It is morally wrong to snoop on your partner's phone. So why do we do it?

RI recently found out that a friend of mine's boyfriend had borrowed her phone and used it to check our messages because he was worried we were having an affair. It was quite a revelation. Not because I was upset that someone was reading my bad jokes, but because it made me sad that someone I liked felt compelled to do the one thing guaranteed to bring no one peace, which is accessing his partner's phone without them knowing.

It may seem obvious to many that snooping through your loved one's phone is a bad idea, but let's recap some of the reasons why. First, it's invasive. Even if you believe your partner is guilty of infidelity, the irony is that by reading their private messages, you become the guilty party. Just as one should respect the privacy of what a loved one might say to a therapist, you should also respect what your partner might be saying about you in private with close friends.

And as any snooper will tell you, you’ll never feel truly satiated or reassured by what you discover. Even if you do find irrefutable evidence, such as the presence of a dating app, the questions and insecurities will only increase, not disappear. The first time I realised my partner was lying to me was after glancing at the BBC Weather app on his phone (I wondered why it was set to the Lake District when he was supposed to be meeting his partner in Essex, until I realised), which is the opposite of irrefutable proof, and the same tremendous sense of uncertainty still prevailed.

Deep down, we know that spying is bad. Yet, as I’ve written before, suspecting someone of cheating creates in us a condition that borders on insanity. Our addiction to phones only exacerbates the problem: they occupy such a large part of our private lives that it’s easy to regard them as instruments of innate guilt capable of arousing suspicion 24/7. Even seeing a partner with their back turned, texting someone, can make the most sensible person in the most secure relationship suddenly paranoid. Then there are people who see phones as a form of public property. A few years ago I went on a date with a person who in her dating profile was very clear and eloquent about the importance of consent and respectful engagement. When my face-down phone rang, during our second drink, she reflexively leaned forward and began reading the message preview on my screen. I laughed in disbelief, thinking “is this happening?” for a few seconds before saying, “Hey, do you care?”

Life changes a bit when someone checks your phone in ways that go beyond a prying eye on a first date. I’ve had my phone checked before. I deserved it, I made it happen: I was a liar and a cheater at the time, and my partner wanted to know the truth. What changed, though, was that the pain I’d created by cheating on someone merged with the intrusive way I was caught, leaving me with a new awareness that the best way to exist in a digital space is to assume that everyone can see everything you’re doing, at all times. It helps, both in making you hypervigilant about when you’re doing something that makes you feel guilty, and in realizing that there’s no shame in a lot of the things you do. Would I feel bad if someone saw this? No? Well, great, I must be doing a good job.

Of course, this kind of digital self-policing can be taken to very dubious extremes. Take Republican Mike Johnson, the current speaker of the US House of Representatives, who admitted in 2022 that he and his then 17-year-old son monitored each other’s phones to check that the other wasn’t watching pornography. This almost dystopian approach to morality was achieved through an app called Covenant Eyes, which is most often marketed in staunch Christian communities. This app informs your “accountability partner” if you see something that is deemed “questionable.”

Most sensible people would avoid this sort of thing for a million reasons, but one of them is that simply having access to someone else’s data isn’t enough. Data alone can’t satisfy our human needs for dialogue, explanation, and understanding. Knowing what your partner is doing on their phone without context isn’t going to make things better, it’s just going to frustrate you further.

There are a million ways to get upset about your partner's online behavior. Often, it can be almost entirely irrational. Following an ex on social media is one thing, but years ago, I met someone at a club who was furious because she'd discovered her husband was following Katy Perry on Instagram. She was obsessed and couldn't see any reason for it: he wasn't an avowed fan and he stridently hated pop music. I didn't know her well enough to blurt out, “Have you tried asking him if he's in love with Katy Perry?” But for her, this little act on the Internet had profound repercussions that the husband probably never could have understood.

Many of us skydive into relationships, intoxicated by sex, attraction, and attention. It’s easy to never stop to ask the fundamental questions (Are we a thing? Are we monogamous?), let alone the fine print, like, “Is it wrong for me to scroll through your photos while using your phone to order pizza?”

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However, if you’re really on the same page with someone, you should be able to establish a quick, reassuring bond about why you both shouldn’t read each other’s phones or know each other’s passwords as a matter of principle. Avoiding talking about it is the worst approach. It’s the stuff of saccharine Hallmark cards for a couple to say, “Our love has no boundaries.” In truth, true love includes the ability to maintain boundaries that protect the other rather than restrict them. When you’re open and trusting with your partner, there really shouldn’t be a single impulse to read their messages. It’s indicative of some of the most relaxed and respectful relationships I’ve had lately that I’ve been alone in a room with my partner’s phone and haven’t had even the slightest impulse to look at what was on there. Sadly, there’s no prospect of wedding bells ringing yet, but if we were to get married, our vows would surely be, “For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, my password is none of your business.”