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Where
to start?
We have been reflecting on friendship as
classically understood, in contrast with which relationships in contemporary
society seem impoverished. We noted that classical philosophers, such as
Plato and Aristotle, regarded friendship as much more important and precious
than we typically do. This had something to do, we observed, with their
better appreciation (as shown in their account of the virtues) that
there is such a thing as human goodness. And we furthermore looked
at ways in which modern attitudes of relativism push us towards insincerity
and untruthfulness—with the result that, in our dealings with others, we
perhaps inadvertently become more like the ‘flatterer’, so much despised by
the ancients, than a true friend. Recall that our goal is a practical one:
our aim is not merely to think correct thoughts, but rather to live life
better, by first coming to appreciate friendship as did the ancients, and
then putting this into practice, in a manner appropriate to our conditions.
We want to acquire true friends and to be true friends.
So far we have said that, in
order to be a true friend, one must avoid being a flatterer, But to
say this is to have taken only the smallest of steps in the direction of
friendship, since friendship is demanding. It has been said, as if to set
down a benchmark, “Greater love than this no one has, than to lay down his
life for his friend.” Take this remark to represent the true ideal of
friendship. To seek the ways of friendship, then, is in reality to wish to
become the sort of person who would gladly, in the requisite circumstances,
make such a sacrifice. And, obviously, there is a good bit of ground
between avoiding flattery and sacrificing one’s life.
Misleading Maxims
There are two sorts of persons, G.K. Chesterton once
remarked: those who divide humanity into two sorts, and those who do not.
The modern mind, in thinking about human relationships at least, likes to
dichotomize. But we shall see that this tendency is only minimally useful
as regards friendship.
For instance, it is often said
that we should treat another not as a mere means, but as an end;
or that we should love others unconditionally, not setting down
conditions; or that we should be altruistic, rather then
egoistic.
But what does it mean, to
treat another person ‘as a mere means’? Here is a suggestion: we treat
other people as mere means, when, by deceit or force, we get them to do
something that they would not otherwise have done—since then we ‘manipulate’
or ‘control’ them. We might say that to treat anything as ‘a mere means’ is
to deal with it other than according to its proper nature. If, for
instance, I use a fine piano to play fine music, then, even though a piano
is an instrument, I do not use it as ‘a mere means’, since I am using it
well for the purpose for which it is made. And in doing so I am taking care
of it and respecting it. But suppose I buy a fine piano merely because I
want to impress guests who come into my house (since I am not a musician and
do not really care about music)—then I am using even that piano as ‘a mere
means’.
Yet just as a piano has a proper nature
and function, so does a human being. A human being is an intelligent agent,
who causes things to happen in the world by understanding them and
freely willing to bring about what he regards as good. So then: if I
deceive someone, then I cause him to act without understanding; and if I
force him to do something, then I cause him to act without freely willing
so. In both cases, I ‘use’ him to bring about results that I desire, while
not respecting his nature. To this extent I might be said to care more for
those results than for his proper nature, and, accordingly, I can be said to
treat him as ‘a mere means.’
So this maxim, ‘treat others as ends, not
as mere means’, is of only limited usefulness in our quest for friendship,
since all that it serves to accomplish, is to exclude deceit and force in
our dealings with others. (Note, by the way, that if someone is an
aggressor, or is set upon carrying out criminal ends, then force, such as
that employed by the law, is justifiable in dealing with him, and even
deceit—for insofar as he becomes an aggressor, he has himself done violence
to and receded from his proper nature.)
Consider next the maxim that we should love
others ‘unconditionally’. This too is hardly useful, because in fact it is
unrealistic and unsustainable. All true love seeks the good of the other
person and seeks to be reciprocated, and to this extent it is conditional,
at least in its exercise, if not in its intention. For instance, suppose a
mother wishes to help her son who is struggling with a drinking problem.
