Blind or Bound?

Is love really blind? In Orthodoxy, G. K. Chesterton argues that love, contrary to the common saying, is not blind:

The devotee is entirely free to criticise; the fanatic can safely be a sceptic. Love is not blind; that is the last thing that it is. Love is bound; and the more it is bound the less it is blind.

As an example to support this argument, Chesterton writes, "A man's friend likes him but leaves him as he is: his wife loves him and is always trying to turn him into somebody else." (Given the whole context, it is understood that the wife is trying to improve the husband into his best self, not turn him into something he is not.) In other words, the person who truly loves another person, or a place or object, is not blind to his or its faults, but rather sees them fully and attempts to get rid of them for the sake of the person, place, or object's best interests.

While I enjoy and appreciate this interpretation of love by Chesterton, it reminds me of another favorite set of lines from Shakespeare that take a different tack:

Things base and vile, holding no quantity,
Love can transpose to form and dignity.
Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind;
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind. (A Midsummer Night's Dream 1.1.238-41)

Shakespeare's character Helena speaks these lines in her revealing soliloquy, and they seem to agree with the expression that "love is blind." I think this speech may be interpreted in two different ways. First, given the immediate situation of the play when Helena utters these words, we can take it that Helena is admitting to loving someone not perhaps worth her unconditional devotion (a man who does not love her back), (and/)or that she is accusing the man who does not love her of loving another woman who is not as worthy of his love as she herself is.

However, a secondary interpretation is, I think, acceptable, on the larger foundation of Shakespeare's themes in the play as a whole: love focuses not on superficial qualities but on inner worth (hence, it "looks not with the eyes but with the mind"). The things appearing "base and vile" may in fact be lifted up to worthiness simply because they are loved. I imagine a scruffy, mangy dog in an alley being taken in and cared for, trained, and loved until he becomes a companion dog worth having. Love is capable of taking pains to make such transformations.

So, is love blind? Or, as Chesterton puts it, is it instead bound? I think these two interpretations may not be exclusive. Instead, they can work together. According to the Bible's view of it, love could be said to be both blind and bound. This, in fact, might be a way of summing up the entire message of the gospel.

Similar to Shakespeare's idea that love transforms base things to dignified things is the Bible's message that God loves people who are filthy with wrongdoing and thereby changes them into people who are clean with goodness. Many verses of Scripture make this statement: "But God proves His own love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us!" (Romans 5:8). Again, "He has rescued us from the domain of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of the Son He loves" (Colossians 1:13). Because of God's loving gift of His Son, "if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away, and look, new things have come" (2 Corinthians 5:17). People are transformed through God's act of love from sinners in darkness into heirs with Christ Himself (Romans 8:17). God's love could be said to look with the mind rather than the eyes, as He sees the value of the person He is transforming rather than the person's outward appearance. Indeed, God tells Samuel that "man does not see what the Lord sees, for man sees what is visible, but the Lord sees the heart" (1 Samuel 16:7). Jesus' followers are told: "stop judging according to outward appearances; rather judge according to righteous judgment" (John 7:23-25). Perhaps God's love is blind, looking not at the superficial but at the true worth of a person, and therefore making the person worthy.

On the other hand, the Bible makes it clear that true love is not blind to errors or wrongdoing. Instead, it is bound to working hard to gain the best for its object, even if that means pointing out faults. John describes Jesus as being "full of grace and truth" (John 1:14); truth is not to be overlooked or ignored for the sake of love. In Paul's famous treatise on love to the Corinthians, he says that "love finds no joy in unrighteousness but rejoices in the truth" (1 Corinthians 13:6). The book of Proverbs explains that God's love involves discipline just like a father's love involves discipline of the "son he delights in" (Proverbs 3:12). God's idea is that love must be bound to the ultimate good of its objects; it cannot simply ignore negative traits that are harmful in the long run.

In the person of Jesus, God's idea of love is perfectly expressed. Through Jesus' death on the cross, God shows His willingness to extend complete grace - a totally free gift of salvation that only a perfectly sinless life deserves. He also shows His righteousness in providing the complete condemnation that only sinful lives deserve. Though Jesus was perfectly sinless, He took on Himself that punishment so that we, deserving of death, might instead have the salvation. God's love is both blind in its willingness to give the free gift and bound in its meeting the righteous requirement of holy justice. True love must be blind enough to look inside at true worth and bound enough to work for the polishing of that worth so it can shine.

Beauty Not Chosen

Recently I listened to All the Light We Cannot See, a novel by Anthony Doerr. One of its predominating themes is that life is fuller when we take in as much of the beauty that surrounds us as we can. Beauty can be found in even surprising packages, like snails, which fascinate one of the main characters in the novel. Listening to the story inspired me to be more aware of my own surroundings and to find them beautiful. Additionally, an old friend wrote to me in a message about the beauty of spring that is starting to emerge in nature and how we might see that beauty reflected in our lives. Consequently, I started to notice and to appreciate the pretty sights in our own backyard.

The yard is not one we created ourselves; we moved to this house in the middle of January and inherited the landscaping that was already present, including a few nice trees, and, most notably, rose bushes. The roses were everywhere. They edged the perimeter of the backyard and side yard and they resided in several front yard beds as well. Everywhere we turned we saw roses. They weren't exactly nice to look at, either. They were scrubby, gray, branchy, thorny things. There was no way to tell if they were even alive.

My immediate response to so many roses was less than positive. Roses would certainly not be my first, second, third, fourth, or even fifth choice in terms of landscaping. (Read: I would never choose them.) Roses are notorious for being difficult plants riddled with pests and plagued with diseases, as far as I know. Plus, they are overrated. And thorny.

Then some blooms appeared. They appeased me a bit. I looked up some information on how to take care of roses, started pruning, and decided that maybe they would be worth the work.

Now as May approaches, the roses are getting ready to kick it into high gear. More and more blooms have adorned their thorny stems. I'm appreciating their presence. After all, if they weren't there, we'd have a bare yard.

Although the roses are not what I would have chosen, I'm beginning to see and value their beauty. In much the same way, I recognize there are aspects of my life I wouldn't have chosen right now, but if I take the time to learn about them and make an effort to cultivate them, I can also value their beauty. Having a baby has been a challenge, and I would not choose to be waking up to settle a little ten month-old multiple times a night in my ideal world, but I can take from this situation many beautiful blooms: extra cuddles, the chance to provide for my daughter, the opportunity to lean heavily on my Father's arms.

Sometimes at night I hum to myself the hymn about "leaning on Jesus, leaning on Jesus, leaning on the everlasting arms." His love is sustaining me and His burden is light. This truth is sweet and beautiful to me as a rose.

Need

God made me a child and said,
   "Rest in Me."
But everything was beautiful; I couldn't see a need.
God put me in high school and said,
   "Rest in Me."
But I got it all done; there was not a need.
God put me in college and said,
   "Rest in Me."
But I guarded my sleep; I hid the need.
God moved me to a new city and put me in grad school and said,
   "Rest in Me."
But I hunted for answers and killed the need with desperate prayers.
God gave me a husband and said,
   "Rest in Me."
But someone showed me a good example, and I thought I had rested enough.
God gave me a child and said,
   "Rest in Me."
And I couldn't find myself, and I said,
   "God, where am I? Hold me."
And He was.