This essay is the third in a series on love. See the first and the second parts.
I’ve always found it a shame that English really only has one word for love. In Greek alone, there are at least eight words for different kinds of love– love of self, friends, family, different kinds of physical love, among others. This nuance in language points to the nuance of love itself, and it feels at times like our limited vocabulary speaks to a limited scope of love in our culture.
One of the primary underpinnings of love, in our society, is that it is supposed to be unconditional, particularly in the case of familial or spousal love. We begin seeing a few conditions in place with love of friends or self, whether there should be or not, but that idea of unconditional love remains aspirational.
But can love truly be unconditional? There are many systems within our society that do not seem to think so. Conditional self-love is necessary in a capitalist society — the promise of a product or service that will correct your faults to make you your “best self.” The treatment of immigrants, unhoused and low-income people and addicts in the United States shows conditional love of one’s neighbors—others are only worthy of love when they meet a specific list of qualifiers determined by our political, religious and ideological beliefs.
In a more localized view, we frequently see it in family systems. LGBT+ people are ostracized and exiled from families because of who they love and who they are. Parents are alienated from children because of generational trauma. Siblings lose touch or grow apart because of different perceptions of their shared childhoods. Political beliefs and underpinning values sometimes cause irreparable division. How is this unconditional?
In his book Love Anyway, Jeremy Courtney details stories of people who have lived through war and terrorism, but have managed to find the power of love and hope through it all. People who have experienced unfathomable fear and darkness in the modern age. People who have no business loving at all— yet they love anyway.
The powerful message has been succinctly captured in that phrase— love anyway. The tribal mentality of “us vs. them” is outmoded and unacceptable. Within all of us, we have the power to love anyway. Generational trauma has carved a hole into a family? We can love anyway. My child was brave enough to disclose their true self to me? I can love anyway. I weigh more than I want to? I can love anyway.
There is an important distinction here— loving anyway is not a dictum to accept mistreatment. Rather, there is an interplay between the various kinds of love when mistreatment occurs. If someone is repeatedly violating your boundaries, you can love yourself by taking steps to protect your peace. This, on one hand, does not remove your general love of the other person, your hope for goodness for them, your love of their humanity, but, on the other hand, loving yourself means protecting yourself, too.
This is meant as an internal reflection, not an attack. Am I loving anyway? How does this fit in with my necessary and hard-won boundaries? How do I maintain self and entrust myself to others? It does not mean you have to accept mistreatment, just that being mistreated doesn’t have to make you a less-loving person. This is the key to “unconditionality” of love— it starts within.
Loving anyway is a choice one makes every day, and it may not be reciprocated. When you reach out with love and acceptance and you are met with denial, it is devastating. But there is hope: there are people out there who love anyway, many I’m sure in this community of readers, and the best way to find them is to be one of them yourself.
As Seneca quotes from Hecato: “I shall show you a love potion without a drug, without an herb; without the incantation of any sorceress: if you would be loved, love.”
Edited by Jeremy Harr and Abigail McKay Cherry
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On Loving Anyway
I LOVED this post! 💜
Another great read. Thank you.