I just found an article on MSN.com called "New Rules for a Good Marriage" and you know it had to be particularly clueless to get me to blog about it. The article seeks to "debunk" five marriage myths in favor of "new rules," which is already a weird substitution (rules for myths?), but it gets better. The myths are as follows, paraphrased for convenience and brevity:
1. Never go to bed angry
2. You'll eventually grow out of love
3. Sex will become less important w/ age
4. Empty-nests breed divorce
5. Your spouse will leave you in a mid-life crisis
I suppose I've heard all of these, but I don't know if I'd accept that they were full-fledged myths. We sometimes practice the first, and I know we wondered about the second before we got married, as have some of my friends. And I can say I've thought about #4 with respect to my own parents, who seem to be adopting at least 2 animals for each child who moves out of the house. #3 and #5 have never really bothered me.
But what's more interesting are the "new" rules. The author develops most of these through the writings of John Gottman, a researcher of marriage at U of Washington (whose work is certainly valuable - more on that later). Here are the rules, which each correspond to the myths above:
1. Sleep on it
2. Marriages require work, not feelings
3. Sexual connection can grow w/ age
4. New freedom means new flourishing
5. It's healthy for both genders to reevaluate their lives "midway"
Item 1 is particularly simple-minded, to me. Just like its corresponding "myth" oversteps its usefulness by the absolute "never," this seems to suggest an equally absolute alternative. But the problem is in thinking about rules rather than, say, principles, or goals. If a couple shares the principle of communication or the goal of actually working out a problem, then they will be able to decide, in media res, whether they should work a fight to the end or sleep on it. In fact, if the couple agree to "sleep on it," then they know they are not letting things fester and can therefore calm down, and so are not, in fact, going to bed angry, anyway.
But #2 particularly blew my mind: it is apparently a "new" "rule" that marriages require work, not feelings. In fairness, I understand where this comes from, and, as admitted, we experienced the power of the "myth" ourselves while still engaged, but we never really doubted that marriage required work. Dating required work, for crying out loud; why should a binding legal, social and moral union be any easier?
I would argue that the work marriage requires more or less obviates the need for any of the other "rules" as well as dispels the power of the myths. The author herself begins with a reflection about how couples work through child-raising and career-changes - these are all the things that go into building the intimacy and connection that make empty nests, mid-life re-evaluations and old-people sex less a problem.
Of course, my bigger problem is with the rhetoric of the article, the idea of structuring our thinking about marriage according to myths and rules. I think I've established the weaknesses of that method. One thing it does positively is to normalize anxiety about the "myths" which do to some degree circulate in our cultural air. Though it offers scientific research as a means of deflating said myths, thereby ignoring our religious and cultural traditions of marriage wisdom (which are not by any means flawless) and overly schematizing things, it at least tries to offer some positive reorientations of one's thoughts.
Gottman (as a last thought) is an interesting source, too. He started by studying divorce, and now he's been studying healthy and successful marriages and has more or less gotten into the business of "marriage preservation." Interpreted sensibly, his work more or less supports the kind of values-orientation I've been arguing for here, which makes me like him all right.
28 June 2008
02 April 2008
Xenophobia in Italy
This Reuters photo caught my attention. I'm not up on my Italian politics, but apparently they're having some debates about immigration, too. The logic of the posters is that if they were to let immigrants in, they could become second-class or even exiled citizens of their own home countries, just like the Native Americans did.
I hope I'm not the first to note the obvious fact that the analogy doesn't hold very well. Consider the superior technology and military organization of the European settlers in America and the both inadvertent and deliberate germ warfare, and you'll see that whoever is coming into Italy probably doesn't represent the same kind of threat (it certainly isn't true of immigrants to America).
But I expect the point is less political than cultural, i.e. that "native" Italians could be alienated from their corporate culture and values. At least, that seems to be the underlying anxiety in the American immigration debate. The degree of that anxiety, its blatant xenophobia and disturbing appropriation of a Native American history that Italian immigrants to America no doubt helped to write, is what surprised me.
