​What if you were to learn that for eternity you had no choice but to live again and again and again the life you have lived, up until the present moment, precisely as you lived it the first time? Would your immediate response to this knowledge be joyfulness over being rewarded, or despair that you were being condemned? Doubtless religious commitments and beliefs that flow from these commitments are weighty here, for the standard Christian view is that earthy life is a transitional phase, with the trajectory typically conceived of as the soul moving from a corrupted earthly existence replete with hardship, up to a higher plain of peace and blessedness, with earthly life to be patiently endured and never repeated, and the afterlife to be everlasting. For a Buddhist, we are trapped in samsara, a cycle of death and rebirth, a cycle of suffering, until we achieve enlightenment, and then enter a blessed state of nirvana, free from suffering. For Friedrich Nietzsche, the noble individual does not endure this life in the expectation of a blessed life thereafter, doing so in the belief that what is to follow mortal life is an eternal existence vastly superior earthly life, nor does the noble individual desire the blessed state of nirvana, free from every suffering, but instead this individual embraces amor fati, which is love of one's fate, whatever that fate may be.

As Nietzsche proclaimed, "My formula for the greatness of a human being is amor fati: that one wants nothing to be different - not forward, not backward, not in all eternity" (Ecce Homo). What could Nietzsche's reason be for such a claim? How could one not desire at least some things to be different, no matter how privileged a life one enjoys? A thorough answer requires an in-depth analysis of all of Nietzsche's philosophy, but a substantial insight into Nietzsche's advocacy for amor fati is found in Thus Spake Zarathustra, wherein he states "Have you ever said yes to a single joy? O my friends, then you said Yes to all woe. All things are entangled, ensnared, enamored; if you wanted one thing twice, if ever you said, "You please me, happiness! Abide, moment!" then you wanted it all back."

For Nietzsche, it is not possible to isolate any one moment and alter only that moment or that event or that reaction, for everything is part of everything else in an ongoing process of becoming, and hence there are no stand-alone, discrete experiences available to be altered. Hence, joy is inseparable from suffering. You simply cannot have one without the other, and if you say yes to joy, you must likewise say yes to suffering. There is no other option available, and thus in embracing amor fati we acknowledge this necessity. As Nietzsche states, "what is necessary does not hurt me; amor fati is my inmost nature" (Ecce Homo). 

A full grasping of the importance of amor fati to Nietzsche's thinking requires understanding certain other key concepts in Nietzsche's thought, including the idea of the Ubermensch (the 'superman', the superior individual who overcomes human nature itself, and thus is 'self-overcoming', transcending the conventions that bind ordinary persons, and creates his own values), and the idea of eternal recurrence. Regarding Nietzsche's view on eternal recurrence, for Nietzsche, all things return eternally, for as he states in The Gay Science, "This life as you now live it, and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more, and there will be nothing new in it."

As states in Ecclesiastes, "What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun." For Nietzsche, life and time are cyclical, in that the same patterns will repeat themselves over and over. This being the case, what is the Ubermensch, the 'overman', to do? This individual does not curse his fate but embraces it, rejoice in it, and thus affirms his life. The lofty individual does not say, well, were I rich or were I beautiful, then and only then would I live my life over and over again, eternally, nor does this individual say, well, were it not for the misery I suffered in adolescence I would gladly live my life again, innumerable times. 

For Nietzsche, the superior individual does not look to other worldly powers or to a heavenly afterlife to redeem his or her existence, but embraces his own powers of redemption by deciding for himself and for herself that one's own life has meaning, and doing so requires accepting and affirming every aspect of one's life. One must achieve a synoptic view, seeing one's life as a whole, accepting that one's existence cannot be partitioned into distinct segments, with the good retained and the bad discarded, but that if one's life is to be affirmed, then the whole must be affirmed, and therefore one must be willing, if one is to affirm one's life, to say yes not just to all joys and ecstasies and other good things, but yes to all the pain and suffering and other bad things as well. 

