| Title | : | My Secret Book |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 1843910268 |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9781843910268 |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 128 |
| Publication | : | First published January 1, 1378 |
My Secret Book Reviews
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Who can find words to match the things that fill me with disgust wherever I go: stinking alleyways, foul pugs mingling with rabid dogs, the creaking of wheels that makes the walls shake, carts swerving through the winding streets; and such a variety of races, so many disgusting displays by beggars, so much wild cavorting buy the rich: the former struck in their misery, the latter drifting around in wanton pleasures; finally, such a profusion of conflicting views, such a variety of professions, such a muddled hubbub of voices, such a rich of people falling over each other. All of this wears down the senses that are used to better things, destroys the serenity of the noble mind and interrupts the pursuit of higher studies. So may God keep my ship safe from such a disaster, for when I look around me, I often seem to have descended alive into hell. Go on, then, do something good. Go on, then, devote yourself to some uplifting thoughts. 2.15.7
__________
In cases of conflict opinions may differ, but there is only one truth and it does not change. 3.2.6
So if you ask one of that crowd for a definition not only of man but of any other thing, he has his answer ready; but if you want to press him any further, he has nothing to say. Or if his incessant debating has provided him with a wealth of words and a degree of audacity, the speaker’s character will reveal that he has no true understanding of the matter he is defining. 10.2-3
The satirical poet is correct when he says that “he who speaks the truth will be a prosecutor (Juvenal Satires, 1.161), and so is the comic poet when he says: “deference makes for friends; truth makes for hatred.” (Terence, Andria, 68) 2.5.3
__________
Fr. I’m sure that I have never sinned either as regards the object or the manner. Stop harassing me.
Aug. What then? Do you want to die laughing and joking, like certain lunatics? Or would you rather take something to cure your mind of its wretched sickness?
Fr. I won’t refuse a remedy if you can show me that I need it, but forcing cures on the healthy is often fatal.
Aug. it’s only when you start to get better that you’ll acknowledge, like so many others, how seriously ill you were. 3.2.9-2.10
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Until now you have often, all too often gazed upon the earth with clouded eyes; if so far you have found mortal things delightful, how much more can you not hope for if you look up to thing eternal? (Proem)
He who wishes to free himself from his misery, as long as he wishes it truly and fully, cannot fail in his desire. 1.1.5
Fr. Of course I remember: you are directing me back to the teachings of the Stoics, which are contrary to popular opinion and closer to the truth than to general practice
Aug. You are the unhappiest of men if you try to pursue truth through the delusions of the common people, or trust that with the guidance of the blind you will reach the light. You must flee the path which is trodden by most people and, with higher aspirations, set out on the road which is marked out by very few men’s footprints, if you are to deserve to hear the poet’s words: congratulations, young men, on your new courage: this is the way to the stars. —Virgil, Aeneid, 9.641 1.3.1-3.2
But there is in the minds of men, as I had begun to say, a perverse and pernicious desire for self-deception, which is deadlier than anything else in life. 1.4.4
We agreed to set aside the snares of deceit and to devote ourselves with absolute candour to the search for truth. 1.5.3
While a great scholar says that “by arguing too much one loses sight of the truth” (Aulus Gullies, Attic Nights, 17.14.3-4 citing Publilius Syrus) 1.6.4
Do you recognise the truth of the maxim, long since taken for granted, that a complete understanding of one’s unhappiness engenders a complete desire to rise above it? 1.6.5
It’s not enough to want; to possess something you must desire it. (Ovid, Letters from Pontus, 3.1.35) 1.6.6
How many could impose the restraints of reason on their will, or would dare to say: “I no longer have anything in common with my bodily senses; everything that I can see repels me, and I aspire to a higher level of happiness”? 1.8.2
For our recollection of things seen is more persistent than that of things heard. 1.11.4
As Cicero says, we almost all “make the mistake of seeing death in the future” 1.13.2
For the corruptible body weighs down the soul, and the earthly tabernacle presses down the mind that muses upon many things” (Wisdom, 9:15) 1.15.4
Cicero, how already detested the errors of his days, says: “they could see nothing by the mind alone, but referred everything to their eyes, yet it is the sign of a higher intelligence to abstract the mind fro sensual objects and to withdraw your thoughts from what you are accustomed to.” (Cicero, Tuscan Disputations, 1.16.37-38) 1.15.8
What use was all that reading? How much of the many things that you have read has remained implanted in your mind, has taken root, has borne timely fruits? 2.6
