Chapter 30 Chapter Twenty-Five

morning worship Adso is tortured by love.William came with the manuscript of Venantius, although he had deciphered the contents of the manuscript, but still did not know its meaning Indeed, I almost forgot about it from the other dreadful events that followed my sinful encounter with that woman.And after I confessed to Brother William, the frustration I felt when I woke up after the fall no longer tormented my soul, as if the heavy burden had been entrusted to William with my words.What is the purpose of this divine clarification if confession does not lift a man's burden of sin, and the remorse it evokes, to the light and magnanimous mind of God, and make us forget the torment of our bodies through weakness? ?But I'm not completely relieved.Now, walking in the bland, icy sun of that winter morning, surrounded by the heat of people and animals, I begin to think about my experience in a different way.

It seems that in my memory, my confession and confession of sin no longer exist, only the image of the human body and human limbs.In my fiery heart, the ghost of Berengar suddenly appeared, with a face swollen with water, which made me tremble with disgust and pity.However, as if to banish that ghastly vision, my thoughts turned to other images that had just entered my memory, and inevitably I saw clearly, before my eyes (mind's eye, but almost as if before the eyes of my body), the girl's shadow, like an army in full swing, is beautiful and terrifying. I have sworn (and my old scribe has not yet written this oath, although I have kept it in my heart for decades) that to be a faithful recorder, it is not just a matter of fact Love, or hope to guide my future readers, is also due to my desire to release all my memories, to make the images that have haunted me all my life fade and fade away.

Therefore, I must say everything, solemnly, but without shame.Now, I must say what I was thinking at the time.I paced the garden, sometimes running, so that I could attribute sudden heartbeats to my body, or pausing to look at the fruits of the serfs, deluding myself that I was distracted by another thought, turning the cold The air is drawn deeply into the lungs, as one would drink to forget fear or sorrow. In vain.I was thinking about that girl.My body has forgotten the guilt and the fleeting joy of union with her, but my soul has not forgotten her face, and cannot bring myself to feel that the memory is base, but that face seems to shine The supreme joy of creation.

In confusion, I feel that poor, dirty, shameless creature who sells herself (who knows how often) to others, that Eve's daughter, as weak as all her sisters, often Dealing with people is also brilliant and magical.My knowledge tells me that she is an inducement to evil; my senses recognize her as a symbol of every kind of grace.It's hard to put into words what I feel, I can only write that I'm still caught in a sinful trap, longing for her presence at any moment, whether it's around the corner of the hut or in the dark of the barn, All tempt me to look forward to the sudden appearance of what I want.But I can't write the facts, or rather, I try to throw a veil over them in order to lessen their force and clarity.Because the fact is that I "saw" the girl.When a dazed sparrow took refuge in a bare tree, I saw her among the quivering stalks; I saw her in the eyes of a heifer coming out of a barn; She was heard over the bleating of the sheep.It's as if everything in the world is talking about her to me.I longed to see her again, yes, but I was also ready to accept that I would never see her, lay with her again.Even if she is forever far away from me, I want to keep the joy that filled my heart that morning and feel that she is always near me.It's as if—as the whole world is like a book written by God's own hand, in which everything speaks to us of the infinite love of the Creator, and every creature is a description and mirror of life and death, the humblest The roses of the world became the adornment of the progress of the world—in other words, everything contained the face I had glimpsed in the shadows of the kitchen.I harbor these fantasies, because I tell myself (not really telling, when my thoughts cannot be put into words at all), if the whole world is destined to speak to me of the power, love and wisdom of the Creator, If the whole world had said to me that girl that morning, she (a sinner though) was a chapter in the book of creation, a chapter in the cosmic hymn - I told myself (now I can say it), if so , that could only be part of the great design of the gods, arranged like a lyre, a miracle of resonance and harmony.As if I were drunk, I imagined her existence in what I saw, and I found joy and satisfaction in my imagination.