Philosophers and others debate over the validity of Nietzsche's idea of eternal recurrence, and there is disagreement over whether Nietzsche understood eternal recurrence (or eternal return) as a literal truth of the world, or if he viewed the idea as more of a thought experiment. As a thought experiment, the idea is useful as a measure of how one actually views one's own life. What if, in Nietzsche's words, "a demon were to steal after you into your loneliest loneliness and say to you: "This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more: and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and sign and everything unutterable small or great in your life will have to return to you, all in the same succession and sequence..." (The Gay Science).  Would our reaction be one of horror or one of exultation? Of course one could feel neither, but indifference to one's own life is not state Nietzsche would offer much sympathy for, nor could his thinking much help. A horrified reaction to the possibility of eternal recurrence suggests that one's life in some fundamental or substantial way is unsatisfactory, perhaps deeply so, and whatever joy or even contentment one may experience is not worth the price of the suffering one endures.

For Nietzsche, amor fati means saying yes to one's life irrespective of the details and whether or not the scale of one's life is tipped in favor of suffering or of joy, and one must accept one's life precisely as it is and seek not to change one feature of that life. Then and only then has one embraced amor fati. Yet even in acknowledging Nietzsche's intent, as a thought experiment we might make use of eternal recurrence to measure the quality of our own lives, to thereby engage in a valuation of our lives, to judge whether we are living the sort of life that persuades us we can follow Nietzsche and embrace amor fati for ourselves, and if we cannot do so, inquire of ourselves what changes may be needed for us to declare amor fati.

If we are unable - because of our life circumstances or our life experiences - to embrace amor fati, we should not assume that the solution, should we desire to love our fate, is to increase the number of sensuous pleasures (or increase their intensity, their quality, and the like), or to decrease the frequency or the intensity of unpleasantness in our lives, to thereby tip the scales so that we may then say yes to amor fati. The conditions that make amor fati possible are wholly personal, and it may be the case that for a particular individual what is worthwhile in life is found in suffering and in hardship, the individual being persuaded that these qualities are essential to spiritual or to emotional growth, or the individual experiencing suffering and hardship as enriching if originating in service to others. 


Nietzsche proposes that the Ubermensch affirms life, says yes to life regardless of the circumstances of his life, regretting nothing, rejecting nothing, embracing everything, for only then can the Ubermensch self-overcome, shed conformity, engage in self-creation, and establish his own values. The one who can do so is the Ubermensch, the overman, one whose life is self-created, for as Nietzsche claimed, “We have only ourselves to answer for our existence; consequently we want to be the real helmsman of this existence and not permit our existence to be a thoughtless accident” (Untimely Meditations). Regardless of how appealing or disconcerting we might find the thought of eternal recurrence, it seems within everyone’s power to be at least receptive to Nietzsche’s thoughts on amor fati, and to consider, in assessing our own lives, whether we could embrace amor fati, and if not, work to identify what changes might be possible that if effected would result in our being persuaded that we are living the sort of life that were we obligated to repeat it, exactly as we have lived it, we would say yes, again and again. 

Movie lines can become iconic for their brevity in expressing a general truth recognizable instantly by most persons as applicable to their own lives. One such line is utterer by Clint Eastwood’s Dirty Harry character, speaking his words of sagacity to his corrupt lieutenant.  Inspector Callahan (a/k/a Dirty Harry) ensured his lieutenant’s demise (blown up in a car), but this outcome, in Callahan’s estimation, resulted from the lieutenant’s blindness to his own inadequacies, and in failing to recognize his limitations, the lieutenant brought about his own downfall. We do not need to inhabit such dramatic situations to recognize the wisdom of avoiding undertaking what is manifestly outside of our capabilities. Yes, it is only by pushing ourselves, even pushing ourselves beyond what we thought we were capable of, that we discover capacities we had not known we possess, but this fact does not undermine the truth that all beings have limitations, and that it is advisable that we not endeavor to wholly ignore or even actively spurn those limitations. Much misery has resulted from an individual’s inability to or unwillingness to accept his or her limitations.
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Whenever we value moderation and self-control, and seek to manifest these traits in ourselves, then we are honoring Sophrosyne (sophrosune), the Greek goddess exemplifying these qualities. She is the daimona, or personified spirit, who is best represented as temperance, that is, the sort of self-restraint and self-control that derive from self-knowledge. Implicit in self-knowledge is knowing one’s limitations. If one follows the Delphic Oracle's command to "know thyself," and therefore one is aware of one's limitations, and most importantly one is aware of what one does not know, then the spirit of Sophrosyne is evoked. Socrates, we should recall, was deemed the wisest of the citizens of Athens because he recognized the limitations of his own knowledge. Now, Socratic irony is not to be doubted, and Socrates surely understood himself as possessing knowledge far less limited than that possessed by the average Athenian, but this reality does not negate the fact that much of Socrates’s wisdom resides in his recognition of the limitations of human knowledge, and the foolishness of believing oneself possessed of knowledge that in fact one lacks.

