A Historical and Empirical Review of Pornography and Romantic Relationships: Implications for Family Researchers (2015)

Kyler Rasmussen

Journal of Family Theory & Review

Volume 8, Issue 2, pages 173–191, June 2016

1 JUN 2016 DOI: 10.1111/jftr.12141

Abstract

This article provides a broad overview of pornography’s effects on romantic relationships since the late 1960s, examining the literature through the family impact lens and focusing on pornography’s potential influence on relational stability. Pornography’s effects are relevant for consumers, public officials, and family scholars concerned with the stability of committed relationships. In particular, findings suggest that pornography can reduce satisfaction with partners and relationships through contrast effects, reduce commitment by increasing the appeal of relationship alternatives, and increase acceptance of infidelity. Evidence connecting pornography to rape or sexual aggression remains mixed, although these effects continue to have important implications for how romantic partners interact. The theoretical perspectives underlying these effects are discussed.

Social science has produced a variety of evidence connecting pornography consumption with a series of social harms, as well as arguments critiquing, downplaying, and dismissing that evidence (Brannigan, 1991). These arguments have been primarily concerned with whether pornography can cause consumers to perpetrate violence and rape (Malamuth, Addison, & Koss, 2000), although other effects—including those of consumption on families and relationships—have received relatively little attention. The purpose of this article is twofold: to examine the history of the academic study of pornography, discussing why studies relevant to family impact have been late to arrive on the scene, and to provide a broad overview of the effects of pornography consumption through the lens of family impact (Bogenschneider et al., 2012). I argue that attempts to censor pornography have focused attention away from effects on families and relationships, and that the current literature provides strong evidence regarding pornography’s negative influence on family stability.

The Family Impact Lens and Important Limitations

Pornography is not the only policy topic exhibiting relative neglect of the effects on relationships and families (Bogenschneider & Corbett, 2010). When governments implement policies, they are often quick to consider harms and benefits to individuals but slower to think of how families might be affected (Normandin & Bogenschneider, 2005). In such cases, governing bodies may consult economists to determine the economic impact of a policy, or an environmental lobby to examine the policy’s environmental impact, but even though governments pay lip service to the importance of families, they rarely put systematic effort toward determining family impact, despite the various unintended effects that social policy can have on families (Bogenschneider et al., 2012).

From the perspective of ecological family systems theory, Bogenschneider et al. (2012) have formulated five core principles of the family impact approach: (a) family responsibility, (b) family relationships, (c) family diversity, (d) family engagement, and (e) family stability. This article focuses on the last of these principles, family stability. The family impact lens is concerned with stability because families characterized by instability (e.g., though dissolution, separation, or divorce) are more prone to negative developmental outcomes for children as well as economic and emotional difficulties for adults (A. Hawkins & Ooms, 2012).

To assess the family impact of pornography, I conducted a systematic literature review, searching Google Scholar for the terms pornography and effects, examining titles and abstracts for studies published before the date of the search (August 1, 2014). I then compiled a database of relevant articles, reading each in more detail and examining reference sections for studies my initial search missed. The final database included 623 articles on a variety of topics relevant to pornography, although I limit this particular review to studies that concern adult heterosexual romantic relationships.1

Because few studies identify differences based on relationship status, I do not attempt to differentiate between the effects of pornography on married versus unmarried or exclusive versus casually dating couples (although there is one notable exception: Bridges, Bergner, & Hesson‐McInnis, 2003). In addition, because none of the articles I review sampled sexual minority couples, it would be inappropriate to prematurely generalize any of the findings across sexual orientation. I also do not cover the effects of pornography consumption on children or parent–child relationships, although others have provided summaries of those effects (Horvath et al., 2013; Manning, 2006).Another important limitation of this review is culture, particularly in terms of sexuality. Much of the history—and much of the empirical research—that I review has taken place in the United States, where individuals typically are less accepting of alternative sexual practices relative to other Western societies (Hofstede, 1998). These cultural differences help provide context, for example, for studies in Australia (McKee, 2007) or the Netherlands (Hald & Malamuth, 2008) in which participants emphasized the positive aspects of pornography consumption, or for government commissions in the United States (e.g., Attorney General’s Commission on Pornography, 1986) that have shown pornography in a particularly unfavorable light (Einsiedel, 1988).

Definitions of Pornography

Historically there has been considerable controversy over the word pornography and the kind of materials it should describe. Derived from a Greek term for “writing about whores” (porno = “whore,” graphy = “writing”), the word’s modern application has been inconsistent (Short, Black, Smith, Wetterneck, & Wells, 2012) and often pejorative (Johnson, 1971), leading some to abandon the term in favor of the phrase “sexually explicit materials” (e.g., Peter & Valkenburg, 2010). Early antipornography feminists contributed to this confusion, defining pornography as,

the graphic sexually explicit subordination of women through pictures or words that also includes women dehumanized as sexual objects, things, or commodities, enjoying pain or humiliation or rape, being tied up, cut up, mutilated, bruised, or physically hurt, in postures of sexual submission or servility or display, reduced to body parts, penetrated by objects or animals, or presented in scenarios of degradation, injury, torture, shown as filthy or inferior, bleeding, bruised or hurt in a context that makes these conditions sexual. (MacKinnon, 1985, p. 1)

This definition was a means of expressing abhorrence for particular kinds of sexual material while protecting displays of sexuality that portrayed equality between men and women (otherwise termed erotica; Steinem, 1980). Yet this definition allowed for substantial flexibility in how the term pornography could be applied. Pornography could include scenes that “dehumanized [women] as sexual objects” or displayed women “in postures of sexual submission” or “reduced [women] to body parts” absent of overt violence or degradation (which describes much mainstream pornography then and now). This definition gave some writers license to condemn all kinds of sexually explicit material as pornographic (Itzin, 2002), and it led others to further redefine pornography (i.e., as depictions of overt rape and degradation) in an attempt to delineate it from (supposedly) benign erotic depictions (O’Donnell, 1986; Willis, 1993).

