The “Runaway Horse”: Leisure in Montaigne’s Political Thought

Montaigne’s Essays, a product of the writer’s own time spent in leisure, seeks to teach the contemporary reader to take a step back and reflect. As someone who is engaged in the project of liberal education, I have discovered for myself that leisure is increasingly difficult to attain, let alone live by.  My schedule is crammed with endless seminars, reading groups, papers, and preparation for what comes next, leaving little time for something as seemingly frivolous as leisure.^[1] Yet, as Montaigne’s work reveals, the leisurely state is one that is necessary to the health of the individual, for it is where one can truly be at “home” within the self, away from the surmounting pressures of the external world. Montaigne offers various accounts of “leisure,” “pastime,” “idleness,” and “solitude,” all of which stem from the same concern: that we have grown distant from ourselves to the point where we are unable to know ourselves and reflect upon the most fundamental of questions: what does it mean to be a human being?

This paper seeks to explore the following question: what can one learn from Montaigne, the accidental philosopher,^[2] about the vices and virtues of leisure? To clarify, for the purposes of this paper, I define leisure not as free time spent engaging with the diversions and activities that we are fond of but rather as a psychological condition spent in self-reflection. I put forth this definition, drawing from Montaigne’s own writing in his essay, “Of Experience,” where he urges the reader to not simply let life pass by—as one does in leisure as conventionally understood— but to turn back, delving into life and into a pursuit off its deepest questions:

This ordinary expression “pastime” or “pass the time” represents the habit of those wise folk who think they can make no better use of their life than to let it slip by and escape it, pass it by, sidestep it, and, as far as in them lies, ignore it and run away from it, as something irksome and contemptible. But I know it to be otherwise and find it both agreeable and worth prizing, even in its last decline, in which I now possess it; and nature has placed it in our hands adorned with such favorable conditions that we have only ourselves to blame if it weighs on us and if it escapes us unprofitably.

In this paper, I will illustrate the negative tension between Nature and leisure and between the dangers of leisure and the necessity of this same leisure; I will also discuss the dangers of leisure as mirrored in the dangers of the project of liberal education. This paper focuses primarily on two of Montaigne’s essays, “Of Idleness” and “Of Solitude,” looking to each to portray a negative and a positive perspective on leisure, respectively. In his essay “Of Idleness,” on the one hand, he seems to paint a picture of leisure as detrimental to the individual insofar as the unbridled mind takes us away. In his essay “Of Solitude,” on the other hand, Montaigne explicitly puts forth leisure as a necessary component of the quest for self-knowledge, albeit one that is achieved through a life that is radically individualistic. After trying to make sense of these seemingly contradictory understandings of leisure, I will explore the potential role of community in leisure, an implicit argument that Montaigne seems to be making throughout and an argument that is in tension with the independent life of solitude. Turning to Montaigne’s “Of Education of Children,” I will examine the underlying pedagogy of leisure, asking, if and how it can be taught, or if the decision to return to a leisurely state is one that must be realized by each person individually. I will, then, entertain the counterargument that self-reflection can be pursued without leisure. I will end with a reflection on the understanding of leisure in our contemporary times, attempting to combat the accusations of elitism. Throughout the paper, I will attempt to demonstrate the key relationship of leisure to liberal education, both projects that are rooted in self-reflection.

