- David Traino
- Oct 22, 2025
- 9 min read
We live in a world that tells women to chase freedom—but never asks if that freedom is leading to joy. Something feels off. Love is harder to find. Commitment is rare. And too many women are left asking why, in a world with more “choices” than ever, they still feel used, confused, or alone.
This article turns that question on its head—and finds surprising answers not in modern self-help, but in the life of a quiet man named Joseph, and in the revolutionary message of Christianity itself. Because what if the absolute freedom we seek isn’t found in less structure, but in a model that dignifies us with love, purpose, and sacred belonging?
When most people hear the phrase sexual revolution, they think of the 1960s—a time of upheaval when old taboos about sex were cast aside, and a new ethos of freedom and experimentation took root. But the true first sexual revolution didn’t take place in the 20th century. It began nearly two thousand years earlier with the rise of Christianity, and it was far more radical than anything the modern world has seen.
Christianity didn’t just tweak the rules of sexual behavior—it fundamentally redefined the relationship between men and women, transforming sex from a casual or transactional activity into a sacred expression of love and commitment. It challenged the most entrenched norms of the Roman Empire. In this world, men held absolute power over women’s bodies, marriage was often a matter of politics or property, and sexual behavior was primarily a male privilege.
In contrast, Christianity introduced the radical concept that sex belonged exclusively within a lifelong, faithful union between one man and one woman, and that the same moral code equally bound both husband and wife. Men were called to the same standard of fidelity, chastity, and self-control as women. This was revolutionary—so revolutionary that many of Christianity’s early converts were women who saw, perhaps for the first time, a moral and spiritual framework that honored their dignity and protected them from the exploitation normalized by Roman society.
Roman Sexual Ethics: A World of Power, Not Love
To understand the shockwave Christianity created, we must first understand the sexual norms of the Roman Empire. Roman culture was deeply hierarchical. Social order and personal honor mattered more than personal fulfillment or mutual love. A man’s sexual freedom was almost limitless as long as he didn’t violate another man’s property—meaning the wife or daughters of another free Roman citizen. It was socially acceptable, even expected, for a man to have mistresses, visit prostitutes, or keep slaves for sexual use. These acts were not considered morally wrong because women, slaves, and prostitutes were seen as objects or tools rather than equal human beings with inherent dignity.
Women, by contrast, were held to strict standards of chastity, fidelity, and obedience. Adultery by a woman was considered not just a moral failing but a crime against her husband’s honor. Marriage for Roman women was primarily about bearing legitimate heirs and securing family alliances. Love or emotional connection was not the foundation of Roman marriage.
Moreover, Roman society tolerated practices that today we would find abhorrent—infanticide, especially of baby girls, was common. Female children were often discarded because they were considered less valuable than sons. Sexual violence against enslaved people was not a crime, since slaves were considered property. Women, whether free or enslaved, lived in a world that offered them little legal or moral protection.
Christianity’s Radical Break
Into this world stepped the Christian vision of marriage, sexuality, and human dignity. Inspired by Christ’s teachings and rooted in the creation story of Genesis, Christianity asserted that all humans—male and female—were created in the image of God. This was a stunningly egalitarian claim for its time. It meant that women, no less than men, were beloved children of God, worthy of respect and protection.
Christianity’s sexual ethic was not simply about restriction but about elevation. Sex was not a casual physical act but a profound spiritual and bodily union, a gift meant to reflect God’s covenantal love. Marriage was reimagined not as a contract of property but as a sacramental bond—a lifelong partnership of equals, each called to love and serve the other.
The Apostle Paul’s writings underscore this revolutionary ethic. In 1 Corinthians 7, Paul instructs husbands and wives to treat each other with mutual respect and consent: “The husband should fulfill his marital duty to his wife, and likewise the wife to her husband. The wife does not have authority over her own body but yields it to her husband. In the same way, the husband does not have authority over his own body but yields it to his wife.” This concept of mutual authority and consent was unheard of in Roman law or custom. A wife had no authority over her husband’s body; yet Paul placed husbands and wives on equal footing—a radical departure from the norms of the day.
