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The Complete Essays of Montaigne

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Those who discover Montaigne should count themselves very lucky. There are so many authors competing for our attention today, so many brilliant and less than brillliant men and women both contemporary and of the past, so many poets, novelists, philosophers, thinkers of every stripe, that Montaigne's voice can easily get lost in the general racket, like the voice of a single cricket on a noisy summer's night.

But Montaigne's voice is well worth singling out for special attention, like that one cricket whose song is especially musical, because there has never been anyone quite like him, nor anyone who has produced such a wealth of sensible observations on life and everything that goes to make it up.

We love Montaigne for his humanity, his wisdom, his clear insight into human nature, his tolerance of our weaknesses and failings, his love and compassion for all creatures whether man, animal, or plant, his calm, gentle and amiable voice, his stately and dignified progress as he conducts us through the vast repository of his mind. But above all we love him for his plain good sense.

Despite his distance in time, we can open these essays almost anywhere and immediately become engrossed. Some of what he says, particularly about our weaknesses and failings, may not be particularly welcome to some, though the open-minded will acknowledge its self-evident truth. Montaigne was not afraid to speak his mind, and as a man who was interested in almost everything, his observations range from the curious through to the truly profound.

At one time we find him, for example, discussing the best sexual position for conception, at others such deep notions as that in fact we are nothing; there is a disease in man, the opinion that he knows something; thought as the chief source of our woes; in man curiosity is an innate evil; only a fool is bound to his body by fear of death; nature needs little to be satisfied; there is only change; our absolute need for converse with others; how man should lay aside his imagined superiority; how reason is not a special unique gift of human beings, separating us off from the rest of Nature; of how we owe justice to men, and gentleness and kindness to animals, which like us have life and feelings, and even to trees and plants.

And so on through manifold topics, both weighty and light, his observations illustrated by stories contemporary and ancient, drawn not only from his incredibly wide learning, but also from his experience as man of the world.

The examples I've cited seem to me pitifully inadequate as describing or even suggesting the breadth of his thought - just a few examples selected at random that happen to appeal to me. Montaigne is too big to capture in a few words. His mind was as capacious as his enormous book, and he had something to say about almost everything. His is not so much a book as a companion for life.

Montaigne as that single special cricket singing away in the forest of learning along with thousands of others, is not only worth singling out because of his vast repertoire of songs, but even more because of the special way he sang them. What makes him so important and so valuable, especially to us today, is that he was characterized above all, not merely by reason, which is common enough, but by a REASONABLE, AND NOT EXCESSIVE, USE OF REASON. In other words, he knew that reason had its limits, that it was a tool limited in its applicability and useful only for certain purposes, and he had the good sense to know when we should stop.

There is in Montaigne a sanity, a balance, an affability, and a modesty and tolerance that is found in no other European thinker, and that reminds one more of the Taoist sage. But instead of fastening on the truly civilized pattern exemplified by Montaigne, Europe instead chose Descartes, Apostle of the Excessive Use of Reason, and with what results we know.

The Cartesian ideology of Reason fueled and continues to fuel the relentless Juggernaut of Reason now underway that threatens to end up crushing everything beneath its wheels. Montaigne would have been appalled. He stood for something more human.

I know that Donald Frame has been widely praised for the quality of his translation and having used it side by side with the original I wouldn't disagree. There are however two points where I would like to voice a differing opinion. Any translation of a work should only presume to translate one language--if the author employs quotations in his work in languages other than his own they should remain untranslated in the body of the work (translations of Latin and Italian can either go side by side or in footnotes). This preserves the quality of presentation that the author strove for and is especially important with Montaigne, part of whose charm resides in his famous erudition. On the other hand, one area that a translation rightly smooths the path for a modern reader is in providing citations for Montaigne's quotations. Frame neglects to do this and while one can expect to know the exact locus of some of Montaigne's quotes, the educational environment of our day and his differs to such an extent that a worthwhile edition would provide references to passages cited--after all, Cicero survives in some 30 volumes and any given sentence is not that easy to track down.

