Friendships of Virtue in an Age of “Whatever”
Aristotle on Friendship: Pleasure, Utility, and Virtue
In Nicomachean Ethics (Books VIII–IX), Aristotle distinguishes three kinds of friendship: those of utility, of pleasure, and of virtue. Friendships of utility exist for mutual advantage – each person values the other chiefly for the benefit or use they provide. Similarly, friendships of pleasure are based on the enjoyment one gets (for example, sharing in fun activities or wit). In both cases, one “does not love the other for the person they are,” but for the good or pleasure they provide, and such bonds are often transient. As Aristotle notes, these friendships are “incidental” and easily dissolve when the benefit or enjoyment fades. By contrast, a friendship of virtue (sometimes called a perfect friendship) arises when two people alike in goodness wish well to each other for the other’s own sake, and each recognizes the goodness in the other. Such friends “are good themselves” and are drawn to each other’s character and virtue, not merely a utility or fleeting pleasure. Crucially, Aristotle defines true friendship as reciprocated goodwill: to be friends, people must (1) wish each other’s good, (2) be aware of this mutual goodwill, and (3) be drawn together by something inherently good, useful, or pleasant in the other. Virtuous friends check all three boxes, loving each other for the good they see in one another as persons.
Virtue friendships are enduring and deep. According to Aristotle, when two people of virtue become friends, they become “second selves” to one another. Each one mirrors the other’s soul: “the friend is another self”. In practical terms, this means that each friend cares for the other as he would for himself, actively desiring the other’s moral and personal good. Such friendship yields a high degree of trust and intimacy – Aristotle remarks that nothing is so characteristic of friends as living together, sharing their lives and activities. They take pleasure in each other’s company as free and equal partners, “like sovereign princes… on neutral ground” beyond external differences. There is also a reciprocal vulnerability and accountability: a true friend can gently correct you and call you to your best self, because they genuinely want what is good for you. Indeed, Aristotle saw friendship as essential to moral development. He writes that friends “assist [people] in noble deeds” and help guide the young away from error. In other words, a virtuous friend encourages one’s progress in virtue. These friendships require time and familiarity – “men cannot know each other till they have eaten salt together,” he quips, meaning one must share trials and experiences over a long period. Because true virtue is rare, such friendships are rare too. Yet, they are immensely valuable: Aristotle calls friendship “one of the most indispensable requirements of life”, and suggests that a life devoid of friends, however otherwise blessed, would not be truly choiceworthy. Good friends are literally irreplaceable in living a good life.
C.S. Lewis on Philia: From Shared Taste to Shared Quest
In The Four Loves, C.S. Lewis devotes a full chapter to philia, or friendship, which he regards as a unique love grounded not in biological ties or romantic attraction but in a common vision. Lewis famously says that friendship arises the moment when one person says to another “What! You too? I thought I was the only one.” – that instant of realizing a shared insight or interest that others don’t share. Initially, this may be a shared taste – e.g. two people love the same genre of music, the same hobby, the same obscure literature. But Lewis argues that true friendship goes beyond superficial commonalities. It is less about sitting face-to-face admiring each other, and more about standing side-by-side absorbed in a common pursuit. As he puts it, “Do you love me?” means “Do you see the same truth?” – or at least, “Do you care about the same truth?”. In other words, friends are companions on a shared quest. They have aligned values or a common mission that unites them, whether that be a search for truth, a cause, or dedication to an ideal. Two scientists collaborating out of pure love of knowledge, or activists devoted to the same justice cause, or simply pals who both obsess over a philosophical question – these have the makings of friendship in Lewis’s sense. By contrast, mere “shared taste” (liking the same films or sports team) might start a friendly acquaintance, but it remains a thinner bond. Friendship of the robust kind requires a shared quest – a mutual devotion to something outside yourselves.
Lewis notes that such friends “[stand] for nothing but themselves” in each other’s presence – all external metrics or statuses fall away. What matters is the kindred spirit: the friend is the one who “sees the same truth” and places the same importance on it. Because of this, friendship can cut across diverse backgrounds. In a true circle of friends, one’s race, class, or worldly identity “no one cares twopence” about; conversation is about the shared pursuit, not personal biographies. This illustrates how friendship, at its height, transcends mere affinity and becomes about common dedication. Lewis contrasts friendship with erotic love by analogizing: lovers are face-to-face, absorbed in each other, whereas friends are side-by-side, absorbed in a common horizon (the quest or truth they share). The friendship may begin with a common interest (“shared taste”), but it flowers into a bonding over shared ideals (“shared quest”). Importantly, Lewis also observes that as friendships deepen over time, they develop what he calls “Appreciative Love” – a profound admiration and almost reverence for the friend’s qualities. As friends pursue their quest together and repeatedly prove themselves trustworthy (“ringing true” in character, again and again), respect and affection deepen. In a mature friendship, each friend secretly feels humbled to be in the company of the others, “lucky beyond desert” to have such comrades. Lewis describes those golden moments when a few close friends are gathered, conversing freely – “when the whole world, and something beyond the world, opens itself to our minds as we talk”. In such moments, friends not only share a quest, they also bring out the best in each other, refining each other’s thoughts and even character. This echoes Aristotle’s notion of the friend as a mirror of virtue. Lewis’s key contribution is highlighting that friendship is not primarily about affection (as in family) or utility (as in work partnerships), but about a freely chosen alliance in a higher purpose or truth. A friendship of virtue, in modern terms, might be described exactly as Lewis frames it – friendship as a fellowship in pursuing the Good. And crucially, this type of bond can give tremendous meaning to life: friends on a shared quest often spur one another to moral excellence, sustain each other in hardship, and create together what neither could alone (friendship “can result in larger movements beneficial for society,” Lewis notes, though those external goods are secondary to the friendship itself). In sum, Lewis helps us see why moral relativism – an “Age of Whatever” mindset that says there is no shared truth or common good – would threaten friendship. If no one “sees the same truth” or cares about the same higher purpose, friendship is reduced to shallow shared tastes or mutual convenience. Lewis would likely say that such conditions starve the formation of deep philia, leaving only fickle connections rather than the abiding “shoulder-to-shoulder” comradeship that makes life meaningful.
