Zibaldone

by Leopardi, Giacomo

  For p. 1271. I consider it absolutely certain that the invention of the alphabet was unique in the world, I mean that alphabetic writing was not invented in several places (either at the same time or at different times) but in one alone, and from [2620] there the knowledge and practice of writing traveled little by little to all the nations that write alphabetically. It seems unlikely that an invention that is a miracle of the human mind (or that perhaps originated by chance, like most remarkable inventions) was repeated by many, that is, invented all over again by many minds. And history confirms what I say. (1) The nations that don’t have, or didn’t have, commerce with any other, or with any other literate nation, did not or do not have an alphabet. A hundred more of our wonderful kinds of knowledge are found to exist among this or that newly discovered people: the alphabet (the first medium of true civilization) never. Mexico had a government, politics, nobility, hierarchies, military prizes, indeed Orders of chivalry awarded by merit, a calendar, architecture, hydraulics, a hundred fine manual arts, navigation, etc. etc., and also hieroglyphic histories and books, but no alphabet. China invented gunpowder, the compass, and even printing. It has innumerable books, produced a Confucius, [2621] has literature and a great number of men of letters, to the point where they comprise many distinct classes, with graduations, degrees, public studies, etc. etc., but it has no alphabet (although Chinese books are sold all the time on the streets of China to the most humble people, and even to children, and the occupation of bookseller is among the most ordinary and popular). (2) It is known explicitly by tradition that alphabets passed from country to country. Greece tells of having got its from Phoenicia; likewise, etc. etc. etc. (3) A very large number of alphabets demonstrate their unity of origin if you look closely at either the form or the names of the letters (like those of Greek compared to Hebrew, etc. etc.). And this despite the fact that the nations are extremely varied, and between some of them there was no commerce, for instance between the Jews and the ancient Romans, who received the alphabet (perhaps) from Greece, which got it from Phoenicia, which got it from the Samaritans or vice versa, etc. etc., and so the Latin alphabet still comes to resemble the Hebrew noticeably. [2622] (4) If some alphabets do not show any resemblance to any other, either in the shapes of the letters or the names, etc., that does not lead to the opposite conclusion. But it means either that antiquity removed every trace of their earliest origin from them, or from our alphabets, or rather, that those nations, although, like the others, they got the practice of alphabetic writing from the outside, either did not adopt the foreign alphabet or, having adopted it, refined it little by little, that is, fitted it to their language, to the point where they completely changed it, or else replaced it all at once with a new one of their own, as the Armenian alphabet replaced the Greek, which the nation had used until then, and by means of which it had learned to write, and gotten to know the use of the alphabet, about which see p. 2012. (2 Sept. 1822.)

  The civilized nations of Asia, after the conquest of Alexander, were truly δίγλωττοι [bilingual], that is, they spoke and wrote the Greek language, not as their own but as the cultured language, which was universally known, [2623] and read everywhere (and the passage in Cicero, Pro Archia should be understood in this sense),1 and as we or the Swedes or the Russians or the Dutch write French: we (more infrequently) because of its universality, the others—like the Poles as well and, in the time of Frederick, the Prussians—because they don’t have a language that is or was yet sufficiently capable, etc. Nor should we think that the native languages of those nations were dead, or even used less frequently, and replaced by Greek in daily conversation, as happened with Latin in the Latinized nations. The ancient Asian languages also exist today, or dialects derived from them, or made up of those and other foreign languages, like Arabic, etc. And see what is said elsewhere of the Jewish Josephus and Porphyry, Vita Plotini, ch. 17, in Fabricius, Bibliotheca Graeca, tome 4, pp. 119‒20 (and the note there) “κατὰ μὲν πάτριον διάλɛκτον” [“in the native language”].2 Among those δίγλωττοι [bilinguals] who wrote in a language not their own and yet wrote remarkably was Lucian of Samosata, see his works, where he mentions his native language,3 and certain others of the time, and in fact all the Asians [2624] who wrote in Greek (except those of the Colonies, like Arrian, Dionysius of Halicarnassus, etc.), some Gauls not from Marseilles or from another Greco-Gallic colony (like Favorinus), some Africans, especially the Egyptians (because in the rest of Africa, apart from Cyrenaica, the Latin language triumphed, but as the language of men of letters and of the government, etc., not, it seems, of the people), some Italians (like Marcus Aurelius), etc. etc. (9 Sept. 1822.)

