The Essays of Montaigne, Complete

M >> Michel de Montaigne >> The Essays of Montaigne, Complete


["Let your nose be as keen as it will, be all nose, and even a nose
so great that Atlas will refuse to bear it: if asked, Could you even
excel Latinus in scoffing; against my trifles you could say no more
than I myself have said: then to what end contend tooth against
tooth? You must have flesh, if you want to be full; lose not your
labour then; cast your venom upon those that admire themselves; I
know already that these things are worthless."--Mart., xiii. 2.]

I am not obliged not to utter absurdities, provided I am not deceived in
them and know them to be such: and to trip knowingly, is so ordinary with
me, that I seldom do it otherwise, and rarely trip by chance. 'Tis no
great matter to add ridiculous actions to the temerity of my humour,
since I cannot ordinarily help supplying it with those that are vicious.

I was present one day at Barleduc, when King Francis II., for a memorial
of Rene, king of Sicily, was presented with a portrait he had drawn of
himself: why is it not in like manner lawful for every one to draw
himself with a pen, as he did with a crayon? I will not, therefore, omit
this blemish though very unfit to be published, which is irresolution; a
very great effect and very incommodious in the negotiations of the
affairs of the world; in doubtful enterprises, I know not which to
choose:

"Ne si, ne no, nel cor mi suona intero."

["My heart does not tell me either yes or no."--Petrarch.]

I can maintain an opinion, but I cannot choose one. By reason that in
human things, to what sect soever we incline, many appearances present
themselves that confirm us in it; and the philosopher Chrysippus said,
that he would of Zeno and Cleanthes, his masters, learn their doctrines
only; for, as to proofs and reasons, he should find enough of his own.
Which way soever I turn, I still furnish myself with causes, and
likelihood enough to fix me there; which makes me detain doubt and the
liberty of choosing, till occasion presses; and then, to confess the
truth, I, for the most part, throw the feather into the wind, as the
saying is, and commit myself to the mercy of fortune; a very light
inclination and circumstance carries me along with it.

"Dum in dubio est animus, paulo momento huc atque
Illuc impellitur."

["While the mind is in doubt, in a short time it is impelled this
way and that."--Terence, Andr., i. 6, 32.]

The uncertainty of my judgment is so equally balanced in most
occurrences, that I could willingly refer it to be decided by the chance
of a die: and I observe, with great consideration of our human infirmity,
the examples that the divine history itself has left us of this custom of
referring to fortune and chance the determination of election in doubtful
things:

"Sors cecidit super Matthiam."

["The lot fell upon Matthew."--Acts i. 26.]

Human reason is a two-edged and dangerous sword: observe in the hands of
Socrates, her most intimate and familiar friend, how many several points
it has. I am thus good for nothing but to follow and suffer myself to be
easily carried away with the crowd; I have not confidence enough in my
own strength to take upon me to command and lead; I am very glad to find
the way beaten before me by others. If I must run the hazard of an
uncertain choice, I am rather willing to have it under such a one as is
more confident in his opinions than I am in mine, whose ground and
foundation I find to be very slippery and unsure.

Yet I do not easily change, by reason that I discern the same weakness in
contrary opinions:

"Ipsa consuetudo assentiendi periculosa
esse videtur, et lubrica;"

["The very custom of assenting seems to be dangerous
and slippery."--Cicero, Acad., ii. 21.]

especially in political affairs, there is a large field open for changes
and contestation:

"Justa pari premitur veluti cum pondere libra,
Prona, nec hac plus pane sedet, nec surgit ab illa."

["As a just balance, pressed with equal weight, neither dips
nor rises on either side."--Tibullus, iv. 41.]

Machiavelli's writings, for example, were solid enough for the subject,
yet were they easy enough to be controverted; and they who have done so,
have left as great a facility of controverting theirs; there was never
wanting in that kind of argument replies and replies upon replies, and as
infinite a contexture of debates as our wrangling lawyers have extended
in favour of long suits:

"Caedimur et totidem plagis consumimus hostem;"

["We are slain, and with as many blows kill the enemy" (or),
"It is a fight wherein we exhaust each other by mutual wounds."
--Horace, Epist., ii. 2, 97.]

the reasons have little other foundation than experience, and the variety
of human events presenting us with infinite examples of all sorts of
forms. An understanding person of our times says: That whoever would, in
contradiction to our almanacs, write cold where they say hot, and wet
where they say dry, and always put the contrary to what they foretell; if
he were to lay a wager, he would not care which side he took, excepting
where no uncertainty could fall out, as to promise excessive heats at
Christmas, or extremity of cold at Midsummer. I have the same opinion of
these political controversies; be on which side you will, you have as
fair a game to play as your adversary, provided you do not proceed so far
as to shock principles that are broad and manifest. And yet, in my
conceit, in public affairs, there is no government so ill, provided it be
ancient and has been constant, that is not better than change and
alteration.

