The characters "Marylin Monroe" and "Colin Clark" in the film My Week with Marylin (2011). |
Possibly the first character I was “in love with” was Heidi the Swiss fictional character. As a very young boy I imagined her being my girlfriend. The first time I really used the term “in love with” to describe my enchantment with a character was for the character Jennifer Burrows, played by Claire Forlani, in the film Boys and Girls (2000). It's not a particularly great film—a romantic comedy about unlikely friends turned lovers, but for some reason that character just tremendously resonated with me. The feeling of being “in love with” Jennifer Burrows was so strong that it felt like I was walking on clouds when I left the cinema. Since then, I've expressed being enamoured with a particular character as being “in love with” the character. I've used the expression in even broader situations too and for different things: towards new friends, towards a beautiful scene, towards kittens.
Monica Bellucci |
Claire Forlani in Boys and Girls (2000) |
C. S. Lewis supports my distinction between “in love with” and lust. In his explication on this topic in his book The Four Loves, he differentiates between Eros and Venus. He argues that sexuality (Venus) may operate without Eros (“being in love”) or as part of Eros. While the state of Venus is purely sexual (which I merely refer to as “lust”), Eros is “simply a delightful pre-occupation with the Beloved”. He continues to explain that:
“A man in this state really hasn't the leisure to think of sex. He is too busy thinking of a person. The fact that she is a woman is far less important than the fact that she is herself. He is full of desire, but the desire may not be sexually toned.”
Concerning Venus, Lewis argues that the focus is on “it, the thing [sex] in itself” while “Eros wants the Beloved.”
So I agree; there is a difference between being in love and lusting. The former is not by default sexual; while the latter does not necessarily mean that there is anything more to it than just sex. Hearts are too often broken because to the one their relation meant something profound and beautiful, while to the other the companion was merely a vehicle for “the thing in itself”.
And so when I am “in love with” women or sometimes men, with fictional characters on pages in books or as projections on screens, with new friends, with kittens, even with sexy cars, it is seldom—if ever—sexual. “A man in this state really hasn't the leisure to think of sex,” for one is too delightfully pre-occupied with the object in her or his or its totality.
It has been weeks since I watched My Week with Marylin and Eddie Redmayne as Colin Clark; and as is the case with both “in love with” and lust, they both pass.
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