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Simone Weil on friendship

In Siân Miles’ Simone Weil: An Anthology, she includes an excerpt from Weil’s essay “Forms of the Implicit Love of God,” wherein Weil discussed friendship. This caught my attention as I scanned the table of contents after buying the book because friendship is something that I’ve been thinking a lot about recently. This is likely because (1) I’m a middle aged man, and most middle aged men struggle with making new friendships; (2) I’m adding a lesson on friendship to my “Philosophy for Human Flourishing” class. For reasons unclear, I’m drawn to Weil’s philosophizing. (Maybe because it’s so theological, and I can’t escape theological thinking, even when I try? Though I know I’m not alone, as two of my favorite podcasts, Philosophy Talk [“Simone Weil”] and Past-Present-Future [“The Lives of the Philosophers: Simone Weil”], have done episodes on Weil recently!) As strange and even off-putting as her writings can be, I’m drawn to them, and I’m drawn to her understanding of friendship.

On to what Weil says: Weil defines friendship this way: “a personal and human love which is pure and which enshrines an intimation and a reflection of divine love” (p. 263). That “imitation and reflection of divine love” is rooted in two opposites that friendship somehow holds together: (1) the desire to maintain freedom with the relationship; (2) the desire for “bonds of affection which have the iron hardness of necessity” (p. 265). We understand the second one well. As children, we can’t imagine our parents seeing their relationship to us as optional; as parents, we can’t imagine seeing our relationship with our children as optional. (This may change as the child becomes an adult.) We may understand the first when dating someone, especially if it’s casual. No vows have been made. No contacts have been signed. There’s a freedom to leave whenever one party is dissatisfied.

For Weil, friendship combines both of these relational states. For this reason, she says it’s “a supernatural harmony, a union of opposites.” (p. 264) Her understanding of friendship is something like “the Chalcedonian Definition” where in Jesus Christ there is full divinity and full humanity, two (opposite?) natures, undivided. She says, “There is a harmony because there is a supernatural union between two opposites, that is to say, necessity and liberty, the two opposites God combined when he created the world and men. There is equality because each wishes to preserve the free consent both in himself and in the other.” (p. 266) As Christ is human and divine, so friendship is the will to be free of and to be necessary to the other person. Friendship is fully free, fully dependent. Again, a “union between two opposites”.

For Weil, “There is not friendship where distance is not kept and respected.” (p. 268) As I heard Rebecca Rozelle-Stone explain in the aforementioned “Philosophy Talk” episode, Weil couldn’t stand the idea of a relationship where they person was totally devoted to her in an almost idolatrous way. For Weil, to love her was to love who she is truly, not some idealized version of her. Rozelle-Stone said, representing Weil, “…we don’t want someone who’s completely enamored with or attached to us. She thought that’s true, because we don’t want that kind of constraint on another person. It shouldn’t be a kind of slavish adoration. You know, people should be able to retain their independence as persons, as unique beings.” If someone can’t see me and my frailties, then is there a relationship there, or am I taking advantage of them, capturing them? As Weil writes, “The two friends have fully consented to be two and not one…” (p. 267) because genuine friendship exists within the similarities and, maybe more importantly, the differences. “A friendship is tarnished as soon as necessity triumphs,” (p. 267) because then it’s no longer friendship, and yet “A certain reciprocity is essential in friendship.” (p. 266)

This helps us reflect on the legitimacy of what we call our friendships. Do we honor their autonomy while simultaneously recognizing a freely willed reciprocity? If so, for Weil, we have something approaching a friendship: “…pure friendship is rare.” (p. 268) Once a hierarchy is created, and someone’s need for someone else is unreciprocated, then this isn’t a friendship. “There is no friendship where there is inequality.” (p. 266)

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Brief comments on Rebecca Newberger Goldstein’s “The Mattering Instinct”

Why do we want to “matter” to others? Why do we care if our life “matters,” broadly speaking? If you asked these questions, Rebecca Newberger Goldstein’s The Mattering Instinct: How Our Deepest Longing Drives Us and Divides Us will be well worth your time. In short, Goldstein begins with our biological impulse to live, and for self-preservation. But as she acknowledges, many living things share this. Our human ability to rationalize and introspect leads us to eventual wonder whether or not we deserve all the selfish effort we put into self-preservation. For this reason, we seek justification, in a very basic sense, for ourselves. Or, maybe I should say, for our selfs.

