Suppose that the word “love” were lost to the language, that from this moment on we did not have it to describe how we feel or what we do. I do not know how such a thing would happen; perhaps some mass hypnotism on television or some additive in the drinking water. At any rate, the word is lost; it is not heard or read anywhere, and no one knows of or remembers it.
There are tendencies afoot to use the word less in some areas already. The early Christian “love feast” is today called a “covered-dish supper.” And Christian “love” is more often called “charity,” though that word has become tinged in its turn.
If the word “love” were lost to us, more precise and appropriate words would easily come to mind. I could still like, enjoy, fancy, and relish a favorite food; still adore, worship, revere and venerate God. I could still cherish, value, prize treasure, and appreciate a gift or a friendship. The loss of “love” wouldn’t seem too great a loss in these cases. Devotion, fidelity, allegiance, and loyalty we could still speak of as we feel for a cause or our country. Men and women could still speak of attachments and affections as well as the fervor, enthusiasm, ardor, zeal or passion which spurs their pursuit of such relationships. Again, “love” is not the word needed to name these feelings, though it is often used.
No one would ever refer to a “loveless” marriage. “Courting” and “wooing” might replace “love-making,” though neither word would somehow cover the process; “making out” would no longer be tagged “slang” in dictionaries. No one would marry for “love” alone, which might cause more of us to inquire why we do marry. “Lovebirds,” whether parrots or couples, might become “wooingbirds.” “Lovers” wouldn’t be insurmountable: males could be “studs” and euphemisms would abound for the female partner, though none would gain consensus probably. “Love affairs” would simply be “affairs,” an improvement; and, no longer “lovesick,” one would simply “languish.”
The poets say, however, that “love” is destroyed by long absence, and absence is the death of love. If the word were lost, what indeed would be destroyed and die, if it is not what we’ve been talking about so far?
There are those many moments when the tone of voice, the smile, the wink of the eye, the tilt of the head load the word with meaning not to be found out of context. An actress, for example, accepts congratulations in the midst of an admiring crowd after a successful performance. A friend confides, “You seem to be enjoying it all.” She turns to him without losing her audience, smiles, winks, and exudes, “I love it!” What other word would work? Having lost the word, would we understand why Romeo took poison or why Juliet stabbed herself when she saw what he had done? Could we appreciate the truly tragic Linda Loman and her constant justification and protection of her husband, Willy? Could we understand George Willard and his reverence for Helen? (He wanted to love and to be loved by her, but he did not want at the moment to be confused by her womanhood.)
Indeed, our needs and wants will affect our talk. If we did not have the word “love,” we should have to invent it to describe that deep and enduring emotional involvement which one person feels for another, that involvement which is the basis for faith in ourselves, the basis for hope and eventually charity. It is what leaves us open to hurt and makes us vulnerable. It is a condition peculiar to human beings, just as is the word which was lost and must be found.
I understand that one cannot be hypnotized against his will, so be on your guard as you watch television. And, incidentally, when was the last time you had your drinking water tested for additives?
Bill Reynolds
