A Love of Two

In Grundlinien der Philosophie des Rechts, Hegel paints a vision of love in two distinct phases, each unfolding with a deep shift in how we relate to another. The first phase awakens when one comes to realize that the desire to be self-sufficient is no longer enough. What once seemed like wholeness now feels incomplete, and it becomes clear that there is a yearning-an aching need-for another soul to make us truly whole. This, as Hegel describes, is the birth of love, the moment when we become painfully aware that a life lived alone, without the presence of the beloved, would forever be lacking, forever incomplete.

In this moment, we come to understand that our heart was always waiting for someone-someone who, without even knowing it, holds the key to a deeper kind of existence. We no longer want to stand apart as individuals; instead, we see in the eyes of the other a reflection of all that is missing in ourselves. This is the first stirring of love: the realization that only in the presence of another do we begin to glimpse our truest self.

Yet, Hegel does not stop here. He takes us to the second phase, a place where love matures into what he calls mutual recognition. It is no longer enough to love the other from a distance, to feel an individual ache. Love, in its deepest form, becomes a shared experience-a delicate dance where each partner discovers themselves within the other. Hegel beautifully captures this when he speaks of finding oneself in the other, where love no longer exists in isolation but in the mutual embrace of two souls affirming each other’s worth.

But, as all beautiful things carry a fragile truth, Hegel reminds us that love is not without its tensions. The beloved, in their autonomy, carries the freedom to leave, to turn away at any moment, introducing a vulnerability that cannot be ignored. This tension-between the desire to hold and the need to let go-is the heart of love’s fragility. Hegel speaks of marriage as a way to transcend this fleeting nature, a commitment that attempts to make love something solid, lasting.

He goes further, arguing that love finds its ultimate expression in the birth of a child, the living embodiment of a couple’s union. The child, in Hegel’s eyes, binds two lovers together beyond emotion, uniting them in the creation of life. But is this really the measure of love’s success? Does love always find completion in the creation of a family?

Not always. The journey of love does not follow a single path. Sometimes, the arrival of children exposes cracks in a relationship rather than strengthens it. Love, instead of liberating, can become a binding force that traps us in expectations we never agreed to. And here is where contemporary thinkers like Jean-Paul Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir, and Alain Badiou part ways with Hegel. For Badiou, love is not about becoming one, dissolving into each other. It’s about embracing difference-the radical beauty of two individuals who, though separate, share a profound connection.

When I reached for your hand, hoping you might hold it, it wasn’t with the hope that we would become one, but rather, to cherish that fleeting moment as two souls meeting in the same place. Even in that brief touch, we may have felt like one, but the reality was that our love was always grounded in the freedom of being two distinct individuals. And that was its beauty. If it was love at all, it wasn’t about losing ourselves in each other but rather recognizing the beauty in our separate journeys, coming together when we chose, and parting when we had to.

Badiou’s idea of love is this: a paradoxical dance of two souls who come together but never fully merge, a shared moment that transforms the way we see the world-where, in those moments, nothing exists but us, like the two main characters in the movie. Yet even then, love is not a final destination. It is a process, a constant negotiation between intimacy and the freedom of each individual. It is infinite because it is always evolving, never quite reaching an end, but continuing as long as both hearts choose to remain.

Perhaps, in the end, our story wasn’t about failing to become one. Maybe it was about two people who cherished their separateness, who sought to hold onto the beauty of being two while grappling with the delicate fragility of love. If Badiou is right, and love is truly the art of seeing the world through the eyes of two, then maybe we simply lost sight of that shared vision. Our hands, once held in hope, now rest gently apart, each returning to its own path, free once more.