Fator aris from for-aris-fatus [to speak]. A verb, this, to be placed alongside dato as [to give], nato as [to swim, to float], and others if there are any (all formed from a monosyllabic stem), where the a of the participle in atus is not changed to i when the continuative is formed. (28 August 1823.)
For p. 3246. Fatigo as [to weary] is from ago is [to drive] (see Forcellini) if this etymology is correct. (In Italian we have fatica, colloquially fatiga, fatigue in French and fatiga in Spanish. Could this be the root of such a verb? Certainly the word is common to all three daughter languages. In which case, should it not also be for fatisco [to gape] in the sense of to become weak or flag? Which does not seem likely. See if the Glossary has anything.) Ago has the frequentative form actito from the participle actus, and the common continuative or frequentative agito [to put in motion] from the archaic and regular agitus. I wonder if mitigo as [to make mild, to tame] might have anything to do with what we are talking about. (28 Aug. 1823.)
Human works tend to serve as models for each other. Thus as a type is gradually perfected, and each work, or most [3290] of them prove to be better than their models until full perfection is achieved, the first model appears to be and is the most imperfect work of its type, until the type itself falls into decadence or is corrupted, which invariably happens with its ultimate perfection. Not so in the epic; where the poem which was the model for all others, the Iliad, is also the most perfect. Most perfect, I mean, in the sense shown above, in speaking of the true idea of the epic poem, pp. 3095–169. Based on the comments I made there, it may be said, rather, that just as the ultimate perfection of the epic (at least as a whole, and referring to the idea of the epic) is to be found in the first epic poem which is known, the decadence and corruption of this genre likewise began no later than straight after the first epic poem known to us. Similarly, in other genres of poetry, the best and most perfect models and works are for the most part the oldest, either in absolute terms or relative to individual nations and literatures, [3291] like the Commedia of our own Dante, which is the best as well as the first work in its genre. (28 August 1823.)
For p. 3282. A distinction should be made between egoism and self-love.1 The former is no more than a species of the latter. Egoism is when man employs his self-love solely in thinking of himself, in acting directly for himself only, in rejecting the possibility of acting in favor of others with the intention, distant and ill-formed in the mind of the person acting, but real, solid, and constant, of directing those same actions toward himself as if toward their ultimate and sole true end, which self-love is well able to do and indeed does. I have said elsewhere [→Z 1382, 2410–11, 2736–37, 2752–55] that self-love in man is greater, the more life or vitality there is in him, and this in turn is greater the more force or activity his mind or body has. But this, while true certainly of self-love, is not true of egoism, nor should it be interpreted as such. Otherwise the elderly, the moderns, and men who are not very sensitive or imaginative would be less egoistic than children and young people, than the ancients, and than sensitive, highly imaginative people. [3292] Whereas in fact the opposite is true. Not so, however, for self-love. For self-love is genuinely more extensive in children and young people than in the mature and elderly, is greater among sensitive and imaginative men than among the dull of mind. Children, young people, and men of a sensitive disposition have much more tender regard for themselves than their counterparts do.1 Proof that self-love is greater in children and young people than in other ages may be seen in the infinite and most sensitive tenderness which they show to themselves, and that susceptibility and sensitivity and delicacy regarding themselves which decreases proportionately with the passing of years and the wear and tear of life, and which ultimately is usually lost. The same is true of the weak compared with the strong, and so forth. It is also true, in general terms, of the ancients compared with the moderns, and of savages compared with civilized people, for they are stronger physically, and stronger, more active, and more mentally and imaginatively agile (as a result of both their physical and moral circumstances), less undeceived, basically more alive, and more intensely so. (From which it would follow that the ancients were generally unhappier than the moderns, given that unhappiness is directly proportionate to self-love, as I have shown elsewhere [→Z 1382, 2410–11, 2495–96, 2736–37, 2752–55]. But seeing as the occupation and use of one’s own forces, distraction, and similar things were infinitely greater in ancient times than they are now, and since the highest degree of exterior life in ancient times was in [3293] proportion greater than the highest degree of interior life, it remains the case, as I have proved a thousand times, that the ancients were in fact a thousand times less unhappy than the moderns are. And the same may be said of savages and civilized people, but not of young people and the elderly today, for young people are presently forbidden from using their strength sufficiently, and excluded from external life, which old men now have almost as much of as young people. For this and the other reasons I have listed on different occasions, the unhappiness of the young is presently much greater than that of the elderly, as I have also had occasion to conclude elsewhere [→Z 277–80, 2736–38, 2752–55].)