Yet there has been a consistent effort to maintain pornography as a more general term covering a large variety of sexual materials (e.g., Hald & Malamuth, 2008; Mosher, 1988; US Commission on Obscenity and Pornography, 1972). Such use has not seemed inappropriate nor particularly pejorative given the term’s general acceptance among both pornography consumers (McKee, 2007) and the industry itself (Taube, 2014). I use the term in this spirit, adopting a working definition of pornography as audiovisual (including written) material that typically intends to arouse the viewer and depicts nudity or sexual activity. I also distinguish violent pornography (depictions of sadomasochism, bondage, rape, or other forms of violence against women; Donnerstein, 1980b) from erotica (nonviolent sexual material characterized by equal pleasure and participation between partners; Steinem, 1980) and from degrading pornography (nonviolent sexual material that characterizes women as insatiable sex objects; Zillmann & Bryant, 1982).

A Brief History of Pornography Research

In this section, I summarize the history of academic inquiry on pornography’s effects, discussing the social and political context of the study of pornography, as well as the considerations that guided the first major empirical studies and shaped academic debate through the 1980s and 1990s. I conclude this section by summarizing how a historical concern with censorship has diverted attention away from pornography’s impact on romantic relationships.

Social and Political Context

The decades following World War II were a time of cultural and political turmoil, defined by prominent struggles such as the sexual revolution and the civil rights movement. Many established societal restrictions began to be lifted, and various illegal activities became championed by strengthening counterculture elements, including the production and distribution of pornography (Marwick, 1998). Governments exercised a responsibility to intervene in these cultural debates, as indicated by the Civil Rights Act (Orfield, 1969) and government commissions examining crime, violence, and law enforcement (US Commission on Law Enforcement and Administration of Justice, 1967; US Commission on the Causes and Prevention of Violence, 1970). These years were also characterized by substantial gender inequality, which sparked a new wave of feminist activism in the United States and throughout the Western world (Friedan, 1963).

Movement toward greater sexual freedom did not stand unopposed. Groups such as Morality in Media, founded in 1962, used the relative consensus of the “moral majority” to slow the influx of pornographic material (Wilson, 1973). These forces were joined by the radical feminist movement, which critiqued pornography as reinforcing male power over women (Millett, 1970). Exposure to pornography was commonly believed to be harmful to an individual’s character and social functioning, as well as a factor in sexually deviant behavior, sexual violence against women, and criminal activity in general (Wilson, 1973).

Although family and marriage professionals engaged in vigorous debate on sexuality (e.g., Groves, 1938; R. Rubin, 2012), pornography remained a topic of philosophical discussion rather than of experimentation. Family‐related research was itself in its infancy, and few were in a position to fully understand how pornography could have an impact on romantic relationships (R. Rubin, 2012; Wilson, 1973). Studies of pornography in the 1960s were largely descriptive in nature (e.g., Thorne & Haupt, 1966), identifying variables related to the viewing of or arousal by pornographic images (e.g., Byrne & Sheffield, 1965). Although empirical research on sexual topics was expanding (e.g., Kinsey, 1953), studies examining the effects of pornography consumption were essentially nonexistent before the 1970s.

It was not until 1969, when the Supreme Court struck down state laws policing the private possession of obscene materials (Stanley v. Georgia, 1969), that social scientists began to examine pornography’s effects (for an in‐depth summary of these legal issues, see Funston, 1971). The court’s decision clearly defined the type of evidence required for pornography to be banned—it would need to negatively affect the lives of others, even when confined to private use. If proof could be found that pornography caused men to commit violence, either sexual or physical, toward women, that would certainly constitute the type of negative externality required by the court’s ruling. The US Congress quickly voted to create the 1970 President’s Commission on Obscenity and Pornography (referred to hereafter as the 1970 commission; US Commission on Obscenity and Pornography, 1972), mandated to provide a scientific assessment of the effects of pornography.

The 1970 commission

Despite facing intense time pressure (i.e., commissioned researchers had 9 months to furnish a full report), exacerbated by the lack of a methodological or theoretical foundation (Wilson, 1971), the commission concluded that there was “no reliable evidence to date that exposure to explicit sexual materials plays a significant role in the causation of delinquent or criminal sexual behavior among youth or adults” (US Commission on Obscenity and Pornography, 1972, p. 169). This focus on criminal behavior may have been attributable to the prevalent “liberal normative” view of media effects (Linz & Malamuth, 1993), which opposed censorship unless direct evidence could be found that media caused violent harm. Other effects, such as effects on divorce and sexually transmitted disease, were initially considered for inclusion, but the commission ultimately chose topics for which they felt causal evidence could be readily collected (Johnson, 1971). Harm to the stability of romantic relationships was of secondary concern, as it did not directly inform the debate. Although the commission did include one study assessing the short‐term effects of pornography use among married couples (Mann, 1970), these issues received far less attention than studies of rape, crime, violence, and aggression. Effects related to gender equality (which would later become more prominent; e.g., Dworkin, 1985) also received little attention, perhaps partly because of the relative lack of female committee members.2

The study of pornography after 1970

Although the politicians who voted to form the commission rejected its conclusions (Nixon, 1970; Tatalovich & Daynes, 2011), many in the academic community accepted them. Some scholars presented strong critiques of the commission’s methods and findings (e.g., Cline, as stated in the minority report of US Commission on Obscenity and Pornography, 1972) but these challenges received little attention, both in academia and with the general public (Simons, 1972). Many social scientists agreed that the question of pornography’s harm was effectively settled (Malamuth & Donnerstein, 1982), and scholars began a wave of research on pornography that did not seem concerned with examining the negative effects of consumption (e.g., Brown, Amoroso, Ware, Pruesse, & Pilkey, 1973).

