Here begins the inauguration of a neologism — what I call “Philogony.”

To execute this, we will defer to the spirit of philology.

The term “philology” derives from the Ancient Greek words “philos” (φίλος), meaning “love,” and “logos” (λόγος), meaning “word,” “speech,” or “reason.”

For the Greeks, it generally referred to the care and love of learning and literature.

In the ancient Greek context, philology encompassed not only a love for words and learning but also included elements of what we might today call grammar, rhetoric, poetry, and even aspects of philosophy and cultural commentary.

The Philology of Philogony

The term theogony “Θεογονία” (Theogonia) is a compound word that derives from ancient Greek. It is a fusion of “theos,” which translates to “god,” and “gonia,” which derives from “gone,” meaning “birth,” “generation,” or “origin.”

Another ancient Greek word that is related to “gonia” and its affixed form of “gony” is “genesis,” (γένεσις) which literally means “becoming; coming-to-be; process.”

The Hebrew word for “Genesis” is “בְּרֵאשִׁית” (Bereshit), and serves as the name of the first book of the Torah. “Bereshit” is typically translated as “in the beginning,” connoting a particular occurrence in space and time –namely, when God brought the cosmos into being through the word (λόγος) — which is distinct from the meaning of the Greek word “genesis,” which signifies “origin” or “creation” more broadly (though too through λόγος (specifically “Λόγος”) on more than an occasional frequency.)

The Greek concept of “ἀρχή” (archē) also carries significant implications for discussions about origins and beginnings. In ancient Greek thought, “archē” is a multi-layered term that can signify “beginning,” “origin,” “first principle,” or “ruler.”

The time is widely employed in different contexts across philosophy, politics, and cosmology, among other disciplines.

In cosmological terms, “archē” refers to the originating principle or the initial point from which something derives or takes form. This is somewhat akin to “Bereshit,” which denotes the initial moment in the biblical narrative where creation is set into motion.

However, in Greek philosophy, particularly in the works of figures like Anaximander and Heraclitus, “archē” takes on an even more abstract meaning, often denoting the fundamental substance or reality from which all things emanate.

Archē serves not just as a temporal marker but as an ontological one, implicating the essential nature of reality.

On the other hand, “genesis” in Greek pertains more to the act or process of creation or origination. Although both address beginnings and origins, the term “genesis” does not extend so readily into the philosophical realm of first principles in the way “archē” does, but instead extends more so into theological domains.

“Genesis” focuses on the coming-into-being of the world, while “archē” delves deeper into the substance or principle that underpins that coming-into-being.

To relate this to “Bereshit,” we could say that the Hebrew term conveys a notion akin to a temporal “archē” — the point in time where the creation process is inaugurated. It does not, however, carry with it the same ontological weight that “archē” has in Greek philosophical tradition –a weight that is notably carried in the idea of “Theogony.”

In essence, the term refers to the genealogy or birth of gods, most often in the context of ancient religious or mythological traditions.

The concept is widely known through the ancient Greek poet Hesiod’s “Theogony,” an epic poem that traces the lineage and origin stories of the gods in ancient Greek mythology.

Within this framework, the theogony isn’t merely a catalog of divine genealogies; it also acts as a cosmogony, explaining the universe’s origins — the poem endeavors to delineate the hierarchical structure of the sacred and the world’s foundational principles.

The term has been subsequently utilized across various cultural contexts, sometimes extending its reach to explore the origins of the divine in religious systems beyond the Hellenic sphere. But regardless of its usage, its etymological roots offer a rich insight into its primary focus: the birth and lineage of gods, thus serving as a prism through which a culture’s cosmological and ontological beliefs can be viewed.

The term “philosophia”(φιλοσοφία) is ancient Greek for “philosophy.” Philo-” meaning “love” and “-sophia” meaning “wisdom,” “philosophia” can be thus (and is customarily thus) understood as the “love of wisdom.”

Plato and Aristotle, both students of Socrates in varying capacities, expanded philosophia even further. Plato institutionalized it with his Academy, while Aristotle, in his Lyceum, refined and categorized numerous branches of knowledge, laying down the foundations for various disciplines like biology, ethics, and politics.

The Hellenistic period saw philosophia adapt to new schools of thought such as Stoicism, Epicureanism, and Skepticism. Each school sought to interpret and apply philosophia in manners consistent with their core beliefs.