At the risk of simplifying matters, I might suggest that it's precisely the antagonistic, paranoid and fearful tone of such rhetoric that puts one's culture more at risk than the presence of persons of another culture. It implies that the paranoid culture is weak and has no confidence in its own foundations, that it exists only because it holds a majority and not because it has any validity in the realm of human social and spiritual values. This is, admittedly, a similar argument as that made against people who worry that homosexual unions will undermine the family, but I don't think you have to agree with a particular policy on homosexual unions or immigration to still see the problem with the argument from fear.
In other words, if your problem is that your culture is weak enough already, then maybe you need to attend to that. Now, that could, I suppose, mean that you should attend to that first, as in prior to allowing immigrants in who might confuse the issue. But, at least in the States, most immigrants seem to come because they want to be a part of this country and what they recognize it stands for and offers, not because they want to colonize it and make it look like where they are trying to escape from. We might, then, take a cue from the immigrants and remember the values that are worthwhile in our culture and see how we could build on those to welcome the stranger who knocks on our door for help.
N.B. - it strikes me as absurd and tragic enough that I will not be able to conciliate those who find this post disagreeably too liberal by insisting that it is in fact meant to be rather Christian.
I hope I'm not the first to note the obvious fact that the analogy doesn't hold very well. Consider the superior technology and military organization of the European settlers in America and the both inadvertent and deliberate germ warfare, and you'll see that whoever is coming into Italy probably doesn't represent the same kind of threat (it certainly isn't true of immigrants to America).
But I expect the point is less political than cultural, i.e. that "native" Italians could be alienated from their corporate culture and values. At least, that seems to be the underlying anxiety in the American immigration debate. The degree of that anxiety, its blatant xenophobia and disturbing appropriation of a Native American history that Italian immigrants to America no doubt helped to write, is what surprised me.
At the risk of simplifying matters, I might suggest that it's precisely the antagonistic, paranoid and fearful tone of such rhetoric that puts one's culture more at risk than the presence of persons of another culture. It implies that the paranoid culture is weak and has no confidence in its own foundations, that it exists only because it holds a majority and not because it has any validity in the realm of human social and spiritual values. This is, admittedly, a similar argument as that made against people who worry that homosexual unions will undermine the family, but I don't think you have to agree with a particular policy on homosexual unions or immigration to still see the problem with the argument from fear.
In other words, if your problem is that your culture is weak enough already, then maybe you need to attend to that. Now, that could, I suppose, mean that you should attend to that first, as in prior to allowing immigrants in who might confuse the issue. But, at least in the States, most immigrants seem to come because they want to be a part of this country and what they recognize it stands for and offers, not because they want to colonize it and make it look like where they are trying to escape from. We might, then, take a cue from the immigrants and remember the values that are worthwhile in our culture and see how we could build on those to welcome the stranger who knocks on our door for help.
N.B. - it strikes me as absurd and tragic enough that I will not be able to conciliate those who find this post disagreeably too liberal by insisting that it is in fact meant to be rather Christian.
21 June 2007
The Language of the Blogosphere
People often assume that those of us who pursue advanced degrees in English are sticklers on language - fanatics who are just waiting for their friends to make a grammar error so they can write a big check mark on their faces in red marker. In fact, I do dream of such powers, but the closest I may ever come would be if I pitched a superhero film to Hollywood, something along the lines of "The GrammarPersons" or "Team English" or "The Grammaricans," who would display on their "English standard" a proud and dashing semicolon. They'd consist of such marvelous persons as:
Which gets me to the moment of this post: Brian McLaren's recent post at the God's Politics blog. McLaren uses that pastorly ploy of sharing an anecdote in which he himself features as the learner so that he can, in his assumed position of knower, meet us, as the learner's at his feet (or fingers, as it were), where we're at (Where you at?). Style aside, there's wisdom in the notion that an attitude or spirit underlies the way we use language, and that spirit infects the context into which we speak. Just like selfishness on the road creates a traffic jam of everyone fighting for position, anger or vitriol in our speech, whether in our homes or online, creates an atmosphere of competition, anger, shame, anxiety, etc.
