For his 41st essay, Montaigne focuses on exempla—moral anecdotes used to illustrate a point. Or is it a parody of exempla?
Exempla were common in renaissance writing and are virtually non-existent today. Or perhaps not–maybe the hero narratives that our culture clings to is just the modern day equivalent of them. It continues to annoy me to no end that we insist on making every election about two individuals facing off, rather than seeing them as a contest of teams that will govern or legislate.
What I find fascinating about Montaigne’s version of the style is that he seems to use the anecdotes to contrast with the theme of his essay, not to provide apt comparisons. But through ironic juxtaposition, the anecdotes illustrate his initial point.
The theme of this essay, in the modern style, jumps right out of the first paragraph:
Of all the lunacies in this world the most accepted and the most universal is concern for reputation and glory, which we espouse even to the extent of abandoning wealth, rest, life and repose (which are goods of substance and consequence) in order to follow after that image of vanity and that mere word which had nobody, nothing, to hold on to.
I wonder if the use of exempla, however, just adds to the vanity. If we take whatever people rightfully earn in the way of reputation and glory–then magnify it beyond human recognition–what do we teach anyone, other than it’s good to be famous, that people will do anything to make the most favored look even better.
But maybe Montaigne is someone onto the disconnect–why else use exempla so odd, to the point of irony? He holds up exemplary behavior of people who fought the urge to put personal glory first. Well, that’s what he appears to be doing, at least. But do these anecdotes seem like typical heroic behavior?
Catulus Luctatius frantically races to the head of his fleeing troops “so that they might appear to be following their commander;”
Antonio de Leyva strategically opposes Charles V invasion of Provence to make the inevitable success of his monarch’s action seem bold and visionary;
Argelionidis mocks the bravery of her dead son’s military comrades by saying to ambassadors, “I know that the city of Sparta has many a citizen greater and more valiant that my son was;”
King Edward abandons his son, the Price of Wales, to fight the battle of Crecy alone, lest someone else take credit for his victory;
Anticipating the Johnny Carson/Ed McMahon relationship, many Romans attribute the greatness of Scipio to Laelius’s enthusiastic toadyism;
Theopompus King of Sparta praises his citizens for being so good at following orders; and
The Bishop of Beauvais creates his own warfare theology, where he beat warriors senseless with a club, then handed them over to soldiers to be killed.
Montaigne gave a hint to what his style suggests in this quote from Cicero:
Even those who fight (personal glory) still want their books against it to bear their name in the title and hope to become famous for despising fame.
In the previous essay, Montaigne decried the praise of style over substance, unless that style is for elevating substance. Montaigne does that here and—as noted in that previous essay — uses comedy as his primary medium.
The absurdity of these acts of self denial becomes, in Montaigne’s witty juxtaposition, an illustration of how difficult it is, perhaps impossible, for human beings to avoid acts of vanity. I’ll close with this quote, which states the case perfectly:
Even philosophers free themselves from this one later and more reluctantly than from all others. It is the most tetchy and stubborn lunacy of them all since it never ceases to tempt even those souls who are advancing in virtue. None of the others is more clearly accused of vanity by reason, but its roots are so active within us I doubt if anyone has cast it clean off
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