Zibaldone

by Leopardi, Giacomo

  [2073] To entirely exclude the material from the essence of God is to take away from him a mode of being, and hence perfection, which means taking away completeness—that is, all the possible modes of being—and believing that he cannot exist materially, as if that in itself were an imperfection; or that he who exists materially could not exist immaterially as well, and must necessarily be limited. Rather, that being which did not or could not exist materially would be limited, and hence imperfect, that is, incomplete in its essence, according to the sole idea that we can form of absolute perfection, which must be an essence that embraces all possible modes of being. Now, the material is a mode of being that is not only possible but real, and after all is the only real mode that we can effectively know, and plainly imagine—not only we ourselves but all the creatures we plainly [2074] and effectively can know, or do know, cannot imagine or feel any other mode of being. Nor because he existed materially would God be material; rather, he would contain the material in his essence. This is certain and agreed upon even among theologians, who recognize in God the model, and the idea, or the form and antecedent cause of all possible things and modes of being. Now, how could the essence of God perfectly embrace and contain the form and mode of being of the material (the only form and mode belonging to everything created, everything in existence, that we know), or any other possible nature, if he did not exist materially and in every other possible way?

  The contradictions that we see between these modes, it is we who see them, but, as I have often demonstrated, they are not absolute but relative, and nothing can keep God from existing in two or more seemingly opposite ways at the same time, etc. etc. etc. [2075] (8 Nov. 1821.)

  Corrupted and colloquial words can often be elegant, while words that are uncorrupted or less corrupted and less colloquial are often inelegant or less elegant. E.g., commessi [I committed] is more elegant in writing than commisi, although it is a pure corruption of commisi, which comes directly from the Latin commisi [I put together]. But since this corruption, although colloquial, is old, and no longer in frequent use today, either among the people or among writers, and is found in good early writers, it can be elegant in writing, just because it is unusual, and more elegant than commisi (which is uncorrupted). The reason is precisely that the latter is in common use, and that the older and uncorrupted word has prevailed over the corrupt, so that the more modern, corrupted word comes to seem older and less ordinary than the old one. And how often do elegant turns of phrase derive from, or are no different from, [2076] pure corruptions of words, phrases, etc. etc. etc. And those who condemn them, or consider the corresponding uncorrupted and more standard words or phrases more elegant—those which correspond more closely to etymology, etc.—would not know the nature of an elegant turn of phrase, etc. (9 Nov. 1821.)

  For p. 2052, end. From sponsus, the participle of spondere [to pledge], sponsare, and from desponsus, the participle of despondere, desponsare (regarding which see Forcellini and observe their continuative force, and also refer to pp. 2033, end, ff.). (9 Nov. 1821.)

  For p. 1151, end. Quassare—of which Gellius says “quassare quam quatere gravius violentiusque est” [“quassare is heavier and more violent than quatere”]—is nothing other than a continuative of quatere [to shake], from its participle quassus.1 This is often found in Latin authors but by grammarians is recognized as an adjective noun rather than as the participle of quatere. (Maybe [2077] they would also like to call it a contraction of quassatus.) I do not deny that for the most part, in fact, it is found used in the adjective form, but that happens just as often in the case of countless other obvious passive participles of other verbs. Now, that quassus is in origin the pure participle of quatere will become clear if we consider the verb quassare in the light of the observations we have made regarding the formation of continuative verbs from the participle in us of the positives, and it is also confirmed by the authority of Festus, who says that concutere [to shake] is made up of con and quatere.1 Now, it has its past participle and that produces concussus (similarly excussus, incussus, etc.), and if concutere is the same as saying conquatere, concussus must be like conquassus. (See Forcellini under quatere, beginning, concutere, etc.) Conquassare, another synthetic derivative of quatere, therefore turns out to be a continuative of concutere, etc., no less than succussare (whence succussator, succussatura, etc. See also Du Cange) is of succutere [to shake]. Forcellini calls it the frequentative of succutere. It is an old verb, along with its derivatives; he even has some of them in the Glossary, and we, too, colloquially sometimes say succussare. (9 Nov. 1821.)

