Why Does Aristotle Prioritize Plot Over Character?

Aristotle's death is shrouded in a bit of mystery, but the most commonly accepted story is that he died of natural causes in 322 BCE on the island of Euboea. He had retired there after leaving Athens due to political pressures, as the anti-Macedonian sentiment grew after Alexander the Great's death. Some accounts suggest he suffered from a stomach illness, which eventually led to his demise. It's fascinating how one of the greatest minds in history met such an ordinary end. His legacy, though, is anything but ordinary, influencing philosophy, science, and politics for centuries.

I just finished rereading 'Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe,' and Aristotle's age is such a crucial part of his journey. He's 15 when the story begins, right at that messy, raw stage of adolescence where everything feels too big or too small. The book captures his growth over two years, so we see him evolve from a confused, angry kid to someone starting to understand himself by 17. The age detail matters because it frames his struggles—feeling isolated, grappling with identity, and discovering first love. Benjamin Alire Sánez writes teenagehood so authentically; you feel Aristotle's frustration when adults dismiss him or when he can't articulate his emotions. His age isn't just a number; it's the lens for his entire character arc.

Whenever I think about Aristotle’s line that friendship can be seen as ‘a single soul dwelling in two bodies,’ I get this warm, slightly dramatic image of two people who reflect each other’s best self. For Aristotle, though, that poetic phrasing wasn’t just fluff — it points to a deeper idea: the highest form of friendship is built around virtue. Two people who genuinely wish the good for one another help each other become better, and their relationship becomes an extension of their characters. In practical terms he divides friendships into three kinds: those of utility (you benefit each other), those of pleasure (you enjoy each other’s company), and those of the good (you love the other for who they are). The ‘single soul’ bit belongs to the last group — rare, mutual, and lasting. I’ve seen this in my own life: a few friendships that survive messy years because both people care about the other’s moral growth, not just hangouts or favors. It feels less transactional and more like two people walking the same path, nudging each other forward. That’s Aristotle’s friendship in a nutshell — aspirational, demanding, and deeply rewarding.

There’s a famous line from Aristotle that goes something like, 'Happiness is the meaning and the purpose of life, the whole aim and end of human existence.' To me that doesn’t mean he’s promising constant joy or a life of nonstop pleasure. I read this over coffee one rainy afternoon and it clicked: Aristotle’s 'happiness' — eudaimonia — is closer to flourishing, doing well as a human, living in accordance with your best capacities over a lifetime. When I break it down, I think of three parts: function, excellence, and action. Aristotle asks, what is the function of a human? He decides it’s rational activity. So happiness is performing that function well — exercising reason, cultivating virtues like courage and temperance, and making them habits. It’s not a single moment but an active way of living, shaped by choices and practice. Practically, I take it as an invitation to build character through everyday acts: be honest when it’s hard, practice patience, invest in friendships. Those habits compound. It’s comforting and challenging at once, and it makes life feel purposeful rather than just a series of chasing feelings.

There’s a line from Aristotle that gets quoted a lot: 'Educating the mind without educating the heart is no education at all.' For me, its fame comes from that neat little tension it captures — it’s short, memorable, and refuses to let education be only about test scores or rote facts. I use it as a mental bookmark when I think about classrooms, online communities, or the way adults shape younger people: it reminds me that ethics, empathy, and character are part of learning, not extras. I’ve seen this idea pop up everywhere from commencement speeches to teacher-training handbooks. It fits modern conversations about emotional intelligence, social responsibility, and civic formation, so people across centuries and cultures keep finding it useful. On a personal level, I watch students who learn the mechanics of something but miss the empathy piece—and that quote keeps pushing me to balance both sides every time I teach a workshop or cheer on a kid who finally understands why their work matters to others.

I still get a little thrill digging through old texts, and this one’s a classic: when people ask for the "earliest source" of a quote attributed to Aristotle, the first thing I do is try to pin down the exact wording. A lot of familiar lines are paraphrases or later compressions of something he actually argued. For example, the crisp modern line ‘Man is by nature a political animal’ comes directly from Aristotle’s 'Politics' (Book I) — that’s one of the cleaner cases where the phrasing is close to the original idea. Other famous phrases aren’t so straightforward. The phrase people shorten to ‘the whole is greater than the sum of its parts’ is a modern paraphrase of discussions he has about wholes and parts in 'Metaphysics' (he interrogates how composite substances differ from mere aggregates). And the oft-quoted ‘We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit’ is actually a 20th-century paraphrase (famously by Will Durant) of material in 'Nicomachean Ethics' (Book II) about virtue arising from habituation. So my quick rule: find the precise words you saw, then check Aristotle’s core works — 'Nicomachean Ethics', 'Politics', 'Metaphysics', 'Rhetoric' — using Bekker numbers or a reliable translation (Loeb, Oxford, or Perseus) to see whether it’s verbatim, a paraphrase, or a later summary. If you give me the exact phrasing, I’ll chase the earliest citation for that line specifically.

Whenever I teach friends about Greek drama I always reach for Aristotle’s 'Poetics' because it’s so compact and surgical. To him a tragedy is an imitation (mimesis) of a serious, complete action of some magnitude — that sounds lofty, but what he means is that a tragedy should present a whole, believable sequence of events with real stakes. The language should be elevated or artistically fit for the plot, and the piece should use spectacle, music, and diction as supporting elements rather than the main show. Aristotle insists the core aim is catharsis: the drama ought to evoke pity and fear and thereby purge or purify those emotions in the audience. He breaks tragedy down into six parts — plot is king (mythos), then character (ethos), thought (dianoia), diction (lexis), melody (melos), and spectacle (opsis). He prefers complex plots with peripeteia (reversal) and anagnorisis (recognition), often brought on by hamartia — a tragic error or flaw rather than pure vice. So if you watch 'Oedipus Rex' with that lens, the structure and emotional design become clearer and almost mechanical in their brilliance.

Whenever Aristotle's line about rhetoric pops into my head, I picture someone leaning over a crowded agora, noticing what will move a crowd and why. To me, his core claim is simple and brilliant: rhetoric is the practical skill of spotting the available means of persuasion in any situation. That means not just arguing with logic, but tuning into character and feeling—what he later framed as ethos, pathos, and logos. I often think about how this plays out in everyday life. Ethos is about credibility—how your voice, reputation, or demeanor makes people trust you. Pathos is the emotional hook that makes an idea land, and logos is the structure and evidence that hold it together. Aristotle also nudges us toward responsibility: rhetoric can be used well or badly depending on the speaker’s aims. So his quote isn't just a textbook line; it's a reminder that persuasion is a craft you can practice, and that practicing it wisely matters. Next time I scroll through a viral post or listen to a debate, I try to spot which of those 'available means' the speaker is using, and whether they're serving something genuine or just the moment.