Author: Dr. Frank Tallis
The
following
is
Part
1
of
a
three-part
extract
from
Frank
Tallis’
book
Love
Sick.
The
book
takes
a
good
look
at
romantic
love,
or
more
accurately
the
sickness
of
it
–
a
fact
underlined
by
many
writers
at
AVfM
who
have
exposed
the
bankruptcy
of
romantic
chivalry.
Dr.
Tallis’
extensive
clinical
experience
confirms
just
how
sick-making
these
practices
are
for
all
who
indulge
them.
–
Eds.
Incurable
Romantics
Love,
love,
love
–
all
the
wretched
cant
of
it,
masking
egotism,
lust,
masochism,
fantasy
under
a
mythology
of
sentimental
postures,
a
welter
of
self-induced
miseries
and
joys,
blinding
and
masking
the
essential
personalities
in
the
frozen
gestures
of
courtship,
in
the
kissing
and
the
dating
and
the
desire,
the
compliments
and
the
quarrels
which
vivify
its
barrenness.
The
Female
Eunuch,
Germaine
Greer
Romantic
love
has
been
described
by
the
Jungian
psychoanalyst
Robert
Johnson
as
`the
single
greatest
energy
system
in
the
Western
psyche’.
Although
this
sounds
like
a
wildly
extravagant
claim,
it
is
almost
certainly
true.
Love
–
and
in
particular
romantic
love
–
is
our
great
preoccupation.
Almost
every
aspect
of
our
life
is
affected,
in
some
way,
by
the
concept
of
romantic
love.
The
word
‘romantic’
is
troubled
by
a
long
history.
It
is
like
an
overworked
canvas,
the
composition
and
brushwork
of
which
cannot
conceal
the
suggestion
of
earlier
drafts.
English
dictionaries
distinguish
‘romantic’
with
several
definitions,
but
in
reality,
such
tidy
divisions
are
misleading.
When
we
use
the
word,
these
different
meanings
ings
bleed
into
each
other.
To
be
romantically
involved
is
an
admission
that
carries
a
host
of
implications:
passion,
folly,
obsession,
anguish,
recklessness,
intrigue,
and
adventure;
archetypes
rise
from
varying
depths
and
jostle
with
each
other
for
recognition
and
influence.
As
with
any
native
tongue,
we
first
speak
the
language
of
romantic
love
without
being
able
to
explain
its
grammar.
The
assumptions
on
which
romantic
love
is
predicated
are
buried
in
the
unconscious
mind,
where
they
exert
a
powerful
influence
on
our
beliefs,
attitudes,
and
expectations.
We
never
pause
to
question
their
legitimacy.
When
a
romantic
hero
decides
he
will
sacrifice
everything
for
love,
no
one
will
ask
‘Is
she
really
worth
it?’
or
‘Can’t
he
find
someone
else?’
Romantic
love
has
its
own
obscure
logic
which
we
all
tacitly
accept.
The
roots
of
romantic
love
run
deep.
Indeed,
the
fundamental
mental
conventions
of
romantic
love
were
consolidated
on
the
ancestral
plains
of
Africa,
where
evolutionary
pressures
determined
that
men
should
court
women,
that
women
should
be
coy,
that
relationships
should
be
exclusive,
and
that
love
should
storm
the
mind
like
a
form
of
madness.
However,
since
the
rise
of
civilisation,
these
features
have
been
increasingly
complicated
by
ideological
factors.
The
roots
of
romantic
love
are
profoundly
deep,
but,
now,
they
are
also
hopelessly
tangled.
To
understand
fully
the
concept
of
romantic
love
requires
an
examination
of
its
cultural
history
(in
addition
to
its
evolutionary
history)…
*
*
*
The
Islamic
courtly
tradition
was
introduced
into
Western
culture
by
the
troubadours,
whose
poetry
preserved
many
features
of
Arab
mysticism
–
particularly,
a
quasi-religious
praise
of
female
beauty.
However,
as
this
theme
was
reworked,
it
also
began
to
change.
Spiritual
inaccessibility
gradually
evolved
into
alluring
aloofness,
which
in
turn
became
regal
disdain.
Thus,
a
recurring
figure
in
troubadour
poetry
was
the
cold,
cruel
mistress.
The
theme
of
inaccessibility
was
also
explored
in
another
way:
the
introduction
of
a
female
character,
immensely
desirable,
but
unavailable
through
marriage.
Even
at
this
very
early
stage,
the
authenticity
of
love
was
being
judged
according
to
its
difficulty
(with
respect
to
obstacles
and
impediments)
and
its
irrationality.
In
troubadour
poetry,
we
can
recognise
the
cultural
ancestry
of
modern
concepts
such
as
Lee’s
mania
or
Tennov’s
limerence:
love
that
does
not
need
liking
–
love
that
may
even
thrive
in
response
to
rejection
or
contempt.
The
troubadour’s
cruel
mistress
reappears
again
and
again
in
literature
in
different
guises:
the
enchantress,
the
femme
fatale,
the
Belle
Dame
sans
Merci.