Yet I feel a little sad, and though I am happy in the existence of many phantoms, I am also tormented by a certain lack.It is difficult for me to explain this mysterious contradiction, which shows that the human heart is fragile and never moves straight along the divine path.These paths frame the world with perfect deduction, but in isolated and incoherent designs we are often deceived by the devil.Could it be the deceit of the devil that made me so ecstatic that morning?Now I think it must be, because I was only a novice, but I think that the human emotion that was turbulent in me was not bad in itself, but had something to do with my state.It is the feeling which drives man to woman, as the pagan apostles would have it, and man and woman are married in pairs, and together they bear new human beings, and they depend on each other for succor from youth to old age.It's just that the apostles said this for those who seek compensation for their desires, and those who don't want to be burned.In comparison, however, the condition of chastity is the best, and that is the condition of my dedication to the monkhood.So what I felt that morning was evil, but to someone else it might be the best, the sweetest thing.Now I understand that my distress is not due to the corruption of thoughts--thoughts are sweet in themselves--but due to the chasm between my thoughts and the vows I have taken.So the emotions I harbor are good in one situation and bad in another.My mistake was in trying to reconcile natural desires with the dictates of reason.Now I know that my pain is the result of the conflict between reason and sense, the intellect governed by the will, and the sensual desire conditioned by human passion.In fact, as Aquinas argues, acts of sensual desire are called passions because they involve bodily changes.And my desire caused my whole body to vibrate, giving me the urge to scream and roll on the ground.

Aquinas also said that passions are not evil in themselves, but they must be guided by the will of reason.But my reason was feeble that morning, overrun by a raging desire to regard good and evil as mere conditions of conquest, and not as known entities.In order to justify my irresponsible recklessness at the time, I will say that I was undoubtedly caught in "love" at that time, because the burden of my body was indeed natural love.Seduced by this passion, I grasped the words of Aquinas. He said: "Love makes us realize things more than knowledge." In fact, the image of the girl is more distinct now than it was the night before, and I know her because I know myself through her, and I know myself through her. Feel her feeling again.Now I can't help wondering whether what I was feeling was a kind of fraternal love, thinking and loving only the other person's good, or erotic love, thinking only of my own good and my need to make it whole.I believe that night's love was erotic because I wanted something from that girl that I never had.But I didn't want anything from that girl that morning, and I thought only of her well-being, that she would be saved, that she wouldn't sell myself for a little food, that she would be happy.I wanted nothing more from her, but thought of her, seeing her in the flock, in the calves, in the branches, in the still light bathed in the monastery.

Now I know that goodness is the cause of love, and what is good is defined by knowledge, that what you love must be what you have learned to be good in the past.However, what I learned was that the girl was in line with the lustful desire, but contrary to the rational will.But I wallowed in conflicting emotions, for what I felt was what the scholars describe as the holiest of loves, producing in me a lovers' ecstasy (by mystic inspiration, whether the girl is Who, I know she wants the same thing as I want myself), I feel jealous of her, but not maliciously, as Paul condemns in the Book of Corinth, but Dionisius Said in "The Holy Name"; God's great love for all creation, also known as jealousy (I love that girl because she exists, I am happy that she exists, not jealousy) .It is the kind of fraternal jealousy that inspires us to rebel against all harm done to the one we love (at that moment I can only dream of freeing that girl from the man who is buying her body, defiled it with his shameless lust ).

Now I know, as the scholars say, excessive love can hurt the lover.My love is too much.I have tried to explain how I felt at the time without justifying how I felt.I'm talking about the sinful zeal of my youth, which wasn't good, but I must say at the time I thought it was the best.Hope this guides anyone who may fall into the web of temptation.Today, I am old and know a thousand ways of avoiding this temptation.Should I be proud of these methods?Although I can avoid the temptations of the devil, I may not be able to resist other temptations.I couldn't help asking myself if what I was doing now was surrendering to the passions of earthly memories, a foolish attempt to escape the passage of time and death.

Then, as if by a miraculous instinct, I saved myself.The girl was present in the natural and human works that surrounded me.Thanks to my heart's happy intuition, I unwind in a meditation on those projects.I watched the cowherd boy lead the cows out of the barn, the pig breeder carried food to feed the pigs, the shepherd called the sheepdog to drive the sheep, the farmer carried wheat and grain into the mill, and carried bags of food Good food comes out. I lost myself in natural contemplation, tried to forget my thoughts, gazed at those simple things, and happily forgot myself in the scene before me.

