Yesterday I had an encounter with the French Revolution.
Here in my city the weather has been cruel of late. December's ice storm downed trees on every block, disrupted power and generally put people in a bad mood. Come January it warmed slightly, rained and then froze over. Streets were sheets of ice and my wife got a day off from teaching.
Foolishly, in the midst of this chaos we moved. We left our apartment and took up in a semi with a back yard for our excited dog.
In our new neighbourhood I noticed an interesting phenomenon: after the intense weather everyone did their part to clear off the sidewalks.
"What civic virtue!" I thought. "Everyone has the best interests of the community in mind. Maximilien Robespierre would have been thrilled."
While getting settled into our new home and starting up a heavy semester of school, I, on the other hand let the thick ice lay unscathed on the sidewalk in front of my new home.
A few days later a city official showed up on our door step and said we'd be fined if we didn't clear up the ice. "Fined!" I shouted. "What is this? The Terror? Put me on the guillotine, why don't you?"
The man handed me a tract to the cult of the Supreme Being and left.
So there was no virtue after all! It was an illusion!
My point, something that Robespierre learned well, is that virtue can't be coerced. Obeying by-laws may make me a good citizen, but as I begrudgingly chip the ice off the pavement I don't feel particularly virtuous.
Two hours and a one busted shovel later, cursing the mayor under my visible breath, I was approached by our new ten year old neighbour Emma.
"You're still out here?" she asked.
"Yep," I said, "starting hour number three."
"Wow," she said, "thank you."
And that, Mr. Robespierre, is how you make virtue. Vive la Révolution.
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