For p. 4210, line 1. Timycha, a Pythagorean woman, who Dionysius of Syracuse had had tortured, so that she might reveal the secrets or mysteries of [4226] her sect, cut her tongue off with her teeth, and spat it in the tyrant’s face. Iamblichus, Life of Pythagoras, ch. 31. A copy of the story of Leena a friend of Harmodius and Aristogeiton, as Ménage observes, see Historia mulierum philosopharum, §§ 94–98.1 And many such parallel tales are due entirely to writers copying ancient traditions and stories in relation to another subject, etc. (Recanati, 16 Nov. 1826.)
“Μία χελιδὼν ἔαρ οὐ ποιεῖ” [“one swallow does not make a spring”]. Fragment of Teles, from the commentary on “De comparatione divitiarum et paupertatis” in Stobaeus’s Discourse 95, σύγκρισις πενίας καὶ πλούτου [“Comparison of Poverty and Wealth”], Basel 1549, p. 522. See Manutius, Adagia, Venice 1609, col. 469. —“One swallow does not make a spring.”2 See the Crusca. Greek proverb passed into common and popular Italian.
For p. 4212, end. “Perictyones Pythagoricae ex libro de mulieris concinnitate” [“Perictione the Pythagorean, from the book on the harmony of women”] in Stobaeus’s discourse 83, Οἰκονομικός [“Oeconomicus”]: “Σκῆνος” (corpus) “γὰρ ἐθέλει” (requirit) “μὴ ῥιγέειν, μηδὲ γυμνὸν εἶναι, χάριν εὐπρεπείης· ἄλλου δὲ οὐδενὸς χρήζει.” (indiget) [“the body must not suffer cold nor be naked, out of respect for decency; it needs nothing else”].3 He is condemning sumptuousness of dress.
For p. 4165. It is used also by Hierocles, Liber de amore fraterno, in Stobaeus, discourse 82 ὅτι κάλλιστον ἡ φιλαδελφία [“That brotherly love is a most beautiful thing”], p. 475, toward the end, Basel 1549.4 (Recanati, 16 Nov. 1826.)
Hierocles makes a most beautiful observation in De amore fraterno, in Stobaeus’s discourse ὅτι κάλλιστον ἡ φιλαδελφία, etc. 84 Grotius, 82 Gessner:5 that as human life is like a continual war, in which we are attacked by external things (by nature and by fortune), our brothers, parents, relations are given to us as allies and supporters, etc. Finding myself far away from my family, although I was surrounded by kind people, and had no enemies, yet I recall how I lived in a kind of fear [4227] or continual timidity, in the face of troubles not of human making, and as they came over me, they frightened me and wore me down, and afflicted my soul rather more than usual, for no other reason than because I felt myself alone amid enemies, that is, in the hands of hostile nature, without allies, because my family was far away;1 (Recanati, 16 Nov. 1826) and on the other hand how, when I went back to them, I felt a powerful and clear sense of security, courage, and peace of mind at the thought, anticipation, arrival of adversities, illnesses, etc.
κογχίον positivized diminutive for κόγχος [mussel]. See Casaubon, on Athenaeus, bk. 4, ch. 16.2
Faquin, facchino [porter, docker], etc.—φάκινος [made of lentils]. See Casaubon, on Athenaeus, bk. 4, ch. 15.3
Indulgeo indultum–Spanish indultar.
“Senza porvi altro studio” [“Without giving it other study”] (in other words any). Varchi, Ercolano, Venice, Giunti, 1570, p. 94, toward the end.
“Io ho veduto delle Commedie più sporche e più disoneste che quelle d’Aristofane” [“I have seen some Comedies that are more obscene and dishonest than those of Aristophanes”]; “ho veduto de’ Sonetti disonestissimi e sporchissimi” [“I have seen some Sonnets that are most dishonest and obscene”]; “ho veduto delle Stanze che si posson chiamare la sporchezza e disonestà medesima” [“I have seen some Stanzas that can be described as obscenity and dishonesty itself”]. Idem, ibid., p. 245. “E gran parte della lingua spagnuola ritiene ancora oggi della lingua de’ Mori” [“And a large part of the Spanish language still retains some Moorish language”]. Ibid., p. 260. (Recanati, Sunday 26 Nov. 1826.)