Christians like to cite the Scripture, "speak the truth in love," both to justify the wishy-washy, smarmy, coddling of others and to temper such a spineless attitude. I often find the latter camp as annoying as the former, since they will say what they believe, then try to qualify and soften it for an audience they imagine might be offended by a viewpoint different than their own. This often has the form of, "I don't mean to say..." or "I'm not trying to discount/diminish/deny..."
That kind of rhetoric certainly isn't violent or hateful (as McLaren speaks of), but it also isn't that different than a coddling, enabling version of love. In fact, it works in part to protect the speaker/writer from accusations of harshness or from any real critique at all - "Oh, but I didn't actually say anything definite, I just indicated a direction, then said what people already do or say is okay, thereby removing any real challenge to make more than superficial changes in their lives or attitudes. Don't blame me."
Ella Quince has no patience for such quibbling. A challenging word must stand as a true challenge, or else why speak it? Qualifications and coddlings indicate a distrust of one's audience, and audiences, I like to think, tend on the whole to pick up on such things and to not like them. To let love lie under our language is a worthy goal, but it requires us to really examine what we mean by "love."
- the dashing and debonair Dr Dirk Diction
- his wife and partner grammarian Ella Quince, who is always in style
- Syntaxator, a gentle giant famous for his impersonations
- The Splicer, an ambiguous fellow capable of destroying the very things he aims to mend
- the ever witty and a propos "Bartlett" (always in quotes)
- their sexy, dominant leader The Grammatrix, who is harsh only to be kind, for her discipline makes us better people
- and the loose cannon of the group, the Grammatrix's twin sister, Lingua (the Tongue), who keeps going wrong though she tries to be good, and who has a tendency for slipping
Which gets me to the moment of this post: Brian McLaren's recent post at the God's Politics blog. McLaren uses that pastorly ploy of sharing an anecdote in which he himself features as the learner so that he can, in his assumed position of knower, meet us, as the learner's at his feet (or fingers, as it were), where we're at (Where you at?). Style aside, there's wisdom in the notion that an attitude or spirit underlies the way we use language, and that spirit infects the context into which we speak. Just like selfishness on the road creates a traffic jam of everyone fighting for position, anger or vitriol in our speech, whether in our homes or online, creates an atmosphere of competition, anger, shame, anxiety, etc.
Christians like to cite the Scripture, "speak the truth in love," both to justify the wishy-washy, smarmy, coddling of others and to temper such a spineless attitude. I often find the latter camp as annoying as the former, since they will say what they believe, then try to qualify and soften it for an audience they imagine might be offended by a viewpoint different than their own. This often has the form of, "I don't mean to say..." or "I'm not trying to discount/diminish/deny..."
That kind of rhetoric certainly isn't violent or hateful (as McLaren speaks of), but it also isn't that different than a coddling, enabling version of love. In fact, it works in part to protect the speaker/writer from accusations of harshness or from any real critique at all - "Oh, but I didn't actually say anything definite, I just indicated a direction, then said what people already do or say is okay, thereby removing any real challenge to make more than superficial changes in their lives or attitudes. Don't blame me."
Ella Quince has no patience for such quibbling. A challenging word must stand as a true challenge, or else why speak it? Qualifications and coddlings indicate a distrust of one's audience, and audiences, I like to think, tend on the whole to pick up on such things and to not like them. To let love lie under our language is a worthy goal, but it requires us to really examine what we mean by "love."
14 June 2007
Occasionally we can make what looks like progress
This recent post on the God's Politics blog has the virtue of demonstrating what can come of people actually talking to one another. The abortion "debate" is among the stickiest facing our country today, but it has long struck me that the incorrigible stickiness (which, I think, is real) appears more extensive than it really is because the two sides are arguing at cross purposes, or not arguing about the same subject, anyhow. So the so-called debate turns into a shouting match, with arguments even about what words to use.
