Thoughts on Montaigne I

ON WRITING (8)

I find myself, like Montaigne, inscribing myself in these words, and thus making of my words a self: a strange occupation, and I wonder to what end? I do not wish to leave a monument behind, to awe or compel the emulation of my children; they have their own lives to live, and I do not want them to overdwell on my example. Still, the art of writing has its charms.

I find Montaigne's own art on fine display in Essays III.12, "On Physiognomy," that clever mask he dangles out before us of his "simple nature," as if the naive outer appearance were in no way different from the prudent inner man. But I am not as innocent as some of his readers, who consent to being deceived by his amiable ways. I am a bit like Socrates, that irritating old 'assayist' who might take away your faith, and like him too I have had to redirect my nature, though my physical looks are pleasant enough.

Who are the characters of this work? Somewhat in sequence: (i)Montaigne, compared to (ii) Socrates (no Cato), compared to (iii) the learned (ancient and modern) and the simple, compared to (iv) most of his friends and enemies in the civil war, zealous religionists and rebels together, compared to (v) himself and then again to (vi) the learned and the simple, and then again to (vii) Socrates as Montaigne presents him in his own words, and then to (viii) writers he uses, and then to (ix) Socrates as a model again and to himself. In the beginning we are moved by the lessons of the simple, but by the end it is the Socratic models that engage us.

So the essay moves from reflection on the art of writing and living in Montaigne's 'embellished' time, to life under the conditions of civil war, back to the themes of self- and other-knowledge, reason and nature, which at first seems to be no different from its first appearance or origin, but later we learn may lend itself to perfection through art, as can men.

It is natural to trust, but there is risk in it, especially if the times have distorted the easier path of things. It is natural to believe, to live in peace, to worship the gods of one's ancestors, to be a good citizen, to speak frankly on all things. But nature is oft changed herself by art, art or custom being a kind of second nature, as we are naturally inclined to both the care of ourself and the favoring view of others. And is not nature also rent--toward forceful law and undisciplined freedom?

We are not all like Montaigne, either so good by nature that we would not harm even our enemies nor so self-contained that we remain unmoved by their suffering, even if self-inflicted. We are not all like Socrates, needing to repair our nature by the art of forceful reason. But we may be more like each of them, if our ascent to what is lofty is completed with a descent to what is and is not our own. As for me, I am a modern, like Michel. I am what I am, without deceit. I love my freedom and respect yours as well.