I’ve been thinking this morning about what necessity this project serves for me. It is a similar one Montaigne explained in his essay “On Giving The Lie.” The purpose is certainly not to become better known, for as Montaigne wrote, the general public will only be interested in the thoughts of the most famous anyway:
It ill befits anyone to make himself known save him who has qualities to be imitated, and whose life and opinions may serve as a model.
So that’s not a good reason to delve deeply into yourself. Any hope of achieving some kind of goal through writing is pointless as well:
I am not building here a statue to erect at the town crossroads, or in a church or a public square: I do not aim to swell my page full-blown With windy trifles. . . . We two talk alone. (Persius)
This is for a nook in a library, and to amuse a neighbor, a relative, a friend, who may take pleasure in associating and conversing with me again in this image. Others have taken courage to speak of themselves because they found the subject worthy and rich; I, on the contrary, because I have found mine so barren and so meager that no suspicion of ostentation can fall upon my plan.
Montaigne early in his project then wondered, what if no one reads him, what would be the point of it all? I face this question every day:
And if no one reads me, have I wasted my time, entertaining myself for so many idle hours with such useful and agreeable thoughts? In modeling this figure upon myself, I have had to fashion and compose myself so often to bring myself out, that the model itself has to some extent grown firm and taken shape. Painting myself for others, I have painted my inward self with colors clearer than my original ones. I have no more made my book than my book has made me—a book consubstantial with its author, concerned with my own self, an integral part of my life; not concerned with some third-hand, extraneous purpose, like all other books. Have I wasted my time by taking stock of myself so continually, so carefully? For those who go over themselves only in their minds and occasionally in speech do not penetrate to essentials in their examination as does a man who makes that his study, his work, and his trade, who binds himself to keep an enduring account, with all his faith, with all his strength.
And this leads him to a thought very similar to the runaway horse analogy used elsewhere, but restated in an interesting manner:
In order to keep (my mind) from losing its way and roving with the wind, there is nothing like embodying and registering all the little thoughts that come to it. I listen to my reveries because I have to record them. How many times, irritated by some action that civility and reason kept me from reproving openly, have I disgorged it here, not without ideas of instructing the public!
This I firmly believe. The act of self reveal is not just a form of therapy, it’s a way to process the extreme feelings that could lead to destruction, either self destruction or acts of violence. The longer and deeper I keep at this exercise, the more I wonder how those who do not do something similar ever truly understand their own thoughts and feelings. How can they trust the validity of those fleeting human impulses without subjecting it all to analysis and becoming openly responsible for the content?
It’s possible to do this via therapy or perhaps with in depth talks with close friends. But I believe that this exercise subjects me to the toughest critic of all, myself. I become responsible to me and my own impulses. I see how I react to others interest and disinterest. It is only by subjecting myself to this constant ebb and flow of feelings, good and bad, that I begin to understand how much of it centers on the trends of the world, how much of it flows out from those who pay attention in some way to me, and, most important of all, how much is about only me.
Would it be better to keep all those little thoughts to myself and leave those who care to know about me guessing? Should I create elaborate puzzles of myself? What a ridiculous waste of time. Why would one wish for others to guess at your intent? Would someone doing so find greater joy in revelation or deception? A person so afraid of self revealing that they must then resort to puzzles soon loses the ability to understand one’s self.
Those who refuse to plumb the depths of their own heart are most easily offended and frightened by the reveals of others that touch them in some way. I sometimes get the feeling that something I’ve done or said has offended my reader, forcing me to think about what I’ve done “wrong.” Montaigne considered these reactions a form of self-own:
It seems that in resenting the accusation and growing excited about it, we unburden ourselves to some extent of the guilt; if we have it in fact, at least we condemn it in appearance. Would it not also be that this reproach seems to involve cowardice and lack of courage? Is there any more obvious cowardice than to deny our own word? Worse yet, to deny what we know?
None of this should be taken as an exercise in chiding others for their forms of expression. It is merely another attempt to explain my own path. I do not claim to always understand myself, never mind others.
Perhaps I’m too subtle in this point, but my essays have another purpose—for those who have difficulty expressing their feelings and don’t know how to share without being personally exposed, these essays are a teaching tool. They are an attempt to show how it is possible to engage in deeply emotional and meaningful writing without giving away too much. Some days I go too far but if so, so what? I pull back and edit. I don’t see anyone carrying torches demanding I pay a price for it.
If my writing somehow inspires others to take up a similar journey, to write about their own favorite writer on some anonymous URL in the blogosphere and be left guessing who their readers might be and what their presence and silence tells them, that would be the best possible outcome of my effort. I wish nothing more than for my readers to become writers themselves, even if I never read a word of it.
As for me and this project, I am content that, day by day, I make an effort to open myself up to the world and give everyone who takes the time to stop by reason to believe that I do so honestly, even if I miss the mark of truth.
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