There's that joke: "Democrats don't care what happens to a baby before it's born; Republicans don't care what happens to it afterward." As a joke, or quip, or whatever, it is intentionally hyperbolic and unfair, but it does work by taking note of the disparity I'm talking about. Pro-choicers don't hate babies or parenthood (not most of them, anyhow) - they just hate the injustice and indignity suffered by victims of rape, by mothers abandoned by their child's father, by children born into homes that can't keep ends together to properly care for them. Pro-lifers don't hate women or poor people (not most of them, anyhow) - they just hate the thought that a burgeoning human life might be extinguished.
These are simplifications, of course, but I think they more or less fairly represent the kinds of places we might find common ground on the topic of abortion. That's what I appreciate about Sojourner's/Call to Renewal: in making it their goal to decrease the number of abortions, they are bridging the yes/no gap - so tainted as it is with propaganda - and necessarily having to turn their sights to the way society deals with all its marginalized and suffering peoples. I'm not sure what a "seamless garment of life" really means, as the post author uses it, but it obviously represents an attempt to think the whole of injustice rather than to barely think at all.
There's that joke: "Democrats don't care what happens to a baby before it's born; Republicans don't care what happens to it afterward." As a joke, or quip, or whatever, it is intentionally hyperbolic and unfair, but it does work by taking note of the disparity I'm talking about. Pro-choicers don't hate babies or parenthood (not most of them, anyhow) - they just hate the injustice and indignity suffered by victims of rape, by mothers abandoned by their child's father, by children born into homes that can't keep ends together to properly care for them. Pro-lifers don't hate women or poor people (not most of them, anyhow) - they just hate the thought that a burgeoning human life might be extinguished.
These are simplifications, of course, but I think they more or less fairly represent the kinds of places we might find common ground on the topic of abortion. That's what I appreciate about Sojourner's/Call to Renewal: in making it their goal to decrease the number of abortions, they are bridging the yes/no gap - so tainted as it is with propaganda - and necessarily having to turn their sights to the way society deals with all its marginalized and suffering peoples. I'm not sure what a "seamless garment of life" really means, as the post author uses it, but it obviously represents an attempt to think the whole of injustice rather than to barely think at all.
08 June 2007
Taking Irony Seriously
Whilst putzing about on YouTube a while ago I found a series of videos relating in various ways to one particular video, under the screenname Paperlilies, which calls for a ban of sarcasm on the site (see it here). I'd actually not recommend you bother with watching it; it consists of a girl "complaining" of sarcastic videos on YouTube and suggesting that no one should make them anymore because she's tired of feeling stupid when she watches them. Her other suggestion is to tag sarcastic videos as such.
The point of the video is to be itself "sarcastic." There was a surprising outlash against this video, particularly by people who didn't understand the joke. Paperlilies posted another video, both amusing and disturbing, in which she reads from the "hater" comments she received (caution, adult content revealing the ignorance and latent aggression of the American YouTube user). Among the interesting responses to this comes from a sympathetic little girl who seems concerned that Paperlilies might take some of the comments to heart. Then there is this "instructional video" on what sarcasm means, which has a kind of low-budget production value to it that almost makes it amusing.
I can't really watch all these videos without flinching each time someone says "sarcasm" or "sarcastic," when what they really mean is ironic. Irony is a difficult concept to pin down, but almost always involves a statement that, taken at "face value," appears to mean what it says, but taken in context or by intonation, actually means something contradictory. Sarcasm is a form of irony, and so the confusion is quite understandable. But in sarcasm there is usually a clear tone and some form of hyperbole in the statement. As a form of irony, it is not always true that all irony is sarcastic, though all sarcasm is probably ironic.
