essay on power of love

Essay on Power Of Love

Students are often asked to write an essay on Power Of Love in their schools and colleges. And if you’re also looking for the same, we have created 100-word, 250-word, and 500-word essays on the topic.

Let’s take a look…

100 Words Essay on Power Of Love

The magic of love.

Love is like a superpower that lives inside every person. It’s more than just a feeling; it’s a force that can make incredible things happen. When people care deeply for each other, they often become kinder and more willing to help. Love can turn a bad day into a good one and can make us feel safe and happy.

Love Brings People Together

Love has the power to bring people together. It doesn’t matter where you are from or what language you speak; love is something everyone understands. Friends and families stick together because of love, and it can even make strangers act like friends.

When you’re hurt or sad, love can be like a warm hug that makes you feel better. It’s like medicine for the heart. People who are loved often heal faster because they have happy thoughts and the support of others.

Love Inspires

Love can make you do amazing things. It gives you the courage to try new things and the strength to keep going, even when things are tough. Because of love, people have made beautiful music, art, and stories that we all enjoy.

Even when everything else changes, love can last. It’s a bond that doesn’t break easily. Love from our family, friends, and pets stays with us, making our lives brighter and full of joy.

250 Words Essay on Power Of Love

The strength of love.

Love is a magical feeling that can change everything. It’s like a superpower that all of us have, but not everyone uses it to its full potential. Love is not just about liking someone a lot or the warm feeling you get when you hug your family. It’s a force that can make impossible things possible.

Love in Families

In families, love is the glue that holds everyone together. When parents love their children, they work hard to give them a good life. They teach them right from wrong and help them grow into strong adults. This love doesn’t need words; it shows in actions like a packed lunch or a bedtime story.

Friendship Love

Love is also what makes friendships last. When friends care for each other, they stand by one another during tough times. They share laughter and wipe away tears. This kind of love makes everyone feel like they belong and that they are never alone.

Love Brings Peace

Love is powerful because it can bring peace. When people love and respect each other, they don’t fight. They work together to solve problems and make the world a better place. Love can stop wars and help people from different places get along.

In conclusion, love is a mighty power that can change lives. It can make us do great things for others and for ourselves. When we love, we become the best version of ourselves. So, let’s use the power of love every day to make our world a happier and more peaceful place.

500 Words Essay on Power Of Love

What is love.

Love is a feeling that is hard to describe in words, but we all know it when we feel it. It’s like a warm hug from a friend or the cozy feeling you get when you’re wrapped up in a blanket. Love can be between family members, friends, or even people and their pets. It’s like a special bond that connects one heart to another.

Love Makes Us Strong

When we talk about the power of love, we mean that love can make us do amazing things. Imagine you’re trying to lift a really heavy box. It’s tough, right? But if that box had something very important to someone you love, you might find the strength to lift it. That’s because love gives us extra energy and courage. It’s like when a mother lifts a car to save her child – love makes her stronger than she ever thought she could be.

Have you ever fallen down and gotten a scrape? It hurts, but when someone you love puts a bandage on it and gives you a hug, it starts to feel better. Love has a special power to heal our bodies and our feelings. When we’re sad or hurt, a simple act of love, like a kind word or a smile, can make the pain go away faster.

Love is like glue; it sticks people together. When we love someone, we want to be near them, talk to them, and share things with them. It doesn’t matter if people are from different places, speak different languages, or look different. Love doesn’t care about those things. Love can bring people together and create friendships that last a lifetime.

Love Teaches Us

Love is also a great teacher. When we love someone, we learn to share, to be kind, and to listen. We learn that other people’s feelings are just as important as our own. Love teaches us to be better friends, better family members, and better people. It’s like going to school, but instead of learning math or science, we’re learning how to care for each other.

Love Changes the World

The power of love can change the whole world. When people love and care for each other, they work together to make things better. They help those who are in need, they protect the environment, and they make sure everyone is treated fairly. It’s like a team working together to win a game, but the game is making the world a happier and safer place for everyone.

In conclusion, love is a powerful force that can do wonders. It can make us strong, heal our wounds, bring us together, teach us important lessons, and even change the world. Just like the sun makes flowers grow, love makes us grow into kind and caring people. So, let’s spread love everywhere we go, because with love, we can do anything!

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The Power of Love

Love is the best antidepressant—but many of our ideas about it are wrong. the less love you have, the more depressed you are likely to feel..

By Ellen McGrath published December 1, 2002 - last reviewed on June 9, 2016

Love is as critical for your mind and body as oxygen. It's not negotiable. The more connected you are, the healthier you will be both physically and emotionally. The less connected you are, the more you are at risk.

It is also true that the less love you have, the more depression you are likely to experience in your life. Love is probably the best antidepressant there is because one of the most common sources of depression is feeling unloved. Most depressed people don't love themselves and they do not feel loved by others. They also are very self-focused, making them less attractive to others and depriving them of opportunities to learn the skills of love.

There is a mythology in our culture that love just happens. As a result, the depressed often sit around passively waiting for someone to love them. But love doesn't work that way. To get love and keep love you have to go out and be active and learn a variety of specific skills.

Most of us get our ideas of love from popular culture. We come to believe that love is something that sweeps us off our feet. But the pop-culture ideal of love consists of unrealistic images created for entertainment, which is one reason so many of us are set up to be depressed. It's part of our national vulnerability, like eating junk food, constantly stimulated by images of instant gratification. We think it is love when it's simply distraction and infatuation.

One consequence is that when we hit real love we become upset and disappointed because there are many things that do not fit the cultural ideal. Some of us get demanding and controlling, wanting someone else to do what we think our ideal of romance should be, without realizing our ideal is misplaced.

It is not only possible but necessary to change one's approach to love to ward off depression. Follow these action strategies to get more of what you want out of life—to love and be loved.

• Recognize the difference between limerance and love. Limerance is the psychological state of deep infatuation. It feels good but rarely lasts. Limerance is that first stage of mad attraction whereby all the hormones are flowing and things feel so right. Limerance lasts, on average, six months. It can progress to love. Love mostly starts out as limerance, but limerance doesn't always evolve into love.
• Know that love is a learned skill, not something that comes from hormones or emotion particularly. Erich Fromm called it "an act of will." If you don't learn the skills of love you virtually guarantee that you will be depressed, not only because you will not be connected enough but because you will have many failure experiences.
• Learn good communication skills. They are a means by which you develop trust and intensify connection. The more you can communicate the less depressed you will be because you will feel known and understood.

There are always core differences between two people, no matter how good or close you are, and if the relationship is going right those differences surface. The issue then is to identify the differences and negotiate them so that they don't distance you or kill the relationship.

You do that by understanding where the other person is coming from, who that person is, and by being able to represent yourself. When the differences are known you must be able to negotiate and compromise on them until you find a common ground that works for both.