Sophrosyne is the subject matter of Plato's dialogue Charmides, wherein is discussed self-knowledge, and the wisdom and moral health that are attainable through rational understanding of oneself, and particularly of understanding oneself as a being with limitations. The dialogue does not achieve any strong resolution on the question of sophrosyne. What the dialogue does reveal is that sophrosyne is a virtue, and as such represents a state that people of excellence recognize and honor, for it is an aristocratic virtue, one that represents self-command through self-knowledge, and through sophrosyne we achieve a level of dignity appropriate for a human being of excellent character. An inseparable part of this self-knowledge is knowledge of what we owe to others, according to the nature of our relations to particular others. If we possess the requisite self-knowledge, then we are able to 'mind our own business' in relation to others, for self-knowledge informs us of the worth and the significance of our experiences, of our social standing, and of what and what are not appropriate ambitions for ourselves, as established by our abilities and our limitations.  
Sophrosyne should not be understood as being opposed to passions, but as requiring moderation of the passions, but only in the sense that one has the self-knowledge and the self-control necessary to discern the proper proportion of passion to express for the particular moment in the particular circumstances. Sophrosyne requires soundness of mind. That is, passion yes, but order and harmony and prudence as well. As Helen North writes, “At the deepest level, sophrosyne is related to the Greek tendency to interpret all kinds of experience – whatever moral, political, physical, or metaphysical – in terms of harmony and proportion…it is an expression of the self-knowledge and self-control that the Greek polis demanded of its citizens” (Sophrosyne in Rome, in Self-Knowledge and Self-Restraint in Greek Literature, 1966).

The concept of sophrosyne was central to the thinking of Aesara of Lucania, a woman philosopher of ancient times who, similar to Socrates, saw the soul as tripartite, consisting of mind (intellect: nous), spirit, and desire. One who pursues sophrosyne seeks to understand the nature of, and cultivate a balance amongst, these three (often) competing aspects of the human condition. If one is capable of grasping sufficiently these constituents of human nature, and one works to bring them into balance, that is, one endeavors to not allow one aspect to exceed its just proportion and thus dominate the others, thereby disordering the self, then one is able to realize the harmony of soul all reasonable persons seek to establish and to enjoy.  

If one prizes moderation and self-control, and seeks to manifest these traits, then one is honoring Sophrosyne (sophrosune), the Greek goddess exemplifying these qualities. She is the daimona, or personified spirit, who is best represented as temperance, that is, the sort of self-restraint and self-control that derive from self-knowledge. If one follows the Delphic Oracle's command to "know thyself," and therefore one is aware of one's limitations, and most importantly one is aware of what one does not know, then the spirit of Sophrosyne is evoked. Sophrosyne is the subject matter of Plato's dialogue Charmides, wherein is discussed self-knowledge, and the wisdom and moral health that are attainable through rational understanding of oneself, and particularly of understanding oneself as a being with limitations. The dialogue does not achieve any strong resolution on the question of sophrosyne. What the dialogue does reveal is that sophrosyne is a virtue, and as such represents a state that people of excellence recognize and honor, for it is an aristocratic virtue, one that represents self-command through self-knowledge, and through sophrosyne we achieve the a level of dignity appropriate for a human being of excellent character. An inseparable part of this self-knowledge is knowledge of what we owe to others, according to the nature of our relations to particular others. If we possess the requisite self-knowledge, then we are able to 'mind our own business' in relation to others, for self-knowledge informs us of the worth and the significance of our experiences, of our social standing, and of what and what are not appropriate ambitions for ourselves, as established by our abilities and our limitations.  

