I have a simple definition of wisdom. It consists of just seven words. I define wisdom as “the habit of seeing what is hidden.” It is a short, but highly demanding definition, which disqualifies most mindless rituals and educated nonsense.
Michel de Montaigne (1533-1592) never quite managed to define wisdom, but his writings interpreted it in a fashion that astonished his contemporaries. He not only passed review to the hidden elements, but also their long-term consequences.
For twenty years, Montaigne wrote one essay after another without any planning, organization or consistency. He handled subjects that he found intriguing, annoying, or controversial.
In many instances, he confessed that he was writing mostly for himself because he wanted to clarify his ideas. Why did he devoted thousands of hours to reading, researching and writing down his essays? Because he regarded the process as enjoyable and highly satisfying.
Montaigne was immensely proud of his essays, even if they never enjoyed a large readership during Montaigne’s lifetime. He did not care because his principal objective was to acquire wisdom, not popularity.
Benevolence in Montaigne’s wisdom
A day devoted to acquiring wisdom is a day well spent, said Montaigne. Every little piece of wisdom should be regarded as an investment that will bear fruit down the road. It is like a tree that will grow and deliver each year a load of delicious fruits.
Montaigne’s wisdom is spread all over his essays, but more often than not, his conclusions will go further than the essay’s subject. Whether he is writing about literature, war, children’s education, or religion, Montaigne loves to philosophise, that is, to draw lessons of universal application.
When he read his essays, we can witness Montaigne talk to himself in a reproachful but benevolent tone. One day, he says that “I am too lazy, too slow, I should be doing more,” and then another day he writes that “I do not need to do much. Living is more than enough.”
Montaigne’s wisdom is rather chaotic because he was not a system builder like Aristotle (384-322 BC) or Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274 AD). He just cared for his game of play and say, for his literary composition that should deliver him one worthy insight at the end of the day.
Consistency was not Montaigne’s goal by any stretch of the imagination. Instead of worrying about coherence, he trudged ahead contentedly, building his literary output day by day.
For Montaigne, errors and discrepancies carry little weight in the grand scheme of things. He took those for granted and impossible to eradicate.
Montaigne’s essay “On giving the lie”
Modern readers find it hard to understand that Montaigne did not make any effort to stay consistent. He simply affirmed that “humans are prone to making mistakes” and that was that.
Why did Montaigne care so little about logic, accuracy and perfection? Because, each day, he was confronted with one key decision. He had to decide whether to write fast or preciously, quickly or flawlessly, promptly or cleanly.
Faced with the dichotomy of speed versus perfection, he did not hesitate for a moment. Montaigne always choose speed. It’s the most satisfying approach for those who want to enjoy right away the fruit of their labours, whether physical or intellectual.
Take for instance Montaigne’s essay titled “On giving the lie” which, in contemporary parlance, should be rather titled “On lying” or “On misrepresentation.”
Montaigne takes on a fairly commonplace subject, but only as an excuse to explore a controversial thesis: When is it moral to misrepresent, deceive or prevaricate? Or is it always wrong to behave dishonestly?
I come back to my definition of wisdom as “the habit of seeing what is hidden.” Montaigne certainly tried to do so. He had zero interest in obvious, self-evident, conformist ideas, and focused his efforts on the exotic, unorthodox and controversial.
Lying is not as unethical and unacceptable as most people claim, argued Montaigne, because truth is hard to come by. We do not possess knowledge in every area, and like it or not, our speech is going to contain imprecise statements, exaggerations and omissions. Those are innocent misrepresentations, but still, they remain untrue.
Argumentation in Montaigne’s wisdom
Montaigne is at his best when he starts to pile up historical anecdotes that support his thesis. He tells us about the Greek general Themistocles (524-459 BC), who chose to disdain any person that questioned his integrity.
“I speak as I speak,” Themistocles replied, “although events may unfold differently.” Apparently, Themistocles was so sure of his standpoint that he expected it to carry the day. The fact that he made occasional errors did not bother him in the least.
Julius Caesar (100-44 BC) employed a similar strategy. He was sometimes accused of lying, especially after he had turned from military commander to politician. Instead of losing his temper, he smiled and replied that he wasn’t required to justify his words at that point.
Montaigne is not endorsing lying and misrepresentation as a way of life, but he is advising people to be more practical and less dogmatic. We should steer away from malevolent liars, but on the other hand, we should not make a big fuss if someone makes an innocent mistake.
Diogenes (412-323 BC) was known for his provocations of all sorts, and once he happened to attack Plato (427-347 BC). I do not know the details of Diogenes’ accusations, but it seems that Plato had made a mistake or incurred a contradiction.
Although Diogenes made a big fuss about the mistake and called Plato a liar, he didn’t achieve his goal. He didn’t succeed at infuriating or shaming Plato, who simply replied “I will say nothing.”
Instead of engaging an acrimonious debate, Plato kept silent and the story was soon forgotten. Montaigne considers Plato’s response as one of the best. Maybe Diogenes was correct, but what’s the benefit of taking part in a shouting contest?
Montaigne’s conclusion, his daily piece of wisdom, comes at the end of each essay, after he has solidly built his argument. In his essay “On giving the lie,” he had driven home the point that truth “is not a privilege” that we have the right to demand at all times.
His wisdom is generally mild, sugary and benevolent. He is willing to acknowledge his own mistakes and record them in writing, so that they can turned into wisdom of general use.
Let us forgive innocent lies, Montaigne advises. Let us not make a big fuss when someone behaves arrogantly, mistakenly, or inconsiderately, since we have surely misbehaved ourselves more often than we can tell.
If you are interested in applying rational ideas to all sort of situations here and now, I recommend you my book “Rational living, rational working.”