How beautiful is the natural spectacle untouched by the false wisdom of man! I saw the little lamb—the name seemed to represent purity and kindness.In fact, the word "agnus" for the lamb is derived from the attribute of this animal - cognitive "agnoscit".It recognizes its mother, even if there is a large group of sheep together, it can also hear the mother's voice, and the ewe can also recognize its child from a group of identical lambs and feed it.Long ago, sheep were used as sacrificial offerings.When winter comes, before the pastures are covered with severe frost, the sheep are always greedily looking for green grass, and they will never tire of eating.The shepherd dog is the most excellent animal, very smart, recognizes its owner, is trained to hunt wild animals in the woods, protects the flock from wolves, and looks after the owner's house and Children, sometimes it even sacrifices its life to do its duty.

After King Galaman was captured by the enemy and imprisoned, he was rescued by a group of dogs, who bravely resisted the enemy and brought him back to his hometown; Jason Leese's dog, who refused to eat anything after the death of his master, finally Starved to death; the dog of King Lysimachus threw himself into the fire when his master was cremated, and died with the king.When a dog is injured, as long as it licks the wound with its tongue, the wound can be healed, and the tongue of a puppy can heal internal injuries.It can spit out the food it has already eaten and chew it, so that one meal can be used as two meals.Its stability is a symbol of a perfect spirit, just as the magical power of a dog's tongue is a symbol of cleansing sins through penance and penance.But the dog vomits out the food it has eaten, but it also symbolizes that after we repent, we return to our previous sins.When I admired the wonder of nature that morning, this allegory was also alerting my heart. ※Bandhammer Academy's E-Book※ I went to the bullpen.The cattleman is driving out a large herd of cattle.They have always seemed to me a sign of friendliness, for each ox looks back at his partner behind the plow as he works, and calls to him in a low voice if that partner happens not to be there at the time.The cows have learned to automatically go back to the barn when it rains, and when they are sheltering in the barn, they often crane their necks and look out to see if the weather is improving, because they are eager to get back to work.The herd of cattle coming out of the barn includes many calves, the Latin name for which is "vituli" from "viriditas" or "virgo", which is young, fresh and pure.And I, who was also young, had done something wrong, and am still wrong, because in their graceful movements, I saw the image of the woman again.I look at the hard but joyful busyness of the morning and think about these things, and I feel at peace again.I stopped thinking about that girl and turned my admiration for her into joy and reverent peace of mind. I told myself: The world is good and wonderful; God's love is shown even in the most terrible beasts.Yes, there are huge boa constrictors in this world, which devour cattle and swim in the sea; there is also a monster with a mule body and horns, a chest like a lion, feet like a horse, and hoofs like a cow with split-toed hooves. A big crack with a human voice, but where there should be teeth there is only a big hard bone; there is also a monster with a human face, three rows of teeth, a lion's body, a scorpion tail, blue-green eyes and blood There is a monster with eight toes, a wolf's mouth, hooked claws, a woolen body, and a back like a bulldog. It has a very long life span, but its color changes from white to black when it gets old.I know creatures with eyes on their shoulders and two holes in their chests instead of noses, for they have no heads; and creatures on the banks of the Ganges who must survive on the smell of a certain apple, and when they leave there they die. died.But these terrible beasts also praise the Creator and His wisdom in various forms, like dogs and oxen, sheep, lambs and lynxes.I remembered what Vincent Bellois said: How great is the most humble beauty in this world, the patterns, numbers and orders of all things are so harmonious and contain rationality, the cycle of time is cyclical in continuation and change, The sequence of life and death continues.I admit that although I am a sinner and my soul was still a prisoner of my body that morning, the Creator and the general principles of this world made me feel a kind of spiritual beauty.With joyful reverence, I marvel at the grandeur and stability of the universe. When my mentor came to me, my mood had returned to calm.Before I knew it, I had circled the abbey and walked back to where we had parted two hours before.William arrived one step ahead of me, and after hearing what he said to me, my emotions were turbulent again, and I thought again of the dark secrets of the abbey. William seemed delighted.He had the manuscript of Venantius in his hand, and he had deciphered it.Since his room was relatively private, when I went there with him, he read to me what he had