Moral System
Section 2 - XI.
The principle of self-perfection in general
171. The principle, `Be perfect, can under a certain aspect be classified with those principles which make utility the norm for human beings. It is true that the supporters of these systems claim not to exclude virtue but to enjoin it strictly as the only or principal means of human perfection. However, when they grant virtue the quality of being a means of human perfection and happiness, they inadvertently concede that their notion of virtue differs from that of happiness and perfection. They argue that the idea of virtue is in a class of its own, and cannot be confused in any way with other ideas of utility, happiness and perfection; it has its own existence and nature, independent of those notions.
172. The moral question is therefore reduced to knowing the elements that form the essence of virtue. All our thinkers reason about virtue, presuppose it, and in fact admit that they would prefer it to exist provided it did not command. They should therefore first enlighten us in simple terms about the force that imposes an obligation on us, and makes those practising or rejecting it praiseworthy or blameable? Sidestepping the question or speaking about virtue and duty as if they were obvious is no answer in the first place we want to know what these things are, and then be told whether virtue produces perfection or not. To apportion praise and blame according to virtue and never according to happiness is certainly good. But in this case virtue must have its own power to draw praise from human beings, independently of happiness and almost in opposition to it. A virtuous person appears more sublime in misfortune, and consequently requires greater admiration.
173. As I said, all this can be applied to the principle of perfection under one aspect; another aspect strengthens the argument. If we are required to tend to our own perfection, we must implicitly propose some good for ourselves. This good, although perhaps not absolute, is connected with absolute good as an effect with its cause. However, because we do not see the connection too easily, the principle remains obscure.
174. Some people object that we can act only through the principle of self-perfection. If this is true, the principle of perfection cannot be the moral principle, which must leave us free, binding us only morally. It is true that the tendency to fulfil our own existence and satisfaction is certainly mixed with the most disinterested, objective actions, but this does not make the tendency a moral principle.
What makes us use our reflection for the sake of knowing through judgment the value, dignity, and excellence of a being perceived by us? Why dont we remain inactive and indifferent without judging the being? The fact is that a natural inclination to self-fulfilment and perfection spurs us to use our faculties to overcome our inertia whatever the cost to ourselves.
175. Let us grant therefore that our human instinct for perfection draws us into action. However, while attributing to instinct everything that belongs to it, we must be careful not to exaggerate its power, which urges us to action rather than inaction, but nothing more. On the other hand the law about following truth and virtue obligates us not simply to action but to a certain mode of action, that is, to right and virtuous action. It is precisely here that the instinct for perfection, an intrinsic principle of human nature, is entirely different from the moral principle.
Instinct is a power, a reality; the moral principle is a law, ideality. The former makes us act, the latter directs our manner of acting. The instinct for perfection leads us to reflect on things perceived; the demands of truth authoritatively require us to acknowledge reflectively things perceived for what they actually are, without suspending our assent to the intellectual and practical esteem due to their endowments. Thus, while it is true that we naturally act with a tendency to good, it is equally true that we are obliged to act according the law of truth and justice that stands clearly before us. Truths urging is simple and free of all human interest; it is we who intermingle the voice of our own inclinations and interests with the voice of eternal, impassible truth, and replace the latter with the former.
176. The being of actions therefore arises from the tendency to perfection, but the manner of their being must arise from the principle of justice. We are not obliged to act by nature it is instinct that causes action. But when we do act, we are obliged by the moral force of justice to act correctly.(106)
177. It may still be objected that because we are bound by the law of instinct, we must always have a subjective good before us as the term of our actions. Even if this were true, I would say that we are nevertheless always morally obliged by the law of justice. Any good not in accord with this unalterable law must therefore be omitted. But what must we do when a decree of justice requires us to sacrifice riches, honour and life and, disregarding our pleasure or pain, declares as wrong that which is wrong, and as right that which is right? Those who know neither God nor a future life, or know God without sufficient light and certain faith, will probably give in, overcome or terrified by pain. But an internal, relentless voice will accompany them, even to their last breath: `By acting in this way, you offend truth. We could indeed imagine some natural support sustaining them against such a terrible temptation and restraining them from acting wrongly, but the support comes only from some hidden feeling, some thought deep within them, offering another good beyond this present life, and greater than life itself. This indication or, as it were, this sublime proclamation hidden in their hearts would perhaps be their only lifeline in the midst of moral shipwreck.(107)
178. Hence Lactantius, speaking of the time before Christ, says: `It was very easy at that time to subvert justice because it had no roots. Philosophers had not in fact penetrated to the nature and quality of justice. (108)
In my opinion this explanation is correct. Before Christ, justice was something abstract, not a real good. The truth of justice, because self-evident, could not be contradicted, but very often philosophers of the time found no means of reconciling it with the instinct for happiness. They saw that whatever is good in the present life could on occasion conflict with justice, but they did not have to hand a greater good which necessarily accorded with justice. So what could they do or say as long as the voice of justice was still there, speaking supremely and inflexibly? They could only confuse two contrary voices; pyrrhonism, proclaimed by those who thought themselves wise, became the universal system.