“Plurality ≠ Relativism”: Taylor on Moral Frameworks and Meaning
Philosopher Charles Taylor (in works like Sources of the Self and The Ethics of Authenticity) has grappled with the tension between a pluralistic modern society and the need for moral orientation. He argues emphatically that acknowledging a plurality of viewpoints does not have to mean embracing full-blown relativism. In fact, Taylor “recognizes the existence of a plurality of moral positions…and in tension with relativism, he has the conviction that some features of the self are universal”. Put simply, one can accept diversity without concluding that “anything goes.” Taylor warns that relativism – the idea that all values are purely subjective or equal – leads to a shallow freedom where nothing has genuine worth. He underscores that humans invariably operate within what he calls a “moral framework” or “horizon”, some larger picture that makes sense of our moral intuitions. We all, even unwittingly, have a sense of higher goods or purposes that orient our choices. Meaning demands magnetized norms: life gains meaning to the extent that one’s values have a “north star” (a guiding principle or telos) rather than being random and interchangeable. Taylor writes that modern people still experience strong moral intuitions – reactions of admiration or outrage – which point to real values beyond mere preference. For example, nearly all cultures intuitively admire courage and despise cowardice, or commend kindness and condemn wanton cruelty. These suggest that there are objective “hypergoods” (in Taylor’s term) which orient human moral frameworks.
In an “Age of Whatever,” however, society often shies away from affirming any shared telos. Taylor laments that the modern self, especially in its “emotivist” guise (as MacIntyre would call it – see below), is “deeply fluid and contingent, and without a narrative of moral commitments” because it has “lost the telos or end purpose that came with pre-modern social roles and obligations.”. This loss of shared purpose doesn’t liberate us, in Taylor’s view – it unmoors us. He notes that many people today feel adrift or dissatisfied despite unprecedented freedom to “choose their own values.” That’s because meaningful choice requires a background of purpose. Taylor’s analogy is that just as language needs grammar to convey meaning, human life needs strong evaluative horizons (orienting ideals like justice, dignity, the good life) to make our decisions and relationships meaningful. Without some common vision of the good, friendships in particular lack a sturdy foundation. In a relativistic climate, relationships tend to be governed by individual preference or utility alone, which – as Aristotle would agree – yields only fragile alliances. Taylor’s insistence that “plurality ≠ relativism” thus serves as a reminder that we can embrace diversity of individual paths while still affirming shared human values. In practical terms, friends need not have identical beliefs on everything, but a baseline of mutual commitment to truth or virtue is crucial. If each person is merely “doing their own thing” with no overlap in moral vision, the friendship risks becoming shallow or strained. Taylor’s work implies that reasserting some common moral ground – even if it’s as basic as a shared belief in honesty, or justice, or spiritual truth – is essential to rescuing friendships of virtue from the sea of “whatever.” In sum, he provides a philosophical defense for why moral relativism corrodes meaning: it erodes the “magnetic north” of our moral compass, leaving friendships disoriented and society fragmented.
Modern Virtue Ethics vs. Moral “Whatever-ism”
Contemporary virtue ethicists have built on Aristotle (and echo Taylor’s concerns) by confronting the challenge of moral relativism head-on. Thinkers like Alasdair MacIntyre and Rosalind Hursthouse argue that human flourishing is not a matter of arbitrary opinion – there are objective features of human nature and community that ground the virtues. In fact, the recent revival of Aristotelian virtue ethics is closely tied to its claim to objectivity: it “aspires to provide an objective basis for the moral virtues in an understanding of human nature,” positioning itself as a “superior alternative to moral relativism.”. MacIntyre’s landmark book After Virtue (1981) famously portrays the modern moral landscape as a “fragmented” relic – we possess bits of ethical language but lack the coherent framework (the telos or narrative) that once gave those terms meaning. He identifies emotivism (the idea that moral judgments are nothing more than expressions of preference or feeling) as the governing ethos of modernity. Under emotivism, moral debates cannot be rationally resolved because there is no shared premise – “the social world can only be a meeting place of individual wills and competing desires,” with no impersonal criteria to appeal to. This leads to a manipulative society where debates devolve into power struggles or managerial technocracy, rather than genuine common-good reasoning. MacIntyre points out that in previous eras, moral arguments were intelligible because people agreed on a human telos (e.g. to live in accordance with divine law, or to attain eudaimonia). But modern liberal society deliberately avoids positing any single vision of the good life, valuing choice for its own sake. The result, as MacIntyre puts it, is a “democratized self without a narrative”, a self that chooses endlessly but is never sure why it chooses one way or another. This “telos-less” condition is precisely what undermines friendships of virtue: if we have “obliterated any genuine distinction between better and worse ways of life” (MacIntyre’s critique of emotivism), on what basis can two people commit to pursuing the good together? At best, friendships become emotive alliances – “I like you because you affirm my feelings” – rather than mutual journeys toward something objectively worthwhile.