This leads to a discussion of what she perceives as our four types of matterings/matterers: (1) transcenders; (2) socializers; (3) heroic strivers; and (4) competitors. Religion-centric folk can be found within the transcenders category. If you tend to find human value in God, or a teaching like imago Dei, or more specifically, a sense of calling, you’re working within a transcenders paradigm. If you’re sense of self-worth is grounded in your friends or lovers, in family, in seeking fame, in community identity, then you’re working within the socializers paradigm. If you’re life is about the pursuit and perfection of the intellect, or art, or you’re afterlife legacy, or ethical purity, you’re working within the heroic strivers paradigm. And if you find value in competing, either against others, or even against yesterday’s version of you (e.g., Kobe Bryant; somewhat who tries to beat their own time in a mile run), then you’re working within a competitor’s paradigm.

Obviously, these aren’t mutually exclusive, but it does seem that for each of us there may be a primary motivation. I’m definitely adapting the content of this book for a lesson for my “Philosophy for Human Flourishing” class in the fall. If you’ve wondered whether you matter, why certain things matter to you, whether what matters seems justified, why other people seem to be driven by things you find outrageous or even wrong (e.g., problematic or even immoral political views/activities), then you’ll get a lot from this excellent book!

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Am I flourishing?

Next year, 70% of my teaching load will be philosophy. That’s right. A combined 30% will be biblical studies and comparative religion. My newer class, “Philosophy of Human Flourishing,” has taken center stage. Human flourishing has become one of my primary interests. “What does it mean to live a ‘good life’?” has become a guiding question. But am I flourishing, personally? Am I living the life that I want my students to have?

According to the “Global Flourishing Study” put out my “The Flourishing Program” at Harvard University, the average American scores a 7.18/10 on their scale for flourishing. For comparison, the nation with the highest average in their study is Indonesia, at 8.47 (see page 12 of the linked PDF). Participants are asked to rate themselves on a scale of 1-10 with regard to the following categories: (1) Happiness & Life Satisfaction; (2) Mental & Physical Health; (3) Meaning & Purpose; (4) Character & Virtue; (5) Close Social Relationships; (6) Financial & Material Stability. Each section has two questions. I went through the list, trying to be honest about how I’m feeling right now (see this sheet), and my score was 6.58. Not great, but also taken in late June when the day to day hustle of the school year has ended, and I experience my annual existential dread as I have way too much time to think about what I’m doing with my life. I predict that if I were to take this in August, when I’m busier and more focused, my score would’ve been something like 7.33, which is better than the average American.

Speaking of the average American: we rate ourselves as doing poorly on life satisfaction, happiness, physical health, purpose, and satisfaction (subcategories of the above), doing well on meaning, character, virtue, and contentment, and drawing even on mental health. This is interesting to me, because the Pew Research Center found that 53% of Americans see other Americans as having bad morals and ethics (see “In 25-Country Survey, Americans Especially Likely to View Fellow Citizens as Morally Bad”). We see ourselves as good, but others as bad. Very Manichean of us! Unsurprisingly, I felt good about my own “character & virtue”. Maybe too good?

Most of what brought my score down can be traced back to economic concerns, which I think most Americans feel right now. That and the poor state of our social relationships, which can be captured by what Derek Thompson has called the “anti-social century,” which traces back as far as Robert D. Putnam’s Bowling Alone. We Americans are less engaged with one another, and I’m very much participating in that trend.

I feel like those two things impact how I scored the others. It’s well known that making friends as an adult can be difficult (e.g., “Why Making Friends as an Adult is So Hard”; “Why is it so hard for adults to make friends?”). Our political divides at this stage in our nation’s history make it even harder. And I know very few people who have felt positive about the overall economy since 2020. When basic material needs are threatened, and when stabilizing friendships are missing, it makes you second guess things like your “meaning & purpose,” and “happiness & satisfaction”. It impacts “mental & physical health”.

I know the emotional boosters in my life are my wife and kid (so, those relationships), and the actual content of my career (see the aforementioned point that I get to teach philosophy, comparative religion, theory of religion, and sacred texts for a living). I take pride, ironically, in trying to be a good person. In those areas, I’m flourishing. But I do share the concerns of many Americans who see prices rise while wages fail to keep pace, who struggle to make new friends as life moves old friends away (whether figuratively, or geographically), and who feel their health and overall well-being being impacted by these realities, which in turn impacts our happiness and life satisfaction. These struggles give me a lot to ponder as I consider how to help my students find the path to a flourishing life of their own. And this leads me to ponder something that makes me morally nervous: maybe there is some correlation between economic well-being and flourishing? Maybe it’s more significant than I want to admit?