Should I ever be forced to run away from war and disaster with nothing else but one book in a torn briefcase, or find myself at the business-end of a feeding tube in a hospital waiting for my last breather, then Montaigne would be a strong candidate to keep me company in this last and loneliest hour. Not that I have a hard time to choose, there is really only one other book I would consider, and it is most definitely not the bible, but Montaigne always conveyed to me the warmth and comfort of a good friend. Even when he sometimes loses me and prattles away on some obsession of his, it is like listening to your best friend without really listening, you are just glad he is there. What is it about this Frenchman I wonder, that has endured for such a long period of time? Shakespeare too still speaks to us, but often in a somewhat muffled voice, time and distance are beginning to tell Š but Montaigne, who predated Shakespeare and even provided Hamlet with a few clues and phrases, strikes us still as fresh and modern as ever. He is one of those writers of which I have read every line ever printed; and apart from his essays, the itinerary of his travel to Italy has always been of particular interest to me, because it describes places I used to know intimately. How could times have changed so much, and certainly not always to the better. But in Montaigne this remote period becomes alive again, its comforts (or the lack of it), its smells, its behaviors, and of course the food (Montaigne was French after all) maintain their tangible presence and a glow like the memories of a distant childhood. Essays are supposed to enquire into some topic and come up with something conclusive to say about Š well except for the real great essayists like Charles Lamb who never get that far to be conclusive on anything whatsoever. Same here. Montaigne is perhaps the earliest example in Western literature after the fall of Rome, of a writer who gives us Ònature seen through a temperament,Ó (Zola) and Montaigne is nothing if not a temperament. Well read people may contest this and point to Fran¨oise Villon or Chaucer as earlier examples Š I wonÕt argue, but who of these gentlemen is still so very much alive as our Monsieur Montaigne? No dictionary or glossary needed, just snuggle up in your favorite armchair and enjoy. When going through Jean-Yves TadiˇÕs monumental biography of Marcel Proust I was surprised to find so little evidence that Proust should actually have cared very much for Montaigne. Given his time and curriculum it stands to reason that Montaigne had been a must read, too familiar to fuss about. Or the great novelist preferred for once to cover his tracks, because Proust can be seen in many ways, one would be as the other of the 2 greatest French essayists. Authors have pedigrees (their favorite authors) and a reader has preferences (his favorite authors): if given the choice between Donne and Herbert I go for Dryden. (Really! ItÕs a bargain: you get Plutarch, Virgil, and Ovid as a bonus. Donne is just Donne, and Herbert just a case of well-spoken paranoia.) With Montaigne you open a window to the entire heritage of classic antiquity Š sometimes it is like old gramophone recordings of long forgotten opera stars. In fact I always found Seneca a bearable read only in MontaigneÕs way of quoting him. Which brings us to the question which translation to use. I own both, Donald M. FrameÕs translation of the complete works, and CottonÕs staple translation of the essays. Which of the 2 comes closer to the tone of the original? Because despite a certain brand of bogus criticism in the vain of Northrop Frye and Òpost modern deconstructionÓ an authorÕs voice really matters. He might be many things, one of which is to be the messenger and witness of his own period, its concerns, its paraphernalia, its perspectives and smells, its way to express itself. So, without putting down Mr. FrameÕs seminal accomplishment, I for once shall hold on to my old Hazlitt edition of CottonÕs translation, and put Frame out on sale. It may not be the slickest read around, but at least the pacing and the rhythms of CottonÕs prose are the closest thing you can get of the original and it has earned Montaigne a citizenship in our own language.

For those of us with unexceptional powers of reason, insight, and expression, presuming to "review" the Essays of Montaigne approaches impertinence. I comment upon the Essays only to encourage every thinking person to read them.

I find that other reviewers' seemingly incongruous reactions -- feeling "contentment" on the one hand, and "challenged" on the other -- are both accurate.

Challenge abides in the very heart of the literary form that reaches such heights in Montaigne. It is no coincidence that to "essay" means to "test" or "try." It is the nature of the essay form to reveal its author grappling with some trying, challenging aspect of the human condition.

In taking aim at human problems, a good essayist reveals much about his or her own humanity. The humanity of Montaigne the man, as disclosed by his words, should give rise to some contentment. All civilized people find comfort and reassurance in seeing that the same struggles we endure today, and the same core human values we hold dear today, are enduringly echoed in the writings of this 16th century French country gentleman.

400 years later, Montaigne's words still have the power both to jostle us out of our complacency and to reassure us as to the constancy of our souls.

Montaigne's writings are eloquent, rich in allusions and anecdotes, and above all they sparkle with philosophical insights. Immortal names like Cicero, Homer, Virgil, and Horace are cited on every page, and reveal that the classical world of the past and the humanistic world of the present were very real to him. These essays also display Montaigne's mistrust of systematic philosophy, and show his support of faith and divine revelation over human reason. Montaigne's writings played a considerable role in setting the stage for later philosophers, like Descartes, to establish a new system of knowledge independent of the sense perception. This edition is a faithful translation from the original, and preserves beyond others the pristine clarity of Montaigne's ideas.

