Freedom and security are two of our deepest needs; oceans of blood and ink have been spilled over them. They also have an uneasy alliance with each other. Nowhere is this truer than in relationships.

“If you marry you will regret it; if you do not marry you will also regret it,” writes Søren Kierkegaard in his quasi-fictional philosophy book Either/Or. He could have just as easily written this sentiment in the 21st century as the 19th. Anyone who’s made a list of pros and cons over a major life decision knows how impossible it feels. If both freedom and commitment to others are vital to the good life, why do they so often feel at odds?

I suspect, like Aristotle of old, that most of the good things in life are a mean between extremes. Freedom and commitment can and do coexist, but it requires us to readjust our view of both of them.

An act of faith

One of the biggest challenges of our time is an abundance of freedom. Just as commitment has a dark side (entrapment, too much vulnerability) so does freedom. In freedom’s case, it’s the staggering number of choices we’re given that leads to the risk of seeing other human beings as commodities rather than the complex individuals they are who deserve our patience and understanding. 

The author and social critic bell hooks uses the memorable imagery of Dixie cups to describe this phenomenon:

Cynicism about love leads young adults to believe there is no love to be found and that relationships are needed only to the extent that they satisfy desires. How many times do we hear someone say “Well, if that person is not satisfying your needs you should get rid of them”? Relationships are treated like Dixie cups. They are the same. They are disposable. If it does not work, drop it, throw it away, get another. Committed bonds (including marriage) cannot last when this is the prevailing logic. And friendships or loving community cannot be valued and sustained. ¹

Note that hooks does not limit commitment to romantic attachments. Our friends and community members deserve some level of constancy from us, provided they are also committed. How often do we think about the importance of staying committed to friends in addition to romantic partners? Do we stop talking to them after the first serious disagreement or do we persevere a little longer and allow time and space to give us some perspective?

No one wants to be a Dixie cup, and if we treat others this way we certainly can’t expect to be treated otherwise. If we’re to stop commoditizing others or taking them for granted, we must stop fixating on their faults. “Love,” writes the psychologist Erich Fromm, “is an act of faith, and whoever is of little faith is also of little love.” ²

Anyone who balks at this idea is not ready to give or receive love, because it means they aren’t able to trust themselves and others enough to take those acts of faith. “What’s in it for me?” is a nonstarter. On the other hand, those who can give and receive love through small acts of faith are prepared to later take that much larger “leap” of faith in marriage or other serious commitments. 

How do we guarantee that our leap of faith doesn’t end in us plummeting to our dooms? The French philosopher Simone de Beauvoir wrestled with the problem of inequality in relationships (particularly male-female relationships) from the time she was a high schooler writing in her journals. “Authentic love,” she concluded, “must be founded on reciprocal recognition of two freedoms.” ³

In other words, when any two individuals (who are also unique and alone in their own respective ways) recognize and respect the need for each other’s freedom, there is healthy soil for a committed relationship to put down roots. I can’t guarantee that by practicing this kind of love and respect you’ll find a wonderful lasting relationship – but I can guarantee that you won’t find such a relationship without doing so.

We get to choose how we will suffer

Choosing where to live, how to live, and who to spend our time with are privileges; it’s easy to forget that in the midst of our anxiety. Suffering, on the other hand, is not a choice. 

I don’t mean “suffering” here in the torturous sense of the word, like having cancer or debilitating depression (although such things are far too common). I’m referring instead to the human condition we’re all stuck with: bad hair days, money stresses, back pain, difficult family members.

Since no romantic partner or friend or other loved one can shield us from annoying, embarrassing and sometimes painful life experiences we are left to choose the people we’re most comfortable being sad and embarrassed in front of. We tend to imagine only good and flattering things when we imagine life with others, especially our future other half. Perhaps a lot of our commitment-phobia is really a fear of being witnessed by someone else in our day-to-day discomfort. 

Then there is the problem of the other person themselves. They are sure to annoy us, confound us, and at some point, do or say something that shatters whatever idealized image we may have had of them (of course, all of this is true in reverse). When we choose someone to spend the rest of our lives with, we are choosing their flaws and their flaws are just as crucial as their virtues in helping us make our choice. Or as Alain de Botton memorably puts it, “Choosing whom to commit ourselves to is merely a case of identifying which particular variety of suffering we would most like to sacrifice ourselves for.” ⁴

As long as we are privileged to freely choose the most important things in life, including whom we spend it with, some anxiety is inevitable. If you are like Kierkegaard, you may wonder if you’ll end up regretting your choices either way. But the fact that we – and not some predestined fate – are the ones who choose sacrifice and love on behalf of another person, despite their shortcomings and our own, makes our commitment all the more meaningful.

1. From All About Love: New Visions.
2. From The Art of Loving.
3. From The Second Sex
4. From his essay, Why You Will Marry the Wrong Person. Read here.