John Stewart and Stephen Colbert are masters of both irony and sarcasm. When Stewart responds to a news story with that exaggerated innocent look on his face, he's usually being sarcastic. When Colbert pretends to be an earnest reporter and asks absurd questions of congresspeople, he's usually being ironic. Another good example of irony is Andy Kaufman, as played by Jim Carey in Man on the Moon. No one could tell when the guy was playing a character and if he was ever being genuine.
To complicate, or maybe simplify things, there's the irony Reinhold Niebuhr discerns in American history, as discussed in this post at God's Politics. Here, irony exists where our misled goals and hopes produce contradictory results that do not in themselves delegitimate the goals. This is a more esoteric form, perhaps, but I think it helps get at the broad nature of the term.
Language changes, of course, but it should change because new situations or ideas require words to be used in new ways, not because we don't know what we're talking about. In the first case language grows; in the second, it becomes meaningless.
The point of the video is to be itself "sarcastic." There was a surprising outlash against this video, particularly by people who didn't understand the joke. Paperlilies posted another video, both amusing and disturbing, in which she reads from the "hater" comments she received (caution, adult content revealing the ignorance and latent aggression of the American YouTube user). Among the interesting responses to this comes from a sympathetic little girl who seems concerned that Paperlilies might take some of the comments to heart. Then there is this "instructional video" on what sarcasm means, which has a kind of low-budget production value to it that almost makes it amusing.
I can't really watch all these videos without flinching each time someone says "sarcasm" or "sarcastic," when what they really mean is ironic. Irony is a difficult concept to pin down, but almost always involves a statement that, taken at "face value," appears to mean what it says, but taken in context or by intonation, actually means something contradictory. Sarcasm is a form of irony, and so the confusion is quite understandable. But in sarcasm there is usually a clear tone and some form of hyperbole in the statement. As a form of irony, it is not always true that all irony is sarcastic, though all sarcasm is probably ironic.
John Stewart and Stephen Colbert are masters of both irony and sarcasm. When Stewart responds to a news story with that exaggerated innocent look on his face, he's usually being sarcastic. When Colbert pretends to be an earnest reporter and asks absurd questions of congresspeople, he's usually being ironic. Another good example of irony is Andy Kaufman, as played by Jim Carey in Man on the Moon. No one could tell when the guy was playing a character and if he was ever being genuine.
To complicate, or maybe simplify things, there's the irony Reinhold Niebuhr discerns in American history, as discussed in this post at God's Politics. Here, irony exists where our misled goals and hopes produce contradictory results that do not in themselves delegitimate the goals. This is a more esoteric form, perhaps, but I think it helps get at the broad nature of the term.
Language changes, of course, but it should change because new situations or ideas require words to be used in new ways, not because we don't know what we're talking about. In the first case language grows; in the second, it becomes meaningless.
05 April 2007
Art and the Public Sphere
Last week it seemed suddenly everyone was talking about art. I first noticed it with respect to the Jesus Obama controversy. This struck me as an interesting example of people being too literal, for the basic objection, as far as I can tell, is to the fact that Obama is not in fact Christ returned to save us. Presumably, when Christ does return, he will also want a statue of himself with a neon halo, but we shouldn't be doling out that kind of honor on just anyone. Why didn't anyone object to it being a rather poor likeness of Obama? Or to it being rather obvious and simple? After all, the whole thing rested on what the artist saw as a religious obsession with Obama - which most of us can also see quite clearly without this artist's help. If Christians didn't get all in a huff about it, no one would probably have paid it any attention, and I don't really think it deserves much. The dean of the School of the Art Institute said, "When you see it, when you spend time with it, you understand that it's not a provocative work at all." He meant it isn't intended as controversial, but I don't know that it is provocative in the good sense, either.