I know that there’s a debate over whether “money buys happiness” (e.g., “Can money buy happiness?”), but it does seem like money can lower stress and shame (see “More Proof That Money Can Buy Happiness [or a Life with Less Stress]”), which surely contributes to flourishing! Maybe it’s the Christian ethics in which I’ve swam most of my life (“God or Mammon”), but it seems disheartening to say, “Students, it seems like if you have friends and money, you’ll flourish, as long as you can convince yourself that you’re a good person, no matter what other Americans say about you!”

This all being said, one premise that I haven’t challenged here is whether our self reported feelings about the categories chosen by the “Global Flourishing Study” actually equates to what flourishing is/ought to be. Maybe Aristotelean eudaimonia is a better measure? Maybe we’re too hedonistic, to the point that even Epicurus would blush at our lifestyles? If so, maybe the most true measures are meaning, purpose, character, and virtue?

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Tradition or Friendship?

In year 2 of my “Philosophy for Human Flourishing” class, I want to make a few changes. For context, the class is three units. The first, “How Can Humans Flourish?” makes the case for philosophy. There’s a lesson defining philosophy, and there’s a lesson presenting Socrates’ “the unexamined life is not worth living” claim. Then, in Unit 2, the focus is “Cultivating the Good Life Communally”. The first lesson explores justice (“Do We Need Justice to Flourish?”) and the second, ethics (“Do We Need Ethics to Flourish?”). Last year, there was a third lesson that addressed the tensions of authenticity—how much should we “be ourselves” or focus on “creating ourselves” (as the existentialists may frame it) and how much should we conform to our society. While a decent lesson, I’ve decided I want to move in a different direction, but I’m torn between two options: “Do We Need Tradition to Flourish?” or “Do We Need Friendship to Flourish?”

If I teach about tradition, it will parallel Unit 1, Lesson 2, and it will cover some of what the authenticity lesson covered, in that it will ask how much of the “good life” comes from accepting and embracing the wisdom (we hope!) handed to us by established schools of thought/religions. If I teach about friendship, then it will be about…well, friendship (which is, obviously, a major part of flourishing communally).

I’m not sure which direction to go, and for logistical reasons, I need to choose one. For what it’s worth, in Unit 3 (“Cultivating the Good Life Individually”), the three lessons will focus on the place of happiness/pleasure (Epicurus. Epictetus, and Robert Nozick getting the nod), the place of “meaningfulness”mattering” (turning to Rebecca Newberger Goldstein), and an exploration of Friedrich Nietzsche’s “eternal recurrence” thought experiment.

If I go with friendship, I’ll likely start with Aristotle, then move toward some combination of Robin Dunbar and Simone Weil. If I go with tradition, I have a book edited by Massimo Pigliucci, Skye Cleary, and Daniel Kaufman titled How to Live a Good Life: A Guide to Choosing Your Personal Philosophy that I’ll lean on.

Anyone out there have any strong convictions about which subject should be addressed? Let me know in the comments!

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AI, the future, and prophecy

This post is a placeholder for some thoughts that emerged while listening to two separate but related podcast episodes. The first was Hotel Bar Sessions‘ “Against the Future” with guest Simon Critchley. My main takeaway was something like this: predicting the future is manipulative; if you want to shape the future, understand the past. My mind goes straight to Elon Musk, who keeps telling us that safe, automated Teslas are right around the corner, and then we’ll land people on Mars to begin our colonization of space soon. Or, people like Sam Altman, who keep telling us how Artificial Intelligence is going to reshape everything soon. Maybe these predictions are correct, but I think that, for the most part, they’re designed to keep investors hooked.

On the other hand, places like Florida and Texas are rewriting their history books (not to mention places like Modi’s India, which has done something similar), so as to promote “conservative” history. The reason for this is not to do history well; the reason for this is to shape the future. The politicians in Florida and Texas know that how we interpret the American past is likely to shape how many of us try to shape the American future. If we find slavery, and Jim Crow, and the genocide of Native Americans, and many of the other atrocities committed by our country to be a central part of the story of what shapes the United States, this will lead us to try to create a very different future for the country than if we interpret these things as negative blips in our overall positive grand narrative.

