The Six Spheres of Virtue (Part One)

These foundational virtues are critical to building an Empire of the Mind. They are to be practiced in thought, word, and deed. Here are the first three.

These great vows are universal, not limited by class, place, time, or circumstance.
- Patanjali, from the Yoga Sutras

I start with carbon because we all start as carbon. We get to exist thanks to supernovae—star explosions that happened billions of years ago. These explosions sent carbon hurtling through space. The energy and matter that settled and accreted to make earth contained this critical constituent of life, so the self-organizing processes of life began with this simple element. At the risk of combining numerology with science, an atom of carbon has six protons and six neutrons in the nucleus, which get orbited by six electrons. 

Without marking any biblical beasts, let’s play around with the number six.

Carbon can come configured as a hexagon, which gives it important properties. For example, when scientists use lasers to arrange these hexagons in certain molecular architectures, it forms a fullerene. Fullerenes, named for Buckminster Fuller, are molecules shaped like soccer balls—only space is inside these forms. What’s striking about molecules, so configured, is that they are among the strongest materials on earth. Graphene (sheets), nanotubes (cylinders), and fullerenes (spheres) all make for durable materials due to the relationships among the hexagonal carbon atoms.

What if we could look at these amazing properties by analogy and imagine they can inform human relationships? What in our normative universe can offer us strength and connection as Grey Robes?

We are ready to explore the Six Spheres of moral practice. That means we sit squarely in the magisterium of ought, which we call right and wrong. The Six Spheres are nonviolence, integrity, compassion, pluralism, stewardship, and rationality. They are what the ancients called virtues or features of prosocial practice. This approach is different from thinking about morality as duties derived from moral laws, though the Six Spheres are universal.

Let the philosophers fight over justifying the Spheres, including metaethical questions. We can bypass those debates by making a bold proclamation: 

If any given person (like you) wants to live in a world of relative peace, freedom, and abundance, then she ought to practice the six spheres to the most feasible extent and encourage others to do the same.

One might worry the above “ought” is being derived from an “is” in a way that runs afoul of the is-ought problem. But ought, in this case, is instrumentally rational. That means it takes the if-then form: If you want to achieve the goal of x, then you will do well to do y. This form is different from You ought to do y because y is good under some moral theory z, or it just feels right somehow. That said, with conscious, continuous practice, the Six Spheres will take on the character of normativity as practiced virtue, complete with feedback loops. And that is good enough.

Because human beings have practiced the Six Spheres to varying degrees through time, we have gathered sufficient evidence that the Spheres work to the ends many of us seek. We also know intuitively that excellent practitioners of the Spheres are those we think of as people of character, that is, people with whom we’d all prefer to interact. Then reciprocity recommends itself: People will want to interact with us if we practice the spheres, too.

Again, our goal is flourishing. Those who do not share the end of flourishing aren’t locked in solidarity with us. So we must move on together in our practice without them. 

1. Nonviolence

The practice of nonviolence is not for the weak. Not only does it require strength that comes with control and self-discipline, but that control also begins in the heart and mind. Harmful words and acts begin as negative thoughts. So, practice starts with rephrasing and reframing the internal chatter that keeps one company from moment to moment. In some respects, controlling one’s innermost thoughts is the most challenging part of the practice because we imagine these thoughts are private. And many are. Because one’s thoughts are also immediate and can arise out of our control, it’s easier for harmful thoughts to leach into our words and deeds. Mastery of one’s thoughts takes training. 

Today I’m going to have an open mind about what I see. I will observe others with the mirror of empathy and be patient and circumspect in my response--that is if it’s meaningful for me to respond at all.

The practice is most important for those with whom we share our time. Yet, we often allow ourselves to fall into old habits being around those we love. So we should first practice with the ones we love. 

“When you practice with others,” writes spiritual teacher Thich Nhat Hahn, “it is much easier to obtain stability, joy, and freedom.” An ambitious goal for a parent may be to create a culture of peace in the home. Creating a culture of peace starts with at least one person setting an example.

Hahn advises us to retreat to a monastery when we can. Otherwise, we must take the practice wherever we go. “This kind of life can be described,” writes Hahn, “as monastic culture.” Most of us don’t live near beautiful, contemplative places where monks can guide us. Some of us live with uncivilized children. That is why we have to remember that everywhere there is nature, there is a monastery. Taking walks among trees or grasses is enough to reset in contemplation. Otherwise, practice begins at home. 

From there, the circle expands. But the practice of nonviolence is not enough.

