Ever wonder what Aristotle, whom Thomas Aquinas called simply “the Philosopher,” would say about life in these United States? About the possibility of living a fully human life in an increasingly autocratic democracy? About television? I have. Hence my excitement about this essay written by Joshua Sturgill, a student at St John’s College in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Enjoy!
A Symposium with Aristotle
It is said that one day the Caliph Mamun saw a bald-headed man with a long beard and broad forehead sitting on his private couch. In awe and with a trembling voice the Caliph inquired: “Who are you?” The man replied, “I am Aristotle.”
– 9th century Islamic legend
For most of the evening, I had been reading in my room at a desk built from empty wooden wine crates and a thrift-store-find end table. My old lamp poured light over pens and papers, a wine bottle still three quarters full, and an open copy of the Nicomachean Ethics. I was deep in thought, considering a particular question – an uncomfortable but intriguing question growing in my mind since I’d come across the phrase “the Philosopher will, more than any other, be happy.” Certain modes of concentration cause a loss of connection with time and the senses. I don’t recall how long I was in that suspended state when I was suddenly aware of a strange noise behind me.
It wasn’t actually strange; it was the quite usual sound of the sigh of springs in my reclining chair, which I hear repeatedly throughout the day. What made the familiar sound so strange – for a moment, ominous – was that I’d been alone in the room a moment before. Dread, curiosity and surprise erupted simultaneously, and startled me back to the present. I reflexively turned to see the cause of the noise. An old man, he wouldn’t have been very tall if standing but he seemed weighty, a broad-shouldered old man with a long beard and sand-colored robes was sitting casually in my chair as if waiting. He stared calmly at me with eyes blue as the Aegean.
“Who…?” I began, but lifting his hand with a dismissive gesture, he brushed away the question.
“I believe you had something to ask me,” he said.
For a moment, I couldn’t even remember what I’d been pondering all evening. I simply stared back at him in mild unbelief. The old man smiled – a smile mostly in his eyes – and said, “Those who know will pass their time more pleasantly than those who inquire. But both may equally enjoy a glass of wine during the lesson.” My brain coming ‘on-line’ so to speak, I immediately stood up to fetch an extra coffee mug and I poured him some of the Bordeaux I’d opened an hour earlier.
“Very good!” he said, “we’ll make it a proper Symposium, and have your question as the topic of our discussion.” He took a drink of the wine, and settled back into the chair. He seemed ready for me to begin.
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