This essay has been floating around for a while now. It's a variation on something I posted to my now defunct Match.com profile seven years ago, which caught the attention of a certain Cecily Pollard. We've been together ever since, and were married last July. - Tom Guzzio
So what is love? Science is on the verge of answering this question with chemical certainty. Dr. Helen Fisher of Rutgers University has found that each stage of love – lust, romance, and long-term attachment – produces its own distinct neuro-chemical reaction. Dr. Jim Pfaus, a researcher at Concordia University in Montreal, has found that particularly lustful sex has the same effect on the body as heroin. Indeed, many suspect that it’s only a matter of time before we see advertisements for drugs designed to ease love’s hangover (can’t you just hear it: “…side effects include nausea, diarrhea, and – in rare cases – extreme sexual dysfunction.”).
We are currently caught in a cyclone with the answers to ageless questions swirling around us, waiting to be plucked from the air. Still, there’s something mysterious in a chemical spark. We know the synthesis happens but we don’t know why, and scientists who ponder this question are no different than theologians who ponder the mysteries of God. If love is indeed another potentially quantifiable “element,” I don’t think we will ever fully explain or understand it. But, it is worthy of its own periodic table.
And just like those other essential elements that help move the universe, love can feed life or bring cancer, depending on the reagents involved. This seems to occur throughout the natural world. As Annie Dillard explains, “The mating rites of mantises are well known: a chemical produced in the head of the male insect says, in effect, ‘No, don’t go near her you fool, she’ll eat you alive.’ At the same time a chemical in his abdomen says, ‘Yes, by all means, now and forever yes.’” This dilemma is easily resolved for the male mantis: the female simply bites his head off as the rest of his body fumbles along, fulfilling what instinct – and maybe what love – demands, the suicidal “yes” winning out.
I should take care not to reduce love to just a biological battle of the sexes. The word itself – if not the feeling it describes – has often been used to justify far more than what women do to men. “Let me say, at the risk of seeming ridiculous,” spoke Che Guevara, “that the true revolutionary is guided by great feelings of love.” In fact, many a bullet has been fired from the hot barrel of a gun held by loving hands. Why is the last act of many suicide bombers (including one of the September 11 hijackers) a video taped farewell to loved ones? Contrast that against Martin Luther King Jr.’s determination to use “the weapon of love” non-violently, and the activist seems to face a choice similar to that of the male mantis. Perhaps this dichotomy is more worthy of scientific study than the chemical basis of why I feel like checking into rehab every time my heart gets broken?
So again I ask, what is love? Better yet – why love? The only thing I can assert with clarity is that love gets analyzed, commodified, and classified; that something that can never be held in your hand is nevertheless an object many of us desperately reach for. I can’t illuminate what poets, priests, and scientists have for centuries sought to explain: love’s universally motivating appeal. Still, now – more than ever – the answer for countless millions caught in converging chemical storms is “Yes, by all means, now and forever yes.”
And I am no different.
We are currently caught in a cyclone with the answers to ageless questions swirling around us, waiting to be plucked from the air. Still, there’s something mysterious in a chemical spark. We know the synthesis happens but we don’t know why, and scientists who ponder this question are no different than theologians who ponder the mysteries of God. If love is indeed another potentially quantifiable “element,” I don’t think we will ever fully explain or understand it. But, it is worthy of its own periodic table.
And just like those other essential elements that help move the universe, love can feed life or bring cancer, depending on the reagents involved. This seems to occur throughout the natural world. As Annie Dillard explains, “The mating rites of mantises are well known: a chemical produced in the head of the male insect says, in effect, ‘No, don’t go near her you fool, she’ll eat you alive.’ At the same time a chemical in his abdomen says, ‘Yes, by all means, now and forever yes.’” This dilemma is easily resolved for the male mantis: the female simply bites his head off as the rest of his body fumbles along, fulfilling what instinct – and maybe what love – demands, the suicidal “yes” winning out.
I should take care not to reduce love to just a biological battle of the sexes. The word itself – if not the feeling it describes – has often been used to justify far more than what women do to men. “Let me say, at the risk of seeming ridiculous,” spoke Che Guevara, “that the true revolutionary is guided by great feelings of love.” In fact, many a bullet has been fired from the hot barrel of a gun held by loving hands. Why is the last act of many suicide bombers (including one of the September 11 hijackers) a video taped farewell to loved ones? Contrast that against Martin Luther King Jr.’s determination to use “the weapon of love” non-violently, and the activist seems to face a choice similar to that of the male mantis. Perhaps this dichotomy is more worthy of scientific study than the chemical basis of why I feel like checking into rehab every time my heart gets broken?
So again I ask, what is love? Better yet – why love? The only thing I can assert with clarity is that love gets analyzed, commodified, and classified; that something that can never be held in your hand is nevertheless an object many of us desperately reach for. I can’t illuminate what poets, priests, and scientists have for centuries sought to explain: love’s universally motivating appeal. Still, now – more than ever – the answer for countless millions caught in converging chemical storms is “Yes, by all means, now and forever yes.”
And I am no different.
Header art by T. Guzzio. Original photo by Louise Michaud.
CONNECT WITH TOM:
In addition to editing Prodigal's Chair, Tom is a teacher, father, husband, writer, artist, futbol fan and slightly maladjusted optimist. He lives in Beverly, Massachusetts with his wife and their cocker spaniel, Honey (who approves this message). You can connect with him on Twitter @t_guzzio, or via email at [email protected].
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