• Focus on the other person. Rather than focus on what you are getting and how you are being treated, read your partner's need. What does this person really need for his/her own well-being? This is a very tough skill for people to learn in our narcissistic culture. Of course, you don't lose yourself in the process; you make sure you're also doing enough self-care.
• Help someone else. Depression keeps people so focused on themselves they don't get outside themselves enough to be able to learn to love. The more you can focus on others and learn to respond and meet their needs, the better you are going to do in love.
• Develop the ability to accommodate simultaneous reality. The loved one's reality is as important as your own, and you need to be as aware of it as of your own. What are they really saying, what are they really needing? Depressed people think the only reality is their own depressed reality.
• Actively dispute your internal messages of inadequacy. Sensitivity to rejection is a cardinal feature of depression. As a consequence of low self-esteem , every relationship blip is interpreted far too personally as evidence of inadequacy. Quick to feel rejected by a partner, you then believe it is the treatment you fundamentally deserve. But the rejection really originates in you, and the feelings of inadequacy are the depression speaking.

Recognize that the internal voice is strong but it's not real. Talk back to it. "I'm not really being rejected, this isn't really evidence of inadequacy. I made a mistake." Or "this isn't about me, this is something I just didn't know how to do and now I'll learn." When you reframe the situation to something more adequate, you can act again in an effective way and you can find and keep the love that you need.

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The Weeders (1868) by Jules Breton. Courtesy the Met Museum, New York

The enchanted vision

Love is much more than a mere emotion or moral ideal. it imbues the world itself and we should learn to move with its power.

by Mark Vernon   + BIO

Most ancient traditions, not only Christianity, picture the universe as an involution of divine love. It emanates from an origin that precedes frail beings. According to a hymn of creation in the Rig Veda, love is a fundamental presence: ‘In the beginning arose Love’ – or Kāma in Sanskrit: the love that sparks desire and vitalises consciousness through practices of yogic attention. In mystical Islamic traditions, love is similarly comprehended as an external power more than an emotion. For the Sufi, love forces believers, who are called lovers, out of themselves towards the Beloved, who is God. Even Stoicism was originally a discipline for discovering that the world is shaped by the Logos, or active word of creative love.

Today, this appreciation of reality, with its ‘built-in significance’ and ‘admirable design’, to quote C S Lewis, has become a ‘discarded image’. Any curious person enquiring of the universe now, and inspired by science, might feel themselves to be confronted by a reality of unknown or unknowable significance, or of no significance at all. Moreover, such doubt or confusion seems to be the price of rejecting a fanciful worldview for a scientific one. Apprehending the universe no longer consists of an awesome realisation that your mind fits the divine mind to some degree, but becomes one of uncertain, probing wonder: intellectual humility threatened by cognitive humiliation. Nor can anyone who is suffering turn to myths and rituals conveying the purposes of a love that exceeds and might contain their afflictions; they must bear their woe alone or, if they are lucky, in solidarity with similarly isolated others.

As a psychotherapist, I feel sure this feeling of existential seclusion exacerbates distress as well as other symptoms, like excessive consumption or spiritual discontent. Although the prevalence of suffering is given as a prime reason to reject the existence of divine love, paradoxically, I suspect its dismissal has made suffering worse. The healing power of having suffering recognised and understood, even when its causes remain, is a phenomenon that anyone engaged in caring will know. To be with suffering, which is more than just to witness it, is to be vulnerable, which can in turn bring an awareness that love and connection are basic and immovable. This is why people attest to finding God in suffering, regardless of rational objections. That mystery is central to any sure – as opposed to merely asserted – conviction that there is divine love.

Love is the formidable helpmate of our attention. This was something on which the philosopher Simone Weil , who famously took upon herself the sufferings of others , insisted – refusing, for example, to consume more that the miserable rations allowed her compatriots in France, when she was confined to a hospital bed in London in 1943. ‘By loving the order of the world we imitate the divine love which created this universe of which we are a part,’ she wrote.

Put another way, love was considered a universal force and a matter for knowledge, integral to the warp and weft of reality, not just a beneficent feeling or costly duty, practised at a personal level in acts of compassion or charity. When someone received love or gave it, they aligned themselves with the fundamental vitality pulsing through them and everything else. Sun and moon, mountains and seas, plants and birds, beasts of water and land. Everything participated in a common movement of love that would eventually return them to their source and sustainer.

Human beings could intentionally attend to this dynamic and collaborate with it. But, if not, if love is demoted from this role it becomes, at best, a moral ideal or emotion, exapted from evolution and sustained by the brain. Metaphysical agnosticism has replaced ‘ontological rootedness’, to borrow from the philosopher Simon May. Little wonder people feel disorientated or worse. To misquote R D Laing: someone who describes love as an epiphenomenon might be a great scientist, but someone who lives as if love is so will need a good psychiatrist.

But might the older notion of love be returning, as Weil and others have hoped? Might we be moving past the Romantics, who strove to comfort modern minds disturbed by what William Wordsworth called the ‘still, sad music of humanity’ because we are coming to know once more of that ‘holier love’? Might love be not just all you need, but something precisely required to account for who we are and all that is?

P rovocative hints that challenge a reflexive discounting of the enchanted vision, and which might spur a shift by reorientating attention and re-opening avenues of perception, can be drawn from moral philosophy, trends in contemporary biology and by considering the nature of intelligence. Consider first the moral issue. It begins with the observation that uncoupling love from its divine telos, and redescribing it solely in terms of evolved behaviours and all-too-human desires, has had unintended consequences. In particular, the secular turn has inverted the dictum that God is love, and made love a god, encouraging a sentimentalisation of love – a sappy deity for an otherwise godless age. Worse, the reversal excites a demand that is impossible to meet, by tasking humans with offering the unconditional love that, until a couple of centuries ago, would have been taken as coming only from God.

When unconditional love was known as a divine emanation, to claim that capacity for oneself, or to ask it of another, was a form of madness or idolatry. But now everyone is supposed to deliver and receive it, and overlook that we mortals are flawed and floundering. For such reasons, the psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan proposed that, in a world without God, love is more honestly defined as a pact. ‘To love is, essentially, to wish to be loved,’ he said: in other words, I’ll give you what we can call love, if you offer me the same. The trouble is, such deals undermine and destroy love, as the philosopher and novelist Iris Murdoch realised. Compromise and trade-offs are part of life, yes, but love’s whole point is to draw us beyond the transactional and mediocre. Consider the nature of creativity, Murdoch writes in The Sovereignty of Good (1970): ‘The true artist is obedient to a conception of perfection to which his work is constantly related and re-related in what seems an external manner.’ Love is likewise not fired by injunctions such as ‘Improve a little’ but rather by the call ‘Be perfect!’

