The Romanticizing of 'Living a Private Life' is One of the West's Worst Ideas

The Western idealization of the privatized nuclear family may be one of the most damaging ideas exported by the modern West, leading to fragility and isolation.

"The family is the test of freedom; because the family is the only thing that the free man makes for himself and by himself." - Gilbert K. Chesterton

For decades, the idea of the nuclear family—a married couple and their 2.5 dependent children—has been held up as the paragon of Western society. This idealized image, enshrined in popular culture and public policy, portrays the nuclear family as a self-sufficient, emotionally fulfilling bastion of privacy and individual freedom. As someone raised in the African culture of close-knit extended families and community support systems, I've always found the Western romanticization of radical individualism and detached "private living" to be misguided at best, and destructive at worst.

In his thought-provoking article "The Nuclear Family Was a Mistake," published in The Atlantic, David Brooks presents a compelling case for why the Western idealization of the privatized nuclear family may be one of the most damaging ideas exported by the individualistic modern West. Brooks takes us on a journey through human history, revealing that for the majority of our existence, people lived in extended family clans and kinship networks that provided immense mutual support—from childcare and eldercare to relationships of belonging and resource sharing. It was only during the 1950s and 1960s that the insular nuclear family briefly became prevalent in the United States and parts of the West, an anomaly fueled by post-war economic prosperity and shifting cultural forces.

Interestingly, Brooks points out that even during this brief period of nuclear family dominance, these families were far more interconnected than they are today. He cites sociologist Eugene Litwak's concept of the "modified extended family"—"a coalition of nuclear families in a state of mutual dependence." In the 1950s, before television and air conditioning had fully caught on, people continued to live on one another's front porches and were part of each other's lives, notes Brooks. Friends felt free to discipline one another's children. This informal network of support and accountability helped mitigate some of the fragility of the nuclear family structure.

However, as industrialization and cultural shifts led people to prioritize individual privacy and mobility over extended family bonds, the fragility of the isolated nuclear family became increasingly apparent. Brooks argues persuasively that the nuclear family is too fragile and isolated to provide the resilience and support that people need to thrive in an increasingly complex and challenging world. The nuclear family model also romanticizes spousal bonds at the expense of extended family ties. The idea that your spouse is all you need, the "us against the world" mentality, is a recipe for perpetual fatigue, constant disagreement, and failed outcomes. It places an impossible burden on the marital relationship to meet all of one's emotional, practical, and social needs, without the support of a wider network of kin. This romantic ideal of the self-sufficient couple is not only unrealistic but also devalues the importance of intergenerational bonds and community ties.

The stark contrast between the fragility and isolation of the nuclear family model and the communal support I experienced growing up in Zimbabwe is exemplified by a poignant example from my childhood. When I was seven, I required intensive care for a serious eye condition. In the weeks leading up to my corneal transplant surgery, I needed eye drops administered every hour, day and night. It would have been an exhausting ordeal for my parents, who would have had to wake up hourly to give me the medicine. But they were not alone in this struggle. Several of my aunts and cousins moved in with us and took shifts tending to me, providing much-needed respite and support. They spent sleepless nights ensuring I received my medication on schedule, gently waking me and coaxing me to open my eyes for the drops. During the day, they still needed to juggle this with the demands of their own lives. Their presence brought comfort and reassurance during a frightening time, and their love and sacrifice weren't just a gift to me, but an investment in the collective well-being of our entire clan. To this day, their selfless actions exemplify for me the profound meaning of the African proverb, "It takes a village to raise a child."

Contrast that to life in London, where my wife and I are at the age where our peers either have young children or are seriously considering starting a family. We've seen the isolation and stress that many people experience trying to raise kids with minimal family nearby and little communal support. Despite this, I'd wager that the situation I just described would scarcely happen here. The thought of several "non-family members" cramming together and sleeping over in our little London apartments to help out is quite daunting for many, even if they need the help. On the other side, many people aren't too keen on having their lives "disturbed" or inconvenienced to go the extra mile for a friend in need; we've become a society that helps only when it's convenient for us.

As we grapple with the question of how to have and raise well-adjusted children amidst these challenges, it's becoming clear that we are part of a shrinking minority. Birth rates are plummeting across the developed world, as millennials and Gen Zs recoil from the daunting prospect of parenting. Those who do have kids are often stretched to the breaking point, as the exorbitant cost and the unending responsibility of raising children without kin support leave even middle-class families feeling perpetually strained. This new dynamic also means that people now have to pay for support that they once received freely from extended families. A listening ear from friends, help with childcare, counselling and discipline for children from the extended family—all of these vital forms of support now come with a price tag. The nuclear family model is only achievable for the affluent who can afford to pay for these services, while those in lower-income brackets are left to struggle alone.

Throughout human history, civilization has progressed by compounding our collective knowledge gained over millennia. However, with the rise of the nuclear family and hyper-individualism, we've discarded many hard-won lessons about the importance of communal living and interdependence. Like in many other spheres, we humans of the modern age have figured we know better, trying to reinvent the wheel with disastrous results. The West is now facing a pervasive and deeply entrenched loneliness epidemic.

