That demon love

Christian Century, Jan 24, 2001 by Gilbert Meilaender

AFFECTION IS the most instinctive, in that sense the most animal, of the loves; its jealousy is proportionately fierce. It snarls and bares its teeth like a dog whose food has been snatched away." Thus writes C. S. Lewis in that modern classic, The Four Loves.

Such sentiments are rarely articulated when we speak of love. We usually extol love's nobility, or ponder the way it makes people capable of great devotion. But just because of its nobility and the capacity for fierce devotion that love provokes, love may be terrible if and when it is unchecked by any higher loyalty or devotion. "Love," Lewis says, "having become a god, becomes a demon."

When Harriet Vane tries to detect the perpetrator of some increasingly sinister pranks in Dorothy L. Sayers's mystery novel Gaudy Night, her reasoning is led astray because she does not consider how deeply distorted and distorting inordinate love--both erotic and maternal--can become. And Lord Peter Wimsey, who, as it happens, is not so deceived about the identity of the perpetrator but who is intent on permitting Harriet to solve the mystery on her own, says to her: "When you have come to a conclusion about all this, will you remember that it was I who asked you to take a dispassionate view and I who told you that of all devils let loose in the world there was no devil like devoted love." Notice: it is devoted love--true, tender, suffering love--that is, simultaneously, devilish.

So it is in this story of a mother, daughter and granddaughter, whom we may call Mary Jennifer and Megan respectively. Mary is a devout, believing Christian of the culturally conservative sort given to reading James Dobson, Cal Thomas and Bill Bennett. She is concerned, as well she might be, about the state of the family in our society, about children who grow up without actually being reared, about the failure of churches to inculcate and transmit a Christian shape for living. She does not condone--and, indeed, can scarcely comprehend--the easy access to abortion in our society. She has taken with full seriousness in her own life the marriage vow with its commitment to lifelong fidelity.

But now her daughter Jennifer, after 20 years of marriage, has divorced her husband. Why? Because she does not love him--and, indeed, says she has not loved him for many years. That her marriage is dead and cannot be revived is a conclusion Jennifer has reached entirely on her own. She sought no counsel or direction from her pastor, nor, when her husband wanted to preserve the marriage, was she willing to go with him to any kind of counselor at all.

Clearly, this is a tragedy and a crisis for Mary. (Also for her husband, to be sure, but mother-love is enough to worry about for now.) At some point, of course, there was little that Mary could do to forestall the inevitable. Jennifer was set on divorce and could not be dissuaded. How does one still "support" such a daughter? How does one love unconditionally and devotedly as a mother is supposed to love?

Jennifer knows what kind of support she wants. Her ex-husband is, by her lights, a villain and a jerk. All who love and support her must share that view. Although he remains, of course, the father of Jennifer's daughter, Megan, he must become as close to a nonperson as possible. He was never really loving. He was mean and hateful. Now, postdivorce, he seeks only to cause trouble. He is unreasonable about money and, though he makes his court-stipulated child-support payments regularly, does not really give Megan the money she needs. That is Jennifer's view--and, hence, the view that must be shared by any who would love and support her.

Poor Mary. She has come around now. She has adopted Jennifer's view. Not slowly, gradually and reluctantly--but swiftly, with certitude and, one may even say, with a vengeance. Jennifer has been treated badly. The rest of the family must climb aboard that train. It is not sufficient simply to try to help Jennifer, not enough to continue to treat her with affection and concern. Megan's father must be ostracized as an evil man. That is what support of Jennifer now means. It requires that her ex-husband be characterized as evil. Indeed, although he did not seek the divorce and acquiesced unwillingly, Mary can now scarcely regard him as Megan's father. Of course, he is that in a technical sense--but no more than technical. That is what all who "support" Jennifer must now also believe. And, alas, although Mary insists that she encourages Megan to spend time with her father, Mary's words and demeanor tell a different story and--together with Jennifer's--drive the wedge between Megan and her father deeper.

Does Mary ever wonder whether something has gone wrong here? Perhaps so, but, after all, she tells herself and others, in a pinch you have to support your children. To do anything less, to fail to adopt Jennifer's view of the situation, would be to risk losing a daughter. And what mother could do that? How could one love one's daughter and risk that?