Our manners are infinitely corrupt, and wonderfully incline to the worse;
of our laws and customs there are many that are barbarous and monstrous
nevertheless, by reason of the difficulty of reformation, and the danger
of stirring things, if I could put something under to stop the wheel, and
keep it where it is, I would do it with all my heart:

"Numquam adeo foedis, adeoque pudendis
Utimur exemplis, ut non pejora supersint."

["The examples we use are not so shameful and foul
but that worse remain behind."--Juvenal, viii. 183.]

The worst thing I find in our state is instability, and that our laws,
no more than our clothes, cannot settle in any certain form. It is very
easy to accuse a government of imperfection, for all mortal things are
full of it: it is very easy to beget in a people a contempt of ancient
observances; never any man undertook it but he did it; but to establish a
better regimen in the stead of that which a man has overthrown, many who
have attempted it have foundered. I very little consult my prudence in
my conduct; I am willing to let it be guided by the public rule. Happy
the people who do what they are commanded, better than they who command,
without tormenting themselves as to the causes; who suffer themselves
gently to roll after the celestial revolution! Obedience is never pure
nor calm in him who reasons and disputes.

In fine, to return to myself: the only thing by which I something esteem
myself, is that wherein never any man thought himself to be defective; my
recommendation is vulgar, common, and popular; for who ever thought he
wanted sense? It would be a proposition that would imply a contradiction
in itself; 'tis a disease that never is where it is discerned; 'tis
tenacious and strong, but what the first ray of the patient's sight
nevertheless pierces through and disperses, as the beams of the sun do
thick and obscure mists; to accuse one's self would be to excuse in this
case, and to condemn, to absolve. There never was porter or the silliest
girl, that did not think they had sense enough to do their business.
We easily enough confess in others an advantage of courage, strength,
experience, activity, and beauty, but an advantage in judgment we yield
to none; and the reasons that proceed simply from the natural conclusions
of others, we think, if we had but turned our thoughts that way, we
should ourselves have found out as well as they. Knowledge, style, and
such parts as we see in others' works, we are soon aware of, if they
excel our own: but for the simple products of the understanding, every
one thinks he could have found out the like in himself, and is hardly
sensible of the weight and difficulty, if not (and then with much ado) in
an extreme and incomparable distance. And whoever should be able clearly
to discern the height of another's judgment, would be also able to raise
his own to the same pitch. So that it is a sort of exercise, from which
a man is to expect very little praise; a kind of composition of small
repute. And, besides, for whom do you write? The learned, to whom the
authority appertains of judging books, know no other value but that of
learning, and allow of no other proceeding of wit but that of erudition
and art: if you have mistaken one of the Scipios for another, what is all
the rest you have to say worth? Whoever is ignorant of Aristotle,
according to their rule, is in some sort ignorant of himself; vulgar
souls cannot discern the grace and force of a lofty and delicate style.
Now these two sorts of men take up the world. The third sort into whose
hands you fall, of souls that are regular and strong of themselves, is so
rare, that it justly has neither name nor place amongst us; and 'tis so
much time lost to aspire unto it, or to endeavour to please it.

'Tis commonly said that the justest portion Nature has given us of her
favours is that of sense; for there is no one who is not contented with
his share: is it not reason? whoever should see beyond that, would see
beyond his sight. I think my opinions are good and sound, but who does
not think the same of his own? One of the best proofs I have that mine
are so is the small esteem I have of myself; for had they not been very
well assured, they would easily have suffered themselves to have been
deceived by the peculiar affection I have to myself, as one that places
it almost wholly in myself, and do not let much run out. All that others
distribute amongst an infinite number of friends and acquaintance, to
their glory and grandeur, I dedicate to the repose of my own mind and to
myself; that which escapes thence is not properly by my direction:

"Mihi nempe valere et vivere doctus."

["To live and to do well for myself."
--Lucretius, v. 959.]

