When a culture places the ideals of freedom and independence at the pinnacle of personal and societal attainment, any act of surrender is problematic. When independence is elevated to a virtue, surrender is diminished to a fault. The conflation of identity with freedom frequently binds self image to a type of selfishness generated by the fear of loss of freedom. This fear then supports the development of a vast array of ego-protecting psychological and emotional defenses, many of which result in negative behavior and estrangement from others.
Often, what we rely upon for emotional safety is a trap. Attached to the seeming security of our internal constructs, surrender feels dangerous and risky and thus we remain snared by our own powerful self-delusions of safety. Even the loneliness of isolation can feel emotionally safer than the risk of letting go, particularly the risk of fully surrendering to love.
Defining love – long the work of poets, novelists, and playwrights – is not easy. By all accounts there are myriad ways to love others and to be loved. But in general I think love can be divided into two basic types, selfish and selfless love.
Selfish love requires little surrender; its nature is inwardly directed and its value measured by degrees of feeling loved. Selfish love always demands love in return and thus selfish love is offered conditionally. When love is not received in kind, selfish love stimulates feelings of hurt and anger. Entitlement arises and so does aggression. This self-centered behavior generates fear and suspicion in others and then the trap is fully sprung. Ironically, the love desired is driven away.
Selfless love is the love of great surrender, its nature outwardly directed and its value beyond measure. Selfless love makes no demand for love in return, and is thus offered unconditionally. If love is not received in kind, selfless love generates loving feelings nonetheless. Anger, hurt, and aggression do not arise because selfless love is not entitled. It is self-generated and replenished while radiating continuous warmth upon others.
Like the fictional Charles Foster Kane in Orson Welles’ classic film Citizen Kane, many crave love, but love on their terms only. Such selfish love inevitably breeds estranged rejection leading to bitterness and sorrow. Alternatively, the emotional letting go that selfless love requires is often too much to ask; complete surrender is not something most of us find easy. To the selfish, selfless love can feel impersonal and detached because its nature is not particular. Like sunlight, it shines on all equally. Those in search of selfish love would best avoid expecting it from the selfless.
I find that I experience a mix of both selfish and selfless love. My interaction with others is by turns simple and complex, easy and difficult. My ego defenses are easily triggered, and my habitual and ingrained fears of loss of freedom keep arising, despite my best intentions. Occupying the middle ground between self-protection and full surrender is challenging, akin to finding the sweet spot between being a total jerk and a saint.
By observing how I work with my own experience of selfish and selfless love, I am also becoming intimately familiar with how feelings of fear and surrender change over time. For herein lies a basic truth; observation itself changes everything, including love.