With the advent of Christianity, the term underwent further transformation. Early Christian thinkers like Augustine sought to reconcile Greek philosophia with Christian theology. Philosophical inquiry became closely tied to religious questions, but the love of wisdom remained an enduring focus.

Through the Middle Ages, Renaissance, Enlightenment, and modern era, philosophia has continued to evolve. Its semantic range has narrowed in that specialized fields have branched off and broadened as new areas of inquiry (such as existentialism or analytic philosophy) have been added.

Today, “philosophy” refers to a specialized academic discipline, yet the love of wisdom encapsulated by “philosophia” continues to resonate as a pursuit that transcends disciplinary boundaries.

The Genesis (γένεσις) of Philogony

The term “philogony,” though not a standard phrase in scholarly or colloquial lexicons, would be a fusion of the Greek words “philos,” meaning “love” or “friendship,” and “gonia,” which, as previously mentioned, is derived from “gone,” signifying “birth,” “generation,” or “origin.”

Taken together, “philogony” could be construed to mean the “origin of love” or the “genealogy of friendship.”

In a philosophical context — drawing from the rich traditions that have deeply explored notions of love, ranging from Platonic to more contemporary interpretations — the term could be an invitation to investigate love’s origins and various manifestations. It could serve as a scaffolding for considering the love between friends, romantic partners, or even more abstract forms like the love of wisdom, effectively transcending mere romantic or filial connotations.

Moreover, given the genealogical implication of the suffix “-gony,” “philogony” could delve into the evolution of love as an idea and a phenomenon, tracing its development through different philosophical, cultural, or even biological epochs.

It could explore whether love is an innate or a learned quality, how it has been represented in literature and art throughout the ages, and how it interfaces with other foundational concepts like duty, morality, and existence itself.

The term might also resonate in interdisciplinary dialogues, involving insights from psychology, anthropology, and even neurobiology to create a composite picture of love’s ‘origin story’ in both a cultural and biological sense.

Thus, while “philogony” doesn’t have an established meaning, its constituent elements offer a tempting array of possibilities for theoretical exploration.

The “ philogony “ coinage is a felicitous endeavor, particularly in its aspiration to unpack the complexities of love and relationships through a genealogical lens. Given the philosophical implications, it’s a term that carries a gravitas of both existential and phenomenological resonance.

If we apply “philogony” to the lineage and origin stories of love, we venture into a realm that spans from the interpersonal to the cosmic, albeit phenomenologically construed.

The notion that the “universe” here is a phenomenological construct is especially intriguing. In this conceptualization, the “universe” becomes a meta-narrative of subjective experiences and relationships, less an ontological structure than a lived cosmos of human interaction and feeling.

One might argue that this phenomenological “universe” offers a different form of “cosmogony,” with love acting as a sort of primal force or “first cause,” akin to how Chaos precedes order in certain ancient mythologies. In this unique universe, love is not merely a derivative emotion or social contract but the genesis and sustenance of all phenomenological existence.

Love could be considered the gravity that holds together the planets of our individual experiences, making a cohesive universe possible.

The quasi-narrative arc traced by “philogony” could lead us through the labyrinthine corridors of love’s history, from its nascent awakenings in youthful infatuation to its more mature, less intoxicating but no less profound incarnations in enduring relationships or lifelong friendships. It could also extend its reach to non-romantic forms of love — philial, agapic, or even the self-regarding love that philosophies of self-care advocate.

Like a cosmologist peering into the universe’s farthest reaches, the philosopher armed with the concept of “philogony” would be tasked with mapping this emotive cosmos, noting the formation of love’s various celestial bodies — be they fleeting meteor showers of infatuation or the stable planetary orbits of enduring companionship. The term serves as an invitation to engage in a novel form of cosmic cartography, plotting the constellations in the night sky of human emotion and experience.

What now comes to mind is the following passage from Martin Heidegger’s “The Question Concerning Technology”:

“But in what, then, does the playing in unison of the four ways of occasioning play? They let what is not yet present arrive into presencing. Accordingly, they are unifiedly ruled over by a bringing that brings what presence into appearance. Plato tells us what this bringing is in a sentence from the Symposium (20sb): “Every occasion for whatever passes over and goes forward into presencing from that which is not presencing is poiēsis, is bringing-forth [Her-vor-bringen] .” It is of utmost importance that we think about bringing forth in its full scope and, simultaneously, in the sense in which the Greeks thought it. Not only handcraft manufacture, not only artistic and poetical bringing into appearance and concrete imagery, is a bringing-forth, poiēsis. Physis also, the arising of something from out of itself, is a bringing-forth poiēsis. Physis is indeed poiēsis in the highest sense. For what presences employing physis has the bursting open belonging to bringing forth.”