Now I find my opinions very bold and constant in condemning my own
imperfection. And, to say the truth, 'tis a subject upon which I
exercise my judgment as much as upon any other. The world looks always
opposite; I turn my sight inwards, and there fix and employ it. I have
no other business but myself, I am eternally meditating upon myself,
considering and tasting myself. Other men's thoughts are ever wandering
abroad, if they will but see it; they are still going forward:

"Nemo in sese tentat descendere;"

["No one thinks of descending into himself."
--Persius, iv. 23.]

for my part, I circulate in myself. This capacity of trying the truth,
whatever it be, in myself, and this free humour of not over easily
subjecting my belief, I owe principally to myself; for the strongest and
most general imaginations I have are those that, as a man may say, were
born with me; they are natural and entirely my own. I produced them
crude and simple, with a strong and bold production, but a little
troubled and imperfect; I have since established and fortified them with
the authority of others and the sound examples of the ancients, whom I
have found of the same judgment: they have given me faster hold, and a
more manifest fruition and possession of that I had before embraced. The
reputation that every one pretends to of vivacity and promptness of wit,
I seek in regularity; the glory they pretend to from a striking and
signal action, or some particular excellence, I claim from order,
correspondence, and tranquillity of opinions and manners:

"Omnino si quidquam est decorum, nihil est profecto magis, quam
aequabilitas universae vitae, tum singularum actionum, quam
conservare non possis, si, aliorum naturam imitans, omittas tuam."

["If anything be entirely decorous, nothing certainly can be more so
than an equability alike in the whole life and in every particular
action; which thou canst not possibly observe if, imitating other
men's natures, thou layest aside thy own."--Cicero, De Of., i. 31.]

Here, then, you see to what degree I find myself guilty of this first
part, that I said was the vice of presumption. As to the second, which
consists in not having a sufficient esteem for others, I know not whether
or no I can so well excuse myself; but whatever comes on't I am resolved
to speak the truth. And whether, peradventure, it be that the continual
frequentation I have had with the humours of the ancients, and the idea
of those great souls of past ages, put me out of taste both with others
and myself, or that, in truth, the age we live in produces but very
indifferent things, yet so it is that I see nothing worthy of any great
admiration. Neither, indeed, have I so great an intimacy with many men
as is requisite to make a right judgment of them; and those with whom my
condition makes me the most frequent, are, for the most part, men who
have little care of the culture of the soul, but that look upon honour as
the sum of all blessings, and valour as the height of all perfection.

What I see that is fine in others I very readily commend and esteem: nay,
I often say more in their commendation than I think they really deserve,
and give myself so far leave to lie, for I cannot invent a false subject:
my testimony is never wanting to my friends in what I conceive deserves
praise, and where a foot is due I am willing to give them a foot and a
half; but to attribute to them qualities that they have not, I cannot do
it, nor openly defend their imperfections. Nay, I frankly give my very
enemies their due testimony of honour; my affection alters, my judgment
does not, and I never confound my animosity with other circumstances that
are foreign to it; and I am so jealous of the liberty of my judgment that
I can very hardly part with it for any passion whatever. I do myself a
greater injury in lying than I do him of whom I tell a lie. This
commendable and generous custom is observed of the Persian nation, that
they spoke of their mortal enemies and with whom they were at deadly war,
as honourably and justly as their virtues deserved.

I know men enough that have several fine parts; one wit, another courage,
another address, another conscience, another language: one science,
another, another; but a generally great man, and who has all these brave
parts together, or any one of them to such a degree of excellence that we
should admire him or compare him with those we honour of times past, my
fortune never brought me acquainted with; and the greatest I ever knew, I
mean for the natural parts of the soul, was Etienne De la Boetie; his was
a full soul indeed, and that had every way a beautiful aspect: a soul of
the old stamp, and that had produced great effects had his fortune been
so pleased, having added much to those great natural parts by learning
and study.

But how it comes to pass I know not, and yet it is certainly so, there is
as much vanity and weakness of judgment in those who profess the greatest
abilities, who take upon them learned callings and bookish employments as
in any other sort of men whatever; either because more is required and
expected from them, and that common defects are excusable in them, or
because the opinion they have of their own learning makes them more bold
to expose and lay themselves too open, by which they lose and betray
themselves. As an artificer more manifests his want of skill in a rich
matter he has in hand, if he disgrace the work by ill handling and
contrary to the rules required, than in a matter of less value; and men
are more displeased at a disproportion in a statue of gold than in one of
plaster; so do these when they advance things that in themselves and in
their place would be good; for they make use of them without discretion,
honouring their memories at the expense of their understandings, and
making themselves ridiculous by honouring Cicero, Galen, Ulpian, and St.
Jerome alike.

