Zibaldone

by Leopardi, Giacomo

  For p. 532. This may also be observed [536] in the physical or external effects of those inner sensations, regarding health, or movements and gestures, or resolutions or actions, into which they drag children and primitives with an irresistibility and an unfailing violence unknown to any other inner sensation at other ages and in other conditions, but only to some external and physical ones. At all events, one may say that the imagination or inner sensations have, in childhood and in the natural state, the same or similar force and certainty as outer and mechanical forces and sensations have in that and other ages or conditions.1 (20 Jan. 1821.)

  “Nihil est enim appetentius similium sui, nihil rapacius, quam natura” [“For there is nothing more eager or greedy than nature for what is like itself”]. Cicero, Laelius sive de amicitia, ch. 14. (21 Jan 1821.)

  For p. 135: “Fructus enim ingenii et virtutis, omnisque praestantiae, tum maximus capitur, cum in proximum quemque confertur” [“For the fruit of genius, of virtue, and, indeed, of every excellence, is greatest when bestowed on those who are nearest and dearest to us”]. Cicero, Laelius sive de amicitia, ch. 19, end. And see the previous paragraph. (21 Jan. 1821.)

  Worthy of being noted and consulted, and also [537] of being translated and applied to the case in point, is Cicero’s fine argument (Laelius sive de amicitia, ch. 13: “Nam quibusdam,” etc. [“For some,” etc.], to the end) against those Greek philosophers who said “caput esse ad beate vivendum, securitatem; qua frui non possit animus, si tamquam parturiat unus pro pluribus” [“for, as they say, an essential of a happy life is freedom from care, and this the mind cannot enjoy if one man is, as it were, in travail for many”], and who hence came to prescribe the “curam fugere” [“freedom from care”] and the “honestam rem actionemve, ne sollicitus sis, aut non suscipere, aut susceptam deponere” [“not to undertake any honorable business or course of conduct, or to lay it aside when undertaken, in order to avoid anxiety”]. This philosophy is tantamount to the philosophy of inaction and nothingness, philosophy as perfectly reasonable, the philosophy of our own day. And Cicero’s argument might be taken as an argument against egoism, although, in those times, it was still unknown by name. “Quae est enim ista securitas?” [“For what is this freedom from care?”] asks Cicero, and he proceeds to show where this will lead. But the main thing is that it not only leads to a thousand absurdities and evil deeds (according to nature, not according to reason, but Cicero calls nature “optimam bene vivendi ducem” [“the best guide to living well”], ch. 5) but does not even attain its goal, which is the happiness of the individual [538] in whatever way it is achieved. Indeed, on the contrary, it impedes it, and divests it of its nature, and is contradictory to and incompatible with the happiness of the individual in a social state. And so we are all followers of that sect or dogma which Cicero impugns.1 Here, we are all philosophers after that manner. Here, we are all egoists. And what is the result? Are we happy? What is it that we enjoy? With the world divested of the beautiful, the great, the noble, and virtue, what pleasure, what benefit, what life remains? I do not mean in general, and in society, but individually, and in each of us. Who is or was the happier? The ancients with their sacrifices, their preoccupations, their anxieties, ventures, activities, undertakings, dangers? Or us, with our comfort, peace of mind, heedlessness, order, peace, inaction, care for our own good, and carelessness for that of others, of the public, etc.? The ancients with their heroism, or us with our egoism? (21 Jan. 1821.)

  It is every day observed and obvious that men of greater talent have the most difficulty in making up their minds both to believe and to act. They are the most uncertain, the most hesitant and temporizing, the most tormented by that great affliction which is indecision, the most inclined and accustomed to leave things [539] as they are, the slowest, most reluctant, most unwilling to change anything in the present, despite the benefit or acknowledged need of doing so. And the greater the habit of reflection and depth of character, the greater the difficulty and pain of coming to a decision. (21 Jan. 1821.)

  But it does not follow that a habitual and immediate determination not to believe (as also not to act) is therefore a sign of great talent. Indeed, precisely for that reason, it is a sign of small-mindedness. Not to believe is a decision, and men who are truly wise and deep and versed in the world’s ways know how many things there may be, how difficult it is to negate, how true it is that, from the uncertainty and obscurity of things, from the difficulty of affirmation, there necessarily also follows the difficulty of negation, that is to say, of affirming that a thing is not, which is also a kind of affirmation. And so if a thing is not wholly lacking in proof, or proof enough to cause doubt, or if it is not completely absurd, or clearly acknowledged by him as false, either through experience or through reason—except in these cases, [540] the man who is truly wise and a philosopher and has knowledge of things in so far as they may be known ἐπέχει καὶ διασκέπτεται [suspends judgment and reflects], and believes that there are reasons for assent as for dissent. But men of little intelligence, although much in the public view, or desirous of being so, believe that they are giving proof of talent when, upon first glimpsing some proposition or thing that is out of the ordinary, or difficult to believe (or not in accordance with their opinions and principles, or not well proved or founded), they determine at once not to believe. And they take pride in this, and believe themselves to be strong-minded, because they are capable of firm and immediate disbelief, when the reverse is the case. And although there is often some boastfulness in this, nevertheless it is not that they do not generally do it in good faith, and with conviction, and that the inner man is not in agreement with the words. Since they really do have this facility of resolving not to believe. Because, precisely, they are far from true and perfect wisdom, and knowledge of things. (22 Jan. 1821.)

