I think the problem isn't just the overuse of a word. The question is what mystical monism entails about the value of particulars like you and me. If only the inner self we have in common is real, the illusion of a multitude of particulars must have only instrumental value. Loving individual persons, then, should be like loving your favourite screwdriver or ballpoint pen. I approach this from a different direction, naturalizing Plato's pessimism about nature, in a more recent article (link below).

Another question is whether "higher love" or mystical contentment/tranquility/inner peace could be analogous to the more conventional kinds of love. Shouldn't the higher "love" be as unspeakable as the transcendent wholeness of the universe or of the inner self that's paradoxically just out of reach when we seem to be living our life with our egoistic delusions?

I talk more directly about the stories we tell about romantic love in the second article linked below.



Knowledge condemns. Art redeems. I learned that as an artistic writer who did a doctorate in philosophy. We should try to see the dark comedy in all things.

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