Thread by @eigenrobot

has any man been better or more wholly understood than montaigne?

the greatest sin of industrial schooling has been its perversion of the noble form of the essay

"introduction stating a thesis followed by three supporting paragraphs before a conclusion restates the thesis" this is a moral sickness

if you haven't read it,

and in fact it's one of the best things a person can read in early adulthood once the madness of youth has burned off (or anytime after),

this is not what an essay is. nor what it intends
amzn.to/3r6hd1w

montaigne's essays display him struggling with questions, perhaps; or sometimes on holding forth on a topic

he can hold forth endlessly and one is always glad that he does so

he is unpretentiously erudite; he was after all the first modern man raised to speak Latin as a native. and he was a political operator in france's wars of religion

he seems to know apt stories about everyone and delivers them in persian fusillade

these are not arguments from fact; where there is argument it is from anecdote, or from experience or from opinion or whim. he alludes to the process of making of venison or the war habits of american indians before expounding on the nature of grief

he is ceaselessly in motion

as he states in his introduction, possibly the most perfect and charming i have encountered, his intent is to communicate his spirit in fullness, as to a dear friend

montaigne is often cited as the first "modern man" for this kind of forthrightness but i think this may be an error

his essays are literary close kin to the work of a woman half a millennium and half a world away

sei shonagon's Pillow Book is not so obviously introspective as montaigne's essays

where montaigne speculates and questions and weaves, sei speaks with direction, often acidly and relentlessly

she was a Heian mean girl and this was her burn book
amzn.to/3Rm5l5X

but it was more than that

while Montaigne wrote of worlds long past and moral abstractions, Sei set herself among the local, the mundane, and the specific, and offset her screeds ("Hateful Things") with pathos ("Things That Make One's Heart Beat Faster")

though Sei's acerbity is striking, her range is much broader: Embarrassing Things, Things That Arouse a Fond Memory of the Past; selfless love in Pleasing Things, the half-spoken yearning and sorrow of To Feel That One is Disliked by Others

Sei is naked as Montaigne aims to be

the final wonder of the Pillow Book is to experience Sei's immaculate perception coupling with her aesthetic sensibilities

she sees beauty or is potential attainment in all things and in reading her explication of it one comes to know her

oxen are best with small foreheads.

a robe, scented, then forgotten and rediscovered, is better than one freshly perfumed.

houses, fruits, and men's eyes should be large. preachers should be handsome; else women might tire of listening to them. ugly preachers are a cause of sin

@pythonrocksnake if you don't i will

i dont mean to elevate either essayist above the other: each is rendered perfectly in their chosen form

the successful curation and conveyance of oneself in bare fidelity is the closest thing to spiritual immortality i know in this world

it is straightforward to reproduce bodily, but the perpetuation of one's internal life is a harder task

Gilgamesh, distraught by Enkidu's death, is counseled that only works or great fame will survive death; and this notion is a common one across cultures

but can knowing _of_ a person be anything like knowing _them_? I'm not sure that it is

I'm not certain that immortality, even if they somehow attained it, is a worthy goal; nor one that, chased, can be caught

perhaps you might manage to convey your soul photographically; but if none among the living cares to know you through your medium, you have still failed

Sei and Montaigne poured their selves out for themselves, to understand themselves by reflection and for their pleasure, and thereby came to live more fully; and it is these rich souls, not just precisely-conveyed ones, that are lovable

Like Gilgamesh, Montaigne's existence was shaken by the death of a dear friend; it was after this loss that he turned inward and took to writing. He emerged a new man and had surpassed that King of Uruk by his twentieth essay. In learning to die he had begun to live.

And what solace can we offer Sei, in her sensitivity and loneliness?

What she had desired most: by her labors, she is known and loved by more people than she could have dared to dream.

Thank you, dear friends, for reading this essay.

I'm only sorry that it doesn't quite fit the assigned rubric.

@threadreaderapp unroll