A Sacred Rebuke of Erotic Distance and Relational Uncertainty

Thursday, February 27, 2025.

If you’ve ever wandered into the world of modern relationship advice, you’ve likely encountered Esther Perel.

A brilliant Belgian psychotherapist, she’s the high priestess of erotic distance, the champion of mystery in long-term relationships, and the nuanced defender of the occasional infidelity.

Her TED Talks dazzle, her books sell, and her clients—well, they walk away feeling seen.

But not everyone is enchanted.

Among those raising a skeptical eyebrow are spiritually inclined couples in the Abrahamic tradition. They may be Christian, Jew, Muslim, or Baha’i.

They’ve found themselves shaking their heads at the suggestion that passion thrives on the unknown or that a touch of betrayal might reinvigorate a marriage.

For spiritually inclined couples, Perel’s philosophy is, at best, incomplete and, at worst, a siren song leading marriages onto the rocks.

Their argument?

That love, real love, isn’t about keeping one’s partner at an artful distance or allowing desire to breathe through cultivated ambiguity.

Love, in the Abrahamic tradition, is covenantal—a binding, steadfast commitment that doesn’t require the spice of uncertainty to remain vibrant.

St. Augustine, that brooding genius of Christian thought, would likely regard Perel’s entire framework as an ode to concupiscence, the restless hunger for pleasure unmoored from the good.

His model of love was caritas—self-giving, sacrificial, and oriented toward the divine. In this view, the thrill of passion isn’t found in preserving erotic tension but in the radical depth of knowing and being known.

For Perel, the very epicenter of ennui.

Infidelity as Growth? Hosea Would Like a Word

One of Perel’s most controversial takes is that infidelity, rather than being a death knell for relationships, can be a doorway to self-discovery and even marital renewal.

In her view, people cheat not necessarily because they are unhappy, but because they seek a lost version of themselves.

It’s a compelling narrative—one that reframes betrayal as an existential crisis rather than a moral failing. But to spiritually-inclined couples, this is like trying to rebrand idolatry as "spiritual curiosity."

Take the biblical story of Hosea and Gomer.

In what is perhaps the most famous scriptural meditation on marital unfaithfulness, God instructs the prophet Hosea to marry Gomer, a woman who repeatedly betrays him because she prefers life as a prostitute.

But the lesson isn’t about how her affairs add mystery and depth to their relationship—it’s about steadfast love in the face of unfaithfulness, an explicit mirror of God’s unwavering commitment to Israel, despite being serially disappointed.

There is no sexy existentialism here, no suggestion that a dalliance might enhance intimacy. Instead, Hosea’s story affirms that love is an act of will, a discipline, a calling—not a shifting tide dictated by personal growth experiments.

Abrahamic religious tradition, in particular, doubles down on this notion.

Marriage is not just a contract but a sacrament, a reflection of God’s love for mankind—unbreakable, unshakable, and deeply inconvenient at times.

This is why spiritual thinkers I’ve spoken with approach Perel’s work with a mix of admiration for her psychological insight bur recoil in horror at what they perceive is her moral relativism.

Thanks to Cultural Narcissism, the notion that commitment is the point of marriage, not the obstacle to passion is now ironically countercultural.

The Erotic Mystery That Christians Actually Approve Of

Does this mean that theologians want passionless, duty-bound relationships where spouses quote Aquinas at each other over dinner?

Not at all.

Many religious traditions, from the Jewish mystical tradition of the Song of Songs to Pope John Paul II’s Theology of the Body, celebrate erotic love as a divine gift.

The difference is that this passion is meant to flourish within the sacred container of covenantal love, not be artificially stoked by distance, intentional mystery, secrecy, or the ever-looming possibility of loss.

Perel’s insight that desire is fueled by longing isn’t entirely wrong—but longing doesn’t have to come from separation or uncertainty.

It can come from the ache of sacrifice, from the daily choice to love someone even when it’s not convenient, from the quiet heroism of staying. It turns out that passion and security aren’t enemies. In fact, when rightly understood, they’re soulmates.

Perel’s Genius, and Her Blind Spot

Let’s be fair: Perel isn’t advocating for reckless adultery, and she’s not suggesting that people should live in a state of perpetual relational limbo.

She’s responding with her best thinking to a real and abiding problem—modern marriages can feel stifling, burdened by the expectation that one person should be our best friend, co-parent, business partner, therapist, and lover all rolled into one.

She’s asking an important question: How do we sustain desire within the comfort of commitment?

Where devout Christians, Jews, and Muslims may take issue is in her answers.

Instead of finding eroticism in the depth of knowing and being known, she tends to root it in the thrill of the forbidden.

Instead of seeing infidelity as a rupture of sacred trust, she often frames it as a complex and even enriching event. Instead of treating stability as a fertile ground for intimacy, she sees it as something worthy of be disrupted for passion’s sake. I have said it before, I respectfully believe that she is deeply mistaken.

Faith-grounded couples, in contrast, insist that love is not a house of cards that topples without suspense. It is a cathedral—built stone by stone, weathered but unshaken, standing not because of uncertainty but because of devotion.

So, the next time you hear that a little mystery will keep your marriage alive, remember: real love doesn’t need shadows to glow.

Love is resplendently boring in its utter lack of mystery. It shines best and brightest in the glorious full light of day.

Be Well, Stay Kind, and Godspeed.