Gridare a testa or quanto se n’ha in testa [to shout at the top of your voice] is a very old phrase and a Greek one. You can’t find it in the Greek or Latin dictionaries, but it occurs in Arrian (Indica, ch. 30): “ὅσον αἱ κεφαλαὶ αὐτοῖσιν ἐχώρεον ἀλαλάξαι”; “quantum capita ferre poterant acclamasse” is how the translator interprets it.1 (30 April 1820.)
[112] Concerning the attention that the Greeks paid to beauty, in addition to the word καλοκᾀγαθὸς already mentioned in these thoughts [→Z 64–65], see the singular passage written by an ancient in Clement of Alexandria, “Cohortatio ad gentes,” ch. 4, after the middle, Venice ed., tome 1, p. 49, last line, p. 17 in the Latin margin and p. 37 in the Greek margin. What parents now would ask God for that grace as a principal good for themselves or their children? On their children’s behalf they will ask for something altogether different—health, intelligence, obedience, virtue, skill in business, favor from the powerful, wealth, etc. etc.—but will they ever ask for beauty?1 I can see that I have been tricked by that swine of a translator, who says formosos liberos [handsome sons] while the Greek reads τὴν εὐτεκνίαν [the blessing of children]. I can tell you that this is a really minimal difference.
Jesus Christ was the first to establish, define, delineate, and personify with the name world the idea of a perpetual enemy of virtue, innocence, heroism, and real feeling, of all singularity of mind, life, and actions, of human nature, in short, which is to say society, and thus placed the multitude of men among the major enemies of mankind. For it is unfortunately true that, while the individual is good and happy by nature, the multitude (and the individual within it) is wicked and unhappy. (See p. 611, paragraph 1.)
Patience is the most heroic of the virtues precisely because it has not the least appearance of heroism.2
Impertinente is a wholly Latin word, derived from a Latin verb, etc., so it’s natural that old or vulgar Latin should say impertinens. (31 May 1820.)
The great difference between Petrarch and other love poets, especially foreign ones, is that only in him do you feel that smoothness and spontaneity and unison with your own heart, which can make you weep, while no one else in the same situation as Petrarch would have the same effect on you. The reason is that he pours out his heart and the others, even the best, dissect theirs; [113] he makes his speak, and they talk about theirs.
The reason for what Montesquieu (Grandeur, etc., ch. 4, Amsterdam 1781, p. 31, end)1 says is not only that no private individual loses as much as the prince in the collapse of a state but also that no one believes he is responsible for a collapse that he cannot prevent.
Agevole [easy to be done] comes from agere as facile [easy] does from facere, and since agere is unknown in our language, the derivative agevole probably came straight from ancient Latin, which would have said agibilis.
For anyone occupying a new province either by conquest or by treaty it is much more advantageous to encourage and sustain two factions, one favorable and the other opposed to the new government, than to have it totally obedient and submissive and indifferent in spirit. This is because the first faction is usually stronger than the second and, since the latter is unable to do any harm, two advantages result. The first is to weaken the inhabitants and make them less inclined to band together in any challenge than if they were all indifferent or, in other words, tacitly discontent. The other is to have the support of a party that is much more energetic and enthusiastic than it would be if there were no opposition party. No prince can expect to be loved or favored by his subjects for his own sake or out of reason, so he must try to be so through hatred of the alternative and out of passion. This is because opposition arouses feelings that we would hardly notice otherwise, and what we would never do for its own sake, we do in opposition to something else, [114] just as the most fervent Catholics are those who live in heretical countries, and vice versa, and there were no more obstinate and fanatical supporters of the Papacy than in the times of the Ghibellines. See Montesquieu, loc. cit., ch. 6, p. 68.1 (5 June 1820.) Not even from beneficence can a prince expect as much as from a partisan spirit and the clash of opinions, which make supporters of a cause embrace it as their own, whereas gratitude is a debt to someone else. Centuries of experience demonstrate just how much gratitude is inspired by the beneficence of princes and those in power. And though people have learned to control their whims and passions, these are naturally still much more powerful than their own interests. (5 June 1820.)
Since it’s true that anarchy leads directly to despotism, and that freedom depends on harmony between different parties and strong and consistent laws and institutions within the republic, Rome was never so free in the accepted sense of the word as in the time immediately preceding a tyranny. See the case of Clodius, and Montesquieu, loc. cit., pp. 115, last line, and 116, lines 1 and 5, ch. 11.2 (6 June 1820.) The same could be said of France, which went in one bound from frenetic liberty to despotism under Bonaparte.