It was aggression researchers, concerned with a link between arousal and aggression noted in the commission’s technical report (Mosher & Katz, 1971), who would move research on negative effects forward. For example, participants who were exposed to pornographic films administered more intense electric shocks against confederates who had provoked them than did those who were not exposed (Zillmann, 1971), and researchers interpreted these more intense shocks as increased aggression. These researchers incorporated radical feminist critiques of pornography (Malamuth, 1978), which maintained that pornography could be linked to rape, aggression, and gender inequality (Brownmiller, 1975; Russell, 1988). These studies on aggression seemed to provide the evidence of pornography’s social harm that the 1970 commission failed to uncover, particularly when pornography included depictions of violence (Donnerstein & Linz, 1986). Experimental designs also allowed the researchers to draw causal connections between violent pornography and aggression, tenuously implicating pornography in violence against women.

Pornography debates in the 1980s

As the experimental link between pornography and aggression strengthened in the early 1980s (Donnerstein & Berkowitz, 1981; Linz, Donnerstein, & Penrod, 1984; Zillmann & Bryant, 1982), three government committees were convened (the Williams Committee in the United Kingdom in 1979, and the Fraser Committee in Canada and the Attorney General’s Commission on Pornography in the United States, both in 1986) that took this research into account (Einsiedel, 1988). These committees drew sharp criticism from scholars concerned with civil liberties (Brannigan, 1991; Fisher & Barak, 1991; Segal, 1990), and some aggression researchers themselves spoke out, appalled at the thought of their own data giving license to government censorship (Linz, Penrod, & Donnerstein, 1987; Wilcox, 1987). As a result, many lost confidence in the literature connecting pornography use and aggression, with some citing these researchers’ critiques to demonstrate a lack of credible evidence for pornography’s social harm (G. Rubin, 1993).

Throughout this ongoing struggle, the central question remained: Could social science find incontrovertible, causal evidence linking pornography consumption to violence or sexual assault? The consensus, then and now, is that it cannot (Boyle, 2000; Jensen, 1994). Even if such a link existed, ethical restrictions made finding strong experimental evidence difficult, as researchers would never knowingly provoke real acts of rape or violence, either in the laboratory or in the field (Zillmann & Bryant, 1986). Because the available evidence was not the appropriate kind, the debate ebbed with little consensus on pornography’s effects, and many continued to view pornography as harmless (Fisher & Barak, 1991). Research exploring the connection between pornography and aggression ebbed as well, with a few notable exceptions (e.g., Malamuth et al., 2000).

Feminist sex wars

As pornography came to the fore, feminist voices were quick to condemn its highly distorted portrayal of women (i.e., the idea that pornography is a lie that depicts women enjoying acts of violence and rape committed against them; Brownmiller, 1975; Millett, 1970). These voices (e.g., Dworkin, 1985; MacKinnon, 1985), organized in the late 1970s as Women Against Pornography, were dedicated to decreasing the influence of pornography in society (Kirkpatrick & Zurcher, 1983). They argued that pornography was both a symptom and a cause of the male domination of women through rape and violence and that it helped perpetuate gender inequality, violating women’s civil rights. This position enjoyed a great deal of public favor over the following decade, with increasing influence in both political (Fraser Commission, 1985), and academic arenas (Russell, 1988).

Yet not all feminists were comfortable with the positions and tactics of antipornography activists. These feminists often took an anticensorship stance, admitting that pornography was distasteful, but not distasteful enough to invoke government restriction (G. Rubin, 1993; Strossen, 1993). Many were also uncomfortable joining forces with moral and Christian conservatives, who actively opposed feminist principles and values on other issues (Ellis, O’Dair, & Tallmer, 1990; G. Rubin, 1993; Strossen, 1993). Education, they argued, was a better solution than censorship, and the marketplace of ideas would eventually lessen pornography’s influence, thereby reducing its detrimental impact (Carse, 1995).

There were some scholars, however, who recognized the need for a stronger defense of pornography:

If the feminist critique is correct, then to champion the marketplace of ideas in the face of the “real harms” caused by pornography is an empty and unresponsive argument. If pornography deserves to survive the feminist attack, a justification beyond that of liberal tolerance is required. (Sherman, 1995, p. 667).

By the late 1990s, various feminists were prepared to provide this justification, arguing that pornography helped encourage healthy and uninhibited female sexuality (Lubey, 2006). Pornography, to them, was media worth celebrating in its own right (Chancer, 2000).

Although it is difficult to determine a clear victor in these debates, the influence of radical feminists has waned in recent years, particularly following the death of Andrea Dworkin (Boulton, 2008). Although the radical feminist perspective on pornography has far from disappeared from academic discourse (Bianchi, 2008), there is evidence that female attitudes toward pornography have begun to lean in a positive direction (Carroll et al., 2008).