In addition to ahimsa, we must also take on a mind-frame of nonviolent resistance against those who would harm or subject us. That includes agents of a state whose threat is comprehensive and systematic. Remember that when we get beyond the smiles, the elections, and the parades, politics terminate in the institutionalized threat of violence. Because Decentralism puts nonviolence at the center of all questions involving human relations, all of our ideas about politics — how it works, what it’s for, and who should run it — are open to revision. 

Just as ahimsa is the first of the Yamas among the yogis, nonviolence must also become the presumption in resolving disputes and making laws. Ahimsa thus calls into question the legitimacy of the whole edifice of what we currently call society under coercive governments.

2. Integrity

If nonviolence is the prime directive for the new order, the second is integrity. In other words, First, Do no harm. Then, Be of your word. 

People use the word integrity in different ways, but in this context, it means honoring one’s agreements with himself and others, committing to doing what he says he will do. Competing ephemera tempt us, so too many people think living in a world of smart devices absolves them of their responsibility to be on time, for example. But society's wholesale transformation will only come if more people can be trusted to keep their word.

Society, after all, operates on people's ability to rely on others. Trust is a prosocial contagion.

After all, integrity has a lawlike quality, like gravity or the forces that bind atoms together to make molecules. If people are going to organize themselves to achieve something, integrity is necessary for the group’s ongoing performance. Integrity lapses introduce bugs in the system or breakdowns of interaction. Group performance suffers. Individual performance suffers, too. Each setback affects others who depend on the individual who comes before them in the performance chain. Therefore, practicing integrity as a universal should yield both individual and social benefits.

Failure to practice integrity means that some part of the whole is not operating according to expectations. Functionally, this amounts to inefficiency and breakdown, which leads to suffering. 

This functionality isn’t just for organizations. We can scale something like a Law of Integrity right up to society. We already have expectations of others we take for granted: We expect there to be some product at the market, but that depends on the production, packaging, logistics, and deliveries that came before. We expect kind people to watch over our children while we work; if a deadline depends on another colleague’s work input, we hope the colleague will do the work on time. And so on. The interdependent society operates almost entirely on people keeping their obligations. To the extent they do not, we start to see dissolution.

The yogis call these practices satya. They advise that, before one says anything, he asks himself: Is this true? Is this necessary? Satya includes being a person of one’s word and listening closely and with discernment to others in seeking truth. Thus, to be in integrity means to endeavor to speak the truth, track the truth, and behave in a way that one’s words, actions, and principles are all in alignment. This alignment includes not thinking one thing and then saying another. Integrity thus extends to those simulacra of self we put out into the world. 

The practice would seem to begin with keeping the commitments one makes to those closest to him. But being honest with oneself is the genesis point. There is no way to enter the sphere of integrity through self-deception. Thus, when one fails to seek mastery in this sphere, things can fall apart around him. So, the foundation of being a person of integrity comes in the recognition, first, that one is only as good as his word, and then that he commits to the practice.

3. Compassion

When we think of compassion as a practice and not a bright moral rule, we can become attuned to myriad ways to apply it. Can we work out whether someone needs money or advice and emotional support? Can we help a being to die if it can’t escape extreme suffering? Can we temper our sympathies for a neighbor who is morally lost? 

Moral philosophers can point to the trailhead. But we all must practice within some set of circumstances with multiple confounding factors. Compassion is not an abstract rule we can apply. It is a way of seeing and a mode of being, which results in actions that order reality. Tikkun Olam.

For those who have ever had a small child, compassion comes a little more naturally. The little ones need us, and nurturing them comes easier than caring for a grown stranger. It can be harder to have compassion for adults who, as our elders used to say, “ought to know better.” But we can follow the Sufis, who seek the divine light in everyone. Compassion starts with the discipline to look for that light even when it is difficult to see. Whether one believes Allah, God, or some animating essence is present in others, compassion works because she sees value in others.

But compassion also means being attuned to others’ hardship. The Sikhs practice daya, a form of compassion that involves taking on the suffering of others. It is deeper even than sympathy. One observes the stranger’s pain, becomes touched by it, and then responds to the sufferer. He is moved to act with mercy and kindness. But daya does not require unreflective self-sacrifice. Nor does it require the machinations of politics, which are almost always an excuse for people to remove themselves from the discipline that compassion requires.

The practice of compassion can be broken into the affective, the deliberative, and the active. That means practice starts with being attuned to the suffering of others. Then, one must ask oneself whether it is in his power to relieve someone else’s suffering and how best to provide relief. After this deliberation, one takes action. The action could be a gift of assistance, money, advice, or emotional support. The point is that compassion manifests itself in myriad ways in action, but people tend to neglect the importance of the deliberative stage.

Part Two is up next.