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In his translation of the Nicomachean Ethics, Joe Sachs notes that at IX.4 Aristotle turns away from the factors that cause certain relationships to fall short or fall apart and instead turns toward the central factors that unify the experience of philia. These include: loving someone for their own sake, wishing that they might have all good things in life, actually doing or giving some of those good things for them, wanting them to live and to live well, wishing to spend time together and share in the activities of life, valuing the same things, sharing in the joys and sorrows of life, etc.
Once again, Aristotle observes that mothers feel and do these things most of all; yet he further observes that the humane person who takes life seriously also feels and does these things with regard to himself. The reason is that such a person has internal agreement [homognōmonei = "knowing alike"] and consistently reaches out for the same things throughout life. This consistency is directed by his entire soul and is pursued for the sake of his thinking activity [nooun] or the thinking part of the soul [dianoētikos] - for this seems most of all to be a person and this most especially needs to be maintained and preserved (recall Aristotle's discussion in III.10-12 of sōphrosunē, which literally means "mind-keeping").
In IX.5 and IX.6, Aristotle discusses two of the main ingredients for close relationships: well-mindedness [eunoia, usually rendered "goodwill"] and like-mindedness [homonoia]. Note the connection between these terms and the Greek word for mind [nous]. It's almost as if those who are dear to each other share the same mind across two bodies. That's not really the case, of course; but according to Aristotle it is our mind and thoughts, including well-mindedness and like-mindedness, that figure centrally in love and friendship.
Like-mindedness is not the mere holding of similar opinions [homodoxia] about any arbitrary topic, such as one might find among scientists or co-religionists or political partisans. Instead, it involves having common goals, forming similar judgments, making similar choices, and acting on those choices together. This leads naturally to one of the most important aspects of philia: taking action for the sake of someone who is dear to you, which in VIII.6-8 he called the activity [energeia] of loving [philein] and which here he calls doing favors [euergetai, literally "well-acting"). It is through activity that we are what we are, and the person who acts well for the sake of someone they love creates something beautifully right [kalos] through this kind of activity (1168a10).
All of this shows that love [philia] is not only a feeling [pathos], but also a complete activity [energeia] and thriving [aretē] of the whole person. That's likely why Aristotle thought it was important to devote 20% of the Nicomachean Ethics to the topic.
(Cross-posted at philosopher.coach.)
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During a visit to the dentist the other day, I experimented with what I recently called radical gratitude. Throughout the visit, I asked myself: how much of what I experienced could I perceive as a gift to be enjoyed and appreciated? (To be clear, I actually like going to the dentist, so this wasn't as much of a stretch for me as it might be for others.)
Well, it really is endless! Here are some aspects I observed:
So yes, we all have a lot to be grateful for, even during a simple visit to the dentist...
(Cross-posted at philosopher.coach.)
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Moving on from his discussions of ideal relationships and then unequal relationships, Aristotle first takes a detour into different forms of political community (monarchy, aristocracy, democracy, etc.). This likely strikes us as strange, until Aristotle explains that philia holds societies together even more than justice does; in this context, I would translate the term as brotherhood (a somewhat attenuated kind of loving in especially short supply these days, it seems!). The idea is that philia exists to the extent that two or more people share common goals and activities, such as workmates (Aristotle's example is actually shipmates on a commercial venture), fellow soldiers, neighbors, participants in a religious order, or members of a social club. And all of these specific varieties of association exist under the broad framework of the overall society in which you live.
Aristotle observes that it is in relationships based on personal gain and usefulness that complaints and reproaches are most likely to arise. Consider life in a modern organization, where you might help a colleague with a project of theirs but not receive the same level of assistance with a project of your own; this kind of disparity, compounded over time, can cause you to rethink the entire relationship. By contrast, Aristotle says there are no complaints in stable relationships based on good character, mutual caring, and the pursuit of what's beautifully right as opposed to what's personally advantageous. A further cause of disagreement can occur when one person thinks the relationship is based on character but the other thinks it is based on usefulness or pleasure.
Yet Aristotle emphasizes that these matters can be extremely subtle: it can be difficult to figure out where you really stand, whether another person truly shares your values, when it makes sense to break off a relationship, etc. This is why we can't formulate hard-and-fast rules and instead need to develop a certain kind of wisdom [phronēsis] about human relationships.
(Cross-posted at philosopher.coach.)
