Issue No. 97

In Plato’s Symposium, love is redefined not as a mere desire for another person but as a spiritual ascent toward the essence of Beauty itself. Through the teachings of Diotima recounted by Socrates, we are invited to consider that what we often call "love" may be something far more abstract—an attachment to an idea rather than to the tangible reality before us. This perspective challenges how we view relationships, objects, and even ourselves. It forces us to confront uncomfortable truths about why we love what (and whom) we do—and whether our affections are rooted in authenticity or illusion.

Take, for instance, the simple act of buying flowers. We pluck them from their stems, place them in vases, and admire their beauty for a fleeting moment until they inevitably wither and die. But what is it that we truly love about the flower? Is it the flower itself—the living, breathing organism—or the concept of beauty it represents? If we genuinely loved the flower, we would leave it untouched on its stem, allowing it to thrive in its natural state. Instead, we sever it from life because we value the idea it carries more than its actual existence.

This same principle applies to so many aspects of human behavior. Diamonds, pearls, rare stones—these are nothing more than ordinary materials until we assign them meaning. A diamond is simply compressed carbon; a pearl, dirt accumulated inside an oyster. Yet, through cultural narratives and collective imagination, we transform these mundane objects into symbols of beauty, rarity, and worth. Their value exists not in their physical form but in the ideas we project onto them. In doing so, we reveal a fundamental truth: humans tend to fall in love with abstractions rather than realities.

This dynamic extends beyond material possessions into the realm of relationships.

Are we drawn to who they truly are or to the image we’ve constructed of them? This notion, which gave rise to the term “platonic relationship,” suggests that most people are unknowingly engaged in such connections. They believe they’re in love with another person when, in fact, they’re enamored with an idealized version of that individual—a projection shaped by personal desires, expectations, and fantasies.

The danger of this kind of love lies in its fragility. Ideas are static; they cannot grow, adapt, or evolve. People, however, are dynamic beings. They change over time, shedding old versions of themselves to embrace new ones. When we cling to an idea of someone instead of accepting them fully, we risk stifling their growth and undermining the authenticity of the bond. True affection requires seeing and cherishing the real person—their imperfections, vulnerabilities, and transformations—not trying to mold them into something they’re not. Just as we would preserve the life of a flower by leaving it on its stem, true love demands nurturing the other person’s freedom and potential.

When I first encountered this understanding of love, it shifted my perspective profoundly. For years, I had believed in the romanticized notion of “true love”—a perfect, unchanging connection immune to the passage of time. But upon closer examination, I realized that such an idea is inherently flawed. If two people spend a decade together only to part ways, does that mean their love was never genuine? Of course not. At the time, it felt real, profound, and meaningful. Similarly, some might argue that certain relationships are built on “false love.” But if there was no genuine affection to begin with, can it truly be called love at all? Such cases merely reflect the absence of love, not its falsity.

What becomes clear is that love cannot exist in degrees of truth or falsehood. There is no spectrum between “true” and “false” love—only love or the lack thereof. Love is not an idealistic form waiting to be achieved; it is a present-tense experience. It exists in moments of connection, care, and mutual respect. To label it as “true” or “false” imposes artificial criteria that dilute its essence and surrenders it to a supernatural power outside of our control. Love is neither perfect nor permanent. It does not demand perfection from those who feel it, nor does it guarantee eternity. What it offers is authenticity: a raw, honest acknowledgment of another person’s humanity and not the idea of them.

Ultimately, the lesson here is one of intentionality. Whether it’s a flower, a gemstone, or a human being, we must ask ourselves what we truly cherish. Do we honor the reality of the thing itself, or do we covet the idea it symbolizes? Real love—the kind that endures—requires embracing the messy, imperfect, and evolving nature of life. It means letting go of illusions and choosing instead to see clearly, love deeply, and allow both ourselves and others to flourish without constraint. For love, like beauty, is not found in ideals but in the richness of what is real.

Until next week,