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Monogamy and ethics

by Simon Longstaff

It is just over a month since I finished reading William Dalrymple’s excellent book, The Last Mughal. Dalrymple’s account of the conditions leading to the fall of the Emperor, Zafar, and his moderate Islamic court, in 1857, resonates with issues of our own time. However, I must confess to my mind wandering from the important historical lessons to an altogether more exotic question; “What might it have been like to be an emperor with a harem?” (idle speculation, I assure you).

In turn, this has led me to wonder about monogamy – which we profess to embrace as the ‘default setting’ for relationships in Australia. In a society that seems to embrace ‘planned obsolescence’ in so many aspects of our communal life (from toasters to governments) what is to be said about the idea of freely choosing to enter into an exclusive relationship for life?

To begin, I do not think that this question can be resolved by investigating what might be the ‘natural state’ for human beings. The evidence is clear that the practices of natural forms of human community vary considerably from time to time and place to place. Nor can we draw too many conclusions by looking at the behaviour of other participants in the natural world. Other creatures are similarly diverse in their patterns of relationship.

In any case, the instinctive behaviour of other types of being can hardly provide a standard for evaluating what human beings ought to do. It is our human capacity to transcend instinct and desire in order to make conscious, ethical choices that allows our kind to distinguish between what animals do, as a matter of habit, and what we should do, as a matter of choice.

Nor can we obtain a clear evaluation of monogamy by consulting the world’s religions. They simply do not agree on this question. What an individual decides about monogamy will depend on just what kind of theological territory they land after their own particular ‘leap of faith’. Besides, even if all of the world’s religions did offer a common perspective on monogamy, this fact might be persuasive for some, but certainly not determinative for atheists and others not holding any kind of religious belief.

Appeal to the idea of social utility offers another possibility for assessing monogamy. For example, monogamy might recommend itself where certainty about parenthood and lineage is deemed to be important. Furthermore, anything other than application of the principle of ‘one partner per person’ risks discord amongst those who think it unfair that a relatively few powerful men or women should monopolise access to more than their fair share of sexual partners. Thus, monogamy might be preferred on the grounds of equity – helping to ensure that each individual has a reasonable chance of finding another with whom to share their life.

Is it possible to love more than one person – and to do so ethically?

If my experience is at all typical, then anyone with children will know what it is to love more than one person, in equal measure and unconditionally. Some might respond by saying that this capacity is restricted to the unique bonds forged between parents and their children.

Yet, there is a fair amount of evidence that some people manage to sustain sincere relationships with more than one lover – giving of themselves equally (but not completely) to all. In these cases, the core ethical issue will concern whether or not the relationships are open and based on informed consent.

Often, it is the breach of trust that is the greatest wrong in an ‘affair’ – irrespective of whether or not a formal promise of fidelity has been given. But this is hardly a problem is cultures where multiple relationships are openly entered into and formally sanctioned. Nor is it an issue in cases of ‘serial monogamy’ (in which one enters into a sequence of monogamous relationships with different people). In either case, multiple relationships need not be based on deceit.

So, why might someone prefer monogamy to its alternatives? Love is a common ‘good’ – where the quantity enjoyed by one person need not be at the expense of another. However, although we might love more than one person at one time, the quality of that love may be less than could be achieved in an exclusive, monogamous relationship.

It boils down to a question intimacy – not just of the physical kind, but at a deeper level at which one person reveals to another the naked truth of who they are – in their entirety – and yet, are loved (sometimes despite this) in return. I just wonder if it is possible to achieve this remarkable state without focussing exclusively on one beloved ‘other’ to the exclusion of all others.

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