Implications for Family Impact

The desire to restrict or censor pornography has led to a laserlike focus on its connection to rape, violence, and sexual assault, leaving little room for effects that do not speak to issues of censorship, such as effects on the stability of romantic relationships. The connection between pornography use and rape has been examined a number of times since the 1970s (Diamond, 2009), but the association between pornography use and divorce remained unexamined until the mid‐2000s (Kendall, 2006; Shumway & Daines, 2012; Wongsurawat, 2006). Similarly, dozens of experiments have examined pornography and attitudes toward rape (Mundorf, D’Alessio, Allen, & Emmers‐Sommer, 2007), but only two have had direct implications for pornography’s family impact (Gwinn, Lambert, Fincher, & Maner, 2013; Zillmann & Bryant, 1988a). This means that our understanding of pornography’s impact on families has been slow to mature, although recent research has been reversing this trend. In addition, studies on aggression and rape continue to have unexplored implications for family stability.

A Review of Pornography’s Effects

Synthesizing research on pornography’s effects is a difficult endeavor. The approaches and methods employed by pornography researchers have been diverse, and any categorization of these effects is an inherently subjective process. Nonetheless, I proceed on the basis of how researchers have framed their findings, examining beneficial effects first, followed by harmful effects.

In making use of the family impact lens, it is important to identify aspects of romantic relationships that pornography could potentially influence. Scholars have identified attributes that describe satisfying, stable relationships, including trust, expectations of fidelity, communication, shared values, frequency of positive and negative interactions, frequency and quality of sexual activity, and assumptions of permanence (summarized in Manning, 2006). Not all successful relationships embody these characteristics to the same degree, but if pornography can be shown to have an impact on these characteristics, it would be evidence that pornography can affect the stability of romantic relationships. I describe specific ways that pornography might affect these characteristics, including the beneficial effects of pornography on sexual satisfaction through increasing sexual variety; contrast effects that reduce sexual satisfaction; altered perceptions of relationship alternatives, which reduce commitment; increased acceptance of infidelity; and harmful effects on behavior (e.g., aggression, sexual coercion, sexism), which might increase negative partner interactions. Figure 1 depicts these connections, and the theoretical perspectives that underlie them.

JFTR-12141-FIG-0001-c
The Implications of Pornography Consumption for the Stability of Committed Relationships.

Beneficial Effects of Pornography Consumption

Self‐perceived benefits

Although most research has focused on negative effects, a few studies have cataloged the beneficial effects of pornography consumption. The most comprehensive effort was conducted by McKee, Albury, and Lumby (2008), who asked Australian pornography subscribers what they felt the effects of pornography were in their own lives. A majority reported that pornography had positive effects, including making consumers less repressed about sex, making them more open minded about sex, increasing tolerance of other people’s sexualities, giving pleasure, providing educational insight, sustaining sexual interest in long‐term relationships, making them more attentive to a partner’s sexual desires, helping consumers find an identity and/or community, and helping them to talk to their partners about sex. These perceived benefits were corroborated in a large Dutch sample of young adults (Hald & Malamuth, 2008), who reported that pornography had substantially more positive than negative effects on their sex life, their attitudes toward sex, their attitudes toward the opposite sex, and in their life generally, although the effects were larger for men than for women. Furthermore, in a survey of women whose partners used pornography, a majority felt that their partner’s consumption added variety to their sex lives (Bridges et al., 2003). In this study, some respondents reported using pornography together as a couple, which they saw as a positive experience.

Although the positive experiences of consumers are not to be discounted, these self‐perceptions are limited. The samples in these studies are not necessarily representative of the population of pornography consumers. Respondents subscribed to a pornographic magazine, for example, should naturally attend to effects that would justify involvement in pornography (Flood, 2013). Additionally, samples of young adults might underrepresent consumers, such as older adults in committed relationships, who might feel differently about pornography (Bergner & Bridges, 2002). Such benefits describe an idealized form of consumption, with pornography used primarily for educational or relational purposes, which may not be the modal experience (Cooper, Morahan‐Martin, Mathy, & Maheu, 2002).

In addition, pornography’s harmful effects may lie outside of consumers’ conscious awareness (Hald & Malamuth, 2008). To focus on self‐perceptions would provide a skewed picture of pornography’s effects, one that emphasizes benefits while shrouding potential harms. This tendency is reflected in pornography’s well‐established, third‐person effect—individuals are more comfortable with pornography negatively affecting other consumers than they are with it affecting themselves (Lo, Wei, & Wu, 2010).

Arousal and education

Empirical evidence corroborates pornography’s use as both a sex aid and a sex educator. As the earliest studies of pornography concluded, the viewing of sexually explicit materials can be arousing and often pleasurable (US Commission on Obscenity and Pornography, 1972). Pornography use among women has been associated with positive experiences with sex (Rogala & Tydén, 2003), may increase communication between partners regarding sexual fantasies and desires (Daneback, Traeen, & Maansson, 2009), and can expand women’s sexual horizons (Weinberg, Williams, Kleiner, & Irizarry, 2010). Pornography also can be a means of sexual release when partners are absent or unavailable (Hardy, 2004; Parvez, 2006). In terms of education, pornography provides information about sexual positions and techniques (for men more than for women; Donnelly, 1991), although it is unclear if the education provided by pornography is truly beneficial, as pornography appears to educate in other ways, by encouraging risky sexual behavior (i.e., most sex portrayed in pornography is unprotected; Stein, Silvera, Hagerty, & Marmor, 2012), instrumental attitudes toward sex (Peter & Valkenburg, 2006), and rape myths (Allen, Emmers, Gebhardt, & Giery, 1995).3

Studies examining the sexual knowledge of individuals who do and do not consume pornography would help better assess the extent and value of pornography’s educational effects.

