Love as a Verb: Action Over Impulse in Building Relationships

🕯️ The Liturgy of Lovers 🕯️

By Dr. Aurelius Venn, Ph.D. in Philosophy & Keeper of Modern Mythology

There is a quiet revolution happening in the heartland of our local towns and cities, one that requires no banners, no marches, and no loud proclamations. It is a revolution written not in ink, but in the daily, repetitive, often invisible acts of showing up for another human being. In an age obsessed with the electric spark of first sight, the intoxicating high of new romance, and the digital curation of our most intimate moments, we have come to mistake love for a noun—a static state of being that you either possess or lack. We speak of "finding" love as if it were a rare mineral discovered in a mine, something to be unearthed, polished, and displayed on a shelf. But what if love is not a thing you find? What if it is not a destination you reach, nor an object you hold?

To understand the true nature of relational depth, we must engage in a small but profound linguistic and philosophical shift. We must stop treating love as a noun and start understanding it as a verb. Love is not a state; it is an action. It is not a feeling that washes over us like a tide; it is a practice, a discipline, and a daily devotion. To say "I am in love" is to describe a temporary emotional condition. But to say "I love you" is to make a commitment, to perform a verb, to enact a choice. This article invites you to explore the philosophy behind this shift, examining how viewing love as an action over impulse can transform fragile infatuation into enduring partnership.

The Myth of the Spark

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Modern culture feeds us a narrative that equates the intensity of feeling with the quality of connection. We are told that if it doesn’t feel like magic, it isn’t true. If there is no butterflies-in-the-stomach sensation, we assume something is missing. This is the philosophy of impulse ruling our hearts. Impulse is reactive; it is driven by neurochemistry—dopamine, oxytocin, and norepinephrine surging through our systems to signal novelty and reward. It is beautiful in its brevity, like a firework display: bright, loud, and spectacular, but fleeting. Once the chemicals fade, as they inevitably do after several months or years, we are left with the stark reality of two ordinary people sharing a life.

When we mistake this chemical impulse for the entirety of love, we set ourselves up for disappointment. We expect the partner to continue providing that initial high. When they don’t—when they become predictable, when their quirks become annoying rather than endearing, when the mystery is solved—we interpret this settling down as a fading of love. We look for new sparks in other people, engaging in what psychologists call "limerence," or the obsessive pursuit of the unknown.

But if we reframe love as a verb, the narrative changes entirely. Love becomes less about how you feel about someone and more about what you do for and with them. It moves us from the realm of passive reception to active participation. You are not a spectator in your own relationship; you are an artist, constantly painting the canvas of your shared existence with brushstrokes of kindness, patience, curiosity, and sacrifice.

The Stoic Heart: Choosing What to Do

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To understand love as a verb, we can look to ancient philosophy for guidance. The Stoics, particularly Epictetus, taught that our happiness depends not on external events or the feelings of others, but on our own judgments and actions. We do not control how another person feels toward us; we only control our own behavior, our own choices, and our own responses to the world around us.

Apply this to love. You cannot force your partner to feel passionate about you every single day. You cannot control their mood when they come home from work or their reaction to a minor inconvenience. What you can do—what is entirely within your province—is choose how you respond. Do you meet their stress with irritation, or with a quiet offer of tea and silence? Do you listen to understand, or do you listen only to reply? These are not grand gestures; they are the small, unglamorous verbs that build the architecture of a relationship.

When love is an action, it becomes a discipline. It requires us to rise above our ego-driven impulses—the desire for validation, the need for immediate gratification, the urge to be "right" in every argument—and instead choose the behavior that serves the health of the bond. This is where the true work begins. It is not easy work; it is often tedious, repetitive, and requires a degree of self-denial that we rarely associate with romance. Yet, it is this very tedium that forges the strength. Just as a blacksmith must strike the iron repeatedly to shape it into a sword or a plowshare, so too must lovers strike at the soft metal of their initial infatuation, shaping it through time and effort into something durable, useful, and beautiful.

The Ontology of Presence

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In philosophical terms, to treat love as a verb is to engage in an ontology of presence. To be present with another person is to fully acknowledge their existence as a separate, complete being who is not merely a prop for your own drama or a mirror for your own ego. It is the act of "othering"—seeing the other not through the filter of what they mean to you, but through the lens of who they are in themselves.