The concept of sophrosyne was central to the thinking of Aesara of Lucania, a woman philosopher of ancient times who, similar to Socrates, saw the soul as tripartite, consisting of mind (intellect: nous), spirit, and desire. One who pursues sophrosyne seeks to understand the nature of, and cultivate a balance amongst, these three (often) competing aspects of the human condition. If one is capable of grasping sufficiently these constituents of human nature, and one works to bring them into balance, that is, one endeavors to not allow one aspect to exceed its just proportion and thus dominate the others, thereby disordering the self, then one is able to realize the harmony of soul all reasonable persons seek to establish and to enjoy.  

It is not true that in order to do good, we must know the good thing to do. We can, after all, do good by accident. Perhaps, for example, in driving down the street we accidently hit and kill a rabid dog that otherwise would have gone on to bite people. Or perhaps our neighbor has performed several favors for us, such as cutting our lawn when we had a broken leg, and we wanted his good deeds to be acknowledged so we nominated him for a good neighbor award or the like, which involved publication of his picture, and it turned out that someone recognized him as a serial rapist that had terrorized a nearby community, and subsequently he was arrested, prosecuted, and jailed for years,  saving many woman from a horrible assault. Even more extreme, we might do good when our intent was to do evil. Perhaps I wanted to harm a neighbor and I poisoned his drinking water well, with the intent of great harm, but as it turns out, the poison I poured into his well was the precise mixture to counteract poison someone else had just poured into the well, and the water was safe to drink. 
These examples reveal that doing good need not always involve virtue on our part. Virtue requires knowing the right thing to do in a given circumstance, and then doing that thing. Now it is certainly true that in endeavoring to do good we in fact cause harm, but so long as our intent was honorable, and so long as we had undertaken prior to acting all that would be expected of a reasonable person in respect to understanding the situation and what the proper course of action should be, then most often we are held blameless if our act does cause unintended harm.
Essential for our acting virtuously is what the ancient Greeks understood as phronesis, which can be defined as practical wisdom. Aristotle placed particular importance on this trait, for without wisdom on what is the right thing to be done in a given situation, we can hardly put our other virtues to good use. Aristotle understood phronesis as a skill we develop through practice, through reflecting on our acts and seeking to thereby gain wisdom on how we might improve on our future actions. Hence, if we possess phronesis, then we know how to act - appropriately - in a given situation. The act itself is identified as praxis, which signifies the actual process of performing what phronesis informs us is the right thing to do in the particular situation. 
To improve, therefore, our ability to act appropriately in the world, we must do all we can to gain in practical wisdom, we need, that is, to maximize our phronesis.

As the saying goes, much is lost in translation, and the truth of this statement often is in evidence when we make use of words originating in ancient Greece, perhaps the most prominent example of this loss or distortion is found in the term eudaimonia. The term, if not precisely ubiquitous. is commonly enough encountered that many believe that they can define the word, and do so as 'happiness'. While not an incorrect definition, it certainly is an inadequate one, for the term, to the ancient Greeks, encompasses far more than mere happiness. The true translation of the term is "having a good indwelling spirt or daemon." But what does this mean, precisely? 

Perhaps the best we can do today to recapture what the ancient Greeks understood as being represented in the use of the term is the concept of 'human flourishing'. Aristotle believed that the way to flourishing was through arete, which essentially is understood as virtue or excellence, with excellence being understood as the fullest realization of something's or someone's inherent function. For Aristotle, the arete of a knife, for example, is realized when the knife fulfills its intended function, and cuts well. An eye achieves arete if it performs well its function of vision. Thus the virtue of an eye is present to the extent that the eye performs its inherent function of seeing. A human being, per Aristotle (amongst others), achieves arete if that individual is able to perform well his or her various functions, such as courage and intelligence, thereby realizing his or her fullest potential. Given the nature of a human being, as Aristotle understood this nature, that is, given that the capacity for reason is greatest in a human being beyond all other creatures, then the arete of a human being consists of a life dedicated to contemplation, of thinking about thinking, and the wisdom that results from this life of contemplation.

Eudaimonia, then, is far more than is represented in the modern usage of the term happiness, and is perhaps best understood as the concept of 'human flourishing', with this flourishing of course involving human happiness, but substantially more. We, as human beings, achieve eudaimonia through virtue or excellence in all we do, and we endeavor to develop fully our capacity for courage, for reason, for living well through contemplation of the good life for ourselves and for others. If we do so, if we value arete and strive for its realization, then we achieve well-being, and we can be said to possess a good indwelling spirit. We then experience the blessed state of eudaimonia.