  [2078] For p. 1111. The direct formation of a verb from a preposition (or more than one) and a noun is typical of the Italian language (augnare [to bevel], arrischiare [to risk], inceppare [to obstruct, to hinder], and a thousand others), which in that respect is similar to Greek (a close relative), and also to Spanish, etc., but not to Latin, where it’s hard to find a verb made with a preposition or particle or adverb that does not derive from another simple verb, one that does not have the preposition, particle, etc. Even though that simple verb is not always found, it nevertheless existed in ancient times, because that is the nature of the Latin language: to form compound verbs not directly from nouns but from simple verbs, which, however, were formed from nouns. It is not very likely, then, that in Latin (I mean in good Latin) you will find a verb originally consisting of or formed from a preposition or particle, etc., and a substantive noun. Pernoctare, which might be of this very rare type, points to, if I’m not mistaken, an ancient noctare, similar to the Greek νυκτερεύειν [to pass the night]. See p. 2779, end. Indigitare [to call upon, to invoke] may likewise be of this genre, and so, too, irretire [to catch in a net], etc. Rarely, again, did the Latins form a verb consisting [2079] of one or more nouns and a verb (such as labefactare [to cause to totter, to shake], etc.) in which the verb did not exist outside of that compound, or without any compounds, etc. etc. (9 Nov. 1821.) See p. 2277.

  For p. 1154, margin. Our forebears also have an Italian verb fremitare, which was formed, however, in the Latin manner, from fremitus or fremitum, the participle of fremere [to quiver] (in the past we said fremire), and which one can easily believe is of more ancient origin, although it’s not found in the Latin writers or in the Glossary. (12 Nov. 1821.)

  “Les écrivains français ont besoin d’animer et de colorer leur style par toutes les hardiesses qu’un sentiment naturel peut leur inspirer, tandis que les Allemands, au contraire, gagnent à se restreindre. La réserve ne sauroit détruire en eux l’originalité; ils ne courent risque de la perdre que par l’excès même de l’abondance” [“French writers have a need to animate and color their style by means of all the boldness that a natural feeling can inspire in them, while the Germans, on the contrary, gain through restraint. Reserve would not destroy originality in them; they run the risk of losing it, rather, by the very excess of abundance”]. (De l’Allemagne, tome 1, 2nd part, ch. 9, p. 244.) [2080] That means that the German language is not yet sufficiently formed, and so its resources and capabilities are limitless. Everything possible regarding language is possible for German, everything possible for all languages together, and each separately. It is like a soft dough, receptive to every shape, every imprint, which can change at the pleasure of whoever is handling it, or like an unschooled boy who is receptive to every sort of attribute and faculty. One cannot say precisely what sort of character he has, what faculties nature has disposed him toward, because nature includes in each individual greater and lesser dispositions, but for every possible character and faculty.

