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Watch this video or scan the QR code to learn more about the philosophy of Aristotle.

I want to point out what I believe are some flaws in some particular points about love by other authors and also to point out what I think is an erroneous style of analysis of love. I believe some of these points and this style have been unduly influential. Others demonstrate how some views about love and about relationships can sound quite plausible at initial reading and yet still be seen to be erroneous under more reasonable scrutiny. I believe the proper approach to the subject is the analytic kind I have taken in this book, trying to put into a sensible and reasonable general perspective the kinds of feelings and experiences that are open to most people, and that happen to many; but a perspective that at the same time tries to reasonably take into account the realistic differences there are among people.

In their book Mirages of Marriage (W.W. Norton & Co., 1968), which is marvelous for its clear, concrete language and ideas, and for its many practical insights, W.J. Lederer and Don D. Jackson work with Harry Stack Sullivan’s definition of love (p. 42): “When the satisfaction or the security of another person becomes as significant to one as is one’s own satisfaction or security, then the state of love exists.” (From Harry Stack Sullivan’s Conceptions of Modern Psychiatry (W.W. Norton & Co., 1953, pp. 42-43.)

Though on the whole I believe this is an excellent practical book with a number of theoretical insights that are worth considering, there are a few things I disagree with in it. One is this theoretical definition of love. I disagree for the following reasons:

(1) One might feel another’s happiness or satisfaction and security are extremely important — a counselor, teacher, doctor, or anyone might expend a great deal of time and energy and worry concerning a patient, student, or friend because he cares about other people. Indeed, one might hope all of us would care about each others’, or many others’, happiness very much. This state might be considered love, or loving, in a very general “Christian” or humanitarian sense, but it is not the kind of love in the general sort of romantic sense involving relationships that we are concerned with here. It has nothing to do with specific kinds of feelings of attraction people might have for each other, and it also fails, I think,

(2) in that it focuses only on the concern people have for a loved one’s well-being and not on how successfully or unsuccessfully one might actually be in bringing that well-being about. If you care about another’s well-being but are unable to provide any for them, then, as I have argued extensively, though they can be attracted to you and though they can care about you, they should not be said to love you, since their loving you involves your actually being good for them and making them happy, and happy in meaningful ways. Otherwise all they could have (though that is considerable) is attraction, concern, infatuation, or charity (and in extreme cases, martyrdom). And, if all you get out of the relationship is concern about their well-being, you too, do not have love, but just that concern. You or they could even harm each other though you both were trying not to, and again there would be some sort of self-sacrificing care and concern in the relationship, but it would generally not be what we would want to characterize as a loving relationship.

(3) A person could be concerned about another’s well-being for selfish reasons, because he is dependent on them for something important to him; this would meet the definition but would not be love.

(4) As I have argued extensively throughout the book, satisfaction and security are not the main or only goals of ethics or the good in life. A person might properly keep appointments though he would be more satisfied to sleep late in bed or carouse with friends. A person might want to heighten his sensitivity to the suffering of others in order to be a better person; couples may want to rear their children to be sensitive and caring about the needs of others and to be kind. But sensitivity often leads to sorrow and dissatisfaction; a case could be made that selfish, insensitive people tend to have the most satisfaction (and possibly even security, at least in terms of what money can buy), though the satisfaction is undeserved.

(5) It is not just happiness or satisfaction and security that we seek, but deserved happiness or satisfaction — satisfaction that comes in certain ways, such as through creativity, hard work, perseverance, thinking, honorable acts, etc., or satisfaction that is the result of delight in something good and worthwhile, such as enjoying music, literature, etc. If we could be satisfied by taking a magic pill or pharmaceutical lotus leaf, that is not what we would want or consider to provide satisfaction in the right way.