As the sacrifice of self and self-love, whatever this sacrifice may be, cannot be undertaken (like every other human work) except by self-love itself, and as it is also an extraordinary work, beyond nature, more than any animal is capable of (certainly no equivalent is found in any other animal or being other than in man), indeed more than human, it requires a great and extraordinary force and abundance of self-love. Hence, where [3294] self-love abounds, and is stronger, there equally instances of self-sacrifice, compassion, the habit and inclination for—and acts of—charity also abound. (See in this respect pages 3107–109, 3117–19, 3153–54 and 3167–69.) This is why all these things should be, and indeed are, found more, and more often, among young people, the ancients, in men who are sensitive and noble of mind, and finally in men who generally speaking have more, or stronger self-love, and less egoism, than mature persons and the elderly, the moderns (except insofar as compassion is concerned, as I said in the places referred to earlier, since the ancients for the most part sacrificed themselves only for their homeland), the dull, insensitive, hard, slow and dead of mind, and lastly women, all of which groups generally speaking have more, stronger egoism, and less self-love.
Narrowing my argument, I conclude first of all that egoism is so far from being directly proportionate to self-love, that [3295] it is in fact inversely proportionate to it. It is a sign and effect either of an original lack and feebleness, or reduction and weakening, of self-love, it abounds more and is greater in those centuries, peoples, and sexes, and in individuals and ages of these, where there is least life, and where self-love thus is rarer, weaker, and colder.1 From these theories it follows that as animals have less life than man, because they have less spirit and hence more matter, and more of that which exists but does not live, etc., so too they should also have less self-love and more egoism, and this indeed is the case, and that the least lively species among them, like the octopus, snail, etc., should also be the most egoistic, and that in descending to plants and going down the entire chain of being, we may say that the more life diminishes, the more egoism increases, hence the least organized being is in a certain way also the most egoistic of creatures, etc.
Second, I conclude that the elderly and mature, the moderns, the insensitive, and women have more egoism and have less, and less intense, self-love than children or young people, the ancients, sensitive persons, or men do (for they also have less life, or vitality, and egoism is a dead quality or passion, or the least vital there is). For this reason they are by nature both less disposed and less accustomed to sacrifice themselves for anyone or anything, to feel effective or ineffective compassion, to extend charity or exert themselves for others. This is how we see it is, and it cannot be denied. (The same may be said of the weak and strong, of those who are habitually unhappy or habitually su
ccessful, and so on: all qualities [3296] which correspond to and derive from greater vitality in the case of the latter and lesser vitality in the case of the former, and the habit of greater or lesser activity and life respectively.)1 Also climates and seasons, as they influence more or less of life or vitality, internal or external activity, etc., must influence self-love to a greater or lesser degree, hence also egoism, and hence also the natural disposition toward mercifulness, charitableness, etc. See pp. 2752–55, 2926 end–28.
However, an exception may be made for women insofar as compassion, especially ineffective compassion, is concerned. For in order to have this, as I said on the pages listed above (see p. 3294), it is necessary or useful to have not just greater life, and hence more and more forceful self-love, but also greater sophistication and delicacy of self-love and the mind, in which qualities women are perhaps, or are certainly deemed to be, generally, and all things being equal, superior to men. The same may be said of the moderns compared with the ancients. In everything which in compassion and charity requires delicacy, or greater delicacy, elegance, and something like the skill and artifice of self-love, rather than vivacity, energy, force, and quantity of the same, and abundance and intensity of life, in all these things, I say, and insofar as pertains to them, women, the moderns, and those who are similar to them in respect of the qualities of delicacy listed above, [3297] ordinarily speaking outstrip men, the ancients, savages, peasants, and so on and so forth. This fits with what I said on the pages mentioned earlier.
