Aristotle said this is the best question to ask if you want to know someone better

We spend our lives surrounded by people, yet how often do we really know them? We trade facts and surface details—where someone’s from, what they do for work, what shows they watch.

But none of that necessarily reveals who they are.

If you’ve ever left a conversation feeling like you still don’t really know the person in front of you, you’re not alone.

Aristotle, the ancient Greek philosopher, had a way of cutting past small talk. He believed that the key to understanding someone lay not in their passing interests or even their achievements, but in something deeper—their sense of purpose.

For Aristotle, every human being has a “final cause,” a reason behind why they do what they do. He argued that to truly know someone, you had to glimpse this inner compass.

Translated into our modern lives, the best way to reach that depth is to ask a question that gets beneath the surface. Instead of “What do you do?” or “Where are you from?” (which, let’s be honest, are so tiring to the point of annoying) we might ask something closer to: “What’s the nicest thing someone could say about you?”

Now, to be clear, this question isn’t something Aristotle himself said. What he did emphasize, though, was the importance of uncovering someone’s “final cause”—their ultimate purpose or deepest motivation.

This simple, contemporary question works as a doorway into that idea, because the way someone answers reveals the values that drive their choices and shape their life.

The answer will often reveal not only how they want to be seen, but also who they are striving to become. And in that, you uncover something essential about them.

Beyond small talk: what Aristotle can teach us

In the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle wrote: “Every art and every inquiry, and similarly every action and pursuit is thought to aim at some good.”

In other words, no matter how ordinary or random someone’s life looks from the outside, their choices are always guided by an inner sense of what matters. If you can understand what that is, you understand the person.

This is why small talk rarely tells us much. When someone tells you their job title or their favorite food, you’ve learned a fact, but you haven’t touched the underlying “why” of their life.

If you ask them what they most want people to remember them for, though, you get closer to their final cause—the deeper thread weaving their story together.

I remember meeting a colleague years ago who, on paper, seemed intimidatingly accomplished. He had the degrees, the titles, the resume that made mine look like child’s play.

But when someone asked him in a group setting, “What’s the nicest thing someone could say about you?” he didn’t mention intelligence or ambition. He paused for a long time, then said quietly, “That I made people feel safe to be themselves.”

In that one sentence, I learned more about him than I had in months of working together. His final cause wasn’t about chasing prestige — it was about creating spaces where people could breathe. Suddenly, I saw his kindness and patience in meetings in a new light. They were lived expressions of his purpose.

Asking questions that open doors

When Aristotle spoke of the “final cause,” he was pointing toward a way of seeing people as more than roles or masks.

We all present versions of ourselves to the world, but beneath that performance lies a quieter truth: the kind of person we long to be. The right question can open the door to that truth.

“What’s the nicest thing someone could say about you?” works because it bypasses the resume and cuts into longing.

Someone might say, “That I was a good parent.” Another might answer, “That I never gave up.” Someone else might hope to be remembered for their humor, their generosity, or their courage.

Each answer is a window into what they prize most in life.

It’s a humbling reminder that everyone carries values and dreams that often go unspoken. By asking this kind of question, you’re not only learning about them — you’re giving them a rare chance to articulate the part of themselves that matters most.

My own struggle with the question

The first time I turned Aristotle’s wisdom on myself, I wasn’t sure what to say. What is the nicest thing someone could say about me? That I’m successful? Creative? Interesting? Those answers all felt shallow, like they were borrowed from the world’s expectations.

It took some soul-searching to realize that what would truly move me is if someone said, “You made me feel understood.” That matters to me more than anything. It explains why I write, why I love long conversations, why I’m drawn to stories. It’s the thread tying together my choices, even when I didn’t see it clearly at the time.

And this is the beauty of the question. It reveals others, yes, but it also reveals us. When we dare to answer honestly, we catch a glimpse of our own final cause.

Purpose in the age of distraction

In Aristotle’s time, people had fewer ways to mask themselves. There was no endless scrolling, no digital curation of a highlight reel.

Today, it’s easier than ever to substitute an image of who we think we should be for the reality of who we are.

As Rudá Iandê points out in his new book “Laughing in the Face of Chaos: A Politically Incorrect Shamanic Guide for Modern Life”:

“Most of us don’t even know who we truly are. We wear masks so often, mold ourselves so thoroughly to fit societal expectations, that our real selves become a distant memory.”

This is why questions of purpose are so important now. They ground us. They cut through the distraction and performance to anchor us in what we actually value.

I’ve noticed this in my own friendships. The older I get, the less satisfied I am with conversations that orbit logistics—work updates, weekend plans, travel schedules.

I crave the deeper questions, the ones that uncover who my friends are becoming and why. I’ve learned more about people I love by asking a single Aristotle-inspired question than by years of exchanging surface details.

Sometimes, the answers catch you off guard. I once asked a family member what the nicest thing someone could say about her would be. I expected something about being a good mom or loyal friend. Instead, she said, “That I kept learning.”

I hadn’t realized how much lifelong curiosity mattered to her until then. Suddenly, her piles of library books, her constant tinkering with new hobbies, even her stubbornness in arguments all made more sense.

This is what Aristotle meant: the final cause illuminates the shape of a life.

When we see it, scattered pieces come together in coherence. We stop seeing someone as random and start seeing them as whole.

The courage to ask and listen

Of course, asking someone a question this deep requires courage. It’s not the kind of thing you can slip into casual small talk. It works best when there’s already some trust, when the other person senses your genuine curiosity.

And it requires listening – really listening – to the answer. Not judging, not rushing to compare it to your own, but receiving it as the gift it is. Because when someone tells you their deepest motivation, they’re handing you a piece of their soul.

In that moment, Aristotle’s philosophy becomes more than theory. It becomes connection.

Final thoughts

We live in a world that often prizes information over wisdom. We think we know people because we know what they do, where they live, or how they vote.

But Aristotle reminds us that true understanding goes deeper. To know someone is to glimpse their purpose—their final cause, the “why” that animates their life.

The best way to uncover that isn’t through a barrage of facts, but through one disarmingly simple question: What’s the nicest thing someone could say about you?

The answer may surprise you. It may even change how you see that person forever. And if you’re brave enough to ask it of yourself, it might also change how you see your own life.

Because in the end, what we long to be remembered for reveals who we already are. And in that, we find not just knowledge of others, but a path to know ourselves more deeply, too.