It is finally finished! Here, after weeks of deliberation and labor, I present to you my exploration of platonic idealism: The Green Light: Theories on Platonic Idealism and Love “Gatsby’s wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy’s dock...His dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it.” — The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald, 1925 The Platonic Ideal has intrigued me since first reading Gatsby a few years back. The novel reeks with platonic love, but I have always questioned the theme’s relevance and application to my own life. Who is my platonic ideal? Is it an ideal of one specific person or does the ideal become embodied by the different people in my life? How would my platonic love affect my waking relationship with such a person? Is love as we know it just a poor shadow of the love available to us in the platonic world? According to Wikipedia, platonic idealism is “the theory that the substantive reality around us is only a reflection of a higher truth,” truth which is, as argued by Plato, abstraction. Essentially, our dear man Plato believed that there was one realm of unchanging ideas and one realm of changing, tangible objects. There is first the abstract idea of something in the real world, of that something’s essence. It is with this abstract idea that we gauge the imperfections of the corresponding physical object. The abstraction of platonic idealism could be interpreted as a sort of expectation that one has for a tangible thing encountered in the waking world. The very nature of the platonic ideal prohibits fulfillment of such expectations, not just due to the requirement of absolute perfection in the subjective perspective of the beholder, but also as a result of its origins in abstraction. While described as abstract, the platonic ideal is oftentimes deeply rooted in its specificity; the abstraction is a term used in reference to the element of fantasy and the ideal's insubstantiality. Much of the platonic ideal’s specificity actually resides in a certain negativity. The platonic ideal is such an intricately nebulous concept that it is commonly, even necessarily, difficult to define in its totality. Therefore in defining such, it is as the physical representation of the platonic ideal interacts with the fantastical image that a simplified explanation, much easier grasped, is produced. Thus said, the failure of the tangible entity to uphold all the conditions of the platonic ideal cultures a “not” philosophy. What the tangible object is not, the platonic ideal is. Through this negative perspective, the constructed ideal is revealed to be more specific and defined by the physical representation’s flaws. The failure of something or someone to uphold all the conditions of the platonic ideal automatically and thoroughly excludes said entity from the platonic world. Thus, the object is specifically non-platonic for the very fact that it is not platonic. It is necessary for a tangible object to fall short of the specifications of the platonic ideal. The platonic ideal is fantasy in a realm that is stretched beyond conscious limit, feeding on the humanistic nature of ambition and escapism. The platonic ideal is a defense mechanism of the mind. It gives something that is otherwise trapped within the boundaries of the physical world something to attain, a greater sense of existence with which to justify itself. With the platonic ideal comes the potential for hope—the possibility that one can be greater, that one is greater. “And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.” — 1 Corinthians 13:13, New International Version And so I find a great puzzle in platonic love. I crave what is by nature unattainable. I crave that which is known to be inaccessible. And yet, I crave it nonetheless. Why? If it is known that I distress myself pining away over unrealized—and never to be realized—expectations, then why do I uphold such stringent requirements for those in my life, specifically those I would love? I have thought about this much lately. For much time, and deeply. It has affected me on a greater level than I care to admit. My questions communicated to you here are shallow in comparison to the conflicting torrent I have reflected upon in these last few weeks. I have rummaged through the dusty files of my memories, recalling past feeling, past loves (past platonic ideals?). It has been agonizing work. Many of those experiences were purposefully suppressed and exploring these thoughts has been even physically painful. Past hurt was relived, but more dangerously, past passion was rekindled. I ask myself now as I recall the danger of such emotion, why does such peril exist in something as innocent as memories? It is platonic idealism, my friends. The beautiful moments of my memories—the beautiful features and characteristics of the people from whom I had purportedly separated myself—were preserved and perfected in my subconscious, and the unearthing of such was as comparable to Moses’ sighting of God as I can imagine in my limited experience. And so I recognized the threat in the rich notes of these idealized remembrances that had for so long been fermenting in the sordid juices of my suppression, but what relevance does that hold for me now? My conclusions drawn from such thorough reflection point me, not absolutely but at least meaningfully, toward a motivation of fear. We are afraid. It is much safer to fully and absolutely love a platonic ideal than it would ever be to risk loving someone in the tangible world. The platonic ideal does not live to achieve expectations; it has already achieved such. It already is such; it defines such. And in the platonic universe, there is no fear. There is no disappointment. The only dissatisfaction derived from the platonic ideal is that it does not exist in the tangible world, but by definition, such an existence would spoil the idealism, rendering a need to fulfill such a wish irrelevant. In simple terms, we don’t love because we don’t want to love. I fear the risk; I fear accepting the consequent feelings of a failed expectation. I fear that the total conscious realization that the tangible person is the ideal will foster a cutting disappointment that will deepen into contempt. But in the words of my good friend, fear is crippling. Yes, I realize that. So where does this leave me? It leaves me with the understanding that true and pure love, not the lifeless, manufactured platonic, idealistic love, but really absolute love is the absence of expectations. It is not necessarily the complete removal of the platonic ideal, but the acknowledgement of and conscious distancing from such. Real love has utterly no expectations. And so… Have you ever really loved? | 