Indeed, although the listeners’ applause seems to be a reward for eloquence that is not to be despised, if there is no inner applause on the part of the speaker himself, how much pleasure can this noisy chatter of common people possibly offer? 2.8
I’d like to know what could be more puerile, not to say insane, than wasting time on the study of words, and never looking with your bleary eyes at your own faults, but deriving so much pleasure from speech, like certain little birds which, it is said, take such delight in the sweetness of their own song that they die of it? (Nightingales, cf Pliny, Natural history, 10.43.83)
It has come to the point where, as I often say, along the lines of Cicero’s well-known remark that we “find ourselves strong not by our own strength but by the weakness of others.” (Cicero, On Duties, 2.21.75) 2.4.4
. . . The Emperor Domitian’s remark about himself in a Letter to a friend: lamenting the all too swift disappearance of his good looks, he said “be assured that nothing is more welcome than beauty, and nothing shorter lived.” 2.4.6
“I am born to higher things than just to be the slave of my body.” (Seneca, 65.21) 2.4.8
I don’t place much value on myself or on others; it irks me to express my feelings about the majority of mankind. 2.4.12
But what use are riches assembled with such agony,
When it is beyond all doubt madness, an obvious frenzy,
To live in a state of need in order to die rich? (Juvenal, Satires, 14.135-137) 2.6.1
Do you remember the pleasure with which you used to wander in some remote country spot, now reclining on the grassy ridges of the meadows, nourished by the murmur of rushing waters, now seated on the ocean hillside and letting your gaze roam freely over the plain below, now in the light shade of a sunny valley, overcome by the sweet slumber, enjoying the silence that you desired; never idle, your mind always occupied with some elevated theme, and, with only the Muses for companions, never alone? Finally, like Vergil’s old man who
“matched the riches of kings in his mind, and coming home late
at night, heaped his table with a banquet the he had not bought,”
As you went back to your little house at sunset, happy with your lot, did you never think of yourself as by far the richest and clearly the happiest of men? 2.6.5-6.6
But that’s a detestable habit of men: you worry about transitory things and neglect eternal ones. 7.1
It’s a strange error and a pitiful blindness of the human mind, given its outstanding nature and divine origins, that it neglects divine riches and clings instead to earthly ones. 7.6
The greedy man is always needy; try to put a firm end to your desires. (Horace, Epistles, 1.2.56) 2.7.12
It doesn’t matter what source you learned the truth from, though an authoritative one is often very helpful. 2.11.4
Because he who asks for tomorrow has no care for today. (2.11.9)
I don’t want someone who considers the fate of others to derive pleasure from it, but to find consolation and to learn to be content with his own. Not everyone can come first: in any case, how can someone be first if there is no one else to come second? You mortals should count yourselves fortunate if you are not relegated to the worst position, and only suffer the milder effects of fate’s many tricks. 2.14.3-4
When you look at how many people are ahead of you, think how many are behind. If you wish to be grateful to God, and for your life, think how many people you have outstripped”; in the same place he goes on to say: “fix yourself a limit which you cannot exceed even if you want to.” (Senca, 1.5.10-11) 2.14.6
Believe me, I never despised anything more. What ordinary people think of me matters no more to me than what a herd of animals might think. 2.14.8
And she knows that therefore, dreading a life full of cares and anxiety, I have always rendered a sober verdict in favour of moderation, and have endorsed Horace’s view, not just in my words but in my heart:
He who loves the golden mean
Is sure to avoid the squalor of a shabby hovel,
And, in his sobriety, to avoid a palace
That would arouse envy. (Horace, Odes, 2.10.5-8) 2.14.10
Furthermore, as you can see, I have so far lived for other people., which is the most wretched of conditions. 2.14.15
The human race lives for a few people (Caesar in Lucan’s Pharsalia, 5.343) 2.14.18
The wood is pleasing to the Muses, the city hostile to the poets. (Petrarch, Verse Epistles, 2.3.43) 2.15.8
Aug. I don’t want to fill your ears with things that you already know, but there is a useful letter by Seneca on this topic, and there’s his book On Tranquility of the Mind; and then there’s that excellent book written by Cicero for Brutus on the basis of the third day of the discussions on his Tuscan estate, on how this sickness of the soul can be completely eliminated.
Fr. You know that I have read each one of these very carefully.
Aug. And so? Did they provide you no help?
Fr. Yes, a great deal. When I was reading them. But as soon as the book was out of my hands, my agreement with it slipped entirely from my mind.
Aug. That’s what usually happens with readers, with the dire and damnable consequence that disgraceful groups of well-read people wander round incapable of translating the art of living into action, even if they are very good at arguing about it in the schools. Ut if you were to make clear notes on the right passages, you would certainly derive benefit from your reading.
Fr. What notes?