“In order to describe a respectable man, the French say ‘c’est un homme extrêmement aimable,’ the English ‘he is a very sensible man,’ and the Italians ‘è un uomo di garbo.’ I think this is a clear indication that, above all other things, the first emphasize the pleasures of conversation and the art of urbanity, the second emphasize reasonableness and good sense, and the others emphasize composure of manners and the knowledge of how to conduct oneself in life.” Algarotti, Lettere varie, Letter to Baron *** at Hertzogenbrück, Berlin, 10 March 1752, end, Opere, Cremona, Manini 1778–84, tome 9, 1783, p. 69. (28 Nov. 1826.)
[4228] The question of the highest good has been quite improperly called the question of ends.1 Man’s end is well known and certain to anyone who puts the question to himself. It is to achieve perfect pleasure, by which I do not mean perfect in itself, and therefore it does not matter whether it is the highest pleasure or not, but perfect for that person, a pleasure that brings complete personal happiness. This is our end, as everyone knows, although it can never be known of what nature this perfect pleasure is or might be, as no one has ever experienced it. And as a consequence it can never be known what human happiness is or might be. The question may be, and is, raised as to whether man can obtain perfect pleasure through virtue, bodily delight, or other such things, or which of them might give him the most pleasure, or, in short, where man might or should obtain the perfect pleasure he desires, and which is his end. But this is a question about means, not ends. The end is certain, the means is unknown, and the reason for this ignorance is clear. The reason, I maintain, is that the means of achieving this end, which no one has ever achieved, does not or do not in fact exist anywhere, and that, as a consequence, the highest good, which could or should give us the perfect pleasure that we are seeking, is not to be found. It is imaginary, as is this perfect pleasure itself, so far as its nature is concerned. And in the end, man knows and will always know what to desire, but never what to seek, in other words what means, what thing can satisfy his desire, give him perfect pleasure, in other words what is the highest good, from which his happiness should spring. (Recanati, 28 Nov. 1826.)
Ritorta–ritortola. Primulus a um, and primulum for primus [first] and primum [in the first place] adverb. Note that these are words used by Comic writers, in other words in common language.
Anticato for antico [ancient]. See the Crusca.
Far le corna a uno [to cuckold someone]—κέρατά τινι ποιεῖν [to cuckold someone], said with regard to the wife. Artemidorus, De somniis, ch. 12, whose name for this is “τό λεγόμενον” [“something that is known to everybody”]. See Tassoni, Varietà di pensieri, bk. 9, ch. 30.2
[4229] “Datti de’ polli, latte, capretti, giuncate, e delle altre delizie, che tutto l’anno ti serba.” [“Give yourself some chicken, milk, goat, junket, and some other delights which you save up all year.”] Pandolfini, Trattato del governo della famiglia, Milan 1811, p. 81. (Recanati, 30 Nov. 1826, Feast of St. Andrew.) “Vi si allegheranno degli altri” [“Some others will be included”]. Caro, Apologia, Parma 1558, p. 26. “In Esiodo non sono delle voci che non sono in Omero?” [“Are there not some words in Hesiod that do not appear in Homer?”] Ibid., pp. 26–27. And thus very often.