  This was precisely what the Latin language never achieved, or almost never, that is, being well understood, spoken, read, written by those who didn’t use it daily as their own, and that’s how the cited passage in Cicero, “Latina suis finibus, exiguis sane, continentur” [“Whatever is Latin is restricted to its own borders, narrow as they are”],1 should be understood. Yet they were not so narrow even then, in terms of daily use, Latin having already been established in Africa, etc.

  Visto [seen] is merely a contraction of the participle visitus (as quisto is of quaesitus in Spanish), unknown to the Latin writers. (14 Sept. 1822.)

  For the Discourse on ancient vernacular Latin see among others Pontedera, Antiquitatum latinarum graecarumque enarrationes atque emendationes, Padua, Manfrè, typis Seminarii, 1740, 4°, principally epistles 1, 2. (15 Sept., Feast of the Seven Sorrows of the Blessed Virgin, 1822.)2 See also Lanzi, Saggio sulla lingua etrusca.3

  I’ve said in several places [→e.g., Z 329‒30] that opinion is the Mistress of individuals and nations, that [2625] such as are and were and will be the former and the latter, so are or were or will be their opinions and beliefs and principles. This is entirely natural, and a necessary consequence of self-love in a reasoning being. For self-love leads man always to choose what presents itself to him as his greatest good. But what presents itself as such depends on opinion, and so man’s freedom is always determined by the intellect. Hence although man at times shifts away from his principles, considering for that moment his greater good to be that which is, however, contrary to them, nonetheless it’s natural that most of the actions, desires, customs, etc., both of individuals and of peoples conform to the principles firmly and habitually held by their intellect. (16 Sept. 1822.)

  I’ve said elsewhere [→Z 1037] that the ancient nations each regarded themselves as different by nature from the others; [2626] they didn’t think of them as fellow men, and hence did not grant them any rights, or deem themselves obligated to practice in the case of foreigners distributive justice, etc., except in certain situations, generally agreed on out of necessity, that is to say the observing of treaties, the inviolability of heralds, etc. All things the reason for which they grounded on religion through fable, as things that on the one hand were necessary if one wished to live in society, on the other had no basis in presumed natural law. Hence the dearly beloved heralds of Jove in Homer, etc., hence the violation of treaties was to make enemies of the Gods (see Xenophon in Agesilaus),1 etc. I’ve cited [→Z 1037] the Epitaphios attributed to Demosthenes to show that the ancient nations confirmed this false but natural idea of their superiority, etc. etc., to other nations, [2627] and then grounded them in fables, and stories invented by them, and traditions, etc., thus providing a basis for this falsehood, and giving it the force of a maxim and principle. Even more notable on this subject is what one reads in the Panegyric of Isocrates near the beginning, where he makes the Athenians superior by nature and origin to all men. See also the oration On the peace, where he compares the Athenians to the Τριβαλλοί [Triballi] and the Λɛυκανοί [Lucanians].1 Similarly the Jewish people called themselves the chosen people, and so set themselves without equal above all other peoples, by nobility, by merit, by right, etc. etc., and stripped others of theirs, etc. etc. (25 Sept. 1822.)

 
Pausa [pause], posa, posare (for riposare), riposo, riposare (reposare) and similar undoubtedly come [2628] from παύω-παύσω-παῦσις [make to end], etc. (28 Sept. 1822.)

  Isocrates in the Panegyric, p. 133, that is, before the middle (when he starts talking about the two Persian wars), praises the customs and the institutions of those who ruled Athens and Sparta before the time of those wars, saying, “ἴδια μὲν ἄστη τὰς ἑαυτῶν πόλɛις ἡγούμɛνοι, κοινὴν δὲ πατρίδα τὴν ῾Ελλάδα νομίζοντɛς ɛἶναι” [“they considered their own cities private abodes and Greece a common homeland”].1 (30 September 1822.)

