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In the realm of romantic relationships, it is not a rarity for the fantasy of consuming one’s partner to manifest, with their appeal so irresistible that they morph into entities akin to nourishment – cabbages, rabbits or poultry of various kinds. This cannibalistic facet is an inherent component of the romantic encounter, mirroring the primordial infant-mother bond. A mother, in her perception, wants to consume her infant who appears tantalizingly adorable, while the infant conceives the idea of assimilating what is deemed “good” in their mother, concurrently rejecting that which they perceive as “bad.” This dynamic underscores a broad spectrum of drives, inclusive of sadistic and masochistic aspects, particularly evident in erotic exchanges. Contradictory impulses consistently punctuate the terrain of romantic life. As we comprehend, love and aggression, love and hatred are indelibly entwined in the nascent affective interactions, as well as in all that ensue.
From the inception of life, the intrapsychic operation of the human being is inevitably subject to psychic conflict, a tug-of-war between antithetical desires, between the instincts of life and the instincts of death and between love and hate. The apogee of this ambivalence is encountered during the Oedipal period with the potent emotions of love and hate that children harbor toward their parents. These dual affects form “the two principal components from which human relationships are constructed” (Winnicott). Eastern cultures often grapple with accepting the coexistence of hatred and love within familial relationships due to the exaltation or deification of parental figures. Yet, a modicum of lucid introspection could facilitate an understanding of this phenomenon.
Jacques Lacan coined the term “hainamoration” to elucidate the conflation of these dual effects. “Hatred follows closely behind this love for others, like a shadow, revealing the most alien part of ourselves,” he says.
He further extrapolates, “To remain oblivious to hatred is to remain oblivious to love.” If partners remain ignorant of this reality, it is attributable to the repression or suppression of feelings of aggression or hatred during the state of being in love. Nevertheless, these repressed feelings subtly manifest through certain slips of the tongue, memory lapses, acts of omission, dreams of accidents or death of the beloved, apprehension of a disease or accident that the loved one might incur, certain sexual “failures, or physical discomforts, etc. It is worth noting, in the context of romantic relationships, that the lover effaces their individuality in the process of idealizing the other, leading to subjugation, which can only elicit concealed aggression and hatred. Perhaps the manifestation of this unconscious coexistence of the two contradictory effects is most conspicuous when a dispute within the couple precipitates the abrupt emergence of hitherto restrained aggression or violence, or when the dissolution of the romantic relationship ruptures protective barriers and unleashes repressed hatred. “If we begin to despise the beloved object, our hatred for it will be more intense than if we had never loved it, and this intensity is directly proportional to the magnitude of the preceding love” (Spinoza).
Human beings are “en projet,” to employ Sartre’s terminology, perpetually in flux. The same applies to romantic relationships. Propelled by a desire spawned by absence, they oscillate between phases of progress and regression. Attempting to salvage a failing love through prescribed activities or the invention of complex sexual positions will prove fruitless. Moreover, it is perilous to heed the advice to “procreate,” as some disastrous counselors might suggest.
The relationship within a couple can be perceived as an affective edifice, characterized by a delicate and enigmatic bond in continual reconstruction. There is no assurance of the persistence of love. One of the most effective strategies for (re)building what is crumbling is to cultivate introspection, foster empathy toward the partner and engage in an ongoing, sincere, and genuine dialogue, devoid of recriminations or accusations, but expressing each one’s experiences.
In Drive My Car, Ryūsuke Hamaguchi’s poignant opus inspired by a short story by Haruki Murakami, Kafuku and his wife Oto are entwined in a profound affection. One day, upon his unexpected return, he discovers her in the act of infidelity. His surprising reaction is to withdraw silently. He later confesses his unwavering belief in his wife’s sincere and authentic love despite her betrayals and confesses a single fear: the loss of her. Her abrupt demise leaves him grappling with intense guilt. Subsequently, he discovers the ambivalence of his sentiments because, despite his love, he nurtures a profound hatred toward her that becomes the source of his torment. The improbable encounter with Misaki, the woman who will serve as his chauffeur, proves to be his rendezvous with his alter ego. Initially, they familiarize themselves with each other through the silent exchange of observant and inquisitive glances, by sharing a daily inner experience. These rendezvous will lead them to confide their loves and hates, his toward Oto, hers toward her mother. Together, they realize that before renouncing or despising the other, they must first delve into themselves and uncover their own ambivalence. Providing solace to each other, accepting themselves as they are, they will attain mutual tranquility.
For Spinoza, love-Eros emanating from a void needs to evolve into love-Philia predicated on the joy of the other’s presence, to whom one could then assert: “I rejoice in your presence, delight in your very existence.” Love will then amalgamate with friendship.
Perhaps one of the paths to achieving a state of serenity and satisfaction in the couple’s relationship as well as in one’s relationship with oneself, would be to abide by, eschewing possessiveness, the maxim of the sagacious Montaigne: “Become who you are and ask for nothing more.”
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