Everyday Philosophy: Can you build an intellectual friendship with someone you’re attracted to?

I think this is a fascinating question, not only for the question itself but for the questions that lie beneath. At first glance, this might not be seen as a problem at all. This is a friendship between two people—of different ages and stages—but a friendship nonetheless. And it would take a peculiarly reclusive philosopher to deny the merit of good friendships.

But there’s something in the tone and wording of this that does strike me as a dilemma. The first is the frequent mention of age: “my daughter’s age” and “leave the young thing alone.” But the second is the introduction of sex. Obviously, the two are connected—it’s not uncommon for older men to find younger women attractive—but it seems as if the question here is one made famous by When Harry Met Sally. In the movie, Harry hypothesized that “no man can be friends with a woman that he finds attractive. He always wants to have sex with her.” Or, phrased another way, I wonder whether the sex question is getting in the way of the friendship.

This is not to besmirch Mike at all. I will take his word that he has a “waning interest” in sex. But I will treat this question with the background assumption that Mike and society believe sex is a relevant factor here. And so, to answer Mike, I shall ask: Is it ever possible to have an intellectual relationship with someone who you find to be, even somewhat, sexually attractive?

To answer that, we shall call upon the scholarch of intellectual friendships, Diotima, to argue that not only is it possible for Mike to carry on, but it’s praiseworthy. To counter that, we’ll call upon some of the virginal or chaste in the history of ideas: Plato and Christian Monasticism.

Diotima: See the truth through the person

We don’t entirely know if Diotima existed. She is only ever mentioned in Plato’s dialogues, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she was a fabrication—almost all of Plato’s characters represented real people. But if she did exist, it means she’s one of the first recorded female philosophers (while also being a priestess). Diotima is said to have taught Socrates “the philosophy of love,”  and her account goes on to largely define Plato’s.

Diotima believed that love progresses in stages. At first, we love beautiful things—like an attractive body or a witty joke. We love a particular person. In the case of Mike, it might be that he was initially attracted to “the young thing” for her energy and spark. But then, according to Diotima, something strange happens. True love, for Diotima, generalizes. It sees the forms and archetypes from the particulars.

So, we start to love the kindness, the wittiness, the generosity, the loyalty, or the supportiveness rather than any individual moment of those. Most importantly, we see the abstraction of goodness, truth, and beauty. Through the interactions with this person, we see the forms of the world. What starts as a physical thing between two humans—between Mike and this lady—ends up as a relationship between two minds and souls. The bodies are irrelevant.

All that matters is the “intellectual interest” and creative spark.

The Monkish life: Avoid the pull of eros.

The problem, though, is that many find it hard to reach this kind of purity. It might even be impossible. We might all have the best intentions in the world to engage in entirely intellectual friendships, but our bodies will often infuriatingly insist on making themselves heard. We find people attractive. We think about sex. We’re distracted by the many sensual delights of the lascivious world. For Plato, we are too often pulled by the iron cords of our desires, like lust, and they pull us off course.

If we agree with the idea that sexual appetites will distract our rational faculties—or our loins will mislead our train of thought—then what are we to do if we’re serious about the contemplative life? Well, chastity. In many religious traditions, those who are serious about their religion become monks. And monks have a long history of avoiding interaction with the opposite sex. In the Christian tradition, the Rule of Saint Benedict laid down the first formal orders for the first monasteries. And one of them was chastity. No sex. No thoughts about sex. Surround yourself entirely with members of the same sex—nuns in nunneries and monks in monasteries.

The reasoning for this was that it’s only when we escape the carnal clutches of the libido that we can contemplate God and reflect. Our higher faculties cannot work while our lower ones are activating. We cannot properly use our heads if we’re pumped full of erotic hormones.

So, Mike, many of the monks in the world would look at you with cynical eyes. How true is your “waning interest in sex”? Is this truly an intellectual relationship, contemplating the higher things in life? Or are you, perhaps, distracted more than you would like to admit?

Get joy where you can

In the end, I think Mike’s dilemma is rooted in the tension between his desire for intellectual companionship and the lingering societal and personal expectations about age, sex, and relationships. The truth is, relationships can be multifaceted. While Diotima might argue that true love transcends the physical, Plato and St. Benedict would ask you to reflect on how possible this actually is.

Life rarely fits neatly into philosophical categories. Mike is enjoying this woman’s company. It’s sparking creativity, and from what he says, they seem to be enriching each other’s lives intellectually and companionably. As long as their relationship remains respectful and consensual, there’s nothing inherently wrong with finding someone intellectually stimulating while acknowledging that there might be some degree of attraction.

Ultimately, if you find joy in this relationship and no one is harmed in its continuance, then there’s no reason to leave this “young thing” alone. It’s okay to enjoy someone else’s company—even if it exists in the sometimes murky, but entirely human, space where intellect and attraction meet.