I think of myself as a romantic. On our first wedding anniversary, forty-eight years ago this February, I bought Jane a dozen red roses and a fine, silk-bound copy of the Song of Songs. Petals from one of those roses are still pressed between its pages. As I revise my syllabus for my spring course, The Ethics of Love, I find myself reflecting on how much I appreciate a day dedicated to celebrating love. But this year, it all feels a bit much. Perhaps it’s the long freeze we find ourselves in—certainly the coldest spell we’ve had in many a year. Or maybe it’s the way the bombardment of Valentine’s-themed marketing feels increasingly hollow.
That said, I won’t entirely ignore the day. Jane and I watched a British adaptation of P.D. James’s Death Comes to Pemberley, her continuation of Pride and Prejudice. A more or less satisfying tale—a Jane Austen-esque “whodunit”—full of courtly love, unrequited then fulfilled, British understatement, women beginning to find a little freedom in the midst of patriarchy, and men making fools of themselves, but finally acting gallantly. A love story.
So, St. Valentine has already got me thinking about love—not just romantic love, but love in all its richness and complexity, and how much it’s been reduced in contemporary culture. Of all the experiences of life, loving encounters are our most cherished memories. Love is our highest aspiration. Love binds all else together, and where it is absent, life falls apart. Love is very rich and has many expressions. We are the poorer when love is reduced.
In our culture, we also reduce love when we make it a mere form of words. I hear “I love you” more often now than I ever did when I was younger. I even find myself saying it more than I used to. It’s well-intentioned, but I can’t help but feel uneasy when a near-stranger gushes, “I love you.” My unspoken thought is, “But you don’t know me.” Love as a phrase, like “Have a nice day,” can lose depth and meaning.
And love is reduced when it becomes nothing more than romance. As I’ve explored in my book Love as a Guide to Morals, love is far more than romantic infatuation. It encompasses friendship, compassion, affection, and altruism, to name a few of its many dimensions. Of course, romance is one of love’s expressions, but when we reduce love to romance, we miss so much.
The Greeks understood love in richer terms. For example, eros—the type of love we most associate with romance—was about more than mere passion. Plato, in the Symposium, describes eros as a longing for all that is good, noble, and beautiful. Romantic love, in this sense, is just the beginning—a step on the ladder toward something much greater, if we are willing to climb.
Valentine’s Day this year falls just before our forty-ninth wedding anniversary. While we were out doing our weekly shop yesterday, I bought Jane a Valentine’s-themed 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle—no secret, as we were out together. So, I’ve given in to the commercialism! Even so, I’ll reflect again on what it means to love—not just as a fleeting sentiment, but as the rich and life-giving force that binds us to one another and to the world.
+Ab. Andy