexual relationship was incompatible with the idea of long-term love and commitment. Marriage, in our culture, is usually understood as a commitment to a) love and care for one another for the rest of our lives and b) not be romantically or sexually involved with anybody else.

It doesn’t have to be that way. The first blog I read this morning, a nice overview of the biology of love, mentions that prairie voles, who bond for life, are not sexually exclusive with their mates. As I understand it, this is not rare in the animal kingdom. Many species are sexually promiscuous and non-committal. Many species are sexually exclusive and inclined to pair-bonds. Many species are sexually promiscuous and inclined to pair-bonds. Homo sapiens seems to be capable of all three, depending on cultural pressures, but we are certainly strongly inclined to pair-bond, and we do seem to have a hard time with sexual exclusivity. But so much writing on the subject of love, relationships, and mating behavior in humans seems to imply that it’s an either/or question. “Pair-bonding,” “attachment,” and “monogamy” are taken as practically synonymous.

In the second blog I read, someone writes for advice to the always-delightful Svutlana because she wants to have romance and lifelong love, but can’t stop sleeping around. These two things are viewed by her (and possibly by the always-delightful Svutlana, although it may just be that she interpreted the writer’s question differently than I did) as mutually exclusive. They’re so not.

The text conversation with my best friend was about my relationship with my beloved Shaun, and how my new crush affects that. The short answer is “not much.” The longer, more nuanced answer is: New Crush is exciting and fun to play with, and I get jazzed-up crushy feelings when I think about seeing him again. (In the poly world we call this New Relationship Energy.) Shaun is a cornerstone of my life: from the honest, clear-headed way he thinks about the world to the goofy voices he does to the way his skin feels, he’s a much-loved part of my world, and I can’t imagine parting with him or even wanting to. The depth of my love for Shaun doesn’t take away from the excitement of the NRE, though, any more than the NRE takes away from my feelings for him. I would be terribly sad if I had to choose between getting to plan my life with the man I love, and getting to experience a heady crush every now and again.

Like all rewarding things, nonmonogamy takes a proportionate amount of work. It is not for people who just want to get their love life settled and then concentrate on other things. It requires diligent self-examination, trust, and communication, and it requires a willingness to continually experience the pains of new love as well as the joys. A gentleman of my acquaintance, for whom my heart has throbbed for many a year, recently made it clear once again that nothing is ever going to happen between us. Having another lover at home did not ease the pain of that one bit (except preventing that pain from being mingled with a fear that I’ll never be loved, as it usually is when I’m single and rejected.) I guess I can understand why some people would rather just settle down with one person and turn off that part of their brain. For me, though? It’s more than worth it.

How we got here

Having now read all of Sex at Dawn, I’m going to tell you why I think it’s an important book.

It’s not important because it tells us something we didn’t already know. There’s no new research (as far as I can tell), and it doesn’t question common understandings of the way we are today. Its interest is in how we got here. One could claim that its basic message is trivial: that the confused sexual structure we currently live in (ideals of monogamy but frequent rule-breaking and temptation) is the product not of our evolutionary roots as a species, but of adaptations to the changed environment we created with agriculture. That’s it. “We are the way we are because of something that happened 10,000 years ago, not because of something that happened 200,000 years ago.” That’s the basic message, and one might be justified in asking, “So what?”

I’ll tell you so what. When an evolutionary psychologist says that strict monogamy is not natural to humans (and they pretty much all say that), someone usually responds, “Yes, but we have free will; we can choose to rise above our animal nature.” Now that’s a debatable point, largely depending on your definitions of “free will” and “animal nature,” but let’s set aside that question for now. A more pertinent reply to the “we can rise above our animal nature” argument is, “Maybe, but why should we?”

The standard evolutionary-psychology model, which I outlined ever so loosely here, frames nonmonogamy for both males and females as, quite literally, cheating. There’s a mutually beneficial arrangement (monogamy) to which both parties agree, but they can do even better in the grand genetic steeplechase by cheating on the agreement. It’s not pretty, but hey, red in tooth and claw. If this is the best account of the monogamy/nonmonogamy tension in society, then people have some justification for calling on us all to rise above it. We owe it to our partners to put aside our selfish urges toward outside gratification, and to devote ourselves to maintaining the pair-bond we’ve formed. If they really love us, they’ll do the same. That’s the narrative we’re often given.

Sex at Dawn takes that narrow perspective and splits it wide open, suggesting many more possibilities for human sexual behavior that are cooperative, loving, and beneficial to everybody involved. The narrative it offers goes like this: Humans evolved in small, egalitarian, hunter-gatherer communities where men and women both benefited from frequent, free, promiscuous sexual encounters. Paternity wasn’t an issue because nobody was hoarding resources to pass on to their children, and securing male providership wasn’t an issue because women were gathering the bulk of the food anyway. When we developed agriculture, suddenly it became advantageous to accumulate land and livestock, and to pass these on to your own genetic offspring. So men became concerned with controlling women’s sexual behavior. At the same time, being the bearers and nursers of children became much more incapacitating for two reasons: farming is more labor-intensive than foraging, and with property comes theft and territory conflict. So women had a much greater need for men to provide for and defend them.

