So, after considering two thousand years of history, and after surveying debates about the amorous needs of the sovereign self, we arrive at two quite different conceptions of love. On the one hand, there is love between sovereign selves, the popular conception of love that is mediated by desirous gaze. Lovers, seeing each other from afar, discern beautiful qualities, and then they come together in order to experience existential completion as the beauty of their beloveds compensates for the lacks and deficiencies that they see in themselves.
On the other hand, I propose that love is a corporeal entanglement through which “metastable” lovers become persons —personhood, in this account, being a continuously developing, never resolved state. Lovers are never wholly relieved of the tensions that prevail from their first moments of life.lxxvii Their negotiated intertwinements persist throughout life. And so, it has to be for persons who are processes rather than substances, and who are verbs rather than nouns—as Ulysses S. Grant confessed on his deathbed, when he said, “I think I am a verb.”
At every stage in their development as persons, lovers deserve care and respect. Even after their life-courses are apparently completed, they deserve care because loving entanglements never end. They are endlessly ramifying, never completely discernible intertwinements that are not terminated, even in death.lxxviii Lovers, I argue, develop into persons by engaging each other. They nudge, tug, and wrestle. With various tactics of demand, appeasement, conflict, and reconciliation, lovers accommodate their needs with the needs of their beloveds.
Breastfeeding models such engagement.
Entangled lovers, I contend, are gifts to each other. True, they tug and wrestle, but their wrestling is itself a component of their giftedness. Sometimes their gifts to each other are tied up in ribbons of exasperation, but they are gifts, nonetheless. And the exasperation itself is instrumental in advancing the development of both the giver and gifted.
The thing about gifts, though, is that the giving and the gifter can sometimes be hidden from view. A gift can be grabbed, embraced, and coveted as if it were a thing unto itself. Such a coveted gift can seem like self-standing object. But its self-standing-ness is just an appearance; it is an illusion that hides the relational saturation of the gift that anthropologists since Marcel Mauss have long recognized.lxxix The giver and the giving are brought together in the gift, suggesting that the gift, like the loving person, is a process rather than an object, and a verb rather than a noun.
Up to this point I have portrayed human love as a saturated experience, one that is infused with entanglements and intertwinements that bring lovers/persons into their unsteady existence. However, there is no good reason for maintaining an exclusively human characterization of love.
I think, for example, of fungi and trees. Their entanglement is no less loving than the entanglement of woman and infant at the breast. Both involve negotiated endeavors focused on the task of supplying nutrients to the self and the other.
If we find ourselves wincing at the thought of “trees in love,”.lxxx it may be because our Western history has steered us away from what lineage-centered people have known without knowing, namely, that life is all about intertwinement, entanglement, and connection; and that true love is to be found nowhere else but in negotiated connections.
Breastfeeding models love, so too do “trees in love.” So, we have come full circle to the conclusion that lovers love each other as parents love their children, as babies love nursing women, and as trees love fungi. Entanglement is love, and love is entanglement. True love is the experience of attunement to the subtle resonances that prevail in and around metastatic processes. This attunement may include romantic feelings and passionate yearnings, but its primary feature is intertwinement.
We are not banishing eros but rather upgrading it. When people kiss on the mouth, like the lovers in Song of Songs, they do indeed become bewitched, bedazzled, starry-eyed, with “fever in the morning, and fever all through the night.” But much more importantly, “they become what they love.”lxxxi
“They become “embedded in, partially defined by, and sharing a common fate with larger natural and social contexts.”lxxxii Lovers become one, but they retain their distinctiveness. They become one in the sense that a violin and its bow form one instrument. They are functionally complementary, each requiring the other for its completion. They vibrate with one another. lxxxiii
Lovers “encounter and experience the world other than through a solitary consciousness.”lxxxiv They experience “connection with difference rather than union into sameness.”lxxxv This experience of loving connection is arguably analogous to God’s own experience, that is, the perichoresis of the Trinity which models for us the sublunary dances of our entanglements.lxxxvi The three persons of the Trinity are entangled and intertwined; they resonate with each other.
Perhaps now we can appreciate the Biblical observation that “God is love.” It is a metaphor for the persistently resonant cosmos. “God” is our name for ubiquitous and unending relationality. And, by the same token, we can now interpret Matthew (22:37): “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.” This new commandment means that we should become engaged in prickly negotiations—like infants at the breast—with everyone and everything that bears down on us.
Just as Jacob engaged that divine being in Genesis, so we are enjoined to wrestle with others throughout our lives. We develop in response to the half-nelsons we put on others and the arm-locks they put on us. Such is the nature of entangled love.
William Washabaugh, Professor Emeritus of Anthropology
The University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee
<https://sites.uwm.edu/wash>.