The Covid-19 pandemic accelerated a reckoning with the fragility of our social ties. Confronted with the realities of isolation and mortality, many people sought refuge in intergenerational living arrangements. Adult children moved back in with their parents, and ageing parents moved in with their adult children—arrangements that were initially meant to be temporary, but have in many cases become permanent as people rediscovered the value of having family close by to share the load of life.

As people across the West grapple with the limitations of the nuclear family model, a new paradigm is emerging—that of the forged family. Brooks describes how, in response to the atomization and loneliness of modern life, people are creating new forms of kinship and community that transcend traditional bloodlines. These forged families take many forms, from co-housing communities where multiple generations live together under one roof, to "grandfamilies" where grandparents serve as primary caregivers for their grandchildren, to intentional communities of friends who commit to sharing life together. What unites them is a recognition that we need more than the nuclear family can provide—we need a web of relationships, a village to belong to.

While government policies to support extended and forged families are crucial, we can't rely on the government to solve this for us. Each of us needs to start shifting our mentality about the family model we want to build. We need to start getting comfortable with a less private life, recognizing that what we gain in ease and connection more than makes up for what we lose in privacy. It's not just an abstract ideal to appreciate, but a reality we must actively create, one intentional step at a time.

Interestingly, individual choices and cultural shifts are already beginning to drive broader societal changes, including in markets and policy. The real estate market in the United States provides a compelling example of this dynamic in action. Brooks notes that in 2016, a survey by a real-estate consulting firm found that 44% of home buyers were looking for a home that would accommodate their elderly parents, and 42% wanted one that would accommodate their returning adult children. In response to this growing demand for multigenerational living, home builders have started constructing houses designed specifically for extended families. These homes, which the construction firm Lennar calls "two homes under one roof," carefully balance privacy and togetherness, featuring shared common spaces but also separate entrances, kitchenettes, and living areas for grandparents and adult children.

This example illustrates how individual choices—in this case, the choice to live in extended family arrangements—can aggregate to shape market forces. As more and more people opt for intergenerational living, seeking the support, resilience, and connection it provides, the market responds to meet this demand. While these particular multigenerational homes currently cater to the affluent, the broader trend they represent is significant. It shows that the atomized nuclear family model is not inevitable—that as people rediscover the value of extended kinship networks, they can collectively shape the structures and institutions of society to better support this way of life. Just as the rise of the nuclear family in the mid-20th century was driven by a convergence of cultural, economic, and policy factors, so too can the revival of extended and forged families gain momentum as individual choices reshape the cultural and market landscape.

Of course, markets alone will not create an inclusive multigenerational family renaissance—public policy has a crucial role to play in supporting and enabling these shifts, particularly for lower and middle-income families. But examples like the changing real estate market show that we are not powerless in the face of a broken paradigm. By living out our values in our personal lives and forging new models of kinship and community, we can be part of a groundswell of change that reweaves the fabric of society.

In our own lives, my wife and I are striving to build this kind of intentional community within our friend group. Inspired by the African philosophy of "ubuntu"—"I am because we are"—we are cultivating a tight-knit network of friends committed to "doing life together" through regular spontaneous social meetups, childcare swaps, emotional support, and material aid. Ubuntu recognizes that our humanity is inextricably bound up with the humanity of others—that we are only truly human in relationship and community. It's a radically countercultural idea in the hyper-individualistic West, but one that I believe holds immense promise for healing our frayed social fabric. By practising ubuntu in our daily lives, we are attempting to recreate the "village" we grew up with and now sorely miss. It requires vulnerability, sacrifice, and a willingness to depend on others and let them into our lives. But we believe it's the only way to build a truly livable and flourishing family life in a fragmented and atomized society.

By reclaiming the wisdom of extended kinship networks and adapting it for the modern age, we can begin to repair the torn fabric of our societies. Rediscovering the power of these networks is not about returning to a premodern past, but about forging a more sustainable and nurturing future. By learning from the wisdom of the past and from cultures that have preserved communal family structures, and boldly experimenting with new forms of intentional community, we can begin to weave a social fabric that enables all to thrive.

Ultimately, we are not meant to bear the burdens of life alone. We are not meant to raise children in isolation, care for elders without support, or navigate the vicissitudes of life as solitary sojourners. We are meant to live in community, to share the joys and sorrows of existence with those who know us and love us best.

As Chesterton wisely observed, true freedom is not found in the pursuit of a detached, private life, but in the rich tapestry of relationships and responsibilities that we create for ourselves. It is only by embracing our fundamental interdependence, by weaving ourselves back into the web of community, that we can find the liberation and fulfilment we so desperately seek. The family, in all its messy, beautiful, extended glory, remains the crucible of our humanity—the space where we learn to love, to forgive, to sacrifice, to belong. In a world that exalts the private life, reclaiming the power of kinship is a revolutionary act.

These are just my reflections, which barely scratch the surface of the profound insights David Brooks offers in his original article. I encourage everyone to read his piece in full and grapple with the urgent questions it raises. The future of our families and communities hangs in the balance.