The Muses of Music never heal but foster sorrow by poisonous sweets. Who permitted seducing mummers to approach this sick man
"A golden volume not unworthy of the leisure of Plato or Tully." "To acquire a taste for it is almost to become naturalised in the Middle Ages." Such was the praise for The Consolation of Philosophy granted by Edward Gibbon and C.S. Lewis; they were not the first to succumb. From the Carolingian epoch to the end of the Middle Ages and beyond, this was the most widely copied work of secular literature in Europe. It was translated into Old English by King Alfred, into Old French by Jean de Meun, into Middle English by Geoffrey Chaucer and into Elizabethan English by Queen Elizabeth herself -- to list only the most celebrated versions.
Yet the work is not mentioned by any of Boethius's contemporaries and it came into wide circulation only long after the author died a traitor's (or a martyr's) death. In the eighteenth century questions arose about the author's allegiances (could he have been something less than the devout Christian the Middle Ages took him for?) when a pietist writer attacked him for the incipient scholasticism of his writings. Since the late nineteenth century, it has been certain that the author of the Consolation also wrote theological pamphlets; but that certainty has done little to end scholarly debate. We have only recently seen the work situated securely in the geography of late antique thought (see the works of Courcelle and Chadwick in the Select Bibliography) and it is still far from clear why and how the work became so vastly popular in the Middle Ages. It is a work of surprising depths and beauties, of lasting fascination.
Life of Boethius
Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius was born in or near Rome around the year 480 A.D. Orphaned young, he was brought up in the household of one of the richest and most venerable aristocrats of the time, Symmachus. He married Symmachus's daughter and pursued a typical career for a senatorial scion of the time, alternating between ceremonial public office and private leisure.
In two ways, however, Boethius was unique. He was far and away the best educated Roman of his age: indeed, there had been no one like him for a century, and there would never be another (the senate, long since ceremoniously inane, disappeared forever by the end of the sixth century). He had a command of the Greek language adequate to make him a student, translator, and commentator of the Platonic philosophies of his age (to which we give the name Neoplatonism, to distinguish their opinions from the original doctrines of Plato himself). Boethius may in fact have studied in the Greek east, perhaps at Athens, perhaps at Alexandria, but we cannot be sure. At any rate, he undertook an ambitious project of translating and interpreting all the works of both Plato and Aristotle and then -- he opined -- demonstrating the essential agreement of the two. Only a few pieces of this large undertaking were completed before Boethius's life was cut short.
For the other unique facet of Boethius's character was that he took public affairs so seriously that he lost his life at the hands of an authoritarian monarch: such complete devotion to the public weal had long since faded from aristocratic fashion. Little is to be made of his term as consul in 510, or of his doting presence at the consular celebrations of 522 when his two sons held the office simultaneously. But in the early 520's, he served as magister officiorum in the half-Roman regime of the Ostrogothic king Theoderic.
Theoderic had taken Italy at the behest of the emperors in Constantinople; but political and theological fashions had changed in the thirty years since Theoderic entered Italy. In the reign of the emperor Justin (519-527), the aging Theoderic fell out with Constantinople; somehow, in ways that remain hotly controversial, Boethius came to be suspected by his monarch of disloyal sympathies; the suspicion may indeed have been well-placed, but the sympathies may have been well-grounded. Sometime c. 525/26 Boethius was executed. His father-in-law Symmachus went to the block not long after. When Theoderic died in August 526, legend quickly but implausibly had it that he was haunted at the end by his crimes.
The Consolation of Philosophy is apparently the fruit of Boethius's spell of imprisonment awaiting trial and execution. Its literary genre, with a regular alternation of prose and verse sections, is called Menippean Satire, after Roman models of which fragments and analogues survive. The dialogue between two characters (one of whom we may call Boethius, but only on condition that we distinguish Boethius the character from Boethius the author, who surely manipulated his self-representation for literary and philosophical effect) is carefully structured according to the best classical models. Its language is classical in intent, but some of the qualities that would characterize medieval Latin are already discernible.