MacIntyre doesn’t merely diagnose; he also calls for a recovery of moral tradition. He suggests that communities bound by shared virtues and narratives (much like Aristotelian polis or even monastic communities – his famous concluding reference to waiting for “another St. Benedict” underscores this) are needed to weather the storm of relativism. Modern virtue ethicists like Hursthouse have similarly worked to show that virtues are not culturally capricious. For example, Hursthouse argues that virtues (like honesty, courage, compassion) have a deep connection to universal human needs and interests – traits that help humans flourish given the kind of social and rational animals we are. This gives virtue ethics a built-in resistance to relativism: it’s not just “our culture’s preference” that generosity is good; rather, generosity addresses fundamental features of human interdependence (e.g. it ameliorates need and builds trust). Thus, virtue ethicists hold that while specific practices of virtues can vary by culture, the core qualities that foster human well-being are broadly shared. (We might note, as evidence, that heroes across cultures tend to exemplify similar virtues – integrity, loyalty, bravery – suggesting these are not arbitrary.) Indeed, proponents like Hursthouse and Martha Nussbaum have engaged extensively with the “challenge of moral relativism,” refining virtue ethics to acknowledge some pluralism of values while still asserting an objective core. The balance they strike is to allow that context matters (what courage looks like in one society might differ in expression from another) but human nature matters too, anchoring virtues in common human realities (such as mortality, vulnerability, the need for friendship and community).
In summary, modern virtue ethicists reinforce the idea that shared telos is not an oppressive fiction but a practical necessity. When MacIntyre famously writes that the emotivist self has “lost the telos…that came with pre-modern roles”, he implies that we have also lost the glue that holds friendships, families, and societies together. By re-emphasizing telos and virtue, these ethicists are, in a sense, trying to re-magnetize the moral compass of modern life. A shared orientation toward the good life (even if debated) provides a common language that makes friendships of virtue possible again, because friends can then see themselves as engaged in a common project (living virtuously, seeking truth) rather than just coincidentally orbiting each other for convenience or pleasure.
Counterarguments and Countercultures: Perspectives in Tension
To fully interrogate the theme, we must steelman several counterarguments. Not everyone agrees that a shared telos is necessary or even desirable for friendship or meaning. Let’s consider a few substantial critiques and alternative views:
Postmodern Skepticism of “Grand Narratives”: Postmodern thinkers (like Jean-François Lyotard) argue that shared ends or grand moral narratives are often oppressive. Lyotard famously defined postmodernism as “incredulity toward metanarratives,” meaning a distrust of any single, universal story of meaning. From this vantage, insisting on one telos for all (or for a friendship) can be totalizing – it might silence individual differences or enforce conformity. History provides some warrant for this concern: grand narratives (religious or ideological) have at times been imposed in repressive ways. Lyotard notes that any attempt at an all-inclusive system “will be violent and repressive”, and indeed many grand narratives (he cites examples like Marxism’s singular view of class struggle or Hegel’s overarching historical Spirit) end up homogenizing experience and dismissing alternate perspectives. In his words, such universal claims have shown themselves “oppressive and homogenising,” more about power than truth. Therefore, a postmodern critic might say: instead of one shared telos, let each individual or group have its own, and let these coexist. They could argue that friendships need not be grounded in a universal moral truth – they could be “local narratives” unto themselves, dynamic and valid on their own terms. From this angle, two people can be close friends even if one’s telos is, say, Christian virtue and the other’s is personal artistic expression, as long as they respect each other. In fact, the celebration of difference is a hallmark of this view. Such a friendship might even be richer for spanning different “worlds,” so long as neither tries to dominate the other’s worldview. The postmodern argument, then, is a caution: requiring a shared telos might exclude or erase differences that are integral to individuals. And meaning-making, they’d claim, can be a plural, patchwork affair – we find meaning in our personal stories, none of which has to claim supremacy. (The challenge, of course, is whether this yields enough common ground for the deepest trust; but the postmodern friend would perhaps say mutual authenticity and acceptance, rather than shared teleology, is what grounds their bond.)
Evolutionary Psychology and Reciprocal Altruism: Another counterpoint comes from a sociobiological perspective. Evolutionary psychology often frames friendship not in lofty teleological terms, but as an adaptive strategy – essentially reciprocal altruism dressed up in affection. In this view, humans (like other animals) evolved to form alliances because cooperation confers survival benefits. The classic formulation by biologists is that friendship helps solve the “I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine” problem without constant calculation. As one scientist explains, “One of the best explanations for why people help each other out…is called reciprocal altruism. So if I help you now, then later you help me, and we’ve both increased our fitness… If you develop a close relationship – a friendship – you no longer really have to bother remembering every favor; you just trust they’ll return it later.”. In short, friendship evolved to simplify exchanges by embedding them in trust. From this angle, the notion that a friendship needs a shared moral telos might be dismissed as beside the point (or as a retrospective “just-so story” we tell to romanticize a fundamentally pragmatic behavior). An evolutionary theorist might argue that even virtue friendship is ultimately a byproduct of utility: virtuous people make trustworthy, reliable partners, so natural selection favored individuals who preferred such associates. Any sense of deeper meaning is secondary – a psychological gloss over an adaptive mechanism. Why, then, would moral relativism erode friendship? This school of thought might say it doesn’t, because friendships were never really about metaphysical purpose to begin with – they’re about mutual aid and emotional support, which can exist between people of vastly different moral outlooks as long as each finds some benefit or comfort in the other. Indeed, evolutionary game theory suggests even individuals with different values can maintain stable friendship as long as reciprocal trust is intact. The counterargument here is that our shared telos talk is over-intellectualized: friendships are grounded more in emotional bonds, common interests (however trivial), or usefulness, and those can persist in a pluralistic “whatever” society. (The weakness of this argument, one might respond, is that it doesn’t account for the qualitative difference people experience in friendships forged around shared ideals – but the evolutionary perspective might counter that even that glow of shared ideals is just a neurochemical reward for coalition-forming.)