Aug. Whenever in your reading you come across helpful points that make you feel encouraged or inhibited, don’t rely on your intelligence, but implant them deep in your memory and make yourself familiar with them through close study; in that way, whenever and wherever there is an outbreak of disease which allows of no delay, you will, like a skilled doctor, have remedies which are so to speak engraved on your mind. 2.15.9-16.2
To be completely truthful, I think that love, depending on its object, can be considered the most abominable of passions or the noblest of actions.3.2.4
To hold a longstanding lie for the truth, and a newly discovered truth for a lie, thus putting all the weight of authority on time, is the height of folly. 3.2.7
And yet there’s no doubt that even beautiful things can be loved in a shameful way. 3.2.9
. . . whose heart is free of worldly concerns, and burns instead with desire for heavenly things. 3.3.2
I can remember the substance, but I wish I could remember the words. 3.3.5
. . . and yet will have as consolation the memory of times past. 3.3.9
How blind you are! You don’t even understand how crazy it is to have made your heart dependent on mortal things which inflame it with desire and cannot calm it, yet have no lasting value and which torque it with constant changes precisely when they promise to soothe it. 3.3.10
Besides, it’s tiresome to hear such stupidity in the mouth of one who should know better and speak of higher things. 3.4.5
Because holding false beliefs is a sign of ignorance, but asserting them brazenly is a sign of arrogance as well as ignorance. 3.4.9
What a great man you could have become, if she had not held you back with the charms of her beauty! 3.4.10
Physical beauty is the lowest form of beauty. 3.5.2
So that I feel that Cicero was right when he said that “of all the passions of the mind, there is certainly none so violent as love.” (Tusc. Disput. 4.35.75) 3.6.6-6.7
And what do you make of the fact that it was she who determined whether your days were happy or mournful, and when they began and ended? . . . any change in her expression made your mood change: you were sad or happy according to her fluctuations. In short, you depended entirely on her whim. 3.7.3
A mind that’s fragmented and drawn in many different directions has greater difficulty in focussing on one thing at a time. Thus they say that the Ganges was subdivided by the king of the Persians into innumerable channels, so that from being a single frightening river it was split into large numbers of insignificant little streams. 3.8.3
There’s just one thing you must know: that I cannot love anything else. My heart has become accustomed to admiring her, and my eyes to gazing upon her, and they find anything other than her dark and displeasing. So if you’re going to order me to love another woman so as to free me from this love, you are seeing me an impossible condition. That’s the end of it: I’m done for. 3.8.5
Otherwise you could even travel to the farthest corner of India but still recognise the truth in Horace’s words:
Those who cross the seas have a change of skies but not of heart. (Epist.1.11.27) 3.8.9
And yet all the great philosophers agree that’s not true: this is evident from the fact that all diseases of the mind can be treated as long as the patient does not resist, while many diseases of the body cannot be treated at all. 3.9.4
Indeed nothing by nature more salutary has been said by Seneca than what he put in one of his letters: “a man who is trying to throw off a love must avoid anything that recalls the beloved body,” and the reason he gives is “because nothing breaks out again more easily than love.” (Epist. 69.3) 3.9.6
For neither the woods and the richest lands of the Medes
nor the beautiful Ganges nor Hermus running thick with gold
can rival the reputation of Italy, nor can Bactra or India
or the whole of Panchaia, rich with incense-burning sands. (Virgil, Gerogics, 2.136.139) 3.10.1
What use its it to know so much if you can’t apply it in the hour of your need? 3.10.5
Please don’t take offence at this question, but have you looked at yourself in the mirror recently? 3.11.5
What do you suppose? What the emperor Domitian said: “I am resolute in face of my hair fraying while I am still young.” 3.11.6
For childhood has fled, but, as Seneca says, childishness remains. (Exist. 4.2) 3.12.5
Get rid of childish stupidities, put out adolescent flames, and don’t keep thinking of what you were, but look around at long last to see what you are. And don’t think that it was for nothing that I mentioned the mirror to you. Remember the passage in the Natural Questions: Mirrors were invented so that man should know himself. (Nat. Quest. 1.17.4) 12.7
Certainly not: the less reason there is for love, the more shameful it is. 3.12.10
Consider that every day that has dawned for you its your last. (Horace, Epistles, 1.4.13) 3.13.4
Thus you have not dedicated the whole of your life to these two projects (not to mention the many others with which you have been interspersed), wasting your most precious and irreplaceable gift, for as you write about others, you forget yourself. 3.14.10
Aug. So just pretend for a moment that you had all the time and leisure and tranquility that you needed, that all your mental sloth and physical weariness had vanished, and that all the fortuitous obstacles that often blocked the flow of your writing and deflected the onward rush of your pen had disappeared. Everything is going well for you, better even than you might have hoped. What great project do you have in mind?
Fr. A brilliant, rare, and outstanding work, of course. 3.15.2
Aug. That’s why I ask you, and ask all you mortals whose eyes are set on the future and take no notice of the present,
Who knows whether the gods above will add a tomorrow to the life of this day? (Horace, Odes, 4.7.17-18)
Fr. No one does, if I can reply in my own name and everyone else’s. But we hope for at least a year, for no one’s so old that he doesn’t hope this for himself, as Cicero agrees. 3.15.8
. . . since, as Terence says, “nothing is said now that has not already been said.” (Terence, Eunuch, 41) -
This book should be required reading. Perhaps it will not speak to everyone, but some may find it a more soothing balm and helpful guide than most of the self-help, feel-good schlock that's peddled nowadays.
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Es un diálogo interesante entre Petrarca (él se construye como personaje) y San Agustín sobre distintos puntos, sobre todo filosóficos y morales. Me olvidé de que lo había leído, así que, evidentemente, por más que me pareció bueno no fue algo memorable.
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every bitch wants to be saint augustine but every bitch is not!
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one hundred and twenty-two pages of Petrarch roasting himself.
Some favorite passages:
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(on pride of intellect)
Augustine: "Now let your mind realise, as it easily can, on what paltry grounds your pride is set up. You trust in your intellect; you boast of what eloquence much reading has given you; you take pleasure in the beauty of your mortal body. Yet do you not feel that in many things your intellect fails you? Are there not many things in which you cannot rival the skill of the humblest of mankind?