Presumed cathartic effects

Researchers have long presumed that pornography may have a cathartic role, helping release sexual tension that would otherwise encourage aggression or sexual assault (Wilson, 1971). Although researchers find that the cathartic hypothesis is unconvincing and largely unsupported (Allen, D’Alessio, & Brezgel, 1995; Ferguson & Hartley, 2009), state‐level data from 1998 to 2003, when the availability of Internet pornography increased exponentially, reveal that rape rates decreased substantially among males aged 15–19—an age group that would have had difficulty acquiring pornography without the Internet (Kendall, 2006). These findings suggest that pornography may serve as a substitute for rape for male adolescents. Similarly, when examining child molestation rates in areas where child pornography was legal for a time, a decrease in molestation was documented during the time such pornography was available (Diamond, 2009). These studies provide initial evidence of circumstances in which pornography use may have a cathartic effect, at least in the aggregate. These findings may not translate well to an individual level, however, as those convicted of possessing child pornography are also very likely to have molested children, at least according to one study (Bourke & Hernandez, 2009).

Implied benefits for relationships

These benefits have important implications for sexual satisfaction in romantic relationships. Studies have examined whether pornography use is associated with increased sexual satisfaction by increasing sexual variety (Johnston, 2013; Štulhofer, Buško, & Schmidt, 2012). Although these studies examine individual rather than couple satisfaction, their findings suggest that this may indeed be a viable benefit.

Harmful Effects in a Romantic Context

Despite early work examining pornography use in a romantic context (Mann, 1970), it is only in the past 5 years that substantial quantitative data have become available (e.g., Gwinn et al., 2013). As a result, the effects of pornography on committed relationships are becoming clearer. I begin by reviewing three pathways for pornography’s influence on romantic relationships: (a) contrast effects, (b) upward valuations of relationship alternatives, and (c) the acceptance of infidelity. I follow with an assessment of problematic pornography use in committed relationships, as well as the association between pornography consumption and divorce, and I conclude this section with an assessment of effects that have not been examined in a romantic context but nonetheless have important implications for how romantic partners interact: effects on aggression, sexual coercion, and sexism.

When considering this research, it is useful to draw a distinction between two separate patterns of pornography consumption in romantic relationships. The first is a more idealized mode of consumption, in which partners watch pornography together to enhance their sexual experience. The second, likely more common mode (Cooper et al., 2002), is solitary consumption—often characterized by secrecy and deceit as consumers hide their pornography use from the nonconsuming partner (Bergner & Bridges, 2002). Evidence suggests that the first mode is considerably less harmful to committed relationships than the second, although mutual consumption continues to have risks (Maddox, Rhodes, & Markman, 2011).

To be more specific, Maddox et al. (2011) compared couples who had never viewed pornography with those who consumed pornography together, as well as those in which one partner consumed pornography alone. On measures of communication, relationship adjustment, commitment, sexual satisfaction, and infidelity, couples in which neither partner viewed pornography reported higher relationship quality than did those in which one or both partners viewed pornography alone. Couples in which partners consumed pornography only together, however, reported similar relationship quality to those who never viewed pornography (with the exception of infidelity: The likelihood of infidelity among mutual consumers was almost double that of nonconsumers, at 18.2% vs. 9.7%) and reported higher dedication to the relationship and sexual satisfaction than did solitary consumers. When individuals combine mutual and solitary consumption, the outcomes more closely align with the latter rather than the former (Maddox et al., 2011).

Contrast effects

When judging the attractiveness of romantic partners, we often to refer to a common standard, one informed by other individuals we encounter (Kenrick & Gutierres, 1980), as well as by the media we watch. When males view images of attractive females, and then judge the attractiveness of their own mates, they observe contrast effects—they see their mates as less attractive relative to males not exposed to those images (Kenrick, Gutierres, & Goldberg, 1989). This same principle might also apply to other aspects of relationships: “Free‐spirited, varied sexual encounters in pornography produce a sharp contrast versus the restrictions, commitment, and responsibilities associated with family and relationships and make the latter appear as particularly restricting” (Mundorf et al., 2007, p. 85).

Zillmann and Bryant (1988b) tested these contrast effects by exposing individuals to 6 hours of nonviolent pornographic material over 6 weeks, measuring satisfaction with their (mostly dating) partners, in terms of not only attractiveness but also affection, sexual curiosity, and sexual performance. Compared to controls, those exposed expressed substantially less satisfaction on each of these measures. These findings are supported by correlational data connecting pornography to decreased satisfaction with physical intimacy in a relationship (Bridges & Morokoff, 2011; Poulsen, Busby, & Galovan, 2013). Real life, it seems, does not compare favorably with pornography.