The transcendent end to which love leads needn’t be called God, Murdoch felt, though it must be recognised as superhuman and excellent. Following Plato, she called it the Good, ‘the magnetic centre towards which love naturally moves,’ which also reveals the nature of love’s energy. ‘Love is the tension between the imperfect soul and the magnetic perfection which is conceived of as lying beyond it,’ she continued. That ‘beyond’ is the key thought here, with its intuition that what is most longed for is independent of us. Love is active in the psyche that hopes to know more than is currently even conceivable. To foreclose that transformation not only thwarts love, it is dehumanising; since to be human is to yearn for contact with more.

This ‘sovereignty of good’ is impressive, given the way it appears to call us, make demands upon us, and not let us go. But is that the same as affirming love’s transcendent actuality? Some biologists, it seems, are developing a worldview that invites the possibility.

Instead of phrases like ‘the mating season’, Darwin prefers ‘the season of love’

The move is happening in two steps: a first that can be characterised as bottom-up; a second, top-down. The bottom-up element stems from the revised picture of the living world that has been emerging in recent years. This new thinking has left behind the reductive view of life, characterised by Richard Dawkins as driven by selfish genes , to appreciate that cooperative, holistic and interdependent creaturely processes operate at and between all levels of life, from proteins and genes to the organism as a whole – and beyond, including ecological interactions with the so-called external environment.

It’s a fractal picture, driven by the explanatory power derived from considering how wholes matter quite as much as parts. Patterns of interaction that are present at the micro-level are amplified and transformed at the macro-level, with that in turn affecting the granular. Homologous parallels can be detected across species, too. What manifests as attraction and cooperation in simpler organisms becomes altruism and empathy among the more complex, with love capping the pyramid. Building on the foundations laid by biologists like Lynn Margulis, who championed symbiosis in evolution, and developed in books such as Interdependence (2015) by the biologist Kriti Sharma, the new picture changes the status of love from epiphenomenon to an emergent quality, springing from antecedent forms discernible within all sorts of interactions and behaviour; if love in all its fullness is present only in creatures like us, capable of forming intentions and consciously acting sacrificially, then love’s forerunners run all the way down the chain of living entities.

This, incidentally, is akin to the opinion of Charles Darwin. In The Descent of Man (1871), he discusses the ‘love-antics’ of birds, alongside using functional terms such as ‘display’, and instead of phrases like ‘the mating season’, he prefers ‘the season of love’. But he proposes something else, too. While nascent forms of love might evolve alongside the practicalities of survival – caring for offspring, for example – others, such as meeting aggression with kindness or loving enemies, would need ‘the aid of reason, instruction, and the love or fear of God.’ Which brings us to the top-down revision within biology. It shares the vision of an interplay of life processes across levels. But where the bottom-up biologists detect empathy and its precursors in the behaviour of a range of animals, the top-down revisionists are sceptical that complex psychological capacities like empathy exist in any creatures except humans.

In From Extraterrestrials to Animal Minds: Six Myths of Evolution (2022), the evolutionary biologist Simon Conway Morris examines the evidence for empathy in creatures from crows to chimps, and finds the data wanting. The matter is subtle and often raises hackles, but the crucial point is that context matters. The environment in which animals live shapes how they behave, as it does with humans, but for nonhuman animals context radically determines what behaviour is possible in the first place. Empathy is a case in point, because being moved by the suffering of a stranger, for instance, is morally significant when it can happen regardless of context, which no other animal appears capable of. ‘It is far from clear that our nearest cousins are anywhere near a moral dimension,’ Conway Morris concludes.

His alternative proposal, in line with Darwin’s conclusion about what it takes to love enemies, is that humans can access and align with moral verities, by virtue of being aware of a transcendent dimension that has not emerged, but been discovered. The human capacity for emotional self-regulation, say, and the ability to have sympathy with radically diverse perspectives, means that we can be open to the revelation of moral features of reality, top-down. The implication is that, while there are certainly analogues to love in other parts of the animal kingdom, these do not form complete pathways for evolutionary development. Rather, our ancestors have readied us for the perception of a love that pre-exists us.

Needless to say, the top-down conclusion is controversial, given the overtone of human exceptionalism, to say nothing of the implication that the creatures we love may not equally love us back. But the enquiry can be nudged along by extending the matter of what we know and turning to the question of how we know anything at all. In this, what we attend to is crucial.

C onsider a delightful anecdote told to me by the astronomer Bernard Carr. A former colleague of Stephen Hawking, Carr joined him at the premiere of the film about Hawking’s life, The Theory of Everything (2014). Carr was paying attention and, as they watched, an irony dawned in his mind. ‘The film was primarily about Stephen’s personal relationship with Jane, his first wife,’ he explained, ‘even though personal relationships and emotions, indeed mind itself, will probably never be covered by any Theory of Everything.’ In short, the film gave the lie to the aspiration to derive a complete account of existence from physics alone, and the reason is obvious: love is real and routinely experienced by human minds; but scientifically speaking, love can be evidenced only indirectly, by measuring the after-effects it leaves in its often-turbulent wake.

That first-hand quality is a feature of many types of knowledge. You can learn a lot about swimming by reading about swimming, but you can never learn how to swim from books. Even knowledge that can be captured in words or equations has a participatory dimension, of which the words and equations are tokens. Humans don’t only calculate but also comprehend, which the philosopher Mary Midgley in Wisdom, Information and Wonder (1989) described as arising from ‘a loving union’. Her point is that knowledge is never merely information amassed, like a digital dataset, but involves an intentional engagement with whatever the information might be about, that latter element being the revelatory issue. Intelligence rests on a dialogue with the world; flow is the feeling of immersion in the exchange. And it is love that invites us in.

Love is an active ingredient of our intelligence in another way. Consider the welter of sense-perceptions that bombard us all day, every day. The cognitive psychologist John Vervaeke argues that we can make sense of the avalanche of what we see, hear, smell, taste and touch through what he calls ‘relevance realisation’; we do not sort through the data, as an AI might, but care for some things above others, and thereby spontaneously spot what matters through the maelstrom. With the exception of the occasional sociopath, people are drawn by what is good, beautiful or true; these qualities organise things for us, even when we are not entirely clear what the good, beautiful or true might be. The ‘transcendentals’, as they were traditionally known, therefore have an objective character, even leading us over current horizons of perception to discover new insights. Weil put it like this: ‘The beauty of the world is the order of the world that is loved.’

When a river enters a larger body of water, the words of Indigenous languages allude to love

Suffering is integral to a searching intelligence, too. Breakthroughs often occur after breakdowns because wisdom tends to arise not with the accumulation of knowledge, but when an old mindset or worldview gives way – a process that is typically troubling and traumatic. But in that transition we are met, which is why a discovery may be greeted with a delighted exclamation: Eureka! Our minds can knowingly resonate with a wider intelligence, in a way that’s seemingly unavailable to other creatures. The pattern of seeds on a sunflower’s head may manifest a Fibonacci sequence, but humans can spot the mathematical and almost musical regularity – and, driven by love, delight in it.

