real love essay

The Concept of True Love Definition Essay

Introduction, understanding the unrealistic notion of true love, the concept of love itself is an illusion, works cited.

The concept of true love is based on the belief that to truly love someone you have to accept them for who they are (including their shortcoming and faults), put their happiness above your own (even if your heart is broken in the process) and that you will always love them even if they are not by your side.

In essence it is a self-sacrificing act wherein a person puts another person’s happiness and well-being above their own. For example in the poem “To my Dear and Loving Husband” by Anne Bradstreet she compares her love for her spouse as “more than whole mines of gold or all the riches that the East doth hold” (Bradstreet, 1). While such an example is archaic it does present itself as an excellent example of the value of true love for other people.

What must be understood though is that in recent years the concept of true has been adopted by popular culture as a needed facet in a person’s life. Various romantic comedies produced by Hollywood all portray characters that at one point or another exhibit tendencies akin to the realization that their life is incomplete without true love and that they should seek it out in the form of female or male character that has been provided as an embodiment of what true love should be.

Due to the influences of popular culture on modern day society this has resulted in more people believing in the concept of true love and actively seeking it out as a result. The inherent problem with this is that true love is an ideal that can be considered the embodiment of every single positive thing that can happen actually happening. In that a person that fits your idea of the perfect partner suddenly appears, that events lead the two of you to be together and that the end result is a classic happily ever after ending.

Unfortunately it must be noted that the concept of the “ideal” is based on the best possible action, event and circumstance actually happening. The fact remains that the real world, unlike in the movies, does not revolve around fortuitous circumstances and the supposed ideal is nothing more than a fanciful notion created by the movie industry.

For example in the story “Rose for Emily” it can be seen that the main character, Emily Grierson, goes to such lengths of retaining love that she murders Homer Barron in order to keep him by her side (Faulkner, 1). The reason behind this action is simple, by the time Homer Barron came into her life she couldn’t experience true love as we know it in the movies due to the effect of reality.

Due to this she creates the illusion of love which she wraps around herself. While most people don’t go to the lengths Emily had done it must be noted that they often follow the same pattern of developing the illusion of true love and retaining its idea. Since the concept of finding true love revolves around finding the ideal partner and that the ideal partner is nothing more than a fanciful creation it can be said that the reality of true love does not exist since it revolves around a fictitious notion and principle.

In the story of Araby readers are introduced to the concept of an unrealistic idea of the embodiment of love wherein the narrator (in the form of a young boy) falls in apparent rapture at the sight of Mangan’s sister. Though she is never mentioned by name the line “I pressed the palms of my hands together until they trembled, murmuring: ‘O love! O love!’ many times”, shows that the boy indeed developed substantial feelings for her (Joyce, 1).

It fact it is suggested numerous times in the story that the boy thinks that what he feels is true love and this is exemplified by his action of offering to buy the girl some souvenir from the Araby fair. Yet once he gets there he encounters a full grown woman at a stand idly chatting with men on various nonsensical topics.

It is then that he comes to the realization that he had crafted for himself a false ideal and that what lay before him was an example of what he could gain in the future. It must be noted that in essence this particular encounter shows what happens when an “ideal” meets reality in that the boy had been so presumptuous in crafting an “ideal” for himself that he neglected to take into account the possibility of better things in the future.

The line “I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger” is an indication of the point in the story when the boy comes to the realization that his ideal was false and that he only though that way because of his isolated world (Joyce, 1).

The story itself could be considered a microcosm of reality with Mangan’s sister acting as the concept of true love. The isolated nature of the idea of love developed by the boy in the story could be compared to the propagated concept of true love in movie industry wherein concepts related to the ideal partner as exemplified by various movies are in effect false when compared to the realities people face.

All too often people think of a person as their true love in an isolated fashion, conceptualizing in them in a world devoid of the interference of reality wherein their every move is considered lovely and perfect.

While such a concept is seen in numerous films it can be seen though that this particular point of view is usually false since when the outside world of reality is introduced people tend to see their “ideals” for what they really are and as a result their behaviors towards such loves usually change.

In essence it can be boiled down to true love being a fantasy created through the isolation of an individual from reality and as such can never be truly attained since once reality is introduced the fantasies diminish resulting in reality taking over banishing the illusion and subjecting people to the harsh truths that they neglected to see.

In the story bitch by Roald Dahl readers are introduced to the notion that passion incited through the creation of a simple chemical compound. This notion is actually symbolic of an ongoing thought that feelings of love are nothing more than illusion created by chemicals and hormones in the body that induce such feelings in order to propagate the species.

In fact various studies have do indeed show that love is a chemical reaction in the brain and as such if properly triggered through an outside source it can be assumed that this can in effect create the same feelings of love.

In fact the poem “Love is not all” by Edna St Vinven Millay says its best when she states that “Love is not all, is not meat or drink nor slumber nor roof against the rain”; from this it can be said that love is immaterial, nothing more than an illusion created by man (Millay, 1). For example in the story it can be seen that once males are affected by the chemical they all of sudden give into to primal urgings for procreation and don’t remember their actions afterwards (Dahl, 1).

Such an effect is suggestive of the fact that in essence people only consider love as love when there is a thought that tries to explain it. The loss of memory of events in the story is symbolic of the loss of thought and as a result the loss of the ability to associate a particular action with love.

In effect the story suggests that love itself is nothing more than a chemical reaction and that as logical individuals we try to justify it through other means that what it actually is. If this is so, the concept of true love itself is again proven to be nothing more than an illusion since it can be considered nothing more than a chemical and hormonal reaction rather than originating from some arbitrary and yet to be defined origin.

Faulkner, William. “Rose for Emily”.

Dahl, Roald. “Bitch”- Switch bitch”.

Joyce, James.”Araby”.

Bradstreet, Anne.“To My Dear and Loving Husband”

Millay, Edna.“Love Is Not All”

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IvyPanda. (2019, November 2). The Concept of True Love. https://ivypanda.com/essays/true-love/

"The Concept of True Love." IvyPanda , 2 Nov. 2019, ivypanda.com/essays/true-love/.

IvyPanda . (2019) 'The Concept of True Love'. 2 November.

IvyPanda . 2019. "The Concept of True Love." November 2, 2019. https://ivypanda.com/essays/true-love/.

1. IvyPanda . "The Concept of True Love." November 2, 2019. https://ivypanda.com/essays/true-love/.

Bibliography

IvyPanda . "The Concept of True Love." November 2, 2019. https://ivypanda.com/essays/true-love/.

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Is There Really True Love?

To find true love, focus on giving, not receiving..

Posted December 23, 2017 | Reviewed by Jessica Schrader

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Is there an emotional bond that deserves to be called true love? Is true love possible? In their 1986 hit song, the Judds sang: “Grandpa, take me back to yesterday ... Did lovers really fall in love to stay and stand beside each other come what may?”

The lyrics reflect the declining stability of marital relationships over four decades. Although the U.S. divorce rate declined slightly three years in a row from 2013 to 2016, typical marriages still have only about a 50% chance of lasting. For years, marriage rates declined, in part because young adults have waited longer to get married. Many say that they don’t intend to ever get married.

The belief that love is true when it lasts is not an outdated concept. In her 2015 song, True Love , Ariana Grande describes how her relationship grew into true love from kisses to a commitment to last forever. But how can a person know that a relationship will last forever? Lovers don’t expect that even a genuine relationship will consist only of passionate positive emotions. In 1960, Buddy Holly’s song, True Love Ways , was released posthumously. Written as a wedding gift for his wife, Holly’s song predicted: “Sometimes we’ll sigh; sometimes we’ll cry ... Throughout the days our true love ways will bring us joys to share with those who really care.”

Looking back on his marriage in his song, Remember When , Alan Jackson recounts the ups and downs over the years: “There was joy, there was hurt ... We came together, fell apart and broke each other’s hearts.” Despite it all, Jackson anticipated: “We won’t be sad, we’ll be glad for all the life we’ve had.”

Do conflicting emotions characterize or define true love? In her 2012 song, True Love , pop artist Pink expresses the mixed emotions of her relationship: “Sometimes I hate every single stupid word you say ... At the same time, I wanna hug you.” In fact, Pink explains: “I really hate you so much, I think it must be true love,” because “nothing else can break my heart like true love ... And no one else can break my heart like you.” Despite hurt and heartbreak, Pink identifies her feelings as true love because “without you I’m incomplete.”

In his song, All of Me , dedicated to his fiancée, John Legend also admits to complex emotions: “You’re my downfall, you’re my muse. My worst distraction, my rhythm and blues.” But ultimately completeness is the core of his relationship: “You’re my end and my beginning. Even when I lose I’m winning, ‘cause I give you all of me and you give me all of you.” Do we know a love is true when we don’t feel complete without our lover?

Research suggests that people share a common image of what it means to be loved. Key characteristics of knowing someone loves you include: support without expectation of anything in return, compassion in difficult times, quality time together, being told you are loved, feeling special and appreciated, and being forgiven for something you did wrong. By contrast, people agree that we don’t feel loved when someone is possessive or tries to control us.

But what does it mean to love with a pure or true love? Research has documented a number of different types of love: eros or romantic, ludus or game-playing, storge or friendship , pragma or logical, mania or possessive, and agape or altruistic . Physical attraction and intimacy are central to eros, permissiveness and variety of partners characterize ludus, companionship and stability are the foundation of storge, and compatibility in social and personal characteristics is the core of pragma. Mania is obsessive, dependent, jealous and intensely emotional, whereas agape is altruistic, all-giving, and selfless with no expectation of love in return.

How we love others can vary for different relationships and in various situations. But does one style of loving represent what we envision as true love? While each style illustrates our yearning to find the right person who will satisfy our need to be loved, one—agape—reveals our capacity for what might come closest to pure love. Rather than being concerned with how a relationship benefits us, agape is focused on the best interests of the one we love. It is the love that puts the other first. Researchers identify this style as one in which a person tries to always help their lover through difficult times, sacrifice their own wishes to let their lover achieve theirs, endure all for the sake of their lover, and suffer in place of their lover.

This love is expressed in Freddy Fender’s hit recording of Before the Next Teardrop Falls : “If he brings you happiness , then I wish you all the best. It’s your happiness that matters most of all.” Beyond the emotional, the essence of this selfless love is behavioral commitment: “But if he ever breaks your heart, if the teardrops ever start, I’ll be there before the next teardrop falls.”

The benefits of agape have been highlighted by research. Selfless caring is associated with deep love, intimate communication, relationship satisfaction, loyalty and commitment. Couples in agape relationships are likely to deal more effectively with stress by supporting each other and by dealing with problems jointly, promoting their sense of “ we-ness .” Employing healthy coping strategies can deepen commitment and strengthen satisfaction with the relationship.

But are there costs to loving in such a selfless way? What are the psychological consequences of altruistic love? One would anticipate that the strong commitment and deep bond would mean great emotional pain if the relationship fails. As expected, research suggests that the end of such a rich committed relationship can result in feelings of profound loss and sadness. The more rewarding the love, the greater loss. Taking the risk of one day having to pay such a price is inherent in the essential nature of agape as all-giving and selfless.

Is it realistic to think that we can love in such an all-giving, non-demanding way? Research suggests that this style is rarely, if ever, fully actualized. It might well be the ideal we can hope for and strive toward. In searching for true love, we need to redirect our focus and energy from receiving to giving. Research shows that those who practice other-directed love are less likely to ever have to pay the hefty price. Perhaps there is such a thing as true love, and perhaps it can last.

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Grande, A. (2015). True Love. On Christmas & Chill [Digital Release on iTunes]. Republic Records.

Hammock, G., & Richardson, D. S. (2011). Love attitudes and relationship experience. The Journal of Social Psychology , 151 , 608-624.

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Hendrick, C., & Hendrick, S. (1986). A theory and method of love. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology , 50 , 392-402.

Holly, B., & Petty, N. (1960). True love ways [Recorded by B. Holly]. On The Buddy Holly Story , Volume 2 [Vinyl]. New York, NY: Coral Records.

Jackson, A. (2003). Remember when. On Greatest Hits Volume II [CD]. New York, NY: Arista Records.

Keith, V., & Peters, B. (1974). Before the next teardrop falls [Recorded by F. Fender]. On Before the Next Teardrop Falls [Vinyl]. Nashville, TN: Dot Records.

Legend, J. (2013). All of me. On Love in the Future [CD]. New York, NY: GOOD Music.

O’Hara, J. (1986). Grandpa, tell me ‘bout the good ol’ days [Recorded by The Judds]. On Rockin’ with the Rhythm [CD]. New York, NY: RCA Records.

Oravecz, Z., Muth, C., & Vandekerckhove, J. (2016). Do people agree on what makes one feel loved? A cognitive psychometric approach to the consensus on felt love. PLOS ONE . DOI:10.1371/journal.pone.0152803

Sharma, S., & Ahuja, K. K. (2014). Does love last forever? Understanding an elusive phenomenon among dating and married couples. Journal of Psychosocial Research , 9 , 153-162.

Vedes, A., Hilpert, P., Nussbeck, F. W., Randall, A. K., Bodenmann, G., & Lind, W. R. (2016). Love styles, coping, and relationship satisfaction: A dyadic approach. Personal Relationships , 23 , 84-97.

Krystine Batcho, Ph.D. , is a professor at Le Moyne College in Syracuse, New York.

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Three Powerful Lessons About Love

It’s been 20 years since daniel jones started modern love as a weekly column in the new york times. today, he shares what the job has taught him about love..

This transcript was created using speech recognition software. While it has been reviewed by human transcribers, it may contain errors. Please review the episode audio before quoting from this transcript and email [email protected] with any questions.

Love now and always.

Did you fall in love?

Just tell her I love her.

Love is stronger than anything you can feel.

For the love.

And I love you more than anything.

(SINGING) What is love?

Here’s to love.

From “The New York Times,” I’m Anna Martin. This is “Modern Love.” This year marks the 20th anniversary of the “Modern Love” column. 20 years — can you believe that? Two decades of essays that have made us laugh, made us gasp, broken our hearts, reminded us of the fundamental goodness of people. And let’s be honest — a lot of these essays should come with tissues. It’s kind of our thing here, making you cry.

To mark this big anniversary, we’ve got a conversation with “Modern Love” founder Daniel Jones. Dan has edited around 1,000 essays since the first one ran back in 2004. And when you spend all your professional time contemplating human connection, that work doesn’t stay at the office. It impacts you in profound ways. So, today, Dan shares the three essays that have changed the way he approaches love and relationships in his own life. And at the end of the show, stay tuned for a very exciting announcement about the rest of our season.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

So, it feels strange to say what I say to guests on the show, which is welcome, because, really, you welcomed me into this universe. So instead of saying welcome, I’m going to say, Dan Jones, hello, and thank you so much.

It is great to be back here.

The “Modern Love” column has been around for almost 20 years, which is a long time. And I do not say this in a rude way, but that also means that you are 20 years older than you were when you started it. Is there anything that’s happened in your life over those two decades that has changed your approach to the work or reframed it in some way?

I’ve gone from being young to less young over that time.

Delicately put.

I started the column with children who are now very much adults and have gone through their own breakups and traumas and all of that and got out into the world and gotten jobs. My marriage of 29 years came to an amicable end. My father died two months ago, and there’s been a lot of tough family time since then. But I feel like my life was pretty stable during the family child rearing years. And then, oddly timed to the pandemic, I have to say — [LAUGHS]

As happened to many, yeah.

It just like opened up, and it was like the column was saying to me, OK, you’re going to experience the whole range of what you’ve been putting out there. And interestingly enough, I feel like working on the column for all these years has given me sort of touchstones and tools — and not just for me, for other people, too — to be able to navigate difficult times in life. It feels like this churning reservoir of human experience that sort of feeds into your veins if you are open to it.

I love what you said that you gave so much to the column. And now you’re in this place in your career and your life where it’s giving back to you. I mean, what a —

It’s like an annuity program.

It’s like — yeah, it’s like a 401(k). [LAUGHS]

Right, right. Exactly.

It’s like a Roth IRA.

It’s the “Modern Love” 401(k).

That’s a sexy way to say it, right?

You know? I’m withdrawing. I’m getting close to the age where I’m going to be forced to withdraw. So, it’s a good thing.

People are loving this metaphor. OK, so that’s where you are now, but when you were starting the column, did you see yourself as an expert in relationships or in romance?

I wasn’t great at romantic relationships. I was like, how does this work? How does this work? I was really terrible at it in high school. I was really terrible at it in college. I still found it really hard. My first girlfriend in grad school.

Took you a while.

But very slow learning, very shy. But I think just the weightiness of romantic relationships is a scary thing.

And I wasn’t paralyzed with fear or anything. Like, I just — I assumed I’d get married and have a family. Like all those things were just assumptions and didn’t seem all that hard to make happen, in a way. But the complications of relationships and loss and just all those big things, I felt like those were things that happened to somebody else. Those were out there and were these deep, dark wells that I hadn’t really experienced and didn’t have a sense of how to navigate.

Hmm. How did the people in your life react when you told them like, hey, I got a new gig. I will be covering love and relationships at “The New York Times.” How did people react?

Some people were just — they were surprised that that would be my subject and that would be my beat, in a way. To me, I don’t think of love and relationships as being a beat. I think of it as being like the center of all life. It’s like, it’s not off to the side.

Say that, mm-hmm.

It’s the center of things. Honestly, I don’t like the word “romance.” It just feels like shallow and —

— schlocky and whatever. But the word “love” has it all. It’s like that’s the core of human existence, it seems to me. It’s the stuff of life and loss and death and yearning and dreaming and all of that stuff.

Mm. Have you come to that understanding of these stories about love are really stories about life? Did you enter into the column, the early days of this column, with that understanding, or has that been worked out over 20 years of editing these pieces?

We started that way a little intentionally. We made it clear that the stories were not just about romantic relationships. It was family relationships and friendships and parenthood and the whole sort of gamut of human love and bonds. And in coming up with a title, “Modern Love,” we wanted an umbrella that was sort of wide enough to encompass love.

