He was one of the greatest philosophizers,
if not a philosopher in the specialized sense of the word. Michel Eyquem de
Montaigne (1533-1592) was a remarkable man, whose influence on the great
philosophers who came after him was either explicitly recognized or implicitly
acknowledged. Ralph Waldo Emerson speaks perhaps for many, when he says in his
1850 Representative Men: There have been men with
deeper insight, but one would say never a man with such abundance of thoughts:
he is never dull, never insincere; he has the genius to make the reader care
for all that he cares for.
Nietzsche seconds Emerson’s
opinion concerning Montaigne’s sincerity in Schopenhauer als Erzieher--- I know of only one writer, whose honesty can be compared
with Schopenhauer’s, indeed, set above him. He is Montaigne. That such a man
wrote has truly augmented the joy of living on this earth. And he
adds this right away: Schopenhauer has a second
quality in common with Montaigne, besides honesty: cheerfulness which really
cheers. Aliis laetus, sibi sapiens. For, there are two different kinds of
cheerfulness. The true thinker always cheers and refreshes, whether he is
serious or humorous, expressing his human insight or his divine forbearance;
without peevish gesturing, trembling hands, tear-filled eyes, but with a
certainty and simplicity, courage and strength, maybe a little harshly and
valiantly, but as a victor, and this it is: to behold a victorious god with all
the monsters he has created, that cheers most profoundly.
And then, to the same effect, in Menschliches:
Shakespeare reflected a great deal on passions, and by
his temperament he probably had very easy access to many of them (dramatists in
general are rather wicked people). But, unlike Montaigne, he was not able to
talk about them; rather he laid his observations about passions in the mouths
of his passionate characters. Of course, this is unnatural, but it makes his
dramas so full of thought that all other dramas seem empty and easily inspire a
general aversion. (And right away, he adds that Montaigne was
Shakespeare’s model, which, of course, has to be true.)
Now, let us not forget that
Nietzsche’s highest opinion of Montaigne is further confirmed by his selection
of Montaigne into the select group of eight, which I have already had
many chances to talk about: I, too, have been in
the underworld to speak with a few of the dead. Four pairs it was that denied
themselves not to my sacrifice: Epicurus and Montaigne, Goethe and
Spinoza, Plato and Rousseau, Pascal and Schopenhauer. On these eight I fix my
eyes, and I see their eyes fixed on me. May the living forgive me that occasionally
they appear to me as shades, while those men seem so alive to me. (Vermischte Meinungen.)
There is no greater praise for
Montaigne than instead of writing about him, to quote some of the things he has
said, starting with his famous motto: Que sais-je? Here
are a few more:
Obsession
is the wellspring of genius and madness.
Everyone
calls barbarity what he is not accustomed to. (Chacun appelle barbarie ce qui n’est pas de son usage.)
To
make judgments of great and high things, a soul of the same stature is needed;
otherwise, we ascribe to them what is our own vice. (Pour juger des choses grandes et hautes, il faut une âme
de même,
autrement, nous leur attribuons le vice qui est le nôtre.)
If
you belittle yourself, you are believed; if you praise yourself, you are
disbelieved.
Life
in itself is neither good nor evil, it is the place of good and evil, according
to what you make it.
The
continuous work of your life is to build death. (Le continuel ouvrage de votre vie, c’est bâtir la mort.)
If
you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than because he was he,
and I was I.
Kings
and philosophers defecate, and so do ladies.
I
enter into any discussion and argument with great freedom and ease, inasmuch as
opinion finds me in a bad soil to penetrate and take deep root in. No
propositions astonish me, no belief offends me, whatever contrast it offers to
my own. There is no fancy so frivolous and so extravagant that it does not seem
to me quite suitable to the production of the human mind.
Our
religion is made to eradicate vices, instead it encourages them, covers them,
and nurtures them.
Human
understanding is marvelously enlightened by daily conversation with men, for we
are, otherwise, compressed and heaped up in ourselves, and have our sight
limited to the length of our own noses.
Not
being able to govern events, I govern myself.
The
clatter of arms drowns the voice of law.
No
matter that we may mount on stilts, we still must walk on our own legs, and on
the highest throne in the world, we still sit only on our own bottom.
Nothing
is so firmly believed as that which is least known.
Man
is insane. He cannot make a worm, yet he will make gods by the dozen. (L’homme est bien insensé. Il ne saurait forger un ciron,
et forge des Dieux à douzaines.)
And here, again, are a few, which
I have liked the most:
La
plus grande chose du monde, c’est de savoir être à soi. To know how to
be comfortable in one’s own company, this is indeed a blessing, and I am immensely grateful to Montaigne
for having expressed it so elegantly.
La
gloire et le repos sont choses qui ne peuvent loger en même gîte. That
fame and tranquility cannot be bedfellows, is a conundrum that I have
learned from my own experience, that I have tried to overcome at the expense of
fame, and now at last I can enjoy a few rare moments of tranquility, but only a
few, and in great moderation…
And finally, this perfect
masterpiece, which I have joyfully elevated to the title of this entry: Je veux que la mort me trouve plantant mes choux, mais
nonchalant d’elle, et encore plus de mon jardin imparfait. I love
this adage so much that I am leaving it to the reader to translate it and enjoy
it entirely in the privacy of his or her thoughts.
In my early years Montaigne (or
rather the two large volumes of his Essais) was one of my bedside books.
I can say that he was one of the great authors I was growing up with, and, for a
similar experience, I will recommend him to anyone who is worthy of it, which
my reader undoubtedly is.
No comments:
Post a Comment