I disagree with those who find Montaigne to be great bedtime reading. Contentment is the wrong word to use to describe the feeling one gets upon really reading, really considering the Frenchman's line of thought. What could be more adverse to a good night's sleep than being slapped and provoked into ever-greater stages of mental alertness. This is the effect that these stimulating and brutally honest essays have on the would-be sleeper. Montaigne is especially aware of the general effect of epistemological investigations on those who pursue them. In the essay 'On Experience', Montaigne chides, "It is nothing but our personal weakness that makes us content with what others, or we ourselves, have discovered in this hunt for knowledge. It is a sign of failing powers or of weariness when the mind is content." (The search for reliable knowledge is the main theme of the Essays) It is understandable that someone might want to drift off to sleep to avoid the incessant chore of questing after ever further and more accurate knowledge; though I would even posit that this is a dangerous way to read good books, for it might establish in the sleeper an irreversible habit of veering away from doing the difficult thinking required by challenging situations that need to be confronted in the course of one's life.

Montaigne was the mayor of Bordeaux, an educated man who watched his father die in agony from gallstones and expected to die the same way. He was a man who loved life--wine, women and philosophy, but after the death of his father he retired and began these meditations on life, seeking solace in the great record of human experience found in the classics. Montaigne wrote during the bloody religious wars of the Counter-Reformation--one of his essays describes his near death at the hands of Protestant marauders. The combination of the highly civilised culture of the France of his day and the seething and pitiless violence that was also a fact of life was also a subject that drove him back to the classics. These profound meditations, eternally relevant, will assist anyone who continues to reflect on the wonder and the pity of human existence.

I've had this thing since the late 80s. Even then I was amazed by it. It should have been called "The Ultimate Montaigne," because unless you want to put the original text on the facing pages, I don't see how this could ever be improved.

If you're doing Montaigne in English, you will never find a reason to use another edition. All of Montaigne's essays complete, and all with Frame's useful and non-condescending footnotes right on the bottom of every page: translating the Latin, providing helpful historical or contextual information, etc.

I might have to say that Donald Frame's translation renders the work on a higher level than it was in its original french. Montaigne is great bed-time reading philosophy: reading him always puts me in a state of warm contented happiness. He talks about all kinds of great anecdotes from antiquity expressing the timelessness of humanity.

About 440 years ago, Montaigne introduced the personal essay.
Reading Frame's translation strikes me with how much that form
has changed. Montaigne's essays have been aptly compared to a
mirror: you read his thoughts, and you discover your own. Thus, I
find myself asking who I am, as a 21st Century reader, as I
struggle through these essays. How different they are from the
essay writing I learned in school.

Essays, as I was taught, usually begin by stating a particular
point or position, proceed by arguing for that point using logic
and evidence, and conclude with a brief summary. Following the
dictates of Strunk and White, Zinsser, Hemingway, or Orwell, one
should write simply and directly, omitting needless words,
preferring the active voice, etc.

What then is one to make of his essay "On Solitude", for example,
beginning with these words:

"Let us leave aside the usual long comparison between the
solitary and the active life; and as for that fine statement
under which ambition and avarice take cover -- that we are not
born for our private selves, but for the public -- let us boldly
appeal to those who are in the midst of the dance."

I struggle to parse the meaning of that opening sentence. Is it
just me? Or, is it that I am reading a translation, albeit one
widely regarded as excellent? By modern tastes, Montaigne's
writing is often florid, meandering, and unnecessarily complex. I
find myself impatiently wishing he would just get to the point.

But, should this be taken as a criticism? I expect Montaigne
wrote for his contemporaries, for people who had both the time to
read for pleasure and the willingness to follow the meandering
wherever it lead. Four centuries later, we are awash with words
and media. Something in me wants the PowerPoint bullet point
summary, the "take home message" of his thoughts on solitude --
delivered as concisely as possible. The problem here may be with
me, the reader.

About solitude, Montaigne argues that the business of governing
one's life is not easily escaped. He says,

"Ambition, avarice, irresolution, fear, and lust do not leave us
when we change our country.

'Behind the horseman sits black care.' --Horace"

Here is a second issue: his use of classical quotations. I have
no idea what how Horace quotation contributes to the point
Montaigne is making. Do you? Throughout his essays, Montaigne
delights in being the "what do I know?" skeptic, the nonexpert,
the author who believes that a personal truth can be as great as
a universal one. It's that attitude that gives him his
friendliness and his greatness.

So, why is it, then, that he so often quotes ancient authorities?
Most such quotations add little to his arguments and occasionally
come across as snobby name-dropping. What could be Montaigne's
motivation? If you read his essay "On the vanity of words", you
will see that he is well aware of the malign power of fine-sounding
rhetoric to bamboozle audiences.

Perhaps my issues with Montaigne are merely a matter of taste.
Essays admit many styles, some quite different than that used by
Montaigne. Solitude has been discussed by many authors. In
Walden, for example, Thoreau wrote

"I had three chairs in my house: one for solitude, two for
friendship, three for society."

I thank Montaigne for the form, yet I prefer the simple
directness of Thoreau.