And the “modern” part of it could mean a lot of things. To me, it meant something that was contemporary, like a way we connect that we didn’t use to, the way we use technology, the way we have children that we didn’t use to, all of those ways that are now. And we just thought “modern” would cover that piece of it.

OK, so, another big part of the column is that it’s totally based on reader submissions, meaning anyone can send in their idea for a story, and you select the ones you want to edit and then publish. Why did you go with that submission model, as opposed to commissioning stories from famous writers or other well-known people?

I just thought, let’s just open the floodgates and see what comes in. I didn’t realize at the time what a great idea that was because —

[LAUGHS]: I realized later, I’m a genius.

I’m a frickin’ genius for coming up with that, but not like it’s any kind of new idea. But for this kind of a forum, it was essential. And as an example, just a few weeks ago, we published a story by a Bangladeshi immigrant who’d been a taxi driver in New York, in an arranged marriage from Bangladesh. Had won the visa lottery and moved here, and they settled in Queens. They had a daughter. She became a doctor.

And I asked him, what made you write this story, your love story from 30 years ago and bringing it up to now? What made you submit it? And he said, oh, I’ve been reading “Modern Love” for 20 years.

You know? I’m reading it every week. And he wasn’t a writer. He’d just been reading the column and thought —

— I have a story. All these people who have stories, they read stories, they think, what about my story? And that’s something I was late in realizing, that it was just — it had drawn stories out of people who otherwise would not have told them. It felt a safe space for them. They thought, well, other people have done it.

So I could do it, too.

When we come back, Dan chooses the three essays that taught him the most about love, with a little help from Jake Gyllenhaal and Connie Britton. Stay with us.

All right, so, Dan, can you please kick us off with the first essay you want to talk about?

Yeah, so this is an essay. It’s called “One Bouquet of Fleeting Beauty, Please.” And the writer is named Alisha Gorder. And this is a story that begins with a young woman working in a flower shop describing the kinds of customers who come in, the kinds of flower bouquets that they’d buy and for what reason. And you think you’re in this light, airy story about a flower shop.

And then about halfway through, it takes a plunge into this really troubling backstory where her high school boyfriend had died by suicide at age 18, and it throws what she’s talking about and the flower shop into a whole new context. And in the end, it turns into a meditation of why flowers, why are these the things that people rely on for these important transitions and moments in life, and comes to a wisdom at the end that has just stayed with me ever since.

And longtime listeners will remember that this essay was featured on the podcast years ago, back when we had celebrities and voice actors read the essays. Let’s hear a part of this one performed, I think, really tenderly by the actor, Kerry Bishé.

There’s a picture I took of him just days before I left for college, two months before he died. It was the summer of chips and guacamole dinners we shared, sitting on the living room floor. He’s standing in the kitchen wearing a white t-shirt and jeans, one perfect half of an avocado cradled in his hand. His face is turned away, hidden from the camera, but I like to think he’s smiling.

I remember the song we were listening to, the chatter of frogs through the screen door, my bare feet on wood. Precious moments made all the more precious by the fact that they have already come and gone.

Now I measure months by what’s in season — sunflowers in July, dahlias in August, rose hips and maple in October, pine in December, hyacinth in March, crowdpleasing peonies in May.

A favorite of mine is tulip magnolia, the way the buds erupt into blooms and the blooms into a litter of color on lawns, all in a matter of weeks while it’s snowing cherry blossoms. How startlingly beautiful impermanence can be.

You said that it’s that ending and, in fact, it’s that final line that really speaks to you. Can you tell me what you learn or take away from that line?

It’s sort of grown on me how startlingly beautiful impermanence can be. It’s not that love or connection is beautiful and impermanent. It’s beautiful because it’s impermanent.

And the fleeting nature of any connection is what makes it precious and what makes it beautiful. And the way that she saw this in petals on the ground that are soon to dry up and go away, but the beauty is in that it won’t last.

I mean, there’s this section, I think, a little bit earlier than that when she even poses the question quite directly, like, why flowers? Why do we give these things that are going to shrivel and die?

Just to throw away, yeah.

And I love what you’re saying. It’s not despite the impermanence. It’s really loving because of it, because our time is —

Mm-hmm. That is the arc of life. It’s shortened with flower blossoms, but that is it. It sometimes lasts a long time, sometimes a short time. But it will always feel fleeting in a way, that level of beauty.

What does this essay make you think about in terms of your own life or your own relationships?

To me, it’s about — I mean, it’s a buzzword we always hear about, but here, it really comes home to roost, is presence, is being present. And it’s always the hardest thing, for me, for a lot of people, appreciating what you have now, and not thinking about what you’re building toward and what you’re accumulating wealth for and what’s to come, but the connections you have now that are beautiful in the moment, and not fearing that you’re going to lose them — because you are. That’s a certainty.

But just being able to be present and appreciate them and the fact that it’s this young woman who was able to artfully, in the midst of grief, compose such a beautiful piece that teaches that is just miraculous to me.

I mean, you mentioned earlier that your dad recently passed. Did you return to this essay then? Was it in the back of your mind as you were processing all that?

It must have been because I was scrolling through the archive and saw that illustration and clicked on it. And I did see it in a new way. I remembered how much I appreciated it at the time, but I was able to hold it together here. But when I read it aloud to a friend who obviously was sitting there when I was rereading it, I couldn’t get through the final lines. I was really broken up by it.

It sounds like this piece resonated with you and spoke to you in a different way years later, which is really powerful. Do you want to talk about the next essay?

Yeah, so this one is called “Nursing a Wound in an Appropriate Setting.” It’s written by Thomas Hooven, who is a doctor. He’s not a writer. But you would never know that —

No, you would not.

— from reading this incredible essay. And I think about this essay all the time. This was published in 2013. He describes his relationship with his longtime girlfriend before he goes to medical school. They knew each other for 12 years. They were both the children of divorce and of unstable households that were scary. And they gave each other a sense of safety. He describes their relationship as being no fighting. Fighting was what their parents did.

Fighting would threaten their equilibrium, yeah.

Fighting would threaten their love. And so, it was a sort of a flat, safe relationship. They were together for 12 years. They got engaged. He was about to head off to medical school. And then, she abruptly broke up with him. I think there were only a few weeks from their marriage —

— from their wedding.

Three weeks.

Three weeks, OK.

And he was just — devastated doesn’t begin to describe it. And he goes off to medical school or his residency, and it’s sort of his boot camp in feelings and complications and devastation and real life, like real life. And then after this sort of time in the wilderness in his residency and going through all this, he learns what real love is.

Yeah, I mean, his idea of what real love is at the end of the essay is so powerful. This essay was also featured on an early season of the podcast. So here’s Jake Gyllenhaal reading Thomas Hooven’s essay, “Nursing a Wound in an Appropriate Setting.”

Yeah, this one is so great.

My ex and I are not in touch. Our relationship, so long in the making and so quick to end, was like an ornamental piece of crystal. Aesthetically pleasing but lacking resilience and, once shattered, irrecoverable.

Looking back at the various romantic and not so romantic dating experiences I had afterwards, it’s hard to separate my growth as an emotionally conversant partner from my development as a capable physician. Both happened simultaneously and gradually through stretches of triumph and sorrow. There were no Eureka moments, and neither ever really ended.

The turmoil I experienced as an intern left me with a deeper understanding of how pain works, how it feels, how it ebbs, and how it leaves you less naive. I also learned to open up to important facets of life that my previous relationship had locked out — unhappiness, uncertainty, and regret. Comfort around feelings like these is crucial in both medicine and intimate relationships. It’s the basis of empathy.

I didn’t understand that before my ex left me, and I learned it the hard way.

By the time I met my wife, I was a changed man and a real doctor. And our love developed differently from any I had ever experienced before. Less like a crystal vase, more like a basketball, our relationship is made for bouncing, for good and sometimes rough play that modern professional lives generate. We do have fights — oh, yes, we do. But they do not threaten our foundation — they deepen it.

Tell me what you take away about Thomas’s articulation of what real love is. What is he saying?

Well, this is one of these essays that I feel like mirrored my experience in a way. Like, I didn’t come from a family of turmoil. But I’m afraid of conflict, total fear of conflict. Don’t like to fight, don’t like to argue. My idea of a successful, romantic, loving relationship was being in a harmonious space all the time — or not all the time. Sometimes you’d be bored, but you wouldn’t be fighting.

And so, this idea that fighting can bring you closer is revolutionary to me. It still is revolutionary to me. And not only that it can bring you closer, but it’s the only thing to bring you closer and the only thing to deepen your relationship.

Fighting can lead to end a relationship definitely, but the only way forward and the only way deeper is through conflict and resolving conflicts to a new understanding of the relationship and who you’re with and the person you’re with and getting to know them better and all of that. And I don’t know what business he has writing this well about —

You’re like, listen —

It’s not fair to be like a doctor —

— you’re already a doctor.

— and — I know, and also to be able to write this well about and understand love this well and loss and conflict and depth. It’s remarkable.

Mm. So are you like fighting all the time now?

I still need to learn how to fight better.

Let’s talk about the final essay. This is an essay by Elizabeth Fitzsimmons. It’s called “My First Lesson in Motherhood.” Can you tell me what that essay’s about?

Yeah, so this is a piece that ran on Mother’s Day way back in 2007. And it’s yet another one that takes a really dramatic turn — several dramatic turns. And it’s an essay about bravery when you didn’t think you had the capacity for it. It’s a couple who are having trouble getting pregnant and decide to adopt a baby girl in China. And they specifically fill out forms saying, we’re new parents. We don’t want any disabilities. We can’t deal with anything, basically, except for just a perfect, little, healthy baby.

And they get a baby who’s chosen for them. By the time they get there and meet with the baby and are alone with her for the first time, they discover alarming physical problems, a really bad rash and a scar at the base of her spine and hear a horrifying diagnosis that the child will be paralyzed from the waist down, will be incontinent, will have serious, serious problems. And unbelievably, they talk to the agents from the adoption agency, and they say, oh, well, we’re sorry about this, and essentially offer a swap for a different baby.

Yeah, that’s a moment that is kind of unbelievable in this piece.

The view of human life in that circumstance.

So this essay was read by the actress Connie Britton in 2016. And you can just hear the emotional stakes of this story in her performance. Let’s listen to it.

Yeah, she’s really perfect for this one.

I pictured myself boarding the plane with some faceless replacement child and then explaining to friends and family that she wasn’t Natalie, that we had left Natalie in China because she was too damaged, that the deal had been a healthy baby, and she wasn’t. How could I face myself? How could I ever forget? I would always wonder what happened to Natalie.

I knew this was my test, my life’s worth distilled into a moment. I was shaking my head no before they finished explaining. We didn’t want another baby, I told them. We wanted our baby, the one sleeping right over there. She’s our daughter, I said. We love her. Yet we had a long, fraught night ahead, wondering how we would possibly cope. I called my mother in tears and told her the news.

There was a long pause.

Oh, honey. I sobbed. She waited until I caught my breath. It would be OK if you came home without her. Why are you saying that? I just want to absolve you. What do you want to do? I want to take my baby and get out of here, I said. Good, my mother said. Then that’s what you should do.

I mean, I’m tearing up.

Me, too. So, the lesson in this piece to me is sort of about a test. It’s really a test. It’s like, what are you capable of? What kind of devotion, what kind of sense of responsibility, what are you going to take on? And they have to decide in the moment, are they going to stick with this child with this horrifying set of health complications that could control their lives forever? Are they going to push that baby aside and accept a healthier baby? And then, how do they live with themselves if they do that? Neither choice is an appealing choice.

No. This essay — I mean, all of these essays bowled me over, and this one just made me — I mean, I quite literally called my mom after this. It is such a moving testament to just the completely inexplicable, immediate bond between parent and child. Yeah, I’m still kind of crying. I mean, it’s just — it’s remarkable. Tell me what you’re taking. I mean, you are a parent. Like, tell me what you’re thinking about when you read this essay.

Well, first of all, I’m thinking — I think anyone reading this thinks, what choice would I have made?

And you would like to think that you would make the choice of keeping the child. But honestly, one of the most moving things and tragic things that happened in the wake of publishing this essay is, we got emails from people who’d faced this choice and —

— made the opposite choice and either left with a healthy baby and struggled, and struggled, and struggled with having done that. More common was giving up on adoption entirely and just walking away, and walking away from that child or any child. But she’s just like, I’m going to walk into this. Like, I’m going to just walk forward into this, and it’s going to be what it’s going to be. And miracle of miracles — like, within a year or so, all that stuff has gone away. They see a specialist —

I know. The kid is fine. I’m going to cry again. It’s like, after making this decision, they go home, and she heals. Oh!

Yeah, and she recoiled at thinking that was a reward for making the right choice. Like, she said, it’s not about that. It’s not about we were generous or we were good, and therefore, our child turned out fine. It’s not that at all. It just happened that way. But it’s yet another lesson in you can’t predict a smooth path. You just have to walk forward and be brave.

I often say with “Modern Love” stories that are really about choices and hard choices and how it’s sort of ordinary people being incredibly brave, I mean, I often wonder, what creates the person who can make the brave choice versus the person who shrinks from it. Like, what is that magic sauce? Or what is that childhood experience or what is the parenting that they have?

Because there is a divide. Like, there is a divide often in those circumstances that we saw in the outpouring after the essay.

We see instances of bravery in all three of the essays that you’ve shared today — bravery to embrace the brevity of love, bravery to engage in fighting in a relationship, bravery to make a choice. Would you define bravery as like a core act of love?

Yeah, a core act of love and a core act of life. People’s bravery has been my biggest takeaway over 20 years of doing this work. It’s never a person who says, I am brave. It’s almost the opposite. It’s people who say, I’m not brave. I’m a coward. And yet —

And the lesson, just sort of the lesson of that, life, it’s going to be a mess one way or the other. You just sort choose your mess. But that is what it is. That is life. You’re not going to avoid it. There’s such a school of life that is about trying to make your life as clean and tidy as possible. And it’s really a struggle to do that. And I’m not sure it’s well-directed energy.

What do you think we should direct our energy to? And now this is just truly me asking you because I want you to give me life advice. If not to cleaning up our life —

I’m not an advice giver, Anna.

I know, but just please —

You know that.

— put on the hat for one second. Like, if not to direct our energy towards cleaning up our life in your 20 years of doing this work, like, what is the more worthwhile thing to direct energy towards?

This is not exactly new advice, but it’s really the wisdom from Alisha Gorder’s essay, which is be in the moment. Value the people you’re with now. Don’t think I’m planning for 10 years from now. Get your 401(k) out of your mind. Contribute to it, but put it out of your mind. It’s the now. It’s the now that is the work.

Dan, I love that. It’s the now. I feel like so many listeners right now are clinging to every word you’ve said, trying to figure out what you’re looking for in a “Modern Love” essay pitch. And by the way, you can send those submissions to [email protected]. Dan, can you give us a few quick tips on what makes a story stand out in your inbox?

Well, a bad subject line is “Modern Love submission.”

You’re like 80 percent of people who submit. And a good subject line would include an attempt at a title, which would be like, “Please, Lord, let him be 27.”

Please Lord.

I read that — yeah, I read that subject line. It was funny. It was smart. It was vulnerable. I just prayed the essay would deliver on that promise.

And it did deliver. We actually featured it on the podcast a few seasons ago. So, a good subject line is very practical advice, but what about the essence of a story? Like, what are you looking for there?

A harder to define quality is a sense of humility. Like, there’s a sense that you’re not the smartest person in the world, but you do have something to offer. And in the world of pitching and of trying to get published, there’s an overriding sense that you have to act confident. You have to sell your product. You have to say, this essay is going to be perfect for you.

And that’s just the wrong approach. That kind of confidence is not what a hard experience leaves you with. It can leave you shaken. It can leave you wise. But it doesn’t leave you cocky. And I think it’s important that the stories aren’t really about answers. They’re about a search for answers. And they don’t need to come to a conclusion. But they need to present a problem in an interesting way that makes you think about it.

Well, now you’re going to get even more submissions that can fuel the next 20 years of “Modern Love.” Dan, thank you so much for the conversation today.

Thanks, Anna. It was a lot of fun.

So, listeners, at the beginning of this episode, I told you we have an announcement about the rest of our season. In honor of 20 years of “Modern Love,” we’re launching a special series that’s really an ode to the early years of the podcast that so many of you love so much.

Starting next week, our favorite actors, musicians, writers, and artists will read hand-picked essays from the “Modern Love” archive, and we’ll talk with them about how those essays relate to their life and their work. We’ve got a truly incredible lineup that we can’t wait to share with you. So, happy anniversary, “Modern Love” listeners. We are so excited for this season-long celebration. See you next week.

“Modern Love” is produced by Julia Botero, Christina Djossa, Reva Goldberg, and Emily Lang. It’s edited by Jen Poyant and Paula Szuchman. Our executive producer is Jen Poyant. This episode was mixed by Daniel Ramirez. Our show was recorded by Maddy Masiello.

The “Modern Love” theme music is by Dan Powell. Digital production by Mahima Chablani and Nell Gallogly. Special thanks to Larissa Anderson, Kate LoPresti, Davis Land, and Lisa Tobin. The “Modern Love” column is edited by Daniel Jones. Miya Lee is the editor of “Modern Love” projects. I’m Anna Martin. Thanks for listening.