“Tolerance Friendships” and Value-Pluralism: A related counterargument comes from those who champion tolerance and pluralism as higher-order virtues in themselves. In a diverse society, it’s often neither possible nor desirable for everyone to share a single telos. Some would argue that recognizing and accepting fundamental differences – agreeing to disagree – is what mature friendship (and citizenship) requires. On this view, moral relativism, or at least moral humility, might actually enable more friendships because one is not insisting on value alignment as a precondition. An illustrative sentiment appeared in a recent commentary on pandemic-era rifts: “When it comes to friendship, it’s sad to see the breakdown of a relationship because of a difference in values. I mean, if your values are valid, surely in that same vein, your friend’s values are valid, no?”. Here the author voices a relativistic impulse – the idea that two friends can each have their own “valid” value systems, and they should just respect that rather than split up over it. The strength of this argument is an emphasis on individual autonomy and respect: I don’t force my friend to adopt my beliefs, and vice versa, yet we remain friends by focusing on other commonalities (family ties, hobbies, basic kindness). For example, two friends might have polar political or religious views but bond over a shared love of hiking and a mutual kindness in personal matters. Advocates of this approach might cite the virtue of tolerance as the glue – a meta-virtue that allows friendship across ideological divides. They might also point out that too strong a demand for shared telos can lead to echo-chamber friendships that stunt personal growth. A bit of value-difference between friends can spur healthy reflection and “sharpen iron with iron” in debate. Indeed, one could argue that having a friend with a different perspective who challenges you can deepen your understanding (so long as there is a bedrock of mutual respect and goodwill). Thus, the value-pluralist counterargument suggests that meaning-making in modern life might come less from all rallying around one telos, and more from learning to weave meaning from our differences – finding common human threads (humor, compassion, experiences) that exist even when our ultimate belief systems diverge. In this view, moral relativism need not erode friendship; it simply places individual meaning above collective doctrine, and friendships can flourish on the basis of personal affinity and support, without requiring philosophical alignment. The challenge for this stance is maintaining deep trust when core values clash on serious matters – but proponents would likely point to real friendships that survived even intense disagreements as evidence that it’s possible.
Digital Optimism: New Communities, New Teloi? Lastly, consider the perspective of those who celebrate the digital age as opening new frontiers for friendship and community. Rather than seeing online life as breeding “whatever-ism,” some digital optimists argue it enables individuals to find like-minded peers and form purpose-driven groups more easily than ever. If local shared telos are hard to find, the internet’s vast connectivity might solve that: whatever your value or interest, you can find others across the globe who share it. There are indeed examples – online forums for moral philosophy, faith-based Discord groups, fandom communities that evolve into support networks, activist groups on Reddit or Substack – that function as genuine communities of affinity and practice. Scholars have begun to ask: Can virtual friendships qualify as true virtue friendships? Some answer yes. A recent academic study even argued that “friendships conducted predominantly online may qualify as the best sort of friendship” – i.e. they can meet Aristotle’s criteria for virtue-friendship. The reasoning is that friends who meet in a digital community devoted to, say, ethical inquiry or a charitable project are indeed united by a shared telos, just not in physical space. Moreover, the online component is not necessarily a deficit; research suggests that online interactions, when sincere and repeated, can sustain and even enhance real friendships rather than being “mere stopgaps”. Digital optimists also note how marginalized individuals, who might struggle to find kindred spirits locally, form deep friendships in online groups centered on growth or virtue (for example, a Discord server for people trying to cultivate Stoic virtues, or a subreddit supporting personal honesty and accountability in recovery from addiction). These arguably exemplify friendships of virtue blossoming in virtual soil. Far from shallow, such friendships sometimes involve daily dialogues, vulnerable confessions, and mutual aid – essentially the same “living together in conversation” that Aristotle praises, just mediated by technology. There’s also the argument that online communities are a new “Lyceum” or forum where intellectual friendship can thrive; people can exchange letters (or emails/posts) as deeply as face-to-face, much like famous historical friendships conducted by correspondence. The digital optimist thus counters the worry about relativism by suggesting that the internet makes it easier to find your tribe – you can connect with those who do share your telos even if your immediate neighbors don’t. They would cite examples of robust online friend groups rallying around a common good (e.g. open-source volunteer communities, global study groups, etc.). If anything, they might argue the problem is not that relativism has made friendship impossible, but that technology and modern mobility have changed the landscape of how shared purpose is found and maintained. The implicit challenge in this counterview is ensuring that online bonds have the same depth and accountability as in-person ones. Critics of digital friendship point out the lack of physical presence and the ease of flaking or anonymity can undercut full trust. Yet, as one defender notes, “the online component of friendships…is at no significant disadvantage relative to the offline” in many cases – meaning that if two people are committed to honesty and regular interaction, their friendship can be as real as any, even if much of it occurs via screens.
