This is the argument of such persons. And this logic, and the resolution that follows from it, and the life that follows on from that resolution, is completely and directly in the spirit of Christianity, and inherent in its [2384] perfection. The purpose of the perfection and essence of Christianity is to ensure that existence is employed and used only to protect against existence. And by its lights the best, indeed, the only true and perfect use of existence is to nullify it as completely as possible for the being. And not only should existence not be the primary purpose of existence in man (as it is in all other things either created or possible) but, indeed, its purpose should be nonexistence. In the idea that characterizes Christianity, existence is utterly repugnant and by nature contrary to itself. (2 Feb., Feast of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mary, 1822.)
For p. 2330. Further proof. In Latin, if you observe carefully, the words for the things that are usually named before any others in any language are either monosyllables or such that you can easily find a root of not more than one syllable. The obvious sign of a very remote and primitive antiquity that has been preserved. This is not the case, or not so often, in Greek, where frequently these words are not monosyllables, nor can you extract from them a [2385] monosyllabic root. Dies ἡμέρα [day], vir ἀνὴρ [man], etc., sol ἥλιος [sun], luna σɛλήνη [moon]. Frequently, perhaps, if the word that remained in use in known Greek is not a monosyllable, there will be a monosyllabic equivalent that is found only in Homer, or in older writers, or in the poets, or that is known by conjecture. A word, in short, that in the good, perfected period of the Greek language was already obsolete and antiquated, at least in common speech. But this itself is another, even more substantive proof that the Latin language was more tenacious in preserving antiquity. (2 Feb. 1822.)
For p. 2281, margin, end. This mischiare [to mix] certainly comes not from mescolare but directly from the Latin misculari. (1) Because we don’t say miscolare (nor do the French say mîler or misler, nor the Spanish mezclar), whereas the Latins certainly must have said that, and seeing that the i, changed to e in mescolare, is preserved in mischiare, the reason for that has to be its Latin origin. (2) Because Italian idiom customarily changes to chi the Latin cul (see p. 2375), but not, similarly, the Italian col. Thus mischiare [2386] denotes a misculare or Latin i, which must necessarily have preceded it. This second reason is also valid for meschiare, another corruption of mischiare, that is, with the i later changed to e, as in mescolare mezclar, etc. (3 Feb. 1822.)
For p. 2324, at the beginning. See also Forcellini on montuosus [mountainous], which I am inclined to believe can indicate a montus us that is old and obsolete or popular, a corruption from the vernacular. See if the Glossary has anything. (3 Feb. 1822.)
“Worthy is the lie when it helps the one who says it and does no harm to those who hear it.” Words uttered by Charicleia, a Greek girl, in Heliodorus, Delle cose etiopiche, First Book, translated by Gozzi, Opere, Venice, Occhi, 1758, tome 6, p. 92.1 (4 Feb. 1822.)
The Italian language has an infinite number of words but above all expressions that no one has yet used. —Its parts reproduce endlessly. It’s as if completely covered with buds, and by its own nature always ready to produce new ways of saying things. —All the classic or good writers were continuously creating new phrases. The dictionary contains the smallest part of them, and, in truth, the language of a single [2387] one of those writers, especially the older ones, etc., would form a dictionary in itself. Thus, a dictionary that included all the best and purest idioms used by the classic Italians, and by only those texts held up as models of the language, would be impossible. Not to mention one that included all the other, equally good expressions that have been used, or can be used, ad infinitum! I mean that are used and newly created, and nonetheless have a completely old nature and flavor. In fact, only the old Italian language, not the modern, possesses and is capable of this fecundity. —Deduce from that the ignorance of those who condemn what they don’t find in the Dictionary. And conclude that novelty of means of expression is so characteristic of the Italian language, and so enduringly and essentially, that it cannot preserve its old form without preserving, in fact, the faculty for new forms. (5 Feb. 1822.)