“Senza fargli altra risposta” [“Without giving him other response”], in other words none. Sannazaro, Arcadia, prose 11, end.1
“Observe the French people, and mind how easily and naturally civil their address is, and how agreeably they insinuate little civilities in their conversation. They think it so essential, that they call an honest man and a civil man by the same name, of honnête homme; and the Romans called civility humanitas, as thinking it inseparable from humanity.” Chesterfield, Letters to His Son, letter 95.2
It is natural for a man who is weak, wretched, exposed to many dangers, misfortunes, and fears, to suppose, to think, to imagine, even without reason, that a particular person has more sense, wisdom, prudence, understanding, discernment, insight, experience than he does, and that turning to him in each moment of difficulty, he is comforted or alarmed according to whet
her that person is happy or sad, dejected or brave, and he relies upon his authority alone. Very often, even in times of greatest danger and greatest misery, he finds consolation and courage just from the encouragement and good opinion that he perceives or imagines in that person, even though it is clearly false or lacking in any apparent reason, or from even just the cheerful and resolute expression that he sees in that person. Children are very often like this toward their parents, especially when they are young. I was like this toward my father, even when I had grown up. At every moment of misfortune or anxiety, I generally waited to see, or surmise, his reaction and his opinion and judgment [4230] about the matter before determining the extent of my suffering or fear, as if I were incapable of judging, no more nor less. And if I saw that he was truly or apparently unperturbed, my mind would generally be put at rest, with an absolute blind submission to his authority, or faith in his providence. And when I was far away from him, I very often felt a powerful, though unintentional, desire for such refuge. And it has been observed and proven a thousand times over that soldiers—even highly experienced men and veterans—in danger, in crisis, during the calamities of war, are used to hanging upon the opinions, words, acts, facial expression of one of their captains, who may be young and immature, but who has gained their confidence; and, depending on what they see or think they see him doing, they are hopeful or concerned, alarmed or consoled, they take heart or lose courage. It is therefore very good for the Captain to be firm in spirit and to hide pain or fear in times of greatest concern or alarm. And this quality in man is also one of the reasons why the belief in a provident God was so universally and willingly embraced and held on to, as it is still held on to today; in other words, that there is a superior being that is wise and intelligent, who looks after our every need, and guides our life, and upon whose providence we can rely for the outcome of our affairs. (9 Dec., Vigil of the Translation of the Holy House of Loreto, 1826, Recanati.) The belief in a being that is infinitely wiser and more provident than we are, who continually directs and guides all events, and all for good purpose, even those which seem to bring us more woe, and who watches over our destiny; and all of this for reasons and in ways unknown to us, and which we have no means of discovering or understanding, so that we must not concern ourselves about them; this belief brings more comfort to mankind, especially to those who are weak and unhappy, than any other possible. This comfort derives from, and consists of, nothing other than rest, calm, and blind confidence [4231] in the authority, wisdom, and providence of another being. (9 Dec. 1826.)
Dilettare–dileticare, with derivatives.
“Moral intermittency.” Intermittent moral passions and qualities. —“I will add that this hateful passion” (avarice), “arising often from the weakness of our constitution, is sometimes developed by bodily infirmity. A lady who, for six months of the year, was subject to the vapors and to melancholy, was also prone during that time to a sordid parsimony; but as soon as the harmony of her bodily functions returned, she was adored for her great generosity.” Alibert, Physiologie des passions, in Nuovo Ricoglitore of Milan, issue 23, p. 788.1 This observation can be greatly extended. Each of us, upon careful observance, will find this type of intermittency in ourselves. I, who am inclined toward selfishness, because I am weak and infirm, am a thousand times more selfish during the winter than in the summer; I am more selfish during illness than when I am in good health and hopeful for the future; I am more prone to compassion, and more easily interested in others, and in assisting them when I am happy or when some success has restored my self-confidence, than when I feel dejected or melancholic. —How much more could be said about this same intermittency, considered not in relation to qualities, but to intellectual and social faculties, whether inborn or acquired! (Recanati, 10 Dec., Feast of the Translation, 1826.)
“Assai meglio scrisse” (Boccaccio) “quando si lassò guidar solamente dall’ingegno ed instinto suo naturale, senza altro studio o cura di limare i scritti suoi, che quando con diligenza e fatica si sforzò d’esser più culto e castigato” [“He” (Boccaccio) “wrote much better when he allowed himself to be guided only by his natural genius and instinct, without other study or care to polish his writing, than when with diligence and effort he sought to be more cultured and pure”]. Castiglione, the preface to Il cortegiano. “Senza altro” (meaning alcuno) “impedimento” [“Without other” (meaning any) “impediment”]. Ibid., bk. 2, Venice 1541, fol. 79, p. 2, beginning; Venice 1565, p. 198, end. And thus by the said author in the cited work several other times. “Senz’altro strepito” [“Without other noise”] (meaning none), Ibid, bk. 3, fol. 126, beginning–p. 310.