This is why women, insofar as they are weaker and more in need of others, are also less merciful and charitable than men; insofar as they are more delicate in body and mind, the opposite is true. But in this, these qualities, that is, weakness and need, in my view usually prevail and are of greater and more striking effect than the others, that is, delicacy and the like. Hence overall, in my view women really are generally and by nature more egoistic, and therefore less merciful (especially in terms of effective compassion) and less charitable than men. For intensity, strength, abundance of life and therefore of self-love have a much greater part in charity, in the disposition toward and the act of sacrificing oneself, and in excluding egoism, than do delicacy, and sophistication of mind separated from the strength, energy, activity, and vivid inner life of self-love. And this not just in men [3298] compared with women, but generally in whoever, compared to whomever.1 According to such arguments, an old woman, especially if she has lived in high society, must be the most egoistic human being imaginable (by nature, and speaking as a rule). (28 Aug. 1823.) See p. 3314.
Regarding the verb pascito [to pasture, to feed], and the regular, original participle of pasco [to feed] which it reflects, i.e., pascitus, subsequently abbreviated to pastus, see Forcellini at the end of the entry on Compesco [to hold in], which is a compound of pasco. (29 August 1823.)
Distito from disto [to be apart], would demonstrate distatus as its participle or supine distatum, if this continuative or frequentative form is correct. The supine statum of sto [to stand] is known. See also p. 3848. (29 Aug. 1823.)
For p. 2843. Compesco, dispesco, from pasco. Decerpo, discerpo [to pluck to pieces], etc., from carpo [to pluck]. (29 August 1823.)
Offenso as (offenser) [to strike], defenso as, defensito as (difensare) [to defend vigorously] from offensus, defensus from offendo [to strike], defendo [to repel]. (29 Aug. 1823.)
Pattare, impattare, empatar [to draw, to match]: I wonder if these have anything to do with paciscor–pactus [to make a bargain]. See the Glossary on this.
For p. 3072. Neuter Latin verbs usually have participles ending in rus with neuter meaning. Quieturus, that is qui quiescet [which will rest] (Suetonius in Divus Julius, Chapter 16, § 2),2 mansurus, i.e., qui manebit [which will remain], casurus, i.e., qui [3299] cadet [which will fall], victurus, i.e., qui vivet [which will live], and an infinite number of other similar ones. Why not then also victus, i.e., qui vixit [which lived], casus, i.e., qui cecidit [which fell] (especially as there is a verbal noun casus us [a falling], formed, as I have noted elsewhere to be normal, from the participle ending in us),1 etc.? Especially when it appears that these participles ending in rus either derive from or presuppose the respective participles ending in us. As for active verbs, for the same reason it would be no great surprise nor would it seem incredible, given that their participles ending in rus are not passive but active, if also their participles ending in us had an active as well as a passive meaning, as I claim.
I very much doubt whether celsus [upraised], excelsus [elevated] and praecelsus [very high] were anything other than participles with an active or neuter meaning, from the neuter verbs cello, excello [to stand out] and praecello [to surpass]. The first of these, i.e., cello, which is unattested, but demonstrated sufficiently by its other two compounds and by antecello [to be outstanding], see Forcellini, under Excello.
Moreover, if I say [→Z 2036] that continuatives and frequentatives were formed from participles ending in us, rather than from the supine forms (in um or u), what I mean is the origin of this formation, its [3300] earliest times and antiquity, etc. I do not mean to argue that later on, even when the other properties of the verbs formed in this way were already ill-known, neglected, changed, etc., as I have said elsewhere, anyone who wished to form new verbs of this kind did not form them from the supine rather than from the participle of the original verb ending in -us (whether this participle was no longer in existence, or even if it was still in use), or indifferently from one or from the other, or again if there were no supine, that it did not simply follow the analogy of the other verbs thus formed. I am merely pointing out: (1) that it should not necessarily and automatically be concluded simply from the fact that many continuatives and frequentatives which we find in classical writers and many later ones too are not to be found in the older writers, that they were new at this time and coined by this or that author in particular, or in this or that century in which we find them; (2) that the participles of neuter verbs ending in us, and others of active verbs with active meanings, were not merely typical of archaic Latin, but also of the golden age, and also the age of decadence and corruption (even possibly to the extent of passing into the [3301] daughter languages: see p. 3072), as may be seen from the reference to Velleius which I noted elsewhere [→Z 1107, note a], and from the various examples of authors who used the kind of participles I have noted sporadically (which examples may also be found in Forcellini), whether they took them one by one from the ancients, or from usage that was current at the time, or that the usage generally persisted for all or virtually all neuter and active verbs, at the discretion of the writer or speaker, or even just of one or the other, etc. (29 Aug. 1823.)
