alternatives

a case against marriage and monogamy

Jeffrey Smart, Lovers by House, 1956

I used to think that relationships were fundamentally fragile. But I think it’s like this: bonds that are cherished and loosely held are stronger than ironclad, legally binding contracts.

At the end of last year, I had a realization that despite spending a lot of time dating because presumably I wanted to be in a relationship, I had no idea what this relationship would look like. I used to assume I would get married, settle down, and have kids. But the prospect of marital domesticity—living with one partner day-in, day-out for the rest of my life—seemed terribly stifling. And it’s not just the challenges of cohabitation, but marriage itself that felt suffocating. The more I come to understand about attachment and how we form bonds, the less conviction I have in monogamous marriage as a desirable goal. Truthfully, I think marriage is full of landmines. It can ruin even the strongest of relationships. Of course, there are happily married couples, but statistically, they are the exception, not the norm. So why should I see myself as an exception and pursue a kind of bond that is more likely than not to fail?

The fundamental flaw of marriage is that it destroys mystery, and mystery is the essence of intimacy. Last month, I met someone who introduced me to the Zen koan “not knowing is most intimate.” I think what often happens in a marriage is that you know—or think you know—your partner so well that you stop giving them the chance to surprise you. You start to see them in a very rigid way. This is exacerbated by the illusion that your partner belongs to you. And so anything that might surprise you and destroy the illusion of complete knowing and belonging must be hidden from you.

And because of this idea that marriage is forever—after biological family, it’s (theoretically) the most permanent of relationships—we fall into the trap of taking our spouse for granted. We start to become a little careless in how we treat them and nurture the relationship less. A strong relationship is one in which both partners choose to stay together. But a marriage, as a legally binding contract, takes away this choice and replaces it with obligation.

In theory, monogamy is very beautiful: dedicating yourself to one person for the rest of your life. But it can also constrict growth when it’s no longer an authentic choice. If we think of every person as constantly becoming, of a fulfilling life as one of discovery and never-ending growth, why should that not include romantic and sexual exploration, discovery, and growth? Adultery is proof that monogamy is at best, flawed. Imagine if Emma Bovary and Anna Karenin were in non-monogamous marriages where they had the explicit freedom to explore relationships with other men. Their fates would have been utterly different.

Defenders of monogamy would argue that it’s essential for raising children, but I find this argument dated and lazy. Just because a man or woman has multiple sexual or romantic partners does not mean they’re less invested in raising their children. Just because monogamous parenting has become the standard way of parenting doesn’t mean that other ways of doing it are inherently worse.

I’m embracing the idea of freedom with intention. By intention I mean that there is a purpose in granting and exercising freedom, that it’s not just freedom for freedom’s sake. I think the best type of relationship is one in which both parties agree on the nature of their relationship. For example, I can agree with someone that the purpose of our relationship is to raise children together, and we give each other freedom to fulfill other needs elsewhere, provided those needs don’t interfere with the raising of children. I can agree with someone else that the purpose of our relationship is to be each other’s emotional anchor in times of distress.

Of course, ethical non-monogamy comes with its own challenges. It’s an inherently less secure, less predictable relationship structure. In fact, it might seem like the worst idea for someone who has struggled with insecure attachment. It’s like throwing a person with a fear of water into the deep end. But I actually think it can also be the best thing for someone with attachment wounds because in order for ENM to work, both partners need to learn to become more securely attached to each other and securely attuned to their own needs. It’s like getting constant practice using a new muscle. Monogamy, on the other hand, can be a crutch for insecurely-attached couples, leading to codependency and unhealthy cycles of pursuit and withdrawal. It can worsen one’s insecure attachment by normalizing jealous or paranoid behavior.

Marriage has lost its luster for me, while alternative ways of being in a partnership have become more exciting because they allow room for exploration, discovery, and growth. Perhaps it’s easy for me to hold this view because I haven’t met someone that I want to “get monogamous” with. I won’t deny that a part of me still hopes I can find someone with whom I feel a strong emotional connection, and share similar values, and want to have sex, and raise a family, and want to see every day, and who won’t ever leave me or want something else. But a less romantic, more realistic part of me can see that this is what Lauren Berlant would call a “relation of cruel optimism.” It’s a beautiful dream that keeps some people going and pursuing that end-all, be-all relationship, but for others, a better destination lies off the beaten path.