Nearing the close of his second volume of essays, Montaigne is in a mood to wrap things up and crown a champion. After extolling the virtues of dozens of exemplary lives (taken largely from the pages of Plutarch), he’s now ready to crown his top three heroes in history. It feels all too contemporary, some clickbait on an IG account about stoicism.
Montaigne’s second runner-up and winner in the arts category is … Homer. It’s hard to argue with that one, especially since Montaigne writes before Shakespeare. Homer invented the epic poem—and if you believe Julian Jaynes, consciousness itself—so you’d have to go with God if you want to surpass him. And actually, Montaigne pretty much calls Homer a god in this essay:
And in truth I am often struck with wonder that he, who by his authority created so many gods and made them honored in this world, has not himself been deified.
Greek mythology predates Homer who didn’t create the gods of The Iliad. In fact, he winnowed down the number of gods celebrated in his day, dispensing with many sprites and demigods. Hubert Dreyfus theorizes Homer did this to clarify the importance of each god:
Greeks were deeply aware of the ways in which our successes and our failures—indeed, our very actions themselves—are never completely under our control. They were constantly sensitive to, amazed by, and grateful for those actions that he cannot perform on one’s own simply by trying harder: going to sleep, waking up, fitting in, standing out, gathering crowds together, holding their attention with a speech, changing their mood, or indeed being filled with longing, desire, courage, wisdom, and so on. Homer sees each of these achievements as a particular god’s gift.
So Homer created a religion … which still exists today as Western Civilization, or more precisely, the humanities. He’s an obvious choice and a good one.
Montaigne’s first runner-up, and winner in the bloodthirsty military strategist category, is Alexander the Great. Montaigne has been effusive in his praise of Alexander throughout the essays, so this choice doesn’t surprise me either. He chose Alexander simply because he couldn’t bring himself to pick Caesar, having already explained how the Roman’s ambition clouded his many virtuous acts. Alexander didn’t lack ambition himself—and considering that he destroyed Thebes, you’d think Montaigne would be even more critical of him, considering the person who he then judges to be history’s noble hero.
And that person is … Epaminondas. Who? Best known for his brilliant strategy at the Battle of Leuctra, Epaminondas saved the city-state of Thebes by defeating a Spartan invasion through his innovative phalanx formations. He then ascended to a leadership position in Thebes, gaining a reputation for being incorruptible (and apparently humorless—he often admonished people for telling jokes that included untruthful information). Plutarch extensively wrote about Epaminondas, but Montaigne did not have access to that story, which was lost centuries ago.
So why does Montaigne worship Epaminondas so much? I would contend that it’s the lack of information that makes him most appealing. Here’s one of Montaigne’s explanations:
As for his knowledge and skill, an ancient verdict has come down to us, that never did a man know more nor talk less.
This fits perfectly with Montaigne’s continuing support for deeds over words. In my day job, I sometimes have to convince the leaders I support their words will be more powerful if they speak less often, so I sympathize with Montaigne.
If history had preserved a great treasure trove of Epaminondas’s thoughts and ideas, it would have disrupted his focus on deeds. As it stands now, he saved Thebes and transformed Greece … making it vulnerable to a generation later to its destruction at the hands of the Macedonians, but apparently Montaigne doesn’t have a problem with that.
Montaigne’s position sounds somewhat anti-intellectual, but he’s not alone in believing that words can often distract us from deeper knowledge and understanding of what’s important in life. Consider the words of Nietzsche in “Twilight of the Idols:”
We no longer esteem ourselves sufficiently when we communicate ourselves. Our true experiences are not at all garrulous. They could not communicate themselves even if they tried. That is because they lack the right word. Whatever we have words for that we have already got beyond. In all talk there is a grain of contempt. Language, it seems, was invented only for what is average, medium, communicable. With language, the speaker immediately vulgarizes himself. Out of a morality for deaf-mutes and other philosophers.
Tie this back into the discussion of Homer—the words we need often feel like they are not our own. They come to us as if in a dream or a godly inspiration. And yet we hold them back with our own limitations, experiences, and vocabulary. By the time we communicate them, Nietzsche suggests that we have already extinguished the truly profound thoughts in our hearts.
So, perhaps, the best way for us to celebrate what is best in humanity is to deify … to tell the stories of human beings, stripped of the rhetoric, and place their heads on statues, or better yet on Mount Rushmore, where they can gaze at us in silent perfection. A faith healer named Braco is making his way around the world, traveling from city to city and drawing crowds for a fee. The stage is set, new age music plays, and Braco comes on stage where he gazes at the crowd for about 10 minutes. Ridiculous, yeah, sure … but it’s not as unusual as it all seems.
Just think of the way we live today and how we gaze at television, billboards, and magazines. Instead of talking to us … feeding us grains of contempt … Braco is peacefully offering humanity his gaze. And if people feel this silent gaze heals them … is that really so much different from the unsung deeds of Epaminondas, the heroic leader of a lost civilization?
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