“Ni sabian que pudiesse haver sacrificio sin que muriesse alguno por la salud de los demàs” [Nor did they imagine that a sacrifice could take place without somebody dying for the good of the majority]. Said by Magiscatzin, the old Tlaxcalan senator, to Hernán Cortés, in Don Antonio de Solís, Historia de la Conquista de Mexico, bk. 3, ch. 3, [2388] Madrid 1748, p. 184, col. 1. Here you have the origin and the primitive reason for sacrifices, and the idea of the divinity. It was considered envious of and hostile to men because men were by nature that way toward each other, and because of the storms, etc., which men sought to ward off by means of sacrifices.1 They did not believe, primitively, that the gods materially enjoyed the flesh or blood or whatever else was sacrificed to them but that they enjoyed the death and suffering of the victim, and that this appeased their hatred of mortals and their envy. The egoism of fear, which I have explained elsewhere [→Z 2206–208]. Hence the victim was cursed and abominated, and was considered not to be something good but the subject on whom all the hatred of the Gods was to be unloaded, and sacred for this reason alone. Hence when fear (or need or desire, etc.) was greater, men were sacrificed, with the idea of thus giving greater satisfaction to the divine hatred against us. And that happened among more cowardly and timid (and so more fiercely egoistic) peoples or among those more tormented by the convulsions of the elements (as the Tlaxcalans, etc., were), or in more ancient, [2389] and hence more ignorant, and hence more fearful, times. And when the fear was extreme not only prisoners or enemies or criminals, etc., were sacrificed, as in America, but fellow citizens, relatives, children, to better satisfy celestial hatred, as in the case of Iphigenia, etc. Excessive egoism produced by excessive fear, or need, or desire for some grace, etc. (6 Feb. 1822.)
Neither among the ancients nor among the barely civilized were conquered peoples ever considered compatriots of the conqueror, as happens today. (14 Feb. 1822.)
For p. 2338. I’ve talked about the natural contradictions that occur among those objects which the present state of man makes necessary to him, as in agriculture, etc. I would add that among the very animals that he raises, many are hostile to one another by nature, and injure one another when they are not being tended, whether they do it voluntarily, or, because of their physical dispositions, involuntarily, even if they are not hostile, etc., the way hens do harm to oxen. (16 Feb. 1822.)
[2390] Children have very little ability to pay attention (1) because of the multitude and strength of impressions at that age, an unavoidable consequence of novelty and inexperience, since these impressions pull their attention constantly and forcefully in a thousand directions and keep it from being sufficient in any one; and this is the distractedness attributed to children, who, the more susceptible they are to vivid, deep sensations, the more distracted they are; (2) because the faculty of attention is not acquired without habituation, etc.; (3) because nature has seen to it that as long as man is in the natural state, the way children are, his attention is limited and inadequate, attention being the wet nurse of reason, and the first and last cause of human corruption and unhappiness.1 (16 Feb. 1822.)
Concerning the appropriateness of preserving for writers the faculty of creating new words and idioms on the back of forms already belonging to a language, that is, on the basis of the various faculties through which that language has produced other idioms of the same kind, see a fine and expressive passage in Caro, Apologia, Parma 1558, p. 52,2 after he talks about the words “Suo merto et tuo valore” [“His the merit and yours the worth”] in Predella, before entering into the numbered objections. (18 Feb. 1822.)
[2391] “Ma nulla fa chi troppe cose pensa” [“But he who thinks too much does nothing”]. Tasso, Aminta, Act 2, scene 3, last line.1 (20 Feb., first day of Lent, 1822.)
; Do mutes have the faculty of speech? No, certainly. And yet when it comes to speech they have as great a natural disposition as the best speaker in the world. But this is nothing other than possibility, which the mute never transforms into the act and doesn’t use in any way, because, since he can’t hear, he doesn’t learn from others (that is, doesn’t become accustomed to doing so), and, not having the means for habituation, he doesn’t acquire the faculty. There you have the alleged natural and inborn faculties of man. And what do we think is more natural than speech? The principal characteristic of man and what most distinguishes him from beasts. (20 Feb. 1822.)
