The 18 Virtues of Humanity: Small Love, Great Virtue

Author: (French) Conte-Sponville, translated by Wu Yuetian
Publisher:
Publishing Date: 2006-09-01
Features: Virtue can be cultivated, I believe this, and role models have a greater impact than books. So, what use is a treatise on virtue? Perhaps its use lies in trying 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 or overwhelm them, they often turn to writing. Yet for each of us, what could be more urgent than a moral treatise? And in morality, what could be 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 goodness, 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—what is traditionally called 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 healing, the efficacy of a knife lies in cutting, or the virtue of a person lies in making their behavior humane. These examples from the Greeks clearly illustrate the essence of things: virtue is a capacity, and a special capacity. The efficacy of iron parsley is not the efficacy of hemlock, 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 special excellence: a good knife cuts iron like mud, a good medicine cures the illness, and a good poison kills instantly. People will notice that, in a broad sense, efficacy is unrelated to its use, just as it is unrelated to its purpose. The efficacy of a knife in the hands of a murderer is no less than that 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 the purpose of all norms: no matter who holds it, the best knife is always a sharp one. Its special capacity also determines its special excellence. However, this norm is always objective, or morally irrelevant. A knife need only fulfill its function without comment, and precisely for this reason, its efficacy is naturally different from ours. A sharp knife falling into the hands of a bad person will not become less sharp because of it. Efficacy is capacity, and capacity can produce efficacy. Yet this is not the case for humans. Not for morality. If all entities have their special capacities that set them apart or make them outstanding (such as a sharp knife or an effective medicine), we must ask what constitutes the special excellence of humans. Aristotle’s answer is the difference between humans and animals, in other words, a life of reason. Yet reason alone is not enough; it also requires desire, education, custom, and memory. A human’s desire is different from that of a horse, and the desire of an educated person is different from that of a barbarian or an ignorant person. Therefore, like all human nature, all virtue is historical, and both are constantly united in the virtuous. A person’s virtue is what makes them humane, or rather, their special capacity when demonstrating their special 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 also (since, in this sense, humanism is a value) our ability to act correctly. Montaigne said, “There is nothing more moving, proper, and just than for people to act correctly.” 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 certain things that can only be understood through the laws of their nature.” I would add that it can also be understood through his 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. Indeed, there is no absolute, self-sufficient good, no good that is merely to be known and applied. Goodness is not contemplated; it is to be done. This is virtue: to strive to do good in all our dealings, and this effort itself contains goodness. Certain theoretical issues that arise in this regard have already been analyzed by me elsewhere. This book only studies practical morality, that is, virtue. Virtue, or all virtues (since virtue is of many kinds, and one cannot reduce them to a single type or be satisfied with one), is our spiritual value. One might say so, 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 to conduct a thorough study of any one of them. 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 the subject of study, while its content is limited in various ways. How did I proceed? I asked myself what attitudes, mental states, or inclinations in a person would make me respect them more in spirit, while the lack 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 those I do not usually consider essential to study. This left me with 18 virtues, which is quite a few more than I initially anticipated, but I could not any 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 they should not expect profound knowledge or thoroughness. 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 the result of an intuitive or need-driven desire to proceed with reasoning or classification, rather than a deliberate intent to do so. A treatise on virtue, especially one like this, is not a moral system; it is more practical than theoretical, more living than speculative. Yet in morality, what could be 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 the footnotes below. No one is obligated to read these notes, and it might even be better to ignore them at first. They are listed not for reading but for work; not for readers but for students of different ages and disciplines. As for the content, it was provided by tradition, and I have merely reused it, so I do not want to pretend it was my invention. This does not mean that 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, would require more courage and value. Without going further back, the best minds have been thinking about 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 consider what I am doing to be 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 very 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 the distance between ourselves and them. 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 must be experienced; how can a book do it for others? This does not mean it is useless or morally insignificant. Reflection on virtue will not create virtuous people, however, it is clearly not enough to do so. Yet this reflection does cultivate a virtue: humility. In the face of the vast material and tradition, it refers to the spiritual; in the face of the obvious fact that we almost always lack all virtues, it refers to morality. We cannot resign ourselves to losing all virtues, 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 he is not unaware of his own inadequacy, but precisely because of his inadequacy that he writes this book. I experienced immense joy while writing it, and I believe this alone is sufficient proof. As for the joy of the readers, if they experience it, it will only make me happier, for it will no longer be writing but gratitude. Therefore, I wish to thank them.