Celebrated as the ideal form of romance, a growing cadre of philosophers argue that monogamy is actually unethical.
– By Brian D. Earp – Monday, 4th July 2022
For many generations in societies shaped by Christianity, monogamy has been the almost undisputed champion of relationship norms. In Britain and the US, it has been held up as the dominant – really the only – ideal for serious romantic partnerships, toward which all of us should always be striving. According to the authors of a 2019 article in Archives of Sexual Behavior, focused on the US context, a “halo surrounds monogamous relationships . . . monogamous people are perceived to have various positive qualities based solely on the fact they are monogamous.” Other relationship models, or even just being persistently single, have often been seen as suspect, if not morally wrong.
Things are starting to change, though. Progressives, at least, increasingly exhibit a greater open-mindedness about intimate pairings that are not expected to be exclusive. There is growing awareness of alternatives to monogamy, such as polyamory: roughly, valuing or engaging in more than one sexual or romantic relationship at a time.
Monogamy as a social norm
The feminist critique of compulsory monogamy is compelling. According to Lori Watson, professor of philosophy at Washington University in St. Louis, “the practice and enforcement of monogamy within marriages has largely served the interests of men.” Throughout history, men have wanted to ensure their children are really theirs: that way, any property they bequeath ends up with their biological offspring. She concludes that “the idea that this and only this arrangement is conducive to respectful, loving relationships is myopic – and arguably in service of shoring up the dominant position men have traditionally enjoyed.”
Of course, men in contemporary societies often also face stigma for missing monogamous benchmarks. They may be accused of having “commitment issues” or “failing to settle down” if they resist, however thoughtfully or deliberately, the pervasive pressure to find a “soulmate” (and eschew all others). Philosopher Justin Clardy argues that heterosexual African American men who are ethically polyamorous (with the willing agreement of all concerned) are nevertheless often harmfully stereotyped as “players” – that is, as men who are assumed to “just want sex”.
Even people who identify as non-binary or genderqueer are far from immune to these kinds of pressures. Like members of the gay community who led the push for same-sex marriage in the early 2000s, they know that pursuing a monogamous relationship can gain you at least partial acceptance from a society that regards you as “other.” Historians will remind us that not everyone in the gay community was on board with same-sex marriage. Some saw it as a regrettable capitulation to overly restrictive relationship norms; an unreasonable price to pay for relatively respectful treatment from “straight” society.
Until recently, however, critics of monogamy have tended not to oppose it in principle. Rather, they have argued that we should be free to craft our relationships according to our own preferences and needs. As long as all parties are mature adults and agree to the plan, who is anyone else to judge?
Power and control
Harry Chalmers, for one. He is part of a growing cadre of philosophers arguing that monogamy itself may be morally wrong. In his 2019 paper “Is Monogamy Morally Permissible?” published in the Journal of Value Inquiry, he argued against a laissez-faire perspective that sees both monogamy and non-monogamy appropriately sitting on the menu of options. Instead, he writes: “We morally ought to reject monogamy.” To be clear, Chalmers thinks people should be free to have one, and only one, sexual or romantic partner in any given period. What he thinks is wrong, rather, is the common practice of placing restrictions on how one’s partner may act with others – in terms of sexual contact or emotional intimacy – as a condition of continuing the relationship.
It isn’t only Chalmers who is making this argument. Justin Clardy, the philosopher of African American polyamory I cited earlier, has also recently argued against the moral permissibility of what he calls “intimacy confining constraints” (even among polyamorists). These are defined as “categorical” restrictions on additional intimate relationships, whether sexual or “emotional” – as in the concept of “emotional cheating” – when one is in at least one such relationship already.
Finally, in a forthcoming book chapter, Norwegian philosopher Ole Martin Moen, along with his co-author, the nurse and trans activist Aleksander Sørlie, makes a similar point.
All of these writers appeal to an argument by analogy, focused on the case of friendships. Consider the following:
“Let’s say that two friends, Jack and Jane, both love reading and often get together to discuss literature. Then Jack says to Jane that he thinks discussing literature is ‘their thing’, and that he will remain friends with her only on the condition that she does not discuss literature with anyone else – and, indeed, that this rule applies even on days when Jack is out of town, when he is busy doing other things, or when he just doesn’t feel like hanging out or talking with Jane.”
That’s the version of the argument from Moen and Sørlie. “In this case,” they remark, “it seems clear that Jack’s requirements are not okay; they are controlling and restricting beyond what is acceptable.”
Let’s say we agree. “Importantly,” Moen and Sørlie continue:
“Jack would not be able to justify this requirement by appealing to the claim that, in fact, Jane only wishes to discuss literature with him. The reason this justification does not work is that insofar as this really is the case, the requirement is redundant. The requirement is relevant, and kicks into action, only insofar as Jane might in fact want to discuss literature with someone else; the requirement serves the purpose of discouraging her from doing so. But if exclusivity requirements are not okay in the case of friendships, why are they okay in the case of romantic relationships?”