I willingly fall again into the discourse of the vanity of our education,
the end of which is not to render us good and wise, but learned, and she
has obtained it. She has not taught us to follow and embrace virtue and
prudence, but she has imprinted in us their derivation and etymology; we
know how to decline Virtue, if we know not how to love it; if we do not
know what prudence is really and in effect, and by experience, we have it
however by jargon and heart: we are not content to know the extraction,
kindred, and alliances of our neighbours; we desire, moreover, to have
them our friends and to establish a correspondence and intelligence with
them; but this education of ours has taught us definitions, divisions,
and partitions of virtue, as so many surnames and branches of a
genealogy, without any further care of establishing any familiarity or
intimacy betwixt her and us. It has culled out for our initiatory
instruction not such books as contain the soundest and truest opinions,
but those that speak the best Greek and Latin, and by their fine words
has instilled into our fancy the vainest humours of antiquity.

A good education alters the judgment and manners; as it happened to
Polemon, a lewd and debauched young Greek, who going by chance to hear
one of Xenocrates' lectures, did not only observe the eloquence and
learning of the reader, and not only brought away, the knowledge of some
fine matter, but a more manifest and more solid profit, which was the
sudden change and reformation of his former life. Whoever found such an
effect of our discipline?

"Faciasne, quod olim
Mutatus Polemon? ponas insignia morbi
Fasciolas, cubital, focalia; potus ut ille
Dicitur ex collo furtim carpsisse coronas,
Postquam est impransi correptus voce magistri?"

["Will you do what reformed Polemon did of old? will you lay aside
the joys of your disease, your garters, capuchin, muffler, as he in
his cups is said to have secretly torn off his garlands from his
neck when he heard what that temperate teacher said?"
--Horace, Sat., ii. 3, 253]

That seems to me to be the least contemptible condition of men, which by
its plainness and simplicity is seated in the lowest degree, and invites
us to a more regular course. I find the rude manners and language of
country people commonly better suited to the rule and prescription of
true philosophy, than those of our philosophers themselves:

"Plus sapit vulgus, quia tantum, quantum opus est, sapit."

["The vulgar are so much the wiser, because they only know what
is needful for them to know."--Lactantms, Instit. Div., iii. 5.]

The most remarkable men, as I have judged by outward appearance (for to
judge of them according to my own method, I must penetrate a great deal
deeper), for soldiers and military conduct, were the Duc de Guise, who
died at Orleans, and the late Marshal Strozzi; and for men of great
ability and no common virtue, Olivier and De l'Hospital, Chancellors of
France. Poetry, too, in my opinion, has flourished in this age of ours;
we have abundance of very good artificers in the trade: D'Aurat, Beza,
Buchanan, L'Hospital, Montdore, Turnebus; as to the French poets, I
believe they raised their art to the highest pitch to which it can ever
arrive; and in those parts of it wherein Ronsard and Du Bellay excel, I
find them little inferior to the ancient perfection. Adrian Turnebus
knew more, and what he did know, better than any man of his time, or long
before him. The lives of the last Duke of Alva, and of our Constable de
Montmorency, were both of them great and noble, and that had many rare
resemblances of fortune; but the beauty and glory of the death of the
last, in the sight of Paris and of his king, in their service, against
his nearest relations, at the head of an army through his conduct
victorious, and by a sudden stroke, in so extreme old age, merits
methinks to be recorded amongst the most remarkable events of our times.
As also the constant goodness, sweetness of manners, and conscientious
facility of Monsieur de la Noue, in so great an injustice of armed
parties (the true school of treason, inhumanity, and robbery), wherein he
always kept up the reputation of a great and experienced captain.

I have taken a delight to publish in several places the hopes I have of
Marie de Gournay le Jars,

[She was adopted by him in 1588. See Leon Feugere's Mademoiselle
de Gournay: 'Etude sur sa Vie et ses Ouvrages'.]

my adopted daughter; and certainly beloved by me more than paternally,
and enveloped in my retirement and solitude as one of the best parts of
my own being: I have no longer regard to anything in this world but her.
And if a man may presage from her youth, her soul will one day be capable
of very great things; and amongst others, of the perfection of that
sacred friendship, to which we do not read that any of her sex could ever
yet arrive; the sincerity and solidity of her manners are already
sufficient for it, and her affection towards me more than superabundant,
and such, in short, as that there is nothing more to be wished, if not
that the apprehension she has of my end, being now five-and-fifty years
old, might not so much afflict her. The judgment she made of my first
Essays, being a woman, so young, and in this age, and alone in her own
country; and the famous vehemence wherewith she loved me, and desired my
acquaintance solely from the esteem she had thence of me, before she ever
saw my face, is an incident very worthy of consideration.

Other virtues have had little or no credit in this age; but valour is
become popular by our civil wars; and in this, we have souls brave even
to perfection, and in so great number that the choice is impossible to
make.

