Love vs. Hate

When we were given the assignment to practically write whatever we pleased concerning the Scarlet Letter, I was utterly unable to find a topic that interested me. It seemed as though everything I thought of seemed too generic and didn’t captivate my attention or interest. Interestingly enough the basis in which I want to write my essay came up in the last 5 pages of the book. “It is a curious subject of observation and inquiry, whether hatred and love be not the same thing at the bottom. Each, in its utmost development, supposes a high degree of intimacy and heart-knowledge; each renders one individual dependent for the food of his affections and spiritual life upon another; each leaves the passionate lover, or the no less passionate hater, forlorn and desolate by the withdrawal of his object. Philosophically considered, therefore, the two passions seem essentially the same, except that one happens to be seen in a celestial radiance, and the other in a dusky and lurid glow.” I love idea that love and hate in many aspects are extremely similar and come about very similar results. Both can evoke such passion and emotion that can evoke equally intense and sometimes unexplainable actions. A sort of transformation occurs when we are cast under such spells, we lose part of ourselves because we become obsessed with either obtaining or destroying another human being. In the case of Dimmesdale, the idea of being with Hester was the only light he had in his life, yet because she was married it literally caused his slow death. He couldn’t deal with the guilt of wanting her so bad, he couldn’t stand the pain of thinking that he was a hypocrite of his own words. The love in his heart was too heavy a burden for him to handle. Similarly with Roger Chillingsworth, when he became aware of the affair of his wife Hester and the “pure” minister Dimmesdale, all he could think of was vengeance. All he had in his life was the desire to make the mighty minister fall. It utterly and completely consumed him; the former Roger Chillingsworth was nowhere to be found. And when the day came where Dimmesdale did eventually pass, there was nothing left in Chillingworth’s life. He had spent so many years trying to torture this man that he had no reason to carry on afterward; he too, like Dimmesdale seemed to simply shrivel up and vanish. The amount of time and energy that he invested as well as the simply dark and evil demeanor of this undertaking killed him. It seems to me that, while the natures of the two passions differ, they more often than not come about very similar results. They both drive individuals to such extreme levels of zeal that they lose themselves and become entirely defined by said passion.