[ESSAY] Coupling Chemistry and Becoming One: Romantic Love as a Fusion of Two Individualities

     "Love is born into every human being; it calls back the halves of our original nature together; it tries to make one out of two and heal the wound of human nature... "Love" is the name for our pursuit of wholeness, for our desire to be complete." - "The Speech of Aristophanes" from Symposium by Plato

    Over this past summer, I worked in a polymer chemistry lab on a research project to make polymers that would be more resistant to degradation. The first step to making these polymers was performing a "suzuki coupling": we would take a boronic acid derivative and merge it with di-chlorophenanthroline to create an entirely new molecule consisting of parts of each of the original molecules. The details of this reaction are unimportant to this essay, and I tell the story of this reaction not to underscore how many hours I spent in the lab (too many) but rather because I believe this reaction serves as a perfect analogy to the concept of romantic love as a type of fusion. Two separate individuals find commonalities, exert energy, and eventually achieve an end product of a shared worldview.

    To begin, I must clarify my definition of "fusion." By fusion, I do not mean that two individuals eventually adopt, or create, a personality they share amongst each other. In other words, in no relationship should two people become exactly like each other—to me, I find this to be less of fusion and more of codependency (and perhaps it is a type of fusion, but it is complete fusion, which is harmful). I also believe that a recognition of individualities can still exist within fusion. Just because two people have "fused" does not mean they have the same aspirations, careers, or physical characteristics. But where does this concept of fusion come from? Well, we can start from the obvious: sex. Natalie Wynn from Contrapoints is right to point out that in Genesis, two married people "become one flesh" (2:24). And she was also right to point out that sex blurs the line between the self and the other. Both partners desire to become closer to one another, and in most cases, the emotional "closeness" is never enough. There thus needs to be a physical manifestation of this closeness. Wynn (and apparently also Corinthians 6:16) would argue that sex serves as a symbolic placeholder: you cross the lines of each other's individualities and "become one" both physically and spiritually.

    But this idea goes further than sex. There are many instances where we symbolically sacrifice our identities to merge with our partners. For instance, marriage is the spiritual act of signing your name into a union (coming from the Latin "unus" meaning "one"). You signify your commitment and partnership to your other half, but you also decide to be recognized as an entity together. Perhaps marriage is not the best example, given its history as an oppressive institution against women; however, this decision to fuse does not just have to be seen within marriage. Psychologists, particularly American psychologist Diana Kirschner, have documented something known as the "Michelangelo Phenomenon": a process in which romantic individuals "sculpt" each other over a long temporal period. These individuals become similar to each other, and it further suggests the human desire to become one with one's other half. In fact, you even subconsciously adopt the gestures, facial expressions, and linguistic patterns of your partner, something psychologists Tanya Chartrand and John Bargh studied and eventually coined as the "chameleon effect." We subconsciously emotionally fuse with our partner by copying their behaviors and body language. Perhaps the sacrifice of our identities while in love does not happen in a single instant, or when we consciously decide to fuse, but rather, fusion is a lengthy temporal process after years of hard work and compromise in which we hand over our individualities slowly, bit by bit, until we have finally accepted that our partner knows us better than we do.

    Funny enough, even our language reflects our desire for fusion. When two people are in love, we say they are "inseparable," "together," "entangled," "attached," "a part of each other." Our words for marriage are "union" and "unit." We say that our partners are our "other half" and "our world." In organic chemistry (can you tell that I'm a chemist yet), we say that coupling is a reaction of two molecules to create a unary complex system, and this definition of coupling is not too far off from the subtle definition of "couple."