Related, Reid Blackman’s Ethical Machines podcast interviewed Carissa Veliz about her philosophical work on prophecy: “Predictions are Commands”. As the title suggests, and returning to the aforementioned Musk and Altman, Veliz argues that while certain “predictions” might happen, their linguistic/social function is to present predictions as statements of fact that are actually commands. For example, “You’d better get your business connected to AI because it is the future and you’ll be left in the dust.” This may prove correct, but it may not! But see how it’s a prediction, framed as a statement of fact, that’s actually a command: buy our product.

I don’t have much to add. As I said, I just wanted a placeholder because my brain connected these two episodes. And I think the connection has to do with the inevitability of the future, which isn’t inevitable at all, and how there is a socially manipulative function to pretending it is, which just happens to line the pockets of the Silicon Valley prophets making the prophecies. But maybe Critchley is right; maybe if we want to shape the future, the path forward isn’t to guess what is to come, but to better understand what has happened, and decide what it is that we want to do in light of the past.

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A few comments on Peppard’s “How Catholics Encounter the Bible”

Michael Peppard, How Catholics Encounter the Bible (Oxford University Press, 2024).

This week, I finished Michael Peppard’s How Catholics Encounter the Bible. Peppard, a Catholic himself, was intentional about this title. He was asked to write a book about how Catholics read the Bible, but as he says, Catholics are less “people of the book” and more “people of the story”. Catholics know what’s in the Bible, even if it’s only a very small percentage that reads it for themselves. As confounding as this may be to many Protestants (though not all), the Bible can be influential in one’s life without being read all that often!

Peppard makes this evident by exploring how the Bible is presented in Catholic liturgy, in the Catholic “life cycle” (think, readings at a Catholic wedding), in prayer and devotion, through art, plays, poetry, fiction, popular music, movies, and finally, through Bible study and scholarship. As someone raised Pentecostal, who drifted in and through Evangelicalism, into the Episcopal Church, it’s been an implicit assumption of mine that serious Christian spirituality encounters the Bible through reading it. When I teach my “Introduction to the Bible” classes, I tend to make a big deal about Gutenberg’s printing press and how it opened the door for putting the Bible into the hands of everyday people. As objective and non-confessional as I try to be when teaching my class, it’s clear that my view of the Bible’s place is highly Protestant. Many of my students over the past decade have been Catholic. I wish I had had access to Peppard’s book earlier, because I think going forward, I want to find more ways to talk about what the Bible is without assuming that the Bible is always an object of direct reading and studying.

I don’t want to say more because I find that blogging is best when kept brief, but I do want to highly recommend this book. Everything about it is fascinating, from what parts of the Bible make it into the liturgical reading cycle, to how the Bible shows up in the writings of Dante, Flannery O’Connor, or Bruce Springsteen, to how the Vatican has softened its position on the place of modern scholarship of the Bible in the Church. If you’re interested in the Bible, world Christianity, Catholicism, the Bible’s influence on art, music, movies, etc., and much more, you’ll find this book well worth your time!

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The Christian “soul,” the Hindu “atman,” and the Buddhist “consciousness”

In my most recent trip with students to our local Buddhist temple, I asked the monk who hosts us: “What’s the difference between Hindu ‘reincarnation’ and Buddhist ‘rebirth’ or ‘reincarnation’?” In short, his answer was that while Hindus believe that the Atman or soul reincarnates, Buddhists believe that consciousness is reborn/reincarnated.

For (most?) Hindus, the Atman is our true, unchanging “Self”. When we die, it finds a new body/materiality. For Buddhists, we are five “Skandhas,” or “aggregates” of (1) form, (2) sensation; (3) perception; (4) mental formations; and (5) consciousness. “I” am the intersection of these five things; there’s no “true” me. But if there is something that transcends one life to the next, it’s consciousness. My sensations/perceptions/mental formations change, rapidly. My body does too, though with more consistency, but only across a single lifespan. My consciousness changes too, but unlike the other four Skandhas, this process continues. It’s not an unchanging soul, but it does seem (and maybe Buddhists would reject this) as something of an anchor for identity.

