This essay was first published as a pamphlet, and will be available in physical form soon, please check the store.
At its core, love is marked by an absence of itself. Love is inherently empty. The promise of love from others carries with it the hope of curing our anxiety and inner void. When this hope is taken away, we are essentially deprived of our own selves. In the disillusionment of another’s promise of love, we come to realize its true nature — love is revealed as an illusion, a façade concealing its inherent absence. Love has always been empty at its heart; it’s just that before our disillusionment, we could believe in the illusion of a fully present love, while denying its inherent void. Edvard Munch’s 1893 painting ‘Vampire,’ originally titled ‘Love and Pain,’ aptly captures this tragically contradictory nature of love.
According to Munch himself, his art was a conscious expression of his heavy inner world and his anxious heart. In his diary, he wrote, ‘What is art? Art grows [...] mostly from sorrow. It grows from human lives. I don’t believe in an art that is not born out of man’s need to open his heart.’ Munch endured a number of romantic relationships with a tragic ending. He knew the painful side of love better than anyone. Munch felt an affinity with the emerging existential philosophy and was directly influenced by reading Kierkegaard. His most famous painting, ‘The Scream,’ can be considered an illustration for a textbook on existential philosophy. ‘The Scream’ well captures the existential dread (Angst) that inevitably accompanies human existence. It is Munch himself who is screaming on the painting. Having left his friends behind (the two figures in the background), he was left alone in the solitude of his suffering heart. His scream of despair is the unveiling of his heart.
Heidegger built upon Kierkegaard’s idea of existential dread as constitutive of human existence. Dasein, Heidegger’s term for the distinctive mode of human being, is inevitably marked by Angst. It is a fundamental condition arising from our thrownness into this world. Human existence is accompanied by a feeling of homelessness, which is experienced as a deep sense of uncanniness (unheimlich - literally, ‘not-at-home-ness’), the disturbing underside of what seems to be the familiarity and comfort of the world. We normally seek refuge from this feeling in the mundanity of everyday life and in the company of others who offer an illusion of home. However, it is impossible to completely shield oneself from the world’s inherent uncanniness. As long as we exist, we are doomed to be confronted with anxiety. According to Heidegger, ‘The original anxiety in existence is usually repressed. Anxiety is there. It is only sleeping. Its breath quivers perpetually through Dasein.’ ‘The Scream’ captures this moment of confronting the uncanny underside of existence and the disintegration of one’s fragile sense of comfort in the face of Angst.
Exposing the tragedy of human existence, existential philosophy concentrates on the tragic aspect that underlies individual existence, with much less emphasis on the tragic aspect of our relationships with each other. Existentialism starts by examining individual subjects in their isolated existence and never substantially extends beyond this perspective. The core of existential tragedy lies in the inconsolable nature of isolated Dasein. Heidegger indeed develops the concept of Mitsein, which signifies being-with-others. This concept implies that we are inherently social beings. Being-with-others represents the foundational aspect of our existence; we are immersed in society, interconnected through shared social practices. Nonetheless, Heidegger’s philosophy primarily emphasizes individuation, achieved through confronting anxiety in solitude. For Heidegger, others are primarily associated with providing shelter from anxiety, which one must confront to attain existential authenticity.
Munch’s painting ‘Anxiety’ (1894) can be seen as exposing an anxiety of coexistence with others. It depicts the same bridge as ‘The Scream,’ but now there are people on it. Once again, the background sets an anxious mood, but unlike the isolated figure in ‘The Scream,’ the figures in ‘Anxiety’ stand in close proximity. The facial features of most are barely discernible, with only the wide-open eyes clearly visible. Despite their closeness to each other, they obviously do not experience the comfort of each other’s company. Their empty gaze is directed simultaneously nowhere outward and nowhere inward. They are anxious together.
The figures in Munch’s painting do not seek refuge in each other’s comfort; instead, they share a common feeling of anxiety, each experiencing it in their own existence. They are separated from each other, yet at the same time, they are united by the commonality of the shared existential tragedy. It is in this paradoxical ambiguity of coexistence that the tragedy of their being-together lies, where each, in their anxiety, is united with every other individual Dasein, yet at the same time, embodies inconsolable anxious loneliness.