While I was pondering thus in
silence, and using my pen to set down so tearful a
complaint, there appeared standing over my head
a woman's
form, whose
countenance was full of majesty, whose eyes shone as with
fire and in power of insight surpassed the eyes of men,
whose colour was full of life, whose strength was yet intact
though she was so full of years that none would ever think
that she was subject to such age as ours.
One could but doubt her varying stature, for at one moment she repressed it to the common measure of a man, at another she seemed to touch with her crown the very heavens: and when she had raised higher her head, it pierced even the sky and baffled the sight of those who would look upon it. Her clothing was wrought of the finest thread by subtle workmanship brought to an indivisible piece. This had she woven with her own hands, as I afterwards did learn by her own shewing. Their beauty was somewhat dimmed by the dulness of long neglect, as is seen in the smoke-grimed masks of our ancestors. On the border below was inwoven the symbol II, on [3]that above was to be read a {image not available}1 And between the two letters there could be marked degrees, by which, as by the rungs of a ladder, ascent might be made from the lower principle to the higher.
When she saw that the Muses of poetry were present by my couch giving words to my lamenting, she was stirred a while; her eyes flashed fiercely, and said she,
Their band thus rated cast a saddened glance 3:1 -- {no image} and {no image} are the first letters of the Greek words denoting Practical and Theoretical, the two divisions of philosophy.[4] upon the ground, confessing their shame in blushes, and passed forth dismally over the threshold. For my part, my eyes were dimmed with tears, and I could not discern who was this woman of such commanding power. I was amazed, and turning my eyes to the ground I began in silence to await what she should do. Then she approached nearer and sat down upon the end of my couch: she looked into my face heavy with grief and cast down by sorrow to the ground, and then she raised her complaint over the trouble of my mind in these words.
When she saw that I was not only silent, but utterly tongue-tied and dumb, she put her hand gently upon my breast, and said,
Then was dark night dispelled, the shadows fled away, and my eyes received returning power as before. 'Twas just as when the heavenly bodies are enveloped by the west wind's rush, and the sky stands thick with watery clouds; the sun is hidden and the stars are not yet come into the sky, and night descending from above o'erspreads the earth: but if the north wind smites this scene, launched forth from the Thracian cave, it unlocks the imprisoned daylight; the sun shines forth, and thus sparkling Phoebus smites with his rays our wondering eyes. In such a manner were the clouds of grief scattered. Then I drew breath again and engaged my mind in taking knowledge of my physician's countenance. So when I turned my eyes towards her and fixed my gaze upon her, I recognised my nurse, Philosophy, in whose chambers I had spent my life from earliest manhood. And I asked her,' Wherefore have you, mistress of all virtues, come down from heaven above to visit my lonely place of banishment? Is it that you, as well as I, may be harried, the victim of false charges? ' 'Should I,' said she,' desert you, my nursling? [7] Should I not share and bear my part of the burden which has been laid upon you from spite against my name? Surely Philosophy never allowed herself to let the innocent go upon their journey unbefriended. Think you I would fear calumnies? that I would be terrified as though they were a new misfortune? Think you that this is the first time that wisdom has been harassed by dangers among men of shameless ways? In ancient days before the time of my child, Plato, have we not as well as nowadays fought many a mighty battle against the recklessness of folly? And though Plato did survive, did not his master, Socrates, win his victory of an unjust death, with me present at his side? When after him the followers of Epicurus, and in turn the Stoics, and then others did all try their utmost to seize his legacy, they dragged me, for all my cries and struggles, as though to share me as plunder; they tore my robe which I had woven with mine own hands, and snatched away the fragments thereof: and when they thought I had altogether yielded myself to them, they departed. And since among them were to be seen certain signs of my outward bearing, others ill-advised did think they wore my livery: thus were many of them undone by the errors of the herd of uninitiated. But if you have not heard of the exile of Anaxagoras,1 7:1 -- Anaxagoras went into exile from Athens about 450 B.C. [8] nor the poison drunk by Socrates,1 nor the torture of Zeno,2 which all were of foreign lands, yet you may know of Canius,3 Seneca,4 and Soranus,5 whose fame is neither small nor passing old. Naught else brought them to ruin but that, being built up in my ways, they appeared at variance with the desires of unscrupulous men. So it is no matter for your wonder if, in this sea of life, we are tossed about by storms from all sides; for to oppose evil men is the chief aim we set before ourselves. Though the band of such men is great in numbers, yet is it to be contemned: for it is guided by no leader, but is hurried along at random only by error running riot everywhere. If this band when warring against us presses too strongly upon us, our leader, Reason, gathers her forces into her citadel, while the enemy are busied in plundering useless baggage. As they seize the most worthless things, we laugh at them from above, untroubled by the whole band of mad marauders, and we are defended by that rampart to which riotous folly may not hope to attain. 'He who has calmly
reconciled his life to fate, and set proud death beneath his
feet, can
Why do you weep?
