Aristotle begins the ninth book with a curious decision: he compares friendship to contractual relations in business.
In all friendships between dissimilars it is, as we have said, proportion that equalizes the parties and preserves the friendship; e.g. in the political form of friendship the shoemaker gets a return for his shoes in proportion to his worth, and the weaver and all other craftsmen do the same. Now here a common measure has been provided in the form of money, and therefore everything is referred to this and measured by this...
Yes, that's what makes it a curious decision: we normally consider friendship to be entirely unlike the relationships we pay for, or take pay to have.
...but in the friendship of lovers sometimes the lover complains that his excess of love is not met by love in return though perhaps there is nothing lovable about him), while often the beloved complains that the lover who formerly promised everything now performs nothing. Such incidents happen when the lover loves the beloved for the sake of pleasure while the beloved loves the lover for the sake of utility, and they do not both possess the qualities expected of them. If these be the objects of the friendship it is dissolved when they do not get the things that formed the motives of their love; for each did not love the other person himself but the qualities he had, and these were not enduring; that is why the friendships also are transient.
That paragraph again refers to the Greek homoerotic structures, which don't exist in our culture. There might be some general lessons for those who use love relationships as a way of getting practical goods ('utility,' Aristotle is calling that).
But the love of characters, as has been said, endures because it is self-dependent. Differences arise when what they get is something different and not what they desire; for it is like getting nothing at all when we do not get what we aim at; compare the story of the person who made promises to a lyre-player, promising him the more, the better he sang, but in the morning, when the other demanded the fulfilment of his promises, said that he had given pleasure for pleasure. Now if this had been what each wanted, all would have been well; but if the one wanted enjoyment but the other gain, and the one has what he wants while the other has not, the terms of the association will not have been properly fulfilled; for what each in fact wants is what he attends to, and it is for the sake of that that that he will give what he has.
I'm guessing 'lyre players' were the guitar players of his day. But now we reach an important question:
But who is to fix the worth of the service; he who makes the sacrifice or he who has got the advantage? At any rate the other seems to leave it to him. This is what they say Protagoras used to do; whenever he taught anything whatsoever, he bade the learner assess the value of the knowledge, and accepted the amount so fixed. But in such matters some men approve of the saying 'let a man have his fixed reward'. Those who get the money first and then do none of the things they said they would, owing to the extravagance of their promises, naturally find themselves the objects of complaint; for they do not fulfil what they agreed to. The sophists are perhaps compelled to do this because no one would give money for the things they do know. These people then, if they do not do what they have been paid for, are naturally made the objects of complaint.
Protagoras gave his name to a Platonic dialogue, which turns on the question of whether virtue can be taught (if it is, as Socrates believed, a form of knowledge then it ought to be able to be taught, as Protagoras claimed to do). If you could teach virtue successfully you might well let your students set your rate of pay; after all, being now virtuous men, they would doubtless treat you equitably.
Unfortunately, perhaps, we already know that Aristotle disproved Socrates' claim that virtue is a sort of knowledge. Can it be taught, then? Yes, because it is a sort of practice. It turns out not to be something that you can understand, but it is something that you can do. You can do it over and over until it becomes habitual for you, until it shapes your character.
But where there is no contract of service, those who give up something for the sake of the other party cannot (as we have said) be complained of (for that is the nature of the friendship of virtue), and the return to them must be made on the basis of their purpose (for it is purpose that is the characteristic thing in a friend and in virtue).
Yes, this is another reason why this is a curious comparison. We write contracts to govern relationships where friendship is absent, because the trust that you will be treated well is also consequently absent. We use the enforceable law as a substitute, as it were, for friendship.
And so too, it seems, should one make a return to those with whom one has studied philosophy; for their worth cannot be measured against money, and they can get no honour which will balance their services, but still it is perhaps enough, as it is with the gods and with one's parents, to give them what one can.
I trust you will all reflect on the wisdom of that paragraph.
If the gift was not of this sort, but was made with a view to a return, it is no doubt preferable that the return made should be one that seems fair to both parties, but if this cannot be achieved, it would seem not only necessary that the person who gets the first service should fix the reward, but also just; for if the other gets in return the equivalent of the advantage the beneficiary has received, or the price lie would have paid for the pleasure, he will have got what is fair as from the other.
I'm not sure how well that principle works. It seems to hang on an unstated assumption that the services will be of roughly equal value, which may not be the case.
We see this happening too with things put up for sale, and in some places there are laws providing that no actions shall arise out of voluntary contracts, on the assumption that one should settle with a person to whom one has given credit, in the spirit in which one bargained with him. The law holds that it is more just that the person to whom credit was given should fix the terms than that the person who gave credit should do so. For most things are not assessed at the same value by those who have them and those who want them; each class values highly what is its own and what it is offering; yet the return is made on the terms fixed by the receiver. But no doubt the receiver should assess a thing not at what it seems worth when he has it, but at what he assessed it at before he had it.
That is definitely not how we operate today; but in spite of the fact that our cultural heritage contains strict limits on usury, in fact usury has become the norm.
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