Long
before
psychologists
began
to
study
love
in
a
systematic
way,
literature
required
a
particular
female
type
who
would
represent
unhappy
love.
The
doctrine
of
romantic
love
(also
known
as
courtezia
or
amour
courtois)
would
have
spread
across
Europe
irrespective
of
royal
patronage;
however,
the
process
was
certainly
accelerated
by
events
at
the
court
of
Poitiers,
where
William
IX
is
reputed
to
have
been
‘the
first
troubadour’
(on
account
of
having
written
the
earliest
surviving
examples
of
coutly
verse
in
the
Provencal
language).
It
was
also
at
Poitiers
that
William’s
granddaughter,
Eleanor
of
Aquitaine,
and
her
daughter,
Marie
de
Champagne,
encouraged
celebrated
poets
such
as
Bernard
de
Ventadour
and
Chretien
de
Troyes
to
compose
works
that
exemplified
courtly
ideals.
A
narrative
vehicle
that
was
popular
among
the
poets
of
Poitiers
was
Arthurian
legend,
which
delivered
a
cast
of
characters
whose
relationships
could
be
fully
exploited
to
dramatise
the
frustrating
dynamics
of
romantic
love.
Thus,
Guinevere’s
beauty
is
beyond
compare,
and
Lancelot
–
Arthur’s
most
loyal
servant
–
must
fall
hopelessly
in
love
with
the
queen.
(English
readers
are
more
familiar
with
this
dynamic
through
Sir
Thomas
Malory’s
Le
Morte
d’Arthur.)
In
the
poetry
of
Chretien
de
Troyes,
love
–
always
complicated,
but
even
more
complicated
by
courtly
conventions
–
is
once
again
described
as
an
illness:
‘My
illness
is
what
I
want.
And
my
pain
is
my
health…
I
suffer
agreeably…
I
am
sick
with
delight.’
One
of
the
most
extraordinary
developments
at
Poitiers
was
the
creation
of
an
inner
court
–
the
Court
of
Love
–
where
noblewomen
would
meet
to
pose
questions
about
love
and
the
proper
conduct
of
lovers.
Questions
would
then
be
disputed,
juried
and
judged,
according
to
the
increasingly
dogmatic
principles
of
courtezia.
Perhaps,
in
an
effort
to
make
the
task
of
this
inner
court
easier,
Marie
instructed
a
cleric,
Andrew
Capelanus
(also
known
as
Andrew
the
Chaplain),
to
write
a
formal
book
of
statutes:
a
kind
of
lovers’
charter.
Andrew
began
his
task
by
consulting
a
classical
authority
–
the
Ars
Amatoria
(or
Art
of
Love)
by
Ovid.
It
is
difficult
to
imagine
a
more
inappropriate
work
on
which
to
base
a
‘respectable’
canon.
As
with
much
to
do
with
romantic
love,
history
reveals
cross-purposes,
because
for
Ovid
adoration
is
only
a
means
to
an
end.
Ovid
adores,
not
because
he
can’t
help
himself,
but
because
by
feigning
adoration
he
is
more
likely
to
succeed
in
seduction.
He
is
a
cunning
and
manipulative
strategist,
who
advises
on
everything
from
good
‘chat
up’
lines
to
how
physical
defects
can
be
concealed
by
adopting
special
positions
during
intercourse.
In
an
age
of
political
correctness,
he
is
still
able
to
offend
modern
sensibilities.
He
recommends
pretending
to
cry,
making
false
promises,
writing
flattering
verses
(however
insincere)
and
even
coercion:
`Some
force
is
permissible
–
women
are
often
pleased
by
force.’
Ovid
also
advises
the
aspirant
libertine
to
affect
the
symptoms
of
love
sickness:
‘All
lovers
should
be
pallid,
it’s
chic
to
be
pale;/
Only
fools
deny
it,
pale
skins
rarely
fail.’
Moreover,
he
observes
that
loss
of
appetite
and
worry
‘make
the
young
lover
as
thin
as
a
rake’.
Therefore,
if
wishing
to
attract
the
attention
of
women,
one
should:
`Look
lean
–
it
suggests
passion.’
When
Andrew
Capelanus
came
to
write
his
own
work
–
The
Art
of
Courtly
Love
–
he
did
so
by
borrowing
from
Ovid.
Thus,
Ovid’s
cynical
observations
were
used
to
shore
up
the
romantic
ideal.
Love
sickness
–
merely
another
weapon
in
Ovid’s
armamentarium
–
became
fully
established
as
a
crucial
sign
of
love’s
authenticity.
Capelanus
described
love
as
`a
certain
inborn
suffering’
and
suggested
thirty-one
rules
of
love.
They
include
the
following:
Rule
2
He
who
is
not
jealous
cannot
love.
Rule
9
No
one
can
love
unless
he
is
impelled
by
the
persuasion
of
love
(also
translated
as:
No
one
can
love
who
is
not
driven
to
do
so
by
the
power
of
love).
