From Long-Distance to No-Distance Relationships

As a college student in a mid-nineties dorm, I was only too aware of that girl on my floor who entered freshman year wrapped up in a long-distance relationship. The telltale signs were everywhere: long evenings spent monopolizing her room’s shared telephone, and the not-so-occasional appearance in the hallway or cafeteria with a tear-stained face. Everyone knew the romance was doomed; too much time and space between young sweethearts usually pointed to a breakup by Thanksgiving. Once in a while a rare couple made it to the finish line and married after graduation — but they served as the exception which proved the rule that long-distance romances are a longshot. And we seldom reflected upon the reason why they so often fizzled because it seemed obvious: human persons are affected by their community. They grow and change in response to the new circles of friends they encounter, discovering truths about themselves they never knew before.  Such is the reason why, despite being painful in the moment, failed long-distance relationships tend to give way to a joyful discovery of new and better possibilities in the present, in the “here” and “now” of the community in which we find ourselves living.  

And yet, it is precisely this definition of “presence”— being “here, now”— to which our modern communication technologies pose a challenge. Our devices now create the sense that time and distance no longer matter; everyone seems within reach, possibilities for friendship and human connection seem infinite, and achieving a sense of identity through community, effortless. And it is no exaggeration to say that millions of young people are seeking community through the internet — striving to gain a sense of identity rooted in belonging, even if only in a rather flimsy sense, to an online “tribe” which affirms them without challenging them, and which claims to do so without cost. And those long-distance relationships? They don’t seem as daunting as they once did — with devices making bodily absence a mere triviality.

What Is the Body For?

But if bodily absence is just that, a triviality, what does that suggest about bodily presence?  If being “here, now” in the flesh no longer has irreplaceable value, what is the body for? John Paul II began his refreshingly modern presentation of perennial Christian teaching on the body over two decades before internet use and texting became widespread. That work has been predominantly applied to areas of sexual ethics, but make no mistake: his lectures present, not simply moral arguments, but an anthropology, a presentation of what it means to be a human person, and the way in which a person’s body factors into his or her identity as an image of God. It is difficult to overstate the value of his insights as we face a world that has moved toward ever-increasing modes of disembodied communication, where the value of bodily encounter is not simply held cheap, but too often is circumvented altogether.

Prevailing attitudes today tend to waffle between two poles: on one end, the body is largely viewed as something “I have,” an impersonal instrument for use, and on the other extreme, as something “I am,” a material reality that exhausts my identity. For the human person, identity and community go hand in hand. Share on X The first echoes the lingo of the sexual revolution; the second engenders the “cult of the body,” which convinces so many that physical perfection determines personal worth (and is reflected, among other things, in the $70 billion spent annually on elective cosmetic and aesthetic procedures!). Both extremes — the instrumental and the reductionist — interact at random in the rhetoric of the transgender movement, which simultaneously insists that a person’s body is both an instrument with no inherent worth and the essence of that person’s identity. The brilliance of John Paul’s presentation is that he brings these extremes into a unity by presenting the body as sacramental. A sacrament is both a sign and an instrument.  It “shows” me and “connects” me to others in community. It “is” something and it “does” something. But, like a sacrament, these two elements are inseparable; they go together. 

The Body Manifests Humanity

Biblically, this truth emerges from the very beginning. In the second creation account, John Paul describes Adam’s search for a “helper fit for him” (Gen 2:18) as a search for Adam’s identity. Discovering what kind of companion is suitable for him implies a deeper discovery of who he is, of what makes him unique among all the creatures of the visible world. In presenting the first man with those creatures, God allows Adam to discern for himself that they are not “on par” with him; that, despite some physical similarities, the animals lack that interior, spiritual dimension which he experiences in himself but has not articulated. It is only when he encounters the first woman that things become clear; upon being presented with her, Adam exclaims, “This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh!” (Gen 2:23). Eve is not a physical replica of Adam — and yet, it is critical to note that his first response to her is not one which fixates upon her uniquely feminine difference. Instead, John Paul calls us to notice that Adam’s words emphasize her sameness!  “Bone of my bones” expresses, in physical terms, a recognition of an interior, spiritual similarity. Adam’s words, “my flesh” and “my bones,” are self-referential. It’s almost as if he’s saying, “Yes! That’s what I am!” In encountering another who is not identical but is similar to himself, he finds he knows himself better. Adam recognizes himself in Eve. He has come to a deeper sense of his own identity through his communion with another.  

