The Danger of Empty Cleverness — The Essays of Montaigne

Montaigne opens on vain subtleties men pursue for reputation: acrostic poems, shaped verses, and a man who threw millet through a needle's eye until Alexander rewarded the trick with bushels, not praise.

Weak judgment applauds what is rare, new, or difficult when usefulness is absent. He plays with extremes that meet: gods and beasts sense sharper than men; fear and courage both loosen the belly; wisdom and stupidity share a centre in suffering.

There is ignorance before knowledge and ignorance after it; Montaigne sits between peasants and philosophers, distrusting the middle mongrels who mishandle both. His Essays, he suspects, may hover in that middle too: too hard for vulgar readers, too plain for the excellent.