179. Lactantius says appropriately therefore:
Carneades sensed the nature of justice, but was unable to go further and safeguard it from the taint of stupidity that arose from its sometimes promoting harm. He could not explain this, and took the opportunity of reiterating his teaching that truth was hidden, and outside the capacities of human perception.(109)
He adds:
But we do not know justice solely by name; we know it in fact.(110)
This means we have not only the abstract idea of justice, as the pagans do, but also real, subsistent justice, justice which is not only object of the faculty of abstraction and a rule of life, but also object of the faculty of thought (111) and will, a true end for human beings; justice which is not only inflexible and eternal, but attractive and beatifying. In a word, this justice is an indefectible nature, a God, the ultimate aim of the appetite for happiness, as supreme good, and of the moral will, as living justice.(112) God is the centre of the whole human being who, redeemed and regenerated, can despise the vanities of the present time by fulfilling the duty of justice with the same act by which he seeks to obtain his own good.(113)
180. I conclude with Lactantius again: `The explanation of justice lies in equity; its origin (its realisation) `in religion. (114) Everyone is capable of seeing the reason for justice, present to every mind, but we can only reconcile it with human nature when religion indicates to our heart a subsistent justice where the rational appetite discovers the greatest good, the object of its search. Uncovering this secret, religion calms the doubting mind and reassures the fretful soul.
Notes
(106) When I say that we are not obliged to act, I refer to our first reflections, the actions through which nature itself begins our development. These are not the result of any obligation (because we know of no obligation) but of the physical sensations we experience and of natural instincts. Any actions to which we are morally obliged can be understood according to the following formula which determines our manner of acting in general: `Act in such a way as to offend no one.' This formula applies to the manner of acting as a whole, not to individual actions. But for the manner of all human actions as a whole to be correct, some must be posited and others omitted; thus the obligation to act arises indirectly.
There are, however, innumerable other human actions which, because of their moral probity, may be freely carried out.
Nevertheless, if we perform these morally free actions rightly, the number we perform is neither meaningless nor indifferent relative to happiness and morality. Such actions can greatly enrich our joy and merit: just as a person who accumulates material riches with great effort attains a higher standard of living, so others, if they labour to improve the lot of their fellows, obtain a great store of moral goodness, which results from actions spontaneously undertaken without any obligation. This is the difference between goodness and justice.
Goodness consists in seeking to make others more perfect and happy through actions done spontaneously and without obligation. Justice does not consist in doing many actions for others but in not doing any harmful action to them. Thus, justice determines the way of acting, goodness increases the number of our actions.
The reasons governing action therefore are two: first, the instinct for our own development or, as it is normally called, our perfection, which precedes the use of our freedom; and second, love for the perfection of others, a free reason, constituting our own moral perfection.
(107) The difficulty of establishing lasting harmony between human happiness and virtue has always been experienced. Like us, the pagans also heard two voices proclaiming: `Be happy' and `Be just'. Some philosophers, the Stoics among them, tried to settle the question by affirming that happiness must consist in perfect virtue. In saying this they recognised that the question had two parts, thus unconsciously admitting that the notion of happiness is in fact different from that of justice. They divided the tract on moral duties into two parts, calling the first dogmatics, in which they intended to establish the doctrine of good and bad things, and the second, parenetics, in which they discussed moral duties. `The question of duty is double-sided,' Cicero says, discussing the matter. `One part concerns the destined end of what is good; the other, precepts, to which our pattern of life should totally conform' (De Offic., bk. 1, c. 3).
