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To have you appreciate where I am in virtual woods, I’d have to describe for you an array of thickets that can’t be imaged, because my point today isn’t exemplary: The Impossibility of Perfection, 2012, by Michael Slote, subtitled “Aristotle, Feminism, and the Complexities of Ethics.”
Is ethics (as standardly undersood) better conceived as derivative of value conceptuality? Is the latter actually what so-called meta-ethics always was (hiding itself from its self-conception)?
Indeed, what’s the point of ethicality if that serves one’s being well less than interactive relations that come and go?
Here I am, alive to live, in any event.
All in all, we go separate ways, while each of us is always a singular life in which an ultimate artistry of flourishing may be little about relationships with others.
That’s a keynote of Slote’s concerns, though it’s been mine longer than for him (given the precursory degree of his analyses). How that’s so would be a little thicket in the array I don’t want to give time now to detail.
Someone in an intimacy dies, “leaving” the other to move on.
Some artistry may be remembered by the afterlife of others. But what was between us is no greater than each of us flourishing together more than anyone else outside the woods may know to be exemplary.
next check-in: January 4 |
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