'Till Death Do Us...Wait, What?
I tend to fall in love with ideas, especially if they're transgressive. I also tend to be a bit pedantic, which is unfortunate when I'm exploring new concepts with enthusiasm, because I sometimes write with a voice of greater authority than is warranted by my knowledge of the subject. (Also known as "Talking out my ass.")
Fortunately, this medium allows me to take a couple of steps back and reconsider or expand on something I've written if I'm not entirely pleased with it. Such clarification was the genesis of this past Saturday's post ("All Frubbly-like") and will also serve as the starting point for this one. Regarding the difference between the swinging and polyamory communities, I wrote,
The critical difference between the two communities depends entirely upon the definition of "love." If you're attending monthly wife-swapping gatherings (and why is it never "husband-swapping," anyway?) for the purposes of bringing a new toy and a different joy into your marriage, then what you've got going on there isn't love, at least not among all parties concerned. That's Serial Monogamy Pro (Service Pack 1). If hubby or wifey falls in love with a weekend paramour, there's going to be a problem. The "seriousness" of the relationship remains reserved for the binary couple.
My thinking this evening is, Says who? Me?
If my straw couple has set certain rules, to wit, "Falling in love isn't allowed," then there would be a problem. But what if they haven't? It's just as reasonable to consider that these hypothetical swingers have set the opposite rule, or that they've elected to deal with such situations as they arise, or even that they've set no rule at all. In each case, I suggest that proper handling of the situation and maintenance of their relationship would depend entirely on their commitment, not to each other, but to honesty, integrity, and self-knowledge.
When thinking about the language this culture uses to frame intimate relationships, particularly with regard to marriage, the core concept seems to be "Commitment to each other." But what does that mean, exactly? We can unpack it, and discover regard for the other's well-being and happiness, a pledge of loyalty, friendship, and support, even the aforementioned honesty. But those ideas aren't really inherent in the idea of commitment to another person, as it is expressed in those four simple words. They're add-ons. What does it mean to be committed "to" another person?
You can commit yourself to an effort, such as a project at work, a course of academic study, or perhaps the creation of a sculpture or some other creative pursuit. You can commit yourself to a cause. You can commit yourself to being in a certain place at a certain time. You can commit yourself to an idea. But the primary meaning of the word "commit" is "To give in trust or charge, to consign." It seems to me, then, that our ultimate cultural ideal of commitment to another person is being expressed as a kind of transaction: I give myself to you, you give yourself to me, and we'll seal the deal with this loop of shiny yellow metal topped with a chip of highly compressed sparkling carbon, and perhaps a herd of goats for your family.
It is, essentially, a sort of joint ownership, rather like two cars purchasing each other.
What accompanies such a transaction? Ownership of each other's slippery bits, for starters. More ethereally, there is also an expectation of limited affection...ownership, essentially, of each other's roving eyes and hearts.
Forget wondering about how polyamorous people make their relationships work...how the hell do monogamous people make theirs work? Sneak on over to this page of infidelity statistics to find out.
Back? Good. The answer, it would seem, is "Very often, they don't." ("By the grace of God" isn't an answer I'm even remotely interested in exploring here, thanks.)
We live in a society that values comfort over truth. The truth is, hearts and eyes do rove. As individuals in intimate relationships with one another, we* can either accept that, and deal with it, or deny it, and deal with that. The generally accepted vows and sexual practices handed down to us by our Victorian and agrarian forebears were intended to establish patrilineal succession and the orderly transfer of property. With the passing of those needs, what modern needs are served by this cultural ideal? What is it that we seek, when we vow "'Till death do us part?" What is the purpose of this promise?
From where I'm sitting, theorizing with my laptop, there's one obvious answer: the mitigation of fear. Fear of being alone. Fear of being abandoned. Fear of being hurt. It's as though, with one ceremony, we can avoid confronting our human natures for the remainder of our lives, safe in a state-sanctioned bubble. And from this flows a host of taboos, lies, and half-truths. One partner keeps quiet about the cute new hire at the office. The other is hurt by a lingering glance after the departing waiter that lasts a bit too long. Sexual boredom doesn't get addressed. Affairs of the heart, body, or both ensue. Deception follows, with guilt hard on its heels.
All because vows were made that were supposed to take care of that sort of thing, forever.
None of this is restricted to formal marriage. But that idea forms the template for all intimate love relationships in our society, and perhaps it shouldn't. Perhaps, instead of being committed "to each other," we should be committed to ideals of integrity, honesty, and awareness of our selves. What might such a relationship look like?
What if, as one small example, the truth had primacy over keeping secrets to avoid "hurting his/her feelings?" Examine the motivation behind such an act. What's actually going on, when we stuff down a burst of emotionally intimate or erotic feelings for someone other than our partner, rather than expressing it? Ostensibly, this is done out of concern for the partner's feelings. But who is so threatened by an idea that they can't bear to hear it? And if they are so threatened...what trust is there? A whole realm of experience becomes walled off, a minefield smack in the middle of the relationship where no one dares to tread. And why? Again: fear. We don't know what will happen if we attempt to work our way through that uncomfortable, pock-marked territory. He or she might be angry. They might be hurt. They might leave.
Is it necessary to consider the feelings of another? Of course it is, that's obvious. My contention is that rather than genuine concern for another, it is often the avoidance of complication, discomfort, and fear that drives such secrecy. Weigh silence so motivated against the benefits of being totally open, and against the potential rewards of letting another person know exactly who you are, and having them accept you. Furthermore, consider the depth of a relationship where both partners can be so open and accepting of each other. Is such honesty a risk? Yes. No question about it. But so is living in fear.
Getting from the expression of such ideas to acting on them is, I think, a long journey, but the principle remains the same.
There is actually one type of relationship in which "committing to another person" makes unqualified sense to me: the parent-child relationship. That is the one place where the idea of a person being "given in trust" to another is appropriate, and the mitigation of the fear of being alone, abandoned, or hurt is justifiably paramount.
I don't think I really want my intimate adult relationships to be so closely patterned on those of my childhood.
*Yes, I'm using the inclusive "we," but this is all my stuff, your mileage may vary, etc. and so on. All of this is basically a theoretical exercise at the moment, and, like most such exercises, it could all just be a load of overwritten, overgeneralized nonsense. Perhaps, at some point, someone will step in and actually argue with me, and thus improve (or destroy) whatever arguments I've managed to make thus far. In the end, though: nothing about polyamory is necessarily superior to monogamy, and its workability depends entirely upon the folks involved and their own desires. As always, everything I write here is first and foremost from my own perspective, and any judgmental overtones you might detect are failures on my part.