  Isocrates in the Panegyric, p. 150, that is a little after the middle, recounting the harm done by the followers of the Spartans (Λακωνίζοντɛς) to their cities, says of them: “ɛἰς τοῦτο δ' ὠμότητος ἅπαντας ἡμᾶς κατέστησαν, ὥστɛ πρὸ τοῦ μὲν διὰ τὴν παροῦσαν ɛὐδαμονίαν, κᾂν ταῖς μικραῖς ἀτυχίαις, πολλοὺς ἕκαστος ἡμῶν” (he is speaking of private citizens, that is, of each one) “ɛἶχɛ τοὺς συμπαθήσοντας· ἐπὶ δὲ τῆς τούτων ἀρχῆς, διὰ τὸ πλῆθος τῶν οἰκɛίων κακῶν, ἐπαυσάμɛθα ἀλλήλους ἐλɛοῦντɛς. Οὐδɛνὶ γὰρ τοσαύτην [2629] σχολὴν παρέλιπον, ὥσθ' ἑτέρῳ συναχθɛσθῆναι” [“they drove us all to such cruelty that, while at first, thanks to the widespread condition of well-being and happiness, each of us could find many people willing to sympathize with our troubles, which were still small, under their regime, crushed by an enormous number of personal misfortunes, we stopped having pity on each other: for they left no one the time to share the suffering of another”].1 And truly the habit of personal misfortune makes man cruel ὠμὸν, as he says. (30 Sept. 1822.) See the following page, first thought.

  From what I have said and demonstrated elsewhere [→Z 532–35, 646–50]—that pleasure is never present but always only in the future—it follows that, correctly speaking, pleasure is an entity (or a quality) of reason, and imaginary. (2 Oct. 1822.)

  To what I’ve said elsewhere2 about the words ermo [solitary], eremo, romito, hermite, hermitage, hermita, etc., all made from the Greek ἔρημος [solitary], add the Spanish ermo, and ermar (with ermador, etc.), which means lay waste, devastate, just like the Greek ἐρημόω. (3 October 1822.) These and similar words are all poetic because of the infiniteness or vastness of the idea, etc. etc. Likewise the deserted night, and similar images of solitude, silence, etc.3

  The physical or, especially, moral sensations that man can feel are none of them of true pleasure, but indifferent or painful. As for the indifferent ones, sensitivity doesn’t help at all. Only the painful remain. Hence although sensitivity, [2630] absolutely considered, is inclined to feel every type of sensation indifferently, in substance, however, it turns out to be nothing but a greater capacity for pain. So it is that the sensitive man, since he feels more intensely than others, and since what man can feel intensely in his life is only pain, must necessarily be more unhappy than others. He is more capable of unhappiness, and this capacity in man cannot fail to be realized. (5 October 1822.)

  I have said elsewhere [→Z 2206–208, 2387–89, 2497–98] that fear is the most egotistical of the passions. Hence what has been observed: that in a time of plague, or public misfortune, where each fears for himself, the peril and deaths of those we hold most dear produce no or virtually no feeling in us. (5 October 1822.)

  I have said [→Z 244] that each of the Greek writers has a small separate vocabulary, from which [2631] he never or almost never departs, and in the totality of which each of them can be easily distinguished from the others, and that that vocabulary, especially in the more ancient, is very limited, and that the Greek language, in general very rich, is not very rich in any individual writer. The less rich the language the more ancient and classical is the writer, and so the earliest and most classical are more distinct from one another in their words and phrases than are, by the same token, the more modern, each of whom is much richer and embraces a greater part of the language. And so they must have more in common with one another than the ancients have with one another, since the words and phrases of each considered generally all belong equally to the language.

  All of that must be understood particularly [2632] in relation to roots, of which the ancient Greeks have a very limited number, each having his own, and they are noticeably different from one another, looking at the list of all the roots as a whole. Whereas the moderns are incomparably richer in them (like Lucian, Longinus, and, even more, the most sophistic and tasteless, and the most pedantic, compared, e.g., to Isocrates, Xenophon, etc.), and have many more of those roots in common with each other. But as for compounds or derivatives made from the roots that are familiar to each of them, no Greek writer is poor, or deficient, or too monotonous. But if they were, the more modern would be poorer in this respect than the more ancient. They are certainly more timid and servile, and attached to the example of precedents, and in terms of novelty sparing and restrained and cautious. And novelty when it comes to words can in Greek consist only in new compounds or derivatives. (5 Oct. 1822.)