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• April 24, 2024   •   28:31 Laufey, Gen Z’s Pop Jazz Icon, Sings for the Anxious Generation
• April 17, 2024   •   35:54 Why John Magaro of ‘Past Lives’ Could Never Love a Picky Eater
• April 10, 2024   •   29:18 Esther Perel on What the Other Woman Knows
• April 3, 2024   •   27:31 The Second Best Way to Get Divorced, According to Maya Hawke
• March 27, 2024   •   32:38 How to Be Real With Your Kids
• March 20, 2024   •   32:14 Why Samin Nosrat Is Now ‘Fully YOLO’
• March 13, 2024   •   32:32 Brittany Howard Sings Through the Pangs of New Love
• March 6, 2024   •   33:21 Novelist Celeste Ng on the Big Power of Little Things
• February 28, 2024   •   37:46 Three Powerful Lessons About Love
• February 23, 2024   •   33:45 Modern Love at the Movies: Our Favorite Oscar-Worthy Love Stories

Hosted by Anna Martin

Produced by Julia Botero ,  Christina Djossa ,  Reva Goldberg and Emily Lang

Engineered by Daniel Ramirez

Original music by Dan Powell

Featuring Daniel Jones

Edited by Paula Szuchman and Jen Poyant

Listen and follow Modern Love Apple Podcasts | Spotify

‘working on the column for all these years has given me touchstones and tools to be able to navigate difficult times in life. it feels like a churning reservoir of human experience that feeds into your veins if you are open to it.’.

When Daniel Jones started the Modern Love column in 2004, he opened the call for submissions and hoped the idea would catch on. Twenty years later, over a thousand Modern Love essays have been published in The New York Times, and the column is a trove of real-life love stories.

Dan has put so much of himself into editing the column over the years, but as he tells our host, Anna Martin, the column has influenced him, too. Today, Dan shares three Modern Love essays that have changed the way he thinks about love and relationships in his own life.

Also, Anna announces the beginning of a special series of episodes celebrating Modern Love’s 20th anniversary.

Links to transcripts of episodes generally appear on these pages within a week.

Modern Love is hosted by Anna Martin and produced by Julia Botero, Christina Djossa, Reva Goldberg and Emily Lang. The show is edited by Paula Szuchman and Jen Poyant, our executive producer. The show is mixed by Daniel Ramirez and recorded by Maddy Masiello. It features original music by Dan Powell. Our theme music is by Dan Powell.

Special thanks to Larissa Anderson, Kate LoPresti, Davis Land, Lisa Tobin, Daniel Jones, Miya Lee, Mahima Chablani, Nell Gallogly, Jeffrey Miranda, Renan Borelli, Nina Lassam and Julia Simon.

Thoughts? Email us at [email protected] . Want more from Modern Love ? Read past stories . Watch the TV series and sign up for the newsletter . We also have swag at the NYT Store and two books, “ Modern Love: True Stories of Love, Loss, and Redemption ” and “ Tiny Love Stories: True Tales of Love in 100 Words or Less .”

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This essay focuses on personal love, or the love of particular persons as such. Part of the philosophical task in understanding personal love is to distinguish the various kinds of personal love. For example, the way in which I love my wife is seemingly very different from the way I love my mother, my child, and my friend. This task has typically proceeded hand-in-hand with philosophical analyses of these kinds of personal love, analyses that in part respond to various puzzles about love. Can love be justified? If so, how? What is the value of personal love? What impact does love have on the autonomy of both the lover and the beloved?

1. Preliminary Distinctions

2. love as union, 3. love as robust concern, 4.1 love as appraisal of value, 4.2 love as bestowal of value, 4.3 an intermediate position, 5.1 love as emotion proper, 5.2 love as emotion complex, 6. the value and justification of love, other internet resources, related entries.

In ordinary conversations, we often say things like the following:

• I love chocolate (or skiing).
• I love doing philosophy (or being a father).
• I love my dog (or cat).
• I love my wife (or mother or child or friend).

However, what is meant by ‘love’ differs from case to case. (1) may be understood as meaning merely that I like this thing or activity very much. In (2) the implication is typically that I find engaging in a certain activity or being a certain kind of person to be a part of my identity and so what makes my life worth living; I might just as well say that I value these. By contrast, (3) and (4) seem to indicate a mode of concern that cannot be neatly assimilated to anything else. Thus, we might understand the sort of love at issue in (4) to be, roughly, a matter of caring about another person as the person she is, for her own sake. (Accordingly, (3) may be understood as a kind of deficient mode of the sort of love we typically reserve for persons.) Philosophical accounts of love have focused primarily on the sort of personal love at issue in (4); such personal love will be the focus here (though see Frankfurt (1999) and Jaworska & Wonderly (2017) for attempts to provide a more general account that applies to non-persons as well).

Even within personal love, philosophers from the ancient Greeks on have traditionally distinguished three notions that can properly be called “love”: eros , agape , and philia . It will be useful to distinguish these three and say something about how contemporary discussions typically blur these distinctions (sometimes intentionally so) or use them for other purposes.

‘ Eros ’ originally meant love in the sense of a kind of passionate desire for an object, typically sexual passion (Liddell et al., 1940). Nygren (1953a,b) describes eros as the “‘love of desire,’ or acquisitive love” and therefore as egocentric (1953b, p. 89). Soble (1989b, 1990) similarly describes eros as “selfish” and as a response to the merits of the beloved—especially the beloved’s goodness or beauty. What is evident in Soble’s description of eros is a shift away from the sexual: to love something in the “erosic” sense (to use the term Soble coins) is to love it in a way that, by being responsive to its merits, is dependent on reasons. Such an understanding of eros is encouraged by Plato’s discussion in the Symposium , in which Socrates understands sexual desire to be a deficient response to physical beauty in particular, a response which ought to be developed into a response to the beauty of a person’s soul and, ultimately, into a response to the form, Beauty.

Soble’s intent in understanding eros to be a reason-dependent sort of love is to articulate a sharp contrast with agape , a sort of love that does not respond to the value of its object. ‘ Agape ’ has come, primarily through the Christian tradition, to mean the sort of love God has for us persons, as well as our love for God and, by extension, of our love for each other—a kind of brotherly love. In the paradigm case of God’s love for us, agape is “spontaneous and unmotivated,” revealing not that we merit that love but that God’s nature is love (Nygren 1953b, p. 85). Rather than responding to antecedent value in its object, agape instead is supposed to create value in its object and therefore to initiate our fellowship with God (pp. 87–88). Consequently, Badhwar (2003, p. 58) characterizes agape as “independent of the loved individual’s fundamental characteristics as the particular person she is”; and Soble (1990, p. 5) infers that agape , in contrast to eros , is therefore not reason dependent but is rationally “incomprehensible,” admitting at best of causal or historical explanations. [ 1 ]

Finally, ‘ philia ’ originally meant a kind of affectionate regard or friendly feeling towards not just one’s friends but also possibly towards family members, business partners, and one’s country at large (Liddell et al., 1940; Cooper, 1977). Like eros , philia is generally (but not universally) understood to be responsive to (good) qualities in one’s beloved. This similarity between eros and philia has led Thomas (1987) to wonder whether the only difference between romantic love and friendship is the sexual involvement of the former—and whether that is adequate to account for the real differences we experience. The distinction between eros and philia becomes harder to draw with Soble’s attempt to diminish the importance of the sexual in eros (1990).

Maintaining the distinctions among eros , agape , and philia becomes even more difficult when faced with contemporary theories of love (including romantic love) and friendship. For, as discussed below, some theories of romantic love understand it along the lines of the agape tradition as creating value in the beloved (cf. Section 4.2 ), and other accounts of romantic love treat sexual activity as merely the expression of what otherwise looks very much like friendship.

Given the focus here on personal love, Christian conceptions of God’s love for persons (and vice versa ) will be omitted, and the distinction between eros and philia will be blurred—as it typically is in contemporary accounts. Instead, the focus here will be on these contemporary understandings of love, including romantic love, understood as an attitude we take towards other persons. [ 2 ]

In providing an account of love, philosophical analyses must be careful to distinguish love from other positive attitudes we take towards persons, such as liking. Intuitively, love differs from such attitudes as liking in terms of its “depth,” and the problem is to elucidate the kind of “depth” we intuitively find love to have. Some analyses do this in part by providing thin conceptions of what liking amounts to. Thus, Singer (1991) and Brown (1987) understand liking to be a matter of desiring, an attitude that at best involves its object having only instrumental (and not intrinsic) value. Yet this seems inadequate: surely there are attitudes towards persons intermediate between having a desire with a person as its object and loving the person. I can care about a person for her own sake and not merely instrumentally, and yet such caring does not on its own amount to (non-deficiently) loving her, for it seems I can care about my dog in exactly the same way, a kind of caring which is insufficiently personal for love.

It is more common to distinguish loving from liking via the intuition that the “depth” of love is to be explained in terms of a notion of identification: to love someone is somehow to identify yourself with him, whereas no such notion of identification is involved in liking. As Nussbaum puts it, “The choice between one potential love and another can feel, and be, like a choice of a way of life, a decision to dedicate oneself to these values rather than these” (1990, p. 328); liking clearly does not have this sort of “depth” (see also Helm 2010; Bagley 2015). Whether love involves some kind of identification, and if so exactly how to understand such identification, is a central bone of contention among the various analyses of love. In particular, Whiting (2013) argues that the appeal to a notion of identification distorts our understanding of the sort of motivation love can provide, for taken literally it implies that love motivates through self -interest rather than through the beloved’s interests. Thus, Whiting argues, central to love is the possibility that love takes the lover “outside herself”, potentially forgetting herself in being moved directly by the interests of the beloved. (Of course, we need not take the notion of identification literally in this way: in identifying with one’s beloved, one might have a concern for one’s beloved that is analogous to one’s concern for oneself; see Helm 2010.)

Another common way to distinguish love from other personal attitudes is in terms of a distinctive kind of evaluation, which itself can account for love’s “depth.” Again, whether love essentially involves a distinctive kind of evaluation, and if so how to make sense of that evaluation, is hotly disputed. Closely related to questions of evaluation are questions of justification: can we justify loving or continuing to love a particular person, and if so, how? For those who think the justification of love is possible, it is common to understand such justification in terms of evaluation, and the answers here affect various accounts’ attempts to make sense of the kind of constancy or commitment love seems to involve, as well as the sense in which love is directed at particular individuals.

In what follows, theories of love are tentatively and hesitantly classified into four types: love as union, love as robust concern, love as valuing, and love as an emotion. It should be clear, however, that particular theories classified under one type sometimes also include, without contradiction, ideas central to other types. The types identified here overlap to some extent, and in some cases classifying particular theories may involve excessive pigeonholing. (Such cases are noted below.) Part of the classificatory problem is that many accounts of love are quasi-reductionistic, understanding love in terms of notions like affection, evaluation, attachment, etc., which themselves never get analyzed. Even when these accounts eschew explicitly reductionistic language, very often little attempt is made to show how one such “aspect” of love is conceptually connected to others. As a result, there is no clear and obvious way to classify particular theories, let alone identify what the relevant classes should be.

The union view claims that love consists in the formation of (or the desire to form) some significant kind of union, a “we.” A central task for union theorists, therefore, is to spell out just what such a “we” comes to—whether it is literally a new entity in the world somehow composed of the lover and the beloved, or whether it is merely metaphorical. Variants of this view perhaps go back to Aristotle (cf. Sherman 1993) and can also be found in Montaigne ([E]) and Hegel (1997); contemporary proponents include Solomon (1981, 1988), Scruton (1986), Nozick (1989), Fisher (1990), and Delaney (1996).

Scruton, writing in particular about romantic love, claims that love exists “just so soon as reciprocity becomes community: that is, just so soon as all distinction between my interests and your interests is overcome” (1986, p. 230). The idea is that the union is a union of concern, so that when I act out of that concern it is not for my sake alone or for your sake alone but for our sake. Fisher (1990) holds a similar, but somewhat more moderate view, claiming that love is a partial fusion of the lovers’ cares, concerns, emotional responses, and actions. What is striking about both Scruton and Fisher is the claim that love requires the actual union of the lovers’ concerns, for it thus becomes clear that they conceive of love not so much as an attitude we take towards another but as a relationship: the distinction between your interests and mine genuinely disappears only when we together come to have shared cares, concerns, etc., and my merely having a certain attitude towards you is not enough for love. This provides content to the notion of a “we” as the (metaphorical?) subject of these shared cares and concerns, and as that for whose sake we act.

Solomon (1988) offers a union view as well, though one that tries “to make new sense out of ‘love’ through a literal rather than metaphoric sense of the ‘fusion’ of two souls” (p. 24, cf. Solomon 1981; however, it is unclear exactly what he means by a “soul” here and so how love can be a “literal” fusion of two souls). What Solomon has in mind is the way in which, through love, the lovers redefine their identities as persons in terms of the relationship: “Love is the concentration and the intensive focus of mutual definition on a single individual, subjecting virtually every personal aspect of one’s self to this process” (1988, p. 197). The result is that lovers come to share the interests, roles, virtues, and so on that constitute what formerly was two individual identities but now has become a shared identity, and they do so in part by each allowing the other to play an important role in defining his own identity.

Nozick (1989) offers a union view that differs from those of Scruton, Fisher, and Solomon in that Nozick thinks that what is necessary for love is merely the desire to form a “we,” together with the desire that your beloved reciprocates. Nonetheless, he claims that this “we” is “a new entity in the world…created by a new web of relationships between [the lovers] which makes them no longer separate” (p. 70). In spelling out this web of relationships, Nozick appeals to the lovers “pooling” not only their well-beings, in the sense that the well-being of each is tied up with that of the other, but also their autonomy, in that “each transfers some previous rights to make certain decisions unilaterally into a joint pool” (p. 71). In addition, Nozick claims, the lovers each acquire a new identity as a part of the “we,” a new identity constituted by their (a) wanting to be perceived publicly as a couple, (b) their attending to their pooled well-being, and (c) their accepting a “certain kind of division of labor” (p. 72):

A person in a we might find himself coming across something interesting to read yet leaving it for the other person, not because he himself would not be interested in it but because the other would be more interested, and one of them reading it is sufficient for it to be registered by the wider identity now shared, the we . [ 3 ]

Opponents of the union view have seized on claims like this as excessive: union theorists, they claim, take too literally the ontological commitments of this notion of a “we.” This leads to two specific criticisms of the union view. The first is that union views do away with individual autonomy. Autonomy, it seems, involves a kind of independence on the part of the autonomous agent, such that she is in control over not only what she does but also who she is, as this is constituted by her interests, values, concerns, etc. However, union views, by doing away with a clear distinction between your interests and mine, thereby undermine this sort of independence and so undermine the autonomy of the lovers. If autonomy is a part of the individual’s good, then, on the union view, love is to this extent bad; so much the worse for the union view (Singer 1994; Soble 1997). Moreover, Singer (1994) argues that a necessary part of having your beloved be the object of your love is respect for your beloved as the particular person she is, and this requires respecting her autonomy.

Union theorists have responded to this objection in several ways. Nozick (1989) seems to think of a loss of autonomy in love as a desirable feature of the sort of union lovers can achieve. Fisher (1990), somewhat more reluctantly, claims that the loss of autonomy in love is an acceptable consequence of love. Yet without further argument these claims seem like mere bullet biting. Solomon (1988, pp. 64ff) describes this “tension” between union and autonomy as “the paradox of love.” However, this a view that Soble (1997) derides: merely to call it a paradox, as Solomon does, is not to face up to the problem.

The second criticism involves a substantive view concerning love. Part of what it is to love someone, these opponents say, is to have concern for him for his sake. However, union views make such concern unintelligible and eliminate the possibility of both selfishness and self-sacrifice, for by doing away with the distinction between my interests and your interests they have in effect turned your interests into mine and vice versa (Soble 1997; see also Blum 1980, 1993). Some advocates of union views see this as a point in their favor: we need to explain how it is I can have concern for people other than myself, and the union view apparently does this by understanding your interests to be part of my own. And Delaney, responding to an apparent tension between our desire to be loved unselfishly (for fear of otherwise being exploited) and our desire to be loved for reasons (which presumably are attractive to our lover and hence have a kind of selfish basis), says (1996, p. 346):

Given my view that the romantic ideal is primarily characterized by a desire to achieve a profound consolidation of needs and interests through the formation of a we , I do not think a little selfishness of the sort described should pose a worry to either party.

The objection, however, lies precisely in this attempt to explain my concern for my beloved egoistically. As Whiting (1991, p. 10) puts it, such an attempt “strikes me as unnecessary and potentially objectionable colonization”: in love, I ought to be concerned with my beloved for her sake, and not because I somehow get something out of it. (This can be true whether my concern with my beloved is merely instrumental to my good or whether it is partly constitutive of my good.)

Although Whiting’s and Soble’s criticisms here succeed against the more radical advocates of the union view, they in part fail to acknowledge the kernel of truth to be gleaned from the idea of union. Whiting’s way of formulating the second objection in terms of an unnecessary egoism in part points to a way out: we persons are in part social creatures, and love is one profound mode of that sociality. Indeed, part of the point of union accounts is to make sense of this social dimension: to make sense of a way in which we can sometimes identify ourselves with others not merely in becoming interdependent with them (as Singer 1994, p. 165, suggests, understanding ‘interdependence’ to be a kind of reciprocal benevolence and respect) but rather in making who we are as persons be constituted in part by those we love (cf., e.g., Rorty 1986/1993; Nussbaum 1990).

Along these lines, Friedman (1998), taking her inspiration in part from Delaney (1996), argues that we should understand the sort of union at issue in love to be a kind of federation of selves:

On the federation model, a third unified entity is constituted by the interaction of the lovers, one which involves the lovers acting in concert across a range of conditions and for a range of purposes. This concerted action, however, does not erase the existence of the two lovers as separable and separate agents with continuing possibilities for the exercise of their own respective agencies. [p. 165]

Given that on this view the lovers do not give up their individual identities, there is no principled reason why the union view cannot make sense of the lover’s concern for her beloved for his sake. [ 4 ] Moreover, Friedman argues, once we construe union as federation, we can see that autonomy is not a zero-sum game; rather, love can both directly enhance the autonomy of each and promote the growth of various skills, like realistic and critical self-evaluation, that foster autonomy.

Nonetheless, this federation model is not without its problems—problems that affect other versions of the union view as well. For if the federation (or the “we”, as on Nozick’s view) is understood as a third entity, we need a clearer account than has been given of its ontological status and how it comes to be. Relevant here is the literature on shared intention and plural subjects. Gilbert (1989, 1996, 2000) has argued that we should take quite seriously the existence of a plural subject as an entity over and above its constituent members. Others, such as Tuomela (1984, 1995), Searle (1990), and Bratman (1999) are more cautious, treating such talk of “us” having an intention as metaphorical.

