The N.F.L. has had five months to consider how it would respond to Ray Rice, the Baltimore Ravens running back* who, while in Atlantic City in February, was caught by security cameras carrying his fiancée, Janay Palmer, out of an elevator. He had apparently knocked her unconscious.

While Rice has not been found guilty of a crime—charged with third-degree aggravated assault, he avoided going to trial by enrolling in an intervention program—the N.F.L.’s commissioner, Roger Goodell, has made a point, during his tenure, of policing his employees’ behavior. Under the league’s personal-conduct policy, “it is not enough simply to avoid being found guilty of a crime. Instead, as an employee of the NFL or a member club, you are held to a higher standard and expected to conduct yourself in a way that is responsible, promotes the values upon which the League is based, and is lawful.”

So, on Thursday morning, when the N.F.L. announced that it was suspending Rice for just two games this season, the news was received with some dismay. Rice will also be fined fifty-eight thousand dollars, and he will be asked—politely, but sternly, perhaps—to seek counselling. And then he will return to the field.

Domestic violence is one of many scourges plaguing the N.F.L., but, unlike the abuse of drugs or steroids, punishment for the abuse of women is not neatly outlined in the league’s many policies and manuals. Testing positive for banned substances will get a first-time offender a four-game suspension, and the penalties increase from there.

Indeed, already this year, the league has handed out punishment unsparingly. Robert Mathis, of the Indianapolis Colts, will sit out four games for violating the N.F.L.’s performance-enhancing-drugs policy; he said that he was taking fertility drugs*. Josh Gordon, a receiver for the Cleveland Browns, has been suspended the entire season for testing positive for marijuana. (Gordon is appealing the ban.)

But when it turns to intimate-partner violence, the league is stunningly inconsistent. Assault falls under a more general rubric, one in which discipline “will be based on the nature of the incident, the actual or threatened risk to the participant and others, any prior or additional misconduct (whether or not criminal charges were filed), and other relevant factors.” Last week, Greg Hardy, of the Carolina Panthers, was found guilty of assaulting and threatening a woman. He is appealing and asking for a jury trial, which could take months to begin. In the meantime, the Panthers and the N.F.L. will allow Hardy to remain on the team, like any other player. Last year, the Minnesota Vikings immediately released A. J. Jefferson when he was arrested, in November, for allegedly choking his girlfriend; the next week, Goodell suspended him for four games. (Jefferson will return to the field, however: he was signed by the Super Bowl champion Seahawks in May.) For now, the Ravens appear to be committed to Ray Rice.

One hopes that the team is equally committed to the well-being of Janay Palmer, who is now Rice’s wife. So far, the Ravens have simply given her an opportunity to apologize: “I do deeply regret the role that I played in the incident that night,” she told the media at a press conference in May. Ray Rice, at least, said that he was sorry as well. The N.F.L. touts its Women’s Resource Initiative for the mothers, wives, and significant others of players, but, while there are plenty of articles on its Web site on dealing with loved ones’ concussions and personal brands, there are few resources for getting help with abusive relationships.

There is no evidence that the incidence of domestic violence is any higher in the N.F.L. than anywhere else, but these cases are higher profile than most. Each time, the opportunity to set a standard or to stigmatize violence (in the eyes of college players, for example) is lost. In 2013, Rachel Louise Snyder wrote about domestic violence, and about the “deep cultural misunderstanding of how violence operates.”

We assume that victims incite abuse, or that if the situation at home was truly threatening they would leave. Restraining orders, when filed, are thought to keep perpetrators away. And, if a woman fails to show up in court to renew a restraining order, the assumption is that the problem has somehow been resolved.

There are players in the N.F.L. who know how devastating domestic violence can be. William Gay, a cornerback for the Pittsburgh Steelers, was eight years old when his mother was shot by her boyfriend when she tried to move out of the house they shared. One wishes that the league would, through its own actions, respect the experience of men like Gay, who are passionate about preventing violence in homes and in relationships.

The N.F.L. realizes that women are a significant—and growing—segment of its audience. Every October, they couch their product in the carnation pink of breast-cancer awareness. It’s a worthy cause, of course: one in eight women in the U.S. will be diagnosed with breast cancer in her lifetime. And one in four women will be a victim of relationship violence at some point in her life. Standing up to this kind of sickness is important, too.

*Correction: An earlier version of this post misstated Ray Rice’s position for the Ravens, and said that Robert Mathis, in taking fertility drugs, was trying to “start a family”; he has two children.