Machiavellianism asserts that it is permissible to lie, to break one’s word, even to kill when it is in the best interests of the State, in order to ensure governmental stability, which is seen as the supreme good. Montaigne never became comfortable with this, denouncing dishonesty and hypocrisy wherever he found them. He invariably presents himself just as he is and says precisely what he thinks, disregarding etiquette. He prefers openness, directness, and loyalty to what he calls “the covered path”. For him, the end does not justify the means, and he is never prepared to sacrifice private morality for reasons of State.
Such foolish behaviour, Montaigne realizes, has done him no harm—has, in fact, brought him success. His conduct is not just more honest; it is more profitable as well. If a public figure lies once he is never believed again; he has chosen an expedient over the long term, and he has made the wrong decision. According to Montaigne, sincerity and fidelity to one’s pledged word constitute a much more profitable way of behaving. If you are not driven to honesty by moral conviction, practical reason should be incitement enough.
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Besides this moral, Montaigne learns a more important, more modern lesson from the incident. It causes him to reflect on identity, on the relationship between the mind and the body. Though unconscious, it seems that he moved, spoke, and even gave orders to look after his wife, who had been notified of the accident and ran out to meet the returning party.
What are we, if our bodies move and we can talk and give directions without our will being involved? Where does the self exist? Thanks to a fall from a horse, Montaigne—before Descartes, before phenomenology, before Freud—anticipates by several centuries the tendency to wonder uneasily about subjectivity and intention, and conceives his own theory of identity; it is precarious, disjointed. Anyone who has fallen off a horse will understand what he means.
- Antoine Compagnon's new book, A Summer with Montaigne: On the Art of Living Well
Such foolish behaviour, Montaigne realizes, has done him no harm—has, in fact, brought him success. His conduct is not just more honest; it is more profitable as well. If a public figure lies once he is never believed again; he has chosen an expedient over the long term, and he has made the wrong decision. According to Montaigne, sincerity and fidelity to one’s pledged word constitute a much more profitable way of behaving. If you are not driven to honesty by moral conviction, practical reason should be incitement enough.
[---]
Besides this moral, Montaigne learns a more important, more modern lesson from the incident. It causes him to reflect on identity, on the relationship between the mind and the body. Though unconscious, it seems that he moved, spoke, and even gave orders to look after his wife, who had been notified of the accident and ran out to meet the returning party.
What are we, if our bodies move and we can talk and give directions without our will being involved? Where does the self exist? Thanks to a fall from a horse, Montaigne—before Descartes, before phenomenology, before Freud—anticipates by several centuries the tendency to wonder uneasily about subjectivity and intention, and conceives his own theory of identity; it is precarious, disjointed. Anyone who has fallen off a horse will understand what he means.
- Antoine Compagnon's new book, A Summer with Montaigne: On the Art of Living Well
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