As this criticism of the union view indicates, many find caring about your beloved for her sake to be a part of what it is to love her. The robust concern view of love takes this to be the central and defining feature of love (cf. Taylor 1976; Newton-Smith 1989; Soble 1990, 1997; LaFollette 1996; Frankfurt 1999; White 2001). As Taylor puts it:

To summarize: if x loves y then x wants to benefit and be with y etc., and he has these wants (or at least some of them) because he believes y has some determinate characteristics ψ in virtue of which he thinks it worth while to benefit and be with y . He regards satisfaction of these wants as an end and not as a means towards some other end. [p. 157]

In conceiving of my love for you as constituted by my concern for you for your sake, the robust concern view rejects the idea, central to the union view, that love is to be understood in terms of the (literal or metaphorical) creation of a “we”: I am the one who has this concern for you, though it is nonetheless disinterested and so not egoistic insofar as it is for your sake rather than for my own. [ 5 ]

At the heart of the robust concern view is the idea that love “is neither affective nor cognitive. It is volitional” (Frankfurt 1999, p. 129; see also Martin 2015). Frankfurt continues:

That a person cares about or that he loves something has less to do with how things make him feel, or with his opinions about them, than with the more or less stable motivational structures that shape his preferences and that guide and limit his conduct.

This account analyzes caring about someone for her sake as a matter of being motivated in certain ways, in part as a response to what happens to one’s beloved. Of course, to understand love in terms of desires is not to leave other emotional responses out in the cold, for these emotions should be understood as consequences of desires. Thus, just as I can be emotionally crushed when one of my strong desires is disappointed, so too I can be emotionally crushed when things similarly go badly for my beloved. In this way Frankfurt (1999) tacitly, and White (2001) more explicitly, acknowledge the way in which my caring for my beloved for her sake results in my identity being transformed through her influence insofar as I become vulnerable to things that happen to her.

Not all robust concern theorists seem to accept this line, however; in particular, Taylor (1976) and Soble (1990) seem to have a strongly individualistic conception of persons that prevents my identity being bound up with my beloved in this sort of way, a kind of view that may seem to undermine the intuitive “depth” that love seems to have. (For more on this point, see Rorty 1986/1993.) In the middle is Stump (2006), who follows Aquinas in understanding love to involve not only the desire for your beloved’s well-being but also a desire for a certain kind of relationship with your beloved—as a parent or spouse or sibling or priest or friend, for example—a relationship within which you share yourself with and connect yourself to your beloved. [ 6 ]

One source of worry about the robust concern view is that it involves too passive an understanding of one’s beloved (Ebels-Duggan 2008). The thought is that on the robust concern view the lover merely tries to discover what the beloved’s well-being consists in and then acts to promote that, potentially by thwarting the beloved’s own efforts when the lover thinks those efforts would harm her well-being. This, however, would be disrespectful and demeaning, not the sort of attitude that love is. What robust concern views seem to miss, Ebels-Duggan suggests, is the way love involves interacting agents, each with a capacity for autonomy the recognition and engagement with which is an essential part of love. In response, advocates of the robust concern view might point out that promoting someone’s well-being normally requires promoting her autonomy (though they may maintain that this need not always be true: that paternalism towards a beloved can sometimes be justified and appropriate as an expression of one’s love). Moreover, we might plausibly think, it is only through the exercise of one’s autonomy that one can define one’s own well-being as a person, so that a lover’s failure to respect the beloved’s autonomy would be a failure to promote her well-being and therefore not an expression of love, contrary to what Ebels-Duggan suggests. Consequently, it might seem, robust concern views can counter this objection by offering an enriched conception of what it is to be a person and so of the well-being of persons.

Another source of worry is that the robust concern view offers too thin a conception of love. By emphasizing robust concern, this view understands other features we think characteristic of love, such as one’s emotional responsiveness to one’s beloved, to be the effects of that concern rather than constituents of it. Thus Velleman (1999) argues that robust concern views, by understanding love merely as a matter of aiming at a particular end (viz., the welfare of one’s beloved), understand love to be merely conative. However, he claims, love can have nothing to do with desires, offering as a counterexample the possibility of loving a troublemaking relation whom you do not want to be with, whose well being you do not want to promote, etc. Similarly, Badhwar (2003) argues that such a “teleological” view of love makes it mysterious how “we can continue to love someone long after death has taken him beyond harm or benefit” (p. 46). Moreover Badhwar argues, if love is essentially a desire, then it implies that we lack something; yet love does not imply this and, indeed, can be felt most strongly at times when we feel our lives most complete and lacking in nothing. Consequently, Velleman and Badhwar conclude, love need not involve any desire or concern for the well-being of one’s beloved.

This conclusion, however, seems too hasty, for such examples can be accommodated within the robust concern view. Thus, the concern for your relative in Velleman’s example can be understood to be present but swamped by other, more powerful desires to avoid him. Indeed, keeping the idea that you want to some degree to benefit him, an idea Velleman rejects, seems to be essential to understanding the conceptual tension between loving someone and not wanting to help him, a tension Velleman does not fully acknowledge. Similarly, continued love for someone who has died can be understood on the robust concern view as parasitic on the former love you had for him when he was still alive: your desires to benefit him get transformed, through your subsequent understanding of the impossibility of doing so, into wishes. [ 7 ] Finally, the idea of concern for your beloved’s well-being need not imply the idea that you lack something, for such concern can be understood in terms of the disposition to be vigilant for occasions when you can come to his aid and consequently to have the relevant occurrent desires. All of this seems fully compatible with the robust concern view.

One might also question whether Velleman and Badhwar make proper use of their examples of loving your meddlesome relation or someone who has died. For although we can understand these as genuine cases of love, they are nonetheless deficient cases and ought therefore be understood as parasitic on the standard cases. Readily to accommodate such deficient cases of love into a philosophical analysis as being on a par with paradigm cases, and to do so without some special justification, is dubious.

Nonetheless, the robust concern view as it stands does not seem properly able to account for the intuitive “depth” of love and so does not seem properly to distinguish loving from liking. Although, as noted above, the robust concern view can begin to make some sense of the way in which the lover’s identity is altered by the beloved, it understands this only an effect of love, and not as a central part of what love consists in.

This vague thought is nicely developed by Wonderly (2017), who emphasizes that in addition to the sort of disinterested concern for another that is central to robust-concern accounts of love, an essential part of at least romantic love is the idea that in loving someone I must find them to be not merely important for their own sake but also important to me . Wonderly (2017) fleshes out what this “importance to me” involves in terms of the idea of attachment (developed in Wonderly 2016) that she argues can make sense of the intimacy and depth of love from within what remains fundamentally a robust-concern account. [ 8 ]

4. Love as Valuing

A third kind of view of love understands love to be a distinctive mode of valuing a person. As the distinction between eros and agape in Section 1 indicates, there are at least two ways to construe this in terms of whether the lover values the beloved because she is valuable, or whether the beloved comes to be valuable to the lover as a result of her loving him. The former view, which understands the lover as appraising the value of the beloved in loving him, is the topic of Section 4.1 , whereas the latter view, which understands her as bestowing value on him, will be discussed in Section 4.2 .

Velleman (1999, 2008) offers an appraisal view of love, understanding love to be fundamentally a matter of acknowledging and responding in a distinctive way to the value of the beloved. (For a very different appraisal view of love, see Kolodny 2003.) Understanding this more fully requires understanding both the kind of value of the beloved to which one responds and the distinctive kind of response to such value that love is. Nonetheless, it should be clear that what makes an account be an appraisal view of love is not the mere fact that love is understood to involve appraisal; many other accounts do so, and it is typical of robust concern accounts, for example (cf. the quote from Taylor above , Section 3 ). Rather, appraisal views are distinctive in understanding love to consist in that appraisal.

In articulating the kind of value love involves, Velleman, following Kant, distinguishes dignity from price. To have a price , as the economic metaphor suggests, is to have a value that can be compared to the value of other things with prices, such that it is intelligible to exchange without loss items of the same value. By contrast, to have dignity is to have a value such that comparisons of relative value become meaningless. Material goods are normally understood to have prices, but we persons have dignity: no substitution of one person for another can preserve exactly the same value, for something of incomparable worth would be lost (and gained) in such a substitution.

On this Kantian view, our dignity as persons consists in our rational nature: our capacity both to be actuated by reasons that we autonomously provide ourselves in setting our own ends and to respond appropriately to the intrinsic values we discover in the world. Consequently, one important way in which we exercise our rational natures is to respond with respect to the dignity of other persons (a dignity that consists in part in their capacity for respect): respect just is the required minimal response to the dignity of persons. What makes a response to a person be that of respect, Velleman claims, still following Kant, is that it “arrests our self-love” and thereby prevents us from treating him as a means to our ends (p. 360).

Given this, Velleman claims that love is similarly a response to the dignity of persons, and as such it is the dignity of the object of our love that justifies that love. However, love and respect are different kinds of responses to the same value. For love arrests not our self-love but rather

our tendencies toward emotional self-protection from another person, tendencies to draw ourselves in and close ourselves off from being affected by him. Love disarms our emotional defenses; it makes us vulnerable to the other. [1999, p. 361]

This means that the concern, attraction, sympathy, etc. that we normally associate with love are not constituents of love but are rather its normal effects, and love can remain without them (as in the case of the love for a meddlesome relative one cannot stand being around). Moreover, this provides Velleman with a clear account of the intuitive “depth” of love: it is essentially a response to persons as such, and to say that you love your dog is therefore to be confused.

Of course, we do not respond with love to the dignity of every person we meet, nor are we somehow required to: love, as the disarming of our emotional defenses in a way that makes us especially vulnerable to another, is the optional maximal response to others’ dignity. What, then, explains the selectivity of love—why I love some people and not others? The answer lies in the contingent fit between the way some people behaviorally express their dignity as persons and the way I happen to respond to those expressions by becoming emotionally vulnerable to them. The right sort of fit makes someone “lovable” by me (1999, p. 372), and my responding with love in these cases is a matter of my “really seeing” this person in a way that I fail to do with others who do not fit with me in this way. By ‘lovable’ here Velleman seems to mean able to be loved, not worthy of being loved, for nothing Velleman says here speaks to a question about the justification of my loving this person rather than that. Rather, what he offers is an explanation of the selectivity of my love, an explanation that as a matter of fact makes my response be that of love rather than mere respect.

This understanding of the selectivity of love as something that can be explained but not justified is potentially troubling. For we ordinarily think we can justify not only my loving you rather than someone else but also and more importantly the constancy of my love: my continuing to love you even as you change in certain fundamental ways (but not others). As Delaney (1996, p. 347) puts the worry about constancy:

while you seem to want it to be true that, were you to become a schmuck, your lover would continue to love you,…you also want it to be the case that your lover would never love a schmuck.

The issue here is not merely that we can offer explanations of the selectivity of my love, of why I do not love schmucks; rather, at issue is the discernment of love, of loving and continuing to love for good reasons as well as of ceasing to love for good reasons. To have these good reasons seems to involve attributing different values to you now rather than formerly or rather than to someone else, yet this is precisely what Velleman denies is the case in making the distinction between love and respect the way he does.

It is also questionable whether Velleman can even explain the selectivity of love in terms of the “fit” between your expressions and my sensitivities. For the relevant sensitivities on my part are emotional sensitivities: the lowering of my emotional defenses and so becoming emotionally vulnerable to you. Thus, I become vulnerable to the harms (or goods) that befall you and so sympathetically feel your pain (or joy). Such emotions are themselves assessable for warrant, and now we can ask why my disappointment that you lost the race is warranted, but my being disappointed that a mere stranger lost would not be warranted. The intuitive answer is that I love you but not him. However, this answer is unavailable to Velleman, because he thinks that what makes my response to your dignity that of love rather than respect is precisely that I feel such emotions, and to appeal to my love in explaining the emotions therefore seems viciously circular.

Although these problems are specific to Velleman’s account, the difficulty can be generalized to any appraisal account of love (such as that offered in Kolodny 2003). For if love is an appraisal, it needs to be distinguished from other forms of appraisal, including our evaluative judgments. On the one hand, to try to distinguish love as an appraisal from other appraisals in terms of love’s having certain effects on our emotional and motivational life (as on Velleman’s account) is unsatisfying because it ignores part of what needs to be explained: why the appraisal of love has these effects and yet judgments with the same evaluative content do not. Indeed, this question is crucial if we are to understand the intuitive “depth” of love, for without an answer to this question we do not understand why love should have the kind of centrality in our lives it manifestly does. [ 9 ] On the other hand, to bundle this emotional component into the appraisal itself would be to turn the view into either the robust concern view ( Section 3 ) or a variant of the emotion view ( Section 5.1 ).

In contrast to Velleman, Singer (1991, 1994, 2009) understands love to be fundamentally a matter of bestowing value on the beloved. To bestow value on another is to project a kind of intrinsic value onto him. Indeed, this fact about love is supposed to distinguish love from liking: “Love is an attitude with no clear objective,” whereas liking is inherently teleological (1991, p. 272). As such, there are no standards of correctness for bestowing such value, and this is how love differs from other personal attitudes like gratitude, generosity, and condescension: “love…confers importance no matter what the object is worth” (p. 273). Consequently, Singer thinks, love is not an attitude that can be justified in any way.

What is it, exactly, to bestow this kind of value on someone? It is, Singer says, a kind of attachment and commitment to the beloved, in which one comes to treat him as an end in himself and so to respond to his ends, interests, concerns, etc. as having value for their own sake. This means in part that the bestowal of value reveals itself “by caring about the needs and interests of the beloved, by wishing to benefit or protect her, by delighting in her achievements,” etc. (p. 270). This sounds very much like the robust concern view, yet the bestowal view differs in understanding such robust concern to be the effect of the bestowal of value that is love rather than itself what constitutes love: in bestowing value on my beloved, I make him be valuable in such a way that I ought to respond with robust concern.

For it to be intelligible that I have bestowed value on someone, I must therefore respond appropriately to him as valuable, and this requires having some sense of what his well-being is and of what affects that well-being positively or negatively. Yet having this sense requires in turn knowing what his strengths and deficiencies are, and this is a matter of appraising him in various ways. Bestowal thus presupposes a kind of appraisal, as a way of “really seeing” the beloved and attending to him. Nonetheless, Singer claims, it is the bestowal that is primary for understanding what love consists in: the appraisal is required only so that the commitment to one’s beloved and his value as thus bestowed has practical import and is not “a blind submission to some unknown being” (1991, p. 272; see also Singer 1994, pp. 139ff).

Singer is walking a tightrope in trying to make room for appraisal in his account of love. Insofar as the account is fundamentally a bestowal account, Singer claims that love cannot be justified, that we bestow the relevant kind of value “gratuitously.” This suggests that love is blind, that it does not matter what our beloved is like, which seems patently false. Singer tries to avoid this conclusion by appealing to the role of appraisal: it is only because we appraise another as having certain virtues and vices that we come to bestow value on him. Yet the “because” here, since it cannot justify the bestowal, is at best a kind of contingent causal explanation. [ 10 ] In this respect, Singer’s account of the selectivity of love is much the same as Velleman’s, and it is liable to the same criticism: it makes unintelligible the way in which our love can be discerning for better or worse reasons. Indeed, this failure to make sense of the idea that love can be justified is a problem for any bestowal view. For either (a) a bestowal itself cannot be justified (as on Singer’s account), in which case the justification of love is impossible, or (b) a bestowal can be justified, in which case it is hard to make sense of value as being bestowed rather than there antecedently in the object as the grounds of that “bestowal.”

More generally, a proponent of the bestowal view needs to be much clearer than Singer is in articulating precisely what a bestowal is. What is the value that I create in a bestowal, and how can my bestowal create it? On a crude Humean view, the answer might be that the value is something projected onto the world through my pro-attitudes, like desire. Yet such a view would be inadequate, since the projected value, being relative to a particular individual, would do no theoretical work, and the account would essentially be a variant of the robust concern view. Moreover, in providing a bestowal account of love, care is needed to distinguish love from other personal attitudes such as admiration and respect: do these other attitudes involve bestowal? If so, how does the bestowal in these cases differ from the bestowal of love? If not, why not, and what is so special about love that requires a fundamentally different evaluative attitude than admiration and respect?

Nonetheless, there is a kernel of truth in the bestowal view: there is surely something right about the idea that love is creative and not merely a response to antecedent value, and accounts of love that understand the kind of evaluation implicit in love merely in terms of appraisal seem to be missing something. Precisely what may be missed will be discussed below in Section 6 .

Perhaps there is room for an understanding of love and its relation to value that is intermediate between appraisal and bestowal accounts. After all, if we think of appraisal as something like perception, a matter of responding to what is out there in the world, and of bestowal as something like action, a matter of doing something and creating something, we should recognize that the responsiveness central to appraisal may itself depend on our active, creative choices. Thus, just as we must recognize that ordinary perception depends on our actively directing our attention and deploying concepts, interpretations, and even arguments in order to perceive things accurately, so too we might think our vision of our beloved’s valuable properties that is love also depends on our actively attending to and interpreting him. Something like this is Jollimore’s view (2011). According to Jollimore, in loving someone we actively attend to his valuable properties in a way that we take to provide us with reasons to treat him preferentially. Although we may acknowledge that others might have such properties even to a greater degree than our beloved does, we do not attend to and appreciate such properties in others in the same way we do those in our beloveds; indeed, we find our appreciation of our beloved’s valuable properties to “silence” our similar appreciation of those in others. (In this way, Jollimore thinks, we can solve the problem of fungibility, discussed below in Section 6 .) Likewise, in perceiving our beloved’s actions and character, we do so through the lens of such an appreciation, which will tend as to “silence” interpretations inconsistent with that appreciation. In this way, love involves finding one’s beloved to be valuable in a way that involves elements of both appraisal (insofar as one must thereby be responsive to valuable properties one’s beloved really has) and bestowal (insofar as through one’s attention and committed appreciation of these properties they come to have special significance for one).