My suspicion is that noticing the felt experience of our connection with the natural world, the associated moments of beauty and revelation, and concluding that the resulting joy is given as a gift, is part of the reason that Indigenous ways of knowing are reviving. ‘Indigenous peoples live in relational worldviews,’ explains Melissa Nelson, a professor at Arizona State University, whose heritage includes Anishinaabe, Cree, Métis and Norwegian. Nelson refers to the notion of ‘original instructions’, which is the array of rituals, myths and patterns around which Indigenous ways of life are organised, together aimed at deepening communion between humans and the more-than-human. She tells me: ‘There is a nurturing quality to the universe that is for us like a natural law, a universal principle that we can tap into: this field of love that is the matrix of the universe.’ The significance for environmental and ecological concerns is obvious.

What’s particularly striking is that analogues of love are perceived in the interactions of the so-called inanimate world, too. For example, when a river enters a larger body of water, the word used in several Indigenous languages alludes to love, Nelson says. Alternatively, viewing the planets or stars can be experienced as a relationship: receiving a quality of light that simultaneously lights up the soul – an insight remembered in words like ‘influence’, which originally meant stellar inflow.

To my mind, there are implications, here, for re-envisioning the place of humans in the world: part of the distinctiveness of our task is to bring this richness to mind. That can make a difference insofar as it increases the attention afforded to love. ‘We live in dire poverty in many places,’ Nelson continues, referring to spiritual as well as material need. ‘But we have this profound understanding of love being a cosmic universal force, that comes to us from the natural world and from the universe as a whole. That really strengthens us in terms of our embodiment and survival, and to thrive and regenerate.’

This kind of awareness might be called a participatory consciousness, and it’s been part and parcel of Western ways of knowing, too. The reciprocity has tended to be discounted since the birth of modern science because of the way dispassionate objectivity is valued, a stance that has brought gains. But perhaps for not much longer. ‘We do not obtain the most precious gifts by going in search of them but by waiting for them,’ Weil observed, because gifts are given in love and spotted by the right quality of attention.

The ramifications of reincorporating something of the premodern view are far reaching. Existential loneliness can be tried, found wanting, and reframed: it’s not all in your head. Or there is the feeling of wonder and connectedness that comes with awareness of the extraordinary nature of reality. The experience is offered a rationale: our minds fit the intelligence that shapes the world. Maybe, too, a love recognised as drawing us can invite us to stop trying to turn our corner of the universe into a tortured, technological paradise, and instead consider how we might design ways of life that deepen our attention, better harmonise with the planet and our nonhuman fellows, and even raise awareness of its divine wellspring. We might want to attend to the best once more, and bear what it takes to commune with this abundance, because there is a cosmic love and we can move with its power, along with everything else that is.

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The Power of Love Erich Fromm’s The Art of Loving

By Andreas Matthias

In his book “The Art of Loving” (1956) the psychoanalyst and philosopher Erich Fromm (1900-1980) discusses how love is often wrongly perceived as the passive “falling in love.” For Fromm, love is mainly a decision to love, to become a loving person. Through examination of the concepts of father’s love, mother’s love, God’s love and erotic love, Fromm argues that we need to change the way we see love in order to reach happier and more fulfilling relationships with others.

This article is part of The Ultimate Guide to the Philosophy of Erich Fromm.

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Read more about Erich Fromm:

Erich Fromm (1900-1980) was a German social psychologist and philosopher who had enormous popular success from the 1950s all the way to the end of his life in 1980. We discuss his work and his relation to Marxism and Freud.

Is love an art?

Erich Fromm found his biggest popular success with a book about love. In “The Art of Loving,” he makes the case that love is often misunderstood as this romantic notion, often seen in movies, of people “falling in love,” of love being something that happens to us without us being able to resist or control the experience. Rather, Fromm says, love is an art . Like any other art, it is something that we have to learn to do: we have to learn and practice love just like we have to learn and practice drawing or playing the piano.

You can hear the echoes of Aristotle in this. For Aristotle, our whole life is an “art,” in the sense that we constantly have to practice and refine our virtues and our phronesis in order to achieve success and happiness.

Love and responsibility

So just like Aristotle would say that happiness is not just something that “happens,” Fromm would maintain that the same is true of love. If we see love as something that randomly happens to us, we lose the feeling of being responsible for our loves. We could then fall “out of love” as easily as we “fell in love”.

For Fromm, this is a total misunderstanding of what love is about, in the same way as saying that happiness is nothing but the enjoyment of pleasures is a misunderstanding of what happiness is really about.

For Fromm, love is a particular way of relating to others, and my ways of relating to others are in my control, at least potentially. In our (modern, Western) culture, Fromm says, we often think that love is outside of our control, and our languages seem to support this view. We talk of the arrows of Cupid, or love hitting us like…

Here I googled “love hit me like” and this is what Google gave back as suggestions: like a train, like a freight train, like a ten-pound hammer, like a hurricane. Violent metaphors: the lover is powerless, a victim, hit by forces far too powerful to even contemplate resisting.

Aristotle’s theory of happiness rests on three concepts: (1) the virtues; (2) phronesis or practical wisdom; and (3) eudaimonia or flourishing.

But this view also has an opposite side: when our love does not feel like a freight train hitting us, is it therefore less of a love? Do we need to have loves that are like hurricanes and ten-pound hammers, and are we wasting our time with the wrong person if love doesn’t hit us like a truck?

Fromm cautions against both views. Giving up the responsibility that we have for the success of our relationships to others is not a good idea, he says. Grown-up, psychologically well-adjusted persons are those who are in control of their relationships, who understand that human relations need effort and work and that they don’t “just happen”.

In fact, it’s a childish, infantile expectation to be given unconditional love for no good reason and without one’s own contribution. It is what happens to us when we are small and when we experience the love of our mothers: a love that is indeed unconditional and accepting, and for which we don’t need to do anything to deserve it.

But for Fromm, the psychologist, it is obvious that staying in that infantile stage regarding our emotions is wrong. As we grow up we realise that we do have to take responsibility for our relations to others – and that we have to earn our friendships and loves with our own behaviour towards those we befriend and love.

Father’s, mother’s and God’s love

According to Fromm, this is a process that begins with the father, whose love is not unconditional (like that of the mother) but dependent on good manners, good grades in school, helpfulness, intelligence and many other contingent properties of our character and behaviour. It is also, Fromm thinks, no accident that our Christian God is thought of as God the Father, rather than God the Mother.

As feminists have often pointed out, the Christian God is asexual and we should therefore be equally justified in seeing Him/Her as a mother as much as a father. But, Fromm says, there is indeed something specifically “fatherly” about God and that is the conditional character of God’s love. Like with any father’s love, we have to earn God’s love with our behaviour: by abstaining from sin, by obeying His commands, by having the right thoughts and motivations, by being good members of His church.

