There is this particular French mythos of a primordial natural state of man/woman/body that is superior in its hidden sublimation to that of civilization and language. This runs from Rouseau through Levi-Strauss, even, yes, even to Bourdieu though his sublimation is linguistic and his superiority is relativized.
Our point is that this line of flight is too simple to encompass the body-mind-soul trinity that coinductively structures the romance. Like some theories of cosmology, there is no origin point, which means one cannot speak of Sophia or the womb to the Caesar-God of empire. One can only allude, via the position of irony, which some may take as cynical. And like a fictional physics, time travel is a possibility, even within hagiography if, ironically, the origin gives birth to the demiurge of romance’s hagiography.
The Hagiography of Romance is such a bi-simulative coinductive record of flight. It’s a bi-temporal database of meaning: from body/external/civil to body/internal/domestic, and back again, one referring to the other, from the Age of Enlightenment to the Romanized World, and back again. Trinities each escaping the one via embedding themselves within the other.