  To these considerations belongs what the author has said immediately before. “Les dialectes germaniques ont pour origine une langue mère, dans laquelle ils puisent tous. Cette source commune renouvelle et multiplie [2081] les expressions d’une façon toujours conforme au génie des peuples. Les nations d’origine latine ne s’enrichissent pour ainsi dire que par l’extérieur; elles doivent avoir recours aux langues mortes, aux richesses
pétrifiées pour étendre leur empire. Il est donc naturel que les innovations en fait de mots leur plaisent moins qu’aux nations qui font sortir les rejetons d’une tige toujours vivante” [“The German dialects originate in a mother tongue in which everything is possible. This common source renews and multiplies expressions in a fashion that is always consistent with the genius of peoples. The nations that originate in Latin are enriched only, so to speak, by the external; they have to resort to dead languages, to petrified riches, to extend their empire. So it is natural that innovations when it comes to words are less interesting to them than to nations that produce offshoots from a living stalk”].1 —The mother tongue of the modern Teutonic languages is no more alive than Latin. But the difference is that Latin was fully formed and fixed; ancient Teutonic was not. The former lived and is dead; the latter is not dead, because it never, one might say, lived. The well-defined form of the Latin language always more or less influences its offspring. Even though when these arose, and were new, and unformed, they contained within themselves a trace of something old and fully formed, and this old and fully formed aspect was dead. Hence there is always a trace of gêne [constraint] in our languages, in comparison with the infinite freedom and power of German and Greek. Since the mother [2082] of the modern Teutonics was never fully formed, one might say that it is scarcely a mother. One might say that its offspring are not offspring but a continuation, a development and definition of that language, which never acquired a form, etc. Thus it is still living, and the modern Teutonic languages derive from the ancient without interruption, without an intermediate complete renewal of forms, such as places a kind of barrier between the southern languages and their ancient sources. The ancient Teutonic language therefore lends itself to the modern any way it’s wanted, and the root of its offspring is still living, because it never had a form that fixed and limited it, and attached it inseparably to its time, to the character of a particular era, to its ancient nature, etc., and differentiated it from the language of another time, even if the latter was derived from it, and resembled it, and was in its debt, etc. Latin, on the other hand, had a form, and died with the character and circumstances of the times to which it was attached, and in which it received its complete form, and definition. [2083] Greek did not have a form, and so it closely resembles German, but only in those external circumstances and qualities, not in its intrinsic qualities, which are as different as the southern character is from the northern. And so it would be foolish to believe that the character of the German language substantially resembles that of the Greek. You would have to see the two languages well formed, and then the difference in their characters would be extreme. Rather, because this similarity is external, the German language is adaptable to all the intrinsic and characteristic qualities of the Greek language, but not without losing its nature, its innate spirit and taste, its originality. And Greek would be the same with respect to German.

  Ancient Teutonic cannot, therefore, be differentiated from modern German, nor can the former and the latter be considered two individuals, but are one, a child in the past, today an adult. Whereas Italian, e.g., and Latin are two equally mature individuals, and different from one another. All of that proves not the adaptability and particular flexibility of the German language but the flexibility common to all [2084] languages that have never been fully formed, and the fecundity common to all languages whose origin cannot be fixed five or six centuries ago, like Italian, but is lost in the mists of time. Therefore, the German language still has and will have, until it acquires its completed form, a character as modern as it is ancient, or, rather, neither; unlike English, which is its blood sister, but which, owing to various circumstances, has acquired a more fixed form and definition, and propriety. The Hebrew language, if it were still written today, would be in the situation of German, and, in fact, in the rabbinical writings it was. Those are, in fact, Hebrew, although they have as much to do with ancient Hebrew as German with ancient Teutonic, which is hardly known. Whereas neither Latin writings of recent times nor Italian writings are or were Latin, because Latin received a definite and fixed form, [2085] outside of which Latinity does not exist. But the quality of being Teutonic or Hebrew does exist outside of ancient Teutonic or Hebrew, which were never fully formed or limited in such a way that one could say, this phrase, etc., is not Teutonic. Thus you could talk similarly about Greek, whose freedom, unlike Latin, undoubtedly originated in the diversity of social and political circumstances, and in the fact that the Greek language flourished for a much longer time, thanks to excellent and eminent writers, not as linguists but as writers. (13 Nov. 1821.)

  “Il lui reste encore” (à l’Allemand) “une sorte de roideur qui vient peut-être de ce qu’on ne s’en est guère servi ni dans la société ni en public” [“There remains still” (in German) “a sort of rigidity which comes perhaps from the fact that it has scarcely been used in society or in public”]. Loc. cit., p. 246.1 (13 Nov. 1821.)

