Montaigne’s introduction to this essay is gorgeous. He tells two stories where leaders showed mercy towards assassination plotters, the first about a French prince, the second about Roman emperor Augustus. They are parallel stories – both the prince and emperor decide against punishing the plotter and instead give the would-be assassins space to disown their acts. At the conclusion he tells us how Augustus’s effort succeeded – but ultiimately, the prince’s actions backfired and he was killed.
I love the way Montaigne flips the order of the conclusion, following up the Augustus story with the positive ending, but holding back the negative conclusion about the tale less fresh in our mind. He then stacks three more general examples on top – physicians who used trial and error to cure diseases of the time; artists who create works that feel like out-of-body experiences beyond the full control of the creator; and military tacticians who often see brilliant plans go awry and poor ones succeed.
It all sets up Montaigne’s thesis:
That is also why, in the state of indecision and perplexity brought upon us by our inability to see what is most advantageous and to choose it (on account of the difficulties which accompany the divers unforeseeable qualities and circumstances which events bring in their train) the surest way in my opinion, even if no other considerations brought us to do so, is to opt for the course in which is found the more honourable conduct and justice.
Or to put it in simpler, more contemporary language, if the decision before you seems like a coin flip, always opt for the more honorable approach. He returns to the question of security for leaders:
Those who under pretext of their security teach princes so watchful a distrust teach them their downfall and their shame. Nothing noble is achieved without risk.
This reminds me of the wisest words ever uttered by President Richard Nixon, in his farewell address to his staff right before his resignation:
Always remember, others may hate you, but those who hate you don’t win unless you hate them, and then you destroy yourself.
Montaigne then goes on to make the same point with the positive frame. I admit to sometimes adopting this point of view – with both positive and negative outcomes – but often feel compelled to temper it with moments where I distrust everyone:
It is an excellent way to win the heart and mind of another man to go and trust him, putting yourself in his power – provided it be done freely, quite unconstrained by necessity, and on condition that the trust we bring is clear and pure, and that at least our brow is not weighed down by hesitations.
To be truthful, I disagree with Montaigne here, at least as a human universal. It is true that putting yourself in the power of others can win hearts and minds, but only for people who don’t carry a sense of entitlement. Those who feel the world owes them whatever they acquire will never be impressed by your fealty, they will consider it just. In these cases, it is sometimes necessary to make a demonstrate of your integrity first.
Montaigne has a sort of response to this – if you consider those with entitlement to be your natural enemies. He believes we should still act in a straightfoward manner because it’s better to take the iniative and take the hit rather than wait in anxiety and a lack of clarity:
Issuing invitations to the hands of an enemy is a rather rash decision, yet I believe it would be better to take it than to remain in a continual sweat over an outcome which cannot be remedied. But since such provisions as we can make are full of uncertainty and anguish, it is better to be ready to face with fair assurance anything that can happen, while drawing some consolation from not being sure that it will.
Like I said, I take a great deal away from this essay, even if I quibble with some of Montaigne’s tactics. His view of human nature seems a bit simplistic to me, but I have to temper that opinion with the knowledge that he knew people in power might be reading his essays, so he had to be careful not to offend.
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