I must confess that I also belong to the poor unknown blind peoples (artists?) or such crazy philosophers who are standing still on the hill like the fools; looking for the meaning of life… or the main of these so-called folk who trying to stabilize themself their own kind!
Complicated, isn’t it? but I had to take out this anger! I have once a discussion with a friend who was not an Egyptian but living in Egypt, the problem was that I have posted some old Persians history just for the adoration the history of the ancients, but she took this as I claim the old Persians are one of the first civilized nations to exist (though, I did never mean so)
WHAT? Is there a question of existence inferior?? It sounds like; I was but the first…!
Anyway, the problem has been solved, as the time went by, but the main question remains; what the Hell? What are we aiming to? To prove or let it be proved? We have a wealthy history, we must just remember; independently.
To put it bluntly; isn’t it a matter of lack of intelligence?
So! I think I have shown my pessimist side again enough. But I belong to this kind of pessimists who are not seeing just black. There’s always a Zeus, Artemis, Apollo… who gives a hope that there must be something behind it all. One of them is this great Italian poet and philosopher Giacomo Leopardi. In his short life, he has presented us with a lot of words to think about.
In his philosophy, Leopardi is a pessimist with a bright view! as Schopenhauer( http://Arthur Schopenhauer), one of the greatest philosopher who opposed optimism, wrote:
But no one has treated this subject so thoroughly and exhaustively as Leopardi in our own day. He is entirely imbued and penetrated with it; everywhere his theme is the mockery and wretchedness of this existence. He presents it on every page of his works, yet in such a multiplicity of forms and applications, with such a wealth of imagery, that he never wearies us, but, on the contrary, has a diverting and stimulating effect. http://— The World as Will and Representation, Vol. II, Ch. XLVI
In the Zibaldone “a heap of things”, (an Italian vernacular commonplace book), Leopardi compares the innocent and happy state of nature with the condition of modern man, corrupted by an excessively developed faculty of reason which, rejecting the necessary illusions of myth and religion in favor of a dark reality of annihilation and emptiness, can only generate unhappiness. The Zibaldone contains the poetic and existential itinerary of Leopardi himself; it is a miscellanea of philosophical annotations, schemes, entire compositions, moral reflections, judgements, small idylls, erudite discussions and impressions. Leopardi, even while remaining outside of the circles of philosophical debate of his century, was able to elaborate an extremely innovative and provocative vision of the world. It is not much of a stretch to define Leopardi as the father of what would eventually come to be called nihilism.
- No human trait deserves less tolerance in everyday life, and gets less, than intolerance.
- Real misanthropes are not found in solitude, but in the world; since it is experience of life, and not philosophy, which produces real hatred of mankind.
- Children find everything in nothing; men find nothing in everything.
2 poems by Giacomo Leopardi
( In the original, they are 6 poems but I took two of them just to short the post.😁🙏)
Giacomo Leopardi (June 29, 1798–14 June 1837) was an Italian romantic poet and philosopher, one of the great Italian poets of the 19th century.
From rich and educated parents who, in combination with the suffocating provincial environment of his hometown, negatively affect his later life, he studied from ancient Greek and Latin writers and, at a young age, wrote essays, essays and poems. With fragile health, lonely character and incompatibility, he travelled to many cities in Italy, trying to break away from the environment of his hometown. He died at the age of 39
is considered the most important Italian poet after Petrarch. A multi-faceted, multilingual, philosopher and archaeologist, he was a descendant of an old family of noble landowners who originally intended him for church life. From his early youth, he possessed the filthy earl the feeling of loneliness and pessimism. He took refuge in the study and prepared a number of papers on scientific, philosophical and philological issues. He lived from time to time in Rome, Milan, Bologna, Florence, Naples. He felt exiled in the world, which he called “the grave of the living” and stigmatized moral, intellectual and political decline by opposing scepticism, irony, devotion to his art.
With his poems, which he collected in the volume Asmata (1835), he “romanticized the purity of the ancient Greek emotion”. His other major works: Ethical Works (1827) Thoughts (1845), Zibaldone (Analects, 1898-1900).
THE INFINITE My favourite has always been this hill
the desert, and these trees that hide from me
the far horizon. But here I stand
I envision the vast expanses
the sky and the supernatural peace
and I shudder. And as I listen
through the foliage the rustling of the air
I compare the immaculate silence of infinity
with this sound. And I feel eternal,
and the extinct seasons, and our
living and pulsating. And my thinking
drowning in the deep vastness.
In this sea, the shipwreck is sweet.
From the Greek of Simonides Everything in this world
It is in Zeus’ hand, my son
Of Zeus, who arranges everything
At his will.
But our thinking, blind, cares and weakens
For distant times
Even if it is our destiny in the hands of heaven
And the course of the people
Day to day.
Beautiful hope feeds us all
With sweet visions, which make us tired.
Others look forward to the future in vain.
No one lives on earth without thinking
That next year
They will be merciful, yes, forgiving
Pluto and the other gods.
But before the hope reaches the port
Many are already tied to old age
For others, the disease leads to dark oblivion.
This tough Mars, and he
The sea wave has swept away.
Other black worries melt
Or sad knot tied around the neck
Underground seeking shelter.
So they are tormented by a thousand passions
Wild and dissimilar mob
The unfortunate mortals.
But I say that whoever is prudent
And he doesn’t want to be wrong
He would not tolerate suffering so much
And just love
Suffering and his own pain.