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De senectute and other biographical writings.
Norberto Bobbio.
1997.
time texture Ceballos Angel Zapata, 2000.
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"De senectute and other biographical writings." Norberto Bobbio. Translated by Esther Benítez. Santillana, SA Taurus. 1997 .
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Norberto Bobbio
De senectute
While the world of the future is open to the imagination, and no longer belongs to you, the world of the past is one where through the remembrance you hide yourself, return to yourself, you rebuild your identity, which has been forming and revealing the continuing pattern of all acts of life, chained together, you judge, you absolve you condemn, and you can also try, when the lifetime is about to be completed, draw the bottom line. We must hurry. The old lives with memories and memories, but his memory is weakening day by day. Time progresses memory unlike the real one: the memories that surface in the most vivid recollection is both the more distant in time are those events. But you also know that what has been, or what you've been out of that bottomless pit, is but an infinitesimal part of the story of your life. Do not quit. Be sure to continue taking. Every face, every gesture, every word, every song by far that is, recovered when they seemed lost forever, help you survive.
Norberto Bobbio. -----
. Strangely, in these statements never appear the usual attitudes towards death: fear and hope. Fear acts against the taedium vitae, making death a desirable goal but not terrible. A hope, which can relieve the suffering in situations that seem hopeless, and is hoping to heal or be on the way to a new life, opposes Cupio dissolvi , or the desire to collapse, not to be. Taedium vitae and Cupio dissolvi have nothing to do, in turn, with contemptus mundi of the mystics, for whom life is just miserable but poverty is not the result of an indifferent God or evil, but of guilt, and contempt of the world is "the natural step to ascend to God." But to those who feel weary of life and yearns void, death is the longed rest after the huge and unnecessary fatigue life. Someone has written: "My life force is so exhausted and unable to see beyond the grave, and can not fear or desire nothing but death. I can not imagine a God so cruel to awaken one who is sleeping at his feet dead tired " (10).
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(10). See R. Schneider, Winterin Wien, quoted by R. Egenter, Sulla vecchiaia, Queriniana, Brescia 1976, p. 314.
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The complacent old tradition of rhetoric and the old despair are two extreme attitudes . I've done emphasis on them to lead us to reflect once more on the variety of our moods to life in pluriverse of conflicting values \u200b\u200bin which we move, and hence the difficulty of understanding the world and within it, ourselves. Between these two extremes there are countless other ways of living old age: passive acceptance, resignation, indifference, camouflage who insists on not seeing his wrinkles and his weakness and imposing a mask of eternal youth, conscious rebellion through continued effort, often doomed to failure, to pursue relentlessly work forever, or, conversely, the indifference of daily trials and meditation reflection or prayer, to live this life as if it were and the other, broken all worldly ties. Old age is not divided from the rest of the previous life: it is the continuation of your youth, your youth, your maturity. Poet writes: Youth calls for the elderly through the years spent: / "What have you found?" He yells, "What you seek?". / "What you've found it, 'answered the old, crying: /" what you've searched for " (11). It reflects your outlook on life and change your attitude toward it, as have conceived life as an inaccessible mountain to climb, or as a current in the you are immersed and flows slowly toward the mouth, or a vague jungle that always insecure about the way forward out of it. There is the old calm and distressed, satisfied ... ---- (11). Dylan Thomas, unpublished poetry, Einaaudi, Turin 1980, p.73.
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... arrived safely at the end of his days, recalling the restless especially their exciting fall and expects the last of which we will not get up, who relishes his victory and he can not erase from memory his defeats. The old man who has gone mad, sad, not for themselves but for others, the victim of a cruel penance whose cause we ignore him and us. Cosima, the protagonist of the book of Sandra Petrignani says affectionately: "The old pussies are great, they are like mad children. Pursue any fantasy, until they no longer know what is fantasy and what their reality, life and had forgotten or wanted to forget. "
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The world of old, all the old, is, more or less intense, the world of memory. It says at the end you are what you thought, loved, performed. I would add: you are what you remember. A wealth of yours, in addition to the affect that has nourished the thoughts that you thought, the actions we take, the memories you hold and you have not left erased, and the sole custodian you. That you are allowed to live until you leave the memories and you can turn abandon them. The dimension in which the old man lives is the past. The future time is too short to worry about what will happen. Old age, the patient said before, is short. But precisely because it is short, use your time not so much in doing projects for the distant future, that is not yours, as in trying to understand if you can, the meaning or meaninglessness of your life. Concentrate. Not dissipate the little time you have left. Back to go your way. You will assist the memories. But the memories do not emerge if you're not going to Ferret in the corners ...
