Of Passions

The titles of Montaigne's essays remind me of the titles of James Tate's poems only in that they often have a tangential, if any at all, relationship to the subject matter of the piece—that is, if the piece can be said to have a subject matter.

Montaigne's second essay, "Of Sadness," starts innocently enough, like a wry joke, with his claim that he is "one of those freest from this passion." In an indication of why he is sometimes identified with the Stoics, he calls it a "harmful quality, always insane," adding that as it is "always cowardly and base, the Stoics forbid their sages to feel it."

With this bit of irony, Montaigne launches into a catalogue drawn from history and literature of extreme reactions to extreme passions. His victims of grief and sadness are characteristically stunned by their losses, and only afterward do they relax into tears—that is, if they manage to survive the initial force of their devastating news. The last paragraphs of the essay are devoted to those who dropped dead from extreme joy or shame. As almost an afterthought, Montaigne comments dryly that he is "little subject to these violent passions."

My susceptibility is naturally tough; and I harden and thicken it every day by force of reason.

We don't seem to much believe anymore in the idea of rational thought, much less some capacity called "reason" that can restrain emotion. Thus, the wit of Montaigne's essay, like the idea of wit itself, is mostly lost on us. Indeed, "passionate" is mostly used as a term of praise, one that has, sadly, been applied to me from time to time. We would not think to call it "always insane," though I'm not sure what we should call it when, on a societal level, mass feeling drives off any remnant of rational discourse.

A couple years ago, in a meeting with one of our most powerful state senators, I remarked that I found his argument for standardized testing as a means of assessing teacher effectiveness to be "deeply irrational." He blew up at me. That is, he declined to restrain his passions and make the case that his argument was reasonable.

I recently asked my sophomores whether processes or people make history. The clever ones replied "both," and constructed an argument around the interaction between human agency, and societal and environmental forces that shape and are shaped by human actions. Of course, there is always at least one in every crowd that has to say that the study of history is entirely a human construct and therefore it is entirely the product of human agency.

In the meantime, I have a running question about how the course of events in our time is being shaped by rising passions. I don't know what good or bad will come of them, but I do know that I am wearied by them and would prefer to be less subject to them.

. . . Lord,
I'm so happy I woke up in my right mind today.