如果我們真正懂得何謂愛，世間的人際關係或許不會如此複雜難解。

我深知，自己在「愛」這門課上並不及格。父子之間的疏離、手足之情的斷裂，種種不完美的關係，映照出愛的學問之深與修補的艱難。

《愛的藝術》寫道：「愛是照顧、責任、尊重與了解。」這是對愛極其精闢的分類與詮釋。愛無分對象，是每個人終其一生都必須修習的品德。

身為父親的我，曾以忙碌與金錢來證明對孩子的愛，以為履行了責任，卻明顯忽略了陪伴與照顧。後來發現，這種自以為是的父愛，比比皆是。

若愛有對象，就是一門雙方共修的學分。我與妻子的婚姻，背後承載著兩家長輩「門當戶對」的期待，我們兩人也順從接受了「條件對等」的框架。

外在條件決定了終身的陪伴，連帶那些關愛的目光，也無形中成了一種枷鎖。我們難以拒絕長輩的好意，而那份好意，其實摻雜管控的成分。

 

回到愛的本體，當兩人成婚之後，親友的關懷與意見紛紛介入，那些講道理或給建議的話語，究竟是為愛加分，還是無形中扣了分？

心智尚未成熟時，的確需要長輩的提醒，然而我們也習慣把「經驗談」塞進教養流程，就像我們對下一代的教導：總是自認「我比你懂」，讓愛在生活中悄然落入權威與服從的形式。

愛情是最複雜的考題，因為它連結兩種完全不同的生命養成。錯愛的劇碼經常上演，常見的兩種形式，一是「我愛你勝過你愛我」，二是「我愛你勝過我愛我自己」。

前者是對價關係的延伸，後者則是一種對愛的迷失。前者可以被說出口，後者則埋藏心底，悄然撰寫人們對愛的誤解。

我不是愛情顧問，只是從疾病的結果，逆向推演至愛的失焦。我發現，人心中的比較和計較使愛變得支離破碎。

我們天生具備愛的能力，這份天賦卻也是一種磨難，因為從未有人給我們一套完整的愛的教育。

 

我從妻子身上看見了一種典型：對孩子有求必應，對丈夫百依百順，唯獨對自己極度苛刻。她對父母孝順至極，延續著我丈母娘善解人意與包容的特質。

如果我曾對她給予更多陪伴與理解，而不是長年缺席（即使人在家，卻總埋首於書房做自己的事），她的情緒軌跡，也許不會是後來的模樣。

我對她的愛，大多體現在「我們去看場電影吧？」或「週末想去哪裡走走？」之類的問句中。很少主動擁抱她、牽著她的手，或是陪她逛菜市場。

她總是體貼考量我的情境，我卻很少主動去關心她的情緒，不是我不在乎，而是做得太少。

因為鑽研疾病，我對「情緒的破壞力」特別敏感，而情緒往往源於不當的動機。當我逐漸追溯那些錯綜複雜的動機，才明白：誤解愛，是所有混亂的根源。

 

在工作中，我反覆對比內在動機與外在動機的差異。外在動機幾乎與愛無關，它們多半源於慾望與面子；內在動機，則出於愛的力量。

上一代的婚姻有媒妁之言，這一代的婚姻則可能陷於拜金與條件至上。金錢、地位與物質慾望，在愛的故事裡扮演了錯愛的要角。

我們太渴望安全感，渴望到可以用婚姻交換、用金錢填補、用美食麻痺、用藥物維繫。

久而久之，連對自己的愛，也只剩下大腦掌控的那點存在感。

僵化的外在動機，讓許多人的人生就像依賴藥物一般受制於外力。

人類不只誤解了來自地球的關愛，更用錯了聰明，掩蓋了內心原本可以自由湧現的真愛。

 

我們帶著「愛」與「寬恕」的原始本能來到這個世界，卻在成長過程中逐漸遺失，換來的是恐懼、匱乏與逃避，只好被動尋求庇護，卻不熟悉如何主動去愛。

我們讓醫生拿掉自己的器官，因為我們不知道珍惜自己的身體，因為我們必須透過醫生的言論找到自己的安全感。

我們讓化學藥品介入自己的餘生，因為我們不知道身體需要我們疼愛，因為我們決定讓藥物充填我們的安全需求。

人生是在因果示現中找回愛的初心，一旦最終讓生命與關係雙雙崩毀，這門課終究無法修成。

婚姻是愛的研修課，養生是愛的實踐路。一般人前半生學前者，後半生練後者，只要被外在動機擾亂，愛的學分就不會及格。

當一個人能被自己的行為感動，那是一種深層的愛的體認。這樣的行為，必然來自純粹的內在動機，那是一種獨善其身、兼善天下的完美結合。

 

（為了被愛而去愛，是人性；為了去愛而去愛，則是天使的本質。）

 

Imperfect Love

If we truly understood what love is, human relationships might not be so complex and difficult to navigate.