Will you boast, then, of intellect after that? And as for reading, what has it profited you? Of the multitude of things you have perused how many have remained in your mind? How many have struck root and borne fruit in due season? Search well your heart and you will find that the whole of what you know is but like a little shrunken stream dried by the summer heat compared to the mighty ocean."
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(on vanity of beauty)
Augustine: "Will you perchance be taken in by your own good-looking face, and when you behold in the glass your smooth complexion and comely features are you minded to be smitten, entranced, charmed? The story of Narcissus has no warning for you, and, content with gazing only at the outward envelope of the body, you consider not that the eyes of the mind tell you how vile and plain it is within. Moreover, if you had no other warning, the stormy course of life itself, which every day robs you of something, ought to show you how transient and perishing that flower of beauty is."
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(on futility of love)
A: "in the case of the other passions, the sight of the object, the hope of enjoying it, and the ardour of the will take us captive. Love also demands all that, but in addition it asks also a reciprocal passion, without which it will forced to die away, Therefore, Cicero was right when he wrote that “Of all passions of the soul, assuredly the most violent is love”" -
La noire mélancolie qui frappa François Pétrarque lui fit rédiger cet ouvrage dans lequel il se livre à une introspection au moyen d'un dialogue avec un Saint Augustin imaginaire, heureusement plus philosophe et moins superstitieux que l'original. Alors que le poète se laisse aller à l'abattement, Augustin le secoue en évoquant de la sagesse des œuvres des philosophes et de poètes de l'antiquité, en particulier de Ciceron et de ses Tusculanes, mais aussi en citant Platon, Aristote et surtout l'incontournable Horace. Relativiser, songer à la brièveté de la vie, exciter l'aiguillon de la honte, exhorter à la réflexion, à l'analyse des motifs des actions, s'éloigner de la source de ses troubles, toutes sortes de médecines existent pour soulager ce mal. Ainsi, Pétrarque en fait une sorte d'inventaire, sans omettre de jouer son rôle d'avocat du diable, en se vautrant dans une feinte complaisance à l'égard de ses états d'âmes, mais sans obstination. Au final, c'est un livre très plaisant.
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It must seem cruel for me to rate this so low. Book's ahead of its time. Sometimes reads like therapy. But the advice seems like it was meant for yesterday. Else I am totally lost. The metaphor of the golden chains puts it well. So much talk of death. All these past few months, I've accidentally been reading a lot of books about death. So gloomy and morbid. And Augustine really tears P a new one.
The passage on Laura was the high point of the book for me. He admits to himself that what he thought was the best thing in his life was really the thing ruined it. Which is a good insight to have.
But overall, a tiring book, full of scorn. -
Bu kitabı okumaya çalışırken çok büyük acılar çektim. Kitapta dünyanın anlamsızlığı üzerine gerçek anlamda bir sorgulama ve tartışma olacağını düşünüp okudum ama adam öyle bi yazmış ki dünyanın anlamsızlıgı icin degilde kendinin şiir ve edebiyat hakkında ne kadar bilgili olduğunu göstermek için yazmış. Fakat kitabın adı "Dünyanın Anlamsızlığı" üzerine değilde "Anlamsızlığım Üzerine" olsaydı 4 yıldız verebilirdim. Çünkü konu bütünlüğü yok. Kimi zaman sonuca ulaşma tarzını anlayamıyorsunuz. Bazı yerde kullanmış olduğu şiirlerin konuyla bağlantısı çok zayıf. Ağır bi kitap olduğu için dialoglar çok kolay unutulabiliyor. Kitapta kendisi ve Aziz Augustinus ile hayali sohbeti üzerine ama size şunu emin olarak söyleyebilirim ki Aziz Augustinus bu kitabı okusa "ne diyo bu aq?" derdi.
Kısaca bu kitabı okumak için harcayacağınız vakti halıdaki desenleri saymak için harcarsanız hiçbir şey kaybetmez aksine beyin egzersizi yapmış olursunuz. -
A supreme example of dialectic to learn how to know and counter one's own presumptions, assertions, firmly held beliefs; so that the illusory and trivial may vaporize leaving behind only that is worthy.
First Dialogue:
''Although a host of little pin-pricks play upon the surface of your mind, nothing yet has penetrated the centre.''
''Hush hush. Heaven and earth will crash in ruin, the stars themsleves will fall to hell, and all harmonious Nature be divided against itself, sooner than Truth, who is our Judge, can be deceived.''
''They could look at nothing with their mind, but judged everything with the sight of their eyes; yet a man of greatness of understanding is known by his detaching his thought from objects of sense, and his meditations from the ordinary track in which others move'' [Cicero, Tusculan Orations, i. 16.]
