Author: Dr. Frank Tallis
The
following
is
the
final
of
a
three-part
series
about
romantic
love
from
Frank
Tallis’
book
Love
Sick.
In
this
part
Tallis
looks
at
the
division
between
Asian
and
Western
approaches
to
love.
-Ed.
Incurable
Romantics
In
the
early
1990’s,
a
group
of
social
scientists
undertook
a
large
cross-cultural
study,
in
which
they
interviewed
students
from
the
USA,
Italy,
and
the
People’s
Republic
of
China
about
a
variety
of
emotional
experiences,
including
happiness,
fear,
anger,
sadness
and
love.
When
the
study
was
completed,
it
was
found
that
there
was
remarkable
agreement
concerning
all
of
the
emotions,
but
with
one
exception
–
love.
American
and
European
subjects
rated
love
very
positively,
and
equated
it
with
other
positive
experiences
like
joy
and
happiness.
The
Chinese
subjects,
however,
were
much
more
doubtful.
In
the
Chinese
language
there
are
very
few
ideographs
that
correspond
with
the
more
positive
love-related
related
words
found
in
English
and
Italian.
Instead,
love
tends
to
be
associated
with
more
negative
emotional
states.
For
example,
the
Chinese
subjects
linked
passionate
love
with
ideographs
which
translate
as
‘infatuation’,
‘unrequited
love’,
‘nostalgia’
and
‘sorrow’.
When
told
of
Western
ideas
about
love,
the
Chinese
subjects
thought
they
were
inaccurate
and
unrealistic.
These
findings
raise
some
interesting
questions.
Has
the
Western
romantic
tradition
made
us
blind
to
love’s
madness?
China
has
no
equivalent
tradition.
In
fact,
during
the
Cultural
Revolution,
‘romantic
love’
was
outlawed
–
considered
by
the
communist
elite
to
be
a
‘bourgeois’
indulgence.
Given
this
context,
is
it
possible
that
the
Chinese
are
better
equipped
to
evaluate
the
pitfalls
of
passionate
love?
It
would
seem
that
for
many
Chinese
students,
they
would
as
much
want
to
fall
in
love
as
develop
a
psychiatric
illness.
The
ancient
Greeks
were
troubled
by
passion
–
seeing
it
as
a
force
that
could
easily
overthrow
reason
and
disturb
the
mind’s
equilibrium.
In
many
respects,
this
view
has
been
preserved
in
several
Asian
and
Oriental
cultures.
To
be
romantic
is
to
play
with
fire
–
the
volatile,
inner
fire
of
Hippocratic
and
Islamic
medicine.
Although
passion
can
be
exciting,
it
is
extremely
unreliable
–
so
unreliable,
that
Asian
and
Oriental
cultures
have
rejected
passion
as
the
basis
of
marriage,
subscribing
instead
to
the
more
rational
processes
of
‘arrangement’.
The
formation
of
a
new
family
unit
is
considered
to
be
of
such
great
importance
–
not
only
to
the
bride,
groom,
their
progeny
and
immediate
family,
but
to
the
entire
local
community
and
wider
society
–
that
it
cannot
be
based
on
love
alone.
There
must
be
a
deeper
level
of
compatibility,
embracing
factors
such
as
background,
education
and
temperament,
to
ensure
that
the
relationship
will
last.
The
Chinese
anthropologist
Francis
Hsu
has
suggested
that
Western
and
Eastern
cultures
differ
with
respect
to
social
awareness
and
obligation.
In
the
West,
the
individual
–
his
or
her
personal
identity
–
is
considered
to
be
much
more
important
than
his
or
her
social
role.
In
the
East,
however,
this
is
entirely
reversed.
The
individual’s
personal
identity
is
considered
less
important
than
their
ability
to
be
a
good
son,
daughter,
husband
or
mother.
Therefore,
a
successful
marriage
is
more
likely
to
arise
from
a
pairing
that
takes
the
full
social
and
cultural
credentials
of
both
parties
into
account.
The
romantic
tradition
represents
the
antithesis
of
this
kind
of
thinking
–
and
reaches
its
most
extreme
expression
in
elopement.
