Historians attribute to Tacitus (and Cicero to a lesser extent) a style characterized by short, profound sentences that can be interpreted at different levels. Tacitus and Cicero were highly admired in the Renaissance, precisely for that reason.
Michel de Montaigne (1533-1592) produced many quotable texts, but did not follow Tacitus’ and Cicero’s approach. Those must have spent hours polishing each sentence, trying to get their ideas across in a distinctly concise manner.
For Montaigne, speed was more important than brilliance. He opted for producing a high output even if quality suffered a bit. He loved to read Tacitus and Cicero, but did not want to emulate them. In his eyes, the cost was just too high.
Montaigne is first writer who made a conscious choice for simplicity and directness. He made the choice at the beginning of writing his “Essays” and maintained the same course for two decades. Once he had made his choice, he did not deviate one millimetre.
Nowadays, we are used to people choosing a simple, direct style. We get annoyed when writers get sidetracked or employ overcomplicated words. Our mind disconnects from tiresome, phoney arguments and fluffy reasoning.
Directness in Montaigne and the Renaissance
The path to literary simplicity started in the Renaissance, in the “Essays” written by Montaigne. Let me underline that he was not only the first, but for a long time, the only one. Most of his peers, although brilliant in their own ways, inherited the ancient tendency to over-complicate, overdecorate, overextend, and over-strain.
The Spanish Luis de Gongora (1561-1627) was extremely creative, but made the opposite choice in terms of style. Where Montaigne chose simplicity, Gongora became the archetype of overcomplexity and verbosity.
Gongora reminds me of ancient Greek poets, unable to put any thought in a straight sentence, unable to describe any event without attributing it to some Olympian god or goddess.
Montaigne didn’t enjoy ancient Greek poets and found little wisdom in their verbosity. I am referring especially to Homer, who plays a minor role in Montaigne’s “Essays” if compared to Plutarch and Seneca.
Like Montaigne, Gongora enjoyed an excellent education, in which the study of ancient literature shaped the curriculum. I find fascinating the reason of Gongora’s choice for an overly complicated style.
At the beginning of his career, Gongora made an attempt at writing simple lyrics. People liked them although he could not expect to achieve great fame and recognition in this way. His was a purely quantitive assessment: there were not that many readers willing to pay for poetry.
Thus, Gongora opted for seeking a patron, someone willing to support him as a poet. The search for a powerful sponsor prompted Gongora to move to Madrid, the Spanish capital. He eventually obtained the protection and support of the Duke of Lerma, a leading aristocrat.
Montaigne followed the opposite path in his career. He was not expecting anyone to sponsor his literary ambitions, nor was he willing to adapt his style or interest to please any patron. He wrote primarily what he enjoyed, matters he found worthy of interest or that the wanted to research.
His choice for simplicity and directness is coupled to his choice for self-reliance and effectiveness. Do things relatively well, but do them fast. Keep a reasonable level of quality, but do not get lost in cumbersome details.
Market assessment in Michel de Montaigne and the Renaissance
Unfortunately, Gongora failed to give a lot of thought to the consequences of his style choices. I am convinced that he took up a super-complex, super-ornate style to please his sponsors. I mean the Duke of Lerma primarily.
In 1613, Gongora composed “The Fable of Polyphemus and Galatea,” recounting the ancient Greek story of Polyphemus, a Cyclops, and his unsuccessful courting of nymph Galatea. His formulations are rich and majestic, but hard to read even for native Spanish speakers.
The Duke of Lerma must have enjoyed the overly complex style because he invited Gongora to keep going. Gongora did so and kept producing poetry to cater his sponsor’s taste. Sadly, Gongora failed to realize that he was writing for a negligible, flimsy market.
As time went by, Montaigne built followers. He found real readers who enjoyed his “Essays.” They loved the simple, easy, direct style that conveyed deep philosophical ideas. They didn’t sponsor Montaigne financially, but they wanted to purchase a copy of his “Essays.” That was more than enough.
In contrast, Gongora’s story didn’t end well. He enjoyed the support of his sponsors for about two decades, but the money flow became thinner as time went by. Eventually, it became so thin that Gongora had to quit Madrid. He return to south Spain, where he endured financial difficulties in his last years.
Leaving the financial aspects aside, Gongora’s punishment was essentially artistic. He became famous in Spain for his overcomplicated style, which pleased his sponsors, but didn’t appeal to anyone else. Nowadays, Gongora is read and studied only by scholars. It has become an example of what to avoid.
The Renaissance was a playing ground for ideas, styles and business models. The lessons we can draw from Gongora and Montaigne are universal, even if they lived five centuries ago. The choice for simplicity and directness opens doors that grow wider as time goes by.
If you are interested in applying rational philosophy to all kind of situations, I recommend you my book “Rational living, rational working.”