What is it that facilitates this self-discovery? Do we see Adam interviewing Eve, verifying that she, like him, is rational and free, capable of wonder and conversation? No. Human persons can only come to know themselves through community. Share on X For him, it is “at the sight” of Eve — upon perceiving her body — that Adam recognizes their interior similarity. As John Paul puts it, “The body manifests humanity.” The body is the original “instant messenger,” a symbol revealing the presence of a being who is not entirely material. It might be said that Eve’s body is a window to her spiritual dimension; like any good window, however, it allows others to see in it as well as through it. Her bodily presence enables Adam to know himself even as it allows him to know her; and the dynamic works both ways, with Eve experiencing an affirmation of her own identity through Adam’s joyful response to her. Human persons can only come to know themselves through community — through the bodily encounter that provides a reflective affirmation of their deeper, spiritual dimensions.  

John Paul further notes that this first community of man and woman is marked by a particular clarity; beholding one another naked, but “not ashamed” (Gen 2:25), Adam and Eve’s original experience of the body was one of a perfectly transparent sign. Their bodies enabled them to see and appreciate the full value of the other, without any risk of perceiving one another in a partial way, as merely an object for use or enjoyment.  This moment was one of total openness and vulnerability to the other.  Perhaps it could be said that in this original encounter, Adam didn’t see “Eve’s body;” he just “saw Eve,” and vice versa. To see a body was to perceive a person.  

This dynamic of human persons coming to know themselves in an intimate, embodied community continues when man and woman unite to form a family. Each new life, by God’s design, comes into the world already embedded in a tiny community, which rejoices at his being! Every child is designed to come to a sense of identity and worth in and through the daily responses of those most closely connected to him. Through the love and attentive guidance — including corrective feedback — of his parents and siblings, a child, over time, comes to a sense of who he is. And sadly, if such a response is lacking due to absence, neglect, indulgence, or abuse, a child will struggle to have an accurate sense of worth as an image of God. Renowned retreat master Fr. Jacques Philippe echoes this principle in his book Interior Freedom when he writes, “We need to be looked upon by someone who says, as God did through the prophet Isaiah, ‘You are precious in my eyes, and honored, and I love you.’ We urgently need the mediation of another’s eyes to love ourselves and accept ourselves.” The mediation of another’s eyes: the human person is the fruit of community and cannot escape the need for community and its continual response throughout his life if he is to know himself.

Shame Is a Bodily Experience

What this implies, however, is that self-knowledge cannot come at a distance. Community implies encounter, encounter requires presence, and presence requires the body. Why is it that humans continually look for ways to know others (and themselves!) without bodily encounter? (Back in the nineties, trying to get to know someone “at a distance” was called stalking!) In short, the problem is due to sin. When Adam and Eve disobeyed God’s command, when they gave in to the seed of distrust the serpent planted in their hearts, they cut themselves off from communion with God. Refusing to recognize His goodness to them, they chose to view Him in a partial way, transforming from trusting and grateful receivers of His gifts into takers, bent on using God’s knowledge to gain power. The fallout was immediate: at once they began to view one another differently as well. Their once open and vulnerable “nakedness without shame” was replaced by a sense of distrust before one another, a desire to distance themselves so as not to do to one another what they had just done to God. Their desire to cover their bodies was a sign that they became suddenly aware of a “break” between what is sensible and what is spiritual in them, aware of an impaired vision that just might not perceive the other as a “whole” person worthy of love but perhaps only as an object to use or control. History is the tale of such use and abuse, and even with the redeeming grace won by Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross, mankind still struggles with inclinations to use — and a fear of being used by — others. John Paul insists that the bodily shame humans feel is a protective impulse which reminds us when a person’s dignity is at risk, one which seeks to protect human communion from being distorted by objectification of any sort.

But herein lies a key problem with disembodied communication: shame is a bodily experience — a blush, a breaking out into sweat, a covering-up, a hesitation to meet another’s gaze. The physical signs of shame tend to manifest when one person is at risk of objectifying treatment by another. Whether offender or victim, the “signals” shame emits can only be experienced where there is bodily encounter. Why are there certain things we might hesitate to say to another person’s face? Because we would have to say them to another person’s face!  Even experiences of what has been termed “secondhand embarrassment” testify to the fact that a felt experience of shame tends to manifest within the community of bodies that witness bad behavior. But what happens when there is no embodied community? Why do people make cruel comments, post obscene pictures, or brazenly ignore requests from others over the internet? The natural response of shame is not activated when bodily encounter is avoided.  It is so much easier to view and treat others as objects — to use, abuse, or dismiss — when we are at a distance from them.