Rule
13
When
made
public
love
rarely
endures.
Rule
14
The
easy
attainment
of
love
makes
it
of
little
value;
difficulty
of
attainment
makes
it
prized.
Rule
15
Every
lover
regularly
turns
pale
in
the
presence
of
his
beloved.
Rule
16
When
a
lover
suddenly
catches
sight
of
his
beloved
his
heart
palpitates.
Rule
20
A
man
in
love
is
always
apprehensive
(also
translated
as:
A
lover
is
always
fearful).
Rule
21
Real
jealousy
always
increases
the
feeling
of
love.
Rule
22
Jealousy,
and
therefore
love,
are
increased
when
one
suspects
his
beloved.
Rule
30
A
true
lover
is
constantly
and
without
intermission
possessed
by
the
thought
of
his
beloved
(Also
translated
as:
The
true
lover
is
continuously
obsessed
with
the
image
of
his
beloved.
Love
and
mental
illness
were
closely
linked
according
to
the
principles
of
Hippocratic
medicine;
however,
Capelanus’s
principles
seem
to
do
much
the
same
thing.
At
Poitiers
it
was
decided
that
love
–
if
true
–
must
be
disturbed
and
slightly
perverse;
it
must
be
obsessive,
compulsive,
agitated,
anxious,
jealous,
suspicious,
clandestine,
and
frustrating.
There
is
still
some
debate
concerning
to
what
extent
Capelanus
meant
his
rules
to
be
taken
seriously.
It
is
possible
that
The
Art
of
Courtly
Love
was
meant
to
be
satirical
–
but
if
so,
its
satirical
content
was
lost
on
contemporary
and
subsequent
generations.
The
Art
of
Courtly
Love
was
never
viewed
as
a
critique.
It
was
always
viewed
as
a
manifesto.
Romantic
love
became
an
increasingly
important
feature
of
literature
in
the
late
twelfth
and
thirteenth
centuries.
The
Lais
of
Marie
de
France
and
de
Lorris’s
Romance
of
the
Rose
are
significant
examples;
however,
the
quintessential
courtly
romance
of
the
middle
ages
must
be
Tristan
–
now
more
widely
encountered
in
the
opera
house
as
Wagner’s
Tristan
and
Isolde.
Although
Tristan
does
not
feature
King
Arthur,
it
is
an
‘Arthurian’
romance
set
in
a
landscape
of
castles,
quests
and
dragons.
An
authenticated
‘original’
does
not
exist,
but
five
versions
have
been
handed
down
–
the
most
famous
being
those
of
Beroul,
Gottfried
von
Strassburg
and
Thomas.
Tristan
is
raised
by
his
uncle,
King
Mark
of
Cornwall,
and
it
falls
upon
him
to
escort
King
Mark’s
bride-to-be,
the
beautiful
Princess
Isolde,
from
her
home
in
Ireland
to
the
king’s
castle.
While
crossing
the
Irish
Sea,
they
both
mistakenly
drink
a
love
potion,
and
subsequently
fall
in
love.
The
love
potion
–
a
potent
symbol
of
love’s
madness
–
neatly
excuses
Tristan’s
betrayal
of
his
uncle.
In
Gottfried’s
version,
the
bemused
Tristan
complains:
`I
do
not
know
what
has
come
over
poor
Isolde
and
me,
but
we
have
both
of
us
gone
mad
in
the
briefest
space
of
time,
with
unimaginable
torment
–
we
are
dying
of
love
…’
Tristan
and
Isolde
(against
their
better
judgement)
become
clandestine
lovers
and,
in
doing
so,
stir
the
gods
of
tragedy.
Much
of
the
ensuing
drama
concerns
their
attempts
to
avoid
discovery,
and
eventually
they
must
separate.
Tristan
is
wounded
by
a
poisoned
spear
and,
as
his
life
ebbs
away,
he
calls
for
Isolde.
She
rushes
to
be
with
him,
but
arrives
too
late
and
can
do
nothing
to
save
him.
Clasping
his
dead
body,
she
gives
up
her
spirit
and
dies.
During
the
middle
ages,
romantic
narrative’s
landscape
of
kings
and
queens,
knights
and
ladies,
heroism,
bravery,
destiny
and
magic
became
established
in
the
Western
imagination,
and
is
familiar
to
children,
appearing
in
numerous
story-books.
The
idea
of
romantic
love
has
penetrated
so
deep
into
our
culture,
that
few
people
escape
its
influence
before
leaving
the
nursery.
Unfortunately,
a
consequence
of
this
is
that
many
grow
up
assuming
they
will
find
fairy-tale
happiness
in
the
real
world
–
an
expectation
that
is
rarely
fulfilled.
Moreover,
it
is
curious
that
the
main
exemplars
of
courtly
romance
(which
in
a
sense
foster
our
fairy-tale
aspirations)
rarely
end
with
a
`happy
ever
after’,
but
with
torment,
tears
and
death.
Original Story on AVFM
These stories are from AVoiceForMen.com.
(Changing the cultural narrative)