The Bible contains ample evidence for what we can expect to happen if we don’t prove to be good children to God the father: from being turned into a pillar of salt, or being drowned in a world-wide flood, to being burned alive as fire rains from the heavens, destroying whole cities. The wrathful God, the God of vengeance: this is a father figure, according to Fromm, and the reason that we perceive God as male. The motherly character of God, the unconditionally loving and forgiving, is more often associated with the Virgin Mary (The Art of Loving, Harper Perennial Classics Edition, 2000, pp.60-63)

The Happier Society. Erich Fromm and the Frankfurt School. In this book, philosophy professor, popular author and editor of the Daily Philosophy web magazine, Dr Andreas Matthias takes the reader on a tour, looking at how society influences our happiness. Following Erich Fromm, the Frankfurt School, Aldous Huxley and other thinkers, we go in search of wisdom and guidance on how we can live better, happier and more satisfying lives today. This is an edited and expanded version of the articles published on tis site. Get it now! Click here!

Love as conscious effort

Fromm writes:

[Erotic love] is often confused with the explosive experience of “falling” in love, the sudden collapse of the barriers which existed until that moment between two strangers. But, as was pointed out before, this experience of sudden intimacy is by its very nature short-lived. After the stranger has become an intimately known person there are no more barriers to be overcome, there is no more sudden closeness to be achieved. The “loved” person becomes as well known as oneself. (p.49)

But for Fromm, the will is crucial for true love:

To love somebody is not just a strong feeling – it is a decision, it is a judgement, it is a promise. If love were only a feeling, there would be no basis for the promise to love each other forever. A feeling comes and it may go (…) (p.52)

Perhaps surprisingly, therefore, Fromm sees more potential for true love in arranged marriages than in relationships that are based on the spontaneous feeling of “falling” in love. In contrast to “romantic” love, an arranged relationship already begins without the assumption that there needs to be something that hits one like a freight train – and therefore, the absence of such a feeling is not perceived as a deficit. Rather, the partners in an arranged relationship are fully conscious of the need to actively begin loving each other, since otherwise they will probably have to lead unhappy lives together. In this way, love becomes, from the very beginning, a clear-headed commitment, a judgement, a promise (as Fromm says in the quote above). And this is the reason why such marriages often end up being surprisingly successful.

Robert Sternberg thinks that we can best describe love as composed of three “primary” components that combine to produce all the kinds of love that we observe around us: intimacy, passion and decision or commitment.

Are arranged marriages happier?

Indeed, research seems to suggest that Fromm is right. An article by Applbaum (1995; references at the end of this post) describes arranged marriage in modern, metropolitan Japan. According to that article, 25-30 percent of all marriages in Japan are arranged marriages. In an arranged marriage, the social status of the partners is more similar than in love marriages. Also, the families have a much stronger involvement in the process of finding a suitable partner. (Applbaum, p.39)

Myers et al 2005 quotes research by Yelsma and Athappilly (1988), who studied marriage satisfaction of 28 Indian couples in arranged marriages, 25 Indian couples in “love” marriages (marriages of choice), and 31 American couples in companionate marriages (“companionate marriage” is a marriage where the partners agree to not have children and to divorce if both want to.)

They found that persons in arranged marriages had higher marital satisfaction scores than either the love-married persons in India or the companionate-married persons in the United States. Husbands and wives in arranged marriages were more satisfied with their marital relationships than were the husbands and wives in the U.S. sample.

“Thus, the present findings suggest that contrary to Western beliefs, it is possible that men and women in arranged marriages can be happy and satisfied.” (Myers, p.187)

Leza Kazemi Mohammadi (2019) quotes research by Pryor (2014), who highlighted how arranged marriages experienced a lower level of divorce. Allendorf and Ghimire (2013) found that arranged marriages are typically more stable than love marriages. And wives in love marriages experience a higher level of dissatisfaction in their relationships than that of their arranged marriage counterparts. (Ng, Loy, Gudmunson, and Cheong, 2009).

How to apply The Art of Loving to our own lives

To apply Fromm’s ideas, let’s look at our relationships from a different perspective. Many of us, particularly those who are of a more advanced age, will have made the experience that one cannot stay in the state of “falling in love” forever. There is a point in every relationship, after the initial excitement is gone, where one must consciously decide to have a relationship with that particular person and to work towards creating and deepening this relationship.

But we don’t always recognise that the conscious control we have over love extends not only to whom we love but also to whom we choose to resist. Falling inappropriately in love with one’s student, colleague or babysitter makes for interesting novels, but Fromm would not let this spontaneous lust serve as an excuse to endanger a long-term relationship.

And for the young, who have not yet found a suitable partner, Fromm’s view of love provides a better option than just waiting around for the freight train to hit. One must realise that our relationships, Fromm maintains, are the consequence of our choices and actions – and that therefore, instead of passively waiting for love to hit, one can go out and make the commitment to become a loving person. As with the modes of having and being , the switch from being the passive recipient of love (as we are initially as infants) to being the active giver of love is a fundamental change in the way we view life, a stage in a life-long process of growing up towards personal integrity, freedom and responsibility as adults who have the means to consciously work towards securing their happiness in life.

Book summary: Main themes in Erich Fromm’s The Art of Loving

Understanding the concept of love.

Love is a concept that has puzzled humanity for centuries. Fromm begins by challenging conventional notions of love, arguing that it is not simply a feeling or an emotion, but rather an art that requires knowledge, effort, and dedication. He believes that love is an active practice, an ongoing commitment to understanding and nurturing the relationships in our lives.

Fromm draws on psychological and philosophical perspectives to shed light on the multifaceted nature of love. He explores the various dimensions of love, including self-love, brotherly love, erotic love, and the connection between love and freedom. Through his analysis, Fromm demonstrates that love is not limited to romantic relationships but encompasses a broader spectrum of human connections.

The four elements of love according to Fromm

Fromm proposes four essential elements that form the foundation of love: care, responsibility, respect, and knowledge.

Care , he argues, is the fundamental attitude of love, as it involves actively nurturing and supporting the well-being of the other person.

Responsibility emphasizes the need to take ownership of our actions and choices in love, recognizing that love requires effort and commitment.

Respect plays a crucial role in Fromm’s concept of love, as it entails treating others as autonomous individuals, acknowledging their unique needs and desires. And finally,

Knowledge refers to the deep understanding and awareness of the other person, allowing us to connect on a profound level. Fromm’s four elements of love provide a comprehensive framework for cultivating and sustaining meaningful relationships.

