Chapter One
The Cabala of Pegasus With the Addition of Mercury's Ass Described by the Nolan Dedicated to the Bishop of Casamarciano
Paris, On the Premises of Antonio Baio, Year 1585
Dedicatory Epistle on the Following Cabala To the Most Reverend Signor Don Sapatino, Abbot Successor of St. Quentin and Bishop of Casamarciano.
Most Reverend Father in Christ,
Just as befalls a potter who has arrived at the end of his workday (the end being imposed not so much by the fading daylight as by the scarcity and depletion of his remaining supplies), who-holding in hand a piece of glass, or wood, or wax, or other material insufficient for making a vase-hesitates for a while, uncertain and unable to conclude, wondering what he can do with it, not wishing to throw it away unprofitably, and desiring in spite of everything that it serve some purpose, so that finally he finds it predestined to form a third handle, the lip of a vessel, a flask's stopper, a lining, a plaster, or a plug that repairs, fills, or covers up some split, hole or crack: similarly it happened to me, after having given dispatch not to all my thoughts, but only to a certain sheaf of writings, that finally, having nothing else to send, more by chance than by design, I cast my eyes upon a tattered manuscript I had previously scorned and had used as a wrapper for those other writings, and I discovered that it contained in part what you are about to see presented to you.
At first I thought of giving this present to a knight, who, having set his eyes on it, said that he had not studied sufficiently to be able to understand its mysteries, and thus could take no pleasure in it. Then I offered it to one of these ministri verbi Dei [preachers of the word of God], and he said that he was a lover of the literal sense and took no delight from such expositions like those of Origen, which are embraced by scholars and other enemies of their persuasion. I placed it in front of a gentlewoman, and she said it was not to her liking by not being lengthy enough for the subject matter of both a horse and an ass. I presented it to another lady; although she did enjoy it when she gave it a taste, she said that she wished to "reflect on it" for a few days. I tried to offer it to a lay sister; she told me, "I do not welcome it if it speaks of other than the rosary, the virtue of the blessed beads, and the agnus dei." I stuck it under the nose of a pedant; sneering, he told me that he rejected all extraneous study and subject matter except for a few annotations, glosses, and interpretations of Virgil, Terence, and Marcus Tullius. I heard from a versifier who didn't want it if it wasn't a collection of ottave rime or sonnets. Some said that the best tractates had been dedicated to individuals who were no better than they themselves. Others for different reasons seemed disposed to owe me little or no thanks had I dedicated it to them; and not unreasonably, for, to tell the truth, every tractate and commentary must be paid for, distributed, and placed before someone of suitable profession or rank.
Standing then with my eyes fixed on the matter of this encyclopedic material, I was reminded of your encyclopedic mind, which seems to embrace everything, though less for fecundity and richness than for a certain singular excellence does it seem to possess the whole and more than the whole. Certainly no one could be more expressly able than you to comprehend the whole, because you exist outside of the whole; you are able to penetrate the whole, because there is nothing that can restrict you; you are able to possess the whole, because you possess nothing. (I doubt whether I shall ex- plain myself any better in describing your ineffable intellect.) I don't know if you are theologian, philosopher, or cabalist-but I know for sure that you are all of these: if not by essence, by participation; if not in act, in capacity; if not from nearby, from afar. At any rate, I believe that you are as proficient in one area as in the other. And therefore, here you have it-cabala, theology and philosophy; I mean, a cabala of theological philosophy, a philosophy of kabbalistic theology, a theology of philosophical cabala. Concerning these three items, I don't know whether you possess them as a whole, as a part, or as nothing; but this I know for certain, that you possess the whole of nothing in part, part of the whole in nothing, nothing of the part in the whole.