This is all of extraordinary and uncommon grandeur that has hitherto
arrived at my knowledge.




ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

A generous heart ought not to belie its own thoughts
A man may play the fool in everything else, but not in poetry
Against my trifles you could say no more than I myself have said
Agitated betwixt hope and fear
All defence shows a face of war
Almanacs
An advantage in judgment we yield to none
Any old government better than change and alteration
Anything becomes foul when commended by the multitude
Appetite runs after that it has not
Armed parties (the true school of treason, inhumanity, robbery)
Authority to be dissected by the vain fancies of men
Authority which a graceful presence and a majestic mien beget
Be on which side you will, you have as fair a game to play
Beauty of stature is the only beauty of men
Believing Heaven concerned at our ordinary actions
Better at speaking than writing. Motion and action animate word
Caesar's choice of death: "the shortest"
Ceremony forbids us to express by words things that are lawful
Content: more easily found in want than in abundance
Curiosity of knowing things has been given to man for a scourge
Defence allures attempt, and defiance provokes an enemy
Desire of riches is more sharpened by their use than by the need
Difficulty gives all things their estimation
Doubt whether those (old writings) we have be not the worst
Doubtful ills plague us worst
Endeavouring to be brief, I become obscure
Engaged in the avenues of old age, being already past forty
Every government has a god at the head of it
Executions rather whet than dull the edge of vices
Fear of the fall more fevers me than the fall itself
Folly to hazard that upon the uncertainty of augmenting it.
For who ever thought he wanted sense?
Fortune rules in all things
Gentleman would play the fool to make a show of defence
Happen to do anything commendable, I attribute it to fortune
Having too good an opinion of our own worth
He should discern in himself, as well as in others
He who is only a good man that men may know it
How many worthy men have we known to survive their reputation
Humble out of pride
I am very glad to find the way beaten before me by others
I find myself here fettered by the laws of ceremony
I have no mind to die, but I have no objection to be dead
I have not a wit supple enough to evade a sudden question
I have nothing of my own that satisfies my judgment
I would be rich of myself, and not by borrowing
Ill luck is good for something
Imitating other men's natures, thou layest aside thy own
Immoderate either seeking or evading glory or reputation
Impunity pass with us for justice
It is not for outward show that the soul is to play its part
Knowledge of others, wherein the honour consists
Lessen the just value of things that I possess
License of judgments is a great disturbance to great affairs
Lose what I have a particular care to lock safe up
Loses more by defending his vineyard than if he gave it up.
More brave men been lost in occasions of little moment
More solicitous that men speak of us, than how they speak
My affection alters, my judgment does not
No way found to tranquillity that is good in common
Not being able to govern events, I govern myself
Not conceiving things otherwise than by this outward bark
Not for any profit, but for the honour of honesty itself
Nothing is more confident than a bad poet
Nothing that so poisons as flattery
Obedience is never pure nor calm in him who reasons and disputes
Occasions of the least lustre are ever the most dangerous
Of the fleeting years each steals something from me
Office of magnanimity openly and professedly to love and hate
Old age: applaud the past and condemn the present
One may be humble out of pride
Our will is more obstinate by being opposed
Overvalue things, because they are foreign, absent
Philopoemen: paying the penalty of my ugliness.
Pleasing all: a mark that can never be aimed at or hit
Poets
Possession begets a contempt of what it holds and rules
Prolong his life also prolonged and augmented his pain
Regret so honourable a post, where necessity must make them bold
Sense: no one who is not contented with his share
Setting too great a value upon ourselves
Setting too little a value upon others
She who only refuses, because 'tis forbidden, consents
Short of the foremost, but before the last
Souls that are regular and strong of themselves are rare
Suicide: a morsel that is to be swallowed without chewing
Take all things at the worst, and to resolve to bear that worst
The age we live in produces but very indifferent things
The reward of a thing well done is to have done it
The satiety of living, inclines a man to desire to die
There is no reason that has not its contrary
They do not see my heart, they see but my countenance
Those who can please and hug themselves in what they do
Tis far beyond not fearing death to taste and relish it
To forbid us anything is to make us have a mind to't
Voice and determination of the rabble, the mother of ignorance
Vulgar reports and opinions that drive us on
We believe we do not believe
We consider our death as a very great thing
We have not the thousandth part of ancient writings
We have taught the ladies to blush
We set too much value upon ourselves
Were more ambitious of a great reputation than of a good one
What a man says should be what he thinks
What he did by nature and accident, he cannot do by design
What is more accidental than reputation?
What, shall so much knowledge be lost
Wiser who only know what is needful for them to know