…the house I live in…

“These essays are an attempt to communicate a soul. On this point at least he is explicit. It is not fame that he wants; it is not that men shall quote him in years to come; he is setting up no statue in the market-place; he wishes only to communicate his soul.” 

Virginia Woolf on the Essays of Montaigne

Montaigne’s thoughts on solitude, as we’ve seen, hold that a degree of solitude can be achieved even in a social context. However, the solitude to which he is leading us is best experienced in the traditional sense, alone. “We must reserve a back shop all our own, entirely free, in which to establish our real liberty and our principal retreat and solitude.” (Montaigne’s “back shop” calls to mind Virginia Woolf’s “room of one’s own.”) But even when committing to solitude, either in the short term or the long term (think Montaigne in his castle retreat, or Thoreau in his Walden cabin), solitude does not ensure peace or productivity. We must “withdrawal” body and mind as first.

The existentialists argue that the meaning of a person’s life is not intrinsic but must be constructed, layer upon later, project upon project. As Camus said, we must imagine Sisyphus happy repeatedly rolling the boulder up the mountain, that being Sisyphus’s project. I get a similar sense with Montaigne. To go into solitude and not do something of consequence is defeating. “The occupation we must choose for such a life must be neither laborious nor annoying; otherwise there would be no point in having come to it in search of rest.” We need a purpose, something to do, in our solitariness, and it should be chosen such that it suits us well. (Like perhaps writing a blog about Montaigne!)

“So he who retires, annoyed and disgusted with the common way of life, must model his new life on the rules of reason, order it and arrange it by premeditation and reflection…he must flee in general passions that prevent tranquility of body and soul, and choose the way that suits his humor best.”

Take note of Montainge’s advice to use the “rules of reason” when entering in on a life of solitude. We will see in future studies that for Montaigne a well-structured life, whether in solitude or not, depends not only on reason, as his beloved ancients contended, but also imagination. (He will shift perspective as the essays go on to become suspect of reason.) But make no mistake, despite fleeing “general passions that prevent tranquility of body and soul” Montaigne was no an ascetic. To the contrary, :

“Since age has lately robbed me of those [bodily comforts] that were more my fancy I train and sharpen my appetite for those that remain and are more suitable to this present season. We must hold on, tooth and nail, to our enjoyment of the pleasures of life, which our years tear, one after the other, from our hands…”

Indeed, elsewhere in the Essays Montainge will review one of his last remaining pleasures, wine. (He will write that he loves red wine, but then later loses his taste for it in favor of white; only to later return to red. He confesses to being a moving target, which is one of the endearing qualities.) But of the “projects” (my word) of solitude, Montaigne urges caution toward moderation. He lists spiritual growth as an admirable pursuit, worthy of one’s solitude. He likewise lists reading and study as worthy solitary projects. This comes as no surprise as Montaigne was perhaps the most erudite of all Renaissance participants, with the possible exception of Erasmus, his direct contemporary. However, be warned:

“This occupation with books is as laborious as any other….We must not let ourselves be lulled to sleep by the pleasure we take in it; as it is the same pleasure that ruins the frugal man, the miser, the voluptuous man, and the ambitious man.”

The key to solitude, as in the key to a good life, is moderation and self-knowledge. To repeat, “one must flee in general the passions that prevent tranquillity of body and soul, and choose the way that suits his humor best.” Montaigne considered, as did the ancients he studied, a passion to be an excessive emotion. Anger turning to violence is a passion. Love morphing to hate, a passion. “Books are pleasant,” therein lies moderation; “but if by associating with them we end by losing gaiety and health, the best parts of us, let us leave them.” Anything, including books, is to be qualified, should it become a passion such that other beneficial aspects of life diminish. (Did you notice that he lists gaiety as being one of the “best parts of us”? I think that is lovely. There is no dourness to our French friend.) “…we should take part up to the utmost limits of pleasure, but beware of engaging ourselves further, where it begins to be mingled with pain.”

Besides ushering moderation into the solitary life, Montaigne states that we must also choose a path that best fits the individual’s “humor.” That is, choose an approach to your solitary experience that agrees with your nature. Unlike perhaps most other thinkers, Montaigne will not tell you what your nature is. He will not summarize human nature on any level, as he knows such a summary will fall short. He is above above all, a skeptic (more of which we will address in future posts). Consequently, he only subscribes to the fluidity of things. This is the way with Montaigne, nothing is forced; everything is in motion.

The scholar Ullrich Lander comments, “Montaine distrusts universal statements, and seems enamored of the exception….We move from general rule to an exception, then to an exception to the exception, until we seem to be left hanging.” Definitions and explanations will always be fluid, or avoided altogether. The door is always cracked with Montaigne. And, curiously–perhaps frustratingly–as Ullrich suggests, you might a hundred pages later read that he has changed his mind–change being the only constant in Montaigne, because, as he observes time and again, the world itself is full of paradoxes and inconsistencies.

And lastly, to address the obvious question of selecting a solitary life that best suits your nature, or as he calls it, your “humor.” Herein lies an ironic twist. For Montaigne the self-knowledge to which he refers, the self-knowledge by which one must align one’s solitary activity, was his reason for writing the essays–“I am myself the matter of this book….” In order to dive deep into the introspection he anticipated, in order to augment his degree of self-knowledge, he removed himself from society and went into solitude to study, above all else, himself.

Solitude is good for many, especially the once ambitious–“you have given the rest of your life to light; give this part to the shade.” But we have to prepare for it properly. We must release ambition and embrace moderation. And perhaps most importantly, we need a degree of self-knowledge to benefit properly from solitude. Montaigne, like Socrates, had enough self-awareness to understand that he lacked the appropriate measure of self awareness, leaving him no choice but to set about rectifying the situation. “What do I know?” he famously quipped. We should all be so modest–and self aware.

Thanks for reading. I’ll move on to another essay next week. Until then, remember:

“Seek no longer that the world should speak of you, but how you should speak to yourself.”