Returning to the question with which this paper begins, I believe that to be a human being means to understand, or at the very least, to attempt to understand the puzzle of the self. If we are unable to reflect upon ourselves, then liberal education, understood as a quest for self-knowledge, is in danger. Yet, according to Montaigne, it seems that this task has grown impossible in light of our self-alienation. In his essay, “Our feelings reach out beyond us,” Montaigne describes how “fear, desire, [and] hope project us toward the future and steal from us the feeling and consideration of what is, to busy us with what will be.” Seeing as I am a college student, Montaigne’s words, here, especially resonate with me. The college experience is no longer seen as four years of self-discovery and growth, but it is rather seen as four years of resume building spurred by a fear of failure, a desire for perfection, and a hope for greater future successes, all to receive a glorified piece of paper before one is whisked off to the next stage, where he or she is expected to play yet another role. We are always beyond—living in the fragmented illusory bubble of an imaginative future–and this is a truth that I think applies to all human beings, regardless of what walk of life one might come from. The problem, Montaigne suggests, lies within Nature herself: Nature carries us beyond ourselves. However, our goal here is to retreat into nature—a state of leisure. How can one reconcile this tension? In treating this paradox, I ask myself if it is possible to stop being so anxious about the future and to stop wishing for more. Montaigne asserts that “ambition, avarice, irresolution, fear, and lust do not leave us [even] when we change our country” for these are qualities ingrained into our nature. If this is the case—that one cannot conquer his or her own natural instincts—then I argue we are left with one option: finding a balance, a natural harmony. In my own attempts to strike a balance, I keep in mind that as difficult as this choice may be, the decision to return to ourselves in a state of leisure is necessary and worthwhile as it brings us closer to achieving the highest good, human happiness, because it provides us with a “back shop” where we are “entirely free” to ask ourselves the most important questions. We will return to the question of precisely how to strike a balance in this paper’s later treatment of Montaigne’s, “Of Solitude,” though here, there is no single correct answer.

Montaigne, in his essay, “Of Idleness,” addresses the problem that Nature brings us, putting forth leisure, itself, as a solution. Montaigne, as he often does throughout the Essays, uses himself as an example:

Lately when I retired to my home, determined so far as possible to bother about nothing except spending the little life I have left in rest and seclusion, it seemed to me that I could do my mind no greater favor than to let it entertain itself in full idleness and stay and settle in itself, which I hoped it might do more easily now, having becoming weightier and riper with time. But I find—“Ever idle hours breed wandering thoughts” (Lucan)—that, on the contrary, like a runaway horse, it gives itself a hundred times more trouble than it took for others, and gives birth to so many chimeras and fantastic monsters.

At first, Montaigne appears to degrade the value of leisure, pointing out how the idle unbridled mind often does more harm than good. Akin to the “runaway horse,” who has broken free of the constraints of its bridle, the mind has broken free of the restraints of reason and is the primary culprit that takes us beyond ourselves. As Montaigne’s example shows us, there is great difficulty in trying to calm down the mind to allow one to be at leisure. We are always beyond, even in leisure. Yet, one must ask: is it necessarily harmful for the horse to escape and run away? Montaigne goes on to investigate these idle thoughts, facing and grappling with nature as he puts “them in writing, hoping in time to make [his] mind ashamed of itself.” Similarly, I, too, put my irrational thoughts down on paper and journal when I feel especially overwhelmed. In writing these down, we create a medium for self-reflection, turning our seemingly intrusive useless thoughts into something that brings us closer to understanding the self. In other words, writing down and scrutinizing these thoughts is a form of essaying, a process which involves facing the unhindered truths of our deepest thoughts and natural tendencies. Leisure is crucial to self-reflection, a key tenet of liberal education that involves not only learning from core texts but finding ourselves in the books we read, for in a life occupied with ample distractions, we often fail to live in the texts we read, taking them only at their surface level.

As one may expect, however, journaling can be a frightening process. When I put myself and my thoughts forward, critically analyzing them, I learn about what lies at the heart of myself. This is a process which requires much virtue—particularly, the moderation necessary to not go too far and the courage to be able to face the truth. However, oftentimes, what I find within myself is repulsive in the sense that it is somehow antithetical to the image I perceive and project of myself. The project of leisure is not one that comes without its dangers; it is easy to abandon the quest for self-knowledge when one does not find what he or she is searching for, but it is an endeavor that is necessary for “the greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself.” Montaigne goes on to elucidate the dangers inherent in leisure; in his essay, “How the soul discharges it passions on false objects when the true are wanting,” he warns the reader that “the soul, once stirred and set in motion, is lost in itself unless we give it something to grasp; and we must always give it an object to aim at and act on.” Montaigne emphasizes this point again in his essay, “Of Idleness,” writing how “the soul that has no fixed goal loses itself; for as they say, to be everywhere is to be nowhere.” In leisure, the object to aim at and grasp is the self (since the goal is self-reflection). However, given the unpredictable nature of the self and the potential dangers that lie in knowing the true self, the individual may abandon this object when he or she finds it to be too difficult or not worthwhile. In “lacking a legitimate object, rather than remain idle,” the soul “forges itself a false and frivolous one;” by being occupied with an object that is unhealthy, one loses sight of what is important: nourishing the soul by reflecting on the most important questions. Furthermore, we grow more alienated from ourselves when we fail to pay attention to the inner health of our soul in leisure. This potential for self-destruction makes it especially crucial that we seek leisure in the “right way” with a clear and healthy object to orient our souls toward.

