Eros, after Eros from the Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain.
In our fast-changing, hyperconnected world, love seems everywhere—liked, shared, declared, performed. Yet philosopher Byung-Chul Han warns that something essential is quietly vanishing: our capacity for deep, transformative desire. In The Agony of Eros, he argues that we are losing not just love, but the very ability to long for another human being in a meaningful way.
Sociologist Zygmunt Bauman helps set the stage. He called our era liquid modernity—a time when stability is replaced by constant change. In liquid society, nothing is built to last: jobs, relationships, even identities are flexible, disposable, and ever-shifting. In such a world, love becomes not a safe haven, but a high-risk investment. And so, we adapt. We scroll instead of wait, swipe instead of wonder. We reduce risk—and with it, depth.
It is in this context that Han’s diagnosis becomes urgent: eros, the longing for the Other, is in crisis.
What Is Eros, and Why Does It Hurt?
For Han, eros is not about quick attraction or consumer-style “likes.” It is a deep pull toward someone or something other than the self—a movement beyond comfort, beyond control. True eros confronts us with difference. It challenges, transforms, and sometimes wounds us. But it is also what makes love profound. Without eros, there is no real encounter, no growth, no mystery.
So Why is it in Agony?
Han sees today’s culture as a world of mirrors: we are surrounded by images of ourselves, curated and repeated. From social media to dating apps, we don’t seek the Other—we seek a flattering reflection. We desire what is like us, what reassures us, what doesn’t disturb us. In doing so, we avoid the risk that true eros demands.
But this critique, while powerful, also begs a deeper question: Is eros truly dying—or simply changing?
Liquid Love, or New Ways of Desire?
Bauman’s Liquid Love offers a bleak portrait: love in modern society is fragile, uncertain, even disposable. He suggests that people today “collect” relationships as one might collect experiences—without surrendering to any. Commitment feels threatening in a world built on the value of freedom and choice.
Yet perhaps this diagnosis, like Han’s, risks too much nostalgia. If love is now more fluid, more plural, is that always a loss? Could we be seeing new expressions of intimacy and eros, even if they don’t look like the past?
For instance, communities built through shared creativity, humor, or vulnerability online may still carry seeds of the Other. People fall in love through stories, images, shared playlists, and memes. Some of these bonds are fleeting—but others are real, even life-changing. Could it be that eros isn’t disappearing but migrating?
Han’s essay doesn’t explore these possibilities, and perhaps that’s its limit. His view is poetic and piercing, but also deeply pessimistic. His warning may be vital—but so is asking what forms of eros remain, or could still be cultivated, in the digital age.
Making Room for Mystery
What both Han and Bauman agree on is that eros cannot survive in a world obsessed with clarity, control, and speed. Love requires mystery. Desire needs time. The Other must remain strange—at least partly—if love is to stay alive.
In a society that demands transparency and performance, this is difficult. We are encouraged to present ourselves, brand ourselves, share everything—except uncertainty. But love, at its core, is about opening to what we cannot predict or fully know. It asks us to step outside ourselves and be changed.
To reclaim eros, then, is not to retreat into the past, but to protect space for difference. It means resisting the constant demand to optimize, to explain, to expose. It means allowing room for silence, for distance, for longing.
In Conclusion
The Agony of Eros in a Liquid World is not just a tale of decline—it’s a question: Can love still thrive in a world built on speed and self-reference? Han and Bauman offer us powerful critiques, but the story is not yet finished. If eros is suffering, it may still be alive. And perhaps our task is not to mourn its loss, but to notice where it still flickers—and to protect it.
In doing so, we might begin to imagine new ways of loving, desiring, and truly encountering the Other—even in liquid times.
Further Reading:
Byung-Chul Han – The Agony of Eros (2012)
Zygmunt Bauman – Liquid Love: On the Frailty of Human Bonds (2003)
Zygmunt Bauman – Liquid Modernity (2000)
Eva Illouz – Why Love Hurts: A Sociological Explanation (2012)
Bell Hooks – All About Love: New Visions (2000)
Laurie Essig – Love, Inc.: Dating Apps, the Big White Wedding, and Chasing the Happily Neverafter (2019)