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Tale of a postulate

February 8, 2009

Leibniz once told me that monads do not exist in real space. It is a philosophical concept that can fit into any relative system of belief that varies according to what God’s intention, the latter being something that is never known however much it is theorized by the greatest philosopher (Because God is the unmoved, and non-personal God?) .

But the abstract existence of space and absolute time as Leibniz had been at pains to explain to me does not explain why, in a system always in danger of entropy and where energy should be conserved, one has to deal with the haywire, chaotic and time-consuming enigma called love. I have tried to postulate the biological necessity of love, and my readings tell me that it is evolved out of a competition between humanoids for survival in an unwelcoming world. But then, I later found out too that primates, birds and the various beasts of the firmament are capable of loyalty, faith and eternal commitment that biology can not explain (but perhaps this is but a mere fancy of a lonely biologist who has been jilted by his lover).

I wished Leibniz, instead of playing with monads, have attempt a non-Cartesian diagnosing of the existence of love, and then attempt to parcel it into tiny little quantifiable bits that can be isolated and perhaps be made an option. Can sex exist without love? Certainly, though perhaps only for so long. But then, sex is a pure corporeal emanation of the body that does not always understand its limits. Can the future generation of humans be assured with no love? Well, one can’t say that there is no love, because love too can be a form of duty, otherwise how would the procreation of the human race, and royal households, survived through centuries, sometimes uninterrupted.

Love is the work of fables and tales. It is a messy affair that provides climactic conclusion to sagas of Greek tales, the Mahabhrata and dramas to be enacted for the entertainment of humans. It brings out sweat, tears, euphoria, sadness, madness, excitement and a trove of other grey emotions. But one thing that love has never really wrought for humankind is happiness. Happiness as the ultimate strife by men (and women?)

Perhaps I should concur with Lacan. That there is no such thing as love, or happiness.

Or is the Buddha right? The only way to find peace is to stop feeling, perhaps renouncing the need for happiness, but when there is no sadness, why is there a need to be happy?

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