To the extent that leisure allows us the time and space to ponder upon the deepest questions of the human condition, this mode of thinking, itself, is dangerous. While asking the question, “what does it mean to be a human being?” may open up a necessary and deeper line of inquiry for some—into the very depths of the human condition—it may lead others to question the very roots of their existence and of meaning, itself. When no answer is found to the question, an individual may become crushed by an incurable nihilism, or more simply, abandon their quest for self-knowledge, forever alienating themselves from what lies at the core of themselves and of humanity. Perhaps, the implication here is that the life of leisure is not meant for all human beings. Akin to children, “it takes little to divert and distract us, for it takes little to hold us,” again suggesting that the life of leisure is not for everyone; it requires great commitment and focus to force one naturally into the backshop of his or her mind. How does one, then, develop the discipline necessary to undertake such a task? While Montaigne does not provide an answer here, I emphasize the importance of liberal education, for it is in the books we read and the conversations we have with others that we collectively come to realize the importance of self-reflection and the need to retreat back into a state of leisure. However, one must keep in mind the dangers that lie both in the project of leisure and of liberal education. Leisure aims to uncover the truth that is hidden within the self; liberal education aims to uncover the external truth, the truth that lies beyond the shadows of the walls of the cave. While not only dangerous to the authority and society that fosters such illusions, the process of discovering truth can be unsettling to the self. The truth may challenge one’s worldview, but this is precisely why leisure to ponder such questions is necessary to the individual growth of each human being.

If the life of leisure brings with it numerous dangers, can it ultimately bring one happiness? In his essay, “Of Solitude,” Montaigne ultimately paints a picture of leisure that appears to be lonely and one that requires the individual to retreat into him or herself. A solitary life involves not only the separation of the physical self from others for in solitude, “we are undertaking to live alone and do without company…[making] our contentment depend on ourselves…[cutting] loose from all the ties that bind us to others,” but for the mind to be turned inwards. Here, I ask: can one actually retreat into solitude given that we, as human beings, are naturally social creatures? Montaigne points to the two-fold nature of man as he asserts that “there is nothing so unsociable and so sociable as man; the one by his vice, the other by his nature.” He also writes, however, that “the real solitude…may be enjoyed in the midst of cities and the courts of kings; but it is enjoyed more handily alone.” This raises the question of agency in choosing a life of leisure—in order to achieve its fullest benefits, solitude is best enjoyed alone even if this decision may come at certain social costs. Is it selfish to prioritize solitude and oneself over a life dedicated to and spent with others? Montaigne seems to partly remedy this problem by putting forth the life of solitude as an option for “those who have given to the world their most active and flourishing years” as these individuals have already done their part and have earned the right to spend the rest of their lives in solitude and seclusion as they wish. This is not to say, however, that leisure is only limited to people at the end of their lives, but that the social cost for these individuals may be lower than for others; self-reflection requires constant contemplation over our personal experiences and life’s deepest questions.

