They say they had a child because they loved each other. I say they had
sex.
There are
certain words that human beings use so often that they eventually stop asking
themselves what those words actually mean.
Love may be the greatest example.
We say I
love you.
We say I love my children.
We say I love my parents.
We say I love my country.
We say I love my friends.
We say I love chocolate.
One word.
Apparently,
an extraordinary number of meanings.
And perhaps
that should make us suspicious.
Recently, I
found myself thinking about something that sounds almost cynical:
When two
people say they had a child “out of love”, did they really? Or did they simply
have sex and happen to conceive a child?
At first
glance, the question sounds ridiculous.
Biologically,
however, it is perfectly reasonable.
A child is
not created by love.
A child is
created through reproduction — traditionally through sexual intercourse,
although modern medicine has obviously introduced other possibilities.
So why do
human beings insist on putting the word love in the middle of the
biological process?
Perhaps
because humans rarely accept biology on its own.
They need a
story.
And love
is probably the most powerful story they have invented.
Where does the
word “love” come from?
The English word love has a very old history,
while the Romance-language equivalents come from Latin.
Portuguese amor, French amour, Spanish amor
and Italian amore derive from the Latin amor, amōris, related to amāre,
“to love”.
But etymology does not tell us what love actually is.
It only tells us where the word came from.
And perhaps that distinction is important.
Words are containers.
Human beings fill them with meaning.
And they have been filling the container called love
for thousands of years.
Sex is not love. Love is not reproduction.
This seems obvious, yet humans constantly mix these three
things together.
Sex is not love.
Love is not sex.
Reproduction is not love.
They can exist together, of course.
But they are not the same thing.
Two people can have sex without loving each other.
Two people can love each other without having sex.
Two people can have a child without loving each other.
Two people can deeply love a child who was not
conceived through their relationship.
So when someone says:
“We had our child because we loved each other.”
perhaps what they really mean is:
“Our love was one of the reasons we wanted to create a
family.”
That is a very different statement.
And much more precise.
So… what exactly is love?
This is where things become complicated.
Perhaps love is not one thing at all.
Maybe human beings simply placed several different
experiences inside the same word.
There is desire:
I want you.
There is passion:
I cannot stop thinking about you.
There is attachment:
I don't want to lose you.
There is affection:
I want you to be well.
There is romantic love:
I want to build my life with you.
There is parental love:
I want to protect you.
There is friendship:
Your existence matters to me.
And perhaps there is something deeper:
The existence of another person stops being
indifferent to us.
That, perhaps, comes closer to the heart of love.
But love has a dangerous side
Human beings often say:
“I did it because I love you.”
And sometimes what follows is precisely what a loving
person should never do.
Jealousy.
Possession.
Control.
Manipulation.
Violence.
Love can make people generous.
But it can also make them selfish.
It can make people sacrifice themselves for someone
else.
But it can also make them believe they have the right
to possess that person.
And perhaps this is one of the great contradictions of
human love.
We sometimes confuse loving someone with owning them.
But if I truly love another person, can I really claim
to own them?
Perhaps not.
Maybe love begins precisely where possession ends.
Passion says: “I need you.”
Love may eventually say:
“I want you to be well.”
The difference is enormous.
Passion can be about satisfying something inside
ourselves.
Love, at its most mature, begins to recognise the
other person as an independent human being.
Someone with their own desires.
Their own fears.
Their own freedom.
And, most importantly, the right to say no.
That may be one of the most difficult things about
loving another human being:
allowing them to remain free.
And what about children?
Here the question becomes even more interesting.
Parents often say:
“We had this child because of our love.”
But love for whom?
For each other?
For the child?
For the idea of having a family?
For the desire to become parents?
For the biological instinct to reproduce?
Perhaps all of these things can coexist.
But there is a fascinating contradiction:
When the child is conceived, the child does not yet
exist as a person known to the parents.
They cannot love the individual they have not yet met.
They can love the idea of having a child.
They can love the person they hope that child will
become.
But that is different from loving the actual human
being who will eventually stand in front of them.
Perhaps this distinction matters more than we realise.
And then there
is religion
There is another place where the word love
becomes particularly powerful: religion.
Across centuries, religions have spoken extensively
about love — love of God, love of one's neighbour, love of humanity, love of
creation, love of the poor and even love of one's enemies.
At first glance, this seems beautiful.
But perhaps we should also ask an uncomfortable question:
Has religion sometimes abused the word “love”?
The word love carries an extraordinary moral
authority. When someone says “I love you”, we instinctively associate
the statement with kindness, protection and goodwill. When a religious
institution says “God loves you”, the statement can become even more
powerful because it is no longer presented merely as a human emotion, but as a
divine truth.
And this is where I become suspicious.
Throughout history, religious institutions have
sometimes used the language of love alongside obedience, fear, guilt and
punishment.
God loves you — but you must obey.
God loves you — but only if you follow these rules.
God loves you — but those who do not believe may be
condemned.
At that point, what exactly does love mean?
Can love coexist with fear?
Can unconditional love have conditions?
Can someone genuinely say “I love you” while
threatening punishment if you refuse to obey?
These are not necessarily arguments against religion.
They are questions about language and power.
Religion did not invent the word love, nor does
it have a monopoly on it. But religious traditions have certainly given the
word an enormous spiritual and moral importance.
Perhaps this is why we should be particularly careful
when someone uses the word.
Because “love” is one of the easiest words with
which to make an idea sound morally good.
And perhaps that is precisely why it has been used so
often.
Love does not necessarily mean forever
There is another human obsession I find fascinating.
People often believe that if love ends, then it must
never have been real.
Why?
A relationship can last ten years and end.
Does that mean those ten years were a lie?
Of course not.
Something can be real without being eternal.
A sunset is not less beautiful because it lasts only a
few minutes.
A friendship does not become meaningless because life
eventually separates two people.
And perhaps love is the same.
Something does not have to last forever to have been
true.
Humans often confuse “it was real” with “it
must last forever.”
They are not the same thing.
So what is love?
I am not sure there is a definitive answer.
Perhaps there shouldn't be.
But if I had to propose one, I would say:
Love begins when another person's existence stops
being indifferent to us and starts influencing the way we live, choose and act.
But I would go one step further.
Perhaps genuine love begins when we stop wanting to
possess someone and start wanting them to be happy and free — even when
their freedom does not necessarily benefit us.
That is a much harder form of love.
And perhaps a much rarer one.
And here is the
uncomfortable question
Maybe humans use the word love because reality
is sometimes too complicated to describe honestly.
Sex becomes making love.
Attachment becomes love.
Desire becomes love.
Possession becomes love.
Dependency becomes love.
Parenthood becomes love.
Sacrifice becomes love.
Even chocolate becomes love.
Perhaps the word has become so powerful precisely
because it can explain almost anything.
And when a word can explain everything…
perhaps it explains nothing.
So I will leave you with a question.
When you say “I
love you”, what exactly are you saying?
Do you mean:
I want you?
I need you?
I desire you?
I am attached to you?
I want to protect you?
Your existence matters to me?
Or perhaps something else entirely?
Because maybe the most honest definition of love is
not found in the word itself.
Maybe it is found in what we actually do after we say
it.
And yes… I still maintain my original provocation:
They say they made a child because they were in love.
I say they had sex.
Now you tell me which one of us is wrong. 😏
SAISI
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