Virtue: Moderation

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I have an inherently negative reaction to moderation as a virtue, probably coming out of my feminist background. I'm too keenly aware of how women have been trained, historically, to embrace moderation not as a positive virtue, but out of a pathological fear of being seen to have appetites at all, let alone excessive appetites. The fear of being or seeming to be a greedy, fat pig keeps so many bright, kind, loveable women from eating a dinner roll or a brownie without a sense of guilt or failure. Women have to negotiate so carefully to look like they want to be attractive to men, but not to show too much cleavage or wear too much makeup for fear of being called slutty -- and that's before we actually get into the realm of real sexual behavior. The pressure to be "moderate" is almost overwhelming -- not a leach but not ambitious, not too stupid but not too intellectual, not frigid but not a whore, not mousy but not loud-mouthed, not dull but not weird, not a goody-goody but not a bitch.

On the one hand, I'm not suggesting that it is either feminist or pagan to encourage people to be stupid but ambitious loud-mouths just to prove we can do it. On the other hand (I sound almost moderate, don't I?), I think many women are already so afraid to venture away from the middle ground that their ability to challenge themselves, to grow and create and strive for excellence, becomes atrophied. Great deeds don't often seem to be born out of never being too much of anything.

I think that exploring the depths and the heights of who we are can be a positive thing, a way to know ourselves and to find our limits and the far reaches of our human potential. But I think such exploration has to be free and conscious. Maybe instead of moderation, which evokes an image of remaining carefully in between two poles, we could think of balance, which can be dynamic, active, flowing, and lively. A gymnast or a martial artist can do startling things with her body, things that seem to defy physics, but they manage such excesses of movement by a process of constant attunement and adjustment. Maybe the mental and emotional equivalent helps us be responsive to the many demands of life.

The Scottish proverb, "Never give a sword to a man who cannot dance," seems to reflect that idea. A good dancer listens and responds; she learns through a lot of practice how to perform a wide range of movements in combinations that are fitting, safe, creative, elegant, and aesthetic. She has a quality that we call grace, which encompasses all of this and also the ability to make it look easier than it is. I think this quality of dynamic balance or grace is a deep benefit to anyone involved in something dangerous -- sword-play, sure, but also the risky challenges life brings. This kind of moderation prevents us from getting trapped in any one mode of behavior, be it excessive indulgence, ascetic denial, or stodgy, temperate compromise itself.