Love, Loneliness, and the Ethics of Inclusion: Why Society Should Care About Romantic Needs

Introduction: The Moral Language of Needs

When we talk about moral duty and social responsibility, most of us instinctively think of food, shelter, and healthcare. The modern welfare state, in its various forms, is often judged by how it treats the hungry, the homeless, and the sick even though this tends to be forgotten during economic crisis often. We accept that people should not have to earn their right to warmth, bread, or a life-saving treatment. But there is a whole domain of needs that remain socially invisible, philosophically under-discussed, and politically untouchable: the need for romantic and sexual connection.

In this essay, we explore a difficult but urgent question: if love, intimacy, and sexual touch are basic human needs, what does a just society owe to those who are incapable of accessing them alone? And what do we, as individuals embedded in social circles, owe to those quietly excluded from love?

• Ethical Foundations: Why This Is Your Business
• A Community’s Job: The Basics of Human Survival
• The Invisible Barrier: Divergence and the Quietly Excluded
• The Need for Love: Not Just Luxury, But Survival
• What Could a Just Society Do?
• Individual Responsibility: Beyond Programs, Toward Compassion
• Conclusion: Toward Romantic Justice

Ethical Foundations: Why This Is Your Business

Some may say: “Yes, this is sad - but it’s not my business”. But morality, as understood in several major ethical traditions, explicitly does make this our business.

• Virtue ethics (Aristotle) teaches that living well means developing character through just action. Being passive in the face of known suffering is not virtuous; it’s morally deficient.
• Care ethics (Carol Gilligan, Nel Noddings) tells us that we are already in relation with those around us. Once we are aware of someone’s suffering - especially if no one else is close enough to help - we bear moral responsibility to respond with care.
• The capability approach (Amartya Sen, Martha Nussbaum) holds that justice is about more than formal equality. It requires ensuring everyone has the actual ability to pursue a flourishing life. If someone is blocked from love, intimacy, or connection - even if legally “free” - justice has not been achieved.
• Communitarian ethics (Michael Sandel, Alasdair MacIntyre) reminds us that people are not isolated units. We are embedded in networks. Moral duty arises not just from contracts but from proximity, awareness, and participation in a shared life.

This runs counter to one of the most pervasive myths in modern Western societies: that life is a meritocratic competition, where everyone should be self-sufficient and must earn their place by measurable performance. Often called a “Leistungsgesellschaft” in German - a society of performance - this worldview treats human connection as a resource to be won, not a basic need to be respected. But if taken seriously, this logic collapses into cruelty. It implies that those who struggle socially deserve their isolation, and that only the socially strongest are worthy of love. That is not civilization - that is social Darwinism in disguise.

A humane society must resist the idea that everything is competition. We do not earn food by popularity contests nor should we earn human connection by performing extroverted charm or beauty. The ethical traditions above remind us that dignity is not awarded by rankings, but upheld by shared obligation.

So no - this is not “someone else’s problem”.

If you are aware of it, and within range to act, then this is your moral business.

A Community’s Job: The Basics of Human Survival

Every ethical community already knows that it cannot survive without mutual aid. We don’t expect every individual to grow their own food, build their own home, or invent their own medicine. Instead, we build systems to support each other: food banks, housing assistance, and national healthcare. These are not luxuries, but moral commitments based on the understanding that no one can thrive alone. We also build these systems because we recognize that even the most capable among us can fail - through no fault of their own, but simply through bad luck, misfortune, or circumstances beyond control. We build safety nets not just for others, but for ourselves - to catch anyone, at any time, when life turns against them.

Even from a self-interested perspective, we create these supports because we understand that people deprived of basic needs can reach desperation. A person starving may steal food. Someone freezing may break into a shelter. When the system leaves no options, people will do what is necessary to survive - and we can fully comprehend that response. By offering structured aid, we reduce the likelihood of suffering escalating into crisis or violence. These safety nets not only protect the vulnerable, they protect all of us from the social consequences of exclusion.

And yet, these systems almost entirely stop at the body’s biological needs. They rarely reach into the sphere of emotional or social flourishing - though those needs are actually also basic needs. Loneliness is viewed as unfortunate, but not urgent (though in some countries politicians started to recognize the problematic situation in our current western societies). Romantic exclusion is viewed as a personal failing, not a systemic one.