(6) Some people do not care about whether their loved ones are concerned so much with their satisfaction and security; they simply appreciate the fact those loved ones help provide it, not out of concern, but just naturally, as an outgrowth of the way those loved ones are. If someone, say, likes wit and falls in love with someone whose nature includes wit, then it does not matter whether they are being witty “for” their loved one or just simply being witty because they like to be. I even have one friend who hates to think you are doing something “for” her; she wants what she benefits from to be things that you would want to do anyway. She likes to feel she or her character then somehow blends nicely with you or your character. And, in fact, this is the way I think love generally is, though I think she takes too far or expects too much from the idea of naturally blending and never wanting someone else to make some sort of sacrifice for her. (And in fact she is very altruistic, however, and would make all kinds of sacrifices for you; she just does not want you to make any for her.) Perfect natural blends are not likely; even in the best relationships there are probably some sacrifices by each partner.

(7) Not being a concerned and caring person about other people’s security and satisfaction says more about your general nature than about whether you are in love or not. I think everyone should consider other people’s satisfaction and security, though proper fairness to one’s self demands that you are not always self-sacrificing because of it.

(8) I think people can love from afar, loving someone who makes them more satisfied and secure and to whom they are attracted, without being able to, needing to, or even trying to reciprocate. Sometime such reciprocation might even be unwarranted. For example, I think a student could love a (married) teacher, but it might be inappropriate to act toward that teacher in the way one might want to act toward a peer one loved in the same way. One could love a television celebrity or an author who they find attracting and who makes a meaningful contribution to their life.

(9) Finally, (and this one is technical, but I think necessary to be dealt with in case anyone else tries to resurrect a kind of definition of love similar to Sullivan’s above.) If one is not particularly concerned about his own well-being, and is then equally unconcerned about the well-being of others, by the above definition he would love others. But terrorists who kill themselves with their victims could hardly be said to love their victims. For the definition to do even what they want it to, it requires not only for there to be at least equal concern for another as for one’s self, but that there should be some reasonably substantial, actual (positive) concern for both.

Aristotle

In Books (“chapters” actually) 8 and 9 of his Nichomachean Ethics, Aristotle (op. cit.) seems to have been concerned with many of the same questions I am. But my answers are for the most part different from his. For example, he thought affection had to have a motive, either (1) expected good or pleasure from the loved one or expected usefulness from the loved one for the gaining of good or pleasure. But since he thought usefulness changed with time and circumstances and that goodness pretty much did not, he thought that friendship based on usefulness was not likely to last and that friendship based on gaining goodness would. Aristotle also thought that “like attracted like” with regard to good people and so their acting and being alike (and relatively stable so) and their seeking each others’ welfare because they were good, would cause their friendship to last a long time. However, (1) I do not believe affection needs a motive. I think we become enamored of people often for unknown reasons or causes, if any; perhaps sometimes more because of our own states of mind at the time than because of anything they really offer. Consider, for example, the phenomena of a person’s being attracted to someone who is very much like a person who he or she was not attracted to just a bit earlier (and) even though he or she knew the first person might have done him more good, given more pleasure, or have been of more use.

(2) Often someone can actually be bad for us or of no use in promoting our well-being, and we can know this and yet still be attracted to him or her. (Rollo May, for example, on page 283 of Love and Will (May, 1969) seems to think instant attraction is because (?) “the suddenly beloved elicits a composite image from our experiences in our past or in our dreams of our future; we spontaneously experience him or her in relation to our personal ‘style of life’ which we form and carry with us all our lives and which becomes clearer the more we know ourselves.” I think I’ve become fond or enamored of and attracted to people without all that happening, though I am not really sure what experience is characterized in the second part of that statement.)

(3) Usefulness is not necessarily so transient a thing. Many husbands and wives probably operate together a long time simply because they find it more efficient and convenient to remain a “team”. Many workers and their managers can be useful to each other their entire careers. But, also

(4) it seems many people can be useful to us and we yet do not necessarily have an affection for them or their use; for example, an unfriendly boss-employee relationship or an addict’s feelings toward a pusher and habit he despises.

(5) I see no reason bad people cannot like each other or be lasting friends.