A Foundation for Growth

To open oneself to an embodied community is to make oneself vulnerable. There is a risk in the live, “in person,” unrehearsed conversation; there is a daunting openness in the spontaneous shared experience. We take the risk that others will see our imperfections. What will they think of us? What might they ask of us? It is difficult to keep up a pretense with others when we share “up close and personal” experiences with them. Though we may be reluctant to admit it, many of us prefer to avoid exposing ourselves to the kind of feedback that might provide a more accurate self-image than one we have imagined for ourselves. But is the sense of emotional safety worth the sacrifice?  Being “in the flesh” with others is often the only way we are really brought out of ourselves. Challenged by another’s opinion, inspired by another’s thoughts, humbled by another’s generosity, motivated to change by another’s response to us: whether we discover our gifts or our flaws through the response of others, we are able to come to a more accurate self-knowledge, which is always a foundation for growth.  

Along with the “reflection” of ourselves which other bodies provide, live encounter also provides a window to knowing others, enabling us to understand those around us in a three-dimensional way. Internet disagreements are particularly polarizing because we are invited to view others as the comment or opinion with which we disagree, making it particularly easy to caricature and dismiss them. Consider how such a dynamic affects a child. In past times, a middle school girl might experience an embarrassing moment at school, or perhaps a conflict with a classmate. Chances are, after a few hours back at home with her loved ones, her peace and sense of self would return as a little time and distance restored her perspective enough to face a new day. In our modern age, however, when cruel comments are communicated over a device, psychologists note that the typical middle school girl “brings the drama home with her.” There is no time or distance to restore perspective; instead, whatever has been texted or posted is dwelt upon and becomes exaggerated. Other girls are reduced to the mean or embarrassing thing they did or said. A young person’s sense of self begins to become more influenced by those at a distance from her— those who do not see her as a whole, as a beloved daughter of a family and image of God — than from those in her intimate presence.

“No Distance” Relationships

Our modern technologies have transformed the typical long-distance relationship into a “no distance” relationship. Keeping up a sense of “constant contact,” even couples who date at the same college tend to be texting so regularly these days that physical distance seems meaningless.  Would the story of the lovelorn freshman girl of my college memory have turned out differently if she had been born a few decades later? Perhaps, but as established, “no distance” implies no bodies, and “no bodies” inevitably leads to seeing the other in an exaggerated and reduced way. College girls have told me about dramatic text exchanges with boyfriends, misunderstandings and slight offenses becoming blown out of proportion with no time or distance to cool down and regain perspective. And what about opportunity cost?  Sharing activities and experiences with others physically in our midst provides opportunities for self-knowledge and growth. How much we miss when we are absorbed with persons who are at a distance from us!

Perhaps the darkest secret of the girls who insist on constant contact with their boyfriends is that objectification is the whole point: the phone enables me to reduce the other to an object — and why? Because I can control an object. “No distance” relationships give lovers a sense of control. Allowing time and distance between themselves means risk — of losing the other’s interest, or perhaps, of growth that might change either one! Both make us feel vulnerable when there is something that we want badly to possess. Of course it’s an illusory control, but it makes so many of us — girls in a particular way — turn into clingy, needy, controlling creatures who become stunted in their development and too often dissatisfied with what they’ve managed to “hold onto.”

And lest we think that “no-distance” relationships are only a temptation for the younger crowd, parents today have fallen for the same temptation of illusory control. Until recently, the New York City Public Schools had tried — for years — unsuccessfully to ban phones, with teachers watching in horror as students quickly devolved in their abilities to communicate, concentrate, and create; it was parents who stood in the way. Claiming the devices were necessary to ensure the physical safety of their children, parents themselves made possible the anxiety-wrought addictions of so many students. In the end, the body reminds others that I am a person, that I am not an object to be controlled or used. Share on X While parents have a responsibility to protect their children, what has emerged is a culture of parents who are trying to control their children, to track them rather than trust them. A device is no longer about calling for help in an emergency, but about monitoring a young person’s every move and choice. An essential part of a young person’s growth and maturity is the experience of being trusted by his or her parents, being allowed to fail, and challenged and guided to learn from those experiences. But fewer parents today are opting for the risk that trust entails; for many, the pressure to ensure that their children “make good” is too much. And yet, such a view of children can conceal its own form of objectification. Is a child just an extension of a parent’s identity, rather than an image of God in his own right? Does his success or failure determine the worth of a parent? A child will come to know himself through the community of his family — and trust alone will convince him of his identity as a person rather than an object, an image of God rather than a showpiece of his parents. 

In the end, the body reminds others that I am a person, that I am not an object to be controlled or used. Its openness to others makes me vulnerable, but it makes community possible. Real presence may cost more from me than virtual, but that is because it is worth more.

Photo Credit: Caelyreth