Relationship alternatives

Rather than altering how consumers perceive the characteristics and behavior of their own partners, pornography might give the sense that others outside the relationship would better provide sexual variety and satisfaction (Zillmann & Bryant, 1984). As these alternatives become more appealing, commitment to the current relationship erodes, as indicated by Rusbult’s (1980) Investment Model. This idea was supported in two sets of studies. First, Lambert, Negash, Stillman, Olmstead, and Fincham (2012) demonstrated that increased pornography consumption (pornographic website views in the previous 30 days) was correlated with lower commitment to a current romantic partner, that pornography use was associated with increased flirtation with an opposite‐sex individual in an online chat, and that decreased commitment mediated a positive association between pornography use and infidelity.4

Gwinn et al. (2013) also found that individuals primed with pornographic materials reported higher‐quality romantic alternatives relative to controls and that pornography consumption (in the previous 30 days) predicted extradyadic behavior (e.g., flirting, kissing, cheating) 12 weeks later, with the perceived alternative quality mediating this association. Pornography consumption is thus causally implicated in extradyadic behavior through perceptions of relationship alternatives.

Increasing acceptance of infidelity

Scholars were quick to point out the potential for pornography to alter “sexual scripts”—our expectations for how sexual activity (and romantic relationships generally) should proceed (Berger, Simon, & Gagnon, 1973)—and inform relationship norms (e.g., how often oral sex should occur) and characteristics (e.g., fidelity). This influence was first presented in a positive light, with pornography ostensibly creating more effective sexual scripts (Berger et al., 1973). It is possible, however, because pornography generally portrays uncommitted—and often explicitly unfaithful—sexual encounters, that exposure can foster a permissive sexual script, increasing acceptance of extradyadic behavior (Braithwaite, Coulson, Keddington, & Fincham, 2014).

The available data are in strong support of the assertion that individuals exposed to larger amounts of nonviolent pornography evidence an increased acceptance and estimated frequency of extramarital sex (Zillmann & Bryant, 1988a) relative to controls and are more likely to believe that promiscuity is natural and that marriage is less desirable. Also, males who watched a pornographic movie within the previous year were more likely to be accepting of extramarital sex, had an increased number of sexual partners within the past year, and were more likely to engage in paid sex behavior than those who did not (Wright & Randall, 2012). Pornography consumption also predicted casual sex behavior (including extramarital sex) 3 years later, with no evidence of reverse causality (Wright, 2012).

Partners’ perceptions of problematic consumption

Regardless of the general effects of pornography use, it seems clear that there are cases in which pornography use can be perceived as problematic, either by the consumer or by a consumer’s partner. These partners are often women concerned with consumption as part of a larger pattern of seemingly compulsive sexual behavior (Schneider, 2000). The narratives produced by these women present a picture of what happens when pornography use becomes problematic (Bergner & Bridges, 2002; Schneider, 2000).

Schneider (2000), for example, examined the narratives of 91 women (and three men) who had experienced adverse effects of a partner’s cybersexual activity. These individuals experienced severe emotional distress over their partner’s behavior, feeling betrayed, abandoned, humiliated, hurt, and angry. They also felt sharp contrast effects, comparing themselves unfavorably with the women in pornography and feeling unable to compete with them in terms of sexual performance. Individuals who attempted to compensate by having more sex with their partners were often unsuccessful. Furthermore, participants often lacked desire to engage sexually with partners who they felt had betrayed them, and their partners also withdrew sexually in favor of pornography. Many ultimately reassessed the relationship itself, seeking separation or divorce as their relationships progressively deteriorated. Similar findings have been obtained by other researchers (e.g., Bergner & Bridges, 2002). However, an important confound in these studies is the conflation of pornography use with dishonest and deceptive behavior (Resch & Alderson, 2013). Spouses spent considerable effort hiding and lying about their online activities, and that dishonesty triggered hurt and betrayal as much as or more than pornography use.

Although these narratives may evoke sympathy, they do not tell us how widespread such experiences are. However, one survey (Bridges et al., 2003) found that a substantial minority of women (30 of 100) reported their partner’s pornography use as distressing. Their distress increased as the consumption increased and was felt more by married and older women than by dating and younger women. This finding demonstrates that the experiences reported by Schneider (2000), though far from ubiquitous, may be common enough to elicit concern.

Connecting pornography use and divorce

Data from the General Social Survey (GSS) show consistent correlations between pornography consumption (viewing a pornographic video or website in the previous 30 days) and divorce for all years between 1973 and 2010, with the relationship gaining in strength over time (i.e., those who consumed pornography were, on average across the data set, 60% more likely to be divorced than those who did not, with the most recent years showing the strongest association; Doran & Price, 2014). In addition, a longitudinal analysis of state‐level data over 3 decades (Shumway & Daines, 2011) shows a strong time‐lagged correlation between divorce and subscription rates for popular pornographic magazines (r = .44), even when controlling for a variety of factors. Shumway and Daines (2011) estimated that 10% of all divorces occurring in the 1960s and 1970s can be attributed to pornography consumption.

Aggression

A prime concern of many pornography researchers has been the connection between exposure to pornography and overt aggressive behavior, a concern highlighted by the apparent increase in depictions of aggression in pornography over time (Bridges, Wosnitzer, Scharrer, Sun, & Liberman, 2010). Although findings connecting pornography and aggression can appear contradictory, a remarkably consistent story emerges in the light of meta‐analytic data (Allen, D’Alessio, & Brezgel, 1995; Mundorf et al., 2007). Exposure to nonviolent pornographic film primes increased aggression, particularly when the target individual is the same sex, but only when participants are provoked (e.g., Donnerstein & Hallam, 1978). This suggests that exposure incites aggression only when participants might confuse sexual arousal for anger, consistent with an excitation‐transfer hypothesis.5