Cogliere (which is also pronounced corre) and coger [to collect, to gather] are no other than colligere; scegliere (also scerre) and escoger [to choose] indicate a Latin excolligere, said colloquially in preference to, and in place of, eligere [to pick out] (1) because the preposition ex, used in these two modern compound verbs, means nothing in the two languages (not to mention the fact that it is here deformed in such a way that, even [2392] if it had meaning in itself, it would mean nothing in these cases, since it is no longer itself), though it does in Latin. (2) Because these two verbs are so similar that they show a unity of origin, and so different from one another that they give us to understand that neither of the two is derived from the other. (22 Feb. 1822.)
For p. 2304. See a notable passage by Francesco da Buti, manuscript annotator of Dante, in the Crusca, under Strega [witch]. (26 Feb. 1822.)
They maintain that nature deliberately gave man the faculty of perfecting himself, and wanted him to use it, and yet did not provide him with what is necessary as adequately as it provided the other animals. Indeed, he lacked even what was most essential. And as a result of this faculty they want man to be considered superior to, and more perfect than other beings. (1) Does this seem to you good providence? To give man the faculty of perfecting himself, that is, of achieving the happiness belonging to his nature, but, meanwhile, because this perfection could not be achieved except after a long period of time and an infinite succession of experiences, [2393] to make undoubtedly and deliberately unhappy a great number of generations, that is, all those which had to come before this perfection which belonged to them, and was yet exceedingly difficult and remote, could be achieved, and still they cannot claim that it has been accomplished. And—with respect to this same faculty of perfectibility, this gift, this great privilege given by nature to the human species—to fail to give what is needed for it, when it was obvious that this faculty would not have an effect and would not be able to compensate for the alleged failure of nature toward us except after a long time, and after many generations had, unlike all other beings, felt and endured that failure and the unhappiness that results from not being in the proper state of one’s own nature. Indeed, that this, if it were true, would show a great predilection of nature toward us, and our great superiority to other beings. (2) Since perfection is nothing [2394] but existing in the manner fitting to one’s nature, and since all animals and things are like that, all are perfect in their kind, and that means that they are absolutely perfect, since perfection cannot be considered outside the category that is being discussed. Nature, then (since animals and things did not acquire this perfection by themselves, and are in every way following nature), made animals and things completely perfect. Man alone, according to you, it made perfectible. A fine superiority and privilege. To give others the end, to you the means; to all of them perfection, to you merely the means of obtaining it. And furthermore a means that is ineffective and almost illusory or barely effective, so that, leaving aside the infinite obstacles, and the immense period of time that had to pass before bringing us to the present state, we still cannot be so bold or so foolish as to consider ourselves perfect (which would mean happy, when we are the opposite). And beyond this we don’t know when we shall be, indeed we cannot conjecture even in what our [2395] perfection will consist if it is ever achieved. And finally, if we’re telling the truth, we are or should be more than persuaded now that that perfection, however we imagine it, will never be achieved, and we will never become happier. And yet from the beginning of the world the animals have been, without having moved away from nature. There you have the natural superiority over all beings that is found in us through the fine and general assumption of our perfectibility.1 (5 March 1822.)
“Πάντα γὰρ ἀγαθὰ μὲν καὶ καλά ἐστι πρὸς ἅ ἀν ɛὖ ἔχῃ· κακὰ δὲ καὶ αἰσχρὰ πρὸς ἅ ἀν κακῶς” [“All things are good and beautiful with respect to the purpose for which they are suited, harmful and ugly with respect to that for which they are not”]. “Quippe omnia bona sunt ac pulcra, ad quae bene se habent; mala vero ac turpia, ad quae male.” Leunclavius. Said by Socrates to Aristippus in Xenophon, ᾿Απομνημονɛυμάτων [Memorabilia], book 3, ch. 8, § 7.2 (17 March 1822.)