Anxiety never pushes them to progress into a separate substance of authentic self but rather permanently appears as a blurred outline of the void, simultaneously detached from others and unable to find their authentic selves. Co-existence in Munch’s painting is depicted not through an array of faces but in their dark attire merging into a single dark mass. From within this mass, individual faces, blurred and marked by dread in their eyes, intermittently appear by disappearing.
Using the theme expressed through Munch’s mentioned painting ‘Vampire’ as a basis for interpretation, one can more profoundly redirect the reflections of existential philosophy on the tragedy of individualized existence towards the tragedy of interpersonal relationships. The anxiety is not only at the core of individual existence but also at the core of co-existence; not only is the property of unheimlich inherent to Dasein, but it is equally inherent to Mitsein. Dread defines not only solitude but also love. In this sense, they are not opposed to each other but rather represent different forms of anxiety, different genres of the tragedy of human existence. The existential dread is total, hidden both in the solitude of a human being and in the connectedness with others. At the same time, isolation and coexistence entail its own form of comfort, which only covers the uncanniness hidden within. Others do not serve as a shelter from the anxiety of solitude; rather, the anxiety of solitude and the anxiety of relationships merge in dialectical unity. The anxiety of solitude ends where the anxiety of relationships begins, and vice versa.
Munch’s painting “Vampire” depicts a couple—a man and a woman in an embrace, with the woman gently kissing the man on his neck. At first glance, this scene can be mistaken for an image of a love idyll. However, the strange title of the painting and its suspiciously dark tones suggest a more nuanced interpretation. Similarly, in our everyday perception of human closeness and in our daydreams about it, we often content ourselves with just this superficial, positive comprehension of love. We imagine love as devoid of its negative aspects — pain, rejection, suffering, and disappointment. It’s as if love is possible in its pure presence, without its painful underside—the uncanniness of love.
Our everyday perception routinely overlooks the negative, tragic aspects of reality, including the reality of human relationships, hoping that it is possible to keep only their positive aspect — life and love without their tragic monstrous twins. Such learned blindness — the ability not to see what is unbearable, frightening, disgusting, and painful — is probably necessary for enduring the challenges of love.
When the skill of blindness fails to function, making the negative aspects of love undeniable—such as during disagreements or arguments with loved ones—we often strive to overlook these issues once more in an effort to mend our relationships and ourselves. This can be achieved by, for example, assuming that the argument was an isolated incident, something out of the ordinary that shouldn’t have occurred and won’t recur in the future. Alternatively, we may place the negative other-of-love aspects of love in a broader positive context. For instance, we might follow the pop psychology idea that arguments can actually help strengthen relationships. From the vantage point of existential philosophy, such forms of consolation are futile.
Arguments never vanish; they often resurface or persist in a latent form, leaving an indelible mark on the relationship. Memories of being forgotten, betrayed, hurt, misunderstood, or used by a loved one do not fade away; instead, they forever cast a shadow over the illusion of love’s complete presence. The negative aspect of love is neither its opposite nor something that can be eliminated through the right strategy (in the sense of removing the negative elements while preserving the positive ones). It is an inherent, indelible aspect of love itself. Love necessarily encompasses its uncanny, negative counterpart.
It is simultaneously akin to love, inseparably fused with it, and destroys it. Without this side of love, love is impossible. Love includes its opposite side, its absence. Love is always “despite” of itself, it exists by including and embracing its impossibility.
As suggested by its title, Munch’s painting portrays the monstrous aspect that lurks at the heart of love – its uncanny, anxious dimension. The deceptive appearance of a love idyll is merely a staging platform for its enactment. A seemingly tender kiss reveals itself to be a vampire’s bite; instead of offering consolation, the woman, much like a vampire, drains her beloved’s strength.