Furthermore, Christianity rejected practices like prostitution, infanticide, and sexual exploitation, which were taken for granted in Roman culture. Early Christian communities often rescued abandoned infants, offering them care and love. They viewed sexual activity outside of marriage not as freedom but as bondage to desire—a distortion of God’s design.
The Appeal of Christianity to Women
It is no accident that women were among the earliest and most fervent converts to Christianity. Historian Rodney Stark, in his book The Rise of Christianity, notes that Christianity’s emphasis on chastity, marital fidelity, and the protection of the vulnerable gave women a higher social standing than they had in the pagan world. Christian women were less likely to die in childbirth because the Church condemned practices like abortion and dangerous contraceptives, both of which were common in Rome and often fatal to women. Christian marriage, with its emphasis on love and fidelity, shielded women from the worst abuses of male sexual power.
Christianity also upheld the virginity of women—not as a mark of shame but as a source of spiritual strength and freedom. Women who chose a life of chastity, such as the early martyrs and nuns, were celebrated as heroines of faith. For Roman women, whose lives were often defined by their sexual availability to men, the Christian promise of spiritual equality and bodily integrity was profoundly attractive.
The 1960s Sexual Revolution: Liberation or Regression?
Fast forward nearly two millennia, and we see another upheaval in sexual ethics: the so-called sexual revolution of the 1960s. Fueled by the availability of birth control, the rise of feminism, and a cultural rebellion against traditional morality, the 1960s redefined sexual freedom as the right to pursue pleasure without commitment, responsibility, or consequence.
At first glance, this modern revolution appears to be the opposite of Christianity’s ethic. Whereas Christianity called for sexual restraint, the 1960s promoted sexual liberation. Whereas Christianity elevated sex as sacred, modern culture often reduces it to a recreational activity—a casual transaction between consenting adults.
But is this truly progress? Or is it, in some ways, a return to the pagan model Christianity once upended?
The parallels are striking. Today’s hookup culture, with its emphasis on casual sex and personal gratification, resembles the Roman attitude that sex is just another bodily function, devoid of deeper meaning. The widespread availability of pornography echoes the commodification of sex in Roman brothels. At the same time, the rise of abortion and the devaluation of the family reflect a society that prioritizes adult desires over the protection of the vulnerable—just as Rome did.
Unintended Consequences of Modern “Freedom”
The modern sexual revolution promised happiness, equality, and liberation. But the results are mixed at best. Many studies show that sexual “freedom” has not led to deeper relationships or greater personal fulfillment. Instead, it has often left people—especially women—feeling used, disconnected, and undervalued. Rates of loneliness, depression, and broken families have skyrocketed.
In some ways, women today face pressures that echo the Roman world. Just as Roman women were expected to submit to a male-dominated sexual order, modern women are often pressured to participate in a culture of casual sex, even when it leaves them unfulfilled or emotionally wounded. The idea that sex should be “no big deal” denies the reality that sex is inherently meaningful and deeply tied to our identity and emotions.
Moreover, the breakdown of marriage and family structures has left many children vulnerable, growing up without the stability and love of two committed parents. This is not unlike the vulnerability faced by children in the Roman Empire, where familial bonds were fragile, and the strong often dominated the weak.
Modern Liberation or Roman Restoration? How Men Benefited from the Second Sexual Revolution
One of the most ironic and overlooked consequences of the modern sexual revolution is that it has disproportionately empowered the very group it claimed to dethrone: powerful, dominant men. A reasonable argument can be made that we have come full circle—not into a liberated utopia, but into a newly disguised, digitally enhanced version of the male-dominated Roman order. The slogans may have changed, but the power dynamics look eerily familiar.
In ancient Rome, wealthy and attractive men—senators, military leaders, merchants—had nearly unlimited sexual access. Marriage was a legal obligation for heirs, but pleasure and variety were pursued elsewhere: through mistresses, concubines, prostitutes, and slaves. There was little moral judgment cast on these men. The disgrace was reserved for women who dared step outside their narrowly defined roles of chastity and subservience. Rome gave men power without accountability. And now, so does modern culture.
Today’s top-tier men—whether successful professionals, celebrities, or simply men with high social or sexual capital—live in an environment of unparalleled access to women. Dating apps, social media, and cultural narratives that reject commitment in favor of “exploration” allow such men to move freely from one partner to another without consequence. Sex is available on demand, and emotional responsibility has been severed from physical intimacy. There is no longer societal shame for men who “play the field.” They are often admired for it.
