18 Human Virtues - Small Love, Great Virtue

Author: Conte-Sponville
Publisher:
Publication Date: 2006-09-01
Features: Virtue can be cultivated, I believe this, and role models have a greater impact than books. So, what is the use of a treatise on virtue? Its use may lie in attempting to understand what we should do, be, or experience, so that at least intellectually, we can measure the distance between ourselves and virtue. This work, though insignificant and far from being done well, is essential. Philosophers are like schoolchildren (only the wise are masters), and schoolchildren need books: so when the books at hand fail to satisfy them or become overwhelming, they often turn to writing. Yet for everyone, what book is more pressing than a moral treatise? And in morality, what is more worthy of attention than virtue? Like Spinoza, I do not believe that exposing evil, wickedness, or sin is useful. Why always accuse and expose? This is the morality of the gloomy, a pitiful morality. As for good, it exists only in the vast number of good deeds that transcend all books, as well as in the equally numerous but undoubtedly fewer good attitudes, traditionally referred to as virtue (this is the meaning of the Greek word areté, translated into Latin as virtus), or excellence. What is virtue? It is an effective, or potentially effective, force. Just as the efficacy of a plant or a drug lies in its healing properties, the efficacy of a knife lies in its ability to cut, or the virtue of a person lies in making their conduct humane. These examples from the Greeks clearly illustrate the essence of things: virtue is a capacity, and a specific capacity. The efficacy of a plant in the genus Arisaema is not the efficacy of Amanita, the efficacy of a knife is not the efficacy of a wheel, and the virtue of a person is not the virtue of a tiger or a snake. The efficacy of an entity is to realize its value, in other words, to exercise its specific excellence: a good knife cuts through iron like mud, a good medicine cures, and a good poison kills with a single dose. It will be noticed that, in a broad sense, efficacy is unrelated to its purpose, just as it is unrelated to the goal it serves. A knife in the hands of a criminal is no less effective than in the hands of a chef, and a life-saving plant is no more effective than a plant that kills. Of course, this view does not dismiss all normative purposes: whatever the hands, for most purposes, the best knife is a sharp one. Its specific capacity also determines its specific excellence. But this normativity is always objective, or morally irrelevant. A knife need only fulfill its function without comment, and for this reason, its efficacy is naturally different from ours. A sharp knife in the hands of a bad person will not become any less sharp because of it. Efficacy is capacity, and capacity can produce efficacy. Yet this is not so for humans. Not so for morality. If all entities have their specific capacities that set them apart or make them outstanding (e.g., a sharp knife, an effective medicine), we must ask what constitutes the specific excellence of humans. Aristotle’s answer is the distinction between humans and animals, in other words, a rational life. Yet reason alone is not enough; one also needs desires, education, customs, and memory. A human’s desires differ from those of a horse, and the desires of an educated person differ from those of a savage or ignorant person. Therefore, like all human nature, all virtue is historical, and both are constantly combined in the virtuous. A person’s virtue is what makes them humane, or rather, their special capacity when demonstrating their specific excellence, which (in the standard sense of the word) is their humanism. Humanity can never be excessive. Virtue is a way of being, Aristotle explains, but one that is acquired and enduring: this is what we are (and what we can be), because we have become this way. What if others are not like this? Virtue thus arises at the intersection of humanization (as a biological phenomenon) and humanization (as a cultural need): this is how we humanly exist and act, and (since, in this sense, humanism is a value) our capacity to act correctly. Montaigne said, “There is nothing more moving, just, and proper than the way humans conduct themselves.” This is virtue. The lessons taught by the Greeks and Montaigne can also be found in Spinoza’s works: “I believe that virtue and capacity are one and the same, that is, in relation to humans, virtue is their essence or nature, because humans have the capacity to do things that can only be understood through the laws of their nature.” I would add that they can also be understood through historical laws (though for Spinoza, his history is part of his nature). Broadly speaking, virtue is capacity, and narrowly speaking, virtue is human capacity, or the capacity for humanism. This is what is called spiritual virtue, as Montaigne said, they make one appear more humane or superior than another; without them, as Spinoza said, we would be seen as inhuman. This presupposes a humanistic desire, which is naturally historical (there is no natural virtue), without which no morality is possible. Humanism creates itself, and we should live up to its goals. Since Aristotle, people have repeatedly said that virtue is a mindset acquired through practice. It should be further said that it is the very essence of goodness itself. Indeed, there is no absolute, transcendent