Well, you might be thinking, because friendships (and discussing literature) and romantic relationships (and having sex) are different in various ways that justify a different standard. For example, having sex with someone risks pregnancy and sexually transmitted infections, whereas discussing literature typically risks neither.
In their respective writings, Chalmers, Clardy, Moen and Sørlie address this and other anticipated objections, arguing that, despite appearances, the claimed differences do not amount to a morally relevant distinction – at least not one that can ground a categorical restriction on extra-relational intimacy, whether physical or emotional, among romantic partners.
For example, they point out that many forms of sexual interaction do not risk pregnancy, and that the risk of STIs, where relevant, can be reduced with safe sex practices. They also urge that the alleged “specialness” – that is, the special value – of a romantic relationship need not be diminished by having other such relationships: each person, and so each relationship, is unique.
Sure, they say, we may be accustomed to thinking of sexual intimacy as fundamentally different from other forms of intimacy, like those we associate with “Platonic” friendship, but cultural constructs can be unlearned. Intimacies of various kinds can be important life goods, and we should want our partners, just like our friends, to be as free as possible to pursue what is good for them.
So, they conclude, demanding monogamy of a partner – lest you withdraw your care and affection from them, or pull the plug on the whole relationship – is an illegitimate exercise of power. It’s controlling.
A couple of things seem to be conflated here. It’s one thing to be in a close relationship that is not based on an assumption of monogamy, and then, out of nowhere, to spring a “change of rules” unilaterally. (“As of today, if you are sexually intimate with anyone else besides me, I will end this relationship and cut off ties.”) Although you have a right to leave a relationship you don’t want to be in – for any reason – taking this route would not reflect well on your character.
It’s another thing, though, to make clear from the outset that, in deciding whether to invest in a serious, close relationship with someone, a shared interest in monogamy is important for you. You might say, “Listen, if you and I don’t share this particular value, that is totally fine. I just don’t think that we are best suited to being long-term romantic partners.” That doesn’t seem to be objectionably controlling.
The importance of communication
Yet as Chalmers, Clardy and the others point out in their work, many people may mistakenly believe they value monogamy. Perhaps their belief is based on questionable assumptions about love: that it is a limited resource or zero-sum game, for example. Or perhaps the belief is based on morally dubious motives, such as a desire to claim or possess another person as a way of avoiding insecurity. Or, perhaps, those who think they value exclusivity simply haven’t thought about it enough.
There’s no doubt that many people endorse monogamy unreflectively. Maybe most of us do. But it seems a stretch to assume this applies to everyone. So let us suppose that, in at least some cases, a well-considered, mutual agreement to be monogamous could be what is best for a couple. Based on their particular life-histories, psychologies, preferences, values and the dynamic between them, it just so happens that if each one pledges to be tied to the metaphorical mast (and to hold the other accountable while the sirens sing) this will maximise their chances of a happy relationship.
Neither party has an independent obligation to “get serious” with anyone, much less specifically the other person. And each one is free to have certain desires for the kind of relationship they would like to invest in. Assuming they talk things through in advance, and no one pressures the other into making an agreement to be exclusive when that is not what the other person truly wants, it is hard to see how monogamy as such could be immoral.
Granted, this is not how monogamous arrangements are typically pursued. Instead, there is often a presumption on the part of one partner that the other wants to be, and will be, monogamous, and when this doesn’t turn out to be true, hearts break. Explicit communication would clearly be better. So why does it so often fail to happen?
According to its critics, the sheer power and pervasiveness of monogamy as a social norm work against such communication. Either there is an automatic assumption of monogamy, so that raising a question about it doesn’t even occur to you; or, there is a desire not to be monogamous, so that raising a question about it puts you at risk of being rejected by someone you’ve come to care about, or even denigrated or socially stigmatised.
So here is where the critics get it right. Monogamy should not be the automatic default position. That way, the need for communication would be obvious to everyone, because a preference for monogamy could not be simply assumed.
At the same time, ethical alternatives to monogamy should be given a much bigger seat at the table. Societies should hold up examples of well-conducted non-monogamous relationships so that people can get a better sense of how they work. They won’t be for everyone, but they will be best for some.
In their righteous effort to knock monogamy off its pedestal, however, Chalmers and the others go too far. A mutual expectation between partners that neither will get romantically involved with others is not inherently morally wrong.
Instead, as Bryan R. Weaver and Fiona Woollard argued in an important article published in The Monist in 2008, there are good and bad reasons for, and ways to pursue, monogamy. The bad ways involve making unwarranted presumptions, unreflective decisions, or being controlling, possessive or manipulative. The good ways involve clear, upfront communication, respect between parties, and equal standing to decide how things should go.
We can and should object to the bad ways of pursuing monogamy, which may be the main ways it is currently pursued. But we shouldn’t rule it out in principle, condemning all who would ever try to make it work. Let us all be more reflective, more open-minded and communicative. And then let us say: to each their own.
This piece is from the New Humanist summer 2022 edition. Subscribe here.
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