Now, to come to us, you'll ask me, "What is this you send me? What is this book's subject? Of what thing have you deemed me worthy?" And I answer that I bring you the gift of an Ass: I present you the Ass that will do honor to you, will increase your rank, will place you in the book of eternity. It doesn't cost you anything to acquire it from me and have it for your own; it won't cost you anything to maintain it, because it doesn't eat, doesn't drink, doesn't dirty the house. It will be yours eternally, and will last longer than your miter, purple robe, cope, mule, and life-as, without much discussion, you and others may perceive. I have no doubt here, my most reverend monsignor, that the gift of the ass will not be unrewarding to your prudence and piety: I do not say this by reason derived from the custom of presenting great masters not only with a gem, a diamond, a ruby, a pearl, a perfect horse, an excellent vase, but also with an ape, a parrot, a monkey, an ass. And this ass, then, is necessary, exceptional, doctrinal, and not of the ordinary-! The ass of India is precious, and a papal gift in Rome; the ass of Otranto is an imperial gift in Constantinople; the ass of Sardinia is a royal gift in Naples. And the kabbalistic ass, which is ideal and therefore celestial-do you wish it to be less precious in whatever part of the world by whatever personage of rank, when through certain benign and lofty promises we know that one finds the terrestrial even in heaven? I am certain, then, that it will be accepted by you with the same spirit with which it is given you by me.
Take it if you please, oh father, for a bird-because it's winged and the most amiable and merry that one may keep in a cage. Take it, if you wish, for a wild beast-because it's unique, rare and exotic on one hand, and there is nothing finer that you could keep fast in a den or cave. Treat it, if you please, like a servant-because it's obsequious, courteous, and servile, and it's the best companion you can have at home. See that it doesn't bolt from your hand, because it's the best steed that you can pasture; or, to be more specific, that you can feed right in its own stable. Better yet, it can be for you an intimate comrade and an entertainment in your bedroom. Handle it like a gem and a precious thing, because you cannot have a more excellent treasure in your vault. Handle it like something sacred and gaze on it like something of great importance, because you cannot have a better book, better icon, and better mirror in your study.
Finally, if despite all these reasons you cannot stomach it, you will be able to give it to someone else-who can't possibly be ungrateful to you. If you consider it something silly, give it to some good knight, so he can place it in the care of his pages-deeming it something precious to be kept among his apes and monkeys. If you regard it as something of the common herd, give it to a peasant who will shelter it between his horse and ox. If you consider it something wild, hand it over to some Actaeon who will let it wander with mountain goats and deer. If it seems to you a small pet, bestow it on some damsel who can hold it in lieu of a marten and puppy. If finally it seems to have something of a mathematical air about it, give it to a cosmographer so that it may be skimming and skipping between the arctic and antarctic poles of one of these armillary spheres-to which it will be able, with not much effort, to give the same perpetual motion that the infused quicksilver was able to bestow on the sphere of Archimedes, to produce a more efficacious model of the macrocosmos, from whose intrinsic soul hangs the concord and harmony of both linear and circular motion.
But if you are wise, as I esteem you, and you consider with mature judgment, you will keep it for yourself, not thinking that I have presented to you something less worthy than what I have been able to present to Pope Pius V (to whom I have consecrated l'Arca di No), to King Henri III of France (whom I immortalize in De umbris idearum), to the king's legate in England (to whom I have granted l'Explicatio triginta sigillorum), and to the knight Sidney (to whom I have dedicated la Bestia trionfante). For here you have not only the triumphant beast alive, but also the thirty seals opened, holiness perfected, the shadow explicated and the ark steered, where the ass (who does not envy the longevity of the wheels of time, the universe's vastness, the bliss of the angelic intelligences, the sun's light, or Jove's canopy) is moderator, announcer, comforter, unsealer, and president.
He is not an ass from the stable or the herd, but from among those able to appear anywhere, to go anywhere, enter anywhere, preside over everything, communicate, understand, advise, define, and do everything. Considering that I see him hoe, water, and irrigate, why don't you want me to call him a gardener? If he ploughs, plants, and sows, doesn't that make him a farmer? How can he not be a builder, who is laborer, master, and architect? Who restrains me from calling him an artist if he is so imaginative, industrious, and restorative? If he is such an exquisite reasoner, lecturer, and apologist, aren't you pleased that I call him a scholar? Being such an excellent shaper of morals, institutor of doctrines, and reformer of religions, who will resist calling him an academic and esteeming him archimandrite16 of the written word? Mustn't he who is choral, capitular, and accustomed to dormitory life be a monk? If he is by vow poor, chaste, and obedient, will you censure me if I call him a monk? Will you impede me from calling him conclavistic, since he can be graduated, is eligible, and can be made a prelate through active and passive voice? If he is a shrewd, resolutely superior, and enlightened doctor, with what conscience will you refuse to esteem him a worthy counselor? Will you hold my tongue, that I may not publicly call him a domestic householder, since in that head is planted all political and economic morality? Will the power of canonical authority forbid me from considering him a pillar of the church if he demonstrates a pious, devoted, and chaste manner to me? If I take him to be so lofty, blessed, and triumphant, will heaven and the whole world be able to stop me from calling him divine, Olympian, celestial? In conclusion (to no longer crack your head and mine), it seems to me that he is that World Soul itself, all in all, and everything in every part.