The way in which man is almost entirely the work of circumstances and accidents, how little nature has actually done in him, how many of those same qualities which are believed to be most natural in him, or rather, of those which are not believed to derive from anything other than nature, or to be in any way acquired, and which develop and appear necessarily in him, are in fact entirely acquired, and such that if man had been placed in different circumstances would never have developed, or even appeared or existed in any way; the way in which nature almost never places [3302] anything other than dispositions in man, by which he is this or something else, but places no qualities in him, or virtually none, in such a way that the individual is never as he is, by nature, but only by nature can he be what he is, and very often is such as he ought not by nature to be, indeed is quite the opposite; the way in which, basically, the individual becomes (rather than is born) virtually all of what he is, whatever he is, that is, whatever he has become. What could appear more natural, less artificial, more spontaneous, less manufactured, more innate, less able to be acquired, more independent of and separated from circumstance and accident, than that sensibility with which man is accustomed to look at a woman, and woman to look at a man, and for them to be attracted to each other, I mean the kind of emotion and feeling which man,
and especially a young man in the prime of life, who has no shadow of artifice, with no involvement on the part of his will, indeed the more so the younger, simpler and more inexpert he is, and the less his character [3303] has been altered and influenced by the ways of this world, the intercourse of men and the practices of society, is accustomed to experience at the sight or the thought of young, attractive women, or in conversation with them, and in the same way young women with handsome young men? That tressaillement [quiver], that emotion, that turmoil and confusion of thoughts and feelings, all the more indistinct and indefinable the stronger they are, which seem to be part material, part spiritual, but even more of the latter, to the extent that they appear to belong entirely to the realm of the spirit, indeed to its highest, purest, most intimate part? Now, this kind of sentiment and affection and thought, these qualities in a young person, that is, this particular sensibility, the ability to experience, and the habit of experiencing, such sentiments, is in no way natural or innate, but acquired, that is, produced entirely by circumstances, and such that if these had not been there, man would never even know or be able to conceive of those qualities, or even suspect himself of being capable of them. [3304] By nature mankind is naked, and in following nature, in many parts of the world at least, he would never have made use of garments, just as clothes are entirely unknown, e.g., to the Californians.1 Nor would man or young man ever have seen or imagined in women (and likewise woman in men) anything hidden. In not seeing anything hidden, in not having anything to desire or hope to see, and in being familiar with nudity and the form of the opposite sex right from the outset, he would never have experienced any other feeling for woman, any other sentiment or desire, than that which other animals experience for the females of their species.2 Nor would he have conceived any thought regarding her other than that of being united with her carnally. Nor would the aspect or thought or company of woman have caused in him, even in his earliest youth, any effect other than purely and simply the most sensual desire that can be imagined, an instinct to satisfy that desire, and a form of pleasure (one very languid in itself due to this habit and familiarity which started from birth and continued from that time onward) as carnal as the desire itself, and entirely, uniquely, [3305] and manifestly material, that is, belonging to, and deriving from, the realm of matter and sense only, no more and no less so than the sight of a brilliantly vivid red color or some other such sensation would have produced in him—apart from the simple fact that the former kind of pleasure would have been greater than the latter, in the same way as among other delights, either naturally or by circumstance, some are greater and some lesser, not in themselves but relative to man and animals, in short, to the creatures which experience them and in which such delights are born and have their existence.
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