''This then, is the plague that has hurt you, this is what will quickly drive you to destruction, unless you take care. Overwhelmed with too many divers impressions made on it, and everlasting fighting with its own cares, your weak spirit is crushed so that it has not strength to judge what it should first attack or to discern what to cherish, what to destroy, what to repel''
Second Dialogue:
''You will be ashamed of your own boldness, you will be sorry you were so light-hearted, and begin to bewail that in sore straits your soul has been unable to break through the wedged phalanx of your foes. You will discover presently how many foolish fancies of too easy victory you have let come into your mind, excluding that wholesome dread which I am endeavouring to bring you''
''Look what snares the world spreads for you; what vanities it dangles before your eyes; what vain cares it has to weigh you down. To begin at the beginning, consider what made those most noble spirits among all creatures fall into the abyss of ruin; and take heed lest in like manner you also fall after them. All your forethought, all your care will be needed to save you from this danger. Think how many temptations urge your mind to perilous and soaring flights. They make you dream of nobleness and forget your frailty; they choke your faculties with fumes of self-esteem, until you think of nothing else; they lead you to wax so proud and confident in your own strength that at length you hate your creator. So you live for self-pleasing and imagine that things are what you deserve. Whereas if you had a truer remembrance, great blessings ought to make you not proud but humble, when you realise that they came to you for no merit of your own.''
''Now let your mind realise, as it easily can, on what paltry grounds your pride is set up. You trust in your intellect; you boast of what eloquence much reading has given you; you take pleasure in the beauty of your mortal body. Yet you do not deal that in many things your intellect fails you? Are there not many things in which you cannot rival the skill of the humblest of mankind? Nay, I might not go further and, without mentioning mankind, may I not say that with all your labor and study you find yourself no match in skill for some of the meanest and smallest of God's creatures? Will you boast, then, of intellect after that? And as for reading, what has it profited you? Of the multitude of things you have perused how many remained in your mind? How many struck rot and borne fruit in due season? Search well your heart and you will find that the whole of what you know is but like a little shrunken stream dried by the summer heat compared to the mighty ocean.''
''And who can a man soothe and flatter others unless he first soothe and flatter himself?''
''For what can be more childish, nay, might I not say more insane, than to waste time and trouble over matters where all the things themselves are worthless and the words about them vain?''
''What, then, is this eloquence, so limited and weak, which is neither able to compass and bring within its scope all the things that it would, nor yet to hold fast even those things that it has compassed?''
''You yourself know and love your prison-house, wretched that you are! And on the very eve of your issuing or being dragged therfrom you chain yourself more firmly in it, labouring to adorn what you ought to despise''
''Tis flattery makes friends and candour foes''[Terence L'Audrienne, 68]
''Pass my old age and not my honour lose. And, if I may, still serve the lyric Muse'' [Horace, Odes, I. xxxi. 19, 20.]
''Why keep such hoarded gold to vex the mind?
Why should such madness still delude emankind?
To scrape through life on water and dry bread
That you may have a fortune when you're dead?'' [Juvenal, Sat., xiv.135.]
''If you order your life as your nature dictates, you were rich long ago, but you never will be able to be rich if you follow the standard of the world; you will always think something wanting, and in 'rushing after it you will find yourself swept away by your passion''
''Do you remember with what delight you used to wander in the depth of the country? Sometimes, laying yourself down on a bed of turf, you would listen to the water of a brook murmuring over the stones; at another time, seated on some open hill , you would let your eye wander freely over the plain stretched at your feet; at other, again, you enjoyed a sweet slumber beneath the shady trees of some valley in the noontide heat, and revelled in the delicious silence. Never idle, in your soul you would ponder over some high meditation, with only the Muses for your friends''
''Verily, I was at your side once, when, quite young, unstained by avarice or ambition, you gave promise of becoming a great man; now, alas, having quite changed your character, the nearer you get to the end of your journey the more you trouble yourself about provisions for the way. What remains then but that you will be found, when the day comes for you to die—and it may even be now at hand, and certainly cannot be any great way off—you will be found, I say, still hungering after gold, poring half-dead over the calendar?''
''But such is your execrable habit—to care for what's temporal, and be careless for all that's eternal''
''You are the cause of your own poverty.''
''To heap up riches is to heap up cares and anxieties.''
''What a strange delusion, what a melancholy blindness of the soul of man, whose nature is so noble, whose birth is from above, that it will neglect all that is lofty and debase itself to care for the metals of the earth''
''The miser's voice ever cries, Give, give;
Then curb your lusts if you would wisely live''[Horace, Epist., i., 2, 56.]
''Behold him naked and unformed, born in wailings and tears, comfonrted with a few drops of milk, trembling and crawling, needing the hand of another, fed and clothed from the breasts of the field, his body feeble, his spirit restless, subject to all kinds of sickness, the prey of passions innumerable, devoid of reason, joyful to-day, to-morrow sorrowful, in both full of agitation, incapable of mastering himself, unable to restrain his appetite, ignorant of what things are useful to him and in what proportion, knowing not how to control himself in meat or drink, forced with great labor to gain the food that other creatures find ready at their need, made dull by sleep, swollen with food, stupefied with drink, emaciated with watching, famished with hunger, parched with thirst, at once greedy and timid, disgusted with what he has, longing after what he has lost, discontented alike with past, present and future, full of pride in his misery, and aware of his frailty, baser than the vilest worms, his life is short, his days uncertain, his fate inevitable, since Death in a thousand forms is waiting for him at last.''
