Of the phrases in liberal education, none is as well-known as “The Good Life.” The reason being, is that to have “The Good Life”, or “The Life Well-Lived”, was the goal of every ancient and medieval person. Happiness, which we discussed last time, is the purpose of human life, and if we were to map out what happiness looks like in the midst of life, then we would arrive at a vision of the Good Life. To refresh what we mean by happiness in the liberal context, and to prevent new readers from thinking that we simply mean fleeting pleasures or emotion, let us quote from our last installment:
“It is the universal understanding of the human mind that God, the author of all things, is good. Since nothing can be conceived better than God, everyone agrees that that which has no superior is good. Reason shows that God is so good that we are convinced that His goodness is perfect. Otherwise He couldn’t be the author of creation. There would have to be something else possessing perfect goodness over and above God, which would seem to be superior to Him and of greater antiquity. For all perfect things are obviously superior to those that are imperfect. Therefore, to avoid an unending argument, it must be admitted that the supreme God is to the highest degree filled with supreme goodness. But we have agreed that perfect good is true happiness; so it follows that true happiness is to be found in the supreme God.
As God is the greatest possible good, and has to be to be God, then possessing Him is the greatest source of happiness. Man, being made for happiness, was made for God, and only with God can Man truly be happy. That true happiness is only with God, and that this happiness is related to the soul living beyond bodily death (though for our purposes the details of this need to be left out, assuming I am even competent to talk about the subject), means that happiness cannot be found in the wilds of fortune. Virtue brings us closer to God, for love brings the lover and the beloved together, and love is one of the chief virtues, while vice separates us from God. In the realm of politics, as in any realm of life, our goal is happiness, and thus virtue is the goal of politics.”1
Happiness is possessing God, or being possessed by Him, and the path to this is virtue. We do not merit God’s love by becoming virtuous, nor is virtue indifferent to God. Living a life of virtue, can be summarized as “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”2 Virtue brings us closer to God because the life of virtue is us drawing near to God. We began this series discussing virtue in relation to masculinity, then looked at a specific virtue, justice, and most recently we asked if virtue really matters in politics. This time, with the aid of Petrarch’s Ascent of Mount Ventoux, we will look at how to practice virtue in our daily lives.
Petrarch
Notable for his rediscovery of Cicero’s letters, Petrarch was one of the early Renaissance Humanists. Through a deep study of ancient Greek and Latin, the Renaissance Humanists devoted their time to the study, and imitation of, ancient works. Petrarch translated and published many works of Cicero, Virgil, and Seneca, guided others in their own translations, wrote poetry, and was an avid epistolatory writer. Like Dante who came after, Petrarch was deeply involved in politics, theology, philosophy, poetry, and the arts, giving name to “the Renaissance man.” Unlike Dante, whose works are expressly political, Petrarch’s writings focus on the inner life, and make no mention of politics. His involvement in diplomacy, is nowhere to be found in his corpus.
The Ascent of Mount Ventoux
Our text will be a letter Petrarch wrote to his former father confessor, the Augustinian monk Dionisio da Borgo San Sepolcro. The short letter, readable in one sitting, tells of the journey Petrarch makes up Mount Ventoux with his brother. While this journey did take place, and was one of many trips Petrarch took around Europe, leading some to call him the first tourist, Petrarch is writing about the soul’s journey as well.
Petrarch first sets out to find a companion for his journey,
“When I came to look about for a companion I found, strangely enough, that hardly one among my friends seemed suitable, so rarely do we meet with just the right combination of personal tastes and characteristics, even among those who are dearest to us. This one was too apathetic, that one over-anxious; this one too slow, that one too hasty; one was too sad, another over-cheerful; one more simple, another more sagacious, than I desired. I feared this one's taciturnity and that one's loquacity. The heavy deliberation of some repelled me as much as the lean incapacity of others. I rejected those who were likely to irritate me by a cold want of interest, as well as those who might weary me by their excessive enthusiasm. Such defects, however grave, could be borne with at home, for charity suffereth all things, and friendship accepts any burden; but it is quite otherwise on a journey, where every weakness becomes much more serious.”3
On life’s journey, not everyone makes a good companion. We are not talking about simple friendship (though we will circle back to the deeper meaning of friendship later in this series), for Petrarch does not call ill-suited companions enemies, but “friends”, “those who are dearest to us", nor does the defects of ill-suited companions does not bar a relationship with them, for “such defects…could be borne with at home, for charity suffereth all things.” Petrarch is looking for more than a friend, he is looking for someone who will help him reach the summit of Mount Ventoux, by which we understand arriving at God’s grace.