Despite the potential costs, why do some willingly choose to pursue such a life of solitude, one that is so lonely? Montaigne claims that “the aim of all solitude…[is] to live more at leisure and at one’s ease,” that solitude, when sought for in the “right way,” will be to the benefit of the individual.” To seek leisure in the right way means striking a balance between our natural vices and virtues. To strike a balance, it is necessary for the individual to firstly know him or herself. In his essay, “Of Solitude,” Montaigne advises the reader to “retire into [oneself], but first prepare to receive [oneself] there” for “it would be madness to trust in [oneself] if you do not know how to govern [oneself].” To receive ourselves involves the process of essaying—questioning ourselves and learning our own vices and virtues—as for Montaigne, receiving ourselves does not necessitate a radical acceptance of the self. In accepting all parts of ourselves, both the good and the bad, we lose the ability to further cultivate ourselves; true self-love for Montaigne lies in knowing the self, knowing what is “proper” for the self, and loving and cultivating the self “before anything else.” If we attempt to retire into ourselves before we are ready, we may be burnt by the truth that lies at the core of the self and turn away from the quest for self-knowledge, mirroring the dangers of leisure that were previously discussed. Montaigne, himself, is an example of solitude sought in the “right way.” He spent his leisurely time, towards the end of his life, in two important ways: one, by writing the Essays and two, by traveling. In his travel journal’s entry on “Italy: The Road to Rome,”^[3] the sightseer reports how “Montaigne’s mind was so intent on what he encountered both on the road and at his lodgings, and he was so eager on all occasions to talk to strangers, that I think this took his mind off his ailment.” He also describes how on his travels, “[he] most often [travels] without company fit for these protracted discussions, whereby [he] [gets] full leisure to commune with [himself].” A life of leisure can bring one happiness—not only does it help one live more at ease, but it allows us to spend time essaying ourselves and essaying ourselves through others and through the world as Montaigne did through his writings and travels. However, while the life of leisure can bring one happiness, I would be amiss to forget the social costs at stake—these may prove to be too immense for some. Here, the question of whether pursuing the life of leisure is truly worth it is left to each individual.

“In Solitude” portrays a notably individualistic conception of what Montaigne understands as leisure, however, I wonder if an implicit case can be made for something else: an understanding of leisure that involves community. Can leisure be enjoyed in the company of others? To answer this question, one must turn to what is at the heart of leisure: the project of self-reflection. The “self” is included in the very term, “self-reflection,” so it would appear that the emphasis here is on the individual. However, drawing from my own experience as a student in the liberal arts, I find that the task of leisure is not one that can solely be undertaken by oneself. It is true that self-reflection requires great work on the part of the individual, but do we not compare ourselves to something or someone else when we think of the deepest question, what does it mean to be a human being? We see ourselves in the texts we read, in the people we interact with, and in our reflections of our past selves. I, myself, read Montaigne’s Essays for the first time through a reading group though Montaigne would perhaps disapprove of such an enterprise as he notes that it “would be unreasonable to spend [one’s] leisure on so frivolous and vain a subject,” the subject being Montaigne himself. In our weekly meetings, I came to the realization that I saw myself not only in Montaigne and what he put forth but also in my fellow members and the experiences that they shared. It is also interesting to note Montaigne’s style of writing when considering this line of inquiry. His writing is a conglomeration of his own reflections of his experiences intertwined with the experiences and wisdoms of others (as he not only essays himself but essays himself through others). There is scarcely an essay in Montaigne’s corpus that does not include a quote or even a musing from another author, be it Plato, Machiavelli, Lucretius, or Horace—though Montaigne, himself, may dispute this fact as he ironically claims that when he writes, he “[prefers] to do without the company and remembrance of books.” In a collection of essays, where Montaigne writes that “I am myself the matter of my book,” it strikes one as strange that the author would include such a plethora of thoughts from other thinkers; this demonstrates that Montaigne’s project has more to it than the eye can see. Montaigne does confess, however, that “I study myself more than any other subject” and that “I would rather be an authority on myself than on Cicero,” revealing his emphasis on self-awareness. Furthermore, his deeds—his travels and his writings—but not his speech reveals that Montaigne does recognize the importance of essaying through others.