Exposure to violent pornography has also been shown to facilitate aggression. Meta‐analyses reveal stronger effects for exposure to violent pornography relative to nonviolent pornography (Allen, D’Alessio, & Brezgel, 1995), although the effect is substantially moderated by the gender of the person, facilitating aggression only when males are provoked to aggress against females (e.g., Donnerstein, 1980a). This sexual violence appears to encourage aggression beyond exposure to other forms of violence, which suggests that sex and violence combine in synergistic ways to facilitate aggression against women (Donnerstein, 1983). These distinctions led researchers away from an excitation‐transfer hypothesis, explaining violent pornography in terms of the social learning theories put forward by Bandura and other behavioral researchers (Bandura, 2011; Bandura & McClelland, 1977; Mundorf et al., 2007).6The results concerning aggression should be interpreted with caution. Even if findings from the laboratory can be applied to the real world, it is unclear how long the effects of pornography exposure last (longer than 20 minutes; Zillmann, Hoyt, & Day, 1974; less than a week; Malamuth & Ceniti, 1986), and the average aggressive effects of pornography exposure are notably weak, particularly for nonviolent pornography (r = < .2; Allen, D’Alessio, & Brezgel, 1995). Given such limited effect sizes, it would make sense to look for subtle effects on aggression that may be found in romantic relationships, where conflict between partners can be relatively common (Fitness, 2001). Individuals need not react with overt physical aggression for such reactions to damage their close relationships—they might instead react with a harsh or vindictive turn of phrase, an insult, or a cold shoulder (Metts & Cupach, 2007). Pornography exposure might lead consumers to be slightly less kind, slightly more defensive, or a little more vengeful when provoked by a romantic partner, thus increasing negative partner interactions. Future research could examine this possibility, as these effects may be enough to alter the course of a romantic relationship, making such relationships gradually more unstable and less satisfying (Rusbult, 1986).

Sexual assault and sexual coercion

Although the connection between pornography exposure and aggression is well supported, at least within the confines of the laboratory, the connection between pornography use and sexual assault is much more equivocal. Large‐scale data indicate that the legalization of pornography does not increase the incidence of rape (Wongsurawat, 2006), but individual‐level analyses present a different account, with consumption of violent (but not nonviolent) pornography associated with an increased rated likelihood of rape and the use of force to obtain sex (Demaré, Lips, & Briere, 1993). Consumption was also correlated with recalled acts of sexual coercion (Boeringer, 1994), and individuals exposed to nonviolent but degrading pornography in the lab also reported a greater likelihood of rape than those not exposed (Check & Guloien, 1989). Males exposed to film depictions of rape felt that the female victim was more responsible for what happened, though only if the video ended with a female orgasm (relative to a violent end; Donnerstein & Berkowitz, 1981), and meta‐analyses of correlational and experimental data have found that both violent and nonviolent pornography increase the endorsement of rape myths (Allen, Emmers, et al., 1995; Mundorf et al., 2007).

Pornography, in this context, appears to communicate female enjoyment and encouragement of coercive sexual activity, but these attitudes are not irrevocably altered by exposure to pornography. Such effects essentially disappear when pornographic depictions are accompanied by debriefings, prebriefings, or other educational materials that dispel rape myths (Check & Malamuth, 1984; Donnerstein & Berkowitz, 1981), an assertion that is supported by meta‐analytic data (Mundorf et al., 2007). Such findings give hope that deleterious effects can be controlled or eliminated through concerted sex education efforts.

The ongoing conflict between aggregate and individual‐level findings remains the largest hurdle in the connection between pornography and rape. Only research that examines both levels simultaneously—likely through the application of multilevel linear modeling (MLM; Snijders & Bosker, 2011)—would be able to truly reconcile these disparate findings. Some researchers, however, use a confluence model to resolve this discrepancy, which suggests that the expression of sexual assault requires a confluence of various impelling factors. If pornography is among such factors, we should see a substantial effect only in those already at risk for aggressive behavior, and this is precisely what some have found (e.g., Malamuth & Huppin, 2005). The risk of committing a sexual assault is generally low regardless of pornography consumption, except for those whose risk of violent behavior is high—pornography subscribers have a greatly increased risk over nonsubscribers among those high in hostile masculinity and sexual promiscuity, both of which are predictors of violent behavior (Malamuth & Huppin, 2005).

These findings regarding sexual coercion, though equivocal, have implications for family impact. If there is a connection between pornography use and sexual assault generally, then there may also be a connection to date or marital rape (for a discussion of date and marital rape, see Clinton‐Sherrod & Walters, 2011), which is no less harmful and may be far more common than stranger rape (Bergen, 1996), and also would certainly qualify as a negative partner interaction. Although little data speak directly to pornography’s effects on date or marital rape, various studies have noted that husbands who habitually coerce their wives into sex often attempt to reenact pornographic scenes (e.g., Finkelhor & Yllo, 1983; Moreau, Boucher, Hebert, & Lemelin, 2015). Further research in this area would be a welcome addition to the existing literature.