Wherefore flow your tears? " Speak, nor keep secret in thine
heart." If you expect a physician to help you, you must lay
bare your wound.' Then did I rally my spirit till it was
strong again, and answered,' Does the savage bitterness of
my fortune still need recounting? Does it not stand forth
plainly enough of itself? Does not the very aspect of this
place strike you? Is this the library which you had chosen
[10] for yourself as your sure resting-place in my house? Is
this the room in which you would so often tarry with me
expounding the philosophy of things human and divine? Was my
condition like this, or my countenance, when I probed with
your aid the secrets of nature, when you marked out with a
wand the courses of the stars, when you shaped our habits
and the rule of all our life by the pattern of the
universe?1 Are these the rewards we reap
by yielding ourselves to you? Nay, you yourself have
established this saying by the mouth of Plato, that
commonwealths would be blessed if they were guided by those
who made wisdom their study, or if those who guided them
would make wisdom their study.2 By the mouth of that same
great man did you teach that this was the binding reason why
a commonwealth should be governed by philosophers, namely
that the helm of government should not be left to
unscrupulous or criminal citizens lest they should bring
corruption and ruin upon the good citizens.3 Since, then, I had learned
from you in quiet and inaction of this view, I followed it
further, for I desired to practise it in public government.
You and God Himself, who has grafted you in the minds of
philosophers, are my witnesses that never have I applied
myself to any office of state except that I might work for
the [11] common welfare
of all good men. Thence followed bitter quarrels with evil
men which could not be appeased, and, for the sake of
preserving justice, contempt of the enmity of those in
power, for this is the result of a free and fearless
conscience. How often have I withstood Conigastus 1 to his
face, whenever he has attacked a weak man's fortune! How
often have I turned by force Trigulla,1 the overseer of the Emperor's
household, from an unjust act that he had begun or even
carried out! How many times have I put my own authority in
danger by protecting those wretched people who were harried
with unending false charges by the greed of barbarian Goths
which ever went unpunished! Never, I say, has any man
depraved me from justice to injustice. My heart has ached as
bitterly as those of the sufferers when I have seen the
fortunes of our subjects ruined both by the rapacity of
persons and the taxes of the state. Again, in a time of
severe famine, a grievous, intolerable sale by compulsion
was decreed in Campania, and devastation threatened that
province. Then I undertook for the sake of the common
welfare a struggle against the commander of the Imperial
guard; though the king was aware of it, I fought against the
enforcement of the sale, and fought successfully. Paulinus
was a man who had been consul: the jackals of the court
had 'Would you learn the sum of the charges against me? It was said that "I had desired the safety of the Senate." You would learn in what way. I was charged with "having hindered an informer from producing papers by which the Senate could be accused of treason." What think you, my mistress? Shall I deny it lest it shame you? Nay, I did desire the safety of the Senate, nor shall ever cease to desire it. Shall I confess it? Then there would have been no need to hinder an informer. Shall I call it a crime to have wished for the safety of that order? By its own decrees concerning myself it has established that this is a crime. Though want of foresight often deceives itself, it cannot alter the merits of facts, and, in obedience to the Senate's command, I cannot think it right to hide the truth or to assent to falsehood. 'However, I leave it to your judgment and that of philosophers to decide how the justice of this may be; but I have committed to writing for history the true course of events, that posterity may not be ignorant thereof. I think it unnecessary to speak of the forged letters through which I am accused of " hoping for the freedom of Rome." Their falsity would have been apparent if I had been free to question the evidence of the informers themselves, for their confessions have much force in all such business. 