In his previous essay, Montaigne attacked the pursuit of glory, and now he’s after vainglory, a pompous, conceited opinion of yourself. He jumps right into it:
There is another kind of ‘glory’: the over-high opinion we conceive of our own worth. It is an imprudent affection by which we hold our own self dear, presenting ourself to ourself other than we are, just as passionate love lends, grace and beauty to the person it embraces and leads to those who are enraptured by it being disturbed and confused in their judgement, so finding their Beloved other than she is, and more perfect.
I like the “more perfect” ending to the quote, even though Montaigne had in mind a kind of delusion. It’s a good kind of delusion to see grace and beauty in other people. Of course, it’s not such a great thing to see it in yourself, which is what Montaigne was concerned about.
We live in an age where it’s nearly impossible to measure narcissism anymore. What might be considered narcissistic behavior in the previous age is now the baseline. The extremes, on the other hand, are almost impossible to fathom. There’s been this great debate in the mental health community over the last 10 years about whether Donald Trump has narcissistic personality disorder, and it all comes down to whether Trump himself is actually hindered by his behavior. The fact that he can behave with the highest possible narcissism and suffer no consequences from it is evidence that he doesn’t have NPD, his insanity has become integrated into his brand and the culture. That sounds funny until you realize that most therapists hope to attain that state with their clients, not making symptoms go away, but getting them to accept and live with their neuroses and disorders. Slavov Zizek reduces all of Jacques Lacan’s psychological theories to a punchline: enjoy your symptom!
What’s good for the mental wellbeing of one person could be harmful to others, which raises the central problem of therapy—are we merely providing coping skills for people to act horribly as often as they like, so long as it soothes their own peace of mind?
Moving onto the things that make him happy, Montaigne seems to enjoy moderate, simple pleasures and avoids work as much as possible:
All I needed was gently to enjoy such good things as God in his bounty has placed in my hands. I have never tasted excruciating toil of any kind. I have had to manage little apart from my own affairs; or if I have had to do anything else, it was in circumstances which let me manage things in my own time and in my own way, delegated to me by such as trusted me, never bothered me and knew me.
Once again, this all sounds reasonable until you consider that he wrote the Essais. Maybe it wasn’t excruciating toil for him, but it was a considerable amount of work. He could have gone into true retirement and done nothing but drink wine and travel. He did quite a bit of the latter—but once was ordered back by the crown to accept the position of Mayor of Bordeaux while he was on vacation in Italy. As much as Montaigne wants us to think of him as a man of leisure, he was in constant motion throughout his life.
Montaigne goes on to describe how he remains blissfully ignorant of his finances and is so conflict averse that he prefers people around him to pretend to be happy if they aren’t. He’s also extremely indecisive:
It bothers me to make up my mind even about the most trivial things, and I feel my spirits more hard-pressed in suffering the swings of doubt and the diverse shocks of decision-making than in remaining fixed, resigned to any outcome whatsoever once the dice have been thrown. Few emotions have ever disturbed my sleep, yet even the slightest need to decide anything can disturb it for me.
This is something I never suffer with—I don’t struggle with decisions. But I often second guess myself well after the fact —why did I ever apply for that job? Or ask that woman out? Once I begin down a path, I stick to it until it plays out. But that doesn’t mean I’m particularly adept at taking the right paths. These days I’ve tamed my impulsiveness not by mulling longer over decisions, but simply making fewer of them.
The part of Montaigne’s character that he seems most proud of is his honesty:
A man who tells the truth because he is otherwise bound to do so or because it serves him to do so, yet who is not afraid to tell lies when it does not matter to anyone, is not truthful enough. My soul’s complexion is such that it flees from lying and hates even to think of it. I have an inward sense of shame and a stabbing remorse if a lie escapes me – as it does sometimes, when occasions take me by surprise and disturb me unawares.
He’s honest and he’s self aware, except when he isn’t. This essay is a great example of that, as I’ve already pointed out. I don’t’ believe Montaigne was deceptive in any way, so I can agree with him on that. Honesty hasn’t always been a reflexive stance for me, it’s taken considerable work for me to not take advantage of my creativity and spin stories at will. But now, I am almost painfully honest.
Next Montaigne discussed his memory. I have much more to say on this matter in the essay about On Experience and Memory, including some quotes from this essay.
While this isn’t the final point Montaigne raises—this essay goes on and on, across way too many subjects, repeating itself freely— and he had some important thoughts about loved ones:
Whatever of beauty I do find in others I am most ready to praise and to value: indeed I often go farther than I really think, and to that extent permit myself to lie, not being able, though, to invent falsehoods entirely. I readily bear witness to those I love of what I find praiseworthy in them: if they are worth a foot I make it a foot and a half; but what I cannot do is to attribute qualities to them which they do not have; nor can I frankly defend their imperfections.
One of Montaigne’s most appealing features is that he doesn’t defend his own imperfections, so it should come as no surprise that he wouldn’t defend them in others. Like Montaigne, I also readily bear witness to the praiseworthy aspects of people I care about. But I also tend to believe, perhaps in error, that praise once given should be long remembered, not needing regular reinforcement. A big part of becoming a parent is learning that loved ones need attention and praise when they need it, not when you feel like giving it.
Montaigne may or may not have closed his essay with a tribute to Marie de Gournay. The paragraph, which appeared in only one edition and becomes a matter of contention in every new Montaigne translation, likely was not written by him exactly as it appeared, but I also get the sense that a great deal of his final writing was finished by de Gournay. Regardless of the ultimate truth, I believe she deserved warm praise.
This far more humble project is influenced as least as much by a reader who consistently makes me better in anything I do. For her consistent attention and much valued ideas, I am eternally grateful. For her beauty, I just feel fortunate to be able to experience it whenever I can. Part of the controversy about de Gournay’s paragraph is that Montaigne didn’t throw around the word love easily, so many doubted that he would express it in this context. Let there be no doubt that I love my reader dearly and never fail to feel joy from anything that makes her happy.
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