translated.After the sentence inscribed in the zodiacal alphabet (Secretum finis Africae manus supraido lum primum et sep timum de quatuor), the Greek text reads as follows: A potent poison that purifies... The best weapon to destroy the enemy... Take advantage of the lowly, ugly and low, be satisfied with their imperfections...never let them die...not in the houses of the high and the high, but from the farms, after plenty of food and wine...squat stature , shapeless face. They raped virgins and slept with whores without fear or shame. A different truth, a different image of truth... Holy figs. Shameless stones rolled across the plain...in front of all eyes. Deceit is necessary, to surprise by deceit, to speak irony, to say one thing and point to another. The cicadas will sing for them from the ground. That's all.I felt as if there was so little, almost nothing.These sentences sound like the gibberish of a madman.I told William my opinion. "Maybe. It's even more unreasonable after my translation. My Greek is not very good. However, even if we assume that Venantius is crazy, or the author of this book is crazy, it cannot So I know why so many people who are not necessarily crazy, go to such trouble to hide this book and then find it..." "But is this mysterious passage really excerpted from that mysterious book?" "There is no doubt that it was written by Venantius. You can see for yourself that this is not an ancient parchment. These must be notes he took while reading the book. Otherwise Venantius would not have written in Greek. He must have transcribed some excerpts of sentences he found in the book. He stole the book from the shelf at the End of Africa and brought it to office, began to read, jotted down what he thought was worth memorizing, and then something happened. Either the poison he had taken took effect and made him uncomfortable, or he heard someone coming upstairs. So he put the book and notes together Received under the desk, maybe I plan to take it out the next night. All in all, this page is the only basis for us to guess the mysterious book. Only by virtue of the content of this book can we deduce the nature of the murderer. Because in In every crime that possesses an object, the nature of that object may teach us something, however slight, of the nature of the assassin. If a man kills for a handful of gold, he is a covetous man; if for a book, He must have been anxious to keep the book a secret from others. Therefore we must find out its contents." "From these few lines, can you understand what kind of book it is?" "Dear Adso, these lines are like the words of the Bible, and their meaning is not limited to the surface. After our conversation with the administrator this morning, I read these sentences, and there is also a reference to simplicity here. The man and the peasant know the truth differently than the wise. The steward has hinted at some strange conspiracy which obligates him to Malachi. Could it have been that Remigio had brought some dangerous alien Pagan writings, handed over to Malachi for collection? Then what Venantius read was about a monastery full of rough and mean people, against everyone and everything. But..." "But what?" "But my hypothesis is at odds with two facts. The first is that Venantius does not appear to be interested in such matters, and that he was a translator of Greek books, not a heretic preacher. The other is about figs, The words of the stone and the cicada cannot be explained by this hypothesis..." "Maybe it's a riddle with another meaning," I speculated, "or do you have another explanation?" "There is, but it's still vague. When I look at this page, I feel as if I've seen these sentences before, and some of the words are almost exactly the same. In fact, I think this page says what has been talked about in the last few days. . . . but I can't remember what it was. I'll have to think about it, and maybe I'll have to read some other book." "Why? Do you have to read other books to know what a book is about?" "Sometimes that may be the case. Many books often refer to other books. Usually a harmless book is like a seed that will germinate in a dangerous book, or else it It is the sweet fruit of the bitter root. Is it not possible for me to read what Thomas said by reading Albert, or what Averroes said by reading Thomas?" I was surprised and said, "Yes." I used to think that every book was about something other than the book, whether it was human or divine; now I realized that the content of the book is often about other books.Thinking of this, I feel even more troubled about the library.The library, then, is full of silent conversations between books, ancient but alive, a secret treasure of many hearts, eternal. "But," said I, "what is the use of hiding books if one can discuss other books from within?" "Of course it's useless for a long time, but it's still useful in a few years or a few days. Don't you think we're at a loss now?" I asked awkwardly: "Then the library is not a tool to spread the truth, but instead delays the discovery of the truth?" "Not quite and not necessarily. In this case it may be said to be."