  “Sic enim mihi perspicere videor, ita natos esse nos, [541] ut inter omnes esset societas quaedam” [“For it seems clear to me that we were so created that between us all there exists a certain tie”]; (this is universal love, noted also by Cicero, and natural love, because nature and all animals tend more toward their own kind than to anything else; in their inclinations, in love, in society, etc., they prefer their like to that which is alien and different. This is the true limit of universal love according to nature, not those limits assigned to it by our philosophers. But let us proceed) “maior autem, ut quisque proxime accederet. Itaque cives, potiores, quam peregrini; et propinqui quam alieni” [“which is stronger with our proximity to one another. Therefore, fellow countrymen are preferred to foreigners, and relatives to strangers”]. (Thus it is that in the conflict of interests between those who “nobis proxime accedunt” [“those who are near to us”] and those who are strangers, who are unrelated or distant from us, it is the former who prevail in our minds, in our inclinations, and in our nature. And not just when the circumstances are equal but also when either the good or the well-being and safety of those who are close to us entails some disproportionate harm to outsiders, even when one single person close to us is involved, or just a few, and many of those who are not, when it’s our own homeland at stake, in the face of the whole world. And such are truly the effects and the measure of the love of beasts for their own [542] offspring, etc., in relation to others of their own kind, of bees in one hive, with respect to others, etc. And see the following thought.) “Cum his enim amicitiam natura ipsa peperit” [“For with them, nature itself has engendered friendship”], Cicero, Laelius sive de amicitia, ch. 5, toward the end. (22 Jan. 1821.)

  “Quapropter a natura mihi videtur potius, quam ab indigentia, orta amicitia, et applicatione magis animi cum quodam sensu amandi, quam cogitatione, quantum illa res utilitatis esset habitura. Quod quidem quale sit, etiam in bestiis quibusdam animadverti potest; quae ex se natos ita amant ad quoddam tempus, et ab eis ita amantur, ut facile earum sensus appareat. Quod in homine multo et evidentius” [“Wherefore it seems to me that friendship springs rather from nature than from
need, and from an inclination of the mind joined with a feeling of love rather than from calculation of how much profit the friendship is likely to afford. What this feeling is may be perceived even in the case of certain animals, which, up to a certain time, so love their offspring and are so loved by them, that their impulses are easily seen. But this is much more evident in men”]. Cicero, Laelius sive de amicitia, ch. 8. (22 Jan. 1821.)

  Concerning the superiority of the forces of nature, of fortune, of spontaneous, natural, and random love (the subject of the previous thought) over those of reason, of (human) providence, of art, of love negotiated and obtained, which are always weak, and more elegant (in a word) than strong and powerful, it is worth seeing a remarkable and elegant passage from [543] Fronto (Ad Marcum Caesarem, bk. 1, letter 8, princeps edition, pp. 58–61), similar in part to another in the Laudes negligentiae (p. 371).1 (22 Jan. 1821.)

  The superiority of nature over reason and art, the utter inability of the latter ever to stand in for the former, the need that man, even social man, has for nature in order to find happiness, and the sheer impossibility of remedying its absence or degeneration may also be observed in the study of governments.2 The more we contemplate, and scrutinize the nature, qualities, and effects of any imaginable government, and the wiser, deeper, more thoughtful, more observant, more educated, and more experienced man has become, the more readily he concludes and decides with absolute certainty that in the condition to which man has been reduced, not recently but very long ago, and owing to the alteration, degeneration, and loss of his original society (I would not call it nature), there is no government possible that is not highly imperfect, that does not essentially contain the seeds of evil and of the greater or lesser unhappiness of peoples and of individuals. There is not, nor has there been, [544] nor will there ever be a people, or perhaps an individual, that does not suffer difficulties, cares, and sorrows (and these not few in number or trivial) derived from the nature and intrinsic and innate defects of its government, whatever it has been, is, or may be. In short, the perfection of a human government is something wholly impossible and a cause for despair, and to a greater degree than the perfection of every other human institution. Yet it is certain that, if not all, then certainly many governments could be good in themselves, and we could even say perfect, and although their imperfection nowadays is innate and intrinsic, because of the irremediable and immutable qualities of the men in whose hands they are necessarily placed—since government cannot run by itself, or by clockwork, or by the ministry of Angels, or by other natural or supernatural forces, but by the ministry of men—nevertheless it is not an original imperfection, inherent in the very idea of government, independently of what we think about its ministers, nor is it inherent in the nature of man, even when he is reduced to society. Let us consider further.

