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"Romance" originates as a term for fiction written in Latin. By the Middle Ages, it meant idealized stories of heroism, chivalry, and love, which is pretty close to what it means today, as in romantic fiction.
As we read romantic fiction, we identify with their heroic characters. Thus, it's easy to see how the term jumps off the page into real life, as in the quest for romantic partnership, in which a heroic, chivalrous man and an idealized woman achieve ideal love.
The term has lept beyond partnerships to include all idealizing. To romanticize, or increasingly "to romance," something is to overvalue it, to expect its reality to deliver to us what we hope for, to assume that what we want to be true of something is true, that what we wish to be so is so—to have faith that our dreams will come true. In other words, magical thinking, the assumption that our hopes are or will be the reality.
I am a romanticynic, by which I mean what this blog's title expresses. I'm deeply romantic and deeply skeptical.
I have my hopes and dreams for us all, my vision of the ideal world. I tear up easily. For example, I have yet to watch this video without getting weepy, because I am one with everybody, a human. I adore and even idealize the human spirit.
And I'm also deeply cynical, like a detached and doubting dog (cynic from canine). I explore our species as if from outside, like a wary dog. I like Seinfeld's line and repeat it often: "People are the worst."
This most certainly and even especially includes me. I have to work especially hard to keep a self-ridiculing, skeptical, cynical eye on myself because though I'm no exception to humankind, being me, I'll tend to assume that I am.
Shakespeare wrote, "What a piece of work is man, how noble in reason." I embrace that romantic idealization of us and its opposite. We humans are a piece of work.
I indulge my romantic appetites plenty, but always in tension counterposed against my cynicism. I like it that way, but then I like living with tensions, not harmonies. Harmonies feel excessively romantic to me, or what I'll call here "meta-romantic."
"Meta-" has come to mean recursion, as in meta-cognition (thinking about thinking). Meta-romancers are people who romance their romancing, idealizing themselves for idealizing. The pride in proud, blind faith is meta-romantic: "I romance and idealize instead of facing reality. That's what heroes do."
Desiring to find your ideal soulmate is romantic. Feeling heroic about it is meta-romantic.
Belief in God is romantic. Feeling heroic for believing in God is meta-romantic. It's idealizing yourself for idealizing—not just faith but proud faith.
Believing you've found "the One" ideal political ideology is romantic. Feeling heroic for having done so is meta-romantic. "I have complete confidence that my ideology is ideal, and I'm impressed by how heroic I am to be crusading for it."
Imagining that you're the hero of some movie is romantic. Feeling heroic for imagining that you're that hero is meta-romantic.
That last example is weird, right? What would that even look like?
Maybe a Trekkie, though probably not. Trekkies really get into the Star Trek fantasy and imagine themselves heroic like Captain Kirk, but they probably don't assume that they're heroic for doing so. It would be awkward: "Behold!! Stand in awe of me for I fancy myself the captain of the Enterprise!"
Meta-romancing is awkward with fiction, but oddly not with the search for soulmates, belief in God, or getting deep into a political ideology.
Take the search for soulmates and the countless pop songs that make it sound heroic, the proud hero or heroine who wants, finds, loses, or was crossed in their heroic quest for ideal love.
Combine those songs with youthful hormonal certainty, and most of us will have gone through an intense life phase of meta-romantic soulmate searching, the pretense of heroism for wanting the ideal. And when we found a mate, we'd rev our meta-romancing way up together during the honeymoon period with those meta-romantic pop songs as our background music.
Religion and spirituality, too—they're almost designed for meta-romancing. One romances or idealizes a God or higher power and then idealizes oneself for having done so. Again, faith is romantic; proud faith is meta-romantic. Not only does one romance God. One also romances oneself for romancing God.
And look at any ideological political movement. Almost all mobilize their base with the core message, "We demand more!" which mobilizes more effectively if it's shouted proudly. People are galvanized by their pride in demanding more. Ideological movements idolize their cause and idolize themselves for having that cause.
It may be that nothing can cut through the din of political conflict like a meta-romanced demand for more, but it's ultimately dangerous. It turns a demand for equality into a demand for dominance, as with the Nazis and Communists. And it motivates fake crusades, like billionaires feeling heroic as they proudly cry, "We demand more!" Look at the pride on people's faces at ideological political rallies. That pride is the thrill of meta-romancing.
There are taboos against meta-romancing through fiction itself (for example, the awkwardness of a Trekkie feeling heroic for being a Trekkie), but not in love, religion, or politics.
For a sharper contrast still, imagine being proud of masturbating to idealizations of yourself and imaginary partners. A man might be emboldened subconsciously by his imaginary, idealized conquests, but he wouldn't get much traction in pretending he's a hero for indulging in such delusions of grandeur.
And yet in love, politics, and religion, meta-romancing is encouraged.
And though a meta-romantic Trekkie is unlikely, in a subtle way, a lot of fiction encourages a meta-romancing lifestyle about whatever you idealize. A lot of fiction implies a romantic hero's journey moral: Never give up. Never quit. Never back down. And be proud of your heroic self for being so steadfast.
Many fictional heroes are on a quest to realize a dream, and a lot of fiction ends happily after a struggle against all the odds. Such fiction implies that hope always succeeds—perseverance always furthers, so feel heroic for sticking with your dreams, whatever they are.
Enjoying such meta-romantic fiction, we identify with the hero and conclude that it's heroic to be an idealist. It's a badge of honor and pride to never let go of your idealizing dreams.
What typically goes unnoticed is that the villains are just as dream-driven, faithful, hopeful, and persevering in trying to achieve their dreams as the heroes.
The unnoticed lesson those fictions really teach is that good dreams prevail over bad dreams. The moral of the story really isn't about being a hero for sticking with your dreams, since that's just what the villains did too.
I think romanticizing can be done safely. I'm not sure meta-romancing can be done safely. That's one reason I'm a romanticynic. I need a way to keep my romancing tendencies from becoming meta-romantic.
Another reason is reality itself. Reality is not ideal, and yet, being human, I can help but be idealistic.
Here's a 3-minute video I made this week about how meta-romantic epidemics can plant themselves within any subculture, though some more readily than others:
