Love is the love of something.

A Tree, A Rock, A Cloud

The old man in McCullers' story climbs the ladder of love by first learning to love a goldfish. I was intrigued by this because a goldfish is often one of the first loves of many a human being. Though we don't typically think about our first love in this way, it is in fact usually a goldfish, cat, tulip, dog, gerbil, or sibling (all the same). I remember learning to love my first cat, Captain Alex (the same one I wrote about in the pet dying post). I loved him right away, but my sister's learning process was somewhat more extended. In the middle of the night when she would take trips to the bathroom, Captain Alex used to attack her feet from his hiding place under the coffee table. I don't remember him doing it to me - just her; I think he loved attacking her in particular because she was so freaked out. She would go to all lengths to get past the coffee table without a scratch from Captain Alex; sometimes she would try climbing over the couch or walking on top of the coffee table, but he would always jump out and scare her. In the end, he quit scaring her at night and she learned to love him. She was pretty young at the time and getting him to pur was entertainment for a night.



I think about what it means to love a cloud as opposed to loving a tree or a rock. To love a cloud, I would watch it all day; I would watch it forget itself and reinvent itself, the process of anamnesis, the "perpetual process of loss and reparation" (Plato 30). I would love the cloud from a warm spot in the grass. So loving, in this sense, is peaceful looking.
To love a tree, I would feel the bark, smell and taste the sap. I would climb the tree as high as I could and swing from its boughs. I would share the tree with a friend; we would share our secrets with the tree and listen to his when the wind played on his leaves. So loving, in this sense, is listening, touching, tasting.
My idea of loving indulges the five senses, sight, sound, smell, touch, and taste. But this makes loving a self-indulging process. Is it? Do we love things merely for the enjoyment and satisfaction it provides to us? Do we love for ourselves rather than for others?

Socrates would say so; he posits that love is for the sake of immortality (Plato 31). I don't see love as a selfish act, however the manner in which I would love a tree, a rock, a cloud proves otherwise.