Who does not make a good companion? He who is apathetic, for you will have to drag him up the mountain, rather than he encouraging you. He who is over-anxious, for the path up the mountain is hard, and grit is required. He who is too slow, for Christ will spit out those who are lukewarm.4 He who is too hasty, for the life of repentance requires diligent reflection, and cannot be rushed. He who is too sad, for he does not really believe the journey to end in joy. He who is over-cheerful, for though the path ends in joy, it requires suffering, suffering over our own sins most of all, and the over-cheerful are either unable to bear this, or have never bore it. He who is too simple, for the world is a cunning place, and we must be “wise as serpents”5, and wisdom, like faith, comes by hearing.6 He who is loquacious, for the man in love with his own tongue cannot suffer correction, and all require ample correction on the journey up Mount Ventoux.
Climbing a mountain is no small task, and cannot be done alone. The only thing we can do by ourself, is go to hell. Only with others may we live a life of virtue, find God, who is our ultimate happiness, and in Whom we have the Good Life. Being picky who we choose to help us up Mount Ventoux, then, is not a judgement on any potential companion, but an admission of our own weakness, and having acknowledged our own weakness, we request the aid of someone stronger than us, who will be able to lift us up when we are weak. Petrarch, finding himself in this weakness, looks to his brother,
“I finally turned homeward for aid, and proposed the ascent to my only brother, who is younger than I, and with whom you are well acquainted. He was delighted and gratified beyond measure by the thought of holding the place of a friend as well as of a brother.”7
Why his brother? Turning homeward, Petrarch finds one who shares his affections, whose heart is orientated in the same direction. Looking back to home, the author is able to make his journey to his ultimate home.
Who is our brother? Who is our sister? While some families have hearts aligned, many do not. Some siblings do not speak at all, or, if they do, have hearts pointed in different directions. Those in these circumstances must look to other homes, finding a companion that has oneness of mind.
So, Petrarch starts up the mountain, which is “a very steep and almost inaccessible mass of stony soil”, with his brother, and two servants.8 They come to an old shepherd, who tries to dissuade them.
“We found an old shepherd in one of the mountain dales, who tried, at great length, to dissuade us from the ascent, saying that some fifty years before he had, in the same ardor of youth, reached the summit, but had gotten for his pains nothing except fatigue and regret, and clothes and body torn by the rocks and briars. No one, so far as he or his companions knew, had ever tried the ascent before or after him.”9
Like Boethius, the old shepherd experienced the pain which accompanies virtue, but, unlike Boethius, did not understand that eternal happiness is worth every scratch, and that those who inflict wounds are not triumphant, but punish themselves. Petrarch, knowing this, ignores the old man, though, bitter in his old age, calls after them,
“So the old man, finding that his efforts were in vain, went a little way with us, and pointed out a rough path among the rocks, uttering many admonitions, which he continued to send after us even after we had left him behind”10
Despite continuing their journey, Petrarch is affected by the shepherd’s words, and starts to take detours.
“Upon starting on again we went more slowly, and I especially advanced along the rocky way with a more deliberate step. While my brother chose a direct path straight up the ridge, I weakly took an easier one which really descended. When I was called back, and the right road was shown me, I replied that I hoped to find a better way round on the other side, and that I did not mind going farther if the path were only less steep. This was just an excuse for my laziness; and when the others had already reached a considerable height I was still wandering in the valleys.”11
Petrarch did not cease his journey up the Mount, but wanted an easier path. Throughout our lives we, too, will take “an easier [path] which really descended”, because of laziness, preferring the life of pleasure, while simply abstaining from sin (yet making no advance in virtue), or from life’s exhaustion, whether it comes from work, or family life. We think ourselves continuing up Mount Ventoux, taking an easier path for a while, yet Petrarch tells us that we are actually descending, in no small part because of our loss of vigor, and drive. The life of virtue is not without rest, however,
“At last I became disgusted with the intricate way I had chosen, and resolved to ascend without more ado. When I reached my brother, who, while waiting for me, had had ample opportunity for rest, I was tired and irritated.”12
His brother, taking the direct, but more arduous path, was able to rest. Why? God is a merciful god, and does not deny us consolation. In the Orthodox Church, the year is broken evenly between fasting, and feasting, between ascetic struggle, and rejoicing. Our openness to God, even though it is also our openness to struggle, makes resting, and feasting, possible. Pieper, who we looked at here, says this of feasts,
“What, then, is required to celebrate a feast? Obviously more than a day off from work. This requirement includes man’s willing acceptance of the ultimate truth, in spite of the world’s riddles, even when this truth is beheld through the veil of our own tears; it includes man’s awareness of being in harmony with these fundamental realities and surrounded by them. To express such acceptance, such harmony, such unity in nonordinary ways—this has been called since time immemorial: to celebrate a feast. And at this point we realize that there can be no feast without gods; indeed, that the cultic celebration is the primordial form of any feast.”13
Attempting to find rest in thriving for virtue a little less, Petrarch loses rest, while his brother, who embraced the hard, direct, path of virtue, “had ample opportunity for rest.” Learning from this, the Rennaissance man corrects his course, but falls multiple times,
“We walked along together for a time, but hardly had we passed the first spur when I forgot about the circuitous route which I had just tried, and took a lower one again. Once more I followed an easy, roundabout path through winding valleys, only to find myself soon in my old difficulty. I was simply trying to avoid the exertion of the ascent; but no human ingenuity can alter the nature of things, or cause anything to reach a height by going down. Suffice it to say that, much to my vexation and my brother's amusement, I made this same mistake three times or more during a few hours…”14
So too will we fall multiple times, in the same way, even hours after learning the folly of our ways. What matters is not that we fall, but that we get back up. As Elder Ephraim of Arizona has said, “Mercifully, God’s goodness longs to help us, and He encourages us, ‘Every time you fall, get up again.’ To fall is human, but to fall and not get up is demonic.”15 Though Petrarch continually wanders astray, he continually finds himself, and gets back on the proper path.
