Though Bloom acknowledges many French writers, he centers Montaigne and Moliere in the canon, noting how Moliere developed from Montaigne, like Shakespeare. Bloom claims Montaigne’s Essays (1592) are a fusion of the author and his writing, praising Montaigne’s process of self-overhearing in the revision of the essays. Bloom suspects that Feminist critics resent Montaigne’s male chauvinism but insists that Montaigne represents “nearly every man” (142) who enjoys reading.

Bloom notes how Montaigne, though a Catholic, avoided religious discussion in his writing. Bloom criticizes Blaise Pascal and T.S. Eliot, whom he claims misread and misrepresented Montaigne’s work, adding that Emerson and Nietzsche are the true “progeny” of Montaigne’s essays. Bloom highlights Montaigne’s conception of experience as “passage,” highlighting how Montaigne’s wisdom lies in understanding how to live “appropriately.” Bloom presents Montaigne as a defense against the coming Theocratic Age, adding that Freud is the Montaigne of the Chaotic Age.

Bloom compares Moliere and Shakespeare, noting that they were both secular writers devoted to the theater and adding that Moliere depended on Louis XIV’s support. Like Shakespeare, Bloom suspects that Moliere will survive criticism by the School of Resentment through popular support. Like Montaigne, Bloom asserts that Moliere displays the elusiveness of truth, balanced between unchanging characters.

Centering the discussion on The Misanthrope (1666), Bloom compares Alceste to Hamlet, noting how both characters are satirists that dominate their plays. Bloom cites Richard Wilbur, John Hollander, W.G. Moore, and Martin Turnell, discussing how Alceste commands the audience’s sympathy and attention, rejecting “moralizing critics” who would attempt to destroy his character. Bloom insists that performances of The Misanthrope require actors and directors capable of understanding Alceste as a “moral satirist” who falls victim to the “spirit of comedy” (155).

Bloom asserts that Moliere progressed from farce to critical comedy by inverting Montaigne’s work, citing Alceste as an example of Montaigne’s claim that escaping humanity leads to “madness.”

Bloom identifies how Shakespeare’s great “hero-villains,” especially Iago, influenced John Milton’s creation of Satan in Paradise Lost (1667). Though he notes Milton’s anxiety over Shakespearean influence, Bloom sees Satan’s internal development as a reflection of Shakespeare’s characters’ inner growth. Bloom compares Paradise Lost to Virgil and the Bible, noting a similarity in how Dante and Milton both tried to write an effective third Testament. Satan is the center of Paradise Lost, which Bloom attributes to Milton’s failure to dramatize his Christian perspective. The aesthetic value of Satan is what elevates Paradise Lost into the canon for Bloom.

Citing the passage in which God declares Jesus as his son, Bloom compares Satan, who feels abandoned, to Iago, whom Othello overlooks in choosing Cassio. Bloom criticizes the lack of depth in Milton’s God character, as well as the “un-Shakespearean” decision to avoid showing Lucifer’s transformation into Satan. Citing drafts of Milton’s Adam Unparadised, Bloom regards Satan as originally Marlovian (i.e., akin to the works of Christopher Marlowe), derived from Tamburlaine and Barabas. Though J.H. Van den Berg credits Martin Luther with the invention of an inner self, Bloom credits Shakespeare, highlighting the anxiety of being devoured by the self. Bloom compares a scene in which Iago relishes his destruction of Othello to a scene in which Satan frames his deception of Adam and Eve as a kind of alliance against God.

Where Iago destroys his target, Othello, Satan can only hope to irritate God, which Bloom sees as a fundamental distinction that makes Satan the less successful villain. The destruction Iago and Satan attempt is also an inward destruction or corruption, which enhances the depth of their characters in Bloom’s view. Bloom emphasizes how “social energies” were not responsible for Shakespeare’s greatness, which even Milton could not match.