We tell people to figure it out themselves - to “just be confident”, “leave their comfort zones” or “work on themselves” - and ignore that many people are structurally unable to achieve connection, especially when their divergence is subtle, invisible, or misunderstood.

The Invisible Barrier: Divergence and the Quietly Excluded

Some people are not excluded from romance because they’re dangerous or unlikeable, but because they live just outside the boundaries of normative social fluency. People with ADHD, social anxiety, ASD Level 1 (Aspergers) or other non-obvious impairments often find themselves in a tragic grey zone:

Too capable to be recognized as disabled - because they can complete educational programs, earn certificates, or hold down stable jobs. These are outward markers of competence that neurotypical society often interprets as the “hard” indicators of functioning and success. In truth, these individuals may be struggling immensely with the very things society does not measure well: basic social ease, reciprocal closeness, or intuitive emotional signaling. They can occupy respected professional positions while still being entirely unable to form or sustain close relationships - but their competence masks their suffering.

Worse still, many people assume that if someone can perform tasks seen as intellectually demanding - like solving hyperbolic differential equations, designing airplanes, sequencing DNA, running huge bussineses or understanding quantum chromodynamics - then they must also be capable of doing socially “simple” things like making a phone call, approaching someone for a date, or casually joining a conversation. But for divergent individuals, the social domain is not only unfamiliar - it may be deeply stressful, inaccessible, or emotionally paralyzing. Neurotypical society often treats tasks as existing in a hierarchy of difficulty based on its own intuitive ease, not recognizing that the actual difficulty is entirely context-dependent.

Too divergent to be welcomed naturally - often for reasons that are hard to define but easy to feel. People describe them as “awkward” or “strange”, even if they can’t quite explain why. It may be due to subtle differences: an unusual rhythm of facial expressions or mimic, slightly misaligned body language, a strange flow of conversation, unexpected word choice or pronunciation, intense or niche interests, difficulty initiating small talk, or giving literal answers to rhetorical questions like “How are you?”. They might struggle to focus on a single conversation partner because they can’t filter out background noise, or they might avoid eye contact, or hold it too long. Sometimes they infodump or seem emotionally misaligned. None of these traits are harmful - but they unsettle social expectations, and so people back away based on a gut feeling. The result is exclusion without clear blame, and a lack of support without justification.

They are not seen as needing help. They are simply labeled “awkward”, “strange”, or “not relationship material”. This label is particularly cruel, because it ignores the fact that these individuals often deeply want relationships or sexual connection - they have the same needs and desires as anyone else, often their emotional feelings are way stronger and more intense than for neurotypical people. Their exclusion is not due to a lack of interest, but a lack of access and social acceptance. What makes this even more devastating is the modern framing of dating and intimacy as a perpetual competition. In a world shaped by dating apps and algorithmic suggestion, there is always someone who appears more polished, more effortless, more appealing - the illusion that “the grass is greener” elsewhere is ever-present. For someone who is just slightly offbeat or unconventional, this competitive structure erases their chances even further, making the entire field feel inaccessible, no matter how sincere or kind their intentions may be.

No support is offered. No system steps in. And because their suffering is quiet, their needs are ignored. When they do speak up or ask for help, they are often perceived as awkward or inappropriate - not due to any malice but because their divergence is invisible. Since they appear “normal” on the surface, their appeal for support is easily misread as entitlement or manipulative intent. They are seen not as struggling, but as trying to bypass the unspoken social rule that “everyone has to figure this out themselves”. This misconception becomes a convenient excuse to withhold empathy: instead of help, they are told to “try harder”, “just be themselves” or “stop being weird” - all of which deepen the cycle of isolation.

The Need for Love: Not Just Luxury, But Survival

Philosophers and psychologists have long argued that human beings require more than food and safety to live well. We need belonging, intimacy, and emotional reciprocity. This is clearly illustrated in Maslow’s hierarchy of needs - a psychological model often visualized as a pyramid. At the very base are physiological needs such as food, water, and shelter. Crucially, sexuality belongs here too, even though it’s often omitted or glossed over in modern interpretations. It stands alongside breathing and sleep as a fundamental need, not something secondary to identity or self-expression. Only above that do we find safety, belonging, esteem, and finally self-actualization at the top. This structure reminds us that emotional and physical intimacy are not luxuries, but prerequisites for higher forms of personal development.