  [2633] From what has been said above we can learn that the immense richness of the Greek language was not detrimental to ease in writing it, and so did not hinder its universality, since only a little richness (whether used or known and possessed) was necessary not only for writing and speaking Greek but also for writing and speaking it extremely well, and a few roots were sufficient for this. For compounds remained free, at the discretion of the writer, or, even when they were not free, each root carried with it innumerable compounds and derivatives, whence the writer familiar with a few roots immediately came to have a language sufficient to his needs. This infinitely diminished the difficulty that is experienced in languages, because a vocabulary that was more than sufficient [2634] for the writer or speaker was reduced to a few elements, and proceeded from a few principles or roots, and hence it was much easier to learn and put into practice than if, without being much larger, it had contained the whole language but proceeded from more numerous and diverse roots. All of these circumstances, like those noted in the preceding thought, did not exist in the Latin language. Although it was less rich than Greek, it was, however, as far as wealth was concerned, more difficult to write and speak than Greek, because you had to have all of Latin’s riches (fewer though they were) in cash, if you wanted to write and speak Latin, especially if you wanted to do it well. And Latin ears were very delicate, like the French, when it came to the true and [2635] proper manner (and purity) of their language, which compared with Greek was very free, that is, extremely varied, and largely discretionary. (8 October 1822.)

  The Greek language, which is the most ancient of the well-known cultured languages, is also among all cultured languages the most capable of signifying the ideas and objects that are most typically modern, that is, those that are most difficult to signify, and the most capable of fulfilling the need for expressions produced by the range, variety, and profundity of modern notions. And the facts bear it out, in that we resort to the Greek language, etc., all the time, as I’ve said elsewhere [→Z 735–38]. (10 October 1822.)

  “Ταύτης δὲ τῆς ἀνωμαλίας καὶ τῆς ταραχῆς αἴτιόν ἐστιν ὅτι τὴν βασιλɛίαν, ὥσπɛρ ἱɛροσύνην, παντὸς ἀνδρὸς ɛἶναι νομίζουσιν, ὃ” (τ. ἐ. ἡ βασιλɛία) “τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων πραγμάτων μέγιστόν ἐστιν, καὶ πλɛίονος [2636] προνοίας” (other codices have πλɛίστης) “δɛόμɛνον” [“That diversity of opinions and confusion of minds originates in the belief those men have that kingship is something for everyone, as if it were a priesthood; when it is” (i.e., kingship) “the greatest of all human things and
that which requires greater foresight and wisdom”]. Isocrates, πρὸς Νικοκλέα, p. 37,1 that is, less than three small pages from the beginning of the Oration. (10 Oct. 1822.)

  There is no rule or idea or theory of universal and eternal taste. What could it be, if not nature? (and what is, or, being, can be imagined and understood and conceived by us, outside nature?) but what nature, if not human? For things that fall under the category of good taste or bad taste are not judged except with respect to man. Now, is it not extremely obvious that man’s nature differs very much according to climate, era, custom, habit, governments, opinions, physical, moral, political circumstances, etc., and that these differ individually and nationally, etc. etc.? Thus, as for the whole idea and theory of universal and eternal taste, [2637] it remains an idea and a theory, which includes, and is based on, and is shaped only by those principles that, relative to taste, are found to be common to all men and belong to primitive and immutable human nature. But I say that these principles are very few, and widely applicable, and adaptable, and produce the most numerous and varied consequences (as are all natural and truly elementary principles, because nature is very simple, has set forth few principles, and these are infinitely and variably and also contradictorily a1 modifiable). From which it follows that this idea and this theory of taste that is truly universal and eternal is reduced to a very few rules and is infinitely less circumscribed and distinct than is commonly believed, and leaves room for innumerable [2638] different and even contradictory tastes (which we criticize, and, because they are contrary to our taste—either individual or national, and this perhaps momentarily—we usually believe that they are contradictory to universal and eternal taste). Or rather, not only leaves room for them but produces them, no less than what to us seems the only true good taste, etc. (13 Oct. 1822.)