Unmasked in Marriage

In The Phantom of the Opera, a disfigured musical genius wearing a mask tutors an ingénue soprano and, in the process, falls deeply in love with her. Early in the story, the protégé Christine, curious to know what her mentor looks like beneath the mask, snatches it away from his face when his back is turned. Furious at being exposed, he lashes out at her, screaming that she, by unmasking him, has ended their relationship. She’s seen him as he is. Now, he’s convinced, she can never love him.

You know the greatest crime you can commit against some guys? See them. See them as they are, unmasked and vulnerable, and they’ll be convinced you can never again love or respect them. And that can be the beginning of the end.

No wonder adulterous flings can be so compelling! The woman who’s lived with a man for years knows him without his mask. His co-workers and colleagues may see him all spiffed up at his professional best, but she’s seen him at 6am, sagging jowls, morning breath and all. More to the point, over the years she’s seen him stumble, lose it, blow it, cave, misjudge and misstep. So she’s probably lost the adoring, doting attitude she had in earlier times, and her eyes may not beam with the same admiration they used to. How could they? She loves him, certainly, but the ups and downs of ongoing intimacy in close quarters can knock the idealism out of any wife.

But another woman who’s seen less of the real him – the co-worker, client, friend or neighbor who knows him in a very limited way – can be a very ardent admirer indeed. And in her eyes he may well see the respect and that naïve You’re My Hero look he misses, and craves. He feels bigger with her, more competent, special. Strictly speaking, it isn’t so much her he loves; it’s the way he feels about himself when he’s with her. It’s intoxicating, and from what I’ve seen from men I’ve known and worked with, it’s the stuff broken vows are made of.

Of course, not every adulterous act can be traced to this. But browse the history of so many straying husbands and you will hear a lot of “I stopped feeling like a man with my wife”, or “With this other woman I was strong and virile again.” Those are weak excuses, for sure, founded in selfishness and guile. But to the unmasked man, known too well by his faithful but no longer starry eyed wife, those excuses become convenient reasons for wandering.

Part of the tragedy in all of this is the man’s stupidity. He’s not thinking clearly enough to realize that the love of the woman who really knows him, warts and all, is just the type of love that will sustain him, because it’s based on knowledge and commitment, rather than romantic imagery. I know, because even as I write this, I look across the room at my wife of 26 years and realize that she’s not all that impressed with me (a laughable understatement) but she is, in fact, more deeply committed than any idealistic third party ever could be. She knows me at my worst, realizes what I can be at my best, and accepts the in-between state I live in most of the time.

OK, I’ll admit it – it would also be nice if she saw me as a godly stud who thinks like CS Lewis and moves like James Bond. I’d love being adored, but more than that, I adore being loved. Because only where there’s real knowledge can there be real intimacy; the one simply can’t be without the other.

True closeness means relinquishing the mask. And ironically, once it’s discarded, a man may realize it was an unnecessary prop all along. Yes, love usually begins when we’re presenting ourselves at our best, but then it ripens and deepens when our beloved sees us in the stark light of day to day living and hangs in there, supporting us with consistent caring rather than awe.

No third party can compete with that, and no truly wise man will allow one to even try.