''Your words are golden, but you have not convinced me of your innocence, for you do not assert your indifference to honors so much as to the vexations their pursuit involves, like the man who pretended he did not want to see Rome because he really would not endure the trouble of the journey thither. Observe, you have not yet desisted from the pursuit of honor, as you seem to believe and as you try to persuade me. But leave off trying to hide behind your finger, as the saying goes; all your thoughts, all your actions are plain before my eyes; and when you boast of having fled from cities and become enamored of the woods, I see no real excuse, but only a shifting of your culpability.''
''What insensate folly to spend in hating and hurting our fellow-men the few days we pass among them! Soon enough the last day of all will arrive, which will quite extingush this flame in human breasts and put an end to all our hatred, and if we have desired for any of them nothing worse than death, our evil wish is soon fulfilled.''
''From my conclusion is that commerce with Venus takes away the vision of the Divine''
''So well do you know your symptoms, so familiar are you become with their cause, that I beg you will tell me what is it that depresses you most at the present hour? Is it the general course of human affairs? Is it some physical trouble, or some disgrace of fortune in men's eyes?''[Augustine]; ''It is no one of these separately. Had I only been challenged to single combat, I would certainly have come off victorious; but now, as it is, I am besieged by a whole host of enemies...Picture to yourself some one beset with countless enemies, with no hope of escape or of pity, with no comfort anywhere, with every one and everything against him; his foes bring up their batteries, they mine the very ground beneath his feet, the towers are already falling, the ladders are at the gates, the grappling-hooks are fastened to the walls...''[Petrarch]
''My sufferings are all quite fresh, and if anything by chance were made better with time, Fortune has soon redoubled her strokes that the open wound has never been perfectly healed over''
''Tell me, then, what is it that has hurt you the most?''[Augustine]; ''Whatever I see, or hear, or feel''[Petrarch]
''O mortal man! Look what you demand! As for that complaint you have brought forward of never having lived a life of your own, what it really amounts to is n you have lived in poverty, but in subservience. I admit, as you say, that it is a thing very troublesome. However, if you look around you will find very few men who have lived a life of their own.''
Third Dialogue:
''I greatly dread lest the glittering brilliance of your chains may dazzle before your eyes and hinder you, and make you like the miser bound in prison with fetters of gold, who wished greatly to be set free but was not willing to break his chains... You are charmed with the very chains that are dragging you to your death, and, what is most sad of all, you glory in them!''[Augustine]
''What may these chains be of which you speak?''[Petrarch]; ''Love and glory''[Augustine]
''That beauty which seemed so charming and sweet, through the burning flame of your desire, through the continual rain of your tears, has done away all that harvest that should have grown from the seeds of virtue in your soul''
''You know not, any of you, what you want or want not''
''What in itself contains no role or reason,
By role or reason you can never hold''[Terence, Eunuch, 57, 58]
''So if you take my advice, it is this: Take your courage in both hands. Fly, if you possibly can; and I would even say, go from one prison to another; perchance you might escape by the way or else find a milder discipline to be under. Only beware, when your neck is freed from one such yoke as this, that you place it not under the weight of a crowd of more base and vile oppression's''
''If your soul is neither cured nor made ready, this change and frequent moving from place to place will only stir up its grief... I enjoin upon you that you learn to wholly sever your soul from that which weighs it down and go away without hope of return.''
''It needs but a trifle sometimes, when the soul is emerging from its miseries, to plunge it quite back once more into the abyss. To see the purple on the shoulders of another will rouse again all our sleeping ambition; the sight of a little pile of money sets up our thirst for gold; one look at some fair lady will stir again our desire; the light glance of an eye will awaken sleeping love. It is no wonder plagues like these take possession of your minds, when you see the madness of the world; and when once they have found their way back to the soul, they come with fatal ease. And since it is so, it is not enough merely to leave a plague-stricken spot, but you, O man, must keep on in your flight for life, till you have escaped everything that might drag the soul back to its old passions''
''Even the shortest life is partitioned out by some people into four, by others into six, and by others again into a still larger number of periods; that is to say, the reality is so small, and as you cannot make it longer, you think you will enlarge it by division. But of what profit tis all this dividing? Make as many particles as you like, and they are all gone in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye''
''We can look here and find infants of ninety quarreling about trifles and even now occupied with infantile toys. The days flee away, the body decays, the soul is where it was. Through everything is rotten with age, the soul has never grown up, never come to maturity, and it is a truth, as the proverb says, 'One uses up many bodies'. Infancy passes, but, as Seneca remarks, 'childishness remains' [Seneca, Epistles, iv.]. And believe me, perhaps you are not so young as you imagine, for the greater part of mankind have not yet reached the age which you have''
''So this space of a year, though short enough indeed, being promised you by Him who deceives not, neither is deceived, you would partition out and dissipate on any kind of folly, provided you could keep the last hour for the care of your salvation! The horrible and hateful madness of you all is just this, that you waste your time on ridiculous vanities, as if there were enough and to spare, and though you do not in the least know if what you have will be long enough for the supreme necessities of the soul in face of death. The man who has one year of life possesses something certain though short; whereas he who has no such promise and lies under the power of death (whose strike may fall at any moment) which is the common lot of all men—this man, I say, is not sure of a year, a day; no, not even of one hour. He who has a year to live, if six months have slipped away, will still have another half-year left to run; but for you, if you lose the day that now is, who will promise you to-morrow?'' [De Senectute, xx.]