From
a
Western
perspective,
the
instinctive
response
to
elopement
is
positive.
Yet,
the
eloping
couple
are
usually
in
the
throes
of
love’s
madness,
and
remove
themselves
entirely
from
their
social
context.
In
doing
so,
they
immediately
lose
the
benefits
of
an
existing
support
network
(friends
and
family)
and
incur
the
costs
of
geographical
displacement.
They
become
disconnected,
two
mutually
absorbed
individuals
who
have
relinquished
social
obligations
and
can
no
longer
properly
occupy
a
defined
social
role.
Needless
to
say,
a
relationship
that
takes
place
in
a
social
vacuum
has
fewer
external
forces
holding
it
together.
It
is
interesting
that
this
disregard
for
social
context
was
always
a
feature
of
romantic
writing.
For
example,
the
figure
of
the
Majnun,
being
mad,
is
by
necessity
a
social
outcast,
but
in
the
romantic
tradition,
losing
or
risking
everything
for
love,
including
one’s
mind,
is
almost
expected.
In
the
Lais
of
Marie
de
France
(a
collection
of
courtly
tales
written
in
the
late
twelfth
century)
the
disconnection
of
lovers
from
their
social
context
is
even
more
conspicuous.
French
literature
scholars
Glynn
Burgess
and
Keith
Busby
point
out
that:
Marie
concentrates
on
the
individuality
of
her
characters
and
is
not
very
concerned
with
their
integration
into
society.
If
society
does
not
appreciate
the
lovers,
then
the
lovers
die
or
abandon
society,
and
society
is
the
poorer
for
it.
Perhaps
as
a
consequence
of
this
disenfranchisement,
Marie’s
images
of
love
are
almost
always
painful.
Again,
Burgess
and
Busby
write:
If
we
take
the
Lais
as
a
whole
work,
compared
with
other
works
of
medieval
literature,
the
characteristic
of
Marie’s
view
of
love
seems
to
be
an
almost
inevitable
association
with
suffering.
The
theme
of
the
lover
–
or
lovers
–
standing
outside
society,
re-emerges
intermittently
throughout
the
entire
history
of
romantic
writing,
and
ultimately
we
find
ourselves
in
the
frozen
wastes
of
Romantic
poetry,
where
young
men
set
off
on
winter
journeys,
meaning
either
never
to
return
or
to
die.
This
represents
yet
another
paradox.
One
of
the
main
aims
of
the
courtly
tradition
was
to
socialise
love,
to
make
it
genteel
and
polite.
Yet
ultimately,
romance
is
an
anti-social
phenomenon.
It
weakens
social
cohesion.
The
Asian
and
Eastern
belief
that
all
of
society
has
a
stake
in
the
success
of
love
was
curiously
echoed
by
Erich
Fromm
in
The
Art
of
Loving.
Fromm
insisted
that
the
principal
problem
of
Western
society
is
alienation.
When
we
love,
however,
we
should
feel
connected
–
and
this
sense
of
connection
extends
beyond
the
family
to
the
social
whole.
Socially
aware
love
–
love
that
acknowledges
its
social
context
–
is
essential
to
the
well-being
of
everyone.
For
most
people
raised
in
the
West,
the
concept
of
an
arranged
marriage
–
or
policing
love
–
seems
distasteful,
even
repugnant.
Yet,
arranged
marriage
is
practised
by
60
per
cent
of
the
world’s
population
–
and
approximately
half
of
these
couples
claim
that
they
stay
together
because
of
love
(not
romantic
love,
maybe,
but
something
far
more
durable).
In
Britain
and
the
US,
where
people
still
uphold
the
romantic
ideal,
nearly
half
of
first
marriages
end
in
divorce,
while
those
marriages
that
survive
are
often
characterised
by
deep
levels
of
dissatisfaction
–
particularly
among
women.
The
divorce
rate
for
second
and
third
marriages
is
even
higher.
Love’s
madness
usually
strikes
with
the
onset
of
adolescence.
Subsequently,
there
is
a
high
risk
of
pregnancy,
impetuous
marriage,
or
both.