My tradition, Christianity, tends to be dualistic. I perceive this to be more akin to Hindu’s Atman than Buddhism’s consciousness. That said, I find myself attracted to Buddhists consciousness in the sense that I think even if there’s something semi-stable, something “anchoring,” I don’t see how it’s static. But I want to have my cake and eat it too, because Christian eschatology, at its best (and I would say Gregory of Nyssa is my greatest influence here), imagines us endlessly (?) unifying with our “Source” (God). Similarly, many forms of Hinduism say we merge in some way with the ultimate reality, Brahman. So, I want my use of the word “soul” in a Christian context to be akin to Buddhism’s consciousness in that I want to use language that sees sentient creatures like me as processes, and that’s where our identity is both real, because we are an ongoing process, maybe even after death, but is not hounded by some of the problems with dualism. But I want to imagine this process as sustained and continued by our “Source,” so that while there may be no static part of me, and therefore when I speak of my “soul,” I’m not saying the real, static “me,” but there is a reality that has continuation. I see this as analogous to how I’m both the same process but not the same being as seven or fourteen or twenty-one year old Brian LePort. There’s continuation and discontinuation.

I presume that there are some forms of Buddhism where this vision of an ongoing “I” that’s not static, that’s a process, but that’s not merely the materialist illusion of a heap of materiality, exists. And if so, I think this is where Indian philosophy, modern philosophy of mind, and my own Christian tradition intersect.

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Social media isn’t social

Several months ago, I decided to give Substack another go at it. I had begun teaching a new philosophy course, so I thought it would be useful to share some of what I was thinking through and teaching via that medium (see “Trying Substack…again”). Admittedly, I was lazy about it. I didn’t post all that often. But when I did post, as many social media users may be able to relate these days, it was into the void. Social media used to be understood as the great democratizer. Anyone could have a voice and an audience. But, if we’re honest, even without the gatekeeping, social media has us back to the place where the biggest voices get all the interaction while the rest of us sit silently listening. Social media isn’t social. It’s not supposed to be. It’s just media now. Even Mark Zuckerberg has said that platforms like Facebook are about a whole bunch of things, social media being only a small part (see, for example, “Mark Zuckerberg Says Social Media Is Over”). So, this morning, I abandoned Substack…again!

I’m still on Facebook, for family, older friends, and memories. I’m on Threads for information, and if I’m honest, probably an echo chamber! I’m on Instagram for the same reason as Facebook, but also to connect with former students, since they don’t use Facebook. Basically, my social media is limited to Meta platforms, begrudgingly. I tried BlueSky, and I wanted it to be good, but I think the age of social media has come to an end, at least for many of us, and unless someone does something radically different with the idea, sometime I can’t even ponder at the moment, or unless you’re younger and use TikTok and/or Snapchat, the days of social media being used for meaningful connection is mostly in the past. (I’m on LinkedIn too, but I’m not even sure what to make of it if your not job hunting.)

In part, I think this is a good thing. While I appreciate the globalization of our world, I don’t know that humans have evolved to be relational this way. I mean, how many “long distance” relationships are successful? And that’s what social media is, in a way. People who would have naturally faded out of your life as you moved, changed careers, or whatever, remain “friends” or, worse, “followers”. But as social media’s usefulness fades for many of us, we may see that community is usually embodied and present, not digital and distant.

As someone who is kind of introverted, this is sort of a bummer, I’ll admit. And I think for many who have needed social media for find “their people” because where one lives, or works, or whatever, doesn’t necessary align with who one is, this is a disappointing development. And maybe social media still has the capacity to connect people who would not otherwise find each other. That said, once found, it would appear that growing a true connection of depth will need to take place offline, at least in part, for most. Not because using social media is bad, but because social media isn’t designed by “big tech” to be really social anymore.

I admit developing a social media weariness even before this development. Maybe I spent too much time in my 20s and early 30s being a “keyboard warrior”? Maybe that led to burn out. But as the algorithm trained us to be passive observers on these platforms, I found that commenting back and forth, engaging, seemed like work. I’m not sure why, exactly. In my day to day life, I have reasons now: I’m a husband and a father of a toddler. I have a career that is demanding when it comes to attention and decision fatigue (anyone who teaches high school knows!). I live in a car-centric part of the country with a long to-and-from commute most days. I squeeze in things like reading books, and maybe dropping a blog post here once a month just to get some of my thoughts out of my head. Social media engagement doesn’t really fit in my 24/7 like it used to. But even before life became this busy, social media felt mundane. Whatever excitement there was for it a decade or two ago (I go all the way back to “MySpace”) is gone. It was fun while it lasted…I think?

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The sociology of religion

I was approached by a student who will be a senior next year, and she hasn’t taken her required religious studies credits, but she also wants to retain some flexibility in her schedule, so she asked if I would supervise an “independent study”. For those unfamiliar with this term, where I work, students can do self-guided research with the supervision of a faculty member to whom they’re accountable. This student is interested in sociology, primarily, so to meet her halfway, where she can both (A) get an introduction to sociology, but also (B) earn her religious studies credits, I proposed a sociology of religion focus.

