Fish Love

It began way back when we were kids: “I’m not going to be your friend anymore.” We’ve all been there, that first bone-bruising experience of exclusion. It seems to be rampant among romantic relationships today, based on the premise: "When you don't fill my needs any longer, I will dump you." This anticipation is often back-of-mind these days even as young people proclaim vows before a gathering of encouraging witnesses.

When we see others only through the filter of our own needs, complex human beings become commodities. This form of self-love has been called “Fish Love.”

Rabbi Dr. Abraham Twerski tells this story:

“I asked a young man why he's eating fish. The man says, ‘Because I love fish.’ 

“I replied: ‘You don't love the fish — you love yourself, and because the fish tastes good to you, you took it out of the water, killed it, and ate it.’”

Fish Love" isn't really love at all — it's self-love lurking behind a mask. You're not loving the other for their own sake; you're loving what they do for you. Think of the man or woman who marries because “I don’t want to get old and die alone.”

This can describe the way many of us approach love, whether we’re aware of it or not. Because our affection is typically reimbursed by sensory reciprocity. 

When we’re with someone we’re attracted to, our acts of love – spoken or physical – generate feedback. They speak words of affection to us, perhaps. Their eyes light up. They smile. There is kissing, and kissing back. 

A lot of what feels like "loving” them is actually the reward of the communications feedback loop: being received, being responded to. Call it love if you want to, but love validated by sensory reciprocity.

Death does away with the feedback loop. The voice doesn't answer. The face doesn't react. What's left is whatever didn't rely on reciprocity. Some people discover there was very little left. The relationship was mostly transactional – the Fish Love analogy. 

But many people come to know the opposite: the love is still there, even stronger than before, because it's no longer looking for a reward. It stands alone, undiluted. This is a true love bond that continues and often deepens. 

Research has shown this to happen. People don't "get over" the departed one – they shift the relationship to internal manifestation versus sensory — a sense of the person's continued presence. 

What does this tell us? The truest love doesn't need the body. It can be the very thing that shows what love actually is.

Rabbi Twerski went on to note that people mistakenly think we give to those we love, when really it's this: we come to love those to whom we give. Real love is generated by giving, not by receiving.

Where have we heard this before?