THOMAS MORE et al.
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this conversation Ficino formed the design of devoting his remaining years to the
translation of Plotinus, that new Plato, in whom the mystical element in the Platonic
philosophy had been worked out to the utmost limit of vision and ecstasy; and it is in
dedicating this translation to Lorenzo de' Medici that Ficino has recorded these
incidents.
It was after many wanderings, wanderings of the intellect as well as physical
journeys, that Pico came to rest at Florence. He was then about twenty years old,
having been born in 1463. He was called Giovanni at baptism; Pico, like all his
ancestors, from Pico, nephew of the Emperor Constantine, from whom they claimed
to be descended; and Mirandola, from the place of his birth, a little town afterwards
part of the duchy of Modena, of which small territory his family had long been the
feudal lords. Pico was the youngest of the family, and his mother, delighting in his
wonderful memory, sent him at the age of fourteen to the famous school of law at
Bologna. From the first, indeed, she seems to have had some presentiment of his
future fame, for, with a faith in omens characteristic of her time, she believed that a
strange circumstance had happened at the time of Pico's birth--the appearance of a
circular flame which suddenly vanished away, on the wall of the chamber where she
lay. He remained two years at Bologna; and then, with an inexhaustible, unrivalled
thirst for knowledge, the strange, confused, uncritical learning of that age, passed
through the principal schools of Italy and France, penetrating, as he thought, into the
secrets of all ancient philosophies, and many eastern languages. And with this flood of
erudition came the generous hope, so often disabused, of reconciling the philosophers
with each other, and all alike with the Church. At last he came to Rome. There, like
some knight-errant of philosophy, he offered to defend nine hundred bold paradoxes,
drawn from the most opposite sources, against all comers. But the pontifical court was
led to suspect the orthodoxy of some of these propositions, and even the reading of
the book which contained them was forbidden by the Pope. It was not until 1493 that
Pico was finally absolved, by a brief of Alexander the Sixth. Ten years before that
date he had arrived at Florence; an early instance of those who, after following the
vain hope of an impossible reconciliation from system to system, have at last fallen
back unsatisfied on the simplicities of their childhood's belief.
The oration which Pico composed for the opening of this philosophical
tournament still remains; its subject is the dignity of human nature, the greatness of
man. In common with nearly all medieval speculation, much of Pico's writing has this
for its drift; and in common also with it, Pico's theory of that dignity is founded on a
misconception of the place in nature both of the earth and of man. For Pico the earth
is the centre of the universe: and around it, as a fixed and motionless point, the sun
and moon and stars revolve, like diligent servants or ministers. And in the midst of all
is placed man, nodus et vinculum mundi, the bond or copula of the world, and the
"interpreter of nature": that famous expression of Bacon's really belongs to Pico.
Tritum est in scholis
, he says, esse hominem minorem mundum, in quo mixtum ex
elementis corpus et spiritus coelestis et plantarum anima vegetalis et brutorum sensus
et ratio et angelica mens et Dei similitudo conspicitu
r.--"It is a commonplace of the
schools that man is a little world, in which we may discern a body mingled of earthy
elements, and ethereal breath, and the vegetable life of plants, and the senses of the
lower animals, and reason, and the intelligence of angels, and a likeness to God."--A
commonplace of the schools! But perhaps it had some new significance and authority,
when men heard one like Pico reiterate it; and, false as its basis was, the theory had its
use. For this high dignity of man, thus bringing the dust under his feet into sensible
PICO DELLA MIRANDOLA
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communion with the thoughts and affections of the angels, was supposed to belong to
him, not as renewed by a religious system, but by his own natural right. The
proclamation of it was a counterpoise to the increasing tendency of medieval religion
to depreciate man's nature, to sacrifice this or that element in it, to make it ashamed of
itself, to keep the degrading or painful accidents of it always in view. It helped man
onward to that reassertion of himself, that rehabilitation of human nature, the body,
the senses, the heart, the intelligence, which the Renaissance fulfils. And yet to read a
page of one of Pico's forgotten books is like a glance into one of those ancient
sepulchres, upon which the wanderer in classical lands has sometimes stumbled, with
the old disused ornaments and furniture of a world wholly unlike ours still fresh in
them. That whole conception of nature is so different from our own. For Pico the
world is a limited place, bounded by actual crystal walls, and a material firmament; it
is like a painted toy, like that map or system of the world, held, as a great target or
shield, in the hands of the grey-headed father of all things, in one of the earlier
frescoes of the Campo Santo at Pisa. How different from this childish dream is our
own conception of nature, with its unlimited space, its innumerable suns, and the earth
but a mote in the beam; how different the strange new awe, or superstition, with
which it fills our minds! "The silence of those infinite spaces," says Pascal,
contemplating a starlight night, "the silence of those infinite spaces terrifies me"--Le
silence eternel de ces espaces infinis m'effraie.
He was already almost wearied out when he came to Florence. He had loved
much and been beloved by women, "wandering over the crooked hills of delicious
pleasure"; but their reign over him was over, and long before Savonarola's famous
"bonfire of vanities," he had destroyed those love-songs in the vulgar tongue, which
would have been such a relief to us, after the scholastic prolixity of his Latin writings.
It was in another spirit that he composed a Platonic commentary, the only work of his
in Italian which has come down to us, on the "Song of Divine Love"--secondo la
mente ed opinione dei Platonici
--"according to the mind and opinion of the
Platonists," by his friend Hieronymo Beniveni, in which, with an ambitious array of
every sort of learning, and a profusion of imagery borrowed indifferently from the
astrologers, the Cabala, and Homer, and Scripture, and Dionysius the Areopagite, he
attempts to define the stages by which the soul passes from the earthly to the unseen
beauty. A change indeed had passed over him, as if the chilling touch of the abstract
and disembodied beauty Platonists profess to long for was already upon him; and
perhaps it was a sense of this, coupled with that over-brightness which in the popular
imagination always betokens an early death, that made Camilla Rucellai, one of those
prophetic women whom the preaching of Savonarola had raised up in Florence,
declare, seeing him for the first time, that he would depart in the time of lilies--
prematurely, that is, like the field-flowers which are withered by the scorching sun
almost as soon as they are sprung up. It was now that he wrote down those thoughts
on the religious life which Sir Thomas More turned into English, and which another
English translator thought worthy to be added to the books of the Imitation. "It is not
hard to know God, provided one will not force oneself to define Him":--has been
thought a great saying of Joubert's. "Love God," Pico writes to Angelo Politian, "we
rather may, than either know Him, or by speech utter Him. And yet had men liefer by
knowledge never find that which they seek, than by love possess that thing, which
also without love were in vain found."
Yet he who had this fine touch for spiritual things did not--and in this is the
enduring interest of his story--even after his conversion, forget the old gods. He is one