  [545] Absolute and despotic monarchical government—whether justly and in truth, or because man naturally hates servitude and more readily suffers the evils of a bad and disordered liberty, or because it is the sin, scourge, fault, and predominant misfortune of our century, and of past centuries, from the extinction, we can say, of Roman liberty onward—is considered, whatever the cause, to be the most imperfect and barbaric, the most opposed to common sense, to right reason and to nature, in short, the worst of all governments. It will be considered such today, but by no means was it at the beginning: indeed, at the beginning I judge it and believe it to have been the most perfect, and I would venture to say the only perfect, reasonable, and natural government. In other words, granted that there has to be a government, I maintain that, in the original state of society, it ought not to have been, and could not have been, anything but monarchical and absolute; and if one did not wish for this form of government, there was no cause to wish for a government at all.1

  Man is by nature free, and equal to any other member of his species. But that is not how things are in the [546] state of society. The justification, principle, and purpose of society is simply the common good of those who compose it and who join together in a more or less extensive body. Without this purpose, society lacks its justification. And since society, where it has no such purpose and subsists without achieving it, is not merely irrational but pointless, indeed, even harmful to man, so then, if that same purpose is not achieved, one should dissolve society, for in itself, and independently of the said purpose, it brings man more harm than benefit, indeed, only harm.

  Now, the common good of a body or a society cannot be achieved except through all its members cooperating to this end. Thus it happens in all things: an effect, which must result from many causes, and from many forces, each operating on its own account, cannot be achieved without the agreement and the combined and appropriate cooperation of all these forces, toward the said effect. There you have the principle of unity, a principle that necessarily follows from the purpose of society, which is the common good. And so, since the justification of society lies in the common good, [547] and not in anything else, it fundamentally contains the principle of unity. To such an extent that society, rightly understood, entails by its nature unity, that is, the union of many: which union is imperfect if it is not entirely one, so far as its cause and purpose are concerned, since in other respects, where society does not need unity, man, even though connected, is as if outside society, and retains his natural attributes, namely, his liberty, care for himself and his affairs, etc. In short, in the other parts, which are independent of the common good, society does not subsist, and is not society, even though it does at the same time subsist as far as its justification, destination, and purpose are concerned.

  But the wills of the individuals assembled in a body, the interests or the opinions each of them has regarding his own advantages, and thus any other matter, are infinite and utterly diverse. Hence the forces of each cannot combine in relation to a single end, in part because not everyone is concerned to attain it, and in part because opinions, wills, etc., even though [548] they may absolutely agree on the need to pursue it, do not relatively agree on defining it, either in general and as a whole, or in part and in particular, or regarding the times and occasions for pursuing and attaining it, etc. And one person believes, or wishes, that the purpose is or should be this, another that it is or should be that; one that such and such advances the agreed and settled purpose, the other that it harms it or does not advance it; one that the said purpose must be pursued today, or in this fashion, the other that one must wait until tomorrow, or pursue it in this other way. And so those who do not heed the common good, and are not in tune with the purpose of society, are unnecessary and harmful to society. Those who do heed it do not combine, and are unable to combine with the others, either positively or negatively, that is, by acting or by refraining from acting, depending upon needs and purposes, etc. So they, too, are not in tune with society’s purpose, which can be achieved only through the agreement of its members as to the common good: otherwise each could obtain it for himself without society, and society would have no point.

  [549] Thus, in a wholly free and equal polity there is in fact no unity, which is the sole means of achieving the sole purpose of society, indeed, the sole constituent element of a society; and therefore in a free and equal polity only the name and semblance of a society exist, and this means that a number of people are together in one space, but not in society.

  Since, then, the purpose of society is the common good, and since it may be achieved by individuals combining in order to pursue the said good, namely, by means of unity, it follows that the order, true condition, and perfection of society can only be that which produces and wholly gives rise to this combination and unity. For the perfection of any thing whatever is simply its corresponding fully with its final purpose.

  How, then, may the opinions, interests, and wishes of many be united in a single center? There is no other means than that of subordinating them to, making them depend upon, and having them be governed by a single opinion, wish, and interest; that is, by the opinions,
wishes, and interests of a single person. Unity is achieved, but for it to be true unity, this single person has to be truly on his own; that is, he must be able fully [550] to govern, direct, and define the opinions, interests, and wishes of each, and consequently to deploy the forces of each. In short, all the members of such a society must wholly depend upon him alone, in all that concerns the final purpose of the said society, that is, its common good. This, then, is absolute, despotic monarchy. Thus it is shown to be not only good in itself but inherent in the essence, in the logic of a society that is human, that is to say, of a society composed of individuals who of themselves are in conflict.