Here, we turn to the underlying pedagogical question: can leisure be taught? In his essay, “Education of Children,” Montaigne speaks of leisure with regards to the learned man. He responds to Madame Diane de Foix, writing how “in truth, [learning] does not receive its proper use in mean and lowborn hands.” In Montaigne’s view, leisure is not always directed towards its proper ends; when leisure is severed from self-reflection, it often becomes a means to something less than noble, such as profit or glory. The study of letters requires solitude to turn the soul inwards onto itself; the individual, too, must turn himself away from others and from a desire for other ends. Montaigne urges Madame to find a tutor, or a “guide with a well-made rather than a well-filled head” to educate the young child. Having a well-filled head necessitates simply having a pedantic knowledge of the matters at hand, but having a well-made head means essaying oneself to gain self-knowledge (which requires leisure), and then, utilizing what one has learned to come to his or her own conclusions. The tutor, therefore, must essay him or herself thoroughly before attempting to teach another, especially a malleable subject, such as a child. In such a method of teaching, the tutor’s job is not to supply answers but rather to help cultivate his or her pupil’s judgment. Given that essaying is a process which one arrives at through self-exploration, the mere imitation of the tutor by the pupil would not suffice. Perhaps, Montaigne would say that the matter of teaching leisure is one that is simply something that “we often spend a lot of time and effort for nothing, training children for things in which they cannot get a foothold.” Montaigne does not offer an explicit answer to this problem, but I argue that instead, the choice to engage in leisure is a choice that must be made by each individual—it cannot be imposed upon us. We can learn to imitate others in their leisure, but this is not sufficient as from a distance, one cannot possibly understand the purpose and the magnitude of a commitment to a life of leisure and self-reflection, where the self is the object that must be grasped onto.

This paper has thus far posited that leisure is inextricably tied to self-reflection—that we must set aside the necessary time to think through the deepest questions. While this may be the case for the majority of people, who would otherwise continue to let life slip away without pursuing this higher thinking, it is worth pondering if this is the case for all of us. In his essay, “On some verses of Virgil,” Montaigne writes:

But I am displeased with my mind for ordinarily producing its most profound and maddest fancies, and those I like the best, unexpectedly and when I am least looking for them; which suddenly vanish, having nothing to attach themselves to on the spot: on horseback, at table, in bed, but mostly on horseback, where my thoughts range most widely.

Montaigne reiterates this point again, describing how “there is no mad or idle fancy that [the] [minds] do not bring forth in this agitation.” Though Montaigne does not explicitly state what his thoughts and fancies are while “on horseback, at table, or in bed,” his words still demonstrate that the mind, a runaway horse, is always set in action—that the mind is actively engaged even when we are not retreating into the backshop of our minds. Montaigne does not will these thoughts into existence, but rather, they emerge on their own. Similarly, in leisure, we essay ourselves but do not force ourselves to think about certain questions; they simply arise naturally, addressing the earlier question raised about agency in leisure. If our thoughts arise naturally, however, and cannot be forced, what does this mean for leisure itself? Can it be possible that at times our leisurely time is not worthwhile to the extent that we are unable to think upon the highest questions? It may be the case, though, that the act of taking a step back away from the press of life is valuable in itself even if it does not always bring us to a time of self-reflection. In response to the idea that we may not need leisure to arrive at self-reflection, one might first make the argument that we are too preoccupied with everything that modernity thrusts onto us—that we are constantly beyond—to adequately spend the time or realize that we need to spend the time asking ourselves these questions. However, what if it is the case that we do not need to live a life of seclusion dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge in order to reflect upon ourselves? Here, I think it is important to consider the relationship of leisure to work itself. I, for one, have found through my own experiences with manual labor that in performing menial tasks with my hands, such as doing the dishes^[4] or counting inventory in the backroom, my mind wanders. While I will sometimes think of trivial matters, such as what I plan to do next after my work is completed, I often find myself whisked away into the backshop of my own mind, thinking of the deepest questions. But, most of all, I find that, whether on purpose or not, I am constantly essaying myself and engaging in the project of self-reflection through the texts I read and the conversations I have with others. I wonder, then, if such an isolated life of solitude is necessary for the ends it aims to accomplish. Perhaps, leisure is one important and accessible medium that guides us towards the search for higher meaning, but it may not be the only one.