Statistics
show
that
teenage
marriages
are
very
fragile,
and
a
high
percentage
break
down
within
only
a
few
years.
Teenage
pregnancy
(compared
with
pregnancy
in
early
adulthood)
is
associated
with
premature
birth,
low
birth
weight,
and
death
during
childbirth.
Teenage
pregnancy
also
has
social
consequences.
It
will
interrupt,
or
even
terminate,
a
young
woman’s
education,
and
the
children
of
most
teenage
families
are
financially
disadvantaged.
The
idea
of
risking
everything
for
love
is
portrayed
in
the
West
as
a
noble
undertaking,
but
subscribing
to
this
doctrine
frequently
results
in
loneliness,
hardship
and
poverty.
In
stark
contrast,
the
tradition
of
arranged
marriage
has
a
number
of
pragmatic
advantages,
rarely
appreciated
by
dyed-in-the-wool
romantics.
The
arranged
marriage
system
is
strongly
associated
with
the
idea
of
coercion,
yet,
in
reality,
Asian
and
Oriental
cultures
almost
always
allow
the
prospective
bride
and
groom
to
exercise
some
choice,
albeit
limited.
In
India,
the
‘girl-seeing’
ceremony
has
evolved
specifically
for
this
purpose.
Typically,
the
young
man’s
family
will
visit
the
young
woman’s
family,
and
the
young
man
is
given
a
special
seat.
The
young
woman
then
enters
the
room,
kneels,
bows
and
leaves.
Both
are
then
in
a
position
to
decide
whether
they
find
each
other
attractive
and
wish
to
proceed
further.
Although
arranged
marriages
are
treated
with
suspicion
in
the
West,
they
represent
a
preference
for
many
who
have
been
raised
in
Asian
and
Eastern
cultures.
It
is
assumed
that
a
‘good
marriage’
can
only
be
achieved
if
couples
are
carefully
matched,
and
then
supported
by
their
families.
To
base
a
marriage
on
passion
is
simply
irresponsible,
and
likely
to
result
in
unhappiness.
Surprisingly
–
for
incurable
romantics
at
least
–
contemporary
research
does
not
contradict
this
view.
Psychologists
Paul
Yelsma
and
Kuriakose
Athappilly
have
studied
relationship
satisfaction
levels
of
couples
who
married
for
love
and
those
who
married
by
arrangement.
Those
whose
marriages
were
arranged
show
much
higher
levels
of
satisfaction
than
those
who
married
for
love.
Other
studies
have
produced
a
similar
pattern
of
results.
Almost
instinctively,
the
Occidental
sensibility
finds
such
results
difficult
to
believe,
but
why
shouldn’t
arranged
marriages
be
superior
to
those
that
are
based
on
a
temporary
madness?
A
long-term
relationship
–
if
it
is
to
be
happy
–
must
be
based
on
more
than
the
tortured
logic
and
inflated
expectations
of
romantic
idealism.
The
Dalai
Lama,
examining
romantic
love
from
the
cool,
rational
vantage
of
Buddhism,
does
not
hesitate
to
identify
it
as
a
form
of
madness:
When
a
couple
has
just
met,
seen
each
other
on
just
a
few
occasions,
they
may
be
madly
in
love
and
very
happy,
but
any
decision
about
marriage
made
at
that
instant
would
be
very
shaky.
Just
as
one
can
become,
in
some
sense,
insane
from
the
power
of
intense
anger
or
hatred,
it
is
also
possible
for
an
individual
to
become
in
some
sense
insane
by
the
power
of
passion
and
lust.
Romantic
love
springs
from
absurdities
such
as
‘love
at
first
sight’.
It
is
preoccupied
with
superficial
(and
transient)
characteristics
such
as
physical
beauty,
and
usually
ends
in
confusion
and
frustration.
…
sometimes
you
might
even
find
situations
where
an
individual
could
feel,
`Oh,
my
boyfriend
or
girlfriend
is
not
really
a
good
person,
not
a
kind
person,
but
still
I
feel
attracted
to
him
or
her.’
According
to
the
Dalai
Lama,
meaningful,
satisfying
and
lasting
relationships
are
not
based
on
romantic
idealism,
but
on
mutual
understanding,
respect
and
compassion.
