Love makes that soul feel lucky to be a victim. It impels that victim not to put forth resistance, a resistance that would alleviate that soul’s suffering. In this sense, love is rejection of a cure. The soul makes this rejection triumphantly.
Is love, then, the voluntary rejection of happiness? But this would incline one to define happiness, which transcends the present endeavor. What I have expressed thus far is my intuitive feeling. I have done so with good reason. We cannot entrust rationality with the task of explaining love for love is an innate passion. It therefore cannot be defined in terms of rationality for it transcends the province of reason. It can only be expressed.
That expression cannot be without a sense of regret, a silent grief of the heart. As the epic poet Rumi tells us, the lover is always alone, even when surrounded by many people. The lover suffers silently. The lover has, for the first time, experienced the ecstasy of victim hood.
My endeavor today began as an inquiry into what love is. It seems, however, that I have accidentally defined happiness. Let us begin over: what, then, is happiness?
Answering this question would not transcend the boundaries of reason. It falls well within its province. At every corner of this province, using whatever means to reach that corner with whatever motivation, the answer is one that is universal, unchanging, and triumphant from the most boastful permanence: happiness is the antithesis of love.
« return.