This requires a radical shift from narcissism. When love is an impulse, we often love the image of the partner that reflects our desires. We fall in love with the idea of how they make us feel. But when love is an action, we are compelled to care about the person behind the feeling. We ask: What do you need? What brings you joy? How can I support your growth even if it means adjusting my own plans? This is a form of philosophical charity—we grant the other person the benefit of the doubt, the space to be imperfect, and the dignity to have needs that differ from our own.

In our local community, this philosophy of action-based love can be seen in the quiet heroes around us: the neighbors who check on the elderly during storms, the friends who sit with someone through grief without trying to fix it, the partners who remember small details about each other’s days and ask follow-up questions later. These are not people experiencing a chemical high; these are people performing the verb of love. They have chosen to be present, to act with care, to engage in the daily liturgy of mutual support.

Rituals of Continuity

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If love is a verb, it requires grammar. It needs structure. In philosophical and spiritual traditions, we often rely on rituals to anchor our actions in meaning. Relationships are no different. Without ritual, action can feel like mere chore—something done out of obligation rather than devotion. Rituals transform the mundane into the meaningful.

Consider the simple act of cooking dinner together. If you do it because you have to feed yourself and your partner, it is a task. But if you do it with attention, perhaps choosing a recipe that reminds you of a shared memory, or plating the food with care, and then sitting down together without phones, it becomes a ritual. It becomes an act of love made visible.

Other rituals might include a weekly "state of the union" conversation where both partners share their hopes and fears for the week ahead. Or a nightly practice of gratitude, where each person names one thing they appreciated about the other during the day. These are not grand gestures; they are small, consistent verbs that build a continuity between the two individuals. They create a narrative thread that ties today to yesterday and tomorrow to today. In this way, love becomes a story you co-author, a text you write and rewrite every day, adding new chapters of understanding and shared experience.

Love in the Digital Age: The Challenge of Action

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In our current era, the verb of love faces a unique challenge from technology. We live in an age of instant gratification and curated performance. Social media encourages us to showcase the highlights reel—the vacation photos, the anniversary posts, the perfect moments. This can create pressure to perform love rather than practice it. We may spend more time crafting the image of our relationship for an audience than we do engaging in the unglamorous work of maintaining it with a private partner.

Furthermore, digital communication often favors impulse over action. It is easy to send a quick text, a like, or a comment. These are micro-impulses that provide a small hit of connection but lack the depth of embodied presence. To love as a verb in this context means choosing to put down the phone. It means looking your partner in the eye. It means listening without planning your next sentence. It means being fully present in the physical space, resisting the urge to check for external validation when internal work is required.

This does not mean rejecting technology; after all, we use it to maintain long-distance connections or share creative projects. But it does mean recognizing that digital interaction is a supplement to, not a replacement for, the physical and emotional labor of love. The verb requires body, voice, touch, and time. It cannot be fully simulated by pixels on a screen.

A Philosophy for the Local Heart

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As we reflect on this shift from noun to verb, let us look around our local community. We are all part of a web of relationships—family, friends, neighbors, colleagues. Each connection is an opportunity to practice love as an action. The online article is not just a record of events; it is a mirror of the collective actions of its people. When we read about a teacher who stayed late to help a struggling student, or a shopkeeper who waived a fee for a regular, we are witnessing love in verb form.

This philosophy invites us to be more intentional. Before reacting in anger, ask: What is my impulse? What action would serve this relationship? Before seeking validation from others, ask: How can I show care through my behavior today? Love as a verb is not about perfection; it is about consistency. It is about showing up, day after day, even when the spark has dimmed and only the steady flame of commitment remains.

In conclusion, to treat love as a verb is to embrace a more mature, robust, and philosophically sound view of human connection. It moves us from the fragility of feeling to the strength of doing. It transforms romance from a fleeting chemical event into a lifelong project of mutual growth and care. It reminds us that we are not passive recipients of fate or chemistry; we are active participants in the creation of our own relational worlds.

So, let us stop waiting for love to "happen" to us. Let us stop searching for the perfect person who will make us feel complete. Instead, let us begin with what we have—our neighbors, our partners, our friends—and ask: What can I do today? How can I act in a way that honors this relationship?

In the quiet hours of the morning and the stillness of the evening, when the noise of the world fades away, it is these small acts of love—these verbs—that will sustain us. They are the foundation upon which we build not just relationships, but lives of meaning, connection, and enduring joy. Love is not a place you go; it is a path you walk. And the walking never truly ends. 🕯️