The role of self-love in the art of loving

Fromm emphasizes the importance of self-love as a prerequisite for healthy relationships. He argues that unless we love ourselves, we cannot fully love others. Self-love involves accepting and appreciating ourselves, embracing both our strengths and weaknesses. It requires self-awareness and the willingness to prioritize our own well-being.

Fromm cautions against narcissism, highlighting the distinction between healthy self-love and selfishness. He encourages us to cultivate a deep sense of self-worth and compassion, recognizing that we are deserving of love and capable of giving it to others. By developing a strong foundation of self-love, we can approach relationships from a place of wholeness and contribute to their growth and fulfillment.

Fromm’s perspective on the challenges of modern love

Fromm aptly addresses the challenges that modern society poses to the art of loving. He argues that the commodification of love, fueled by consumerism and superficiality, has distorted our understanding of authentic connections.

In a world driven by instant gratification and shallow relationships, Fromm urges us to resist the allure of superficial love and strive for deeper, more meaningful connections.

Moreover, he explores the impact of societal structures and cultural norms on our ability to love. Fromm contends that capitalism, for instance, perpetuates a sense of isolation and competition, hindering our capacity for genuine love. By shedding light on these societal challenges, Fromm invites us to question and transcend the limiting beliefs that hinder our ability to love authentically.

Practical tips for cultivating love in everyday life

Fromm recognizes that love is not merely an abstract concept but a daily practice. He offers practical tips and suggestions for cultivating love in our everyday lives. These include fostering open communication, practicing empathy and active listening, and prioritizing quality time with our loved ones.

Fromm also emphasizes the importance of self-reflection and personal growth in the art of loving. By continuously examining our own beliefs and behaviors, we can identify areas for improvement and work towards becoming more loving individuals. Fromm’s practical guidance serves as a roadmap for nurturing love in all its forms.

Critiques and controversies surrounding “The Art of Loving”

As with any influential work, “The Art of Loving” has not been without its share of critiques and controversies. Some argue that Fromm’s emphasis on self-love neglects the importance of sacrifice and compromise in relationships.

Others question the universal applicability of Fromm’s concepts, suggesting that cultural and contextual factors may shape our understanding and experience of love.

Still, Fromm’s teachings have resonated with readers worldwide, influencing popular culture and societal attitudes towards love. His emphasis on authentic connections and the transformative power of love has served as a catalyst for personal growth and introspection, empowering individuals to cultivate more meaningful relationships.

Return to The Ultimate Guide to the Philosophy of Erich Fromm.

Here are the papers mentioned in the text. They are all freely available through Google Scholar on the Internet:

Applbaum, K. D. (1995). Marriage with the proper stranger: Arranged marriage in metropolitan Japan. Ethnology, 34(1), 37-51.

Leza Kazemi Mohammadi (2019). The Levels Of Satisfaction Between Love And Arranged Marriages: A Comparative Study. Dissertation. Texas Women’s University. Available online.

Madathil, J., & Benshoff, J. M. (2008). Importance of marital characteristics and marital satisfaction: A comparison of Asian Indians in arranged marriages and Americans in marriages of choice. The Family Journal, 16(3), 222-230.

Myers, J. E., Madathil, J., & Tingle, L. R. (2005). Marriage satisfaction and wellness in India and the United States: A preliminary comparison of arranged marriages and marriages of choice. Journal of Counseling & Development, 83(2), 183-190.

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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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• 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

character, moral | emotion | friendship | impartiality | obligations: special | personal identity | Plato: ethics | Plato: rhetoric and poetry | respect | value: intrinsic vs. extrinsic

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Power of Love and Relationships, Essay Example

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Attractions, types, and components of love such as companionate, passionate, compassionate, intimacy and commitments are daily occurrences in people’s social lives. Although most, if not all of these concepts are used interchangeably, their effects have created intriguing fields to research on as far as social psychology is concerned. It is through these concepts that bonds, families, communities and societies are built. Feenstra (2011, 179) explains that people have gone as far as using technology such as the internet in finding love so as to fulfill the part of the human life filled by these concepts. It is the need to belong that makes people develop attractions and love for other individuals.

There are six main factors of attraction. These include similarity, familiarity, propinquity, physical attractiveness, reciprocity, and complementarity. Familiarity involves the knowledge of somebody or the close acquaintance of the same. This means that people are more likely to be attracted to someone they are familiar with more than they will be attracted to a stranger. In other words, one can be attracted to a former classmate at a reunion, more than they will be attracted at a person they met in a park. Propinquity is also referred to as proximity. This means that we are likely to get attracted to people whom we have constant interaction with. This is different from familiarity because propinquity involves a repetition of activities, which are the constant interactions. Essentially, most people have a higher likelihood of getting attracted to their workmates, neighbors, classmates, amongst other people they interact with constantly.

Physical attractiveness engages the attraction that results from ones looks. Hewston, Stroebe, and Jonas (2011) explain that more than fifty percent of the attractions occurred due to physical attractiveness. Additionally, men have higher chances of getting into relationships due to physical attractions as compared to women. Similarity entails someone getting attracted to another because of their “look-a-like” with the other party. One is more likely to befriend one from his/her own culture and background as opposed to one from another culture or different background. The similarities between the two parties give both parties a sense of belonging and thus the attraction.

Reciprocity is the term used when ones actions are reciprocated by the other party. In this case, people will like those who reciprocate their liking. For example, if one make a call enquiring of the other party’s well-being and then the other party calls back to enquire of the same at a different time, these two are most likely to get attracted to each other as opposed to one whose call is not reciprocated. Complementarity entails attractions that arise from liking what someone does not have. People tend to get attracted to those who complement them. For example, an up-tight man is likely to get married to someone with some element humor.

People have an innate need to belong. This is because they want stable and strong relationships to depend or turn to when they in order to avoid that feeling of loneliness or want. Therefore, people create bonds. Whether family bonds or other bonds, people associate this feeling of belonging to their emotions. People want to belong to a place, a family, a social class, a group, amongst other things. A sense of belonging is connected to attachments. When one belongs to a certain family, place or group that he/she becomes attached to it. Attachments and emotions are inseparable and thus a sense of belonging is inseparable with emotions (Gilovich, Keltner & Nisbett, 2006). Therefore, rich people can easily be attracted to each other. Because of these attachments and creation of emotions, the fear of deprivation leads people to act in various ways in an attempt to avoid deprivation. Family members go to considerable lengths to make each other happy for fear of getting deprived the family love.

Companionate love is characterized by trust, comfort, shared experiences, and deep caring for another individual. Commitment is another characteristic in companionate love. It tends to increase with time. Such love is found in deep friendships and marriages. Passionate love is characterized by physical attraction, emotional arousal, and intense desire. This form of love is found in the early stages of a romantic relationship. It decreases with time. The compassionate love is characterized by care giving and self-giving. In this form of love, one tends to achieve the requirements of the other person without necessarily getting concerned the reciprocal of his/her actions. This love is experienced by parent and child or friendships that have been there for a long time (Feenstra, 2011).