    When I presented this idea to one of my friends, he asked if this meant you would lose a part of yourself in a relationship. To him, this seemed preposterous; if anything, he felt more like himself with his girlfriend. To me, this was an incredibly intelligent question: if you sacrifice your individuality, or even shape it as in the Michelangelo phenomenon, wouldn't this mean you would lose some piece of yourself? My response to this question would be that the concept of self inherently changes within a relationship. That is, pragmatically speaking, your actions, behavior, and thoughts either become reaffirmed by your partner (perhaps because they share these actions or thoughts) or subconsciously differ to become similar to your partner. Either way, the affirmation (or reaffirmation) of your actions enhances your performance of identity: the acceptance we receive from "our other half" heightens our confidence to behave or perform a certain way. We change as individuals, but we feel as though our personalities have somehow become more intimate. But still, this begs the question: yes, the conception of the self has changed, but does this mean that there is a loss of your original self? If you view the changes made to your personality, your behavior, and your stream of consciousness as a "loss," then my answer would be yes; however, I maintain the personal belief that these changes are not so much "losses" as they are adaptations. If we view identity as something to preserve, something that is inherently ours, we will indeed begin to guard ourselves from romantic (and platonic) relationships. In some cases, this mindset is beneficial: we preserve our core values from bad actors and adverse influencers; however, this mindset also gives way to isolationism. If identity becomes our only means for self-preservation, nothing will ever influence, change, or challenge us. Viewing identity as one of continual evolution, where even your core foundations are subject to being challenged in the very Descartian sense (even though I despise René Descartes' philosophy), allows for constant growth. In this framework, there is no "original self;" the self experiences polymorphism through each moment of existence. This is notably not an ideological shift so much as a perspective shift.

    Perhaps now I will tackle the most difficult question: what is the difference between a fusion of individualities in romantic love (eros) and a fusion of individualities in platonic love (philia)? After all, if sex is not necessary for fusion, could two platonic friends not, after spending years together and exerting a tremendous amount of energy towards a common worldview, achieve this merging of two identities? What creates this division, this strong marker between eros and philia that permits only one of them to begin the coupling process? My answer to this question is rather anticlimactic: there is no difference, or if there was, it would be so subjective, so personalized, that there would be no theoretical way to distinguish them. In fact, one notable fact that I have yet to disclose is that the chameleon effect is not exclusive to romantic relationships; platonic friends also experience this effect. However, one could argue that a difference in a fusion based on eros and a fusion based on philia is the initial passion: the intensity of physical and emotional attraction catalyzes the reaction to start building one "unit." Though this distinguishing note is initially true, at least in the short term, this "passion" eventually dies with what is coined as the "honeymoon stage," and the continuing work that occurs afterwards is not so different from the work you might find between two virtuous friends. The fact that the emotional shaping of individualities occurs after years of marriage exemplifies the fact that fusion is not dependent on passion. There is a constant effort of compromise and discussion that brings two people to a shared meaning over the game of life. Fusion is thus dependent on the conscious commitment to another person and the subconscious interweaving that eventually occurs with "closeness."

    The implications of adopting this ideology towards love are profound. The first is the importance of choosing a partner: the implication of love as a sacrifice of identity implies a heavy moral burden on choosing someone trustworthy to carry and shape your individuality. Staying single thus becomes much more appealing than choosing someone unvirtuous. The second is the recognition of the consequentiality behind hookup culture: if sex is an intimate vulnerability, a physical fusion meant to symbolize a greater spiritual fusion, then casual sex eventually degrades that vulnerability. This degradation does not suggest an inability to eventually fuse with a chosen partner, but it does mean that other avenues would need to be taken to achieve this fusion. The third implication is the importance of virtuous friendship. Our modern world stresses romantic relationships to the point that it becomes one of our top priorities. This stress has led to fear over the possibility that we may never find "our other half." However, if fusion can be achieved through virtuous friendship, this diminishes the prioritization of romantic love. The final implication is the overuse of the word "love." To signal love to another, especially in a romantic setting, now becomes a signal of commitment to the act of fusion within this model. You are now placed with a moral burden for this commitment; in other words, you become a plaintiff. Now, I should note that this moral responsibility does not apply if the other member of the relationship acts unjustly: cheats, becomes abusive, etc. There are various exceptions to the moral burden, but nevertheless, in most cases, the burden still exists.

    I still marvel at the beauty of witnessing two organic compounds, so unlike each other in structure and function, agree to join together in the presence of a catalyst. For some of my molecules, it only takes them a few hours; for others, it takes them over a day, but they always decide to create one end product—one flesh. Let's just say they both had really good "chemistry."