At this point the narrative converges with the conventional model. Male sexual infidelity doesn’t hurt women that much (from an evolutionary perspective) since sperm is cheap and plentiful. The woman is concerned more with making sure that he continues to provide material support and defense for herself and her children. Hence, “emotional infidelity” is more of a threat to women. Polygamy works out okay for both men and women (again, from an evolutionary perspective), so a lot of societies do that for a while. Then we become more enlightened. We start to see the harm in oppressive patriarchy, the injustice of viewing women as property, and we work to correct the situation. But by this time the ideal of female sexual fidelity has become deeply engrained in our cultural morality; sexual jealousy in men has gained a strong memetic, and possibly genetic, foothold. We know the polygamous patriarchy is unfair, but allowing women sexual freedom feels “wrong.” (We’ve also, in our efforts to control female sexuality, repressed and denied it for long enough that it’s easy to believe that women wouldn’t really want, or benefit from, sexual freedom even if we gave it to them.)

There’s a parallel line of development around the “family.” Human beings need each other, need to exist in a small, interdependent network of other human beings, where regardless of how much they like or dislike one another, each one assumes some responsibility for the well-being of the others. In small hunter-gatherer tribes, the entire tribe can function as a family in many ways. Children are mothered and fathered by many adults; resources brought into the group are shared evenly with everybody. The bond each person has with their neighbors goes far beyond emotional affinity: they bear a responsibility to care for one another despite any conflicts or personality clashes.

With the advent of agriculture, territory, and a protected paternal line, this circle of familial interdependence was reduced to the immediate blood family: parents, children, grandparents. It’s been that way for so long that we’ve come to consider that kind of devoted interdependence as a unique feature of blood family relationships, and to consider other groups that have that quality (military units, for example) as an exception to the rule.

So we as a culture have talked ourselves out of believing that women want or should have sexual freedom, and into believing that the nuclear family is somehow sacred in the kind of bonds it creates. Which means that the obvious answer to the “polygamy is unfair, women aren’t property” realization is prescribed monogamy for everyone. If women shouldn’t sleep around, then clearly sleeping around in general is wrong. If the nuclear family is the source of familial love and bondedness, then we should protect and encourage it. Hence: monogamy. Now we’re expected to fall in love with someone whose lifestyle and personality will be compatible with ours in the long run, marry them, and make that our one sexual and romantic relationship.

It’s not working all that well; anybody with eyes to see can see that. Infidelity’s one problem, but even the honorable, conscientious folks typically engage in serial monogamy, and lots of it. The age of marriage and the divorce rate have both grown tremendously. Basically, we’re really just not all that good at monogamy. Religious conservatives will tell you that it’s not working because we’re letting our fallen sinful nature get the better of us. Evolutionary psychologists in the classic vein will tell us… actually pretty much the same thing, only with a secular story behind it instead of the religious one. The writers of Sex at Dawn suggest that maybe there’s nothing specially virtuous about monogamy; maybe the fact that we suck at it doesn’t mean we’re doomed as a species. Maybe there are other ways of being, ways that still allow for love and intimacy and deep concern for the people we’re closest to.

I think that’s a damn important message.

like they do on the Discovery Channel?

I wouldn’t go so far as to say “I do whatever Dan Savage tells me to do”… but I did order a copy of Sex at Dawn pretty much as soon as I read his column on the book. I’m about a third of the way through it now, and I’m loving it so much that I expect it’s going to be fodder for several more blog posts in the near future.

It’s an attempt to rewrite the narrative of human sexuality as viewed through the lens of evolutionary psychology. And let me just frame everything I’m going to say on this topic: Evolutionary psychology is a pretty soft science. People shouldn’t go claiming that Christopher Ryan and Cacilda Jethá have proven anything with their work presented in this book. We’re not looking for proofs here, we’re looking for a compelling argument. I’ve seen a couple of forum arguments around that question of proof, and it’s stupid. So let’s not have any of those, mkay?

The standard narrative of human sexuality from an evolutionary psych perspective goes something like this: Males need to be sure their resources are going to the support of their own offspring, not someone else’s, and females need extensive support during gestation and lactation, so women trade exclusive sexual access for long-term material support — thus is born the male/female pair-bond. But men benefit genetically from spreading their seed as far and wide as they can (since sperm is cheap), and women benefit genetically from having their babies fathered by the fittest possible man, so both men and women are inclined to cheat if they can get away with it: women at their fertile times with men whose physical qualities suggest genetic superiority, and men at any time, with any fertile-looking woman.

It’s not a pretty story, but it accounts for many common observations about male and female sexual behavior. Even if you hadn’t read it laid out like this before, you’ve probably read magazine articles or advice columns that took it for granted.

Ryan and Jethá suggest a very different context for the evolution of human sexuality. They propose that humans evolved in sexually gregarious tribes, and that both male and female bodies are wired to seek lots of sex with lots of different partners. They argue that the restrictions of patriarchy and monogamy developed in response to the economic changes brought about by agriculture.

I haven’t gotten to the part where they hash that out in detail, so I’ll talk about that later. Right now the point that’s struck me most emphatically is the utter backwardness of our cultural ideas about sexuality and our animal nature. We tend to consider frequent, promiscuous sexual activity to be “animalistic,” taking us closer to our animal relatives and further from “what makes us human.” In fact the opposite is true: humans and our close relatives the bonobos may not be the only species that has sex for reasons other than reproduction, but we sure do it way more than any others. We’ve taken this reproductive act and imbued it with tremendous social and spiritual significance. The importance of sex, particularly sex that isn’t intended for reproduction, is a big part of “what makes us human.”

(Conversely, if you think about it, restricting sexual expression to baby-making is pretty animalistic. Take that, condom-hating Catholics!)

That’s what I’ve got for now. Stay tuned for more!