The problem has now been enunciated. Let us see what is the solution which the "First Modern" accepts in the heyday of his life and success. He admits the inefficacy of Cicero's admonitions. Of the Bible he says little or nothing. Virgil's words, not David's or Paul's, come to his mind in the depths of his perplexity. The dialogue continues as follows:
Augustine. We have now reached the point toward which I have been guiding you. It is that form of meditation (on Death) that we mentioned at the beginning, coupled with an ever-present consciousness of our mortality, which produces the desired result.
Francesco. Unless I am again misled, no one has oftener been preoccupied by these thoughts than I.
Augustine. Alas, here is a new task for me.
Francesco. What? I am not lying?
Augustine. I prefer to express myself more politely.
Francesco. But that is your meaning.
Augustine. Assuredly.
Francesco. Then I do not think of death?
Augustine. Very rarely, and then so indolently that the thought cannot penetrate into the depths of your perversity.
Francesco. I had thought otherwise.
Augustine. You should look not to what you thought but to what you should have thought.
The Confessor explains that he does not refer to the general recognition of the possibility of death as a distant contingency or even of its imminence as illustrated by the death of those who fall about us. We can hope for no advantage except we vividly reproduce its physical and spiritual horrors. He then enters upon a concise description of the physical accompaniments of dissolution in its most distressing forms, with the painful minuteness which we might expect in a treatise upon epilepsy. He dwells upon the advantage of exposing the bodies of the dead to the view of those earnestly struggling toward spiritual enfranchisement, and upon the salutary and permanent impressions that come from witnessing the preparation of the corpse for burial. In this way the trite idea of our mortality may become vivid and life-giving.
Francesco readily assents to Augustine's reasoning, for he recognises in it much that he habitually turns over in his own mind. He asks, however, for some sure sign by which he can determine whether his ascetic meditations are doing their work, or whether he is deceiving himself by false appearances instead of walking in the path of virtue. Augustine explains accordingly that so long as we do not become literally pale and rigid with the very thought of death our labours are vain.
The soul must leave the members and stand before the judgment seat of eternity about to render an exact account of the words and deeds of its whole past life. It places no hope in bodily beauty or the applause of the world, in eloquence, riches, or power; the judge cannot be corrupted or deceived. Death may not be placated, nor is it the end of torments but only a step toward worse things. "Let the soul sink to Hell itself, inter mille suppliciorum, mille tortorum genera, et stridor et gemitus Averni et sulphurei amnes et tenebrae et ultrices furiae." If you can bring all these before your eyes at once, not as mere imaginings, but as necessary, inevitable, nay as already upon you, and yet not yield to despair but abide strong in the faith that God can reach out his hand to snatch you from these horrors, you show yourself curable. Anxious to rise and tenacious of purpose you will go forth with confidence and may know that you have not meditated in vain.
This spiritual exercise appears to have been an habitual one with Petrarch, but, as is not unnatural, he was disappointed in its results.
When I dispose my body like that of a dying person, and bring vividly before me the hour of death and all the attendant terrors that the mind can conjure up, so that I seem to be in the very agony of dissolution, I sometimes behold Tartarus and all the terrors you depict and am so afflicted by the vision that I arise terrified and trembling, and to the horror of those about me I break forth in the words, "Alas how shall I escape these sufferings? What is to be the end of my woes? Jesus, help me!..."
I rave like a madman and talk to myself, as my distracted and terrified intellect is driven this way and that. I address my friends, and my own tears force tears from them. Yet I return to my old ways when my burst of weeping is once past. What holds me back in spite of these experiences? What hidden impediment has rendered these meditations up to the present only a source of pain and terror? I am still exactly what I was before, and what those are to whom nothing of this kind perhaps ever happened in their life. I am indeed more miserable than they in one respect, for whatever may be the outcome, they at least rejoice in the pleasure of the present while I, uncertain of the end, experience no joy that is not embittered by the reflections of which I have spoken.
Against such a sentiment Augustine naturally protests, but somewhat weakly; and Petrarch firmly maintains that the worldly man is the better off.
At the close of this first dialogue Petrarch gives a brief analysis of his character which displays his profound self-knowledge. Augustine declares that Francesco's spiritual welfare is threatened by his want of concentration and by the multitude and variety of conflicting purposes which oppress his weak mind. He has not the strength or time to accomplish half of what he lightly undertakes. "So it comes to pass," Augustine continues," "that, as many things brought into a narrow space are sure to interfere with one another, so your mind is too choked up for anything useful to take root or grow. You have no settled plan, but are turned hither and thither in an amazing whirl; your energies are never concentrated: you are never wholly yourself."