'But what avails it? No liberty is left to hope for. Would there were any! I would answer in the words of Canius, who was accused [14] by Gaius Cæsar,1 Germanicus's son, of being cognisant of a plot against himself: " If I had known of it, you would not have." 'And in this matter grief has not so blunted my powers that I should complain of wicked men making impious attacks upon virtue: but at this I do wonder, that they should hope to succeed. Evil desires are, it may be, due to our natural failings, but that the conceptions of any wicked mind should prevail against innocence while God watches over us, seems to me unnatural. Wherefore not without cause has one of your own followers asked, " If God is, whence come evil things? If He is not, whence come good? " 'Again, let impious men, who thirst for the blood of the whole Senate and of all good citizens, be allowed to wish for the ruin of us too whom they recognise as champions of the Senate and all good citizens: but surely such as I have not deserved the same hatred from the members of the Senate too? 'Since you were
always present to guide me in my words and my deeds, I think
you remember what happened at Verona. When King Theodoric,
desiring the common ruin of the Senate, was for extending to
the whole order the charge of treason laid against Albinus,
you remember how I laboured to defend the innocence of the
order without any care for my own danger? You know that I
declare this truthfully and with no boasting praise of
self. 'Founder of the star-studded universe, resting on Thine eternal throne whence Thou turnest the swiftly rolling sky, and bindest the stars to keep Thy law; at Thy word the moon now shines brightly with full face, ever turned to her brother's light, and so she dims the lesser lights; or now she is herself obscured, for nearer to the sun her beams shew her pale horns alone. Cool rises the evening star at night's first drawing nigh: the same is the morning star who casts off the harness that she bore [18] before, and paling meets the rising sun. When winter's cold doth strip the trees, Thou settest a shorter span to day. And Thou, when summer comes to warm, dost change the short divisions of the night. Thy power doth order the seasons of the year, so that the western breeze of spring brings back the leaves which winter's north wind tore away; so that the dog-star's heat makes ripe the ears of corn whose seed Arcturus watched. Naught breaks that ancient law: naught leaves undone the work appointed to its place. Thus all things Thou dost rule with limits fixed: the lives of men alone dost Thou scorn to restrain, as a guardian, within bounds. F or why does Fortune with her fickle hand deal out such changing lots? The hurtful penalty is due to crime, but falls upon the sinless head: depraved men rest at ease on thrones aloft, and by their unjust lot can spurn beneath their hurtful heel the necks of virtuous men. Beneath obscuring shadows lies bright virtue hid: the just man bears the unjust's infamy. They suffer not for forsworn oaths, they suffer not for crimes glozed over with their lies. But when their will is to put forth their strength, with triumph they subdue the mightiest kings whom peoples in their thousands fear. O Thou who dost weave the bonds of Nature's self, look down upon this pitiable earth! Mankind is no base part of this great work, and we are tossed on Fortune's wave. Restrain, our Guardian, the engulfing surge, and as Thou dost the unbounded [19] heaven rule, with a like bond make true and firm these lands.' While I grieved thus in long-drawn pratings, Philosophy looked on with a calm countenance, not one whit moved by my complaints Then said she,' When I saw you in grief and in tears I knew thereby that you were unhappy and in exile, but I knew not how distant was your exile until your speech declared it. But you have not been driven so far from your home; you have wandered thence yourself: or if you would rather hold that you have been driven, you have been driven by yourself rather than by any other. No other could have done so to you.
