THE LETTERS OF MARSILIO FICINO

Marsilio Ficino (1433-1499) of Florence epitomised the definition of the Renaissance man as philosopher, scholar, doctor, musician and priest. He translated the whole of Plato and many related classical writings into Latin, and Clement Salaman writes in his introduction that these writings 'contain the key to the most important knowledge for Man: knowledge of himself, that is, knowledge of the divine and immortal principle within him.' For Ficino, the central aim of human life is return to the divine source, as articulated in his Platonic Academy at Careggi. Salaman also explains that the immortality and divinity of the soul was the basis of the 'dignity of Man'. Ficino was the mentor of Lorenzo de' Medici, who succeeded his father Piero and grandfather Cosimo in 1469. As a musician, he sang devotional Orphic hymns with his lyre. His influence extended way beyond Italy, and his correspondents included Dean Colet of St Paul's. It is interesting to reflect how 'a knowledge of ancient literature and history became the unquestioned basis of education in the West', and I remember that my time at Eton marked the transition from classics to science among the leading scholars.

This first book of letters was translated from Latin into Italian during the author's lifetime, and his correspondence eventually extended to 12 volumes by the mid-16th century. It is notable that Ficino himself gave titles to his letters, indicating their serious and often didactic nature. Here is a sample from the 131 contained in this volume: the way of happiness; medicine heals the body, music the spirit, and theology the soul; how to praise without flattering; consolation on someone's death; matters of love; loss of time is a serious matter; the truth of God's splendour, beauty, and love; on bearing injury; the folly and misery of men; what it is to live well; no virtue is more lovable than kindness; on perseverance; giving thanks. A number of these themes appear more than once, but these give an idea of the scope and flavour of the letters.

Letter number 9 entitled 'on divination and the divinity of the soul, gives the following account, which is worth quoting in its entirety:

The father of my mother Alessandra was called Giovanni and her mother was called Angela. Alessandra was in Figline, Giovanni in the town of Montevarchi, and Angela in Florence. Angela wrote to Giovanni and Alessandra that she was well, and would return on the following day. They read her letters, and while asleep that night they both saw Angela at the same time. She appeared to Alessandra in the entrance of the house, and when the daughter was greeting her mother as if she had returned home, the mother avoided her daughter's embrace. 'Farewell,' she said, 'and take care that the priests pray to God for me.' But to Giovanni she said, 'My Giovanni, how I grieve at your misfortune! Farewell, and ask that prayers be offered to God for me.' Suddenly aroused by these visions, they both cried out, thinking her to be dead. They sent to Florence. The news came back that she had departed this life that very night.

There are two other cases in this same letter, and readers familiar with this kind of phenomenon will recognise the deathbed apparition, well documented as far back as 1886 in Phantasms of the Living.

The letters give considerable insight into the close relationship between Ficino and Lorenzo de' Medici. They are impatient for each other's letters, Lorenzo writing 'as soon as you have an opportunity to write, I beg you delay no longer, nor let me vainly wait so long for your letters'. Lorenzo replies to a letter of gratitude, referring to Marsilio's translation of Plato on love, saying that 'in that book you wrote about love you so skilfully described every state of love that nothing may be discovered in love which cannot be read in that book, nor may anything be read there which is not in love.' In response, Marsilio expostulates: 'your exceptional humanity and your noble qualities arouse in me the deepest gratitude [for what he had written about his work] but your letter discourages me from expressing it.' Continuing in this vein, Lorenzo writes in another letter that 'a philosopher should not talk too much - but nor should he say nothing!' Marsilio in turn rebukes Lorenzo for accusing his silence, suspecting that it springs from forgetfulness, and forgetfulness from absence. He wittily continues: 'you ought to remember that if Lorenzo is not absent, neither is Marsilio, for Marsilio dwells in Lorenzo if the soul is everywhere at the same time, as you yourself truly proved in your recent letter.'

There are any number of letters on which one might comment, demonstrating as they do nobility of mind, warmth of heart, sage advice and sublime aspiration. Letter 115, also to Lorenzo, is a seven-page disquisition on happiness, which Ficino argues springs from God alone, and that love unites the mind with God more swiftly than cognition since its power lies in union. He writes that the soul becomes divine, not by considering God but by loving Him; as wood becomes fire because it draws heat, not light from the flame. This is followed by an extraordinary theological prayer to God, which begins with the following five lines:

O boundless light, observing yourself, seeing all things in yourself! O infinite sight, shining from yourself, illuminating all! O spiritual eye, whom alone, and by whom alone, spiritual eyes see! O immortal life of those that see! O all goodness of the living!

The end is equally exalted – 'may we, without distraction, infinitely love your infinite beauty. May we, without surfeit, eternally enjoy your infinite good.' The use of the word 'surfeit' in this context is typical of Ficino's disciplined and moderate approach to life. It is hard to disagree with Christopher Booker's review of the original edition that these letters comprise one of the spiritual classics of the past thousand years.