My vision for the study is that in the fall, our primary focus would be on sociology and the sociology of religion. I have both Emile Durkheim’s The Elementary Forms of Religious Life and William James’ Varieties of Religious Experience that I would revisit over the summer in preparation. I suggested we purchase and read through some chapters from a book like Sociology of Religion: Contemporary Developments (4th Edition) by Christiano, Kivisto, and Swatos. As a social science, we’d want something cutting-edge, and that book was published in 2025. But maybe there’s something better out there. If you have suggestions, please comment!

In the spring, I want to direct this student toward an area that interests me (justifying the extra time dedicated to an independent study), but that fits her curiosity. I suggested two books: Bowling Alone by the American political scientist Robert Putnam, which deals with the demise of shared communities in America, and something like Ryan Burge’s Nones (2nd Edition) or Christian Smith’s Why Religion Went Obsolete. As the place of religious community shrinks in the day-to-day lives of many Americans, I’m curious to know what the sociological consequences will be. I think this pathway would give me a good reason to supervise the independent study. And I think this student would learn a lot!

If anyone out there knows a book that you think would be an absolute must-read for me, as the supervising faculty, or a book that you think would be good for this student, feel free to comment. Obviously, I would want to beef up my understanding of the subject matter in order to be prepared to adequately lead the study, so I will do a lot more reading than she will…I presume!

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Classes I’d like to teach because of topics about which I’m curious (sports, video games, and growing up)

It’s a new year, so I’m thinking about new things. Next school year, I’ll be teaching the same slate of core class: “Philosophy of Human Flourishing”; “Religion in Global Context”; “Introduction to the Bible”. While I enjoy teaching all three of these, I’d like to someday, possibly teach courses on the following topics, because I’m curious about them:

1. “History and Philosophy of Games”

    This may be a 1.a and a 1.b option, maybe even a 1.c depending on what would draw the most interest from students (presuming that there would be any). 1.a would be “History and Philosophy of Games” but if that’s too broad, 1.b would be “History and Philosophy of Sports”. If 1.a was doable, I’d open with Unit 1, “What Is a Game?” I’d consult the thinking of Ludwig Wittgenstein but also Bernard Suits (The Grasshopper: Games, Life, and Utopia), Jane McGonigal (Reality is Broken: Why Games Make Us Better and How They Can Change the World), and the philosopher who I’m currently reading: C. Thi Nguyen (Games: Agency as Art). Unit 2 would likely focus on, for lack of a better word, physical games ranging from baseball to Uno, or “sport” if the former idea is too broad. Unit 3 would likely focus on video games. Each unit would begin with a history of those types of games. I’m not sure what other lessons I’d add yet, though I imagine.

    If this is too much to stuff into one class, then my 1.b option would just be, as mention, “History and Philosophy of Sports” and my 1.c option would be “History and Philosophy of Video Games”. Both of these topics would be much easier to plan for separately. Paradoxically, I don’t play video games all that much, but they were a massive part of my childhood, so I find them interesting still. I watch a ton of sports, but don’t play much. I think the history and philosophy of sports would be easier to create, as I’m more familiar, but I imagine, if somehow I could incorporate some video game play time into the class, the history and philosophy of video games would be a lot more fun to create/teach.

    2. “Philosophy for Becoming an Adult” or “Philosophy for Adulthood”

    I imagine this being an elective for seniors. Unit 1 would focus on meaning-generation. I could see myself teaching lessons on what major philosophical and religious traditions have presented as the meaning of human life. (For the religious traditions, I could use Stephen Prothero’s four key components of religions (problem, solution, technique, and exemplars) which might map onto schools like Stoicism, Epicureanism, Confucianism, etc.

    Then, Unit 2 would focus on relationships. Maybe something related to Confucius’ ranking of relationships and teachings about filial piety combined with something on friendship (maybe consulting Robin Dunbar’s Friends: Understanding the Power of our Most Important Relationships) and maybe something—if I’m brave—on romantic relationships, though I’d be super cautious about this, and may want to choose some novel angle. Unit 3 would focus on work and career, maybe built around Matthew Hammerton’s “What Is Wrong with Workism?” Hammerton mentions Aristotelean “perfectionism,” which would be worth a lesson in itself. I think a discussion of AI’s relationship to work and whether we want a “post-work future” would be a great fit here.

      An introduction to ethic could be a lot of fun too.