Today’s Equally Yoked post is from Ryan Stauffer. Enjoy!

I pulled the thermometer out of Sally’s mouth and looked at it. 103.1°.

“That’s it. We’re going to Medstat,” I said. It wasn’t a question or a suggestion; it was an order. I knew she’d have given the same order if our roles were reversed, because a few months ago, she had, commanding me to go to the local urgent care facility (on our fifth anniversary, of all days) after I had maintained a high fever for four straight days.

I turned out to have pneumonia on that occasion, and on this one an eventual ER visit informed us that Sally had influenza—not the kind that makes you throw up, but the kind that can kill you if left untreated. I was right to make her seek medical attention, and as I helped her back to bed that evening I thought about the interplay of authority in marriage.

Before Sally and I got married, I subscribed to C.S. Lewis’ theory that “If marriage is permanent, one or other party must, in the last resort, have the power of deciding the family policy. You cannot have a permanent association without a constitution.”[1] I assumed that we would have a mostly-egalitarian marriage but that occasionally one of us would have to make a decision to which the other would have to submit. (Growing up in the conservative evangelical community, I naturally assumed the Decision Maker would be me.) Within the first year of marriage, though, I realized this was wrong. I changed my interpretation of the Bible’s instructions to married people, deciding that unanimity, not authority, should be the principle upon which we based our constitution.

Still, every now and then in marriage someone has to take up authority, and because authority cannot be unilaterally taken, someone else has to cede it. That authority need not, and should not, be rooted in gender but based on situation. Often perspective conveys authority, such as when one of our brains is impaired by fever, making us incapable of realizing we need to visit the doctor even though money is tight; or, to cite a more momentous situation, like when I recently decided to stop publishing Jesus & Venus, the feminist news site I started in 2012.

I had been unhappy working on the site for some time, but I had resisted giving it up, and Sally had encouraged me to stick with it for a while. Eventually, though, she realized that continuing to publish was keeping me from achieving other goals more important not only to my happiness but to our long-term plans. One night as we were discussing it she put on her most authoritative voice, the one she only breaks out when she knows I need to hear it, and told me: “Ryan, you have to stop doing the site. You need to work on things that will make you happy.” As mired as I was in emotional investment and fear of failure, Sally had better perspective than I did, and I had to admit she was right.

Sometimes special knowledge or ability gives us authority. For example, a few weeks ago I found out about a potential business opportunity for Sally’s bridal design business. At the time, we were in the middle of developing her new website—Sally creating the artwork and I doing the rest—but our progress had stalled for a while. I didn’t want to send anyone to the new site, but the old one was also out of the question. I felt confident we could finish the site in a week if we worked hard, though, so when Sally arrived home from work that night I immediately told her the news and said, “We need to get to work.” Despite knowing very little about web development, Sally accepted my assertion that we could launch the new website in time to take advantage of the opportunity at hand, so she shook off her fatigue and started work that night.

In neither of these situations did we issue orders to each other, but we were speaking with authority, knowing what was best for each other and our marriage. Sally’s business is a team effort, part of a joint plan we’ve developed for our lives, and so are the projects I stopped publishing Jesus & Venus to write. We keep each other on track for not only our individual but our mutual happiness and fulfillment.

Of course, we have to know the line between being authoritative and depriving each other of agency, even when we’re ordering each other to get medical attention. If Sally had refused to go to Medstat, I wouldn’t have gotten angry or forced her to go, and she knew that, just as I know she would never force me into a decision I truly oppose. Because we’ve spent five-plus years building trust in our marriage, we know how to safeguard each other’s autonomy while still pushing each other to make smart, responsible choices. Sally went to Medstat because she knew it was in her best interest to cede authority to me on that issue, not because I’m a man and have a God-given right to boss her around. My authority began and ended with that event, just as her authority over me begins and ends when she can sense that I truly need the guidance and support it can provide.

To many egalitarians, authority seems like a dirty word. Personally, I’ve always found the concept comforting; when faced with difficult decisions, I like being told what to do by someone I can trust to know—and care—what’s best for me. Being a grown-up doesn’t really work like that, though, and neither does marriage. We should give and exercise authority over each other sparingly and cautiously, hoping to relinquish it as quickly as possible in favor of that unanimity which itself holds the greatest promise of comfort, prosperity, and, yes, even authority.

1. Lewis, C.S. Mere Christianity. New York: HarperCollins, 1952. p. 113  ↩

Ryan Stauffer is a writer and filmmaker, passable photographer and graphic designer, erstwhile musician, sketchy web coder, cat owner, straight-razor enthusiast, and Apple user. Until recently he wrote regularly at Jesus & Venus, a feminist news linkblog where he still posts sporadically, and he is currently writing his first novel. He lives with his wife, Sally Stauffer, in northern Indiana. You can follow him on Twitter at @glassblowerscat.

Next week’s Equally Yoked post is from Dorothy Greco.

Want to contribute to the Equally Yoked series? Email Jenny at jennyraearmstrong@gmail.com.