Gomer, Hosea, and Esther Perel

Thursday, February 27, 2025.

If you've spent any time in the world of modern relationship advice, you've likely encountered Esther Perel.

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

Her TED Talks dazzle, her books fly off the shelves, 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—Christian, Jewish, Muslim, and Baha’i.

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

Love and the Covenant vs. Love and the Unknown

Perel argues that passion thrives on distance, that erotic tension requires a bit of mystery, and that, occasionally, an affair might even reinvigorate a stagnant marriage.

For devout couples, this is a baffling proposition. Love, they argue, isn’t about artfully keeping one’s partner at arm’s length or flirting with secrecy to keep desire alive.

In the Abrahamic tradition, love 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 what is considered good, seemly, and appropriate.

His model of human love was caritas—self-giving, sacrificial, oriented toward the divine, ardently wanting to know and be known.

But for some, that knowledge presents as the very epicenter of marital ennui.

Infidelity as Growth? The Prophet Hosea Would Like a Word

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

People cheat, she argues, not necessarily because they are unhappy, but because they seek a more preferable version of themselves.

It’s a provocative narrative—one that generously reframes betrayal as just another existential crisis rather than a moral failing.

To spiritually inclined couples, however, this is like trying to rebrand idolatry as spiritual curiosity.

The Hosea and Gomer Counterpoint

Consider the biblical story of Hosea and Gomer.

God commands the prophet Hosea to marry Gomer, a woman who made her living as a sex worker, to make a point.

And no, the lesson is not that her ongoing affairs add depth and mystery to their marriage.

The story is a brutal meditation on steadfast love in the face of betrayal—an explicit mirror of God’s unwavering commitment to Israel, despite her serial transgressions.

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.

Commitment vs. Personal Growth: Two Competing Models

Hosea’s marriage and Perel’s philosophy present two radically different visions of love and fidelity:

• Commitment vs. Self-Exploration – Hosea’s story is about covenantal love, a commitment that persists despite open betrayal. But unlike many of the non-playable characters in Esther’s orbit, Hosea knows exactly what is being asked of him.
  Perel, by contrast, leans into the idea that relationships must evolve to accommodate individual fulfillment—even if that means reconsidering traditional fidelity.

• Redemption vs. Self-Discovery – Hosea’s marriage is about redemption; Gomer’s return is a restoration, an act of grace that reinforces the sanctity of the union.
  Perel often frames infidelity as a path to self-discovery—where the affair, rather than the marriage, becomes the transformative experience.

• Moral Accountability vs. Ethical Ambiguity – Hosea’s story places clear moral weight on faithfulness and repentance. Gomer’s transgressions are confronted openly.
  Perel, on the other hand, invites us to see infidelity through a morally ambiguous lens, questioning whether monogamy should endure as a default expectation in contemporary relationships. And even if erotic secrets might be sometimes required.

A Critique of Perel Through the Hosea Lens

Let’s be fair. Esther doesn’t explicitly endorse infidelity, but her approach can seem somewhat dismissive of the devastation it causes.

Hosea’s love is radical not because it tolerates betrayal, but because it transcends it.

By contrast, Perel’s modern ethos—where people prioritize their own truth over steadfast commitment—stands in sharp opposition to Hosea’s model.

His love is not dependent on whether Gomer "deserves" it. He is completely aware of Gomer’s transgressions. They are not hidden.

In an age where relationships are often viewed as disposable, Hosea's covenantal devotion is decidedly uncomfortable, and seems almost alien.

The Core Question: Should Love Be Redemptive?

Perel challenges us to see relationships as fluid and negotiable. Her advice to Lina shows no faith in covenants.

Hosea’s story, however, dares us to consider whether true love must sometimes also be stubborn, sacrificial, and redemptive.

Is love primarily about fulfilling individual desires, or is it also sometimes about selfless devotion—perhaps even when it is unearned?

This is where my critique of Perel deepens.

While she eloquently describes the dance between love and desire, she seldom grapples with the kind of love Hosea models—one that is neither transactional nor dependent on personal fulfillment.

Instead, Perel’s framework suggests that relationships must sort themselves out in a shifting state of negotiation, rather than being anchored in something both ancient and sacred.

In other words, Hosea might ask, what if Lina took the risk to tell the truth? Gomer did.

The Clash of Two Worldviews

Hosea’s story is a rebuke to the modern idea that relationships should be sustained only if they remain personally fulfilling.

Abrahamic tradition suggests that commitment, rather than desire, is the more enduring foundation for love.

Perel’s vision of intimacy, while thought-provoking, prioritizes self-actualization over sacrificial love.

The contrast is achingly clear:
Is love something we pursue for our own needs, or something we give—even when it costs us?

The Erotic Mystery: Does Love Need Shadows?

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

Not at all.

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

The difference?

This passion is meant to flourish within the sacred container of covenantal love, not be artificially stoked by secrecy, ambiguity, or the ever-looming possibility of loss.

Perel’s insight that desire is fueled by longing isn’t wrong—but longing doesn’t require separation or uncertainty.

It can also emerge from:

• The ache of sacrifice.

• The daily choice to love someone even when it’s inconvenient.

• The quiet heroism of staying.

Passion and security aren’t enemies. In fact, when rightly understood, they’re soulmates.

Perel’s Genius, and Her Blind Spot

I want to be respectful and fair: Esther isn’t advocating for reckless adultery.

It’s important to remember that Esther’s parents were Belgian Jewish Holocaust survivors, and her upbringing in an observant Jewish household deeply influenced her perspectives on relationships, intimacy, and identity, but with a secular perspective.

While she does not publicly identify with a particular religious denomination or actively practice Orthodox Judaism, her work frequently references Jewish cultural and philosophical ideas, particularly around exile, belonging, and narrative identity.

Her approach to relationships and desire often draws from existential and psychoanalytic traditions rather than religious doctrine.

She’s responding to a real 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.

Perel instead, is asking an important question: How do we sustain desire within commitment?

But 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 roots it in the thrill of the forbidden.

Instead of seeing infidelity as a rupture of an ancient and sacred trust, she frames it as a complex and potentially enriching event.

Instead of treating stability as a fertile ground for intimacy, she sees it as something worthy of disruption.

She gets guffaws from audiences when she dryly points out that infidelity is the only sin mentioned twice in the 10 commandments. Once for doing it, and once for even thinking about doing it. But what if there’s a deeper reason for that?

Faith-grounded couples insist that love is not a fragile house of cards that topples with too much stability.

It is a cathedral—built stone by stone, weathered but unshaken.

So, the next time someone tells you a little mystery will keep your marriage alive, remember:

Real love doesn’t need shadows to glow.

It shines best and brightest in the full light of day.

Be Well, Stay Kind, and Godspeed.