In Pursuit of the Perfect Spouse
They would bring the private pain of their marriage into my consulting room with lingering resentment, regret, bitterness or fear, warily, and sit at some distance from one another. They would be about to expose to somebody new-- a complete stranger-- something that had been hidden, something that had become very old for them. Together, it is hoped, the three of us could look for a way through their pain this time, toward some sort of resolution.
Sometimes I would ask: "in what order would you rank these three options before you: that your marriage stays just as it is today, that your marriage gets better, or that your marriage is now brought to an end?" It's a trick question, of course. I wouldn't listen to their answers so much as to the arrangement of their answers, to the congruity and agreement they have regarding the question, to some mutuality of vision, and attitude.
Taking their history, I would listen to them speak of the seasons of their life so far together: the early years as a couple, creating a home before the birth of children, and the roles they then assumed as parents of a family growing in their home.
Perhaps I would hear how the marriage had devolved gradually then, from a relationship into an occupation, or worse: a destination. The first few years of falling in love may have become mislaid, until disagreements become conflicts, and until some conflict is transformed finally into a crisis: an affair, terminal addiction, or violence-- something extraordinarily definitive.
Beyond this crisis we may recognize, and should acknowledge, the approaching specter of estrangement and alienation, of separation and divorce, where once there had been love. God, it has been said, will speak in increasing volumes, until He is finally Heard.
Perhaps I am fortunate enough to help the couple to navigate the crisis they have brought with them, can help them to hear one another more clearly; and they can become better, and they can thank me, and they can leave. With the normal routines reestablished they are content to resume their marriage, not realizing how much better it can become.
There is a map that I have come to know in this process of marriage, one that curves in two directions from the typical average. On the one hand it curves towards the potentially eventual divorce while-- on the other hand-- it curves towards the condition of the perfectly married, excellent spouse.
In either case, perfect marriage or final divorce, these should be understood as primarily internal, not external conditions. Divorce is not simply an alienation from one another but-- even more tragically-- it is the loss of an opportunity for healing deep within ourselves that a marriage pursued beyond its crises can provide. The alienation is, in short, not just from a partner, but from the experience of being partnered.
This partnering is the true function of marriage, the absence of which makes it a dysfunctional marriage. It takes time to sort out this business of being married; as someone thoroughly content in marriage once said, the reason the good ones are all taken is that they only become good after they've been taken. Divorce, on the other hand, is a default reset that allows resumption of the search, the interviewing of new applicants for the job description of excellent spouse. The problem is that the excellent spouse is not out there; it is waiting quietly within.
The trick in recognizing why God has begun shouting-- not just how loudly-- lies of course in one's attitude, in the way we that perceive and respond to the crisis marriage has encountered, or produced. A proactive response forges a cooperative partnership that reviews and resolves the issues together; a reactive one is adversarial, with resentment and rejection of one another's attitudes, and it always refuses to attempt the healing.
I have written before about how two eyes that work together with their different perspectives will find depth in the sharing of what they see; the same principle is at work in any relationship, including marriage. Collaboration incubates success, to the extent that everyone's contribution is put to a valued use-- and everyone is profoundly changed in the process.
The work (and make no mistake, it is work, honest effort put towards the function of marriage) of a proactive attitude towards the crises of marriage requires a willingness on each person's part to approach the table and empty their pockets of everything, for only when everything is displayed in plain sight can they be arranged in the best possible way.
This sort of intimacy requires an intimacy with oneself as well as with one another. In addition to asking "how close am I, really, to this person I love?" we must learn to ask how close we are to ourselves. Marriage is not a procrustean bed that we must distort ourselves to fit; instead it is a relationship that naturally evolves between two people who are fully themselves in the presence of one another. Knowing how close we then can be to one another allows us to be that close, no closer and no farther apart-- in Gibran's words, standing "together, yet not too near together."
Sometimes I will ask a couple to close their eyes and reach out to find and hold one another's hand. Then, without opening their eyes, I ask them to experience their handclasp as representative of their relationship. There may need to be some adjustment at first, to become more comfortable, and they may have to shift some in their chairs to attend more thoughtfully to their relationship.
Then, when they have become accustomed to the experience of the handclasp, I draw their attention to the other hand, and point out how its activity is not really limited by the handclasp; it can be clenched easily into a fist, or opened like a flower. Their relationship can be experienced without losing awareness of their individuality. The trick lies in being aware of both hands at the same time, which is not a natural thing to do, and takes concentration. This is the same sort of concentration needed to experience how a relationship may steady us without really threatening our independence.
I think of this proactive work together as dangerous vitality, a dynamic condition that threatens the composure of the status quo and the habitual sense of a safe, static personal identity. To truly open oneself to love is to open oneself to the potential for damage in order to be transfigured by love, as the caterpillar must within its cocoon that it might emerge eventually as a butterfly.
The final stage, discovering the excellent spouse within oneself, is as interior an experience as is the alienation of divorce. It's finality, however, is the result of becoming complete within oneself, rather than simply being stopped.
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This article previously appeared in The Listener: volume six issue four (Winter 2001-02).