In steelmanning these counterarguments, we see that the debate is nuanced. Each perspective concedes something: the postmodern view acknowledges past abuses of “one telos for all” even as it risks moral fragmentation; the evolutionary view offers a pragmatic account of friendship’s roots while possibly underselling the role of shared ideals; the pluralist-tolerance view rightly prizes respect and diversity but might struggle with deep value conflicts; the digital optimist highlights new forms of community while having to ensure they truly substitute for traditional bonds. These counterpoints do not so much refute the importance of shared telos as challenge us to define it carefully – avoiding oppressiveness, allowing personal growth, and adapting to new social realities. In responding to them, one might argue that a shared telos need not be a single monolithic dogma, but could be a shared commitment to seeking truth or virtue together, which is flexible enough to welcome dialogue (addressing the postmodern and pluralist concerns) while still giving friendships a meaningful backbone.
The Loneliness Epidemic: Shallow Networks in a “Connected” Age
Beyond theory, sociological data paints a sobering picture of modern social life – one that underscores why the erosion of deep friendships (possibly linked to relativism and individualism) truly matters. In recent years, researchers have warned of a “loneliness epidemic.” Surveys in the U.S. and globally reveal high levels of social isolation despite the proliferation of social media. Loneliness, of course, has many causes, but its surge suggests that many are missing the kind of fulfilling friendships that give life meaning.
According to a 2023 Pew Research Center study, 8% of Americans say they have zero close friends (beyond family). This is not a trivial fringe – nearly one in twelve adults effectively lacks a confidant or companion to rely on. A slim majority (53%) have at most four close friends, and only 38% have five or more. In other words, the circle of trust for many people is quite small, and a non-negligible portion have no circle at all. Other data points are equally telling: about one-in-six Americans (16%) report feeling lonely or isolated most of the time. Younger adults in particular are more afflicted – 22% of those under 50 often feel lonely, compared to 9% of seniors. This runs parallel to declines in other markers of social connection (for instance, younger people today on average have fewer romantic partners, participate less in community organizations, and so on). Globally, the pattern appears as well: a Gallup/Meta survey in 2021 found about 33% of adults worldwide experienced feelings of loneliness. The World Health Organization now speaks of loneliness as a “global public health concern,” noting that between 5% and 15% of adolescents report frequent loneliness, and about 1 in 4 older people experiences social isolation. These are staggering figures when extrapolated to population sizes.
Of course, breadth of networks is not the same as depth of friendship, and one could have many acquaintances yet still feel profoundly alone. In modern social networks (both online and offline), people often accumulate “friends” in quantity – Facebook lists, LinkedIn connections – but still lack intimate bonds. Survey data underscores this gap. For example, despite the hundreds of contacts many maintain on social media, only about half of individuals say they have a close confidant to turn to when in need. The other half, while not necessarily isolated, may navigate life without that deep support. A national survey found that the average American in 2021 had fewer close friends than a generation ago, and the number of people reporting zero close confidants had about quadrupled since the 1990s (from 3% to around 12%). This trend has been referred to as the “friendship recession.” Sociologists like Robert Putnam (famous for Bowling Alone) have long pointed to the decline of civic groups, clubs, churches, and other community structures that historically fostered deep friendships. In modern life, mobility and individualism mean people invest more in career and personal achievement, often at the cost of time for friends. The data suggests many are “rich” in connections but “poor” in true companionship.
Why does this matter for meaning-making? Numerous studies correlate close relationships with happiness, health, and a sense of purpose. In the Pew study, a striking 61% of U.S. adults said that having close friends is “essential” to living a fulfilling life – ranking far above things like having lots of money or even having children. We seem to intuitively know that friendships (especially those of virtue and depth) feed our need for belonging and understanding. The U.S. Surgeon General in 2023 issued an advisory calling loneliness an urgent public health issue, noting it increases risk of mental and physical illnesses. Loneliness, in effect, is the experiential evidence of a lack of meaningful friendship or community. It’s hard not to connect this epidemic with the cultural themes of moral relativism and hyper-individualism: if everyone is pursuing their own version of the good (or drifting without one), the social fabric thins. Shared telos often acted historically as a social glue – e.g. neighbors who all take part in a faith community or volunteer cause not only see each other often but feel bonded by common values. As those uniting frameworks weaken, people may still be polite or have casual fun together, but something is missing – the “friendship of virtue” dimension that entails mutual growth, loyalty, and long-term commitment.
Interestingly, some data also hints at generational differences: older adults (who grew up in times of perhaps stronger communal ties) report more close friends on average, while younger adults have broader networks (thanks to digital tools) but not necessarily deeper ones. For instance, nearly half of seniors 65+ say they have 5 or more close friends, whereas only ~32% of adults under 30 can say the same. This might reflect the atomization of the younger generations’ social life – full of interactions, but lighter on enduring camaraderie. The upshot of the data is a clarion call: human beings might be “doing their own thing” more than ever, but many are lonely and yearn for deeper connection. It underscores the essay’s central claim: the erosion of a shared telos (be it community, faith, or common moral culture) isn’t just an abstract moral worry – it manifests in our lives as a lack of satisfying friendship and an epidemic of loneliness.