Now you see, therefore, the great importance of this venerable subject, about which we make the present discourse and dialogues, concerning which, if you happen to see a large head either without much neck or with a little tail, don't be discouraged, don't be offended, don't be astonished. One finds many species of animals in nature that have no other limbs than the head, or that seem to be entirely head, since that part is so large and the others imperceptible; for all that, they lack nothing to be most perfect in their own genus. And if this reasoning doesn't satisfy you, you must further consider that this little work contains a description, a picture-and that in portraits it is generally enough to have represented the head by itself without the rest. I acknowledge that excellent artifice occasionally is shown in forming only a hand, a foot, a leg, an eye, an elegant ear, half a face that sticks from behind a tree or the corner of a window; or it's like a carving on the bulge of a bowl that has for a base a goose's foot, or an eagle's, or some other animal's; it is not condemned or despised for that, but rather is more accepted and approved for its craftsmanship. Thus I am persuaded, I am even certain, that you will accept this gift as something quite perfect-since it comes offered to you with most perfect love. Vale.
Sonnet in Praise of the Ass
Oh holy asininity, holy ignorance, 2 Holy foolishness, and pious devotion, Which alone can make souls so good 4 That human genius and study cannot advance it; One does not reach by wearisome vigilance 6 Of art (of whatever kind), or invention, Nor by the contemplation of philosophers 8 To the heavens where you build your home. What's the point, oh curious ones, to study, 10 To wish to know what nature does, If the stars are but earth, fire, and sea? 12 Holy asininity does not care for that, But wants to remain, hands joined, and on bended knees, 14 Waiting for its reward from God. Nothing lasts, 16 Except the fruit of eternal rest, Which God grants after the funeral.
Declamation to the Studious, Devoted, and Pious Reader
Alas, my listener: who without ardent sighs, wanton tears and tragic complaints, but with affection, with the eyes, and with reason is unable to call to mind my genius, to raise the voice, and to declare my arguments? How fallacious is the perception, turbid the thought, and impaired the judgment that with the art of a corrupt, wicked, and biased judgment does not see, does not consider, does not define according to the duty of nature the truth of reason and the right of justice regarding the pure goodness, royal sincerity, and magnificent majesty of saintly ignorance, learned sheepishness, and divine asininity! Alas! to what great wrong to some is this celestial excellence so vehemently detested among living men; against which some make themselves censurers with flaring nostrils, others make biting remarks with bared fangs, yet others make themselves mockers with ludicrous laughter. While on all sides they despise, ridicule, and vilify something, you do not hear them say anything other than, "That fellow is an ass," "This action is asinine," "This is an asininity" -notwithstanding such words actually befit more mature discourses, more steadfast resolutions, and more thoroughly considered judgments.
Alas! why with grief in my heart, sorrow of spirit, and burdened soul is this impaired, foolish, and profane multitude presented before my eyes that so falsely thinks, so mordantly speaks, so recklessly writes in order to produce villainous discourses in so many monuments that go through the press, booksellers and all, beyond their expressed mockery, contempt and reproach (The Golden Ass, The Praise of the Ass, The Encomium of the Ass); where one thinks of nothing but to diminish the glorious asininity with ironic maxims, in sport, amusement, and scorn? Now who on earth will not think that I am doing the same? Who will be able to restrain the tongues so that they do not put me in the same predicament, as one who chases after the footprints of those who ridicule this subject? Who will be able to contain them so they won't believe, arm, and confirm that I do not intend truly and seriously to praise the ass and asininity, but rather am arranging to add oil to that lamp already lit by others?
(Continues...)
Excerpted from THE CABALA OF PEGASUSby Giordano Bruno Copyright © 2002 by Yale University. Excerpted by permission.
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