(108) Erat facillimum justitiam radicem non habentem labefactare, quia tum nulla in terra fuit, ut quid esset, aut qualis, a philosophis cerneretur (Lactantius, bk. 5, c. 14).
(109) Sensit igitur Carneades quae sit natura justitiae; nisi quod parum alte prospexit, stultitiam non esse; quamquam intelligere mihi videor qua mente id fecerit. Non enim existimavit eum stultum esse qui justus est; sed cum sciret non esse, et rationem tamen cur ita videretur non comprehenderet, voluit ostendere, latere in abdito veritatem, ut decretum disciplinae suae tueretur, cuius summa sententia est, nihil percipi posse (Lactantius, bk. 5, c. 17. Cf. also the Epitome, c. 55).
(110) `This defence is easier for us to whom divine condescension has really made known justice. We are familiar with it NOT BY NAME BUT IN REALITY' (Lactantius, bk. 5, c. 17).
(111) For my understanding of the faculty of thought as the opposite of the faculty of abstraction cf. SP, bk. 4, c. 23.
(112) We can say that the Stoics had glimpsed the nature of the matter, or rather had come to understand that justice, like truth, was inflexible, and that all the pain to which we might be subject was insufficient to justify a single offence against it. They were however a long way from discovering the real core of such a tremendous problem. To convince ourselves of this, we need only observe the false idea they had of God. God was nature itself, where everything was continually intermingling: `All this in which we are contained,' says Seneca (Lett. 94), `is one and is God; we are his companions and members.' Sometimes they said that justice comes from God but, in their understanding, this God was human reason or the common nature of things (cf. Plutarch). They distinguished two responsibilities or duties, the perfect and the common or average (Cic. De Offic., bk. 1, c. 4). People who followed perfect duty were wise, close to the gods; they were God. They experienced no disturbance or unhappiness. Those who followed average or common responsibility were decent people, who practised political and moral virtues. The first lived above nature and were called theoreticians; the second lived in conformity with nature and were called practitioners. Because the second were only proficients, they suffered distress; in them justice was not perfectly united with happiness.
Despite these fine words, the Stoics were nevertheless aware of the weak condition of humanity, and debated whether a perfect person, forever blessed by justice, could really be found on earth. Seneca thought so (De Const. Sap., c. 7) but compared such a person to the phoenix: `Perhaps like the Phoenix, such a person is born once in 500 years' (Letter. 42). Stoic pride however affected this just and blessed wisdom, which was also hard and inflexible. Under its cover and in its name all vices were practised, although anyone who possessed such wisdom professed to be sinless. Josephus therefore rightly commented that the sect possessed characteristics similar to that of the Pharisees (in his `Autobiography').
(113) The situation in which Carneades wished to place human beings brought them to some frightening collisions, as they saw their boast of strict justice go up in smoke. Just as the description of food does not satisfy a starving man, so the abstract idea alone of what is upright and just, with no eternal reward, does not comfort humanity in its torments. Furius, in his exposition of Carneades' argument in book 4 of the Republica Tulliana, says: `Let us imagine that there are two men, one of whom is an excellent person, very fair-minded, supremely just and singularly trustworthy; the other is known for his wickedness and arrogance. Let us also imagine that the city mistakenly thinks the good man wicked, evil, nefarious, and the dishonest man of the highest integrity and trustworthiness. Moreover, because all the citizens think alike, the good man is harassed and molested, his hands are cut off and his eyes dug out; he is condemned, bound, burnt, exterminated, impoverished, and afterwards with full justification seen by everyone as the most miserable. The wicked man, however, is praised, honoured and loved by all; all honours, dominion, riches and total abundance are conferred upon him. He is in the estimation of all a good man and judged most worthy of all good fortune. Who then would be so mad as to doubt which of the two he would prefer to be?' Leibniz, in his observations on Pufendorf, says: `To subordinate all that is truly and irrefutably good to gaining an immortal name and posthumous fame, that is, to opinions we shall never hear, would be nothing less than glaring stupidity.'
(114) Cuius origo in religione, ratio in aequitate est (Lact., bk. 5, c. 14).