AGAPEIC LOVE

by Rob Michels

Marie came that evening and asked me if I’d marry her. I said I didn’t mind: if she was keen on it we’d get married.

Then she asked me if I loved her. I replied much as before, that her question meant nothing or next to nothing, but that I supposed I didn’t.

‘If that’s how you feel,’ she said, ‘why marry me?’

I explained that it had no real importance really, but, if it would give her pleasure, we could get married right away. I pointed out that, anyhow, the suggestion came from her; as for me, I’d merely said, ‘Yes.’

Then she replied that marriage was a serious matter, to which I answered: ‘No.’

• Albert Camus

Romantic love is an illusion. The motivations that one has for being in love and what one thinks love is rarely coincide. The object of love is not likely to be what it is thought to be, and the end result all too often shows this to be the case. How many times have you heard people talk about someone they thought they loved? How many times have you said the same thing about someone who you were ready to commit a lifetime to just a month before? Still, people make the same mistakes again and again, thereby perpetuating the illusion of romantic love. Lovers continue to follow in the rituals and belief systems created by poets and romantics who speak so eloquently and carelessly. The divorce rate goes up, adultery (which has really been given unfair treatment by those who write about such things) becomes so commonplace that it fills TV shows made for children, and marriage counselors make a good living trying to convince people that the myths they created on their wedding day still cohere. I don’t suppose that this will change very much in the near future, but I, for one, will not be to blame; I will have warned you about love’s illusions.

Before I go on to defend my claims against romantic love, perhaps it would help to clarify my terms. The word ‘love’ is used in many ways. I love warm weather, old Marx Brothers movies, strawberries and a whole range of

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other things. Clearly, though, these things are not loved by anyone in a romantic way. I also love my family and friends, but not romantically. These uses of the word ‘love’ are natural and common — in fact, we live in a world full of loved things, both animate and inanimate. Romantic love, however, is a whole different kind of thing, and probably should be called by a different name. But for lack of a better language, ‘love’ will have to suffice for the time being.

When one considers romantic love, some of its traditional expressions immediately come to mind. ‘I will love you forever’ seems to be one of the most common and least viable. How could one possibly know this? More than half of all marriages fall apart within ten years of the utterance of those famous words ‘till death do us part.’ There is no reason for any particular couple to believe that their relationship is special in this respect, no matter how strong their feelings seem; plenty of identical couples have thought the same thing. I guess that people really mean it when they say it, though I do not understand why. Perhaps the lover knows that the beloved will respond likewise, thereby satisfying the egos and insecurities of all those involved.

One of the most horrible aspects of romantic love is the idea that when two people are in love they somehow own each other, e.g. ‘That is my woman,’ or ‘He’s my boyfriend.’ This attitude causes needless grief and bitterness, not to mention a fair share of fisticuffs and homicides. People who are otherwise extremely compatible as companions and friends suddenly start to believe that they can tell their beloveds what they can or cannot do with their own bodies. Clearly, nobody actually owns another person’s body, but lovers often act as if they do. The defender of romantic love may object that this is just the fault of particularly possessive lovers, not love itself. But this leaves us asking ‘what is love itself?’

Defenders of love can take two points of view on love: rationalist or emotionalist. The rationalist holds that a romantic relationship must be based on reason: knowledge of the beloved, experience with the beloved and other persons, and careful planning. The emotionalist holds that a romantic relationship must be based on a sort of ecstatic emotion that somehow unites the two irrespective of any rationality. In fact, many emotionalists would assert that love is essentially irrational, and that this is what makes it so special.

The rationalist insists on friendship before love. Friendship reveals whether or not the beloved would be a compatible companion. Love at first sight is absurd, for how could you know in a glance if another person is going to be anything like you? This doesn’t rule out infatuation at first sight, however, for one look might tell you if another person has the physical traits that you are looking for. But a glance cannot tell you about more important things like another’s interests or psychological stability. Whether you look at the future relationship as a giving, taking, or sharing one, quite a bit must be known about another person before you promise them your love. This other person could conceivably ruin the next few years of your life, so love must be based on careful planning. No one can afford to fall in love with a person who will trash their life. For a rational lover, happiness in a relationship can only

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come from compatibility, and this can only be known by carefully analyzing the other person.

The emotionalist responds that this is hardly a romantic approach. The rationalist is trying to rationalize an essentially irrational emotion. Emotionalists hold that emotion, when it is strong enough, can provide a way of knowing the beloved in a way that reason cannot. The lovers become as one, bound together by love (or so the myth goes). Poets have come up with countless metaphors for this way of thinking, but I will spare the reader the melodrama. Without this sort of binding, the emotionalist argues, the rationalist could never establish a romantic relationship, regardless of how reasonable love might appear. You cannot fall in and out of love with someone just because you want to. If we could, we would.

Neither the rationalist nor emotionalist approaches entails a lasting relationship, however. Qualities in a person rationally desired may change, thereby making the chosen person no longer a rational choice. Similarly, the overwhelming emotions that may have brought two people together may just as quickly change to overwhelming revulsion. The rationalist calls the emotionalist’s approach unwise, and the emotionalist calls the rationalist’s approach a mere business transaction. I tend to think that they are both right. Business transactions between rational consenting adults are fine, but why call it ‘love’ rather than ‘prostitution’ (which, like adultery, has been given a bad name unfairly). The idea that two people can become one is nonsense based on metaphysical claims about the power of true love — great stuff for fairy tales, but not much else.