Realizing that sexuality sits at the same foundational level as food, water, and shelter is crucial. It means these needs are not interchangeable with higher-level desires like belonging or self-actualization. You cannot meditate away starvation, and you cannot self-actualize your way out of sexual or emotional deprivation. And since these needs are placed beneath safety in the hierarchy, it also means that systems of control - such as laws or threats - cannot be used to effectively suppress or resolve them. The threat of punishment only affects our sense of safety; it does not erase the underlying need. This has powerful implications: neglecting or forcibly suppressing foundational needs doesn’t eliminate them - it only drives them into despair, pathology, or desperation.

Studies show that chronic loneliness is as dangerous as smoking or obesity. Touch starvation causes stress, depression, and cognitive decline. These effects have tangible consequences for society: increased burden on healthcare systems, loss of workforce productivity, and higher social costs associated with mental health deterioration. In ignoring these needs, society not only fails ethically - it also incurs real economic and structural damage.

In this light, romantic and sexual connection are not trivial desires - they are foundational human needs. When society fails to account for this, it creates silent suffering that actually poses a threat to basic societal structures.

And yet, romantic access is the one need we are culturally forbidden to discuss in structural terms. We are told:

• “Everyone has to find love on their own.”
• “It’s nobody’s job to help you date.”
• “Romance is private.”

But these beliefs ignore a painful truth: many people simply cannot find connection alone. We often avoid discussing this need because, unlike food or shelter, it cannot be solved through simple logistics. We cannot collect money, set up a fund, and distribute romance. There is no warehouse for love. Romantic and sexual connection require actual human interaction - always with full, enthusiastic consent. And we all agree on a fundamental moral truth: no one can or should be forced into intimacy. The autonomy of individuals must be upheld.

But this does not absolve society of responsibility. Just because love cannot be redistributed like bread doesn’t mean the suffering of those deprived of it is less real. On the contrary, it makes the obligation greater. We must begin addressing this at a broad societal level, building conditions in which connection becomes more likely, more accessible, and more inclusive - because the alternative is silent despair for many, and silent complicity from the rest.

What Could a Just Society Do?

We already have models for helping people overcome disadvantage: job programs, disability services, and educational access. But many of these programs are massively underdeveloped or guided more by societal self-interest than genuine care. Job programs often function as pools for cheap labor rather than pathways to dignity. Disability services may keep people alive, but frequently do so at the lowest possible socioeconomic tier, offering only the minimum support required to claim moral legitimacy. Even education, which is often lauded as a universal good, is funded and maintained in large part because it benefits the economy - by producing a skilled workforce - not necessarily because we value personal growth or equitable opportunity.

In truth, our society - or more precisely, the individuals who constitute it - often does not care deeply for others beyond what benefits themselves. The illusion of support exists to sustain productivity, order, and appearance, not always to foster human flourishing. So when we ask, “Why stop at love?”, we must also recognize that the support structures we do have are not necessarily driven by moral alignment - and that is exactly why this conversation is necessary.

A just society could:

• Identify and dismantle systemic walls that block access to connection - such as stigma, unrealistic social expectations, or purely aesthetics-driven dating cultures
• Acknowledge that our current social structures, including competitive dating apps and rigid social hierarchies, are actively harmful to many
• Provide emotional and romantic education tailored for divergent minds - but also transform society into a more inclusive space by forming the neurotypicals expectations and ideas.
• Support inclusive matchmaking or introduction spaces, especially for those who are socially impaired. Note that this means that you cannot simply open up some space or events where people can go. They are not capable of this outgoing in many places. It has to happen where people actually live and exist.
• Normalize narratives that portray “awkwardness” and neurodivergence not as flaws, but as differences. This has to be done not only at the surface but at the core of masses perception.
• Create mentorship and relational coaching programs - not to force romance, but to make it possible and easily achieveable.

But beyond systems and programs, what often matters most is the willingness of individual people to open space for others - to counterbalance competitive selection with curiosity and compassion. In the end, structural solutions only work when communities and individuals embrace their moral role in breaking exclusion.

Individual Responsibility: Beyond Programs, Toward Compassion

But this isn’t just a job for governments or therapists. Every individual embedded in a social world holds a piece of ethical responsibility. We’ve all seen someone in our circles who is kind, honest, and lonely - but ignored, misread, or socially sidelined.

