Although I enjoyed Stefan Zweig’s book on Michel de Montaigne, I have to admit that it’s the first Montaigne book I’ve read that taught me nothing, other than the ways Zweig thought he was similar to the essayist. Well, I was also reminded that Montaigne died on September 13, so solemn remembrances are in order today for that.
Zweig does focus quite a bit of detail early in the book on the likelihood that Montaigne had a significant Jewish branch of his family tree on his mother’s side. He speculates that he never wrote about his mother because he did not want to draw attention to this part of his background, knowing it could seriously hamper his ability to navigate the French nobility.
To me, the strongest evidence of Montaigne’s Jewish heritage is the fact that Etienne de La Boetie told him on his deathbed that he was returning to that faith. I find it highly unlikely that this would be the first time La Boetie would raise the subject with Montaigne, he must have had a comfort level with him on the topic, and Montaigne discussing his own family’s lineage and faith would have been a natural subject to raise.
I thought it was completely appropriate for Zweig to mention this, given the way he was torn from his Austrian home—where he was a major celebrity—and was in motion the rest of his life due to Nazism. This was especially difficult for Zweig because he was European to the core. He adored European culture and was heartbroken over the destruction of the continent alongside being horrified by the insane human toll.
I was a bit relieved to see that Zweig did not mention any of Montaigne’s numerous references to suicide, especially given the proximity of Zweig’s death to the completion of this book. He, instead, focused on the life affirming, freedom seeking aspects of Montaigne’s project.
Even though Zweig taught me nothing about Montaigne, I was still pleased with his approach. There are numerous interesting excerpts I could pull, but I think I like this best and I’ll close with it:
It is true: Montaigne achieved little else in his life aside from posing the question: “How should I live?” But what is so magnificent, so philanthropic in his case, is that when he posed this question: “How should I live?” he did not insist on following it up with: “This is how you should live!” The man who had engraved on a medallion the chosen maxim “Que sais-je?” had always detested fixed assertions. He had never sought to counsel others on anything he did not know intimately himself. “This is not my doctrine; it is my study, and no one else’s lesson but my own.” If someone wants to draw advantage from this, then he has no objection. As he says, his folly and error can hardly damage anyone else. “If I make a fool of myself then it’s at my own expense and cannot prejudice others, because it is a folly that abides within me and cannot be followed.” What he sought, he sought for himself. What he found rings true for each as much as he cares to accept it, or is in a position to do so. The true essence of freedom is that it can never restrict the freedom of another.
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