good that only needs to be recognized and applied. Goodness is not contemplated but acted upon. This is virtue: striving to do good in one’s conduct, and this effort itself contains goodness. Certain theoretical issues that arise in this regard have already been analyzed by me elsewhere. This book is a study of practical morality, that is, virtue. Virtue, or all virtues (since virtue is plural and cannot be reduced to a single form, nor can one form be satisfied), is our spiritual value. It can be said that, but we should strive to make them concrete, experience them, and turn them into action: they are always singular, like each of us; they are always plural, like all the defects they oppose or correct. These virtues are the subject of my current study. However, my intention is not to mention all virtues or conduct a thorough study of one. I only wish to point out those I consider important, what they are or should be, and what makes them always indispensable yet difficult to achieve. For this reason, this treatise boldly uses its title to indicate its subject, while its content is limited in scope. How did I proceed? I asked myself what mindset, spiritual state, or personality tendency in a person would make me respect them more in spirit, while the absence of these would make me respect them less. From this, I compiled a list of about 30 virtues, eliminating those that might overlap with others (such as good deeds and generosity, or integrity and justice), as well as all virtues I generally do not consider essential to study. This left 18, which is more than I initially anticipated, but I could not further. Therefore, I had to keep my research on each virtue concise, and this limitation became part of my research plan, always guiding its implementation. This book is aimed at a broad readership. Professional philosophers can also read it, but do not seek profound knowledge or thoroughness in it. The book begins with courtesy, which is no longer a part of morality, and ends with love, which is no longer moral—this was certainly intentional. Moreover, the order of selection was not entirely accidental; it is more a matter of intuitive or need-driven reasoning or classification, rather than a deliberate attempt to infer or rank. A treatise on virtue, especially one like this, is not a moral system. It is more practical than theoretical, more living than speculative, and more about doing than thinking. Yet in morality, what is more important than practicality and vitality? As usual, I have quoted many others’ words, and perhaps too many. This is because I wanted to write a useful, not merely concise, book. For the same reason, I had to list all the references, which has led to a significant increase in footnotes. No one is obligated to read these notes, and it may even be better to ignore them at first. They are listed not for reading but for work; not for the reader but for students of different ages and disciplines. As for the content, it is traditional, and I have merely reused it, so I do not want to pretend it was my invention. This does not mean I have no original insights in this work—quite the contrary! But we can never possess anything but what is transformed and altered when we rely on or oppose others. A treatise on virtue that seeks originality or innovation would inevitably become a laughingstock. Moreover, to compete with masters on their own ground, or to flee everything out of some unknown will, requires more courage and value. Needing to go no further back, the great minds have already contemplated virtue for 2,500 years. I only wish to continue their efforts in my own way and means, and rely on them when necessary. Some may think I am being arrogant or naive. The latter accusation is a compliment to me. As for the former, I fear it is a misunderstanding. Writing about virtue is a permanent, narcissistic wound to the one who undertakes this adventure, because it forces them to constantly and deeply see their own mediocrity. Each virtue is a peak between two defects, a ridge between two abysses: for example, courage lies between cowardice and recklessness, self-respect between servility and selfishness, or gentleness between anger and indifference. But who can always live on the peak? To think about various virtues is to measure our gaps. To think about their excellences is to reflect on our shortcomings or incapacities. This is the first step, perhaps the only one a book can take. The rest requires experience—how can a book do what others must do? This does not mean it is useless or morally insignificant. Reflection on virtue will not create the virtuous, whatever the case, it is clearly insufficient for that. Yet it does cultivate a virtue: humility. In relation to the vast material and tradition, it is spiritual; in relation to our obvious lack of virtue, it is moral. We cannot resign ourselves to losing all virtue, but we are helpless about the few virtues we have, because it is our own doing. This treatise on virtue is useful only to those who lack virtue, which makes it have a very broad readership, and also allows the author, who dares to write it, to be forgiven, because it is precisely his lack of qualification that makes him write this book. I experienced immense joy while writing it, and I believe this is enough to prove it. As for the readers’ joy, if it exists, it will only make me happier, for it will no longer be writing but gratitude. Therefore, I wish to thank them.