Virtue ethics reminds us: being a good person means more than not doing harm. It means actively doing good - not just performing goodness for appearances or social approval. Too often, what passes for compassion is a kind of moral theater: public displays of grief for tragedies far away, social media declarations of empathy, or symbolic acts that require no actual effort. Meanwhile, people in one’s immediate environment - those suffering quietly, awkwardly, and visibly - are ignored. True virtue is not about signaling care to the world, but about actually caring, especially when it is inconvenient, invisible, or offers no reward.

The ethics of care tells us: when we see someone suffering, and we are anywhere near close enough to act - even as a distant friend, acquaintance, colleague at work or someone merely present - we are already in relation. Silence is not neutral. The excuse that “others may be closer” or “someone else will help” falls flat, especially for neurodivergent people who often have very few or no close connections. In many cases, you may be the only one in reach. Moral proximity does not require deep emotional closeness - it only requires opportunity plus awareness.

What does this look like?

• Speaking positively about someone others find strange - not in vague terms or behind closed doors, but actively and in the presence of others. This means sharing stories that highlight their kindness, insight, or unique charm. It means vouching for them in new social circles, reframing their perceived awkwardness as a kind of authenticity, and opening the door for others to see them in a different light. Helping someone become visible - and even desirable - in the eyes of others is a deeply powerful act. It’s not charity, but a restoration of balance in a system that often ignores value that doesn’t advertise itself well.
• Offering introductions or encouragement - while keeping in mind that many neurodivergent people cannot simply attend social gatherings, parties, or large group events. Their energy for socialization is often extremely limited. For some, a single evening out can result in several days of exhaustion or even week-long fatigue. Encouragement must therefore be tailored to what they can realistically manage - meeting them where they are, not pushing them into environments that are overwhelming or inaccessible. Crucially, these environments - loud events, fast-paced group dynamics, overstimulating venues - are unfortunately the very places where connection often happens. If we want to make connection possible for everyone, we need to bring it to them, not force them to enter environments that are structurally hostile to their needs. This is not a matter of people refusing to leave their comfort zone - many neurodivergent individuals already live in a state of constant social strain. They are not hiding from growth; they are navigating survival.
• Gently helping someone translate their divergence into connection - and crucially, doing so on their terms. It’s important not to assume that just because someone is neurodivergent, they should only connect with others like them. That mindset easily slips into a subtle form of ableism - the idea that autistic people should only date autistic people, or that divergent individuals should “stick to their own kind”. This flattens their individuality and ignores their actual desires. Many neurodivergent people are interested in forming connections with neurotypicals or people with very different personalities. We must listen to what they want, understand who they are attracted to or emotionally drawn to, and help make those kinds of connections possible - not impose the connections we believe are more convenient or likely for them. A common and morally flawed response is to suggest that because they have a hard time connecting, they should simply take “whatever they can get” - as though difficulty entitles society to strip them of choice or compatibility. If they refuse mismatched or patronizing setups, they are often labeled as “too picky” or “ungrateful” which reinforces the unjust belief that they are not worthy of something that truly fits. What is ignored here is that many neurodivergent people have a far narrower window of tolerance for mismatched personalities, emotional dynamics, or social ambiguity. Their compatibility needs may be more precise, not less - and it is precisely because connection is rare that the right connection matters all the more.

No one is asked to fake attraction. But we are asked to be bridge builders, not bystanders.

Conclusion: Toward Romantic Justice

Romantic and sexual connection are not guaranteed. But access to them - the chance to be seen, understood, and loved - should not be a privilege only for the socially fluent. Access needs to be made genuinely and reliably possible for everyone, not just in theory but in practice. If people are continually excluded from love and connection, the consequences extend far beyond individual sadness. Deep unmet needs, especially when ignored for long periods, risk growing into frustration, despair, or even antisocial and aggressive behavior. These are not hypothetical concerns - history and observation both suggest that unmet emotional and relational deprivation can lead to severe social consequences that cannot be supressed by laws or rules, especially when the affected people grow in number. Society must recognize that building inclusive pathways to connection is not only an ethical duty, but a necessary safeguard against creating environments of emotional neglect and resentment.

A society that offers food to the hungry, shelter to the cold, and medicine to the sick must also begin to ask:

What do we owe to the quietly unloved?

Not pity. Not forced affection. But perhaps:

• Opportunity
• Dignity
• Support
• Bridges

Because a life without love is not just sad. It is unjust. And we all live within that justice - or that failure - together.