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Following up on his presentation of an ideal of human relationships, in Nicomachean Ethics VIII.6-8 Aristotle starts to investigate some of the variables that lead to less than ideal outcomes. Because ideally love and friendship in all their many forms entails a kind of equality, one of these variables is inequality between the two people involved, with respect to common attributes such as wealth, power, social class, fame, beauty, etc. As a modern example, consider the employees of a large corporation: it's highly unlikely, perhaps even unheard of, that the CEO will have a close relationship with the guy in the mailroom; the power gap is simply too wide. Or, to take the example that Aristotle uses, a ruler who is blessed with great wealth, absolute power, noble birth, and good looks usually surrounds himself with those who are useful (henchmen and servants and the like) and those who are pleasant (flatterers and entertainers and the like), but not with people of excellent character who take life seriously. Indeed, although the seriously good person is inherently both useful and enjoyable, such a person is not inclined to befriend a ruler unless the ruler is also superior in virtue, and that doesn't happen often.
Aristotle then extends this line of thinking to other relationships that, at least in the patriarchal society of ancient Greece, involved less drastic yet still significant forms of inequality: father and son, parent and child, husband and wife, etc. Yet he suggests a way in which these relationships can be equalized: not in the love accorded to a person because of that person's role (e.g., a parent naturally deserves more love than a child, since the parent is the source of the child's very being), but in the activity [energeia] of loving [philein]. It is in this activity that the excellence [aretē] of love resides, not in passively receiving love. Furthermore, this kind of equality is more long-lasting [monimos] and humane [epieikēs], since it is based on stable character traits rather than relatively ephemeral qualities of usefulness and enjoyment. Here again, as throughout Aristotle's reflections on things human, giving trumps receiving, creating trumps using, and activity trumps passivity. We'll see more implications of this principle as we walk along through the remainder of the Nicomachean Ethics.
(Cross-posted at philosopher.coach.)
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While attempting recently to render the first few lines of Tao Te Ching §14 about the nature of the Tao, I came up with the following:
Look: you cannot see - it gives no view
Hark: you cannot hear - it makes no sound
Reach: you cannot hold - it has no form
Although the phrase "it gives no view" might be more properly rendered as "it affords no view", I was seeking rhythmic consistency and a hint of alliteration. But then, reflecting on it further, I realized there is a profound truth in understanding affordances as gifts that deserve our gratitude.
Consider:
I'm not sure about you, but I know that I don't often enough give grateful attention to all that has been gifted to me. This is something I'm working on...
(Cross-posted at philosopher.coach.)
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As part of my background research for composing an epic poem about Pyrrho, I'm reading epics from around the world. So far this year I've read both the Iliad and the Odyssey twice (in Richmond Lattimore's masterful translations), Milton's Paradise Lost, the Argonautica by Apollonius of Rhodes, and most recently Beowulf. I'm also about halfway through Virgil's Aeneid (in John Dryden's translation), after which I intend to start on Ferdowsi's great Persian epic, the Shahnameh. I'm also halfway through my friend Dave Jilk's newly published science-fiction novel in the form of an epic poem, entitled Epoch: A Poetic Psy-Phi Saga (more on that soon). And there are plenty more where these came from!
Before diving into Beowulf for the first time since high school, I decided to read Translating Beowulf by Old English scholar Hugh Magennis. There are so many translations of Beowulf from Old English into Modern English that I wanted to choose one which, roughly speaking and mutatis mutandis, is consistent with Matthew Arnold's principles for translating Homer. All indications were that the translation to read - at least for me - was made by Michael Alexander for Penguin Classics, and his version did not disappoint.
Two aspects of the poem stood out for me. First, the high heroism of the story: Beowulf himself is portrayed not only as an accomplished and courageous warrior, but also as an exceptionally wise and ethical person. Second, the artistry of the verse: different from the purely syllabic verse of Homer and Virgil, and again from the accentual-syllabic verse of Milton and other Modern English poets, but quite gorgeous in its use of half-lines, alliteration, metaphors, formulae, and kennings (striking ways of describing everyday phenomena, such as calling the sea "the whale's road"). As far as I can tell, Michael Alexander did a great job of representing these various features of the Old English poem into his verse translation, which I expect I'll read again to absorb poetic insights that I might use in my "Pyrrhiad".
(Cross-posted at philosopher.coach.)
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