True
love
is
not
instant.
Love
that
strikes
like
a
bolt
of
lightning
is
almost
certainly
suspect,
as
are
the
whirlwind
romances
that
are
the
staple
of
romantic
fiction.
In
essence,
the
Dalai
Lama
suggests
that
a
commitment
based
on
deep
friendship
is
more
likely
to
outlast
a
commitment
based
on
desire.
In
contrast
to
the
storm-tossed
seas
of
romanticism,
he
offers
an
attractive
alternative
of
still
waters
and
lotus
flowers
–
the
relationship
as
sanctuary,
a
retreat
from
madness,
rather
than
a
manifestation
of
madness.
Perhaps,
after
more
than
a
thousand
years
of
disappointment,
we
can
see
the
first
signs
of
disaffection
in
the
West
–
cultural
trends
that
tacitly
acknowledge
the
commonsense
sense
virtues
of
Asian
and
Oriental
attitudes
to
love
and
marriage.
Over
the
last
fifty
years,
dating
agencies
have
become
increasingly
popular,
operating
on
similar
principles
to
those
that
govern
arranged
marriages.
The
only
fundamental
difference
is
that
the
initial
matching
takes
place
in
a
computer,
rather
than
a
group
of
human
brains.
Even
seemingly
esoteric
rituals,
like
the
‘girl-seeing’
ceremony,
have
equivalents
–
for
instance,
the
provision
of
a
photograph
or
video.
Dating
agencies
are
distinctly
unromantic.
They
militate
against
all
the
basic
assumptions
of
romantic
love.
Yet,
they
are
responsible
for
bringing
a
large
number
of
people
together
in
relationships
that
seem
to
be
very
successful.
The
idea
of
arrangement
does
not
preclude
falling
in
love.
Indeed,
in
Asian
and
other
Eastern
societies,
it
is
assumed
that
a
couple
will
fall
in
love
and
become
passionate
–
but
after
the
marriage
has
taken
place.
Thus,
couples
can
experience
love’s
madness
safely,
but
know
that
when
it
passes,
they
will
still
have
a
robust
and
healthy
relationship.
Dating
agencies
seem
to
offer
the
same
kind
of
security;
couples
can
engage
in
the
dangerous
high-wire
act
of
falling
in
love,
comfortable
in
the
knowledge
that
there
is
a
safety
net
in
place.
Disaffection
with
the
failure
of
romantic
love
was
dramatically
demonstrated
recently
by
American
psychologist
Robert
Epstein,
who,
in
addition
to
holding
several
academic
posts,
is
also
the
editor-in-chief
of
Psychology
Today.
Having
considered
the
merits
of
arranged
marriages,
Epstein
wondered
whether
it
would
be
possible
to
rehabilitate
the
concept
for
Western
consumption.
Consequently,
in
the
June
2002
issue,
he
argued
against
romantic
assumptions,
and
suggested
that
it
might
be
possible
to
learn
to
love
any
suitable
partner.
He
proposed
a
programme
to
test
his
hypothesis:
the
signing
of
a
six-month
exclusivity
contract
(to
obviate
the
problem
of
parallel
dating);
commitment
to
intensive
joint-counselling
sessions;
frequent
‘getaways’;
and
participation
in
exercises
designed
to
foster
mutual
love.
Epstein
suggested
that
such
a
programme
–
credible
to
Westerners
–
might
achieve
the
same
result
as
the
arranged
marriage
system:
reliable,
meaningful
and
enduring
love.
More
daringly,
Epstein
volunteered
to
be
the
first
subject
in
his
own
experiment.
He
expected
the
article
to
have
little
impact;
however,
the
subsequent
response
was
overwhelming.
It
aroused
enormous
media
interest,
and
Epstein
received
hundreds
of
letters,
e-mails
and
telephone
calls
from
women
eager
to
sign
his
contract.
It
would
seem
that
romantic
love
–
which
promises
heaven
on
earth
–
has
ultimately
delivered
something
closer
to
despair.
Original Story on AVFM
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(Changing the cultural narrative)