I am well aware that I have not excelled in the subject of love. The distance between father and son, the fractured ties between siblings—these imperfect relationships reveal just how deep and difficult the lesson of love can be.

In The Art of Loving, Erich Fromm wrote: “Love is care, responsibility, respect, and knowledge.” It’s a profound and precise interpretation. Love is not limited by its recipient; it is a lifelong moral practice that everyone must learn.

As a father, I once believed that being busy and financially supportive was enough to show my love for my children. I thought I was fulfilling my duties, yet I clearly neglected presence and care. Eventually, I realized this self-righteous form of fatherly love was far too common.

If love involves another person, then it is a subject co-studied by both.
My marriage was built upon our parents’ expectation of a “good match,” and both my wife and I accepted this framework of mutual compatibility.
External conditions defined our lifelong companionship, and even the caring glances of our elders became, unknowingly, a form of constraint. Their affection, though well-meaning, often carried an undercurrent of control.

Returning to the essence of love—once a couple is married, relatives and friends begin to offer opinions, advice, and reasoning. But do these words enhance love, or do they unknowingly erode it?

When we are still mentally immature, we may indeed need reminders from our elders. But we have also grown used to injecting “lessons learned” into the education of others—especially the next generation. We presume to know more, creating dynamics of authority and obedience under the guise of love.

Romantic love is perhaps the most intricate test of all, for it merges two completely different upbringings.
Two classic patterns of misguided love often emerge: one says, “I love you more than you love me,” the other says, “I love you more than I love myself.”
The former belongs to the realm of transactional love; the latter reveals a kind of self-abandonment. The first may be spoken aloud, while the second remains buried within, quietly distorting our understanding of love.

I am not a relationship counselor—but through studying the roots of illness, I’ve traced many issues back to a misalignment in love. I see how comparison and calculation in the human heart fracture the very nature of love.
We are born with the capacity to love, but this gift is also a kind of affliction—because no one has ever taught us how to love in a complete way.

From my wife, I saw a familiar archetype: someone who meets every need of her children and complies with every request from her husband, yet treats herself with harsh austerity.
She is deeply filial, embodying her mother’s kindness and tolerance. But the problem was never hers—it was mine.

Had I offered more presence and empathy—instead of years of emotional absence, even while physically home, secluded in my study—perhaps her emotional landscape would have taken a different shape.

My love for her often showed up as, “Shall we watch a movie?” or “Where do you want to go this weekend?” Rarely did I initiate a hug, hold her hand, or simply walk with her through the market.
She always considered my needs, yet I rarely asked how she was feeling—not because I didn’t care, but because I did too little.

Because of my deep dive into disease and health, I became especially sensitive to the destructive force of unresolved emotions. And emotions, I’ve learned, are almost always rooted in misunderstood or misaligned motives.
It was only by tracing those complicated motives that I began to see: misunderstanding love is the source of so much inner disorder.

Through my work, I’ve repeatedly compared internal motives with external ones. External motives rarely stem from love—they are more often shaped by desire, ego, or appearances.
Internal motives, on the other hand, arise from the energy of love itself.

The marriages of our parents’ generation were often arranged; in our generation, marriages are frequently driven by materialism or conditions.
Money, status, and physical comfort now dominate many love stories, giving rise to modern forms of misaligned love.

Our hunger for security has grown so intense, we’ve learned to trade love for marriage, money for affection, and food or medication for emotional stability.
Eventually, even the love we have for ourselves is reduced to a cerebral awareness of existence.

These rigid, external motives have taken over many lives, reducing us to dependents of external systems—like patients addicted to medication.
We have not only misunderstood the love that the Earth offers us—we have misused our intelligence to suppress the spontaneous flow of true love from within.

We were born into this world with an innate capacity for love and forgiveness. But over time, we lose this gift and replace it with fear, scarcity, and avoidance.
We passively seek protection, yet rarely learn how to actively express love.

We let doctors remove our organs because we don’t know how to cherish our own bodies. We rely on their words to feel safe.
We allow chemicals to shape our remaining years, not realizing our bodies long for tenderness—not treatment.
We choose to let pills fill the void that only love could mend.

Perhaps life is a journey of remembering love through the manifestations of cause and effect.
If, in the end, we destroy both our health and our relationships, then this life lesson remains incomplete.

Marriage is a course in studying love.
Health is a path to practicing it.
In the first half of life, we learn the former; in the second half, we live the latter.
But as long as we are driven by external motives, we will continue to fail the subject of love.

When one is moved by their own actions, it reveals a profound realization of love.
Such actions can only arise from pure internal motives—an elegant balance between caring for oneself and offering something meaningful to the world.