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... earliest memory. Remembering is a mental activity that often do not exercise because it is laborious and disruptive. But it is a healthy activity. In the remembrance you find yourself, your identity, despite the many years since, the thousand vicissitudes experienced. Find long lost years ago, the games as a child, faces, voices, the gestures of your classmates, the places, especially those of children, more distant in time but in memory sharper. Could you describe step by step, stone by stone, that road that ran between the fields of children to get out of the way to a farmhouse.
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When visiting places of memory crowd around you dead, whose troops are more numerous each year. Most of those who accompanied you will have left. But you can not delete them as if they never existed. At the time that you call your mind relive at least a moment, and not dead at all, have not completely disappeared into nothingness: the teenager dead friend in a mountaineering accident, the schoolmate and games his plane disappeared during the war, whose body was never found and his family who waited years and years. You wonder why. Leone Ginzburg's death in a prison in Rome during the German occupation. Pavese's suicide. And come back to ask why.
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I have referred to many old ways of living. Someone might ask: "And you, how do you live?" . I have hinted at this last part of my speech. I will say one word that I have a melancholy old age, understanding and awareness of melancholy ...
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.... of the unreached and what no longer attainable. He fits well the image of life as a journey on which the target is always moving forward, and when you think you have reached it was not the one you'd appeared as final. Old age thus becomes the point at which you are aware that not only has traveled the road, but you no longer have time to go, and you give up achieving the final stage.
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The melancholy is tempered, however, the constancy of affection that time is not consumed. ++++++
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and coincides with many aspects of my own old age
. AZC/99.
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In "By way of prologue and dedication" , beginning of the book, it reads: few anecdotes, so many memories, yearnings of youth and adolescence, student responsibilities, coping with life. All we remember for many days, sitting with a cup of coffee and a few drops of brandy. memory of an old working. The old remember and we need to remember. Then one day I started writing by hand, as it always did, without stopping, to vuelapluma, with the greed of the second, because the only thing we have is the old time. They, my friends were taking my processor notes, and it was this book that largely fills my life ... . ...."
And at the end of the last page:
"...
often now in my old age, memory and I repeat the last verse of the immortal poem of Don Antonio Machado , Portrait:
"And when the day comes the last trip,
and is to sail the ship that never returns, I find on board
little luggage,
almost naked, like the children of the sea. "
Cali, October 1999
A. Zapata C. "
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* DIGITAL VERSIONS OF THE COMPLETE BOOK, see:
" The texture of time. "Ceballos Angel Zapata. autobiography
http://www.scribd.com/doc/16664435/La-textura-del-tiempo-Angel-Zapata-Ceballos-Libro-autobiografico
Source: ANGEL ZAPATA CEBALLOS, June 1921 - June 2009 , http://ntc-documentos.blogspot.com/2009_06_19_archive.html
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LINKS ON BOBBIO:
http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Norberto_Bobbio
http://www.erasmo.it/gobetti/spa/ default2.asp
eye http://www.erasmo.it/gobetti/spa/iniziative.html
http://www.editorialtaurus.com/es/libro/de-senectute/
ElPais. com Print Edition
Bobbio Culture portrays himself in "the old offended"
philosopher's latest book, 'De senectute', collects his thoughts on the decline vital
MIGUEL MORA - Madrid - 11/06/1997. Http://www.elpais.com/articulo/cultura/SAVATER/_FERNANDO/BOBBIO/_NORBERTO_/FILOSOFO/FERIA_DEL_LIBRO_DE_MADRID/Bobbio/autorretrata/vejez/ofendida/elpepicul/19970611elpepicul_1/Tes
Opinion column, DE Senectute , Jorge H. Botero
http://www.mincomercio.gov.co/eContent/newsdetail.asp?id=1964&idcompany=1
Norberto Bobbio and personal writings _Javier Ansuategui ...
http://tiempodelosderechos.es/es/biblioteca/doc_download/6-norberto-bobbio-y-sus-escritos-personales.html
http://www.elcultural.es/version_papel/SEMBLANZAS/ 10625/Norberto_Bobbio
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updated: NTC ... / degrees. January 16, 2011. 8:40 PM