(6) It is not clear there are any (perfectly) good people in Aristotle’s sense or that if there are more than one, they act alike anyway or that they would necessarily be attracted to each other, or that like attracts like in general. (Research seems to show that among people in general it is often that opposites attracts as well as “likes”; often it is people with complementary personalities or qualities that attract each other also.)

These last two points, however, would require extensive analysis of Aristotle’s notion of the good man, and that is not feasible here.

Others I have seen speak to the kinds of issues I have been concerned with in this book are various clergymen speaking at weddings or about marriage, Abigail Van Buren, Ann Landers, some Readers’ Digest articles, the “Playboy Advisor”, Dr. Ruth Westheimer on television, etc., though I have sought in this book to give a far more reasoned, clear, sustained, and supported account than any of these.

But I have found these kinds of things more helpful, when correct, than, for example, many kinds of professional philosophic or psychoanalytic works on the topic of love. One philosophical difference of opinion (between Robert Solomon and Hugh T. Wilder in Alan Soble’s Philosophy of Sex) involves whether, if sex is a form of communication, masturbation then is like writing a letter but not mailing it, like talking to oneself, or like thinking aloud or writing for one’s own pleasure or clarification of ideas. I think this kind of argument is somewhat silly and misses the real nuances and points of masturbation. Further, they seem to miss the more important point that sex, as I have extensively argued, is not a meaningful form of communication — even when it is interpersonal.

Though Erich Fromm, in his Art of Loving (Fromm, 1956), does have a section on the practice of love, the book is far less practical than might have been hoped. Fromm’s guidelines of discipline, concentration, patience, concern, overcoming of narcissism, faith, reason, etc. hardly tell one much about whether a particular relationship he or she is involved in is good or not, partially good or not, or what. I think these points, though useful, need to be at least elaborated.

I also think more needs to be said about what Fromm calls pseudo-loves, why they are bad or wrong or not really love at all. In fact, I think it is a mistake simply to label them pseudo- love, and better to say they are relationships which some call love, which others do not, but which are bad or good because … or that could be impoverished or improved by….

Fromm states “every theory of love must begin with a theory of man, of human existence.” He then goes on to describe man’s anxiety arising from his separation from the rest of the universe and others in it, and love as a solution to that anxiety problem. I do not exactly know what a theory of man or human existence is; but I do think that to talk about human relationships, whether meaningful, loving, friendship, or of any sort, one must know some things about people. If this knowledge constitutes a theory about man (which I doubt), fine; but I do not think one needs some (other sort of) theory of man to talk sensibly about love any more than one needs a theory of man to be a good football coach (and I do not mean just a winning football coach), teacher, welfare worker, nurse, policeman, or whatever. One does have to be sensitive, have some understanding of people, be discerning, etc., but not necessarily have some (one) theory about the human condition.

Further, to say that love is an answer to a problem — here the problem of man’s anxiety due to separation — is to give a use for love, not a description of it. Love is not explained or described by saying it is a cure for anxiety any more than water or Gatorade is explained or described by saying it is a cure for thirst.

And I am not certain that love is the answer to anxiety anyway. First of all, surely there can be love without anxiety; there seem to be people who love and are loved who were not particularly anxiety-ridden. But moreover, there are people who are loved who are still tremendously anxiety-ridden. In fact, many people are anxiety-ridden because they worry very much about their families and loved ones. Of course, the world would be nicer and less

anxiety producing if more people or everyone were loving, but that is just as true if more people or everyone were understanding and ethical, including being properly compassionate. Again, that may be a way of describing a kind of Christian or humanitarian love, not the kind specific to more personal or intimate relationships. But even that kind of humanitarian love would not particularly eliminate or “cure” anxiety due to fear of physical or non-moral catastrophe — terminal illness, severe birth defect, accident, earthquake, tornado, etc., though it would go a long way in some cases in making such catastrophe perhaps a little more bearable. (In the Birmingham, Alabama Museum of Art, there once was an exhibit of art, particularly paintings, whose content had to do with medicine. Some of the 19th century paintings depicting the helplessness of grieving and compassionate physicians besides dead or dying patients almost seem to make that a more tolerable situation than those of the twentieth century depicting the more often successful technological, but impersonal, awesomeness of contemporary medical resources. Certainly both advanced medical resources and compassion are important, and in some instances the two can be found together. But not often enough. And at least in all those cases where death is unavoidable or unpreventable anyway, the compassion and understanding is far more important than the technology. Still, this compassion and understanding are not love, even when small parts of it.)