Love is said to be unselfish, but this is certainly not the case when one is looking for a lover. Imagine Joe and Mary before they meet. Joe has just gotten over the heartbreak of his last girlfriend and is looking for another companion. He does not look for someone who’s needs he can satisfy; he looks for someone who can satisfy his own needs, even if they can only be satisfied through his becoming a provider once again. Man is essentially a selfish creature who dreams that he can step out of himself and fully understand the needs of others. In truth, all he can know is his own desires. Choosing a mate is merely an attempt to satisfy the desires that he knows. Anyone who claims otherwise is either lying or wrong. Joe might claim, of course, that he is in love with Mary herself and not just her manifest qualities, but this is nonsense. It seems a pretty reasonable thing to think that there are essential aspects of a person that are not manifest through external qualities: thoughts, memories, fantasies, etc. and that these are known only to the person who harbors them — not to the lover of that person. No amount of love can transcend this barrier to knowledge. (Though a bit of detective work sometimes does.) A person can really know only the qualities of his loved one.

This raises problems for the possibility of romantic love. Mary wants to be loved for her intrinsic worth, for being the person she really is. But knowledge of that person is something she, and only she, has access to. Mary doesn’t want to be loved only for her ability to satisfy Joe’s needs. She also wants to be loved after the qualities which satisfy Joe are gone. If he

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did, would this give us a reason to believe in romantic love?

Many people remain together long after the original qualities that provided mutual satisfaction are gone. In fact, people sometimes remain together even after one is nearly catatonic with age or disease. This shows the self-sacrifice that a genuinely altruistic love requires. It cannot be reduced to charity — it’s far more personal than that. Few people do this with those that they have not been with for a long time. Habit coupled with a concept of oneself as a good person accounts for these actions, as well as any postulated love. Suppose that Joe takes care of Mary when none of her lovable qualities remains and she has even become hostile in her senility. We are touched by his selflessness and unconditional love. Does this indicate true love, as the romantic claims? No; Joe would have done the same thing for his dog Rover.

No one wants to be loved out of mere charity or because of their ability to satisfy someone else’s desires. They may want to satisfy those desires, but they want to be loved as persons, not as servants to their beloved’s desires. What does Joe really love? There are two answers to this question. Either he loves Mary, or he loves the image that he has of her. If he loves her for what she really is, then he must also accept the fact that he probably does not have a very complete understanding of who she is, not having access to her memories, fantasies, and thoughts. He must also face the fact that she might be a complete fraud seeking something other than what she says. In the first case, he is in love with only a part of her, the rest of which he might or might not care for if he knew it better. In the second case, he thinks that he is in love with her, but she is only playing a role. In either case, he could not possibly know what situation he is actually dealing with. The romantic might protest that after time Joe can infer enough to be satisfied with what he does know. But though he may be satisfied, he still doesn’t really know, for his beloved Mary might be having an affair, planning to tell him tomorrow. Affairs happen all the time, showing that the lover was not really in love with the beloved, but rather with the image that he had of her, one that may or may not be very realistic.

Joe faces a certain paradox. He may be projecting himself and his desires onto the image that he has of Mary. In this case he can in some sense be certain of the qualities he loves, for he is projecting them. But then he can hardly be said to be in love with Mary. Alternatively, suppose that he is in love with her as a person and not just a projection of his own desires. Then he cannot know how accurate his knowledge is.

Love for people seems to surface in two forms: we say that we are in love with so-and-so, but there are others that we love without being ‘in love.’ These two uses of love are often used interchangeably, but they are hardly the same thing. Lovers say ‘I love you,’ but they mean ‘I am in love with you,’ which captures the romantic emphasis they intend. People also say ‘I love you’ at times when they intend no romance at all. Friends often tell each other that they love each other with as much emotion as lovers, but obviously a different sort of emotion is intended. I find love of this sort much more realistic and useful than romance. Critics will of course say that this

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friendship-love falls short of the joy that can be found in a romantic relationship. Melodrama of this sort makes me ill. It is the unreasoned and unnecessary use of the imagination.

Agapeic love literally mans the unconditional love of all people. Traditionally this has been ascribed only to God, for only He could possibly be forgiving enough to love people unconditionally. This view has been held by many people over the centuries, even by people who thought that only a few of the righteous would go to heaven while the rest would burn in hell. (Burning in hell is somehow thought to be good for sinners in some weird way — I do not claim to understand the workings of His sadistic mind.) In any case, agapeic love, put in this very strong way, would be very difficult to achieve by anyone’s standards. Loving one’s enemies sounds really nice until they are actively hurting you or those who are close to you. Any culture that really practiced this kind of love would not last long. Survival goes to the fittest, not the nicest. Agapeic love so strictly defined is just too demanding, but a less strong version of agapeic love seems entirely conceivable.

On a personal level, love plays a vital role in day-to-day life. Without harmony between individuals, chaos would make life very difficult to live. Even more than this, though, love can make this harmony between individuals worth our effort. It need not be unconditional or universal; it need not last or end due to minor or even radically different value systems; it need only be a friendly attitude towards another person. When people maintain this relationship long enough, they may accurately call it love. Sex may play a role or it may not; there seems to be no real reason for or against it, as there so often seems to be in romantic relationships. Sex has been tied pretty closely to love, but friends or even strangers can have great sex while their romantic partners remain unaffectionate. Jealousy breaks up many romances but people who share an agapeic relationship can be happy for each other for the very same reasons that might have otherwise made them bitter enemies. Unlike a romantic relationship, people may not see each other for long periods of time without grief or heartbreak. No ownership of the other person’s body or time is intended, although these people are likely to spend time together if they are compatible with each other. Business associates, schoolmates, neighbors, etc. often become friends, sometimes finding their relationship strong enough to call it love — though not in any romantic sense. I don’t see why all relationships can’t share these agapeic traits, and shed the excess melodrama of romance.

I suppose that many would say that the agapeic love that I have described is a nothing more than a good friendship. Well, what’s wrong with that?

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