  “L’Allemand est en lui-même une langue aussi primitive et d’une construction presque aussi savante que le grec. [2086] Ceux qui ont fait des recherches sur les grandes familles des peuples, ont cru trouver les raisons historiques de cette ressemblance: toujours est-il vrai qu’on remarque dans l’allemand un rapport grammatical avec le grec; il en a la difficulté sans en avoir le charme; car la multitude des consonnes dont les mots sont composés les rendent plus bruyants que sonores. On diroit que ces mots sont par eux-mêmes plus forts que ce qu’ils expriment, et cela donne souvent une monotonie d’énergie au style … J. J. Rousseau a dit que les langues du Midi étoient filles de la joie, et les langues du Nord, du besoin … L’allemand est plus philosophique de beaucoup que l’italien, plus poétique par sa hardiesse que le français, plus favorable au rhythme des vers que l’anglais: mais il lui reste encore, etc.” [“German is in itself a language that is as primitive as Greek and has a structure almost as complicated. Those who have carried out research on the great families of peoples thought that they had found historical reasons for this resemblance: it is true that one can observe in German a grammatical relationship with Greek; it has its difficulty without the charm, for the multitude of consonants that make up the words render them noisy rather than resonant. One would say that the words are in themselves stronger than what they express, and that often gives the style a monotonous energy … J. J. Rousseau said that the languages of the South were daughters of joy, and the languages of the North of need … German is much more philosophical than Italian, more poetic thanks to its boldness than French, more favorable to the rhythm of verse than English: but there remains still, etc.”].1 See the preceding page.

  [2087] “La simplicité grammaticale est un des grands avantages des langues modernes: cette simplicité, fondée sur des principes de logique communs à toutes les nations, rend très facile de s’entendre; une étude très-légère suffit pour apprendre l’italien et l’anglais; mais c’est une science que l’allemand. La période allemande entoure la pensée comme des serres qui ouvrent et se referment pour la saisir. Une construction de phrases à peu près telle qu’elle existe chez les anciens s’y est introduite plus facilement que dans aucun autre dialecte européen; mais les inversions ne conviennent guère aux langues modernes, etc.” [“Grammatical simplicity is one of the great advantages of modern languages: this simplicity, based on principles of logic common to all nations, makes understanding one another very easy; a little study is enough to learn Italian and English, but German is a science. The German period surrounds thought like locks that open and close to hold it fast. A structure of sentences almost like that which exists among the ancients was introduced more easily into German than into any other European language; but its inversions are hardly suitable to modern languages, etc.”] and she continues, taking up again the overuse of inversions in German, loc. cit., pp. 245–47.

  A language that by nature resembles the ancient languages, and Greek in particular, like German, is also “éminemment” [“eminently”] [2088]
(as Staël says elsewhere) suitable for philosophy.1 The German language does not have an ancient character, except in that it is not yet fully formed, because it assumes a character unequivocally typical of the time in which it is written. And for that reason alone it has the vagueness, and the freedom, and the variety that are typical of ancient languages. To acquire a modern character, a language, even if it is modern, needs much greater culture, tradition, art, collusion of writers and means, than ancient languages needed in order to acquire a form appropriate for their time, or than modern languages need in order to acquire an ancient form. For the ancient form was much vaguer and more indeterminate than the modern, and little was needed to achieve and establish it.

  But, apart from that, this example in fact proves and confirms what I have said in various places [→Z 1478ff., 1862‒63, 2008‒2009] (1) that [2089] languages having an ancient character are capable of extremely subtle philosophy, and of expressing all the deepest and most elemental human ideas, (2) that the Greek language (like German) was such a language, and would be today as well if it were living, and would have been much more useful to our times than Latin if, etc. etc. etc., (3) that the Italian language, being, historically and temperamentally, the oldest of the fully formed modern languages, and the freest, etc. (since it surpasses in these qualities Latin itself, its mother), is highly capable of philosophy, however abstruse, when those who use it know how to recognize and employ its qualities, and its immense powers, and the forms it is open to by nature, and to set about applying it to modern subjects, etc. (14 Nov. 1821.)