Love Isn't Everything

A friend of mine writes erotica (or, as I prefer to say, "high-quality smut") and is currently working on a novel about a woman who joins a sex-positive new religion. As Rikki is not that familiar about such matters as ecclesiology and theology, I'm serving as her consultant on such matters. I drafted an outline for the "Free Spirit Connection," listing four "core values" for the group: love, truth, peace, bliss.

"Why four?" she asked. "Why not just say it's all about love, like the John Lennon song?" It’s likely that Rikki was asking rhetorically, fishing for ideas to incorporate in her work, but the answer is important in itself.

Very simply, love may be a universal value, and the emotional starting point to an ethical life … but it's not enough. Love devoid of other values is empty sentimentalism.

When Rikki heard this, she then continued to question (as an advocatus diaboli, perhaps?) why the other values I listed were not merely extensions of love itself. And my two-fold answer: I've not only seen people who loved without embracing these other values, but I've seen people embrace the others even when love was not present.

I've known people who sincerely loved, yet who were dishonest with themselves and others, even deliberately misleading people and ignoring facts. And I've also known people who were scrupulously honest, committed to accuracy and clarity, regardless of whether they had affection or compassion for those with whom they interacted.

I've observed people who, as much as they loved, still found themselves drowning in conflict, unable to resolve it, either because they ignored the reality of the conflict, or because they persisted in trying to intimidate and coerce others into subordination. And I've also noticed people who are exemplars at conflict resolution, as well as preventing unnecessary conflict, even with those whom they disliked.

I've been aware of people who would actually deprive their loved ones of joy and pleasure, or even inflict suffering, ostensibly "for their own good." And I've been equally aware of people dedicated to helping others to be happy, or at least not getting in their way, even for dispassionate utilitarian reasons.

And yes, I would include under the rubric of bliss the pleasures of erotic fulfillment. Too often traditional moralists have demanded that a high standard of romantic love precede any enjoyment of sex, even leading to a confusion of the two. We stigmatize sex workers for entering into provisional covenants with paying clients, no matter how honest or consensual or delightful they may be, simply because they involve sex without love, yet we don't demand love from the barista down the street or the online merchant who takes our order over the phone.

We could debate the configuration of these values – whether dedication to truth, peace and bliss proceeds from love, or whether each is a corner of a "quadrilateral of virtue" – but the fact remains that the mere evocation of love is not enough to create the life and world we desire. If I had to choose, I'd prefer those dispassionately dedicated to truth, peace and happiness, than to those who say they love me and nothing more. It's not just simple arithmetic that three-fourths is better than one-fourths. It is that living decently makes a better world than professing sentiment.

The Love I Grew Up With

We use the word "love" a great deal in UU circles. Standing on the side of love. Loving the Hell out of the world. Love being greater than fear. Love, love, love.

And I've begun to wonder just what kind of love it is that so many UUs are touting here.

The love I grew up with was demanding, calling on us to do our best, to rise to our potential. It didn't demean by labeling the other person "worthless" or "stupid," but it did challenge by expecting better.

The love I grew up with was responsive, listening and adapting to needs. It started by setting boundaries, then allowing those boundaries to be tested and stretched, and options to be made available. When my brother and I asked a question, for example, my parents didn't just give us the answer, or dismissively bark at us to "go look it up"; they’d walk us over to the bookshelf and say: "Let's find out."

The love I grew up with was trustworthy. When my parents said something was so, you could rely upon it. When they said: "You'll get desert when you finish dinner," or: "We're leaving the house at six to see that movie that just opened," that's exactly what happened. Likewise, if we made promises or commitments, we were expected to keep them.

The love I grew up with was also a love of language. I was raised to believe that words have meaning, just as people have value. Language was important for conveying feelings, exchanging ideas, or asking for help. If we said something that was vague or incomplete, we were asked to make it more clear and precise. Yet we also learned to appreciate the dance of prose and poetry, and the sideways logic of a good joke.

The love I grew up with said: "Don't put anyone down just because they’re different." And my parents meant anyone. If you shouldn't put down someone for having another shade of skin color, you don't put another person down just for being white. A person's attraction to one or the other gender, or none at all, has nothing to do with their ability to be a good friend, do a good job, or hold public office. When I learned in college about how racism, sexism and other oppressive "isms" permeate our society and culture, my mother responded by saying: "Yes, but cultures change as people change, and your task is to ask yourself what kind of society you want to live in, and set the example."

The love I grew up with was many things – and not many things. It was not sentimental. It was not overly indulgent. It was not about surface politeness.

The love I grew up with led me to see in the principles and values of Unitarian Universalist how my parents wanted me to live. And yet, when I see other UUs use the word "love," I sometimes wonder …