There's a link in the Jesus Obama article to a chocolate Jesus story. People can't seem to decide if they should be upset that the medium is chocolate or that Jesus had genitals. Inasmuch as nudity is not always sexual, and considering nudity is an important part of the Genesis story, I should think the medium more questionable. In either case, and in the Obama case, too, the objection, I suppose, has more to do with a sense that the artists are being too liberal with their religious references, not showing adequate respect for a faith tradition. Now, on this point I might be able to agree with the Jesus Obama critics, since the expression of the statue is rather dopey and the whole thing looks rather like a self-satisfied wise-crack. On the other hand, while I can't decide if a confection contributes the right kind of meaning to a crucifix, the chocolate Jesus does look as though it was done respectfully.
There's a whole other set of issues with artist Kara Walker's racism silhouettes, as heard on NPR. I don't know that there's space to really explore all the sides of what she does, but one of the interesting things to me is how the concept sounds ineffective, but the execution is actually rather challenging and compelling. Using a "gentile" art form to represent people in stereotyped ways seems likely to tempt her into dredging up tired debates for the sake of drawing attention to herself. In fact, she uses the intrinsic interest of the form - the starkness of the black and white contrast, the "puzzle" element of discerning the shape - to draw the viewer into a surprising and disturbing world. The antique "quaintness" of the form seems to disarm its power a priori, but that's just what creates the tension when she uses it to represent the present.
Living in "liberal" neighborhoods for many years now, I often have reason for forgetting how much racism still exists in various forms. Walker's work, it seems to me, brings a fresh vitality to the issue. She says she wishes to implicate the viewer, and I think there is a significant difference between finding oneself implicated in something one didn't create and finding oneself accused of creating it. The latter draws a line in the sand and divides us up into sides ; the former describes an experience common to anyone living as a human being in history.
There's a link in the Jesus Obama article to a chocolate Jesus story. People can't seem to decide if they should be upset that the medium is chocolate or that Jesus had genitals. Inasmuch as nudity is not always sexual, and considering nudity is an important part of the Genesis story, I should think the medium more questionable. In either case, and in the Obama case, too, the objection, I suppose, has more to do with a sense that the artists are being too liberal with their religious references, not showing adequate respect for a faith tradition. Now, on this point I might be able to agree with the Jesus Obama critics, since the expression of the statue is rather dopey and the whole thing looks rather like a self-satisfied wise-crack. On the other hand, while I can't decide if a confection contributes the right kind of meaning to a crucifix, the chocolate Jesus does look as though it was done respectfully.
There's a whole other set of issues with artist Kara Walker's racism silhouettes, as heard on NPR. I don't know that there's space to really explore all the sides of what she does, but one of the interesting things to me is how the concept sounds ineffective, but the execution is actually rather challenging and compelling. Using a "gentile" art form to represent people in stereotyped ways seems likely to tempt her into dredging up tired debates for the sake of drawing attention to herself. In fact, she uses the intrinsic interest of the form - the starkness of the black and white contrast, the "puzzle" element of discerning the shape - to draw the viewer into a surprising and disturbing world. The antique "quaintness" of the form seems to disarm its power a priori, but that's just what creates the tension when she uses it to represent the present.
Living in "liberal" neighborhoods for many years now, I often have reason for forgetting how much racism still exists in various forms. Walker's work, it seems to me, brings a fresh vitality to the issue. She says she wishes to implicate the viewer, and I think there is a significant difference between finding oneself implicated in something one didn't create and finding oneself accused of creating it. The latter draws a line in the sand and divides us up into sides ; the former describes an experience common to anyone living as a human being in history.
08 February 2007
Friends, Philosophically
My philosophy professor challenged us all with the question, "Can you ever love a friend for nothing good in themselves?" Some 'splaining. First, "love" translates the Greek philia, which is the philo- in philosophy, "love of wisdom," but different from the eros in erotic, i.e. the kind of thing we think of as following upon romance (from the Latin for "Roman"). Philia in Aristotle's usage is the kind of affection you can have toward a dear friend, a classmate, a coworker, or just a fellow citizen. A friend, then, could be anyone who recognizes some common bond with you.