According to Sternberg’s Triangular theory, romantic love is characterized by passion and intimacy. Intimacy is defined as ones feelings of bonds and closeness to another individual while passion is defined as expressions of needs and desires or physically being drawn to another individual. Empty love is characterized by commitment alone. Commitment is either long-term or short-term. In the short-term commitment, one decides to love another individual for a given period while in the long-term commitment; one decides to stay with another individual for a long time. Infatuation is characterized by passion alone.

Through the sense of belonging, people are able to develop attractions and love, be it companionate, passionate, or compassionate love. People can also be attracted to other individuals due to similarity, familiarity, reciprocity, physical attractiveness, complementarity, and proximity. In whatever circumstances, the failure or success of these relationships is dependent on how the individuals treat them. One should know when to be passionate, they should let the companionate grow, and one should know when to commit. The compassionate love, which is found in family relationships and friendships, should also be taken care.

Feenstra, J. (2011). Introduction to Social Psychology . San Diego, CA: Bridgepoint Education, Inc.

Gilovich, T., Keltner, D., & Nisbett, R. E. (2006). Social psychology . New York, W.W. Norton.

Hewstone, M. Stroebe, W. & Jonas, K. (2011). New York, NY: John Wiley & Sons

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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 !

Essay on Love for Students and Children

500+ words essay on love.

Love is the most significant thing in human’s life. Each science and every single literature masterwork will tell you about it. Humans are also social animals. We lived for centuries with this way of life, we were depended on one another to tell us how our clothes fit us, how our body is whether healthy or emaciated. All these we get the honest opinions of those who love us, those who care for us and makes our happiness paramount.

What is Love?

Love is a set of emotions, behaviors, and beliefs with strong feelings of affection. So, for example, a person might say he or she loves his or her dog, loves freedom, or loves God. The concept of love may become an unimaginable thing and also it may happen to each person in a particular way.

Love has a variety of feelings, emotions, and attitude. For someone love is more than just being interested physically in another one, rather it is an emotional attachment. We can say love is more of a feeling that a person feels for another person. Therefore, the basic meaning of love is to feel more than liking towards someone.

Get the huge list of more than 500 Essay Topics and Ideas

Need of Love

We know that the desire to love and care for others is a hard-wired and deep-hearted because the fulfillment of this wish increases the happiness level. Expressing love for others benefits not just the recipient of affection, but also the person who delivers it. The need to be loved can be considered as one of our most basic and fundamental needs.

One of the forms that this need can take is contact comfort. It is the desire to be held and touched. So there are many experiments showing that babies who are not having contact comfort, especially during the first six months, grow up to be psychologically damaged.

Significance of Love

Love is as critical for the mind and body of a human being as oxygen. Therefore, the more connected you are, the healthier you will be physically as well as emotionally. It is also true that the less love you have, the level of depression will be more in your life. So, we can say that love is probably the best antidepressant.

It is also a fact that the most depressed people don’t love themselves and they do not feel loved by others. They also become self-focused and hence making themselves less attractive to others.

Society and Love

It is a scientific fact that society functions better when there is a certain sense of community. Compassion and love are the glue for society. Hence without it, there is no feeling of togetherness for further evolution and progress. Love , compassion, trust and caring we can say that these are the building blocks of relationships and society.

Relationship and Love

A relationship is comprised of many things such as friendship , sexual attraction , intellectual compatibility, and finally love. Love is the binding element that keeps a relationship strong and solid. But how do you know if you are in love in true sense? Here are some symptoms that the emotion you are feeling is healthy, life-enhancing love.

Love is the Greatest Wealth in Life

Love is the greatest wealth in life because we buy things we love for our happiness. For example, we build our dream house and purchase a favorite car to attract love. Being loved in a remote environment is a better experience than been hated even in the most advanced environment.

Love or Money

Love should be given more importance than money as love is always everlasting. Money is important to live, but having a true companion you can always trust should come before that. If you love each other, you will both work hard to help each other live an amazing life together.

Love has been a vital reason we do most things in our life. Before we could know ourselves, we got showered by it from our close relatives like mothers , fathers , siblings, etc. Thus love is a unique gift for shaping us and our life. Therefore, we can say that love is a basic need of life. It plays a vital role in our life, society, and relation. It gives us energy and motivation in a difficult time. Finally, we can say that it is greater than any other thing in life.

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For centuries, people have tried to understand the behaviors and beliefs associated with falling in love. What explains the wide range of emotions people experience? How have notions of romance evolved over time? As digital media becomes a permanent fixture in people’s lives, how have these technologies changed how people meet?

Examining some of these questions are Stanford scholars.

From the historians who traced today’s ideas of romance to ancient Greek philosophy and Arab lyric poetry, to the social scientists who have examined the consequences of finding love through an algorithm, to the scientists who study the love hormone oxytocin, here is what their research reveals about matters of the heart.

The evolution of romance

How romantic love is understood today has several historical origins, says Robert Pogue Harrison , the Rosina Pierotti Professor in Italian Literature and a scholar of romance studies.

For example, the idea of finding one’s other half dates back to ancient Greek mythology, Harrison said. According to Aristophanes in Plato’s Symposium , humans were once complete, “sphere-like creatures” until the Greek gods cut them in half. Ever since, individuals have sought after their other half.

Here are some of those origin stories, as well as other historical perspectives on love and romance, including what courtship looked like in medieval Germany and in Victorian England, where humor and innuendo broke through the politics of the times.

Stanford scholar examines origins of romance

Professor of Italian literature Robert Pogue Harrison talks about the foundations of romantic love and chivalry in Western civilization.

Medieval songs reflect humor in amorous courtships

Through a new translation of medieval songs, Stanford German studies Professor Kathryn Starkey reveals an unconventional take on romance.  

The aesthetics of sexuality in Victorian novels

In Queen Victoria’s England, novelists lodged erotic innuendo in descriptive passages for characters to express sexual desire.

Getting to the ‘heart’ of the matter

Stanford Professor Haiyan Lee chronicles the Chinese “love revolution” through a study of cultural changes influenced by Western ideals.

Love in the digital age

Where do people find love today? According to recent research by sociologist Michael Rosenfeld , meeting online is now the most popular way to meet a partner. 

“The rise of the smartphone took internet dating off the desktop and put it in everyone’s pocket, all the time,” said Rosenfeld. He found that 39 percent of heterosexual couples met their significant other online, compared to 22 percent in 2009. 

As people increasingly find connections online, their digital interactions can provide insight into people’s preferences in a partner. 

For example, Neil Malhotra , the Edith M. Cornell Professor of Political Economy, analyzed thousands of interactions from an online dating website and found that people seek partners from their own political party and with similar political interests and ideologies. Here is some of that research. 

