When is adultery OK?
The very word “adultery” is virtually synonymous with deceit, lies, broken promises, disgust, sin, shame, cheating, and many other nasty words. It is is one of the most vilified acts in Western culture. When you read articles by angry spouses, words like vile, deceitful, slut, shameful, disgusting, liar, and cheater riddle their diatribes. Most (but not all) societies throughout modern history have condemned adultery. So even asking the question, “Is adultery ever OK?” seems like a non-starter. How could it possibly be OK? Am I even asking a serious question? Is this just a clickbait title?
Yet this is a serious question. I believe that there are times when adultery is an ethical choice. It’s rare, but the answer “never” is simply wrong. And it’s not a yes-or-no question. Like so many decisions in life, there are huge grey areas.
I started thinking of this (again) recently because of a blame-and-shame article by an angry husband. As best I could tell from his rant, he was yet-another “victim” of adultery who put the entire blame on his wife, yet took no responsibility for his own role in his failed marriage. When a marriage breaks down, there is almost always fault on both sides. For most problems, both sides will often concede that blame is shared. But adultery? When infidelity is discovered, everything else is forgotten—the adultery suddenly becomes the only thing that matters, the adulterer is assigned the entire blame for the marriage’s failure, and everything that led up to the affair is swept under the carpet.
This is BS. And worse, it’s harmful. If we blindly accept the cheated-on spouse’s narrative and let them push all of the blame onto the adulterer, we aren’t doing anyone a favor. To grow in life, and to ensure that your future isn’t a repeat of your past, you must accept and embrace your own failings.
But that’s about affairs that have already happened. Today I want to ask a different question: When is adultery OK? Is there ever a situation when it’s ethical to have an adulterous affair without the consent and/or knowledge of your partner or spouse?
Let’s do a thought experiment. Suppose you’re fifty-five years old, married for thirty years, and love your spouse. You have three kids and a new grandchild, a nice circle of friends, and are generally happy. But your sex life has dwindled to almost non-existent, and one day your spouse announces he or she is done with sex. You, on the other hand, still find your spouse attractive and sexy, and you’d been looking forward to a lifetime of intimacy. So you talk, and you cajole, and finally you plead with your spouse to see a marriage counselor, to no avail. There’s nothing but a complete and unrelenting “No.” You bring up divorce. You talk about other possibilities, like an open marriage. Still an unrelenting “No.”
Is it fair or ethical for you to have an affair at this point?
Most people would say no. But let’s reverse the question, because I think that clarifies what we’re really asking: Is it OK for your spouse person to deny you sex and intimacy, to put you into forced celibacy … for the rest of your life?
In this example, the first unethical act was committed by the person who forced their partner into complete celibacy. When a couple marries (or agrees to a committed monogamous partnership), they are agreeing to become one another’s sexual partners. They’re agreeing to an exclusive sexual relationship. Those two words, “exclusive” and “sexual” are not separate; they go together. Nobody would promise monogamy if they knew in advance there would be no sex at all. So when one person chooses to break the promise of intimacy, haven’t they already broken the promise?
When someone loses interest in sex, it is not their right to impose celibacy on their partner.
Unfortunately for many or most people in long-term relationships, divorce would be catastrophe. Children will be hurt, finances will be disastrous, family will be sad and angry, and friends will have to choose sides. Many people’s religions teach that divorce is a sin, leading to terrible feelings of guilt.
And perhaps most importantly, two people who may still love each other a great deal will be driven apart. Two people who, except for this one incompatibility, would have an incredible life together, will be forced to give it all up, to destroy the life they have together.
We are told that when two people are married and not sexually compatible, there are three choices: fix the problem via therapy (obviously the best choice), keep going (with one partner denied a basic human need), or divorce. But many people find a fourth choice: have a discrete affair, keep it quiet, and instead of destroying the life they’ve built with their spouse, the keep the marriage alive – and healthy.
One of the ironic facts about infidelity is that, while it can destroy a marriage, it can also save a marriage. Therapists will tell you otherwise: almost every couple they see for adultery ends up divorcing. But therapists’ statistics are flawed, because the majority of women and men who have affairs never confess, never see a therapist, and their marriages do just fine. In fact, their connection to their spouse is often strengthened because they’re no longer in forced celibacy. An affair resolves a problem that could have blown up the family.
Too many people think that ethical questions are black and white, that there is no ambiguity. Murder is wrong, stealing is wrong, adultery is wrong. But why is it wrong? We rarely ask that question. And when you do ask, you immediately discover there are no absolutes in life. Murder is right when it prevents greater harm. (If you had the opportunity to murder Vladimir Putin right now, would you? I would.) Stealing is right when your children are starving and an overlord is hoarding food that he can’t possibly eat.
Adultery is rarely a good choice, but sometimes a person is forced into an untenable situation and decides that adultery is the lesser evil among the available choices. Can you truly call someone unethical who is only given unacceptable choices, then chooses the one you don’t like?
And that’s what real ethics is about. Simple answers almost never suffice for real-life circumstances.
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