One might object that this conception of love as silencing the special value of others or to negative interpretations of our beloveds is irrational in a way that love is not. For, it might seem, such “silencing” is merely a matter of our blinding ourselves to how things really are. Yet Jollimore claims that this sense in which love is blind is not objectionable, for (a) we can still intellectually recognize the things that love’s vision silences, and (b) there really is no impartial perspective we can take on the values things have, and love is one appropriate sort of partial perspective from which the value of persons can be manifest. Nonetheless, one might wonder about whether that perspective of love itself can be distorted and what the norms are in terms of which such distortions are intelligible. Furthermore, it may seem that Jollimore’s attempt to reconcile appraisal and bestowal fails to appreciate the underlying metaphysical difficulty: appraisal is a response to value that is antecedently there, whereas bestowal is the creation of value that was not antecedently there. Consequently, it might seem, appraisal and bestowal are mutually exclusive and cannot be reconciled in the way Jollimore hopes.

Whereas Jollimore tries to combine separate elements of appraisal and of bestowal in a single account, Helm (2010) and Bagley (2015) offer accounts that reject the metaphysical presupposition that values must be either prior to love (as with appraisal) or posterior to love (as with bestowal), instead understanding the love and the values to emerge simultaneously. Thus, Helm presents a detailed account of valuing in terms of the emotions, arguing that while we can understand individual emotions as appraisals , responding to values already their in their objects, these values are bestowed on those objects via broad, holistic patterns of emotions. How this amounts to an account of love will be discussed in Section 5.2 , below. Bagley (2015) instead appeals to a metaphor of improvisation, arguing that just as jazz musicians jointly make determinate the content of their musical ideas through on-going processes of their expression, so too lovers jointly engage in “deep improvisation”, thereby working out of their values and identities through the on-going process of living their lives together. These values are thus something the lovers jointly construct through the process of recognizing and responding to those very values. To love someone is thus to engage with them as partners in such “deep improvisation”. (This account is similar to Helm (2008, 2010)’s account of plural agency, which he uses to provide an account of friendship and other loving relationships; see the discussion of shared activity in the entry on friendship .)

5. Emotion Views

Given these problems with the accounts of love as valuing, perhaps we should turn to the emotions. For emotions just are responses to objects that combine evaluation, motivation, and a kind of phenomenology, all central features of the attitude of love.

Many accounts of love claim that it is an emotion; these include: Wollheim 1984, Rorty 1986/1993, Brown 1987, Hamlyn 1989, Baier 1991, and Badhwar 2003. [ 11 ] Thus, Hamlyn (1989, p. 219) says:

It would not be a plausible move to defend any theory of the emotions to which love and hate seemed exceptions by saying that love and hate are after all not emotions. I have heard this said, but it does seem to me a desperate move to make. If love and hate are not emotions what is?

The difficulty with this claim, as Rorty (1980) argues, is that the word, ‘emotion,’ does not seem to pick out a homogeneous collection of mental states, and so various theories claiming that love is an emotion mean very different things. Consequently, what are here labeled “emotion views” are divided into those that understand love to be a particular kind of evaluative-cum-motivational response to an object, whether that response is merely occurrent or dispositional (‘emotions proper,’ see Section 5.1 , below), and those that understand love to involve a collection of related and interconnected emotions proper (‘emotion complexes,’ see Section 5.2 , below).

An emotion proper is a kind of “evaluative-cum-motivational response to an object”; what does this mean? Emotions are generally understood to have several objects. The target of an emotion is that at which the emotion is directed: if I am afraid or angry at you, then you are the target. In responding to you with fear or anger, I am implicitly evaluating you in a particular way, and this evaluation—called the formal object —is the kind of evaluation of the target that is distinctive of a particular emotion type. Thus, in fearing you, I implicitly evaluate you as somehow dangerous, whereas in being angry at you I implicitly evaluate you as somehow offensive. Yet emotions are not merely evaluations of their targets; they in part motivate us to behave in certain ways, both rationally (by motivating action to avoid the danger) and arationally (via certain characteristic expressions, such as slamming a door out of anger). Moreover, emotions are generally understood to involve a phenomenological component, though just how to understand the characteristic “feel” of an emotion and its relation to the evaluation and motivation is hotly disputed. Finally, emotions are typically understood to be passions: responses that we feel imposed on us as if from the outside, rather than anything we actively do. (For more on the philosophy of emotions, see entry on emotion .)

What then are we saying when we say that love is an emotion proper? According to Brown (1987, p. 14), emotions as occurrent mental states are “abnormal bodily changes caused by the agent’s evaluation or appraisal of some object or situation that the agent believes to be of concern to him or her.” He spells this out by saying that in love, we “cherish” the person for having “a particular complex of instantiated qualities” that is “open-ended” so that we can continue to love the person even as she changes over time (pp. 106–7). These qualities, which include historical and relational qualities, are evaluated in love as worthwhile. [ 12 ] All of this seems aimed at spelling out what love’s formal object is, a task that is fundamental to understanding love as an emotion proper. Thus, Brown seems to say that love’s formal object is just being worthwhile (or, given his examples, perhaps: worthwhile as a person), and he resists being any more specific than this in order to preserve the open-endedness of love. Hamlyn (1989) offers a similar account, saying (p. 228):

With love the difficulty is to find anything of this kind [i.e., a formal object] which is uniquely appropriate to love. My thesis is that there is nothing of this kind that must be so, and that this differentiates it and hate from the other emotions.

Hamlyn goes on to suggest that love and hate might be primordial emotions, a kind of positive or negative “feeling towards,” presupposed by all other emotions. [ 13 ]

The trouble with these accounts of love as an emotion proper is that they provide too thin a conception of love. In Hamlyn’s case, love is conceived as a fairly generic pro-attitude, rather than as the specific kind of distinctively personal attitude discussed here. In Brown’s case, spelling out the formal object of love as simply being worthwhile (as a person) fails to distinguish love from other evaluative responses like admiration and respect. Part of the problem seems to be the rather simple account of what an emotion is that Brown and Hamlyn use as their starting point: if love is an emotion, then the understanding of what an emotion is must be enriched considerably to accommodate love. Yet it is not at all clear whether the idea of an “emotion proper” can be adequately enriched so as to do so. As Pismenny & Prinz (2017) point out, love seems to be too varied both in its ground and in the sort of experience it involves to be capturable by a single emotion.

The emotion complex view, which understands love to be a complex emotional attitude towards another person, may initially seem to hold out great promise to overcome the problems of alternative types of views. By articulating the emotional interconnections between persons, it could offer a satisfying account of the “depth” of love without the excesses of the union view and without the overly narrow teleological focus of the robust concern view; and because these emotional interconnections are themselves evaluations, it could offer an understanding of love as simultaneously evaluative, without needing to specify a single formal object of love. However, the devil is in the details.

Rorty (1986/1993) does not try to present a complete account of love; rather, she focuses on the idea that “relational psychological attitudes” which, like love, essentially involve emotional and desiderative responses, exhibit historicity : “they arise from, and are shaped by, dynamic interactions between a subject and an object” (p. 73). In part this means that what makes an attitude be one of love is not the presence of a state that we can point to at a particular time within the lover; rather, love is to be “identified by a characteristic narrative history” (p. 75). Moreover, Rorty argues, the historicity of love involves the lover’s being permanently transformed by loving who he does.

Baier (1991), seeming to pick up on this understanding of love as exhibiting historicity, says (p. 444):

Love is not just an emotion people feel toward other people, but also a complex tying together of the emotions that two or a few more people have; it is a special form of emotional interdependence.

To a certain extent, such emotional interdependence involves feeling sympathetic emotions, so that, for example, I feel disappointed and frustrated on behalf of my beloved when she fails, and joyful when she succeeds. However, Baier insists, love is “more than just the duplication of the emotion of each in a sympathetic echo in the other” (p. 442); the emotional interdependence of the lovers involves also appropriate follow-up responses to the emotional predicaments of your beloved. Two examples Baier gives (pp. 443–44) are a feeling of “mischievous delight” at your beloved’s temporary bafflement, and amusement at her embarrassment. The idea is that in a loving relationship your beloved gives you permission to feel such emotions when no one else is permitted to do so, and a condition of her granting you that permission is that you feel these emotions “tenderly.” Moreover, you ought to respond emotionally to your beloved’s emotional responses to you: by feeling hurt when she is indifferent to you, for example. All of these foster the sort of emotional interdependence Baier is after—a kind of intimacy you have with your beloved.

Badhwar (2003, p. 46) similarly understands love to be a matter of “one’s overall emotional orientation towards a person—the complex of perceptions, thoughts, and feelings”; as such, love is a matter of having a certain “character structure.” Central to this complex emotional orientation, Badhwar thinks, is what she calls the “look of love”: “an ongoing [emotional] affirmation of the loved object as worthy of existence…for her own sake” (p. 44), an affirmation that involves taking pleasure in your beloved’s well-being. Moreover, Badhwar claims, the look of love also provides to the beloved reliable testimony concerning the quality of the beloved’s character and actions (p. 57).

There is surely something very right about the idea that love, as an attitude central to deeply personal relationships, should not be understood as a state that can simply come and go. Rather, as the emotion complex view insists, the complexity of love is to be found in the historical patterns of one’s emotional responsiveness to one’s beloved—a pattern that also projects into the future. Indeed, as suggested above, the kind of emotional interdependence that results from this complex pattern can seem to account for the intuitive “depth” of love as fully interwoven into one’s emotional sense of oneself. And it seems to make some headway in understanding the complex phenomenology of love: love can at times be a matter of intense pleasure in the presence of one’s beloved, yet it can at other times involve frustration, exasperation, anger, and hurt as a manifestation of the complexities and depth of the relationships it fosters.

This understanding of love as constituted by a history of emotional interdependence enables emotion complex views to say something interesting about the impact love has on the lover’s identity. This is partly Rorty’s point (1986/1993) in her discussion of the historicity of love ( above ). Thus, she argues, one important feature of such historicity is that love is “ dynamically permeable ” in that the lover is continually “changed by loving” such that these changes “tend to ramify through a person’s character” (p. 77). Through such dynamic permeability, love transforms the identity of the lover in a way that can sometimes foster the continuity of the love, as each lover continually changes in response to the changes in the other. [ 14 ] Indeed, Rorty concludes, love should be understood in terms of “a characteristic narrative history” (p. 75) that results from such dynamic permeability. It should be clear, however, that the mere fact of dynamic permeability need not result in the love’s continuing: nothing about the dynamics of a relationship requires that the characteristic narrative history project into the future, and such permeability can therefore lead to the dissolution of the love. Love is therefore risky—indeed, all the more risky because of the way the identity of the lover is defined in part through the love. The loss of a love can therefore make one feel no longer oneself in ways poignantly described by Nussbaum (1990).

By focusing on such emotionally complex histories, emotion complex views differ from most alternative accounts of love. For alternative accounts tend to view love as a kind of attitude we take toward our beloveds, something we can analyze simply in terms of our mental state at the moment. [ 15 ] By ignoring this historical dimension of love in providing an account of what love is, alternative accounts have a hard time providing either satisfying accounts of the sense in which our identities as person are at stake in loving another or satisfactory solutions to problems concerning how love is to be justified (cf. Section 6 , especially the discussion of fungibility ).

Nonetheless, some questions remain. If love is to be understood as an emotion complex, we need a much more explicit account of the pattern at issue here: what ties all of these emotional responses together into a single thing, namely love? Baier and Badhwar seem content to provide interesting and insightful examples of this pattern, but that does not seem to be enough. For example, what connects my amusement at my beloved’s embarrassment to other emotions like my joy on his behalf when he succeeds? Why shouldn’t my amusement at his embarrassment be understood instead as a somewhat cruel case of schadenfreude and so as antithetical to, and disconnected from, love? Moreover, as Naar (2013) notes, we need a principled account of when such historical patterns are disrupted in such a way as to end the love and when they are not. Do I stop loving when, in the midst of clinical depression, I lose my normal pattern of emotional concern?

Presumably the answer requires returning to the historicity of love: it all depends on the historical details of the relationship my beloved and I have forged. Some loves develop so that the intimacy within the relationship is such as to allow for tender, teasing responses to each other, whereas other loves may not. The historical details, together with the lovers’ understanding of their relationship, presumably determine which emotional responses belong to the pattern constitutive of love and which do not. However, this answer so far is inadequate: not just any historical relationship involving emotional interdependence is a loving relationship, and we need a principled way of distinguishing loving relationships from other relational evaluative attitudes: precisely what is the characteristic narrative history that is characteristic of love?

Helm (2009, 2010) tries to answer some of these questions in presenting an account of love as intimate identification. To love another, Helm claims, is to care about him as the particular person he is and so, other things being equal, to value the things he values. Insofar as a person’s (structured) set of values—his sense of the kind of life worth his living—constitutes his identity as a person, such sharing of values amounts to sharing his identity, which sounds very much like union accounts of love. However, Helm is careful to understand such sharing of values as for the sake of the beloved (as robust concern accounts insist), and he spells this all out in terms of patterns of emotions. Thus, Helm claims, all emotions have not only a target and a formal object (as indicated above), but also a focus : a background object the subject cares about in terms of which the implicit evaluation of the target is made intelligible. (For example, if I am afraid of the approaching hailstorm, I thereby evaluate it as dangerous, and what explains this evaluation is the way that hailstorm bears on my vegetable garden, which I care about; my garden, therefore, is the focus of my fear.) Moreover, emotions normally come in patterns with a common focus: fearing the hailstorm is normally connected to other emotions as being relieved when it passes by harmlessly (or disappointed or sad when it does not), being angry at the rabbits for killing the spinach, delighted at the productivity of the tomato plants, etc. Helm argues that a projectible pattern of such emotions with a common focus constitute caring about that focus. Consequently, we might say along the lines of Section 4.3 , while particular emotions appraise events in the world as having certain evaluative properties, their having these properties is partly bestowed on them by the overall patterns of emotions.

Helm identifies some emotions as person-focused emotions : emotions like pride and shame that essentially take persons as their focuses, for these emotions implicitly evaluate in terms of the target’s bearing on the quality of life of the person that is their focus. To exhibit a pattern of such emotions focused on oneself and subfocused on being a mother, for example, is to care about the place being a mother has in the kind of life you find worth living—in your identity as a person; to care in this way is to value being a mother as a part of your concern for your own identity. Likewise, to exhibit a projectible pattern of such emotions focused on someone else and subfocused on his being a father is to value this as a part of your concern for his identity—to value it for his sake. Such sharing of another’s values for his sake, which, Helm argues, essentially involves trust, respect, and affection, amounts to intimate identification with him, and such intimate identification just is love. Thus, Helm tries to provide an account of love that is grounded in an explicit account of caring (and caring about something for the sake of someone else) that makes room for the intuitive “depth” of love through intimate identification.

Jaworska & Wonderly (2017) argue that Helm’s construal of intimacy as intimate identification is too demanding. Rather, they argue, the sort of intimacy that distinguishes love from mere caring is one that involves a kind of emotional vulnerability in which things going well or poorly for one’s beloved are directly connected not merely to one’s well-being, but to one’s ability to flourish. This connection, they argue, runs through the lover’s self-understanding and the place the beloved has in the lover’s sense of a meaningful life.

Why do we love? It has been suggested above that any account of love needs to be able to answer some such justificatory question. Although the issue of the justification of love is important on its own, it is also important for the implications it has for understanding more clearly the precise object of love: how can we make sense of the intuitions not only that we love the individuals themselves rather than their properties, but also that my beloved is not fungible—that no one could simply take her place without loss. Different theories approach these questions in different ways, but, as will become clear below, the question of justification is primary.

One way to understand the question of why we love is as asking for what the value of love is: what do we get out of it? One kind of answer, which has its roots in Aristotle, is that having loving relationships promotes self-knowledge insofar as your beloved acts as a kind of mirror, reflecting your character back to you (Badhwar, 2003, p. 58). Of course, this answer presupposes that we cannot accurately know ourselves in other ways: that left alone, our sense of ourselves will be too imperfect, too biased, to help us grow and mature as persons. The metaphor of a mirror also suggests that our beloveds will be in the relevant respects similar to us, so that merely by observing them, we can come to know ourselves better in a way that is, if not free from bias, at least more objective than otherwise.

Brink (1999, pp. 264–65) argues that there are serious limits to the value of such mirroring of one’s self in a beloved. For if the aim is not just to know yourself better but to improve yourself, you ought also to interact with others who are not just like yourself: interacting with such diverse others can help you recognize alternative possibilities for how to live and so better assess the relative merits of these possibilities. Whiting (2013) also emphasizes the importance of our beloveds’ having an independent voice capable of reflecting not who one now is but an ideal for who one is to be. Nonetheless, we need not take the metaphor of the mirror quite so literally; rather, our beloveds can reflect our selves not through their inherent similarity to us but rather through the interpretations they offer of us, both explicitly and implicitly in their responses to us. This is what Badhwar calls the “epistemic significance” of love. [ 16 ]

In addition to this epistemic significance of love, LaFollette (1996, Chapter 5) offers several other reasons why it is good to love, reasons derived in part from the psychological literature on love: love increases our sense of well-being, it elevates our sense of self-worth, and it serves to develop our character. It also, we might add, tends to lower stress and blood pressure and to increase health and longevity. Friedman (1993) argues that the kind of partiality towards our beloveds that love involves is itself morally valuable because it supports relationships—loving relationships—that contribute “to human well-being, integrity, and fulfillment in life” (p. 61). And Solomon (1988, p. 155) claims:

Ultimately, there is only one reason for love. That one grand reason…is “because we bring out the best in each other.” What counts as “the best,” of course, is subject to much individual variation.

This is because, Solomon suggests, in loving someone, I want myself to be better so as to be worthy of his love for me.

Each of these answers to the question of why we love understands it to be asking about love quite generally, abstracted away from details of particular relationships. It is also possible to understand the question as asking about particular loves. Here, there are several questions that are relevant:

• What, if anything, justifies my loving rather than not loving this particular person?
• What, if anything, justifies my coming to love this particular person rather than someone else?
• What, if anything, justifies my continuing to love this particular person given the changes—both in him and me and in the overall circumstances—that have occurred since I began loving him?