Online dating is the most popular way couples meet

Matchmaking is now done primarily by algorithms, according to new research from Stanford sociologist Michael Rosenfeld. His new study shows that most heterosexual couples today meet online.

Cupid’s code: Tweaking an algorithm can alter the course of finding love online

A few strategic changes to dating apps could lead to more and better matches, finds Stanford GSB’s Daniela Saban.

Political polarization even extends to romance

New research reveals that political affiliation rivals education level as one of the most important factors in identifying a potential mate.

Turns out that opposites don’t attract after all

A study of “digital footprints” suggests that you’re probably drawn to personalities a lot like yours.

Stanford scholars examine the lies people tell on mobile dating apps

Lies to appear more interesting and dateable are the most common deception among mobile dating app users, a new Stanford study finds.

The science of love

It turns out there might be some scientific proof to the claim that love is blind. According to one Stanford study , love can mask feelings of pain in a similar way to painkillers. Research by scientist Sean Mackey found intense love stimulates the same area of the brain that drugs target to reduce pain. 

“When people are in this passionate, all-consuming phase of love, there are significant alterations in their mood that are impacting their experience of pain,” said Mackey , chief of the Division of Pain Medicine. “We’re beginning to tease apart some of these reward systems in the brain and how they influence pain. These are very deep, old systems in our brain that involve dopamine – a primary neurotransmitter that influences mood, reward and motivation.”  

While love can dull some experiences, it can also heighten other feelings such as sociability. Another Stanford study found that oxytocin, also known as the love hormone because of its association with nurturing behavior, can also make people more sociable. Here is some of that research. 

Looking for love in all the wrong hormones

A study involving prairie vole families challenges previous assumptions about the role of oxytocin in prosocial behavior.

Give your sweetheart mushrooms this Valentine’s Day, says Stanford scientist

A romantic evening of chocolate and wine would not be possible without an assist from fungi, says Stanford biology professor Kabir Peay. In fact, truffles might be the ultimate romantic gift, as they exude pheromones that can attract female mammals.

Love takes up where pain leaves off, brain study shows

Love-induced pain relief was associated with the activation of primitive brain structures that control rewarding experiences.

Come together: How social support aids physical health

A growing body of research suggests that healthy relationships with spouses, peers and friends are vital for not just mental but also physical health.

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Exploring The Essence of Love: What is Love

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The nature of love, the forms of love, the power of love, challenges and complexity.

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The Holocaust in Nazi Germany was, in its most basic roots, the mass murder of millions of the Jewish population within Germany, and all countries conquered by Germany for the duration of World War Two. While the main figures [...]

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Essay on Love

Essay generator.

Love, an emotion as old as humanity itself, has been a central theme in literature, philosophy, and psychology. It’s a complex and multifaceted feeling, often difficult to articulate. This essay aims to explore the concept of love, its various forms, implications, and expressions, providing a comprehensive understanding for students participating in essay writing competitions.

At its core, love is a profound and intense feeling of deep affection. It’s more than a mere emotion; it’s a force that has the power to transform lives. The ancient Greeks categorized love into several types, including ‘Eros’ (romantic love), ‘Philia’ (friendship), ‘Storge’ (family love), and ‘Agape’ (unconditional love). Each type signifies a different aspect of love, contributing to its complex nature.

The Psychological Perspective

Love, from a psychological standpoint, is a complex interplay of emotions, behaviors, and thoughts. Understanding love through the lens of psychology provides insights into why and how we form deep emotional bonds. Here are key psychological perspectives on love:

Attachment Theory

• Secure Attachment : Individuals with secure attachment styles often have healthy, trusting, and long-lasting relationships. They are comfortable with intimacy and independence.
• Anxious-Preoccupied Attachment : These individuals often feel insecure in their relationships and may exhibit clinginess and a deep fear of abandonment.
• Dismissive-Avoidant Attachment : People with this style tend to maintain emotional distance in relationships, prioritizing independence and self-sufficiency over intimacy.
• Fearful-Avoidant Attachment : This style is characterized by a desire for close relationships but a fear of getting hurt, leading to a complex push-and-pull behavior in love.

The Triangular Theory of Love

Developed by psychologist Robert Sternberg, this theory suggests that love comprises three components:

• Intimacy : Involving feelings of closeness, connectedness, and bondedness.
• Passion : Involves physical attraction and sexual consummation.
• Commitment : The decision to remain with another and plans made with that person.

Different combinations of these elements form various types of love, such as romantic love (intimacy + passion), companionate love (intimacy + commitment), and consummate love (intimacy + passion + commitment).

The Biochemical Perspective

• Neurotransmitters and Hormones : Love triggers a release of neurotransmitters and hormones like dopamine (associated with pleasure and reward), oxytocin (bonding and attachment), and serotonin (mood regulation).
• The Brain in Love : Brain imaging studies show that being in love activates the brain’s reward system, particularly areas associated with motivation, reward, and addiction, explaining the intense focus on the loved one.

The Evolutionary Perspective

• Reproductive Success : From an evolutionary perspective, love can be seen as a mechanism to promote mating, reproduction, and the nurturing of offspring.
• Survival of the Offspring : The emotional bond between partners and with their children ensures the survival and protection of the offspring, a key aspect of evolutionary success.

Psychological Impact of Love

• Mental Health Benefits : Love can have numerous benefits for mental health, including reduced stress and anxiety, and increased happiness and life satisfaction.
• Love and Growth : Psychologically, love can foster personal growth, self-discovery, and the development of a more integrated sense of self.

Love in Literature and Art

• A Universal Theme : Love has been a predominant theme in literature and art throughout history, portrayed in countless ways, from Shakespeare’s romantic plays to contemporary love songs.
• Symbolism and Metaphors : Artists and writers use various symbols and metaphors to depict love, making it a rich subject for interpretation and analysis.

Love’s Social and Cultural Aspects

• Cultural Variations : The expression and understanding of love vary significantly across different cultures, influenced by social norms and traditions.
• Changing Dynamics : The concept of love has evolved over time, reflecting changes in societal attitudes towards relationships, marriage, and gender roles.

Personal Reflection and Application

• Self-Love and Growth : Understanding love begins with self-love. It’s about respecting and accepting oneself, which is fundamental for healthy relationships.
• Love as a Source of Inspiration : Love often drives creativity and motivation, inspiring individuals to achieve their goals and overcome challenges.

Love, in its essence, is a powerful and transformative emotion. It’s a universal experience, yet deeply personal. For students engaging in essay writing, delving into the topic of love offers an opportunity to explore a range of emotions, cultural perspectives, and philosophical questions. Whether it’s romantic love, familial love, or self-love, each form enriches our understanding of what it means to have deep, emotional connections. Love, indeed, is the cornerstone of human experience, influencing our actions, thoughts, and the very fabric of society.

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