In the writings of the modern Italian purists (e.g., Botta) one clearly sees for the most part a modern who writes in the old style, and therefore does not have the grace of old writing, since he does not do it naturally.3 One thing or the other. Either you have to look like [2396] an old writer who writes in an old style, that is to say, the writing should appear natural to the writer, and spontaneous. Or you have to be a modern who writes in a modern style, and if you want to look like a modern, you must not want to write any other way if you want to avoid ridiculous contrasts and affectation, and all the more so if you want to write modern things, and thoughts of a modern tendency (that is, thoughts characteristic of the writer who as long as he lives will never be an old writer). Such things and such thoughts, since the world began, in whatever nation, are not written and could not be written in any language other than the modern (because this alone is natural to them, and so alone provides the means to express them well and fully), and in any way other than the modern. (19 March, Feast of St. Joseph, 1822.)1 Rather, if it were possible, as far as style is concerned, we should look like old writers thinking in a modern way. Whereas with our writers, it’s exactly the opposite.
Father Daniello Bartoli is the Dante of Italian prose. His style with respect to matters of language is all flights and heights. (22 March 1822.)
Asked if he believed that the death of anyone had been truly lamented, he assented, adducing as an example that of Bartolommeo Cacciavolpe,2 who had lived [2397] on the profits of usufruct, and on lifetime pensions (grants), and who died full of debts. (25 March, Feast of the Annunciation, 1822.)
“Decia” (Montezuma) “que no era crueldad ofrecer à sus Dioses unos Prisioneros de Guerra, que venian yà condenados à muerte; no hallando razon, que le hiciesse capaz de que fuessen proximos los Enemigos” [“He said that it was not cruel to offer his gods prisoners of war who were already condemned to death; there being no reason that would persuade him that enemies could be relatives”].1 Don Antonio de Solís, Historia de la Conquista de Mexico, bk. 3, chapter 12, Madrid 1748, p. 230, col. 2. (25 March, Feast of the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary, 1822.)
The Crusca Dictionary does not have a full two-thirds of the words, or their meanings and various uses, and not even a tenth of the expressions even of the authors and books that it records in the index. And these are barely a third or a fourth of those classical Italian authors and books who by all rights should be considered to be and are reliable in the language, including the pure, old language. Now add in well-written modern books, and the words and expressions that, used or not yet used by good writers, are necessary to one who wants to write [2398] (as he should) of present things, and for the present or future, especially words having to do with the material or immaterial sciences, all of which are missing from the Dictionary. One can accept that it does not contain more than a fortieth part of the Italian language in general (at most), and not more than a thirtieth of, in particular, the old, or rather, of that which is considered classical. For this one cannot blame the compilers, except in the deficiencies relating to the authors whom they claim to have analyzed and
on the basis of whom they formed the dictionary. Because no living language has, nor can have, a dictionary that contains everything, especially when it comes to expressions, which are always (as long as it’s a living language) at the behest of the writer. And even more so in Italian (because of its nature). Much less can it be encompassed in a dictionary, since it is vaster than all other living languages, while we see that not even Greek, which is dead, could be encompassed in a Dictionary, and not just in terms of words, with new words being added by every new writer. [2399] And still less in the case of expressions, for Greek has an infinite number available to writers, just like our language, and each Greek writer forms innumerable new ones at his pleasure. Now, is it not ridiculous that while no other nation thinks that its language is determined and prescribed by its dictionary, even if it is much better made, much more extensive (relatively) than ours, and the language can more easily or better be encompassed in a dictionary,1 we—whose language (more than any other) cannot be encompassed, who, furthermore, have a dictionary that is inexact even in the things it does contain, that is much inferior to the richness of our language in terms of what would be fitting or what the dictionary makers should be forgiven for, that is constructed on a plan like no other, that is, on the plan of the ancient, whereas we are modern, and that is rigidly prescriptive, when the language is living—we, I repeat, want a dictionary that is so full of imperfections and so inappropriate to our language (and every living language) to have over this language a power, an authority, and a dominion that the most perfect dictionaries of other nations (even united nations like the French and the English) do not claim for themselves, or dream of, or think [2400] is in the least appropriate to their essence, or compatible with the nature of living languages, and that no one ever imagines acknowledging in them. (29 March, Feast of the Seven Sorrows of the Blessed Virgin Mary, 1822.)1
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