The civilization of nations consists in tempering nature with reason, where nature has the greater part. Consider all the nations of the ancient world, the Persians at the time of Cyrus, the Greeks, the Romans. The Romans were never such philosophers as they were when they bowed to barbarism, that is in the time of tyranny. And [115] likewise, in the preceding years, the Romans had made great progress in philosophy and in general knowledge, which was something new for them. We can draw another conclusion from this, which is that the safeguards of a nation’s freedom are neither philosophy nor reason, which are now expected to regenerate public affairs, but virtue, illusions, and enthusiasm, in other words nature, from which we are very far removed. A nation of philosophers would be the most small-minded and cowardly in the world. Thus, our regeneration will depend on what might be called an ultraphilosophy,1 which, through a complete and intimate knowledge of things, brings us close again to nature. And this should be the outcome of the extraordinary enlightenment of this century. (7 June 1820.)
Barbarism consists not so much in the absence of reason as in the absence of nature.2 (7 June 1820.)
In ancient times, exercises to promote physical strength were not only useful in wartime or for encouraging a love of glory but also contributed, in fact were essential, to maintaining strength of mind, courage, aspiration, and enthusiasm, which a feeble body cannot sustain (see my other thoughts on this [→Z 96]), in other words those qualities on which the greatness and heroism of a nation depends. It has already been observed that physical vigor damages the intellectual faculties and favors the imagination, whereas a poor physique greatly favors reflection (7 June 1820), and the reflective person is neither active nor very imaginative, and great illusions are not meant for him.
[116] The superiority of nature over reason is also demonstrated by the fact that we never do anything enthusiastically if we are moved by reason and not by passion.1 The Christian religion itself seems and is alien to passion, but because human nature plays a part in everything, Christianity has never been followed and defended with real conviction except when people were moved by a partisan spirit, by enthusiasm, etc. And even now the faithful act as a body or class that is involved in religion solely in a partisan spirit, hence their hostility toward unbelievers and the irreligious, and their resentment, etc., and derision, all things that are human and passionate, not divine, or thought through, or put into practice calmly and coolly. (7 June 1820.)
The ancients used to believe that the dead would have no concerns other than those relating to the business of this life, that the memory of their past would occupy them continuously and they would be sad or happy depending on whether they had enjoyed themselves or suffered here above, and so, according to them, this world was the kingdom of man and the afterlife an exile, the opposite of Christian beliefs. (8 June 1820.) See p. 253.
Wherever the sciences, the arts, and any other discipline exist, they develop their own vocabulary. If we Italians did not want to use foreign words in modern philosop
hy, we should have shaped it ourselves. Those disciplines which we have developed (e.g., architecture) employ our vocabulary, even in other countries.
The reason for what Montesquieu describes, loc. cit., ch. 11, p. 124, end,2 is that people are more offended by scorn than by actual harm. And the reason for this is our self-love, which is more concerned with ourselves than with our comforts. True, there are some base spirits who do not care about scorn and complain only about actual [117] harm. The reason is that the low self-esteem such people have is more concerned with material possessions than with respect, honor, or personal dignity, which we might call in some way spiritual values. On the other hand, there are also superior people who, while they are scornful of scorn, also protect themselves against actual harm because this is something real, whereas scorn can hurt us only to the extent that we respect it.
In what Montesquieu says, loc. cit., ch. 13, p. 138 and in the note,1 observe how times change and consider the ultimate fate of the French regicides in our times. The reason is that the spirit of our age is, as they say, one of moderation or, in other words, indolence and indifference; that now the difference of opinions is adduced as a defense, when at one time two people holding differing opinions on various points were the same as two mortal enemies; and that, even when someone is reckoned to be criminal and wicked, virtue no longer commands interest as it once did, to the extent that we want him punished at all costs. This revenge on behalf of virtue was once sought after and desired in contemplation of virtue itself. Now that we know that virtue is a phantom, no one takes it on himself to do harm to others and incite hatred and enmity, which are real things, for the sake of an illusory entity.
With reference to what Montesquieu says about the fortunate and beneficial cowardice of Octavian (loc. cit., ch. 13, p. 139, end), consider that if the Senate had thought him [118] courageous, it would have thought him ambitious. Now, if someone is ambitious, he is so on behalf of himself, and ambition on his own behalf by Octavian, who was Caesar’s heir and adopted son, could only have meant aiming at monarchy. Seeing him weak made people think that he would side with the good, which is the least dangerous choice, because it has public opinion on its side and is the correct and expected choice. The bold are for the most part bad, and choosing the good is for the weaker because boldness is not required to make the obvious choice endorsed by law, nature, and the opinion of society, which is that of virtue, but is required rather in order to join the hateful ranks of vice. The fact is, however, that for Rome, too, the moment had arrived when politics prevailed over courage, as it does now and in all corrupt times. (9 June 1820.)
The primitive and the barbarous are different things. The barbarous is already spoiled, whereas the primitive is not yet mature.1
We should not think that a people is not barbarous because it does not resemble other barbarous peoples (as if the Mohammedans were not barbarous because they are not cannibals). See how many kinds of barbarousness there are in the world, whereas there is only one nature. Because the laws of nature are fixed and immutable, but corruption is infinitely varied according to its causes and circumstances, in other words customs, opinions, climate, national character, etc. etc. (9 June 1820.)