The passage from Martin Heidegger’s “The Question Concerning Technology” is a significant exploration of “poiēsis,” a term initially tied to making or creating but one that Heidegger elevates to encompass broader ontological and phenomenological dimensions. He emphasizes unity among different modes of “bringing forth,” which include both human endeavors like craft and art and natural processes — encapsulated in the concept of “physis.”

The notion of “philogony,” when placed alongside Heidegger’s examination of poiēsis, offers an intriguing intersection. “Philogony” aims to understand the genealogies and origin stories of love as not just social or psychological phenomena but as a phenomenological universe unto itself. In Heideggerian terms, could one argue that the phenomenological universe of love is also a kind of “poiēsis” in its highest form? The love Heidegger describes has the quality of “bursting open belonging to bringing forth” — does it thereby situate itself as a continuously self-generating and self-transforming phenomenon? It appears so and in the highest manner possible.

The “bringing-forth” that Heidegger describes serves as a harmonic interaction among various kinds of occasioning — much like “Philogony,” it could be seen as the complex orchestration of different forms and stages of love. If “physis” is “poiēsis in the highest sense,” then could the phenomenological universe of love be a parallel form of “poiēsis,” one that brings forth a reality that is neither entirely natural nor entirely crafted but a complex, emergent entity?

This leads us to consider whether love, in its many manifestations, is not merely a “given” but continually comes into being through an intricate interplay of human intention, biological drives, cultural narrative, and individual experience.

Like the processes Heidegger outlines, love participates in a continual genesis, whether it is the platonic affection between friends, the fierce love between parent and child, or the passionate love of romantic partners.

In other words, love may have its own “physis” — a natural propensity to emerge, evolve, and exert a kind of gravity on our phenomenological universe.

In this sense, “philogony” serves not just as a descriptive account of love’s various incarnations but as a philosophical framework for understanding love as a dynamic, generative force that “brings forth” a universe of phenomenological experience.

Philogony as the Archē of Philosophy

The proposition that eros, or love, serves as the foundation for a phenomenological universe can be a rich and provocative point of exploration.

Grounding this eros either in original doxa (the Greek term for opinion or belief) or in the Cartesian cogito (the foundational act of thinking — “I think, therefore I am”) offers an intriguing lens through which to examine the phenomena of love and consciousness.

Doxa, often seen as the intermediate realm between pure ignorance and complete knowledge, holds a space for conjecture, belief, and subjective interpretation.

If we consider eros grounded in doxa, love becomes an ever-shifting experience shaped by our thoughts, cultural attitudes, and personal histories. In this case, eros could be seen as a phenomenological state open to interpretation, revision, and dialogue, as it is grounded in the often mutable and socially constructed realm of opinion.

On the other hand, Descartes’ cogito me cogitare — my thinking myself to think — is a foundational moment in modern philosophy, setting the stage for a concept of subjectivity that remains influential today. If eros is grounded in the act of thinking, in the fundamental awareness of one’s existence, then love becomes an ontological necessity, intrinsically linked to the front of being itself. In this context, one could even say that love would be the emotional or relational counterpart to the cognitive act of self-awareness: just as I cannot doubt my existence while doubting, I cannot question the presence of eros while loving.

Moreover, if eros is foundational to the phenomenological universe, its mere presence could be seen as a form of “bringing forth,” to borrow Heidegger’s term.

The universe we navigate would thus not merely be a static entity but a dynamic construct continually shaped and reshaped by acts of love. This isn’t just love as a fleeting emotion but as a cornerstone of existential and phenomenological experience — a kind of emotional a priori that informs our interpretation of the world and other beings.

In such a framework, questions would naturally arise: Is the concept of a phenomenological universe grounded in eros subject to the same pitfalls as solipsism? Does grounding eros in the cogito grant it an almost foundational certainty, or does it make it vulnerable to the same criticisms that have been leveled against Cartesian dualism?

The point of convergence between doxa, cogito, and eros opens an expansive intellectual landscape. It calls into question not just what love is but also what it does: how it shapes perception, informs thought, and perhaps even brings forth worlds.