These are importantly different questions. Velleman (1999), for example, thinks we can answer (1) by appealing to the fact that my beloved is a person and so has a rational nature, yet he thinks (2) and (3) have no answers: the best we can do is offer causal explanations for our loving particular people, a position echoed by Han (2021). Setiya (2014) similarly thinks (1) has an answer, but points not to the rational nature of persons but rather to the other’s humanity , where such humanity differs from personhood in that not all humans need have the requisite rational nature for personhood, and not all persons need be humans. And, as will become clear below , the distinction between (2) and (3) will become important in resolving puzzles concerning whether our beloveds are fungible, though it should be clear that (3) potentially raises questions concerning personal identity (which will not be addressed here).

It is important not to misconstrue these justificatory questions. Thomas (1991) , for example, rejects the idea that love can be justified: “there are no rational considerations whereby anyone can lay claim to another’s love or insist that an individual’s love for another is irrational” (p. 474). This is because, Thomas claims (p. 471):

no matter how wonderful and lovely an individual might be, on any and all accounts, it is simply false that a romantically unencumbered person must love that individual on pain of being irrational. Or, there is no irrationality involved in ceasing to love a person whom one once loved immensely, although the person has not changed.

However, as LaFollette (1996, p. 63) correctly points out,

reason is not some external power which dictates how we should behave, but an internal power, integral to who we are.… Reason does not command that we love anyone. Nonetheless, reason is vital in determining whom we love and why we love them.

That is, reasons for love are pro tanto : they are a part of the overall reasons we have for acting, and it is up to us in exercising our capacity for agency to decide what on balance we have reason to do or even whether we shall act contrary to our reasons. To construe the notion of a reason for love as compelling us to love, as Thomas does, is to misconstrue the place such reasons have within our agency. [ 17 ]

Most philosophical discussions of the justification of love focus on question (1) , thinking that answering this question will also, to the extent that we can, answer question (2) , which is typically not distinguished from (3) . The answers given to these questions vary in a way that turns on how the kind of evaluation implicit in love is construed. On the one hand, those who understand the evaluation implicit in love to be a matter of the bestowal of value (such as Telfer 1970–71; Friedman 1993; Singer 1994) typically claim that no justification can be given (cf. Section 4.2 ). As indicated above, this seems problematic, especially given the importance love can have both in our lives and, especially, in shaping our identities as persons. To reject the idea that we can love for reasons may reduce the impact our agency can have in defining who we are.

On the other hand, those who understand the evaluation implicit in love to be a matter of appraisal tend to answer the justificatory question by appeal to these valuable properties of the beloved. This acceptance of the idea that love can be justified leads to two further, related worries about the object of love.

The first worry is raised by Vlastos (1981) in a discussion Plato’s and Aristotle’s accounts of love. Vlastos notes that these accounts focus on the properties of our beloveds: we are to love people, they say, only because and insofar as they are objectifications of the excellences. Consequently, he argues, in doing so they fail to distinguish “ disinterested affection for the person we love” from “ appreciation of the excellences instantiated by that person ” (p. 33). That is, Vlastos thinks that Plato and Aristotle provide an account of love that is really a love of properties rather than a love of persons—love of a type of person, rather than love of a particular person—thereby losing what is distinctive about love as an essentially personal attitude. This worry about Plato and Aristotle might seem to apply just as well to other accounts that justify love in terms of the properties of the person: insofar as we love the person for the sake of her properties, it might seem that what we love is those properties and not the person. Here it is surely insufficient to say, as Solomon (1988, p. 154) does, “if love has its reasons, then it is not the whole person that one loves but certain aspects of that person—though the rest of the person comes along too, of course”: that final tagline fails to address the central difficulty about what the object of love is and so about love as a distinctly personal attitude. (Clausen 2019 might seem to address this worry by arguing that we love people not as having certain properties but rather as having “ organic unities ”: a holistic set of properties the value of each of which must be understood in essential part in terms of its place within that whole. Nonetheless, while this is an interesting and plausible way to think about the value of the properties of persons, that organic unity itself will be a (holistic) property held by the person, and it seems that the fundamental problem reemerges at the level of this holistic property: do we love the holistic unity rather than the person?)

The second worry concerns the fungibility of the object of love. To be fungible is to be replaceable by another relevantly similar object without any loss of value. Thus, money is fungible: I can give you two $5 bills in exchange for a $10 bill, and neither of us has lost anything. Is the object of love fungible? That is, can I simply switch from loving one person to loving another relevantly similar person without any loss? The worry about fungibility is commonly put this way: if we accept that love can be justified by appealing to properties of the beloved, then it may seem that in loving someone for certain reasons, I love him not simply as the individual he is, but as instantiating those properties. And this may imply that any other person instantiating those same properties would do just as well: my beloved would be fungible. Indeed, it may be that another person exhibits the properties that ground my love to a greater degree than my current beloved does, and so it may seem that in such a case I have reason to “trade up”—to switch my love to the new, better person. However, it seems clear that the objects of our loves are not fungible: love seems to involve a deeply personal commitment to a particular person, a commitment that is antithetical to the idea that our beloveds are fungible or to the idea that we ought to be willing to trade up when possible. [ 18 ]

In responding to these worries, Nozick (1989) appeals to the union view of love he endorses (see the section on Love as Union ):

The intention in love is to form a we and to identify with it as an extended self, to identify one’s fortunes in large part with its fortunes. A willingness to trade up, to destroy the very we you largely identify with, would then be a willingness to destroy your self in the form of your own extended self. [p. 78]

So it is because love involves forming a “we” that we must understand other persons and not properties to be the objects of love, and it is because my very identity as a person depends essentially on that “we” that it is not possible to substitute without loss one object of my love for another. However, Badhwar (2003) criticizes Nozick, saying that his response implies that once I love someone, I cannot abandon that love no matter who that person becomes; this, she says, “cannot be understood as love at all rather than addiction” (p. 61). [ 19 ]

Instead, Badhwar (1987) turns to her robust-concern account of love as a concern for the beloved for his sake rather than one’s own. Insofar as my love is disinterested — not a means to antecedent ends of my own—it would be senseless to think that my beloved could be replaced by someone who is able to satisfy my ends equally well or better. Consequently, my beloved is in this way irreplaceable. However, this is only a partial response to the worry about fungibility, as Badhwar herself seems to acknowledge. For the concern over fungibility arises not merely for those cases in which we think of love as justified instrumentally, but also for those cases in which the love is justified by the intrinsic value of the properties of my beloved. Confronted with cases like this, Badhwar (2003) concludes that the object of love is fungible after all (though she insists that it is very unlikely in practice). (Soble (1990, Chapter 13) draws similar conclusions.)

Nonetheless, Badhwar thinks that the object of love is “phenomenologically non-fungible” (2003, p. 63; see also 1987, p. 14). By this she means that we experience our beloveds to be irreplaceable: “loving and delighting in [one person] are not completely commensurate with loving and delighting in another” (1987, p. 14). Love can be such that we sometimes desire to be with this particular person whom we love, not another whom we also love, for our loves are qualitatively different. But why is this? It seems as though the typical reason I now want to spend time with Amy rather than Bob is, for example, that Amy is funny but Bob is not. I love Amy in part for her humor, and I love Bob for other reasons, and these qualitative differences between them is what makes them not fungible. However, this reply does not address the worry about the possibility of trading up: if Bob were to be at least as funny (charming, kind, etc.) as Amy, why shouldn’t I dump her and spend all my time with him?

A somewhat different approach is taken by Whiting (1991). In response to the first worry concerning the object of love, Whiting argues that Vlastos offers a false dichotomy: having affection for someone that is disinterested —for her sake rather than my own—essentially involves an appreciation of her excellences as such. Indeed, Whiting says, my appreciation of these as excellences, and so the underlying commitment I have to their value, just is a disinterested commitment to her because these excellences constitute her identity as the person she is. The person, therefore, really is the object of love. Delaney (1996) takes the complementary tack of distinguishing between the object of one’s love, which of course is the person, and the grounds of the love, which are her properties: to say, as Solomon does, that we love someone for reasons is not at all to say that we only love certain aspects of the person. In these terms, we might say that Whiting’s rejection of Vlastos’ dichotomy can be read as saying that what makes my attitude be one of disinterested affection—one of love—for the person is precisely that I am thereby responding to her excellences as the reasons for that affection. [ 20 ]

Of course, more needs to be said about what it is that makes a particular person be the object of love. Implicit in Whiting’s account is an understanding of the way in which the object of my love is determined in part by the history of interactions I have with her: it is she, and not merely her properties (which might be instantiated in many different people), that I want to be with; it is she, and not merely her properties, on whose behalf I am concerned when she suffers and whom I seek to comfort; etc. This addresses the first worry, but not the second worry about fungibility, for the question still remains whether she is the object of my love only as instantiating certain properties, and so whether or not I have reason to “trade up.”

To respond to the fungibility worry, Whiting and Delaney appeal explicitly to the historical relationship. [ 21 ] Thus, Whiting claims, although there may be a relatively large pool of people who have the kind of excellences of character that would justify my loving them, and so although there can be no answer to question (2) about why I come to love this rather than that person within this pool, once I have come to love this person and so have developed a historical relation with her, this history of concern justifies my continuing to love this person rather than someone else (1991, p. 7). Similarly, Delaney claims that love is grounded in “historical-relational properties” (1996, p. 346), so that I have reasons for continuing to love this person rather than switching allegiances and loving someone else. In each case, the appeal to both such historical relations and the excellences of character of my beloved is intended to provide an answer to question (3) , and this explains why the objects of love are not fungible.

There seems to be something very much right with this response. Relationships grounded in love are essentially personal, and it would be odd to think of what justifies that love to be merely non-relational properties of the beloved. Nonetheless, it is still unclear how the historical-relational propreties can provide any additional justification for subsequent concern beyond that which is already provided (as an answer to question (1) ) by appeal to the excellences of the beloved’s character (cf. Brink 1999). The mere fact that I have loved someone in the past does not seem to justify my continuing to love him in the future. When we imagine that he is going through a rough time and begins to lose the virtues justifying my initial love for him, why shouldn’t I dump him and instead come to love someone new having all of those virtues more fully? Intuitively (unless the change she undergoes makes her in some important sense no longer the same person he was), we think I should not dump him, but the appeal to the mere fact that I loved him in the past is surely not enough. Yet what historical-relational properties could do the trick? (For an interesting attempt at an answer, see Kolodny 2003 and also Howard 2019.)

If we think that love can be justified, then it may seem that the appeal to particular historical facts about a loving relationship to justify that love is inadequate, for such idiosyncratic and subjective properties might explain but cannot justify love. Rather, it may seem, justification in general requires appealing to universal, objective properties. But such properties are ones that others might share, which leads to the problem of fungibility. Consequently it may seem that love cannot be justified. In the face of this predicament, accounts of love that understand love to be an attitude towards value that is intermediate between appraisal and bestowal, between recognizing already existing value and creating that value (see Section 4.3 ) might seem to offer a way out. For once we reject the thought that the value of our beloveds must be either the precondition or the consequence of our love, we have room to acknowledge that the deeply personal, historically grounded, creative nature of love (central to bestowal accounts) and the understanding of love as responsive to valuable properties of the beloved that can justify that love (central to appraisal accounts) are not mutually exclusive (Helm 2010; Bagley 2015).

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• –––, 1986/1993, “The Historicity of Psychological Attitudes: Love is Not Love Which Alters Not When It Alteration Finds”, in Badhwar (1993), 73–88.
• Scruton, R., 1986, Sexual Desire: A Moral Philosophy of the Erotic , New York: Free Press.
• Searle, J. R., 1990, “Collective Intentions and Actions”, in P. R. Cohen, M. E. Pollack, & J. L. Morgan (eds.), Intentions in Communication , Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 401–15.
• Setiya, K., 2014, “Love and the Value of a Life”, Philosophical Review , 123: 251–80.
• Sherman, N., 1993, “Aristotle on the Shared Life”, in Badhwar (1993), 91–107.
• Singer, I., 1984a, The Nature of Love, Volume 1: Plato to Luther , Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2nd edition.
• –––, 1984b, The Nature of Love, Volume 2: Courtly and Romantic , Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
• –––, 1989, The Nature of Love, Volume 3: The Modern World , Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2nd edn.
• –––, 1991, “From The Nature of Love ”, in Solomon & Higgins (1991), 259–78.
• –––, 1994, The Pursuit of Love , Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press.
• –––, 2009, Philosophy of Love: A Partial Summing-up , Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
• Soble, A. (ed.), 1989a, Eros, Agape, and Philia: Readings in the Philosophy of Love , New York, NY: Paragon House.
• –––, 1989b, “An Introduction to the Philosophy of Love”, in Soble (1989a), xi-xxv.
• –––, 1990, The Structure of Love , New Haven: Yale University Press.
• –––, 1997, “Union, Autonomy, and Concern”, in Lamb (1997), 65–92.
• Solomon, R. C., 1976, The Passions , New York: Anchor Press.
• –––, 1981, Love: Emotion, Myth, and Metaphor , New York: Anchor Press.
• –––, 1988, About Love: Reinventing Romance for Our Times , New York: Simon & Schuster.
• Solomon, R. C. & Higgins, K. M. (eds.), 1991, The Philosophy of (Erotic) Love , Lawrence: Kansas University Press.
• Stump, E., 2006, “Love by All Accounts”, Presidential Address to the Central APA, Proceedings and Addresses of the American Philosophical Association , 80: 25–43.
• Taylor, G., 1976, “Love”, Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society , 76: 147–64.
• Telfer, E., 1970–71, “Friendship”, Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society , 71: 223–41.
• Thomas, L., 1987, “Friendship”, Synthese , 72: 217–36.
• –––, 1989, “Friends and Lovers”, in G. Graham & H. La Follette (eds.), Person to Person , Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press, 182–98.
• –––, 1991, “Reasons for Loving”, in Solomon & Higgins (1991), 467–476.
• –––, 1993, “Friendship and Other Loves”, in Badhwar (1993), 48–64.
• Tuomela, R., 1984, A Theory of Social Action , Dordrecht: Reidel.
• –––, 1995, The Importance of Us: A Philosophical Study of Basic Social Notions , Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.
• Velleman, J. D., 1999, “Love as a Moral Emotion”, Ethics , 109: 338–74.
• –––, 2008, “Beyond Price”, Ethics , 118: 191–212.
• Vlastos, G., 1981, “The Individual as Object of Love in Plato”, in Platonic Studies , 2nd edition, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 3–42.
• White, R. J., 2001, Love’s Philosophy , Rowman & Littlefield.
• Whiting, J. E., 1991, “Impersonal Friends”, Monist , 74: 3–29.
• –––, 2013, “Love: Self-Propagation, Self-Preservation, or Ekstasis?”, Canadian Journal of Philosophy , 43: 403–29.
• Willigenburg, T. Van, 2005, “Reason and Love: A Non-Reductive Analysis of the Normativity of Agent-Relative Reasons”, Ethical Theory and Moral Practice , 8: 45–62.
• Wollheim, R., 1984, The Thread of Life , Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
• Wonderly, M., 2016, “On Being Attached”, Philosophical Studies , 173: 223–42.
• –––, 2017, “Love and Attachment”, American Philosophical Quarterly , 54: 235–50.

How to cite this entry . Preview the PDF version of this entry at the Friends of the SEP Society . Look up topics and thinkers related to this entry at the Internet Philosophy Ontology Project (InPhO). Enhanced bibliography for this entry at PhilPapers , with links to its database.

• Aristotle , Nicomachean Ethics , translated by W.D. Ross.
• Moseley, A., “ Philosophy of Love ,” in J. Fieser (ed.), Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy

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Before You Write a Love Essay, Read This to Get Examples

The day will come when you can’t escape the fate of all students: You will have to write a what is love essay.

No worries:

Here you’ll find tons of love essay topics and examples. No time to read everything? Scroll down to get a free PDF with original samples.

Definition: Essay on Love

First, let’s define what is love essay?

The most common topics are:

• Definition of love
• What is love?
• Meaning of love

Why limit yourself to these hackneyed, general themes? Below, I’ll show how to make your paper on love original yet relevant to the prompt you get from teachers.

Love Essay Topics: 20 Ideas to Choose for Your Paper

Your essay on love and relationship doesn’t have to be super official and unemotional. It’s ok to share reflections and personal opinions when writing about romance.

Often, students get a general task to write an essay on love. It means they can choose a theme and a title for their paper. If that’s your case,  feel free to try any of these love essay topics:

• Exploring the impact of love on individuals and relationships.
• Love in the digital age: Navigating romance in a tech world.
• Is there any essence and significance in unconditional love?
• Love as a universal language: Connecting hearts across cultures.
• Biochemistry of love: Exploring the process.
• Love vs. passion vs. obsession.
• How love helps cope with heartbreak and grief.
• The art of loving. How we breed intimacy and trust.
• The science behind attraction and attachment.
• How love and relationships shape our identity and help with self-discovery.
• Love and vulnerability: How to embrace emotional openness.
• Romance is more complex than most think: Passion, intimacy, and commitment explained.
• Love as empathy: Building sympathetic connections in a cruel world.
• Evolution of love. How people described it throughout history.
• The role of love in mental and emotional well-being.
• Love as a tool to look and find purpose in life.
• Welcoming diversity in relations through love and acceptance.
• Love vs. friendship: The intersection of platonic and romantic bonds.
• The choices we make and challenges we overcome for those we love.
• Love and forgiveness: How its power heals wounds and strengthens bonds.

Love Essay Examples: Choose Your Sample for Inspiration

Essays about love are usually standard, 5-paragraph papers students write in college:

• One paragraph is for an introduction, with a hook and a thesis statement
• Three are for a body, with arguments or descriptions
• One last passage is for a conclusion, with a thesis restatement and final thoughts

Below are the ready-made samples to consider. They’ll help you see what an essay about love with an introduction, body, and conclusion looks like.