Bloom traces literary criticism to Aristophanes’s critique of Euripides, but he exalts Samuel Johnson as the best literary critic of all time. He calls Johnson an “experiential critic,” deriving his critiques from his own wisdom and contrasting Johnson against the “cult of gender and racial cheerleading” (172) of the modern academy.

Bloom acknowledges that Johnson was not always correct, but praises him for bringing his “complete self” to his criticisms of great poets. Johnson foreshadows Bloom’s own anxiety of influence by identifying all authors as “general challenger[s].” Contrasting Johnson to Freud, Bloom quotes James Boswell, noting Johnson’s identification of a common drive toward “distinction.” Bloom praises Johnson’s discussions of Shakespeare without completely agreeing with Johnson, highlighting Johnson’s insight that Shakepeare’s talent came in “division” of characters, which Bloom credits as an “inventing” psychology.

Discussing Johnson’s writing, Bloom notes Johnson’s forceful personality, reflecting on The Lives of the Poets (1779). Though Bloom thinks Johnson over-praises Alexander Pope, he notes how strange it is that Johnson did not try to “compete” with Pope’s poetry. Bloom believes Johnson knew he was superior to Pope, concluding that Johnson avoided the competition out of a fear of his own mind. Bloom laments Johnson’s lack of poetry but praises him as a great man and critic.

Comparing Johnson to William Hazlitt, Bloom claims that neither author allows their ideological differences to influence their criticism, centering on the two writers’ similarities in discussing Milton. Part of Johnson’s focus, Bloom notes, comes from Johnson’s thoughts on dying. Referencing Boswell’s recording of a conversation with Johnson, Bloom highlights Johnson’s fears of death, or the “apprehension” of “annihilation.” In Johnson’s life, he compared himself frequently to Falstaff, but Bloom rejects Johnson’s moral qualms with Falstaff’s character. Bloom fears that the School of Resentment will remove Johnson from the canon, renews his assertion that Johnson is the greatest critic, and concludes with a quote of Johnson’s writing on Shakespeare.

Bloom begins by locating Goethe outside the realm of modern wisdom and sensibility. Though Goethe is less influential than Wordsworth, Bloom identifies his uniqueness as the justification of his inclusion in the canon.

Emphasizing Goethe’s poetic “serenity,” Bloom quotes from Thomas Mann and E.R. Curtius, noting how Goethe completed a literary progression from Homer to Faust, Part Two (1832). Bloom agrees with Erich Heller’s summation of the contradictions of Faust, Part One (1829), arguing that there is no “personality” or “human spirit” in Goethe’s writing, specifically highlighting Faust as an “arbitrary site” on which the conflict takes place. Bloom does not argue for Goethe’s lyric or rhetorical strength in Faust, deferring to other works by Goethe as evidence of his strengths.

Goethe was branded a genius early in his writing career, and he wrote Faust over 60 years, with Bloom calling it another piece of secular scripture, like The Divine Comedy (1308) or the plays of Shakespeare. Comparing Goethe to Shakespeare, Bloom “scarcely” regards Faust and Mephistopheles as characters, instead praising the mythology of Faust. Bloom calls Goethe one of the few “charismatics” who became great writers, saying Goethe is to writing what Hamlet is to character.

Bloom summarizes how the story of Georg or Johann Faust led to Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus (1589) and many other interpretations of the Faust story, comparing Faust, Part One to both Don Juan (1824) and Hamlet (1609). Bloom likewise compares Goethe to Dante, Blake, and Milton. Noting how Finnegans Wake (1939) by James Joyce rewards the reader for hard work, Bloom says Faust abandons the reader to ambiguity. Bloom summarizes Faust, Part One, linking it to Part Two through the characters of Faust and Mephistopheles.

Bloom links the Acts of Part Two through images of eroticism and self-gratification, crediting Goethe with adding “strangeness to beauty” (211). Faust, Part Two is “countercanonical,” according to Bloom, because of its subversion of the literary canon prior to Goethe’s writing. Bloom separates Goethe from Christian mythology and Greek mythology, though both play heavily into his writing, which Bloom calls “heterodox to the highest degree” (218).