Far from being a mere sentiment or biological imperative, eros would be repositioned as a fundamental component of existence, one with the potential to illuminate broader questions about consciousness, perception, and the phenomenological universe we inhabit.

The Greek concept of “technē,” commonly understood as craft or skill, traditionally encompasses more than just manual or artistic expertise; it’s a manifestation of knowledge that can be applied to making or doing. “Poiēsis” is intrinsically connected to this, serving as the activity of “bringing forth” intrinsic to technē.

Let us take “poiētai” to refer to the state of being or the existential mode of the “technite” (craftsman, artisan, or anyone employing technē). This constellation of terms offers a multi-layered interplay between knowledge, action, and being.

The technite is not merely a passive repository of skills or knowledge. In their existential mode as poiētai, they are engaged in a perpetual process of creating, shaping, and transforming — both the world around them and, by implication, themselves.

Their being is active, as defined by this ongoing act of poiēsis. They don’t merely “have” technē; they “live” technē. Their knowledge isn’t static but is continually actualized through bringing forth.

If we follow this line of thought, the relationship between technē and poiēsis reveals itself as not merely instrumental but also ontological. It’s not just that technē utilizes poiēsis as a mechanism, but that bringing forth is an existential stance for the technite.

Poiēsis becomes the medium through which the technite interacts with the world, shaping and being shaped in return. Through this creative engagement, they reveal not just the possibilities inherent in materials or concepts but also the contours of their being. In a Heideggerian sense, they are involved in a constant “unconcealing” (aletheia) of both world and self.

But let’s not forget that for Heidegger, the technite of the modern age runs the risk of enframing (Gestell), turning everything — including themselves — into a mere resource to be optimized. Poiēsis as a form of revealing then stands at odds with this technologically-driven enframing.

It resists the reduction of the world and human beings to mere objects or resources, calling instead for a relationship that recognizes and respects the intrinsic worth and potential for “bringing forth” in the other. So, in this intricate web of terminology — technē, poiēsis, poiētai — we find avenues to explore not just philosophical anthropology or philosophy of technology but also ethics, aesthetics, and metaphysics.

These terms become the fulcrum that pivots a rich discourse that ranges from the mechanics of skilled labor to the existential orientation of human life in a technological world. The technite, in their mode as poiētai, invites us to reconsider not merely what we make but also how the act of making shapes our very being.

Enframing, or “Gestell” in Heidegger’s lexicon, is an organizing principle that treats everything as “standing reserve,” a resource to be quantified, ordered, and utilized. This mode of interaction with the world is antithetical to poiēsis for several reasons.

First, the focus on quantification and utility inherent in enframing needs to be revised to maintain the complexity and multidimensionality of being. When the world is seen purely in terms of resources to be exploited, its constituent elements lose their uniqueness.

They are stripped of qualitative characteristics that don’t fit the utilitarian paradigm. Poiēsis, on the other hand, appreciates and engages with complexity. In “bringing forth,” the technite or poet invites the being into its full actualization, acknowledging its multifaceted nature.

Second, enframing turns the relational dynamic of poiēsis into a one-sided mode of control and domination. In the poiētic act, the creator and the created are transformed, fully realizing their potential. Enframing dispenses with this mutuality, imposing a rigid structure that serves pre-established objectives and needs.

As such, it robs both parties — the enframer and the enframed — of the depth and complexity that a poiētic relationship could offer.

Third, the mechanical logic of enframing precludes the organic, emergent qualities intrinsic to poiēsis. “Bringing forth” is often an unpredictable process, a dialogue between the maker and the material or concept being engaged with.

Enframing, with its emphasis on efficiency and predictability, silences this dialogue. It allows no room for the “unconcealing” (alethēia) that arises when one genuinely poetically engages with the world.

Fourth, enframing diminishes the temporal dimension integral to poiēsis. In the act of “bringing forth,” there is an acknowledgment of the past (the tradition or craft), an engagement with the present (the act of making), and an openness to the future (the unpredictability and potential inherent in the created). Enframing, focusing on immediate utility and control, erodes this nuanced engagement with temporality.

Enframing limits the ontological richness poiēsis can bring into the world. It reduces the qualitative to the quantitative, the relational to the instrumental, the organic to the mechanical, and the temporal to the immediate.

In doing so, it alters our relationship with the world and impacts our mode of being, pushing us further away from the existential potentiality that poiēsis offers in creation.