Did I Cheat? Rethinking Emotional Affairs
In this post, Justin Clardy discusses their article recently published in the Journal of Applied Philosophy on what emotional affairs are and when, if ever, they are wrongful.
The reality television series Summer House, recently premiered a spinoff show, In the City, on the popular American television network Bravo. As I found myself doom scrolling suggestions by recommender algorithms on my favorite social media apps (like any “disciplined” academic does), I was struck by the show’s trailer. It featured an emotionally intense conversation between formerly married co-stars Amanda Batula and Kyle Cooke, where Cooke accuses Batula of having had an “emotional affair” with West Wilson. What I found interesting wasn’t the representation of an otherwise unremarkable toxic relationship that has become commonplace among dating reality stars per se; but the choice to draw new viewers in by highlighting a lesser known and more conceptually obscure form of infidelity—emotional affairs.
Although cheating accusations are often part of the blueprint for manufacturing a “scandalous” romance, there’s an observed tendency to focus, almost primarily, on sexual infidelity. Though sex is not always present in romantic relationships, many people assume that the presence of sex (and in most cases, sexual exclusivity) differentiate romantic relationships from friendships; and for what it’s worth, sexual affairs are relatively easy to identify. In the City’s trailer, however, seemingly echoed the both importance and legibility of what the American Association for Marriage and Family Therapy has called a “growing crisis of infidelity” which suggests many people in romantic relationships tend to accept conditions of some kind of emotional exclusivity as well as sexual exclusivity.
But what are emotional affairs? And are folks wrong for having them?
The challenge these questions pose lies in attempting to differentiate emotional affairs from other emotionally intense connections outside of our romantic relationships such emotionally deep friendships. In other words, it would be odd to classify any emotionally intense connection with folks other than our partners as emotions affairs (even if it is true that many of us might be guilty of having emotional affairs in our friendships more often than we’d care to admit). On the other hand, “falling in love with someone else” seems like too high of a bar for emotional affairs if for no other reason than the fact that the emotional vitality of our relationships might be threatened by emotional connections that stop short of “love”—for example, someone who shares their deepest emotional vulnerabilities with someone that they text throughout the day, confide in, and even fantasize about a possible future together…without being “in love” with them.
In my article “Emotional Affairs,” I suggest that emotional affairs involve three things:
1.) An emotional structure that reflects the primary relationship in relationship-defining ways,
2.) A sustained consideration of a particular kind of relational life with the affair partner, and
3.) They are relevantly opaque to one’s primary relationships—in other words, emotional affairs are not merely marked by emotional intensity, but instead they are marked by what one’s partner(s) cannot meaningfully see, interpret, or respond to.
Therefore, the problem is not intimacy by itself but being shut out of a shared emotional understanding.
Because emotional affairs can be intertwined with guilt, wrong doing, or betrayal, responding defensively to allegations of emotional affairs is not uncommon. However, I think there might be a way to acknowledge the moral salience of these feelings without classifying every emotional affair as wrongful, blameworthy, or censurable. For example, in some cases (e.g., relationships marked by emotional neglect or relationships where severe communication breakdowns are prominent) emotional affairs provide beneficial ways for folks to explore their own needs or even relational possibilities that their primary relationship(s) forecloses or neglects. In other cases, emotional exclusivity doesn’t show up as a defining relational feature such as in some polyamorous or consensually non-monogamous relationships. Accordingly, in my article, I suggest that we should hesitate before applying blanketed evaluations of emotional affairs that fail to consider context, intentions, relational dynamics, and the broader ethical landscape in which emotional intimacy is negotiated.
Conclusion
The public legibility of emotional affair storylines suggests that many folks already recognize the phenomenon, even if we struggle to describe them. Furthermore, perhaps the what emotional affairs reveal to us is that relationship integrity has never only been about sex. Part of what makes emotional affairs unsettling is that they often involve a reorganization of our emotional worlds—they can alter who we turn to for comfort, who occupies our imaginations, and who participates in the ongoing story of our intimate lives. Whether emotional affairs are ultimately wrongful is a question that requires careful ethical deliberation and attention. But before we can determine when emotional affairs are morally problematic, we need a clearer understanding of what they are. My hope is that the conceptual framework offered in “Emotional Affairs” provides a useful starting point for that conversation.
Justin Clardy is currently an Assistant Professor of Philosophy at Santa Clara University. Their work focuses on ethical questions that emerge within and around intimate relationships. Justin is also the author of the book, Why It’s OK to Not Be Monogamous.
