I can’t believe that time is gonna heal this wound I’m speaking of,” you sang. “There ain’t no cure for love.” Well, Leonard, I hope you’re resting in peace, but I have to tell you scientists have concocted a cure, with their neuroscience and chemistry. They don’t know what medicines will do to our images of love, like the ones you gave us, that place by the river, his famous blue raincoat, Alexandra hoisted on his shoulder (among my favorite of your songs). But those things are not the domains of science.
Scientists can be in love, of course, overcome by its joys, overwhelmed by its pains. But when they put on their lab coats, love and sex are all about the caudate nucleus and dopamine. What Darwin learned in the Galapagos. Margaret Mead in Samoa. Seymour Benzer at Caltech. But the science of love doesn’t shuttle romance to the wilderness. Science is a light on our path to understand ourselves and the world’s fullness. This issue is all about that journey. It’s an awfully dark time around here now. But, after all, there is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.
Lead image: maradon 333 / ShutterstockRead the Issue