At last, Petrarch and his brother reach the summit of the mountain, and the author takes out his copy of Saint Augustine’s Confessions,
“While I was thus dividing my thoughts, now turning my attention to some terrestrial object that lay before me, now raising my soul, as I had done my body, to higher planes, it occurred to me to look into my copy of St. Augustine's Confessions, a gift that I owe to your love, and that I always have about me, in memory of both the author and the giver. I opened the compact little volume, small indeed in size, but of infinite charm, with the intention of reading whatever came to hand, for I could happen upon nothing that would be otherwise than edifying and devout. Now it chanced that the tenth book presented itself. My brother, waiting to hear something of St. Augustine's from my lips, stood attentively by. I call him, and God too, to witness that where I first fixed my eyes it was written: "And men go about to wonder at the heights of the mountains, and the mighty waves of the sea, and the wide sweep of rivers, and the circuit of the ocean, and the revolution of the stars, but themselves they consider not." I was abashed, and, asking my brother (who was anxious to hear more), not to annoy me, I closed the book, angry with myself that I should still be admiring earthly things who might long ago have learned from even the pagan philosophers that nothing is wonderful but the soul, which, when great itself, finds nothing great outside itself. Then, in truth, I was satisfied that I had seen enough of the mountain; I turned my inward eye upon myself, and from that time not a syllable fell from my lips until we reached the bottom again.”16
Having a personal copy of a book during Petrarch’s age was a sign of wealth, for every book was handwritten, and bound. Most only could afford one book in their lifetime, and thus what book someone owned said a great deal about what one valued. Augustine’s Confessions, then, is not one of many books Petrarch might have picked up and read while resting on the hike, but something very dear to his heart, evidenced by him always having it on his person.
At the summit of Mount Ventoux, Petrarch is reminded that nothing, not even the great works of the Creator, is more valuable than the soul. Men go to great troubles to see, experience, taste, and hear magnificent things, but very rarely go to as equal of a trouble to consider the most magnificent thing of all.
Petrarch and You
What lessons do we learn from The Ascent of Mount Ventoux? As this is meant to be the more practical post in this series, let us break it down into bullet points.
Living the Good Life means to live a life of virtue.
Living a life of virtue is a struggle.
To live the Good Life we need companions, and they must be stronger than us.
Taking the easy path, even if only for a while, is actually regression.
Those who keep strong on the difficult path, paradoxically, get more rest than those who choose the easy path.
We will fall, over and over again, even moments after we get back up. Yet, what matters is not that we fall, but that we get back up.
If we exert time, and effort, to obtain earthly treasures, we should spend that much more time, and effort, trying to obtain heavenly treasures.
The Good Life is the life of virtue, and we are not left without guides. Earlier in this series we learned from Aristotle the definition of virtue, but Petrarch makes the attainment of virtue practical, for he acknowledges the inherent struggle in living The Life Well Lived.
When I was receiving my own liberal education, the question posed to us, after finishing this text, was “why not become a monastic?” If Petrarch shows us that we must struggle for God, that the best path is the most straightforward, and that the soul is more magnificent than anything earthly, then what excuse is there not to devote our life to continual prayer and fasting? I am not a monk, which gives you an idea of my answer, but it is a question worth wrestling with.
Matthew 22:36-40, KJV
Petrarch, The Ascent of Mount Ventoux. Sourced PDF from Fordham University, Pg 1
Revelations 3:16, KJV
Matthew 10:16, KJV
Romans 10:17 KJV
Petrarch, The Ascent of Mount Ventoux. Sourced PDF from Fordham University , Pg 2.
Petrarch, pg 2
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Pg 3
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Pieper, Joseph. Translated by Lothar Krauth. Only the Lover Sings: Art and Contemplation. Ignatius Press, San Fransisco. 1990. 26
Pg 4
Taken from The Orthodox Ethos
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