Sexist attitudes and behavior

Some experimental research has connected pornography with sexist behavior and attitudes. For example, researchers theorized that pornography would encourage sexist behavior through priming a heterosexual self‐schema (McKenzie‐Mohr & Zanna, 1990). Male participants viewed either nonviolent pornography or a neutral control video and were then interviewed by a female confederate. Sex‐typed men exposed to pornography had greater recall for the confederate’s physical features and less recall for her intellectual qualifications. The female interviewer, blind to experimental condition, rated those exposed to pornography as more sexually motivated than those exposed to the neutral video. A conceptual replication led to similar results (Jansma, Linz, Mulac, & Imrich, 1997),7

and showed effects only with degrading pornography rather than nondegrading erotica.These experimental effects are supported by studies on pornography and sexist attitudes. Pornography consumption is positively associated with thinking of women in sexual terms (Burns, 2001), as well as measures of benevolent (Garos, Beggan, Kluck, & Easton, 2004) and hostile (Hald, Malamuth, & Lange, 2013) sexism. Hostile sexism scores can also be increased by experimental exposure to nonviolent pornography (e.g., Hald et al., 2013). Last, studies have connected pornography use to less egalitarian attitudes (Burns, 2001; Hald et al., 2013)—although some find no relationship between pornography use and such attitudes (e.g., Barak & Fisher, 1997)—with longitudinal data showing that pornography use predicts increased opposition to affirmative action for women, with no evidence of reverse causality (Wright & Funk, 2013). The main theoretical perspective underlying these associations is social learning. As consumers watch women being treated as sexual objects, they come to form attitudes and behavior that reflect sexual objectification (McKenzie‐Mohr & Zanna, 1993).

Sexism can exert influence on the dynamics of romantic relationships. Pornography consumption may lead men to place greater value on the physical characteristics of their partners (which invariably degrade over time) rather than their intellectual attributes, which might lead to greater dissatisfaction with the relationship as time passes. Hostile sexist attitudes may also promote attempts to coercively control romantic partners (which is associated with intimate partner violence; Whitaker, 2013), thus suggesting another way pornography could increase negative partner interactions.

Conclusion

The evidence for pornography’s influence on the stability of romantic and committed relationships is strong. The effects described are grounded in established theory and operate through well‐defined processes, and the data produce remarkable agreement. Social learning theory (Bandura, 2011) suggests that as pornography consumers watch acts of aggression and violence or view sexist or degrading portrayals, they can adopt attitudes supportive of those behaviors and learn to enact them with their own partners (although they may also learn more varied sexual techniques in the process). Similarly, pornography may inform sexual scripts that increase the likelihood of infidelity (Braithwaite et al., 2014), and consumers may unfairly compare their romantic partners or their own relationships to those they see in pornography (Zillmann & Bryant, 1988b) or perceive those outside the relationship as better able to fill sexual needs (Gwinn et al., 2013). Taken together, these effects have the potential to be problematic in the context of a committed romantic relationship (Schneider, 2000) and may increase the likelihood of divorce (Shumway & Daines, 2012).

In weighing the evidence of pornography’s family impact, an important question remains unanswered: How should those concerned with the effects of pornography—whether scholars, public officials, or actual consumers—interpret this widening catalog of evidence? Contemporary antipornography activists might use evidence of pornography’s relational harm as ammunition in the fight to censor pornographic material, lobbying governments directly. In addition, they might incorporate these findings into educational efforts, attempting to change the hearts and minds of individual consumers or those close to them. Both approaches deserve brief discussion.

Recent restrictions on the content of UK‐produced pornography, as well as an “opt‐in” filter system that requires consumers in the United Kingdom to specifically request access to pornographic websites (R. Hawkins, 2013), have shown that governments may yet be able to curb pornography’s influence through legislative action, particularly with a compromise between censorship and civil liberties. The history reviewed here, in contrast, suggests that attempts to censor pornography are not without risk. Past examples of government intervention on pornography have largely backfired, accomplishing little except increasing the ire of anticensorship forces. Scholars and activists concerned with government censorship have relied (and likely will rely again) on the same standards of social harm established by the US Supreme Court. The effects on romantic relationships described in this review will likely fail to meet that standard, as they do not demonstrate a causal connection between pornography use and violent harm. As with earlier findings connecting pornography to aggression and sexual coercion, there is a risk that evidence of family impact will be downplayed and dismissed.

Educational efforts represent another way to ameliorate pornography’s harms. Large‐scale educational initiatives have been tried before, particularly by antipornography feminist groups (Ciclitira, 2004), but evidence of family impact may provide a fresh and compelling angle for people to come to recognize pornography’s harmful influence. Consumers who place value on their committed relationships may have substantial reason to rethink their pornography habits. Such evidence may also spur governments overtly concerned with family stability (e.g., Japan and Russia are working hard to encourage single individuals to get married and raise families; McCurry, 2011; Rhodin, 2008) into supporting education on pornography’s family impact. Furthermore, pornography education could be folded into marriage education programs currently provided by religious and nonprofit organizations, and marriage and relationship researchers could consider adding a component on pornography into evidence‐based education programs (e.g., Barnes & Stanley, 2012). Whether such efforts would be effective remains an empirical question, although educational successes in other public health arenas (e.g., antismoking public awareness campaigns; Durkin, Brennan, & Wakefield, 2012) provide some encouragement.

Given recent findings, those who argue that pornography is harmless (e.g., Diamond, Jozifkova, & Weiss, 2011) will need to firmly qualify what they mean by harm, unless they affirm that divorce and infidelity are universally positive or neutral phenomena (which they may be willing to do; Christensen, 1986). The proclamation of pornography’s harmlessness by the 1970 commission served to stifle further inquiry—many scholars felt that the questions of pornography’s effects were effectively settled (Zillmann, 2000), and it was only evidence of aggressive effects that spurred further inquiry. Accumulating evidence of pornography’s family impact has the potential to do the same today, and I hope that this review will stimulate further research and debate among family scientists on pornography’s effects—effects on individuals, but also on the relationships they share.

Author’s Note

I would like to acknowledge the kind support of Dr. Hank Stam and Dr. Susan Boon, and funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council.