What if Jesus was being ironic?

In my work on the philosophy of love I get to talk to a lot of people about love. Some people are incredulous. "You can't be serious! You mean there is actually an academic discipline on the philosophy of love?" 
Over the years a recurring question is whether love can be commanded. In the Jewish scriptures we are told to "love the Lord your God." When asked what is the greatest commandment Jesus reiterated, "Love the Lord you God with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength. Love your neighbor as yourself."
So there it is. Case closed. For those who "believe the Bible," or those who respect the ancient texts, the answer is definitive. Love can be, and has been, commanded. To love is a duty.
But, when I talk to people about love and ask them whether or not love can be commanded, most people are not so sure. Love does't feel like the kind of thing you can tell people to do. Take chocolate, for example. Some people really love the smell, taste, and texture of chocolate. I leant as a kid that the texture of chocolate, either in very thin strips or big chunks makes a big difference to its enjoyment. In the UK, back in the day, Cadbury's had, more or less, a monopoly on chocolate bars. Over the years, the chocolate bars got thinner and thinner. Rowntree, Cadbury's would be rivals, did a little market research. They found that consumers longed for the days of thicker chocolate bars. The thin chocolate didn't taste the same. So, in 1976, Rowntree introduced the "Yorkie" bar—a chocolate bar with big, chunky, "masculine" pieces. Yorkie bars sold like hot cakes and Cadbury's corner of the chocolate bar market was threatened. Pretty soon they introduced a thicker "Cadbury's Dairy Milk" bar to compete. This was a great time for chocolate lovers. But, it didn't help if you were not a chocolate lover. Thick or thin, if you don't like chocolate you don't like chocolate. Imagine the parent telling the child, "Come on now, love that chocolate bar!" 
Of course, parents have the same kind of conversation about vegetables. "Tommy, eat your broccoli. It's good for you." But the parent knows that even if young Tommy eats his broccoli, accompanied by bribes or threats, he may never come to love broccoli. It might always be, for Tommy, like taking an unpleasant medicine. You can't make Tommy love what he doesn't love.
So can love be commanded? Can you command someone to fall in love? Can you command affection? Can you command deep friendship? Can you command compassion? Likely not. Love and law seem to be incompatible.
In the philosophy of love, some thinkers square the circled by saying that there is a kind of love that cannot be commanded and a kind of love that can be. Love that can't be commanded is love based on feeling. Love that can be commanded is a more "rational" love. German philosopher, Immanuel Kant called love based on feeling "pathological love" (not in a derogatory sense, but rather love based on "pathos"—based on a feeling, usually of pity). He called love that can be commanded "practical love," usually interpreted as "moral love." The content of moral love is more or less "doing good toward," and is a duty everyone has for others.
This is a neat way out of the difficulty. Whenever you see or hear the commandment to love,  do the mental trick of saying, "Ah, yes, that means to do good toward..."
But, it is not a very satisfying trick! it feels a bit like the parent feeding broccoli to the kid who doesn't like it. It may be necessary for good health, it might be the right thing to do, but come what may, you can't fool yourself that your child now loves broccoli. 
Here's another way out of the difficulty. What if there never was a command to love? What if when Jesus said, "love your neighbor as yourself" he was simply being ironic? How so?
A recurring theme about a "good life" is that a good life is one where we keep the rules. Let's call it "moralism." Do this, don't do the other. Moralism can be rather harsh. Often  it produces a mentality of judgment of others—a checking out who is doing what, who is acting correctly, and if they fail a pronouncement of judgment. Contemporary society is full of moralism. The media thrive on moralism. Most ethical talk is a kind of moralism.
It seems that this is a perennial issue. Clearly, it was the case in Jesus' day. "What's the rule we ought to keep?" the moralizers of the first century asked Jesus. 
In the gospel stories, Jesus does not seem to be fixated on rules, on law, or moralism. He was demonstrating a different way—a way of relationally, of kindness, of acceptance and inclusion.I can imagine him getting just a little fed up with the questions.  
"You want a rule?" I hear him say, "Well try this for size ... I command you to love!"
I'm sure that Jesus like most of us realized that you can't command a child to love her greens, nor can you command a person to love others. His commandment was impossible. His commandment made no sense. He was speaking ironically. Those with ears to hear would smile. Those who didn't get it would throw their hands up in exasperation, "And just how do you do that!" Over time, Jesus's words would be taken literally rather than ironically, and we would have centuries of trying to square the circle of how we can possibly obey a commandment to do that which cannot be commanded.
Does this mean then that we abandon love. Not at all!
Love remains central. Love was the way of the Christ and of all the great sages. Love is our highest aspiration and our greatest joy. But don't for a minute imagine that we can command or demand love.
Love happens naturally, organically. Love grows, and dies. Love creeps up on you, as when you realize that a casual acquaintance has become a deep friend and you truly love her. When delicate love can be easily stepped on and destroyed. When love is young it can be nurtured like a fragile seedling. When mature, love can be relied upon like a mighty sequoia. You can guard and protect love. But you cannot command love. 
Love is often a realization, a discovery of that which is, and perhaps has always been, for love is the Dao. 
+Ab. Andy