A big difference between the laws of nature and the laws of civilization is that civil or human laws may be forgotten through [119] distraction or for some other reason, and broken without troubling the conscience (for example, if I eat meat forgetting that I should abstain that day, or if I remember but am distracted), whereas natural laws admit of no such distraction, and it cannot happen that we break them without realizing it, because they are always in our hearts, like an instinct of which we are constantly aware, and which is not subject to forgetfulness.
Naturalness in writing is so imperative that if it were the case that this could be achieved only at the cost of clarity, then I would consider that the latter is like civil law and the former like natural law, which can admit no exceptions and must be observed even when society or the individual will suffer, something not so out of the ordinary.
It is noticeable that the French, while they are the most modern nation in the world in their customs, etc., still have an old-fashioned propensity that most civilized countries now have abandoned, and that is a contempt bordering on hatred for foreigners. This is not at all to their credit, because it contrasts absurdly with the excessive modernity of all their other customs and opinions, etc. And it is all the more ridiculous, as it was reasonable, in the end, for the Greeks, because, not having known about the Romans until very late (see Montesquieu, Grandeur, etc., ch. 5, p. 48 and the note),1 there was in effect no other nation that could match them by a long chalk. As far as the Romans are concerned, it is well known that, despite their fierce patriotism, they were always very impartial [120] in their judgment of foreigners—indeed, they made it a policy always to adopt any unfamiliar foreign practice that they considered useful, even if it meant abandoning or changing their own.
In the republics, the causes of events were more or less clear. Speeches that had persuaded the people or council to make a decision were published, diplomatic missions were conducted in public, etc. As everything had to be done in the presence of the multitude, words and actions were open to scrutiny and, with many people sharing equal power, each was concerned to discover the motives and aims of the others, and everything was made public. See, e.g., Cicero’s letters, which contain almost the whole history of those times. But now that power is limited to a few, we can see events unfold and do not know their causes, and the world is like one of those machines which move by some hidden mechanism or those statues which are made to walk by someone hidden inside them. And the human world has become like the natural one, where we need to study events as if we were studying phenomena, and to discover their driving forces by groping our way, like physicists. From which we can see how much the usefulness of history has declined. See Montesquieu, loc. cit., ch. 13, end.1 See p. 709, paragraph 1.
The main cause of what Montesquieu describes, ch. 14, p. 155,2 is that, although a people comprises individuals motivated by base passions, nevertheless, since these are particular and infinite in number, it can be won over only by general passions, that is, those things which [121] nature has made generally pleasing, such as amiability, virtue, courage, services rendered, skill in business, integrity, honesty, honorableness, etc. So popular elections cannot oblige a candidate to belittle himself except in minor ways; on the contrary, they oblige him to make himself bigger. But the passions of the individual are mean and base, and when an election depends on the individual, you must be abject in spirit and make yourself unworthy of any honor or advantage in order to win him over, and so it is natural that positions of worth fall to the unworthy. Add to this the great boost given to wit, eloquence, and all our noble faculties by the desire to win over the multitude, which ordinarily judges by true standards, since only these are common to all. (10 June 1820.) So whatever the case, the judgments, etc., of the time and of the public are always right in relation to any matter.
The real reason, if you ask me, for what Montesquieu says loc. cit., ch. 14, p. 1571 about the man arraigned by Tiberius for having sold, along with his house, a statue of the emperor, and about someone else, etc., is that the material and the tangible had much more power over ancient people and were much more respected in those imaginative times than they are in our wholly intellectual age.
The reasons for what Montesquieu says at the end of ch. 14,2 and is surprised by, are that: (1) everyone is as unhappy as he thinks he is, and the poor and ignorant believe themselves to be less unhappy than do the rich and well educated, not that the former do not consider themselves much more unfortunate than the latter, but, measuring and comparing the idea [122] of their unhappiness as they conceive it, one finds it much greater in the latter than in the former; (2) fear is a state proper to a semibarbarous people; (3) in order to be contemptuous of life and misfortune, it is not enough to be unhappy but magnanimity, deep emotions, and stren
gth of character are required (qualities unknown to the common people), otherwise the natural, blind urge for self-preservation will prevail; (4) prosperity gives confidence, but continual misfortunes, first, instead of making people more generous, debilitate them by making them aware of their own weakness and destroying their courage, especially if they are not magnanimous by nature or education, and then sad experience makes them fearful by leaving them without hope and always expecting the worst; (5) finally, people who have very little are more anxious about the little they have because they are not used to trusting anyone or to being resourceful, qualities that are always lacking when people live in constant idleness, as they do today, and are not accustomed to hard work and the vicissitudes of fortune, as the ancient Romans were, even if they were poor.
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