Her red-auburn hair is reminiscent of a web, ensnaring the prey within its strands. In Munch’s works, red often symbolizes blood, and in this context, the red hair can also be seen as representing the veins that, like an umbilical cord, connect the lovers and sustain life within thema. A dark, heavy halo looms over the lovers, pressing down on them, forcing them together. In Munch’s depiction, they resemble Siamese twins, conjoined in a shared womb. The couple is merged into a single symbiosis. The symbiosis simultaneously keeps them alive and cripples them. It is a paradoxical union that is both life-sustaining and life-depriving.
The man’s figure, cast in darker colors than the woman’s, symbolizes his passive role. In contrast to the woman’s more vivid presence, he appears pale, almost lifeless. His dark attire blends him seamlessly into the somber background, creating an impression of him fading away, dissolving into the surrounding void. In his diary, Munch reflected on his painting: ‘He laid his head against her breast, felt the blood rush through her veins. He listened to her heart. And when he hid his face in her breast he felt two burning lips to his neck — it sent a shudder through him.’
The allure of dissolving in another’s care is undeniably tempting — to melt away and cease to exist. The man finds himself captivated by the woman’s charm, entranced by her care and tenderness. In this enchantment, he merges into her, belongs to her. He assumes a passive role in her care and becomes a victim of a vampire, stripped of his own will.
A prevalent and somewhat optimistic interpretation of “Vampire” suggests that the real meaning of the woman’s care is rooted in her bloodthirsty impulses. She artfully conceals these predatory instincts, luring an unsuspecting man into her web. Such interpretation suggests that the painting depicts a certain type of woman — the “femme fatale” — a woman who pretends to love instead of truly embodying love. But suppose, on the contrary, that her feelings and care are heartfelt, that she is not a corrupted version of a loving woman, but a loving woman per se. The very fact of her sincere love and care for the other inherently contains the suffocating aspect of this care. By loving him she simultaneously destroys him. The dark side of love relationship is that destruction is already concealed within the very act of caring.
A similar optimistic interpretation of this painting suggests that it portrays an abnormal form of love, now often referred to as a toxic relationship. The dynamic of such a relationship is marked by excessive attachment and hyper-care that strip partners of their independence. It’s as if the love Munch illustrates is an anomaly, not challenging the overall notion of love as purely positive and devoid of tragedy. But then, what if this depiction represents love in its only possible form? What if love inherently and inevitably embodies both destruction and care?
There’s ample reason to suspect Munch of misogyny, at least towards a specific type of women. His portrayal suggests a dichotomous view of women, painting them as deceitful and sinister — where beneath a veneer of sincerity and innocence hides a bloodthirsty predator. However, this interpretation can also extend to the depiction of the man in his painting. While the woman takes a more active role, kissing and supporting the man on her knees, the man mirrors her position. He also caresses the woman and presses his lips against hers. Like the woman, he too embodies care. In this dynamic, both lovers are akin to vampires. One cannot love, show care, and not be a vampire.
In Heidegger’s view, human existence inherently presupposes an underlying anxiety, metaphorically akin to an eternal internal scream. This scream can be muted by seeking solace in others or finding comfort in the world as our home. Essentially, all human actions could be interpreted as efforts to silence this internal scream. A child’s life commences with a scream, which is temporarily quieted by the mother’s embrace. Later we internalize our scream, making our suffering less audible or fragmenting it into words directed towards others. This scream can also be temporarily dissolved in the touch of a loved one. Munch’s painting ‘The Kiss’ (1897) depicts a kissing couple. Their figures are as blurred as the screaming Munch, but their scream is invisible, as they have dissolved their screaming faces into each other. In their union, they obliterate their identities, turning into a faceless mass, but in doing so, they silence their screams. Two screams, either muting each other or amplifying each other in a unified chorus, create the sacred song of love.
Julie Reshe is the 'negative psychoanalyst'. Her work and courses are available at juliereshe.com. She is author of several books on psychoanalysis and is currently Visiting Professor at University College Cork.
Of all the essays I’ve encountered, this one remains a standout.
I now find myself craving more time with my husband, stitched together by the ecstasy of our screams. The ecstasy of our love, our rage, and everything too big to be spoken.