She loves him ‘unconditionally’, it is true, in the sense that she will
never hate him. Yet, if she really loves him, then all of the concrete
expressions of that love will certainly be conditional, since otherwise she
harms him. So, for instance, if she were to keep giving him money, even
when, she knew, he would use that money to buy drinks, she would serve as an
‘enabler’ and hurt him. So her expressions of love must be conditional on
those expressions actually contributing to her son’s true good. Again, if
she were to let him continue to stay in her house, even when he showed no
regard for others and disturbed the peace of the household, then she would
shows imprudence and selfishness, rather than love. The reason is that love
reasonably looks for a fair response. If her son fails minimally to
correspond to her efforts to help him, by playing his part and acting well,
insofar as he is able, then the arrangement cannot stand.
Or consider the notion that we should be
‘altruistic’ towards others rather than ‘egoistic’—on the grounds that true
love is ‘disinterested’. This suggestion is misguided, because it relies
upon a false dichotomy. All true love perfects the lover and thus
contributes to, or manifests, his own goodness, precisely through his
contributing to the good of his friend. Furthermore, true love is never
‘disinterested’ or ‘impartial’: rather, it yearns for reciprocity, and for
the equality which results from reciprocation. Suppose, for instance, that
over an extended period I continue to confer benefits and gifts upon another
person, yet he never responds in kind; he never attempts to deal with me as
I have dealt with him. Then de facto I set myself up as a superior.
Inevitably, I make myself into his ‘benefactor’ rather than his friend. As
a result of this ‘disinterested’ care he may in fact become dependent upon
me in some respects—which might even please me, since I might take it to
reflect upon my own superior competence, resources, and affection. We all
know that one-sided charity is typically obnoxious and destructive.
What should we conclude, then? That all
of the maxims which, in modern life are used to discern and guide
relationships, are unsatisfactory. They are either of minimal
importance or false, if interpreted strictly. Yes, of course, we should
avoid treating others ‘as means’. But, after that, what next? To say that
we should always show them ‘unconditional’ love is in most respects false;
and to say that we should be ‘altruistic’ and ‘disinterested’ in our love
for them is a recipe for the destruction, not the fostering, of friendship.
But it is hardly be surprising that a culture which fails to practice
friendship well, should propose to itself maxims which are not tenable for
friendship.
The Measure of Friendship
What measure should we use, then, for our friendships?
Aristotle had a notion of what he called
‘perfect’ or ‘complete’ friendship, and he held, furthermore, that in
perfect friendship each friend aims to become related to the other person,
as he is to himself. The result is that it becomes proper to say that one’s
friend is ‘another self.’ We shall look more carefully at the notion of
‘another self’ in the fourth and final essay in this series; for now, let us
look briefly at this notion of ‘perfect’ friendship, and how it serves as an
ideal of friendship.
According to the modern maxims we
considered, relationships are either good (loving another as an end,
unconditionally, and disinterestedly) or bad (treating another as a means,
setting down conditions, and looking to one’s own advantage). Aristotle,
rather, distinguishes three basic sorts of relationship, none of which is
inherently bad. Each is good in its kind, but these three basic sorts have
a ranking. There are, we might say, grades or degrees of
friendship, and badness in human relationships typically consists in our
being satisfied with a lower grade of friendship, when we ought to have
sought a higher grade.
Aristotle explained the differences in
degree of friendship in this way. He pointed out that there are three
fundamental grounds on which we can find anything attractive and worth our
attention: we may find something pleasant, or useful to us, or
we may find it good in its own right. He pointed out that we may
similarly find persons attractive for each of these three reasons, and thus
we can form friendships on the basis of each.
So, for instance, I might wish
to associate with someone because I find him entertaining; or because we
share relatively superficial interests, such as a love of sports; or because
sharing his company helps me to relax, or to take my mind off of my
problems. These are all legitimate reasons, of course, for my wanting to
associate with someone. It is not wrong to have drinks with a buddy
simply to relax. Yet such a relationship is, clearly, a lower grade of
friendship.
Again, suppose I know someone who is a
jack-of-all-trades and usually call him up only when something is broken in
my house. Or I form a close relationship with someone insofar as I start a
business with him. Or suppose I ‘network’ for business purposes, or I am
careful to show respect to someone (and that respect is truly due to him)
because I think he will someday become influential, and I expect that he
will be in a position to advance my career. –In cases such as these, I form
relationships with others because, in one form or another, they are useful
to me. Once more, such relationships are legitimate: there is nothing wrong
in people profiting from one another. Yet, again, such relationships are
certainly not the highest grade.