Aristotle says there are basically three kinds of friendship. The most basic are those of utility, where each person finds the other useful. This is like the relationship I have with a librarian or barrista or waiter. Then there is the friendship of pleasure, where each one enjoys spending time with the other. Many of my classmates, for instance, fall into this category. These are friends you like to have around but that, if you're honest, you probably won't keep up with once you part company. Then there's the best kind of friendship, that of virtue. This is where each friend is of such stuff that each likes the other for the goodness within them, not just for what they get from them. These friendships will probably be the most intimate, since that's how you would get to know the good in the other and learn to love it, as with a best friend or spouse.
But, says my famous philosophy professor, is not this best kind of friendship still qualified? That is, aren't you loving the friend for something he has now (goodness), but may not always have, or is not the same as himself? You love his goodness, not him.
Hmm...
Is there, then, another kind? Does he mean charity? Charity would seem to apply to cases where you do something for the other's sake, but not expecting reciprocation - and reciprocity is an important element in Aristotle's friendship. What does it mean, then, to love another for his own sake?
I can't think of a way in which having a real friendship doesn't involve loving something about the other person. Even when we say we take people with their faults and everything, we don't really think those faults should be left alone. To accept that no one is perfect need not entail rejecting perfection as an ideal, and in fact, when you really care about someone, you want them to be good people, to be the best they can be. And that's really the key. For Aristotle, "goodness" and "virtue" are terms for the flourishing of a person given the nature of persons - i.e. as thinking, feeling, physical beings. Hence the goodness of a person just is, in a sense, who that person is. If you are living up to your human potential, then you are a person with a personality and a set of skills and virtues ; if you are not, then you aren't much of a person, but acting more like a beast, simply following your impulses, or a plant, just sitting there growing - and we do not befriend plants in a philia way. So I always love what's good in a person because her goodness is what makes her who she is, is what best displays her special humanness to me and the world - and this is also why I desire her to become better, because she will become more herself.
This raises issue 2: is there one human nature, or are we fundamentally unique?
Hmm...
Aristotle says there are basically three kinds of friendship. The most basic are those of utility, where each person finds the other useful. This is like the relationship I have with a librarian or barrista or waiter. Then there is the friendship of pleasure, where each one enjoys spending time with the other. Many of my classmates, for instance, fall into this category. These are friends you like to have around but that, if you're honest, you probably won't keep up with once you part company. Then there's the best kind of friendship, that of virtue. This is where each friend is of such stuff that each likes the other for the goodness within them, not just for what they get from them. These friendships will probably be the most intimate, since that's how you would get to know the good in the other and learn to love it, as with a best friend or spouse.
But, says my famous philosophy professor, is not this best kind of friendship still qualified? That is, aren't you loving the friend for something he has now (goodness), but may not always have, or is not the same as himself? You love his goodness, not him.
Hmm...
Is there, then, another kind? Does he mean charity? Charity would seem to apply to cases where you do something for the other's sake, but not expecting reciprocation - and reciprocity is an important element in Aristotle's friendship. What does it mean, then, to love another for his own sake?
I can't think of a way in which having a real friendship doesn't involve loving something about the other person. Even when we say we take people with their faults and everything, we don't really think those faults should be left alone. To accept that no one is perfect need not entail rejecting perfection as an ideal, and in fact, when you really care about someone, you want them to be good people, to be the best they can be. And that's really the key. For Aristotle, "goodness" and "virtue" are terms for the flourishing of a person given the nature of persons - i.e. as thinking, feeling, physical beings. Hence the goodness of a person just is, in a sense, who that person is. If you are living up to your human potential, then you are a person with a personality and a set of skills and virtues ; if you are not, then you aren't much of a person, but acting more like a beast, simply following your impulses, or a plant, just sitting there growing - and we do not befriend plants in a philia way. So I always love what's good in a person because her goodness is what makes her who she is, is what best displays her special humanness to me and the world - and this is also why I desire her to become better, because she will become more herself.
This raises issue 2: is there one human nature, or are we fundamentally unique?
Hmm...
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