We come to one of Montaigne’s more baffling essays, one with very little within it worth quoting, and that deals mostly with naming the virtues of Julian the Apostate, the notably anti-Christian Roman Emperor.
I suppose from this I could jump into a discussion of freedom of religion or tolerance of opposing political or philosophical views, but my intellectual desire is pushing me in another direction, best illustrated by this Nietzsche quote:
One does not only wish to be understood when one writes; one wishes just as surely not to be understood. It is not by any means necessarily an objection to a book when anyone finds it impossible to understand: perhaps that was part of the author’s intention—he did not want to be understood by just “anybody.” All the nobler spirits and tastes select their audience when they wish to communicate; and choosing that, one at the same time erects barriers against “the others.” All the more subtle laws of any style have their origin at this point: they at the same time keep away, create a distance, forbid “entrance,” understanding, as said above—while they open the ears of those whose ears are related to ours.
I’ve brought up the subject of esoteric writing in other essays, but I think what Montaigne is doing in this goes beyond even the esoteric—his writing seems interested in reaching only a few close friends who understand why this topic is important to him. And given that, I’m inclined to just walk away from it and consider it an essay meant for other eyes.
I have to admit that I too sometimes write without the intention of building broad understanding, or even an audience. When I first started blogging in 2003, I had a surprisingly large following, with a daily readership in the thousands. I ran a blog concerned with the Democratic nomination for President in 2004, and my friendship with Taegan Goddard of Political Wire helped me cultivate a loyal group of clickers and readers that included some really smart political minds, including current Evanston mayor Daniel Biss, who was a frequent contributor to my comments section.
Eventually, I grew tired of blogging about politics, so I changed the focus of my writing to more literary and philosophical issues. I could maintain a solid core of readers, but that group diminished a bit when I shifted my focus to Montaigne. After the project was complete, I tried to sell the work output as a book and when that failed, I took the project offline for a while, only to return and gain a renewed audience when The Partially Examined Life podcast promoted the site. And then I lost interest and let that audience drift away.
When I revived My Montaigne Project in 2020, I had a still smaller audience that I systematically drove away by examining issues so personal that even I cringed, leading to me to delete many stories not long after posting them. Such was pandemic life. Now here I am writing the Montaigne Project over from scratch in 2023, and I have my smallest reading audience yet for a project.
And yet, I’m probably doing my best work, but that’s ok, I’m reaching my target audience now. I am writing today for someone who probably does not exist, a person who knows my work backwards and forwards and immediately sees the connections between essays I’m writing now and those from the past, a reader who wants to remain anonymous and takes incredible steps to hide her identity (of course my perfect reader is a woman, do you really think I’d imagine otherwise?) I address all of my essays to this imagined perfect reader.
Today I imagine that this perfect reader has been paying attention to my recent posts about hyper-stoicism and the resilience that can steer right into the most emotionally difficult stories in life, and the reader is thinking, wait a minute, isn’t this the same subject you teased several weeks ago when you brought up Nietzsche’s concept of self overcoming? You never got around to writing about that and now you’re claiming to have invented a new philosophy that’s clearly his and not yours?
Also, this reader is thinking that the thing you wrote this week about unconditional love was really beautiful, but isn’t it possible that it comes into direct conflict with what you wrote earlier about not falling in love with your anima? Aren’t you justifying doing exactly that? And by the way, rewatch “Tootsie” because Dorothy Michaels and Julie Nichols were engaged in the same intense partnership that you describe as so erotic to you personally. Maybe you need to do a little Jungian shadow work around your judgment of Michael Dorsey/Dorothy Michaels.
Now, if you’re reading this and thinking “what the hell is he going on about today?” Good! I have done in my essay exactly what Montaigne did in his writing about something only those “in the know” might understand and appreciate. Except in my case, I don’t even think there is someone who fits that definition. I just wish it were the case.
Why bother doing this? I will let Nietzsche have the last word:
At times we need a rest from ourselves by looking upon, by looking down upon, ourselves and, from an artistic distance, laughing over ourselves or keeping over ourselves. We must discover the hero no less than the fool in our passion for knowledge; we must occasionally find pleasure in our folly, or we cannot continue to find pleasure in our wisdom.
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