Jonathan Swift had a suitably unromantic attitude to holy matrimony. Once, when sheltering under a tree during a storm near Lichfield, he was asked to marry a heavily pregnant bride to a rather guilty-looking groom. Asked to provide evidence that he had performed the shotgun wedding, Swift found a piece of paper and wrote:
Under an oak, in stormy weather,
I joined this rogue and whore together;
And none but he who rules the thunder
Can put this rogue and whore asunder.
Despite his cynicism, even Dean Swift would lament the marginalisation of one of our foundational institutions. Marriage is undergoing a seemingly inexorable decline. In the 1970s, almost three quarters of the adult population were married. In 2021, the proportion fell below 50 per cent for the first time, according to the Office for National Statistics, and seems destined to fall further. By 2050 it could be just 30 per cent.
Partly this is a reflection of the decline in relationships of all kinds. The Economist warns that ‘a great relationship recession is under way’. Singleness as a choice is more in vogue now than it has been since the dissolution of the monasteries. Britain’s young adults are among the least sexually active of all generations, an astonishing turnaround from the days of the sexual revolution.
Yet the specific decline in marriage can’t only be explained by Gen Z’s embrace of celibacy. The wedding industry itself shares some of the blame. Gone are the days of a sandwich back at the bride’s parents after the ceremony and a few beers at the pubs en route. Like that other previous stalwart of early adulthood, home ownership, marriage has become daunting and financially demanding to many.
Added to this is the fact that couples generally get together much later than their parents or grandparents. Biology sometimes becomes marriage’s enemy as couples who intended to wed at some point decide to start a family first due to the biological clock. Picking out canapés is less enticing with toddlers in tow.
Changes in sexual mores have also had a knock-on effect. Dating via apps can work brilliantly, but its anonymity can also facilitate bad behaviour. It’s far easier to ‘ghost’ someone when there are no mutual friends to chastise you about it. At its worst, modern dating can be utterly demoralising, particularly if you’re looking for a long-term relationship. None of this makes marriage more likely.
The sacrificial, community aspect of marriage is one of the things that makes it most worthwhile
The institution gets a kicking from all directions. There is a right-wing narrative that warns men off marriage at all, since they will only get rinsed in a divorce. I’d call this the ‘red-pill’ view; take Andrew Tate’s much-posited argument that marriage is ‘gay’, an idea he routinely propagates while wearing very unflattering Speedos, surrounded by topless men. Single women are often blamed exclusively for the institution’s decline, as if commitment-phobic men didn’t exist. On the other side of the political aisle, there is a left-wing narrative which deems marriage a form of bondage that only benefits men.
What then is left to be said for marriage? If it seems like a doomed institution then why still make the argument for having and holding? Having started with Swift, I might turn to Anglicanism’s other great moralist and humorist by way of a defence. Jane Austen is often accused of being ‘only interested in marriage’, yet she offers a less starry-eyed view than many realise. She considers the myriad reasons why people marry – and there are more dysfunctional unions in her work than not. The wrong mate can turn a weak man into a bad one. Austen recommends choosing your spouse carefully, with both head and heart. Unfashionably, marriage forces you to realise that a relationship isn’t an exclusively romantic proposition, but also social, legal, religious and economic. It reminds us that we are part of something bigger, as the ending of Emma captures: ‘The wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony were answered in the perfect happiness of the union.’
In an increasingly selfish world, the sacrificial, community aspect of marriage is unappealing to many, but it’s one of the things that makes it most worthwhile. One day society might well rediscover that the only things that are really worth doing involve sacrifice of some kind, but by then it may be too late.
Secondly, and with a harder hat on, marriage is worth defending because it works. We will all know horrific examples of loveless or dysfunctional marriages, but the statistics don’t lie. The poorer outcomes of children from broken families are a taboo in polite discussion, often taken as a direct criticism of single mothers rather than a dispassionate assessment of the evidence. Much of our refusal to defend marriage relates to the idea that it’s somehow insensitive or nasty to do so. Unfortunately this means that, in seeking to spare the feelings of single mothers, feckless absentee fathers can waltz away with little societal condemnation.
Thirdly, it is morally and politically sensible to make the argument for marriage if we value the abiding principles which have shaped civilised society. Conservatism has neglected this of late. For obvious reasons during the Boris Johnson years, it became awkward for his party even to mention marriage or family formation. Save for organisations such as the Centre for Social Justice and the Marriage Foundation, marriage gets remarkably little attention in public policy. As with many other institutions that made for the common good over the centuries, successive generations of wealthy, liberally minded political and cultural leaders have, after availing themselves of the benefits, told the public that it’s a relic which thinking people have outgrown. One reason for progressive mistrust is that marriage localises loyalties, forging a new unit independent of the state. This creates an obvious demand on our time, resources and affections that is both loftier and more grounded than any Utopian ideal.
Defending marriage as a moral institution must involve some difficult conversations. Where once a man could support a family of four on a single salary, the state has stepped into the provider role once held by husbands. The benefits system often incentivises couples to live apart and rear children separately, despite markedly worse outcomes for the children in basic education and wellbeing.
One reason for progressive mistrust is that marriage forges a new unit independent of the state
This is why marriage needs defending: because it is short on political, cultural and religious champions. Much ideological opposition essentially boils down to a dislike of duties and obligations, which are difficult because they require give and take – unlike the modern language of ‘rights’. If marriage might make people think twice before leaving their partner and children, then that is a good thing. This feels almost heretical to say, as our institutions and leaders are captured by ‘rights speak’ and seem incapable of talking about duty, yet society basically agreed on this until the day before yesterday. Audiences in 1945 watching a film like Brief Encounter would sympathise more with the characters’ decision to put duty before self than they would today.
Perhaps the final reason why marriage is worth defending is because it is good for us. There is power in those ancient vows: for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish. Even the most woo-woo, secular wedding will adapt these words in some form because they are unimprovable.
When my husband and I married this summer, our lives didn’t change much, practically speaking, but things felt different. A cynic would cite the fact of knowing you can’t just jack it in after a tricky argument, having made vows (and merged your assets). But in an age of constant flux and the illusion of endless choice, there is a defiance to marriage – deciding on one person and sticking with them, till death do you part.
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