Entrapped in Plato’s cave, where the people are only able to see the shadows of truths and realities, Montaigne masterfully gives us a way out, a path beyond both the external and internal delusions: a life of philosophical leisure. Left idle and unchecked, though, leisure is overwhelmed by its natural vices— the potential for self-destruction and the dangers that lie in facing the truth, in inadvertently grasping onto an unhealthy object, and in the possible pessimism that may entrap a person. Leisure well spent, for some, is characterized by a life of solitude, where an individual confronts his or her natural instincts and vices and learns how to belong to oneself (though one cannot forget the social cost and dangers that lie in solitude as well). Leisure well spent, for others, is sought in community, for the virtuous task of self-reflection is not necessarily one that an individual can always undertake on his or her own. It does not appear that leisure can be taught, which is fitting considering that it is rooted in the project of self-reflection—the choice to pursue leisure, whether through a life of solitude or not, is one that is ultimately up to each individual as it cannot be forced. The body of this essay ends with a reflection on whether or not self–reflection is dependent on leisure. While it seems that leisure is but one medium through which we can reach the deepest questions, this does not undermine its value in bringing us closer to the good and the pursuit of knowledge.

The opportunity to work through Montaigne’s corpus has profoundly affected the way I view the world. Reading Montaigne’s Essays pushed me to take the time to think about the deepest questions, not only reflecting on the nature of the good life but what the good life means for me, personally. In my reflections, I began to overcome my own self-alienation by being able to ponder for myself the question with which this paper begins: what does it mean to be a human being. Reading the Essays continues to be crucial to my pursuit of the good and my studies in political theory; I find that Montaigne’s quest for self-knowledge is one that underlies all texts that seek to study the life of the mind, teaching us to break away like the runaway horse.

Lastly, I would be amiss to not address the underlying question that surrounds leisure today: the question of elitism. Though I must confess that this line of inquiry would not have been relevant in Montaigne’s time, it is difficult to speak of leisure today without being accused of having privilege. Leisure, today, is quite misunderstood—even to the extent that the upper class is often referred to as the “leisure class.” Many believe that leisure and time with the great books and the questions they bring us can only be sought out by a certain class of people: the wealthy and powerful, who have the “free time” for such a pursuit since they do not need to worry about working constantly to put food on the table. I think that this demonstrates why Montaigne’s conception of leisure, one that is rooted in self-reflection, is especially important today. The question which leisure aims to answer, what does it mean to be a human being, is not a question that is limited to the upper class; rather, it is a human question that Montaigne and other thinkers invite all of us to reflect upon. Furthermore, not everyone who has the “time” to think about the deepest questions undertakes such an inquiry. I emphasize again the importance of agency in the pursuit of leisure; anyone can choose to ask and answer these questions for themselves. However, as I have alluded throughout, perhaps, the life of leisure is not for everyone. As I previously discussed, leisure is not always necessary for self-reflection. Regardless of where one lies on the social hierarchy, even those who are engaged in the practice of manual labor have in common with the “leisurely class” the ability to essay themselves and ask the questions that are necessary to their health and growth as human beings. All that texts like Montaigne’s Essays can do is cultivate a natural curiosity and drive within the reader to break away from the constraints of the bridle—the choice of whether or not to break away is ultimately up to each individual.

NOTES:

^[1] See Storey, Benjamin, and Jenna Silber Storey. “We Restless Souls.” Why We Are Restless: On the Modern Quest for Contentment, Princeton University Press, Princeton, NJ, 2021, pp. ix-xii., for the ubiquitous nature of this problem in our society today.

^[2] See Hartle, Ann. Michel de Montaigne : Accidental Philosopher. Cambridge, UK ;: Cambridge University Press, 2003.

^[3] Montaigne, Michel de, and Donald Murdoch Frame. The Complete Works: Essays, Travel Journal, Letters. New York: A.A. Knopf, 2003.

^[4] See Hitz, Zena. Lost in Thought : the Hidden Pleasures of an Intellectual Life. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 2020.

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