Love as Magic vs. Love as the Center of Life | Roger Thomas | IPNovels.com
It doesn’t take much perception to see that in modern culture, romantic love is considered magic. Not merely “magical”, in the sense of a pleasant poetic attribute of a relationship, but actual magic, in the full sense that any true magician ever used the term. This is never articulated in any structured alchemical framework, but the assumption is there, woven into the romance novels and movies and songs: romantic love is an external force that acts upon parties, affecting them in ways over which they have no control. The phraseology used to describe parties under the influence of romantic love is nearly identical to that once used to describe people affected by spells. People are “smitten”, “entranced”, “overcome”, and “besotted”. This force is seen as irresistible, as something “bigger than both of us”. And, just like a spell or enchantment, this force is considered to have the ability to change people.
Raised as I was in our culture, I once bought into a lot of this, uncritically accepting this outlook because it was the only one presented to me. The stories I read and watched, and the poetry I listened to (mostly set to music), all reinforced the unexamined assumption that the mystical emotional force known as romantic love had the power to imbue existence with meaning and purpose, fulfill life, and actually change people.
The older I’ve grown and the more I’ve seen of life, the more I’ve seen that this outlook is shallow and detached from a realistic comprehension of human nature. But of all the magical powers attributed to romantic love, I’m coming to think that the most dangerous and deceptive is the idea that it will, of its own right, change a person. I’m not denying that romantic emotions like tenderness and affection can be catalysts for change. They can encourage and direct choices, and make it easier for a human will to make necessary changes to accommodate the beloved. But ultimately the decision to change, and the moral effort to effect that change, must rise from the will. No emotional tempest, no matter which direction it pushes us, can override our wills.
It seems to me that the false idea that romantic love can change people is the source of much disillusionment and bitterness. If I’m walking around thinking that I don’t have to put any effort into a relationship because, hey, love will keep us together, then I’m going to resent any suggestion that I should work to change myself for the sake of my beloved. Or if I try to change, under the impression that it’s really not all that difficult, I’m going to be disappointed and frustrated when the emotional wind dies (as it always does), leaving the sails of my will empty and forcing me to row the rest of the way. If things are going well at work and my wife is pleasant and the baby is being cute and happy, it’s easy to turn down the invitation to a night of cards with the guys to stay home. But if there are rumors of layoffs and the baby is teething and my wife is cranky and exhausted, doing the loving thing is going to take an effort of raw will. I will have to choose the proper action, unassisted by and possibly in opposition to how I’m feeling.
It would seem that this simple reality would be so obvious as to be undeniable, but again, the stories we tell ourselves have a powerful ability to shape how we interpret our experiences. Valentine’s Day is approaching, when what was once the feast of a Christian saint has been coopted to do homage to the illusory magic of romantic love. We will again fill our minds with stories of how hardened corporate magnates (or flighty playboys, or professional street gamblers, or whomever), some with a history of perverse and manipulative relationships, are magically transformed into faithful and responsible monogamists by the sheer power of romantic love. When this is the litany which is recited nonstop, how does one deal with the bitter reality that romance, of itself, changes nobody?
One way of dealing with it is to tell ourselves better stories.
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