The definition of virtue is a surprisingly thorny matter in philosophy. In one of the shortest of Plato’s Socratic dialogues, Clitophon challenges Socrates to describe the meaning of virtue, basically arguing that Socrates has dodged the question. While there is some room for interpretation in how Socrates responds, I don’t think he answers Clitophon’s question.

Montaigne, while not specifically citing that dialogue, makes an excuse for Socrates here:

the soul of Socrates, which is the most perfect that has come to my knowledge, would be, by my reckoning, a soul deserving little commendation: for I cannot conceive, in that person, any power of vicious lust. In the movement of his virtue I cannot imagine any difficulty or any constraint. I know his reason to be so powerful and so much the master in him that it would never so much as let a vicious appetite be born. I can put nothing up against a virtue as lofty as his. I seem to see it marching with a victorious and triumphant step, in pomp and at ease, without impediment or disturbance.

Montaigne is excusing Socrates for not knowing how to describe virtue because he came up it naturally, it required no great effort on his part. Montaigne believes that this is out of the norm. Virtue, Montaigne says:

demands a rough and thorny road; it wants to have either external difficulties to struggle with, like those of Metellus, by means of which fortune takes pleasure in breaking up the unwaveringness of a man’s career; or internal difficulties created by the disordered appetites and imperfections of our nature.

So, then what is virtue, by Montaigne’s definition? First of all, he separates virtue from good:

virtue means something greater and more active than letting oneself, by a happy disposition, be led gently and peacefully in the footsteps of reason.

And, in one of the most startling statements in the Essays, Montaigne suggests that virtue may exist in a higher spiritual plane than God himself:

the name of virtue presupposes difficulty and contrast, and that it cannot be exercised without opposition. Perhaps this is why we call God good, strong, liberal, and just, but we do not call him virtuous: his operations are wholly natural and effortless.

It’s worth pointing out two details from that quote: first, Montaigne basically describes Socrates and God the same way, lending credence to the argument that when Montaigne mentions Socrates, he means Jesus and when he mentions Jesus he means Socrates. And second, notice how being good, strong, liberal and just is considered easier than possessing virtue.

But again, Montaigne doesn’t exactly answer the meaning of virtue here. It takes him a little more time across the essay to get there, but I see his answer as having two parts. The first is negative — the virtuous avoid one of our most human traits, the instinct for revenge.

he who, outraged and stung to the quick by an injury, should arm himself with the arms of reason against this furious appetite for vengeance, and after a great conflict should finally master it,

Montaigne does not see this as easy or automatic. It will lead to a great personal conflict for most. But being able to tame the emotions that lead to vengeance is, for Montaigne, the highest human virtue. He spends much of the essay spelling that out and especially decrying the opposite reaction to injury, inflicting pain and torture on people, or otherwise acting with cruelty.

I mention that Montaigne has a second part to his definition of virtue, this one on the positive side. It comes toward the end of the essay:

there is a certain respect, and a general duty of humanity, that attaches us not only to animals, who have life and feeling, but even to trees and plants. We owe justice to men, and mercy and kindness to other creatures that may be capable of receiving it. There is some relationship between them and us, and some mutual obligation. I am not afraid to admit that my nature is so tender, so childish, that I cannot well refuse my dog the play he offers me or asks of me outside the proper time.

This is far removed from the common scriptural interpretation of humanity as having dominion over the earth and all of the creatures in it. Montaigne does not believe that. He thinks we need to show mercy and kindness towards all living creatures, as long as they are capable of receiving it.

This brings up an interesting contemporary question. If humanity does succeed in creating artificial forms of consciousness, do we owe them mercy and kindness as well? What human behavior might be interpreted as cruelty towards our inventions? Many have theorized about what could happen if the machines turn on us, but given the historic darkness of humanity, isn’t the more likely risk that we will treat them horribly?