Case Studies & Lived Experience
To ground these ideas, let’s look at a few illustrative case studies – both historical and contemporary – that show what friendships of virtue can look like (and what happens in their absence or opposite).
The Inklings: A “Second Self” Fellowship in Modern Times
A classic example of a value-driven friendship circle is The Inklings – the informal literary group that met in Oxford in the 1930s-40s, whose members included C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, Charles Williams, and others. This group has been called a modern Lyceum (after Aristotle’s school), and for good reason: they were explicitly bound by a shared telos of intellectual and spiritual quest. The Inklings gathered weekly, not just to socialize, but to read aloud their works-in-progress, critique each other, and discuss philosophy, theology, and literature. They saw themselves as comrades in pursuit of truth and creative goodness. Notably, they were united by a common mission – as a historian writes, “both Catholics and Protestants participated, but all were united in a quest to defend and revitalize Christian culture in a world that seemed to be abandoning it.”. This is a textbook instance of a shared telos cementing friendship: regardless of differences (they were of different Christian denominations, had distinct personalities and academic specialties), they rallied around a core purpose – preserving and re-presenting certain truths through story and scholarship. In doing so, they became what Lewis called “second friends” to each other (friends who deeply understand and inspire). They famously sharpened one another’s minds and imaginations – Tolkien and Lewis, for example, critiqued each other’s manuscripts, resulting in The Lord of the Rings and The Chronicles of Narnia being far greater than they might have been in isolation. One commentator notes that through “dynamic friendship [that] flowed over into something transformative,” each Inkling brought out “all that is best, wisest, or funniest in all the others”. This recalls Lewis’s notion that a true friend group helps each member see beyond his own perspective – “the whole world, and something beyond the world, opens itself to our minds as we talk”. The Inklings’ friendship was not free of friction (no real friendship is), but significantly, when they had conflicts (say, literary disagreements), their underlying shared telos kept them bonded. They had a foundation of common belief and love (for Christ, for Story, for Truth) that allowed them to weather personal differences. In many ways, this group’s experience validates Aristotle: they delighted in each other’s company (taking long walks, sharing beers at the Eagle and Child pub), and they “assisted each other in noble deeds” – literally helping create literature that has inspired millions. One could call The Inklings a 20th-century microcosm of a virtuous friendship community. It mattered for their meaning-making: both Lewis and Tolkien credited each other (and the group) for giving them courage and clarity to pursue the work they felt called to. The Inklings also illustrate how counter-cultural a telos-driven friendship can be in a skeptical age – they stood together against the tide of cynicism and secularism in their milieu, finding strength in fellowship to uphold their vision. It’s a reminder that even in an “Age of Whatever,” small bands of friends can cultivate a shared moral and creative purpose, becoming beacons of meaning for one another and beyond.
“We Are Different, We Are One”: A Cross-Ideological Friendship
A remarkable contemporary example often cited is the friendship between U.S. Supreme Court Justices Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Antonin Scalia. These two could not have been more opposed in judicial philosophy and often found themselves on opposite sides of contentious national issues. Yet, they famously maintained a warm, lifelong friendship. How did they manage this, and what does it tell us about shared telos? On the surface, one might think they lacked a shared telos entirely – one was a liberal icon, the other a conservative stalwart. But dig deeper and we find some important common ground. For one, they shared a profound love of the Constitution and the law (albeit interpreting it differently). As one article noted, “Their mutual devotion to the Constitution, while built on different interpretations, helped them form a mutual respect that extended far beyond the courtroom.”. In essence, their telos was the same – fidelity to law and country – but their means diverged. Crucially, they both valued the role of principled argument. They also bonded over extramural shared pleasures: both were passionate about opera, good food and wine, and had a similar sense of humor. These might count as “shared tastes,” but they leveraged them to build personal affection which then carried over when they sparred in court. Ginsburg and Scalia would attend opera together, dine together, and even spent every New Year’s Eve together with their families for decades. This humanized each to the other. Scalia joked publicly: “What’s not to like about Ruth – except her views on the law, of course.”. It’s a funny line that reveals a truth: they were able to compartmentalize their core disagreement because they recognized each other’s virtues – integrity, intellect, wit – and loved each other as friends. They practiced a kind of Aristotelian magnanimity: respecting the good in one another despite differences. In fact, their differences arguably made the friendship intellectually fruitful. Ginsburg once noted that Scalia’s biting dissent in one case helped improve her majority opinion, as he shared his draft with her and she revised to address his points. This is friends making each other better – a hallmark of virtue friendship. They exemplified how two people can be “different, yet one” (a phrase actually set to music in a comedic opera written about them). Their friendship suggests that a shared telos need not mean identical beliefs – it can be as simple (and strong) as a mutual commitment to friendship itself and to some overarching common love (in their case, love of opera, love of country’s legal system, love of family – they often said they were like “family” to each other). In a polarized world, their example is instructive: it’s possible to have a friendship of virtue across ideological divides, but it requires exceptional character on both sides – humility, humor, respect, and a willingness to see the “other self” in one’s opponent. Their bond added meaning to both their lives (each spoke of the other with deep fondness) and even to the public’s life (many were inspired by their ability to disagree without animosity). It highlights that even where telos isn’t neatly shared, a friendship can thrive if anchored in shared higher values like respect for truth, commitment to craft, and genuine goodwill.
