In the course of my many years of Montaigne analysis and study, if I walked away from it with one vital lesson — a lesson I consistently forget and have to relearn — it is this: all human beings are essentially unknowable. Montaigne is an ideal example. Here is a man who devoted himself to cataloging every thought and reflection, and in doing so, he regularly contradicted himself, argued with his thoughts, reminded his readers that we are “bits and pieces” that reconfigure themselves regularly, and that even if you somehow do some astounding introspection and come to a perfect explanation of who you are in any given moment, that night you will go to sleep, you will dream, your psyche will reboot and, in some way, what you just wrote about yourself will be false, or contingent, who even just a shade different today than yesterday.

And so, if we are inevitably strangers to ourselves, how on earth can we expect to know anyone else? So much of what we think of other people is pure projection of our feelings and desires. On top of that, we do an incredible amount of extrapolating small experiences into deeper meanings. And, it’s a far more dangerous situation for intuitive people, because even the most intuitive person cannot read minds and their thoughts about others will be correct, at best, 60 percent of the time.

But because they are correct a little more often than the non-intuitive, they will grow to rely on these intuitions and assumptions. They will replace conversation with imagination. But what’s interesting, in contrast, is that human beings are capable of having affections towards one another — often inexplicable — that seem to exist outside of all rationality. And while we make educated guesses about why these affections exist, or we rationalize how they match with our cognitive assumptions about life, these guesses are often wrong or irrelevant. We simply like who we like, no matter what our brains think of it, and our bodies always give these feelings away.

All of this is highly relevant to episode 3 of the Dekalog. Even though this episode’s plot promises more than it delivers, something more important is happening in the subtext, and that last conversation was a huge clue to what’s going on. Janusz finally came clean and admitted that he did love Ewa, and he didn’t want the affair to end. But she immediately reminds him that, as hurt as he claims to have been from this loss, he immediately fell back on his mimetic desire. If the world believes that the key to happiness is being part of a loving, nuclear family, of being the good, reliable dad to a wife and loving children, then he will embrace that. He will, by imitating the world, make a show of his happiness. And Ewa reminds him, he willingly returned to that show.

We, of course, know from the way Janusz sleepwalked through those supposedly joyous Christmas scenes that this is all fake, or at least it is on this particular Christmas Eve. Something is missing from his life. And so, in classic 1980s pixie dream girl fashion, Ewa appears and reminds him of other aspects of his life that he misses. But as Janusz goes into the bathroom to wash his hands and then do some snooping to try to figure out exactly what Ewa is up to, she stands outside the door and details what her life has been since the affair ended.

Did Janusz put a moment's thought into this in the years since? No, because he assumed that Ewa willingly went back to her husband and, because his own marriage was then able to resume in something approaching normal fashion, so too did hers. But Ewa tells him a different story ... She says that anytime she would watch a TV show that featured a love story, Edward wouldn't watch the show, he'd stare at her. She then says that they haven't slept together once since the affair ended.

But Kieslowski does a sly juxtaposition here. While Ewa is, for once, telling the truth with this story (in a sense ... she's still giving the impression that she and Edward are together), Janusz is taking apart a mechanical razor and noticing that the blade is completely dull ... that there's no way it would shave anything effectively. So he's undermining her truth while she speaks candidly. Finally, Ewa asks "what are you doing in there?" and Janusz comes out.

He says he was just washing his hands. Then Ewa confessed to Janusz that she was lying, that she and Edward have a completely normal relationship. To me, it's interesting that she was able to tell the truth while Janusz was behind a door, but upon seeing him, she had to retreat to her lies. She couldn't bear to be honest with him ... which is a funny inversion of the human assumption that it is easier to lie in concealment than it is face to face.

Then, Ewa splits some kind of a wafer, gives a piece to Janusz and wishes him all the best. He says same. They then kiss each other on the cheeks and seem about to kiss on the lips when the doorbell rings. She says "perfect timing, as usual." Who's at the door? A bunch of kids singing Christmas Carols, very badly ... and they also stop two lines into the song because they don't know more.

Is it common for Polish children to go caroling at, what is it by now, 2 a.m. on Christmas? Yes, the scene makes no sense. Janusz then asks if Edward has grown a beard. Ewa responds, of course not. She then says, we've forgotten why were are here, and Janusz asks, where' next? She responds either the emergency room or train station ... let's try the train station. She then excuses herself to the bathroom and immediately opens up the razor to note the dull blade, indicating that she now knows what he knows.

While she's doing this, Janusz calls emergency services and asks if Edward Garus has been admitted to a hospital. Janusz receives back some information, then shares with Ewa that a report had been made about Edward, but by the time officials arrived, he wasn't there. He added "they say it often happens with drunks." So the scene ends with, once again, Ewa in the dominant position, information and knowledge-wise.