What is love essay: 250 words

Lao Tzu once said, “Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” Indeed, love can transform individuals, relationships, and our world.

A word of immense depth and countless interpretations, love has always fascinated philosophers, poets, and ordinary individuals. This  emotion breaks boundaries and has a super power to change lives. But what is love, actually?

It’s a force we feel in countless ways. It is the warm embrace of a parent, filled with care and unwavering support. It is the gentle touch of a lover, sparking a flame that ignites passion and desire. Love is the kind words of a friend, offering solace and understanding in times of need. It is the selfless acts of compassion and empathy that bind humanity together.

Love is not confined to romantic relationships alone. It is found in the family bonds, the connections we forge with friends, and even the compassion we extend to strangers. Love is a thread that weaves through the fabric of our lives, enriching and nourishing our souls.

However, love is not without its complexities. It can be both euphoric and agonizing, uplifting and devastating. Love requires vulnerability, trust, and the willingness to embrace joy and pain. It is a delicate balance between passion and compassion, independence and interdependence.

Finally, the essence of love may be elusive to define with mere words. It is an experience that surpasses language and logic, encompassing a spectrum of emotions and actions. Love is a profound connection that unites us all, reminding us of our shared humanity and the capacity for boundless compassion.

What is love essay: 500 words

A 500-word essay on why I love you

Trying to encapsulate why I love you in a mere 500 words is impossible. My love for you goes beyond the confines of language, transcending words and dwelling in the realm of emotions, connections, and shared experiences. Nevertheless, I shall endeavor to express the depth and breadth of my affection for you.

First and foremost, I love you for who you are. You possess a unique blend of qualities and characteristics that captivate my heart and mind. Your kindness and compassion touch the lives of those around you, and I am grateful to be the recipient of your unwavering care and understanding. Your intelligence and wit constantly challenge me to grow and learn, stimulating my mind and enriching our conversations. You have a beautiful spirit that radiates warmth and joy, and I am drawn to your vibrant energy.

I love the way you make me feel. When I am with you, I feel a sense of comfort and security that allows me to be my true self. Your presence envelops me in a cocoon of love and acceptance, where I can express my thoughts, fears, and dreams without fear of judgment. Your support and encouragement inspire me to pursue my passions and overcome obstacles. With you by my side, I feel empowered to face the world, knowing I have a partner who believes in me.

I love the memories we have created together. From the laughter-filled moments of shared adventures to the quiet and intimate conversations, every memory is etched in my heart. Whether exploring new places, indulging in our favorite activities, or simply enjoying each other’s company in comfortable silence, each experience reinforces our bond. Our shared memories serve as a foundation for our relationship, a testament to the depth of our connection and the love that binds us.

I love your quirks and imperfections. Your true essence shines through these unique aspects! Your little traits make me smile and remind me of the beautiful individual you are. I love how you wrinkle your nose when you laugh, become lost in thought when reading a book, and even sing off-key in the shower. These imperfections make you human, relatable, and utterly lovable.

I love the future we envision together. We support each other’s goals, cheering one another on as we navigate the path toward our dreams. The thought of building a life together, creating a home filled with love and shared experiences, fills my heart with anticipation and excitement. The future we imagine is one that I am eager to explore with you by my side.

In conclusion, the reasons why I love you are as vast and varied as the universe itself. It is a love that defies logic and surpasses the limitations of language. From the depths of my being, I love you for the person you are, the way you make me feel, the memories we cherish, your quirks and imperfections, and the future we envision together. My love for you is boundless, unconditional, and everlasting.

A 5-paragraph essay about love

I’ve gathered all the samples (and a few bonus ones) in one PDF. It’s free to download. So, you can keep it at hand when the time comes to write a love essay.

Ready to Write Your Essay About Love?

Now that you know the definition of a love essay and have many topic ideas, it’s time to write your A-worthy paper! Here go the steps:

• Check all the examples of what is love essay from this post.
• Choose the topic and angle that fits your prompt best.
• Write your original and inspiring story.

Any questions left? Our writers are all ears. Please don’t hesitate to ask!

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Mark Gerard Murphy

Book Review Essay: “Real Love: Essays on Psychoanalysis, Religion, Society” by Duane Rousselle

Review of  Real Love: Essays on Psychoanalysis, Religion, Society  by Duane Rousselle, Atropos Press, 2021 154 pp. 

I’ve always thought My Bloody Valentine’s (1991)  Loveless  was a strange album. There is something about the disjunction between the Word ‘Love’ on the album cover and the discordant rhythms of the chiming guitars that saturate it. For myself, that saturation speaks of a conception of love as a perpetual presence of failure and loss. However, this is not a pure absence—as if love is merely not ‘there.’ No, it is more about how love – in any relationship – constructs its very fiction from the repression of a necessary failure. Moreover, what we experience as love is the very phantasmatic distortion itself. As we know, psychoanalysis teaches us that discovering this imaginary distortion is repulsive in most instances. When confronted with our fantasy, we are rightly disgusted. However, what  Loveless  did (in my view) was invite us – through its sheer beauty – to explore distortion as love: to examine how we positivise loss in creating fictions for relationships.

To be sure, it’s a cliché to talk about love being at the centre of academic exploration as a type of noble ideal we have lost and thus need to recover. Certainly, many theoretical excursions note how Plato placed love at the centre of philosophical exposition. And yes, there is certainly a need to return to love as a valid topic of exploration. Jean Luc Marion’s (2008) phenomenological commentary on the erotic phenomenon comes to mind, as does the early work of Anders Nygren (1953). Still, we need to ask if our recovery method changes the object we seek.

Duane Rousselle’s work makes a welcome return, avoiding the cloying, overly optimistic pop psychological expositions that we see hawked at Waterstones in the mind-body-spirit section,[1] which sees love in prosaic teleological utilitarian terms: Love as synonymous with meaning and happiness (Rich, 2016). He avoids such clichés precisely by problematising the proposed methodology for exploring love from the outset. He does not set out to give a systematic account of what love is philosophically or empirically. To do so would lock us in the distortion precisely by trying to clarify its density. Rather, he explores love as a symptom that appears in a diversity of ‘social bonds’ that are necessarily incomplete. He thus provides a set of snapshots to help us start thinking about love again. Snapshots precluding trite theories that conflate it with a flattened hope or a truncated passive determinative ontology. What Rousselle aims at in these explorations is a recovery of love as an interruptive moment. This interruption is associated with Being’s incompleteness and thus a site of potentiality. It is important to note that Rousselle is a trained Lacanian psychoanalyst and sociologist from the outset. These conceptual tools are drawn on thoroughly throughout.

The first chapter is an exposition of the necessity of belief in love. He explains that love occludes reason and that any writing about it has to start from  a posteriori  rationalisation that stretches out from impossibility. This formula of impossibility as love stems from the Lacanian dictum that a woman is a symptom (of man), (Lacan, 1974, p. 29) and the non-sexual rapport from Seminar XX (Lacan, 1999, p. 6). He gives an exposition of Genesis to expound on this point. It is – in essence – transportation of the one-all-alone in the singularity of the body toward the Other as the basis for the social bond in all its fragility. Throughout this chapter, Rousselle shows the character of the rest of the book; he explores the valences of love in theological reflection, societal observation, and the unconscious. What is most important – for me, as someone who studies theology, psychoanalysis, and mystical theology – Is that his theological exploration avoids the traps of Christian theology by moving beyond Badiouan overly Pauline formulations of Love (Badiou, 2003, 2012). He shows that an Islamic/psychoanalytic exposition on love here is just as necessary, if not more so.

Chapter two demonstrates how the logic of lack operates within the symbolic networks of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Broadly speaking, he shows how Judaism operates with belief as a neurotic instance that gives a place for doubt as repression within the same language game of Judaism itself. In Christianity, he shows that it operates via the logic of disavowal and perversion. So, whereas the space inherent in the symbolic allows a believer to doubt within Judaism, the doubt is thrust upon God himself in Christianity. God himself is an absence, and the perverse work of the Christian is about recreating this loss of loss (as affective castrative logic), which we see in the logic of apophatic theology. Finally, he gives an exposition of Islam, where it operates via the logic of foreclosure. Here there is a relationship to absence that involves the lack of the network to inscribe absence itself. Hence, faith itself – and thus love – has a relationship to certainty that simply does not cohere with the Judaic and Christian iterations. The most salient point in this chapter is how love and its constitutive lack operate. Rousselle speaks about loving from lack (what he calls the place of a non-haver) and a love that positivises lack as an object protecting the subject from the trauma of love. He ends the chapter by articulating the courage that if the choice is between love-in-certainty—as opposed to old Christological loving in doubt—and not loving at all, we should have the courage to do the former.

In chapter three, there is an exposition on love concerning communication and contemporary sociological theory. Rousselle speaks about the sociological theory of code concerning society and its ability to link with the other. Specifically, he gives an account of how love is not just a transient object within the multiplicity of codes constitutive of society. No, he shows that love is the primordial void upon which decisional structures are thus instantiated. He ends the chapter by suggesting that a return to love is based on certainty as the ground of communication. I found this a somewhat difficult and nuanced chapter, as it gives a sociological grounding to a concept that can become mired in philosophical positioning. Indeed, what is love if we do not have a contextual framing in which its operation flows?

Chapter four opens by positing how modern capitalism destroys the subjective experience of love as excess. Rousselle demonstrates how the contemporary subject steps into love as a type of commodified contractual experience. Remaining consistent with the aforementioned trauma of love as a type of wound that appears as the grounding of communication, he states that the Lacanian notion of the laughing saint shows what it means to navigate love in the modern world. At this point, he gives a wonderful exposition of the film Joker (Philips, 2019) building on Daniel Tutt’s recent arguments (Tutt, 2019). This subject creates a name for himself out of the certainty of delusion and navigating between experiences of love that can either force him into capitalist discourse – as the mere navigation of contractual objects – or an overwhelming boundless love as sinthomatic potentiality. In short, Rousselle is giving an exposition on the functionality of the sinthome as the minimal coordinates via which the social bond can maintain itself. Real love is not about hoping for a future to passively arrive at us but about creating possibility by actively destroying our given world limitations. Falling into love can look nihilistic – most things that descend look nihilistic; all falling looks negative – but in such a falling, a new kind of determination of the Real appears, for which we have to take responsibility. This is a determination that involves the creation of a new name. And new names always involve new worlds.

The fifth chapter is basically a summary of the argument mentioned above. This is a short but dense book, with chapter 3 being the most challenging. There are some parts of the work that feel a little disjointed. However, this in and of itself is completely overshadowed by the sheer originality of the work and its ability to engage in the late Lacan – concepts that are used only within the practicality of the clinic at the moment – and utilise them in a modern sociological context. Indeed, we see that in much modern social and philosophical theory, the Lacanian heuristic devices most utilised are those found up to – but no further than – Seminar XX.

Rousselle is doing important work here and is venturing into a difficult landscape whereby talking of sinthomes, singularities, the ones-all-alone, and the lathouse means that he will ultimately create a new symbolic we need to navigate. Rousselle does this elegantly and demonstrates that where a Christocentric and Eurocentric Žižek resides in the middle Lacan,’ he – in contrast – shows that an inventive use of Islam allows us to venture further into the latest Lacan (Žižek, 2000, 2016; Žižek & Milbank, 2009). In this sense, he is following an important path mapped out by scholars such as Stefania Pandolfo and others who are bringing Islam and Lacanian theory into dialogue with one another. (Pandolfo, 2018; Parker & Siddiqui, 2018)

Bibliography:

Badiou, A. (2003).  Saint Paul: The  foundation of universalism . Stanford University Press.

Badiou, A. (2012).  In praise of love  (N. Truong, Trans.). Profile Books.

Lacan, J. (1974).  The seminar of Jacques Lacan. R.S.I. 1974-1975. Seminar XXII.  (C. Gallagher, Trans.; 1st ed.). Lacan in Ireland.  https://www.lacaninireland.com/web/translations/seminars/

Lacan, J. (1999).  The Ssminar of Jacques Lacan book XX: On feminine \sexuality the limits of love and knowledge 1972-1973  (J.-A. Miller, Ed.; 2nd ed.). W.W Norton & Company.

Marion, J.-L. (2008).  The  erotic phenomenon . University of Chicago Press.

Nygren, A. (1953).  Agape and Eros . Westminster Press.

Pandolfo, S. (2018).  Knot of the  soul: Madness, psychoanalysis, Islam . University of Chicago Press.

Parker, I., & Siddiqui, S. (2018).  Islamic  psychoanalysis and psychoanalytic Islam: Cultural and clinical dialogues . Routledge.

Philips, T. (2019).  Joker  [Film]. Warner Bros.

Rich, A. (2016).  Self-love: Start  loving yourself and change the world . Create Space Independent Publishing Platform

Tutt, D. (2019, October 9). A Lacanian reading of Joker.  Daniel Tutt . https://danieltutt.com/2019/10/09/a-lacanian-reading-of-joker/

Žižek, S. (2000).  The  fragile absolute  (1st ed.). Verso.

Žižek, S. (2016).  Against the  double blackmail: Refugees, terror and other troubles with the neighbours . Penguin UK.

Žižek, S., & Milbank, J. (2009).  The monstrosity of Christ: Paradox or  dialectic?  (C. Davis, Ed.; 1st ed.). Short Circuits.

[1] Waterstone’s is a popular bookshop in the UK.

Mark Gerard Murphy  is an editor for the political journal and blog Taiwan Insight and a visiting lecturer at St Mary’s University, Scotland, Gillis Centre, convening courses on ethics, philosophy, and mystical theology/spirituality.

He completed his PhD in 2019 at St Mary’s University, which examined the similarities and differences between the spiritual direction of John of the Cross and the psychoanalysis of Jacques Lacan. It aimed to show how the practice of 16th-century Spanish spirituality was markedly similar to the ethical vision of Lacan’s work in clinical psychoanalysis. At the core of the thesis was an examination and critique of the ethical problem of religious experientialism—and its relationship to 21st-century consumerism—within the practice of modern spiritual direction and mystical theology.

Publication Date:

May 20, 2022

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Publication.

Vol. 9, No. 1, 2022

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• Publication Date

Gerard, M. (2022). Book Review Essay: “Real Love: Essays on Psychoanalysis, Religion, Society” by Duane Rousselle. European Journal of Psychoanalysis , Vol. 9, No. 1.

Essays About Love: 20 Intriguing Ideas for Students

Love can make a fascinating essay topic, but sometimes finding the perfect topic idea is challenging. Here are 20 of the best essays about love.

Writers have often explored the subject of love and what it means throughout history. In his book Essays in Love , Alain de Botton creates an in-depth essay on what love looks like, exploring a fictional couple’s relationship while highlighting many facts about love. This book shows how much there is to say about love as it beautifully merges non-fiction with fiction work.

The New York Times  published an entire column dedicated to essays on modern love, and many prize-winning reporters often contribute to the collection. With so many published works available, the subject of love has much to be explored.

If you are going to write an essay about love and its effects, you will need a winning topic idea. Here are the top 20 topic ideas for essays about love. These topics will give you plenty to think about and explore as you take a stab at the subject that has stumped philosophers, writers, and poets since the dawn of time.

For help with your essays, check out our round-up of the best essay checkers .

1. Outline the Definition of Love

2. describe your favorite love story, 3. what true love looks like, 4. discuss how human beings are hard-wired for love, 5. explore the different types of love, 6. determine the true meaning of love, 7. discuss the power of love, 8. do soul mates exist, 9. determine if all relationships should experience a break-up, 10. does love at first sight exist, 11. explore love between parents and children, 12. discuss the disadvantages of love, 13. ask if love is blind, 14. discuss the chemical changes that love causes, 15. outline the ethics of love, 16. the inevitability of heartbreak, 17. the role of love in a particular genre of literature, 18. is love freeing or oppressing, 19. does love make people do foolish things, 20. explore the theme of love from your favorite book or movie.

Defining love may not be as easy as you think. While it seems simple, love is an abstract concept with multiple potential meanings. Exploring these meanings and then creating your own definition of love can make an engaging essay topic.

To do this, first, consider the various conventional definitions of love. Then, compare and contrast them until you come up with your own definition of love.

One essay about love you could tackle is describing and analyzing a favorite love story. This story could be from a fiction tale or real life. It could even be your love story.

As you analyze and explain the love story, talk about the highs and lows of love. Showcase the hard and great parts of this love story, then end the essay by talking about what real love looks like (outside the flowers and chocolates).

This essay will explore what true love looks like. With this essay idea, you could contrast true love with the romantic love often shown in movies. This contrast would help the reader see how true love looks in real life.

An essay about what true love looks like could allow you to explore this kind of love in many different facets. It would allow you to discuss whether or not someone is, in fact, in true love. You could demonstrate why saying “I love you” is not enough through the essay.

There seems to be something ingrained in human nature to seek love. This fact could make an interesting essay on love and its meaning, allowing you to explore why this might be and how it plays out in human relationships.

Because humans seem to gravitate toward committed relationships, you could argue that we are hard-wired for love. But, again, this is an essay option that has room for growth as you develop your thoughts.

There are many different types of love. For example, while you can have romantic love between a couple, you may also have family love among family members and love between friends. Each of these types of love has a different expression, which could lend itself well to an interesting essay topic.

Writing an essay that compares and contrasts the different types of love would allow you to delve more deeply into the concept of love and what makes up a loving relationship.

What does love mean? This question is not as easy to answer as you might think. However, this essay topic could give you quite a bit of room to develop your ideas about love.

While exploring this essay topic, you may discover that love means different things to different people. For some, love is about how someone makes another person feel. To others, it is about actions performed. By exploring this in an essay, you can attempt to define love for your readers.

What can love make people do? This question could lend itself well to an essay topic. The power of love is quite intense, and it can make people do things they never thought they could or would do.

With this love essay, you could look at historical examples of love, fiction stories about love relationships, or your own life story and what love had the power to do. Then, at the end of your essay, you can determine how powerful love is.