''Glory is in a sense the shadow of virtue''
''Tear of the veil; disperse the shadows; look only on that which is coming; with eyes and mind give all your attention there: let nought else distract you. Heaven, Earth, the Sea-these all suffer change. What can man, the frailest of all creatures, hope for? The seasons fulfill their courses and change; nothing remains as it was. If you think you shall remain, you are deceived''
''Man's whole existence, let it never be so prolonged, is but one day, and that not a day entire''
''A wise man's life is all one preparation for death''[Cicero, Tusculan Orations, i. 30.]; ''This saying will teach you to think little of what concerns earthly things, and set before your eyes a better path of life on which to enter... listen only to that Holy Spirit which is calling... follow the lead which the inspirations of your soul give you. They may, on the side of evil, be evil; but towards that which is good they are themselves of the very best'' -
In the style of Cicero & Plato, a conversation (it's subtitled "The Private Conflict of My Thoughts") between Francesco Petrarca & Aurelius Augustinus aka St. Augustine of Hippo...love (Franesco has his Laura as Dante has his Beatrice!), life, death, procrastination, writing, reason...eventually going from argumentation to instruction set for life...much humor mixed with a very serious discussion...the forward by Germaine Greer is a gem...
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NOT my favorite book. He made many good points, but there was much in this book that troubled me. I found the bits about needing to concentrate on death in order to set one's gaze on the eternal rather bizarre and extreme. More on this later. There was a bit too much Plato in here. . .
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I read this book as part of my Western Civ class. It definitely gets inside the head of Petrarch and helps to become more in touch with his character while entering a brief history of his life. Definitely an easy reader.
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《Francesco: Quante volte ti ho detto che non sono riuscito a fare di più?
Agostino: Quante volte ti ho risposto che invece, più esattamente, non hai voluto?》
Nel Secretum, un cattivissimo Sant'Agostino mette Petrarca di fronte a se stesso e prova a dar tregua alla sue paranoie.
E le sue ansie alla fine non sono poi così diverse dalle nostre, anzi.
Prendi l'accidia: non fare alcuno sforzo per cambiare la propria disposizione d'animo e/o situazione, pur essendo pienamente consapevoli della propria infelicità.
Mio Dio, parla di me.
P.s. se dovessi trovare uno dei nuovi e orribili anglismi per descrivere il libro sarebbe: blastare. In questo vero e proprio dialogo teatrale, Agostino non fa altro verso Petrarca. Il povero Francesco alla fine si ripromette di fare il bravo, e ci lascia con una speranza: la buona riuscita dei suoi buoni propositi. E magari dei nostri. -
Olles nii keskaja kui renessansi kirjanduse osas täielik võhik, ei oska ma seda siin ilmselt õiges kontekstis hinnata. Ütleme nii, et igav ei olnud ja tõlkija märkused andsid palju juurde, aga teosesisene argumentatsioon jäi mu jaoks kohati poolikuks - täpselt siis, kui läks põnevaks, et noh mis Augustinus nüüd ütleb, ütles ta midagi stiilis "selle üle pead sa ise südametunnistuse põhjas järgi mõtlema" või "oma eksimust pead oma südames kõigepealt ise tunnistama" (poliitilisel debatil oleks päris hea võte - kui midagi vastasele enam öelda ei oska, siis ütle lihtsalt et "sa nii rumal, et ei saa isegi oma veast aru").
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Petrarch asks Augustine a bunch of questions about life and Augustine answers them with (brutal) honesty. Of course, this is all in Petrarch's head.
My philosophy professor recommended this book, and even though I found it both instructive and entertaining, I shall return to it sometime again when I am going through a heartbreak, seemingly unsolvable life conundrum or just feel like hearing Augustine's life advice. Right now, I'm really vibing and feel that the book could be of more use to me when I am going through a harder time. -
Str. 40:
FRANCESCO - To, da je nešteto stvari, ki se jih goreče želimo in za katere se močno trudimo, vendar nas do njih ni in ne bo pripeljalo nobeno garanje, nobeno vztrajnost.
Str. 41:
FRANCESCO - KER TISTEMU, KI BI SE RAD OTRESEL SVOJE NESREČE, NE MORE SPODLETETI, ČE SI TEGA LE RESNIČNO IN Z VSEM SRCEM ŽELI.
STR. 42:
AVGUŠTIN - zdaj pa leži samo eno, da misliš, da lahko nekdo postane oziroma da je nesrečen, ne da bi si tega želel. -
Saint-Augustin m'a malmené avec bienveillance comme ce pauvre François Pétrarque. Advienne que pourra. N'empêche que la synchronicité qui aura accompagné cette longue lecture de chevet me fait un peu peur.