Broken Bonds: When “Whatever” Undermines Friendship
For a contrasting case, consider the more common (and less happy) scenario: friendships that dissolve because there was no shared telos or value foundation when it was seriously tested. Anonymized examples abound in advice columns and social media threads. One trend observed in recent years is people ending friendships over polarizing issues – for instance, disagreements about pandemic responses, social justice, or conspiracy theories. Superficially, this seems to contradict the Ginsburg/Scalia story – why can’t these friends “agree to disagree” as well? Often, it’s because their relationship was not deeply rooted in mutual understanding or aligned values to begin with, so a sharp difference on something significant becomes an irreparable crack. A post on Reddit, for instance, described a person deciding to cut off a long-time school friend because the friend’s core values (on matters like racial equality and science) turned out to be fundamentally at odds with their own (the pandemic “drew a line in the sand”). The poster wrote, “I have always accepted that she and I have different values… [but] there are some deep-rooted values I refuse to compromise on… I have evolved beyond those ideologies and would appreciate your keeping your distance.”. This real-life sentiment shows a case where relativism hits a wall: as long as conflicting values were theoretical, the friendship survived, but when circumstances (like COVID or political unrest) made those values concrete and urgent, the friendship fell apart. In essence, the two never shared a telos beyond perhaps enjoying each other’s company in easier times. When moral choices that mattered came up, they had no common framework to fall back on. This pattern – drifting or rupturing of friendships amid value conflicts – seems more common as society becomes more ideologically segmented. The “Age of Whatever” encourages people to “live and let live,” which works until a crisis forces a choice or a stance. At that point, friendships that lack any shared compass often fracture. The lived experience of many can likely attest to this: perhaps you had a friend who was fun to hang out with, but when, say, an issue of honesty or ethics arose (they wanted you to lie for them, or you discovered they had done something against your fundamental values), the friendship couldn’t withstand it. Without shared moral grounding, there was no way to reconcile the conflict – each person appeals to different first principles. In such cases, one or both may retreat to an echo chamber of like-minded folks, and a potential growth moment between them is lost. It’s worth noting that sometimes relativism undermines friendship more subtly: not in dramatic breakups, but in a slow decline of depth. If two friends tacitly adopt a “you do you” attitude about everything, they may avoid conflict, but they also avoid meaningful engagement. The friendship stays on the surface – they might never challenge each other or confide deeper hopes and fears, because those often touch on one’s guiding values. Over time, the friendship might atrophy because it doesn’t progress or enrich either soul. One friend might silently feel, “She doesn’t really understand or support what I find most important,” and gradually withdraw. This is the quiet erosion moral relativism can cause: when nothing is shared at the level of convictions, friendships can become hollow, even if they don’t dramatically end.
In sum, lived experiences teach that friendships flourish with shared meaning and flounder without it. The Inklings show the heights attainable when friends unite in purpose; the Scalia/Ginsburg story shows even very different people need a bedrock of mutual loyalty to higher ideals; and everyday breakups show how, without some alignment or at least respect for each other’s core values, friendship can turn brittle. Modern life unfortunately provides many such cautionary tales – but also some inspiring exceptions that light the way.
Recovering Shared Teloi: Implications for Modern Life
Given the stakes – the very meaningfulness of our relationships and our personal well-being – the question becomes: How might we recover or strengthen the shared telos needed for friendships of virtue in contemporary society? Are there practical steps or emerging trends that offer hope?
One avenue is the revitalization of micro-communities or “mediating institutions.” These are the local, often informal groupings where people actually meet face-to-face and do life together: reading groups, hobby clubs, neighborhood associations, faith-based fellowships (parishes, small groups, etc.), or even regular meetups of friends who discuss philosophy or self-improvement. Such groups can serve as seedbeds for friendship because they gather people around a common interest or goal – which can easily become a shared telos if the interest is meaningful (e.g. a Bible study group inherently has a moral/spiritual purpose, a volunteer group at a food pantry has a service telos). Sociologist Robert Putnam argued that the decline of these “little platoons” in the late 20th century corresponded with a decline in social capital and trust. Rebuilding them could likewise rebuild the conditions for virtuous friendships. For example, a local book club that doesn’t just read bestsellers but chooses works that spur ethical discussion can become a modern equivalent of a salon, where friendships deepen through exploring big questions together. A parish community centered on shared faith automatically provides a rich telos (spiritual growth, love of neighbor) that can undergird friendships formed there. We see this historically: many deep friendships have formed in churches, synagogues, temples – precisely because those environments encourage people to strive for virtues like charity, forgiveness, and humility together. Likewise, educational or philosophical circles (think of Socrates and his pupils, or modern debate clubs) bind people in pursuit of truth. Creating more intentional spaces like this – say, a weekly discussion group on virtue ethics, or a neighborhood “mission” team to improve local sustainability – can foster not only purpose but also the regular interaction and trust-building that friendships require. Even something as simple as a consistent game night or dinner circle with friends, if imbued with an ethos of openness and mutual care, can become a channel for deeper connection and moral support (contrasted with sporadic, purposeless hangouts which may stay shallow).
