"Cubs of bears and puppies readily discover their natural inclination; but men, so soon as ever they are grownup, applying themselves to certain habits, engaging themselves in certain opinions, and conforming themselves to particular laws and customs, easily alter, or at least disguise, their true and real disposition; and yet it is hard to force the propension of nature. Whence it comes to pass, that for not having chosen the right course, we often take very great pains, and consume a good part of our time in training up children to things, for which, by their natural constitution, they are totally unfit." ("Of the Education of Children").
On several levels I find this passage interesting. At first glance it suggests what some come to know as they grow older: that training and upbringing have prepared (or ill-prepared) them for a life and/or career outside the scope of their interests and passion. Among other times, I've heard some people frequently feel this way in graduate school (but then, those are just rumors...perhaps?).
From a different perspective, consider the way Montaigne contrasts "cubs of bears and puppies" with people to make a point; that in situations of "discover[ing] their natural inclination," animals typically do a better job of following "the propension of nature" than do people. Despite (or perhaps because of) all the wondrous faculties humans possess and which animals apparently do not, Montaigne seems to suggest there is a kind of truth in the notion that we frequently make certain types of errors to which animals seem largely immune. For all our gifts and supposed superiority over other animals, humans have problems unique to themselves.
Perhaps that is a major takeaway from this passage. In becoming a "grownup," we spend a lot of time "engaging...certain opinions," and "conforming...to particular laws and customs." Yet for all the good intentions behind this motive, we still frequently end up butting heads with our "true and real disposition," living lives for which we are "unfit," or what Henry David Thoreau might have called "lives of quiet desperation."
It is strange that for all our learning and reason, we still so often misinterpret what makes us happy and full of life. Is this because of our learning and reason? I'm inclined to think "not necessarily," but it may indeed play a role, perhaps a significant one even. Yet that does not seem reason enough for me to want to abandon the task educating anyone, children not the least. Anti-intellectualism may prove an attractive impulse, yet history does not show a particularly positive track-record for that course either. For all our attempts at abandoning reason to become more natural, like animals, we typically end up acting like them without living lives in accord with our nature; that for better or worse, something important always seems to get lost travelling down the extreme anti-intellectual road.
I don't know what that "something" is, but I suspect Montaigne's contrast of animals and people points toward it somehow. By observing animals, Montaigne seems to want us to see ourselves in a different way, just as a person who lives in another culture comes--in time--to see their own in a different way. It is not so much that we gain some new and powerful knowledge by such exercises, so much as a change in perspective not possible by ordinary means. Indeed, it is the contrast which seems to provide the most value, since a person who grows up in the woods would not likely see their lifestyle in a different way by, say, going to live in the woods again. The same might be said of a city-dweller going to live in the city in which they were born. Yet ask a city-dweller to spend time in the woods, or a forest-dweller to spend time in the city, and the proposition is probably quite different. The contrast provides an alternative view of everything which was once familiar, and by-so-doing a new insight into things we might have never questioned otherwise.
Without directly pointing a finger, Montaigne shows how animals avoid a kind of grief which many people feel. And it isn't due to some physical attribute which humans don't have (like kangaroo feet, or flippers), but rather a kind of honesty about who we are, and what we enjoy (a quality humans do seem to have). Montaigne seems to say that it isn't about acting like other animals per say, so much as looking past one's own vanity as other animals seem to do, which in turn yields a new and potentially fruitful perspective. It's a curious thought, and one which may point to an even bigger message: that for all the interesting things we can find in Montaigne, not all wisdom is in books.
Happy Friday, friends :)
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