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"Ve ben bunlardan biriyim; yeniden ayağa kalkmak her ne kadar benim başarısızlığımın cezası ise de şu an yerden kalkacak gücü içimde hissetmiyorum, çünkü imkanım varken zaten ayakta durmayı arzu etmedim."
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As any book of Petrarch. Written so beautifully. Even in English.
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Pensum.
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Man has mid-life crisis and starts obsessing over death.
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Quina xapa
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C'est un ouvrage curieux en raison de la distance qui le sépare de nous, mais qui a toutes les chances de grandir dans mon esprit. Dans ce dialogue philosophique, Pétrarque suppose qu'il reçoit la visite de la Vérité et de saint Augustin, venus l'aider à guérir de sa mélancolie, qu'il assimile à l'acédie, c'est-à-dire à l'incapacité à tout progrès spirituel. Augustin entame alors avec François (Pétrarque) un dialogue destiné à lui rendre ses forces mentales. La Vérité sert de garante aux paroles prononcées. Inutile de dire que la progression de l'ouvrage dans son ensemble est parfaitement édifiante, et recommande de se détourner des séductions de ce monde et de se préparer de façon immédiate et permanente à une bonne mort. On peut même s'ébahir de la rigueur qu'il prône : pas de salut sans soumission totale à cette méditation de la mort. Comme remède à la mélancolie, c'est un peu surprenant pour nos esprits modernes.
D'ailleurs Pétrarque fait remarquer que ce n'est pas si facile. Il se montre résistant aux raisons autoritaires d'Augustin et, au-delà des lieux communs de la prédication, finit par faire un tableau développé des passions qui agitent son esprit et l'empêchent d'être tout à la dévotion : l'amour de la gloire, qui n'est pas rien car il justifie ses nombreux travaux intellectuels, et bien sûr l'amour de Laure, qui a fait de lui un poète. Un des traits de la mélancolie est que l'on aime son propre mal, aussi voyons-nous François revendiquer ses passions, ses engagements, son mode de vie face au saint venu le visiter.
Le choix d'Augustin comme interlocuteur, au-delà de la fréquentation de son oeuvre par Pétrarque, est tout à fait remarquable. L'oeuvre, non la plus savante mais la plus populaire du saint évêque d'Hippone, est "Les Confessions", récit d'une conversion qui n'omet rien de la vie déboussolée du jeune homme avant qu'il ne se convertisse. Dans "Mon secret", François se confesse à son tour et apparaît comme un Augustin jeune face à l'Augustin mûr et canonisé qui l'incite à se tourner vers Dieu. Il y a une vraie audace de la part de Pétrarque à prêter ses propres mots à une figure aussi imposante, une audace qui ne va pas sans orgueil puisque l'Augustin du dialogue, à quelques reprises, fait l'éloge de Pétrarque comme poète.
Sans aller de plus jusqu'aux fins aporétiques de certains dialogues platoniciens, Pétrarque fait trembler l'autorité du discours religieux, refuse (littéralement) à Augustin le dernier mot. Tout d'abord le dialogue est émaillé de citations, et les notes confirment l'impression immédiate du lecteur : la plupart de ces citations sont profanes, généralement empruntées aux figures les plus éminentes de la littérature latine, et au premier rang Virgile, poète chéri par Pétrarque comme par Dante. Du poète de "La Divine comédie", Pétrarque a retenu l'idée que la littérature profane est susceptible de hautes interprétations autant que les ouvrages sacrés. Le meilleur exemple ici en est une lecture allégorique et psychologique de l'épisode d'Éole dans "L'Énéide", brève mais lumineuse et qu'un structuraliste ne renierait pas. À l'occasion de ces débats, Augustin redescend un peu sur terre, se retrouve à égalité avec François, et certaines pages nous présentent avant tout deux amoureux des lettres qui se délectent de leurs passages préférés. Parfois ceux-ci sont cités de mémoire parce qu'ils n'ont pas le livre sous la main. Aujourd'hui ce serait une négligence coupable. Au XIVe siècle, ça veut dire qu'il n'y a pas un exemplaire vaillant dans tout Avignon, et l'effort de mémoire de Pétrarque émeut. Dès lors, l'incitation à renoncer aux tâches mondaines pour se consacrer uniquement à la préparation spirituelle vacille : Augustin méprise en théorie la gloire des poètes et des philosophes, en pratique il y contribue, dans la perspective de l'humanisme naissant.
Autre conséquence remarquable : tout ce qu'Augustin dit à François, ce dernier le savait déjà, puisqu'ils ont lu les mêmes livres. Et la fin laisse entendre que, malgré ce dialogue miraculeux, l'auteur ne renoncera pas vraiment à sa vocation d'écrivain et de poète, et ne sera donc pas guéri de la mélancolie qui lui est associée. Bref c'est à recommencer.
C'est que "Mon secret", dont le titre complet est dans cette traduction "Du secret combat de mes peines", n'est pas le traité qui convertira tout le monde aussi sec et mieux que les "Confessions" d'Augustin dont il se fait le palimpseste : c'est l'exercice même de méditation qui purifie l'âme de l'auteur et, faut-il espérer, du lecteur, c'est une marche sur l'escalier infini du progrès spirituel. -
Re-reading Petrarch's 14th century book.
