In his last 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.
But then he takes an abrupt turn and seems to think we don’t speak highly enough of ourselves, chalking it up to etiquette:
We are nothing but etiquette. We are carried away by it and neglect the substance; we cling to branches and let go of trunk and body. We have taught ladies to blush at the mere mention of something which they do not have the slightest fear of doing. We dare not call our private parts by their proper names yet are not afraid to use them for all sorts of debauchery. Etiquette forbids us from expressing in words things which are licit and natural: and we believe it. Reason forbids us to do things which are bad and illicit: and nobody believes it. Here I find myself bogged down in the laws of etiquette, which do not allow a man to speak well of himself nor ill of himself. I shall put all that aside for a while.
Montaigne admits that, from a young age, people thought he carried himself pompously. But he’s not happy with that criticism—he was just acting as came naturally to him:
I can remember, then, that from my tenderest childhood people noticed in me some indefinable way of holding myself and some gestures which bore witness to a sort of of vain silly pride. But first of all I would like to say this: it is not inappropriate that we should have some characteristics and propensities so proper to us and so physically part of us that we ourselves have no means of being aware of them nor of recognizing them; and such innate dispositions produce, without our knowledge or consent, a kind of bodily quirk.
He then goes on to compare this to some affected gestures people adopt to make a show of their good manners. Ultimately, Montaigne has no idea whether what he showed the world with his body was purely innate or something he put on:
I do not know whether those gestures which were noticed in me were characteristics of that first kind nor whether I really did have some hidden propensity to that vice of pride, as may well be the case; I cannot answer for the activities of my body; as for those of my soul, I want to confess now what I know about them.
Not being able to account for his physical mien, Montaigne decides to chronicle all kinds of personal quirks that define his soul.
But to come to myself as an individual, it seems to me that it would be hard for anyone to esteem himself less than I do. I think that I am an ordinary sort of man, except in considering myself to be one; I am guilty of the failings of the lowest ranks of the common people but I neither disown my failings nor make excuses for them. I pride myself only on knowing what I am worth. If I have an element of vainglory it is superficial, treacherously diffused in me by my complexion but having nothing substantial enough for it to be summoned to appear before my judgement. I am sprinkled all over with it but not dyed in it.
Conceptions of ordinariness vary across times and cultures. We now live in an age where just about everyone thinks of themselves as exceptional in some way. Americans especially tend to think of themselves as having above average intelligence, even though the data does not support it. In our culture, people are conditioned to “believe in themselves” and grow up feeling like they are capable of achieving anything.
Combine this with the Dunning-Kruger effect. In 1999, two psychological researchers found that people with limited competence or knowledge of subjects tend to or greatly overestimate their own competence and knowledge. This leads to absurd cultural assumptions, such as the majority of men believing they could land a commercial airliner in an emergency.
So I admire Montaigne for making an effort to see himself as something less than extraordinary. But on the other hand, who is he kidding? He’s writing a one-of-a-kind project that will influence and inspire for centuries. In his own age, he was a landowner, nobleman, Mayor and ambassador. He negotiated peace, formed political alliances and earned a citizenship of Rome. He wasn’t just fluent in Latin, it was his native tongue. He had a massive library that he clearly read throughly. He lived an incredible life and made himself into someone unique.
I have some difficulty with this because Montaigne is being a bit too humble. Furthermore, I am nowhere near the person Montaigne was, but I don’t see myself as terribly common. My interests and talents are unique and I like best people who are original in their own way.
The next section concerns poetry and writing. I’m going to skip it, because Montaigne is mostly repeating himself here when discussing his literary style and talent. Next comes a discussion of his physical traits:
Now my build is a little below the average. This defect is not only ugly but unbecoming, especially in those who hold commands and commissions since they lack the authority given by a handsome presence and a majestic body.
I can’t claim to have anything exceptional with my own body, except a surprising resilience. I’m strong for my age, but this has never been the case in my life until most others fell off and I remained pretty much the same as my late 20s. Even still, I have some funny physical quirks. Sports that require hand and wrist strength, such as baseball and golf, are hopeless for me—I have extremely thin forearms and wrists that no weightlifting has ever improved. I also walk at a hilariously slow pace and have a strange gait that seems to rely on my calves for propulsion far more than most people.
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 struggled with decisions. I make them easily and rather quickly and if I turn out to be hasty in my decision making, oh well, I adjust and move on. On the other hand, I am rather good at procrastinating, to the point that I consider it a virtue. Often when I procrastinate, the thorny problems that kept me from jumping into the work dissolve in time, so getting to the work earlier would have been pointless.
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 isn’t a reflexive stance for me, it’s taken considerable work for me to not take advantage of my creativity and spin stories at will.
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—I’m going to close his self examination with his 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.
I’ve misread this quote in the past and now see that he’s really saying that he overly praises his loved ones, but won’t do so to the point of lying about them. I tend to view my friends and family realistically. My enthusiasms tend to extend to people I’ve met recently and don’t know as well. It’s a truer sign of my affections when I stop praising someone extensively, I’m no longer convincing myself of a person’s worth.
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