The past may be a different country but surprisingly modern voices can still be found – Ian Johnston

Sixteenth-century philosopher Michel de Montaigne’s take on South American headhunters, a ninth-century monk’s poem about his cat, and Tacitus’s famous denunciation of the Roman Empire all have a contemporary feel

Much like Don Quixote, in later life I have found myself on a quest. Fortunately, this does not involve anything as dangerous as tilting at windmills (today’s giant turbines would doubtless make short work of me). Instead, my search for a particular individual has been safely confined to YouTube videos and books. The person I’ve been looking for is someone from the distant past who is capable of seeing outside the mental constraints of their own time and who can, therefore, still speak to people in the modern world.

The Ancient Greeks offer a number of candidates. Plato is renowned for his wisdom, but he hated democracy and had bizarre ideas about how society should be run. Aristotle is regarded by many as the founder of the scientific method, but there are some who argue he held proto-racist views about the superiority of Greeks over non-Greeks. The fascinating Eratosthenes, who calculated the circumference of the Earth to a remarkable degree of accuracy, apparently disagreed, saying good and bad could be found among all peoples.

An ancient Caledonian, Calgacus, may also be worthy of consideration, although he and the fine speech he gave before the Battle of Mons Graupius against the Romans were probably inventions of the Roman writer Tacitus. But it’s actually more interesting if that was the case, given Tacitus had his character rail against the Romans as “robbers of the world”.

Michel de Montaigne, seen third from left with Miguel de Cervantes, William Shakespeare and Dante Alighieri, was keen to question perceived wisdom, to the point of seeing life from the viewpoint of his cat (Picture: Giuseppe Cacace/AFP via Getty Images)

“If their enemy is rich, they are greedy; if he is poor, they thirst for dominion; neither east nor west has satisfied them; alone of mankind they are equally covetous of poverty and wealth. Robbery, slaughter and plunder they falsely name empire; they make a desert and they call it peace,” Tacitus wrote. The ability of a citizen of all-conquering Rome to question the slaughter fits well with my theme, I think. Julius Caesar probably didn’t think twice about it.

Montaigne playing with his cat

When I heard about Anna Comnena, a 12th-century Byzantine Greek princess who wrote a book called the Alexiad about the reign of her father, Emperor Alexios, I was fascinated to read the words of a woman from such a long time ago. However, I’m afraid to say I didn’t get very far into the book before deciding that, while definitely interesting for historians, she is, well, a bit boring.

So far, the best candidate I've managed to discover is, without doubt, the 16th-century French philosopher Michel de Montaigne, although he is definitely helped by a number of modern thinkers who have written very well about him. He tried to examine the human condition through the sometimes fairly ordinary situations he found himself in. His motto was “que sçais-je?” (“what do I know?”), and questioning perceived wisdom was very much his thing.

Writing about headhunting and reports of cannibalism in relatively newly discovered South America, Montaigne said he was “not so concerned that we should remark on the barbaric horror of such a deed, but that, while we quite rightly judge their faults, we are blind to our own”. Referring to the religious persecution that plagued much of Europe at the time, he argued: “I think it is more barbaric [than headhunting] ... to tear apart through torture and pain a living body which can still feel, or to burn it alive by bits... (as we have not only read, but seen, in recent times, not against old enemies but among neighbors and fellow citizens, and, what is worse, under the pretext of piety and religion).”

He was an adviser to French royalty, including Henri of Navarre, a Protestant who converted to Catholicism to secure the throne, reportedly saying “Paris is well worth a mass”. And yet Montaigne wrote: “Kings and philosophers shit, and so do ladies... Even on the highest throne in the world, we are seated still upon our asses.” At least to me, he appears to be saying that, at a fundamental level, we are all equal, a central tenet of liberal democracy, but I may be getting a bit carried away.

Few contemporaries would have ever thought to ask the question, “when I play with my cat who knows if I am not a pastime to her more than she is to me?", let alone publish an essay about it. A member of French nobility seeing things from the viewpoint of his cat?!

Heartbreaking goodbye

Another cat has also featured in my quest. In a poem, a ninth-century Iris monk compares his bookish tasks with his cat’s job – hunting. “Pangur Bán and I at work/ Adepts, equals, cat and clerk…/ All the while, his round bright eye/ Fixes on the wall, while I/ Focus my less piercing gaze/ On the challenge of the page./ With his unsheathed, perfect nails/ Pangur springs, exults and kills. When the longed-for, difficult/ Answers come, I too exult.” It’s an insight into everyday people, everyday thinking, that we don't often learn about in history books.

My final candidate is the one I find the most moving. She is a woman who lived in Ancient Athens whose husband was killed in battle. On his funeral pot, she had an artist depict what appears to be the moment they said goodbye. She is seated, with one arm slung over the back of the chair, while he stands, dressed in hoplite armour.

It almost seems as if she doesn’t care that he’s leaving, but then you notice that she has stretched her foot forward and placed it on top of his. Perhaps she wanted to make their parting a casual one to show she was supremely confident he would return alive. Perhaps she regretted putting a seed of doubt in his mind by reaching out with her foot to say “don’t go, stay with me and live”. Perhaps she didn’t do this, but wished more than anything that she had.

As artworks go, it’s not the best. But 2,500 years on, the love it expresses certainly speaks to me.