The nearest I have yet got to answer is that we seek an enlargement of our being. We want to be more than ourselves. Each of us by nature sees the whole world from one point of view with a perspective and a selectiveness peculiar to himself. And even when we build disinterested fantasies, they are saturated with, and limited by, our own psychology. To acquiesce in this particularity on the sensuous level—in other words, not to discount perspective—would be lunacy. We should then believe that the railway line really grew narrower as it receded into the distance. But we want to escape the illusions of perspective on higher levels too. We want to see with other eyes, to imagine with other imaginations, to feel with other hearts, as well as with our own. We are not content to be Leibnitzian monads. We demand windows. Literature as Logos is a series of windows, even of doors. One of the things we feel after reading a great work is “I have got out.” Or from another point of view, “I have got in”; pierced the shell of some other monad and discovered what it is like inside.
"Examinai tudo. Retende o bem", I Tessalonicenses 5:21
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"A similar image appears in the philosophy of Leibniz who considered the world as being made of fundamental substances called 'monads', each of which mirrored the whole universe.
(...)
Leinbiz writes:
Each portion of matter may be conceived of as a garden full of plants, and as a pound full of fishes. But each branch of the plant, each member of the animal, each drop of its humors, is also such a garden or such a pound."