The idea of a soul mate is someone who you are destined to be with and love above all others. This essay topic would allow you to explore whether or not each individual has a soul mate.

If you determine that they do, you could further discuss how you would identify that soul mate. How can you tell when you have found “the one” right for you? Expanding on this idea could create a very interesting and unique essay.

Break-ups seem inevitable, and strong relationships often come back together afterward. Yet are break-ups truly inevitable? Or are they necessary to create a strong bond? This idea could turn into a fascinating essay topic if you look at both sides of the argument.

On the one hand, you could argue that the break-up experience shows you whether or not your relationship can weather difficult times. On the other hand, you could argue that breaking up damages the trust you’re working to build. Regardless of your conclusion, you can build a solid essay off of this topic idea.

Love, at first sight is a common theme in romance stories, but is it possible? Explore this idea in your essay. You will likely find that love, at first sight, is nothing more than infatuation, not genuine love.

Yet you may discover that sometimes, love, at first sight, does happen. So, determine in your essay how you can differentiate between love and infatuation if it happens to you. Then, conclude with your take on love at first sight and if you think it is possible.

The love between a parent and child is much different than the love between a pair of lovers. This type of love is one-sided, with care and self-sacrifice on the parent’s side. However, the child’s love is often unconditional.

Exploring this dynamic, especially when contrasting parental love with romantic love, provides a compelling essay topic. You would have the opportunity to define this type of love and explore what it looks like in day-to-day life.

Most people want to fall in love and enjoy a loving relationship, but does love have a downside? In an essay, you can explore the disadvantages of love and show how even one of life’s greatest gifts is not without its challenges.

This essay would require you to dig deep and find the potential downsides of love. However, if you give it a little thought, you should be able to discuss several. Finally, end the essay by telling the reader whether or not love is worth it despite the many challenges.

Love is blind is a popular phrase that indicates love allows someone not to see another person’s faults. But is love blind, or is it simply a metaphor that indicates the ability to overlook issues when love is at the helm.

If you think more deeply about this quote, you will probably determine that love is not blind. Rather, love for someone can overshadow their character flaws and shortcomings. When love is strong, these things fall by the wayside. Discuss this in your essay, and draw your own conclusion to decide if love is blind.

When someone falls in love, their body feels specific hormonal and chemical changes. These changes make it easier to want to spend time with the person. Yet they can be fascinating to study, and you could ask whether or not love is just chemical reactions or something more.

Grab a science book or two and see if you can explore these physiological changes from love. From the additional sweating to the flushing of the face, you will find quite a few chemical changes that happen when someone is in love.

Love feels like a positive emotion that does not have many ethical concerns, but this is not true. Several ethical questions come from the world of love. Exploring these would make for an interesting and thoughtful essay.

For example, you could discuss if it is ethically acceptable to love an object or even oneself or love other people. You could discuss if it is appropriate to enter into a physical relationship if there is no love present or if love needs to come first. There are many questions to explore with this love essay.

If you choose to love someone, is heartbreak inevitable? This question could create a lengthy essay. However, some would argue that it is because either your object of affection will eventually leave you through a break-up or death.

Yet do these actions have to cause heartbreak, or are they simply part of the process? Again, this question lends itself well to an essay because it has many aspects and opinions to explore.

Literature is full of stories of love. You could choose a genre, like mythology or science fiction, and explore the role of love in that particular genre. With this essay topic, you may find many instances where love is a vital central theme of the work.

Keep in mind that in some genres, like myths, love becomes a driving force in the plot, while in others, like historical fiction, it may simply be a background part of the story. Therefore, the type of literature you choose for this essay would significantly impact the way your essay develops.

Most people want to fall in love, but is love freeing or oppressing? The answer may depend on who your loved ones are. Love should free individuals to authentically be who they are, not tie them into something they are not.

Yet there is a side of love that can be viewed as oppressive, deepening on your viewpoint. For example, you should stay committed to just that individual when you are in a committed relationship with someone else. Is this freeing or oppressive? Gather opinions through research and compare the answers for a compelling essay.

You can easily find stories of people that did foolish things for love. These stories could translate into interesting and engaging essays. You could conclude the answer to whether or not love makes people do foolish things.

Your answer will depend on your research, but chances are you will find that, yes, love makes people foolish at times. Then you could use your essay to discuss whether or not it is still reasonable to think that falling in love is a good thing, although it makes people act foolishly at times.

Most fiction works have love in them in some way. This may not be romantic love, but you will likely find characters who love something or someone.

Use that fact to create an essay. Pick your favorite story, either through film or written works, and explore what love looks like in that work. Discuss the character development, storyline, and themes and show how love is used to create compelling storylines.

If you are interested in learning more, check out our essay writing tips !

Bryan Collins is the owner of Become a Writer Today. He's an author from Ireland who helps writers build authority and earn a living from their creative work. He's also a former Forbes columnist and his work has appeared in publications like Lifehacker and Fast Company.

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Definition Essay: Love

Love is something that means very different things to different people. For some, love can be purely romantic, or even purely sexual. For others, real love is utterly unconditional and only truly exists between family members, or between people and a deity. And for some people, love is fluid, ever changing, and everywhere, and is felt for family, friends, partners, pets, and even inanimate objects, dead artists, and fictional characters. None of these people would be right or wrong, but one thing is certain: love is the most powerful force in the entire universe.

Between partners of any description, be they married or cohabiting, boyfriend and girlfriend, straight or gay, young or old, love is a relationship of mutual understanding and respect. Marriages and partnerships are often built on common ground that people find when they first meet; this can be as deep as sharing religious, philosophical or religious beliefs, or as simple as finding that you love the same film, book, or band.

This kind of love is often reliant on some kind of ‘chemistry’: that strange feeling that they give you in the pit of your stomach, and the feeling that nothing in the world is more important to you than enjoying the moment you’re in together. Some people feel that they experience love at first sight, where they know from the minute they set eyes on each other that they want to to be with that person, but something built on common interests and understanding must be stronger.

A parent’s love for a child can also often be described as love at first sight, but this is very strong because it comes from a natural instinct to protect our offspring. This love can often start before the baby is even born: you only have to look at the pride and excitement of many parents-to-be when they have their scans and feel their baby kick for the very first time. This kind of love is also felt by a child for its mother; it is unconditional for at least the first few years of life, and can also be felt between siblings.

It is the strength of this feeling that makes love the most powerful emotion that most of us will ever experience. People can do some dreadful things out of hate and fear, but love can push us to do much, much worse. And it is often love that can cause us to hate, whether it’s out of jealousy, or anger because our loved one has been hurt. Love, ultimately, is a sacrifice, whatever the relationship, and it must be the most powerful force in the universe because as human beings, we make true sacrifices for nothing less.

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What Is True Love? Figuring Out If You’ve Found The One

The concept of true love has intrigued poets, philosophers, and everyday individuals for centuries. It’s a term that evokes deep emotion and brings images of fairy tales, romantic movies, and eternal commitment. But what does it really mean ? How do you know if you’ve found “the one”? True love is often more complex and multifaceted than the romanticized portrayals in pop culture. 

This article will explore the concept of true love, providing insights to help you determine if you’ve found that special connection and offer guidance to nurture and grow that love in your relationship.

Characteristics of true love

While each relationship and connection will vary, some key characteristics of true love often include the following.

Mutual respect

In true love, both partners recognize and value each other’s individuality, opinions, and feelings. They listen without judgment and show consideration for each other’s needs and wishes. Respect in true love means treating each other with kindness and honor, even in disagreements.

Deep connection

True love fosters a connection that goes beyond the superficial. It’s a bond that often involves understanding each other’s core values, beliefs, and life goals. This connection creates a sense of companionship, where both partners feel they’re on the same team, working towards common dreams.

Trust and honesty

Trust is the bedrock of true love. It means believing in each other’s integrity and having faith in each other’s intentions. Honesty, in turn, nurtures this trust. Being truthful with each other strengthens the bond, even if the truth is difficult to face at times.

Empathy is the ability to deeply understand each other’s feelings. In true love, partners try to understand each other’s perspectives, feelings, and needs, providing support and compassion. Empathy helps partners to be more patient and tolerant with each other.

Unconditional support

True love means standing by each other’s side. Whether in success or failure, happiness or distress, partners in true love support each other’s highs and lows without conditions or reservations.

Commitment is a conscious choice to stay together and make the relationship work, even during challenging times. It’s not just about loyalty; it’s about actively investing in the relationship and nurturing it.

Common growth

True love often encourages personal growth and self-improvement. Partners in a loving relationship motivate each other to become better individuals, supporting each other’s ambitions and helping each other reach their full potential.

Acceptance means embracing each other’s flaws and imperfections. True love doesn’t seek to change the other person but accepts them for who they are, acknowledging that nobody is perfect.

How to know if you’ve found “the one”

Recognizing that you’ve found “the one” can seem like a profound realization, yet it might be elusive or challenging to put into words. Let’s explore some signs that may indicate you’ve found that special person with whom you have a deep, meaningful connection.

Comfort and safety

When you’re with “the one,” you might feel a sense of ease, comfort, and safety. You can be your authentic self without fear of judgment or criticism. There’s generally a feeling of home, a place where you’re understood and accepted.

Research suggests that feelings of love  reduce stress and provide various health benefits, including lower blood pressure, better sleep, and more .

Healthy communication

Communication with “the one” often feels natural and effortless. Even in disagreements, you find ways to understand each other and reach compromises. Your conversations are meaningful, and you’re not afraid to discuss your feelings, fears, or dreams. If you are not seeing eye-to-eye, you want to make an effort to reach a mutual understanding while remaining respectful during the conversation.

Same goals and dreams

You and “the one” likely have aligned life goals and a vision for the future. Whether it’s career paths, family planning, or personal growth, you work together towards these goals, supporting each other along the way.

You overcome challenges together

Life is not without its challenges, but with “the one,” you face them together. Instead of tearing you apart, hardships tend to strengthen your bond. You become a team that can weather any storm, learning and growing from each experience.

Mutual admiration and inspiration

You admire each other’s qualities and find inspiration in each other’s strengths. There’s usually mutual respect and encouragement that pushes both of you to be better individuals.

Intuition and gut feeling

Sometimes, knowing you’ve found “the one” is an intuitive feeling, a deep inner knowing that this person is right for you. It’s a connection that feels different, more profound than other relationships.

Your happiness is their happiness

You find joy in each other’s happiness and strive to make each other’s lives more fulfilling. Your partner’s successes feel like your own, and you celebrate them together.

They make you want to be a better person

Being with “the one” encourages you to grow and improve yourself. You feel motivated to be the best version of yourself, not out of pressure but because of their positive influence on you.

You think long-term

When envisioning your future, your partner is an integral part of it. You make plans together, considering each other’s needs and desires, and see a lasting future together.

How can you tell if you’ve found your true love? Navigate relationships with therapy

The difference between infatuation and true love.

Love is a complex and multifaceted emotion that can take various forms. Two of the most commonly confused types are infatuation and true love . While they might seem similar at first glance, especially during the early stages of a relationship, they are fundamentally different in many ways. 

When determining whether you are experiencing infatuation or true love, keep a lookout for these differences. 

Characteristics of infatuation:

• Duration - Infatuation is often a short-lived, intense emotion. It can feel overwhelming and all-consuming but typically fades over time.
• Focus - The focus of infatuation is often more on the self and how the other person makes you feel. It’s about the pleasure, excitement, and gratification the relationship brings you.
• Idealization - Infatuation often involves placing the other person on a pedestal, ignoring their flaws, and creating an idealized image of them. This can lead to unrealistic expectations.
• Emotional Roller Coaster - Infatuation can bring intense highs but also significant lows. The mood of the relationship can change dramatically and unpredictably.
• Physical Attraction - Infatuation often centers around physical attraction and desire. While these elements can be present in true love, they are typically more pronounced and prioritized in infatuation.

Characteristics of true love:

• Duration - True love grows over time, deepening and becoming more profound. It’s a lasting connection that continues to thrive as you grow together.
• Focus - The focus of true love extends beyond self-gratification. It’s about mutual growth, support, respect, and understanding. Both partners are invested in each other’s happiness and well-being.
• Acceptance - True love means accepting each other’s imperfections and loving the whole person, flaws and all. It’s a more grounded and realistic view of each other.
• Stability - True love brings stability and consistency to the relationship. While there may be ups and downs, they are typically navigated with mutual respect and communication, avoiding extreme emotional swings.
• Emotional and Intellectual Connection - True love involves a deep emotional and intellectual connection that goes beyond physical attraction. It’s about common values, goals, and a genuine understanding of each other.

Nurturing true love in your relationship

Even if you consider your partner your true love, keeping a relationship takes time, effort, and commitment. Making sure you keep communicating with regular, open, and honest communication can be important to understanding each other’s needs as you grow together.

Spending quality time together can also help foster closeness in a relationship over time. You can do this by engaging in the same activities and hobbies or simply enjoying each other’s company.

In addition to this, regularly expressing gratitude and appreciation can help keep the love fresh and vibrant and each partner feeling valued in the relationship.

As you progress in your relationship, therapists or relationship coaches can offer professional insights and guidance tailored to your unique relationship.

Benefits of online therapy in relationships

Online therapy for relationships offers increased availability and flexibility for individuals and couples, allowing you to seek professional guidance regardless of location and schedule. The convenience of being in your own home can create a relaxed environment conducive to open communication while also potentially reducing costs. Online platforms, like Betterhelp and Regain, often provide additional tools and resources to supplement therapy sessions.

The benefits extend to long-distance relationships, providing joint sessions and ongoing support even when partners are in different locations. From addressing daily challenges to deeper relationship concerns, online therapy’s location independence, affordability, comfort, and specialized help make it a valuable resource in the modern, connected world. It breaks down barriers to entry and ensures that more individuals and couples have the therapeutic support they need.

The efficacy of online therapy has been an area of growing interest and study in mental health care, particularly as technology continues to advance. Research suggests that online therapy, also known as teletherapy, can be just as effective as traditional in-person therapy for relationship counseling.

Efficacy of online therapy

“As someone who had sought counseling/therapy for the first time, I had serious doubts about the effectiveness of online therapy, but my first meeting with Susan took out those doubts immediately. Over the last six months, Susan has not only given me tools to help me establish boundaries but has given me a new perspective on relationships and life in general. After a few sessions, I was able to turn a corner and have a new outlook on my interactions with others. I wholeheartedly recommend Susan and hope to work with her again in the future.”

“I am so happy I got paired with Ruthie Brooks. My sessions with her have been a positive and insightful experience.  As a result, I can see my relationships improving and I have a better understanding of myself. She is very professional, kind, and great at what she does.”

What are the signs of true love?

True love is felt differently from person to person. Research suggests that a person’s culture, upbringing, and personal beliefs can significantly influence what they consider to be signs of love. However, evidence suggests some common themes regarding how love is perceived. Most people consider receiving compliments, feeling appreciated, receiving a gift, or being granted an act of kindness as signs of love. Depending on who is witnessing them, many other loving acts may also be perceived as signs of true love. 

How rare is true love?

It is likely not possible to quantify how often true love happens in the world. The definition of “true love” is highly subjective, varying considerably from person to person. Some might equate love with preservation, feeling most loved when their partner provides safety. Others might consider love to mean acceptance, feeling the strongest connection to those who understand and accept them as they are. Regardless of how true love is defined, it is likely possible, even if its rarity is uncertain. 

How do you tell if a man loves you?

Ultimately, the best way to know if a man loves you is to have a conversation about how both of you feel. While there are certain signs that a man may be into you , like wanting to spend more time with you, trying to make you smile, and being vulnerable, there is no way to be sure of his feelings without an honest discussion. If you feel like you are his priority and that communicating with him is easy, it is more likely that he has feelings for you. You may wish to consider inquiring about his feelings as long as you are ready to express yours. 

How do you tell if a girl loves you?

Arguably, the best way to tell if a girl loves you is to discuss your feelings openly and inquire about hers. There may be signs, like if she tries to support you, allows you to be vulnerable, and seeks time with you, but likely the only way to be certain is with an honest conversation. Don’t be afraid to broach the subject if you think she might have strong feelings for you. If you don’t want the relationship to continue, it’s important to address her feelings respectfully and kindly. On the other hand, if you hope she has feelings for you, discussing your thoughts might bring renewed relief and understanding to you both. 

What kind of love is real love?

“Real love” is likely different for everybody, but for most healthy adults with secure attachment styles , love often has the following components:

• Long-lasting. True love, which is separate from infatuation or a “crush,” tends to grow over time as partners get to know each other's positive and negative qualities. 
• Focus. True love tends to be focused on both partners’ mutual growth rather than what one person can get from the other. 
• Acceptance. Real love tends to be based on acceptance, wherein both partners know, understand, and accept each other, flaws and all. 
• Stability. Up and downs occur in every relationship, but healthy relationships based on true love have downs that are navigated with respect, empathy, and kindness. 
• Deep Connection. Real love likely involves a deep emotional and intellectual connection based on more than physical attraction. Mutual core values, goals, and mutual understanding are all a part of true love. 

What makes you fall in love with someone?

Love is a complex neurochemical process that involves several biological and psychological factors. Lust, or infatuation, tends to be mediated by the sex hormones testosterone and estrogen before moving on to more stable attraction, which is promoted through dopamine and norepinephrine. Long-term attachment is often attributed to hormones like oxytocin and vasopressin. 

Although love is chemically mediated, psychological and personality factors also play a role. In addition, social factors like proximity, or how much time two people spend together, are likely also important. Researchers are still determining the exact formula for love, but two people with similar interests who spend a lot of time together are potential candidates. 

• For The Girl That You Love: Lyrics And Songs To Send Her Medically reviewed by Karen Foster , LPC
• What Does Unconditional Love Mean? Medically reviewed by Dr. April Brewer , DBH, LPC
• Relationships and Relations

Home / Essay Samples / Life / Love / Real Love Is a Choice

Real Love Is a Choice

• Category: Life , Education
• Topic: Falling in Love , Personal Statement

Pages: 1 (587 words)

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