Fromm believed that capitalism is a deep part of the lack of love and disintegration of it, and it may be to the extent that a capitalistic society can let money and profit seem more important than anything else, including relationships. But relationships occur whenever people are in contact with each other; and some relationships are better or worse than others, and some have feelings and aspects other relationships do not have. Some of these will then be what I consider love. And it seems to me all this would occur no matter what the economic system. It is important to talk about what kinds of aspects and feelings are good and ought to be cultivated. Economic, political, and social systems and conditions certainly influence people and their relationships. So do many other things, such as health, job satisfaction, etc., but until we have an understanding of what relationships really involve, it is difficult to understand exactly how these systems and conditions influence them or what kinds of things need to be done, perhaps within the system, to counteract the corrupting and disrupting forces. For example, it seems to me that lack of understanding of ethics and moral reasoning skills (as I explained them in the chapter on ethics) accounts for many of the problems people have in relationships, but I do not see how capitalism, as such (or by itself), can be blamed for that lack of knowledge. The attainment of maximum financial profit may be incompatible with the attainment of other values some times, but people can often opt, even in a capitalistic economic system, for achieving those other values at the expense of greater profit. Many people do that who, for example, pass up job promotions requiring relocation in order to stay in a city they and their family really like. Capitalism, whatever its failings, does not, by itself, force anyone to choose money over more important values. Insensitivity to, or ignorance of, that fact or those more important values, combined with capitalism may cause someone to choose profit over more important values and force that choice on dependent employees; but ignorance and insensitivity, it seems to me, can occur in any system and cause or allow people to choose or force on others values that are worse than possible alternatives. And I would think that kind of ignorance and insensitivity could be battled in a capitalist society as well as in any other. I doubt that any economic system just by itself is the cause or remedy of many social problems or of ignorance in important areas.

Rollo May

Although Rollo May’s book Love and Will (op. cit.) has some good points in it, I am disappointed by many of the kinds of arguments it contains.

(1) Dr. May argues from word etymologies, which at best show what ancient civilizations and word “coiners” believed, not what is necessarily true or even reasonable.

(2) He argues from (often psychoanalytic) interpretations of Greek myths and biblical stories which at best give interesting interpretations to such stories and perhaps show what early people believed but do not therefore give evidence of the truths which May claims. Some interpretations he gives seem a bit far-fetched anyway: concerning Jacob’s wrestling with the angel and his incurred thigh injury May says, “…he limped away from the scene; he is now a cripple. The parallel to sexual intercourse is clear.” (p. 171) More like imaginary, I would think. He says of Eros‘ bringing about fertilization of the earth by shooting an arrow into the barren ground that the arrow is phallic. But how else would a Greek myth show vegetation coming into being — not bullets shot into the ground, not some hero or god doing the menial work of planting. That pretty much leaves something like arrows or spears. One might ask then whether arrows rather than spears show feelings of sexual inadequacy…or perhaps confidence!

Often, anyway, his passages do not even show what he says they do. There is no way the following passage can fit his comment about it concerning the three aspects of time — past, present, and future.