Another implication is for the design of digital platforms and online communities. Currently, the big social media platforms are often blamed for encouraging quantity over quality in relationships – you accumulate followers and likes, but meaningful dialogue is scarce. However, there is a growing movement to reimagine online spaces to support deeper human connection rather than shallow engagement. This could involve smaller, interest-driven communities (which many are already gravitating to – for instance, private Discord servers or Slack groups around a shared passion or identity). Some online platforms now host long-form discussions, seminars, or cohort-based courses, effectively becoming virtual micro-institutions. For instance, sites like Substack not only allow writers to publish, but also foster subscriber communities that discuss ideas and sometimes meet on forums or Zoom – a nucleus for friendships among people drawn to a certain intellectual or moral quest. Reddit, despite its flaws, has thousands of niche subreddits, some of which (like r/StopGaming for overcoming video game addiction, or r/KindVoice for providing emotional support) revolve around self-improvement and ethical goals, leading members to bond in helpful ways. One could envision future social media that prioritizes shared projects – e.g. apps that match people into small groups to achieve something (learning a language, doing acts of kindness, etc.). By working side by side on a meaningful task, even if online, users might form bonds of virtue akin to teammates or fellow pilgrims, rather than the current model of passively scrolling through others’ highlight reels.
Policymakers and educators also have roles. Schools and universities, for example, could place more emphasis on character education and community-building activities, not just individual achievement. When students engage in service learning or join values-based clubs, they often make friends for life because those experiences forge common purpose. Workplaces, too, can encourage more than just transactional relations – some companies foster “workplace communities” through volunteering initiatives or ethics roundtables, giving colleagues a chance to know each other as whole persons with ideals, not just coworkers. Even city design can matter: creating third places (cozy parks, community centers, co-working spaces) where people can gather informally around shared interests leads to more serendipitous connection and the possibility of friendship with a purpose (from pick-up sports leagues focusing on teamwork to maker spaces focusing on creativity).
Ultimately, recovering shared teloi may not mean returning to a monolithic moral consensus (which is unlikely in a pluralistic world). Rather, it could mean fostering a culture where having some telos is valued – where cynicism is challenged and people are unafraid to care about things deeply and in concert with others. It means moving from an ironic, detached stance (“It’s all relative, nothing matters”) to a more earnest stance (“I know not everyone agrees, but this matters to me and I’ll find others it matters to”). There are signs of such a shift: the rise of communities centered on personal development (like stoicism groups, meditation circles, “meaning crisis” meetups popularized by thinkers like John Vervaeke) indicates many are actively seeking shared frameworks to live by. Likewise, the growth of intentional living communities (ecovillages, urban communes, etc.) shows a desire to reconstruct common life around chosen values. Even within pop culture, we see narratives (superhero teams, fantasy fellowships) romanticizing the idea of banding together for a noble purpose – perhaps a reaction to the perceived drift of “whateverism.”
For digital life, developers might experiment with features that reward quality interactions over clout – for example, systems that highlight thoughtful conversation threads, or apps that facilitate forming small friend groups who share guided challenges (like doing one kind act a day and sharing about it). It’s not utopian to think these design tweaks could nurture real virtuous friendships; after all, the medium can influence the message, and a platform geared towards collaboration and honesty can support deeper relationship formation than one geared to vanity and vitriol.
In conclusion, reintroducing a shared telos into modern friendships is both a personal and collective project. On the personal level, it might mean being intentional about one’s friendships: investing in those where you sense common values or where you can mutually inspire virtue, and gently steering friendly relations toward more meaningful topics instead of fearing seriousness. On the collective level, it means building and supporting the social structures that allow those kinds of friendships to emerge organically – whether that’s a book club, a faith community, a volunteer corps, or a new kind of online forum. The reward is great: friendships of virtue are not only fulfilling to the individuals in them, but radiate outwards. They tend to be creative (producing ideas, art, initiatives), resilient (forming support networks in crises), and exemplary (inspiring others by example). In a fragmented age, each pocket of friends who share and strive for the good becomes a lighthouse of meaning, helping to guide others safely to shore. As Aristotle noted, friendship and justice are closely connected – a society of genuine friends hardly needs to invoke justice, because friends naturally seek each other’s good. Reclaiming friendships of virtue, then, isn’t just a self-help strategy; it could be a cornerstone for rebuilding social trust and purpose in our time.
Sources Cited:
Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, trans. H. Rackham (Books 8–9).
C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves (1960).
Charles Taylor, Sources of the Self (1989); The Ethics of Authenticity (1991).
Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue (3rd ed., 2007) – Outline commentary.
Rosalind Hursthouse, On Virtue Ethics (1999); see also Gowans, “Virtue Ethics and Moral Relativism”.
Lyotard, The Postmodern Condition (1979).
Lewis Dartnell in The Naked Scientists (2023) on reciprocal altruism.
Medium commentary on friendships and differing values (Dec 2021).
K.E. Himma, “Virtual Friendship and the New Narcissism” – in Cocking & Matthews (2000) (perspective on online friendships).
Pew Research Center, “What does friendship look like in America?” (Oct 2023); “Men, Women and Social Connections” (2025).
World Health Organization, “Social Isolation and Loneliness” fact sheet (2021).
Pacific Legal Foundation, “Scalia and Ginsburg’s Friendship” (Feb 2022).
America Magazine, “C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien and the Inklings” (Aug 2022).
Write of Passage blog, “The Inklings: Shared Quest of Writing”.
Others: Additional statistics on teen online friendships and OECD well-being data on loneliness.