If you cannot work on the marriage or the women is a moron

Hear, O seeker, the jarring and provocative words of Al Goldstein, who declared: “If you cannot work on the marriage or the woman is a moron, staying married and cheating makes the most sense because divorce is disruptive to the family life and your bank account.” These words, though coarse in their phrasing, strike a nerve in the age-old struggle between loyalty, desire, and the burden of social order. They are not the words of a prophet seeking harmony, but of a cynic exposing the raw calculations that some make when love fails and duty becomes a chain. Yet even in their roughness lies a teaching, if we dare to listen.

Goldstein begins with the assumption of failure: “If you cannot work on the marriage.” Here is the first sorrow—that the bond once forged in passion and promise has withered, leaving estrangement in its place. The ancients knew this grief well; in every culture, songs of lament tell of lovers grown cold, of households fractured by silence and bitterness. Marriage, intended as a covenant of mutual growth, can become instead a prison of resentment. When one refuses to labor on its renewal, all paths forward seem bitter.

Then he speaks of cheating as an alternative to divorce, justifying it as the “lesser evil.” This reveals the tension between the sanctity of vows and the weight of family stability. Divorce, he argues, shatters homes, divides children, and devastates fortunes. In this, there is a kernel of truth: history is filled with tales of dynasties, kingdoms, and ordinary households alike torn asunder by divorce. Consider the tumult unleashed by Henry VIII’s divorce from Catherine of Aragon, which fractured England itself and gave birth to centuries of strife. Divorce, even in modern times, is not only the breaking of hearts but the unraveling of entire webs of life.

Yet Goldstein’s counsel to betray rather than separate reveals the shadow of expedience triumphing over honor. To choose infidelity as a solution is to sacrifice integrity on the altar of convenience. For though it may preserve appearances and safeguard possessions, it corrodes the soul and breeds deception in the very sanctuary of trust. The ancients warned of this: the unfaithful heart brings ruin greater than open separation, for it feeds on lies and poisons the spirit. The preservation of wealth cannot justify the destruction of honesty.

Still, we must not dismiss the truth within his harshness. Many do weigh their marriages in terms of cost and disruption rather than love and renewal. This is the danger of treating relationships as contracts rather than covenants: when affection fades, calculation replaces devotion. His quote, shocking as it is, unmasks the mercenary mindset that thrives in modern times, when stability is prized above sincerity, and appearances are guarded more jealously than truth.

Beloved, the lesson here is not to follow Goldstein’s counsel, but to hear its warning. A marriage left unworked becomes a shell; a marriage preserved only for money becomes a cage; a marriage maintained through cheating becomes a theater of lies. The true path, though more difficult, is to face brokenness with honesty: either to labor with all strength to restore the bond, or, if that fails, to part with dignity rather than betray in secret.

What, then, must you do? Cherish the labor of love daily, so that the covenant does not rot into convenience. Speak openly of grievances before they become chasms. Seek counsel, forgiveness, and renewal when the bond falters. And if all fails, choose truth over deception, even when costly. For wealth may be rebuilt, but integrity, once squandered, is hard to reclaim.

Thus, Goldstein’s crude words stand not as wisdom to imitate but as a mirror of folly to avoid. They reveal the path of cynicism, where marriage is reduced to money and betrayal, and love is forgotten. Learn from this: value not only family life and possessions, but also honor, trust, and truth. For in the end, it is better to suffer disruption with integrity than to preserve comfort through deceit. And in this way, the covenant of love, whether sustained or ended, remains noble before heaven and earth.