“Once when ‘Care’ was crossing a river, she saw some clay; she thoughtfully took up a piece and began to shape it. While she was meditating on what she had made, Jupiter came by. ‘Care’ asked him to give it spirit, and this he gladly granted. But when she wanted her name to be bestowed upon it, he forbade this, and demanded that it be given his name instead. While ‘Care’ and Jupiter were disputing, Earth arose and desired that her own name be conferred on the creature, since she had furnished it with part of her body. They asked Saturn to be their arbiter, and he made the following decision, which seemed a just one: ‘Since you, Jupiter have given its spirit, you shall receive that spirit at its death; and since you, Earth, have given its body, you shall receive its body. But since “Care” first shaped this creature, she shall possess it as long as it lives. And because there is now a dispute among you as to its name, let it be called “homo”, for it is made out of humus (earth).'” (pp. 290-291)

Of this, May says (p. 291):

“This … shows the realization of the three aspects of time: past, future, and present. Earth gets man in the past, Zeus in the future; but since ‘Care’ first shaped this creature, she shall possess it as long as it lives,’ i.e., in the present.”

But Earth does not get man in the past with Zeus getting him in the future. The passage says Earth gave its body and will get it back, just as Jupiter gave its spirit and will get it back. The time sequences are exactly parallel; both had something in the past and will regain it in the future. Further, man’s life is not some one-dimensional point in time, but itself has a past and future, so “Care” has man in more than just some “present”. This kind of error would be of minor importance except that May then goes on to try to use it to make important points.

“This excursion into ontology makes it clearer why care and will are so closely related, indeed are two aspects of the same experience…”

In a similar example, he says (p. 79), quoting Socrates from the “Symposium”:

“Those who are pregnant in the body only, betake themselves to women and beget children—this is the character of their love; their offspring, as they hope, will preserve their memory and give them the blessedness and immortality which they desire in the future. But souls which are pregnant — for there certainly are men who are more creative in their souls than in their bodies — conceive that which is proper for the soul to conceive or contain. And what are these conceptions? — wisdom and virtue in general. And such creators are poet and all artists who are deserving of the name inventor.”

But he says of this:

“The Greeks also knew that there always is a tendency for eros to be reduced simply to sexual desire— epithymia or lust in their terms. But they insisted that the biological is not denied but incorporated and transcended in eros.”

Yet Socrates is simply stating that man seeks to become immortal in two ways, through biological and/or through intellectual creativity. There is no mention of one’s being better than the other or of one’s transcending or incorporating the other.

(3) Dr. May holds that the problems of the neurotic and the vision of the artist are prophetic for society but he offers no way to distinguish truly prophetic visions or insights from ones which do not come true. He offers no suggestion for distinguishing between neurotic problems which (a) will become symptomatic of society at large, as the environment, which is supposedly disturbing sensitive neurotic people, now become stronger and supposedly more overwhelming to everyone, and ones (b) which are simply individual problems or problems only of neurotics and which will never become problems faced by larger numbers of people. He only gives examples of past visions or neurotic difficulties that have shown themselves as problems of much of society later. Are we to believe there were no “false” artistic vision and no neurotic problems which are not prophecies of normal states to come!

(4) He argues from literature; but, again, just citing other people who (seem to) hold your views does not show your views to be true or even probable.

(5) He cites analogies from such things as Mozart’s music and from the animal kingdom which are interesting but which, as evidence for his views, are often simply amusing. One particularly stands out: citing that love and/or sex and death have an intimate relationship, he recounts how male bees die soon after copulation and how the female praying mantis bites off the head of the male during copulation, which makes him jerk that much harder during his sex and death throes. Apart from recent research reports that this is not true about the praying mantis, the fact that sex and death in this fashion is the most minute exception to the world’s creatures does not seem to matter. That the male bee and (perhaps) praying mantis die during or shortly after intercourse does not seem particularly relevant even to antelope, let alone to humans.