It seems that children and young people have a natural inborn inclination to destroy, and adults and elderly people to preserve. Nor do I wish to reach this conclusion from the observation that young people tend to squander and [4232] ill use their inheritances, while adults accumulate, conserve, and expand them; this is easily explained, and arises because young people are confident, and give little thought, nor are they concerned about the future,a whereas older people are timid, cautious, and always anxious about the future. But consider what I have said, even in cases which do not involve any fear or trust, nor providence or improvidence for the future. A child or a young boy very often takes pleasure in killing a fly or a small animal, even making great effort to hunt it out, for no other reason or purpose than enjoyment; very rarely will he obtain satisfaction in saving an animal when he sees it in danger and is able to save it without exertion, nor does the idea even enter his head. An adult or elderly man will rarely kill for pleasure, and will often obtain satisfaction in saving such creatures when he sees them in some danger of being lost and especially when he is able to rescue them without difficulty. And both children and adults behave in this way by instinct, without further thought. It is clear then that children tend to seek novelty, and want not only to bring about change but also simply to destroy what is old, or see it destroyed; and adults, on the contrary, are anxious to preserve things as they are. Thus it can be said that nature, which is always careful and diligent in not only destroying but also in preserving or producing, has given encouragement and responsibility to those who are growing up, and who are born into this world, to destroy, almost in order to make space for them; and upon those in their declining years, and approaching their departure, to preserve and produce, almost as if to leave their place occupied, in order to leave things that might remain in exchange, to fill the position that they are about to leave. (Recanati, 12 Dec. 1826.)
“Fare e dire ciò che lor occorre, così, senza pensarvi” [“Do and say what occurs to them, thus, without thinking about it”]. Castiglione, Cortegiano, bk. 2, Venice 1541, fol. 69; Venice 1565, p. 174.
Reperito as. See Forcellini.
Cielo [sky] used in relation to rooms, carriages, etc. —The same in Greek, οὐρανὸς [heaven], οὐρανίσκος for volta [vault], etc. See Casaubon on Athenaeus, bk. 5, ch. 6; bk. 4, ch. 5.1 Aristotle uses it for “palate.” Scapula.
[4233] Time is not a thing.1 It is an accident of things, and independently of their existence it is nothing; it is an accident of this existence; or rather it is an idea of ours, a word. Time is the duration of things. In the same way, 7,200 ticks of a clock pendulum make an hour; but that hour is a product of our mind, and does not exist, either in itself, or in time, as a part of it, any more than it existed before the clock was invented. In short, the existence of time is none other than a mode, an aspect, so to speak, of our consideration of things that are, or may be or are supposed to be. The same in relation to space. Nothingness does not prevent a thing that is from being, existing, remaining. Where there is nothingness, there is nothing to prevent a thing from being, or being created, there. Therefore nothingness is necessarily place. It is therefore a property of nothingness to be place: a negative property, since the existence of place is purely negative and nothing else. Thus, in the same way that time is a mode or an aspect of considering the
existence of things, so space is none other than a mode, an aspect of our consideration of nothingness. Where there is nothingness, there is space, and there cannot be nothingness without space. It is therefore clear that there is space even beyond the very last confines of the existing universe, since there is nothing there. And if something could be created or pushed beyond those extreme confines, it would find place; which is the same as saying that it would find nothing to prevent it going and remaining there. The conclusion is therefore that time and space are, in substance, none other than ideas, names. And those innumerable and immense questions about time and space, argued over from the beginnings of metaphysics onward, by metaphysicians of every century, are none other than wars of words, caused by misunderstandings, and imprecision of thought, and limited ability to understand our mind, which is the only place where time and space, like many other abstract things, exist independently and for themselves, and are something. (Recanati, 14 Dec. 1826.)
[4234] ῾Ελένη [Helene] changed into Σελήνη [Selene] in the early centuries of our era. See Maffei, Arte magica annichilata, bk. 3, ch. 5, § 3, Opere, ed. Rubbi, tome 2, p. 205.
The practice of placing the g before the n (as in cognosco, agnosco, agnatus, from nosco and natus), which I refer to elsewhere in these thoughts [→Z 3695, 3727–28, 3754–56]. See Maffei, Appendix to Arte magica annichilata, Opere, ed. Rubbi, vol. 2, p. 320.
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