Accord, concord, discord all share the same root: cord– ‘heart.’ Concord means “together-heart”.
Magnanimous come from magnus ‘great’ + animus ‘soul’.
I indexed on my wiki a long string of passages on the sublimation of personality in art. In art (and philosophy is a species of art) an author’s soul makes itself representative of something greater and more universal than the biography of a single individual. It becomes common property, something others can inhabit, see from, participate in, live out.
“The name on the title-page. — That the name of the author should be inscribed on the book is now customary and almost a duty; yet it is one of the main reasons books produce so little effect. For if they are good, then, as the quintessence of the personality of their authors, they are worth more than these; but as soon as the author announces himself on the title-page, the reader at once dilutes the quintessence again with the personality, indeed with what is most personal, and thus thwarts the object of the book. It is the intellect’s ambition to seem no longer to belong to an individual.”
The book becomes almost human. — Every writer is surprised anew when a book, as soon as it has separated from him, begins to take on a life of its own. He feels as if one part of an insect had been severed and were going its own way. Perhaps he almost forgets the book; perhaps he rises above the views set down in it; perhaps he no longer understands it and has lost those wings on which he soared when he devised that book. Meanwhile, it goes about finding its readers, kindles life, pleases, horrifies, fathers new works, becomes the soul of others’ resolutions and behavior — in short, it lives like a being fitted out with mind and soul and yet it is nevertheless not human. — The most fortunate author is one who is able to say as an old man that all he had of life-giving, invigorating, uplifting, enlightening thoughts and feelings still lives on in his writings, and that he himself is only the gray ash, while the fire has been rescued and carried forth everywhere. — If one considers, then, that a man’s every action, not only his books, in some way becomes the occasion for other actions, decisions, and thoughts; that everything which is happening is inextricably tied to everything which will happen; then one understands the real immortality, that of movement: what once has moved others is like an insect in amber, enclosed and immortalized in the general intertwining of all that exists.