He argues here that it is death and the knowledge of death that makes love possible, that heightens love. I disagree. Certainly the awareness of death helps us to take things which are dear less for granted. But these things must already be things which are dear to us, otherwise we would not care whether we lost them or not. The awareness of death does not make hazardous waste, ugly art, stupidity, irresponsibility, or child abuse more dear to us or heighten their intensity. The beauty of love is prior to the acute awareness of its potential loss. I would turn a phrase and probably be in agreement with Erich Fromm here that it is not death or the thought of death which makes love possible, but it is love and friendship which make death and the thought of death sometimes acceptable or at least not so lonely and terrifying an experience. The fact that love and death go together in so many stories that May points to is perhaps because death is a permanent type of parting (afterlife notwithstanding), and parting from a loved one evokes very poignant emotion, something that literature often tries to do.

(6) May argues such things as:

“The fact that love is personal is shown in the love act itself. Man is the only creature who makes love face to face, who copulates looking at his partner. … This opens the whole front of the person…all the parts which are most tender and vulnerable—to the kindness or cruelty of the partner. The man can thus see in the eyes of the woman the nuances of delight or awe, the tremulousness or the angst; it is the posture of the ultimate baring of one’s self.” (p. 311)

Let me parody that to:

The fact that having one’s teeth examined, cleaned, drilled, and fixed is a personal experience is shown in the act itself. Man is the only creature who has this done face to face with one of his own kind. This opens the whole front of the person, all the parts which are the most tender and vulnerable, to the kindness and cruelty of the dentist and patient. The dentist can thus see in the eyes of the patient the nuances of delight or awe, the tremulousness or the angst; it is the posture….

And further, anyone with any kind of sensitivity can usually tell, from almost any angle or direction, and often from some distance away, when someone is afraid or anxious. One does not always have to look into another’s eyes to tell. On a date, one can often tell by the feel of how someone holds your hand whether they are doing it perfunctorily or passionately. More intimate sex is no different. There are ways besides looking into someone’s eyes (if people even do look into each others’ eyes during intercourse) to understand how they feel.

(7) He spends pages arguing that sex without passion is an empty experience and that man does not see this and is heading toward the practice of apathetic sex. But his arguments are of the above sort, and my students in undergraduate introductory philosophy made the point independently and far more succinctly, forcibly, and reasonably in class that sex without love can be, and generally is empty. They seemed to see that. Further, in contrast to May (I think), it is not always the case that sex without long term passion or without love is empty; there are probably plenty of people who can generate sufficient short-term horizontal passion to make it a good experience for them even though they have little or no “general” passion toward the partner. Further, sex with a stranger or new acquaintance can be very exciting and reassuring. And sex with a friend or new acquaintance can be very comforting at a particular time or very important in any of a number of ways without being sex between two long time passionate lovers. And there are plenty of people who can essentially (mutually) gratify each other for the sheer physical pleasure they get or cause—especially if they both know and accept their own and each others’ motives. Sex may have many motives besides love, and not all those other motives prevent it from being a wondrous experience. Nor, of course, does love insure that it will be a wondrous experience.

(8) May thinks that the Master-Johnson researches “are symptomatic of a culture in which the personal meaning of love has been progressively lost,” when in fact the research has as one goal helping people lead better and more loving lives through having fewer problems of sex and fertility. There is no claim by Masters and Johnson that all of love can be reduced to sex, nor even that all of sex (meaningfulness, emotional closeness, fantasy, psychology, etc.) can be reduced to sexual physiology.

(9) Some passages do not even seem to have a clear meaning, though they sound very nice or poetic. “We are in eros not only when we experience our biological, lustful energies but also when we are able to open ourselves and participate via imagination and emotional and spiritual sensitivity, in forms and meanings beyond ourselves in the interpersonal world and the world of nature around us.

“Eros is the binding element par excellence. It is the bridge between being and becoming, and it binds fact and value together. Eros, in short, is the original creative force of Hesiod now transmuted into power which is both ‘inside’ and ‘outside’ the person. We see that eros has much in common with the concept of intentionality proposed in this book; both presuppose that man pushes toward uniting himself with the object not only of his love but his knowledge. And this very process implies that a man already participates to some extent in the knowledge he seeks and the person he loves.” (p. 79)