Much like their Roman predecessors, modern men have also been relieved of the burden of fatherhood. In ancient Rome, the unwanted offspring of concubines or slaves were discarded—left to die of exposure, a practice chillingly common and culturally accepted. Today, while the act is medicalized and sanitized, the moral logic is strikingly similar. If a child is unwanted, he or she can be eliminated, either through abortion or via a distant detachment from fatherly responsibility. The result is the same freedom for the man, the cost absorbed by the woman and the unborn child.
And yet, we’re told this is liberation. But for whom?
Certainly not for the average woman. While elite men enjoy greater sexual access than ever before, women are often left in a paradox of empowerment: expected to be sexually available without emotional attachment, yet still longing for lasting love. In this new order, the top 10–20% of men are rewarded with abundance, while the rest of men struggle to find partners, and women settle for relationships devoid of long-term promise. Psychologically and socially, this is not progress—it is a redistribution of power masquerading as freedom.
We have not advanced beyond the Roman model—we’ve digitized it, normalized it, and given it a new wardrobe. But underneath the costume, it remains a system built to benefit male dominance, not mutual dignity. The cultural script says: “Have as many partners as you want. Don’t commit. Don’t worry about consequences. It’s just sex.”
But that script—like Rome’s—leads to deep inequality, emotional erosion, and a generation uncertain of what love, fidelity, or sacrifice even look like.
The sexual revolution may have promised equality. But in practice, it has given a select class of men exactly what Roman power brokers enjoyed centuries ago: sex without strings, pleasure without permanence, and status without responsibility. And perhaps, in our pursuit of progress, we forgot to ask: Who is really benefiting from all this “freedom”?
Are We Reverting to Paganism?
The irony of the modern era is that in rejecting Christian sexual ethics as outdated or oppressive, we may be unknowingly returning to the very pagan patterns that Christianity once replaced. The casual, consequence-free sex promoted by today’s culture is not new—it’s a reversion to a time when sex had no intrinsic moral or spiritual value, and when the strong often exploited the weak.
This isn’t intentional. Most people today would not consciously choose to revive Roman practices of infanticide or the commodification of women. Yet, the logic of the modern sexual ethic—where sex is detached from love, family, and responsibility—leads to similar outcomes: the devaluation of life, the rise of exploitation (such as human trafficking and pornography), and the erosion of stable families.
The Forgotten Power of the Christian Model
Christianity’s sexual ethic may seem restrictive by modern standards, but history shows that it created stronger families, healthier communities, and more profound respect between men and women. It tied sexuality to responsibility, love, and the protection of the vulnerable. Men were called to rise above their instincts, to love their wives as Christ loved the Church—sacrificially, faithfully, and with honor. Women, in turn, were valued as partners and equals in dignity, not as objects of male desire.
This model doesn’t suppress sexuality; it redeems it. It transforms sex from a self-centered act into a self-giving one, mirroring the covenant love of God.
Conclusion: The Revolution We Still Need
If Christianity was the first true sexual revolution—a revolution that dignified women, protected children, and elevated the meaning of love—then perhaps our modern age needs a second Christian revolution. Not a return to Victorian prudishness or rigid legalism, but a rediscovery of sex as something sacred, powerful, and deeply human.
St. Joseph, as the silent protector of Mary and Jesus, embodies this ethic. He shows us that true masculinity is not about domination but about responsibility, faithfulness, and self-giving love. He reminds us that the strength of a man is measured not by how many women he can conquer, but by how faithfully he can love one woman and protect his family.
Joseph lived the first revolution—not with words, but with the strength of restraint, the courage of fidelity, and the nobility of honor. He protected what mattered most in a time when women and children were often discarded. Today, we are told we’ve moved forward. But maybe the ache in modern hearts is the echo of a truth we’ve forgotten. Maybe freedom without love is no freedom at all—and perhaps the revolution we need now is not new, but ancient. And it begins again, one heart at a time.
Perhaps the lesson of history is clear: Every society needs a moral framework that elevates love above lust, commitment above convenience, and sacrifice above self-indulgence. Christianity offered that framework once, and it can do so again.