But now imagine this third case: You notice
that someone has genuinely good traits. His good features are appealing to
you and perhaps even fascinate you. Maybe you recognize that he is a better
man than you are in those respects, and you wish you could become like him.
As you associate with him, your regard shows itself in helping him out, to
be sure, but primarily it shows itself in conversation, and in your merely
spending time with him, enjoying his company.
This sort of friendship, where
each recognizes and admires the other’s good traits, would be a ‘perfect’
friendship, Aristotle said, and the highest grade of friendship. Here is
his argument why: we can know that a friendship of that sort is the highest
grade, because it in a sense encompasses, and surpasses while encompassing,
the other kinds of friendship. The reason is that friends who love and
admire each other because of their character, will also find each other’s
company enjoyable, amusing, and relaxing: decent people are personable and
thoughtful, with a good sense of humor. Again, friends who are so on the
basis of good character will prove useful and beneficial to each other.
Why? Because people with good character quite naturally tend to help those
around them, and especially their friends. Thus a friendship based on
character contains within it what people seek in the other sorts of
friendships and represents the high point of friendship. Perfect friendship
is the ideal of friendship, because it shows us what a friendship can be.
Here we have an explanation for the uneasy
conscience we sometimes have in dealing with people. A son calls his father
from college only when he needs money: his conscience is uneasy, because he
is in practice living only a useful friendship with his father, yet he knows
that he ought to be cultivating a ‘perfect’ friendship. A husband and wife
hardly have time to talk or simply to enjoy each other’s company: even
though their household is flourishing and the children seem to be doing
well, still, they recognize that something is wrong, since they ought to
have a perfect friendship, but their relationship has devolved into a useful
friendship (which perhaps at intervals takes on the character of a
friendship for pleasure). Again, a man meets his buddies from school for
drinks and a movie once a month; this has been going on for years; but he’s
never succeeded in talking about anything important, even though one friend,
he knew, was having an affair, and the other’s children all have serious
problems: he knows his relationship with his buddies should by this point
have become a ‘real’ or ‘deep’ friendship, rather than remaining one that is
centered solely on relaxation and amusements.
There is a simple explanation for why we
keep from developing ‘perfect’ friendships: such relationships place greater
demands on what we give. To contribute help or money to a friend, or to
join him for drinks and good times, is to give him something of one’s own,
but not so far to give him yourself. You may make some sacrifices,
but there are ‘no strings attached’. Of course it’s relative easy to give
of one’s money, but it’s relatively hard to give of one’s time—sincerely so,
enthusiastically, and as the other person needs it.
In friendships based on usefulness or
pleasantness, each friend continues to regard his own good as a kind of
measure for what he counts as good in the friendship. It is because the
other person fits into what I antecedently like or need, that I pay him any
attention. Hence, when my likes or needs change, then my association with
him comes to an end immediately—for I always regarded him as good only
because he fit into my life, not because his life was the sort that I wanted
to fit in with.
But in ‘perfect’ friendships, these things
work in the opposite way. Each friend, from the start and without
restriction, gives himself to his friend, and, as a result of this,
he gives also things that are of himself, such as his goods or things
he finds pleasant. Moreover, each friend tends to count things as good
because they are, first of all, good for his friend. His friend’s good, not
his own, becomes his standard for action within the friendship. Hence he
becomes willing even to change his likes and his plans, if necessary, to
conform to those of his friend. Ruth’s saying from the Bible, “Your people
will be my people, your God will be my God” is the outlook of perfect
friendship.
The task of growing in perfect
friendship, then, requires good judgment, to recognize when such a
relationship is required or even possible; generosity; detachment
from self; and, fundamentally, the ability to perceive, and to
take delight in, someone’s goodness, just for its own sake.
But then how are these
traits acquired? For surely that is where we need to start, if we are to
develop true friendships. I am convinced: they are acquired principally
within the life of a family and that, indeed, the family may be
characterized as the natural community for equipping persons to form perfect
friendships.
But I simply leave this
consideration to you, since its defense would require a series of essays all
its own.
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