'When the sign of the crab doth scorch the field, fraught with the sun's most grievous rays, the husbandman that has freely intrusted his seed to the fruitless furrow, is cheated by the faithless harvest-goddess; and he must turn him to the oak tree's fruit. 'When the field is scarred by the bleak north winds, wouldst thou seek the wood's dark carpet to gather violets? If thou wilt enjoy the grapes, wouldst thou seek with clutching hand to prune the vines in spring? 'Tis in autumn Bacchus brings his gifts. Thus God marks out the times and fits to them peculiar works: He has set out a course of change, and lets no confusion come. If aught betake itself to headlong ways, and leaves its sure design, ill will the outcome be thereto. 'First then,' she continued,' will you let me find out and make trial of the state of your mind by a few small questions, that so I may understand what should be the method of your treatment? ' 'Ask,' said I,' what your judgment would have you ask, and I will answer you.' Then said she,' Think you that this universe is guided only at random and by mere chance? or think you there is any rule of reason constituted in it? ' 'No, never would I think it could be so, nor [22] believe that such sure motions could be made at random or by chance. I know that God, the founder of the universe, does overlook His work; nor ever may that day come which shall drive me to abandon this belief as untrue.' 'So is it,' she said,' and even so you cried just now, and only mourned that mankind alone has no part in this divine guardianship: you were fixed in your belief that all other things are ruled by reason. Yet, how strange! how much I wonder how it is that you can be so sick though you are set in such a health-giving state of mind! But let us look deeper into it: I cannot but think there is something lacking. Since you are not in doubt that the universe is ruled by God, tell me by what method you think that government is guided? ' 'I scarcely know the meaning of your question; much less can I answer it.' 'Was I wrong,' said she,' to think that something was lacking, that there was some opening in your armour, some way by which this distracting disease has crept into your soul? But tell me, do you remember what is the aim and end of all things? what the object to which all nature tends? ' 'I have heard indeed, but grief has blunted my memory.' 'But do you not somehow know whence all things have their source? ' 'Yes,' I said; ' that source is God.' 'Is it possible that you, who know the beginning of all things, should not know their end? [23] But such are the ways of these distractions, such is their power, that though they can move a man's position, they cannot pluck him from himself or wrench him from his roots. But this question would I have you answer: do you remember that you are a man? ' 'How can I but remember that? ' 'Can you then say what is a man? ' 'Need you ask? I know that he is an animal, reasoning and mortal; that I know, and that I confess myself to be.' 'Know you naught else that you are? ' asked Philosophy. 'Naught,' said I. 'Now,' said she,' I know the cause, or the chief cause, of your sickness. You have forgotten what you are. Now therefore I have found out to the full the manner of your sickness, and how to attempt the restoring of your health. You are overwhelmed by this forgetfulness of yourself: hence you have been thus sorrowing that you are exiled and robbed of all your possessions. You do not know the aim and end of all things; hence you think that if men are worthless and wicked, they are powerful and fortunate. You have forgotten by what methods the universe is guided; hence you think that the chances of good and bad fortune are tossed about with no ruling hand. These things may lead not to disease only, but even to death as well. But let us thank the Giver of all health, that your nature has not altogether left you. We have yet the chief [24] spark for your health's fire, for you have a true knowledge of the hand that guides the universe: you do believe that its government is not subject to random chance, but to divine reason. Therefore have no fear. From this tiny spark the fire of life shall forthwith shine upon you. But it is not time to use severer remedies, and since we know that it is the way of all minds to clothe themselves ever in false opinions as they throw off the true, and these false ones breed a dark distraction which confuses the true insight, therefore will I try to lessen this darkness for a while with gentle applications of easy remedies, that so the shadows of deceiving passions may be dissipated, and you may have power to perceive the brightness of true light.' 'When the stars are hidden by black clouds, no light can they afford. When the boisterous south wind rolls along the sea and stirs the surge, the water, but now as clear as glass, bright as the fair sun's light, is dark, impenetrable to sight, with stirred and scattered sand. The stream, that wanders down the mountain's side, must often find a stumbling-block, a stone within its path torn from the hill's own rock. So too shalt thou: if thou wouldst see the truth in undimmed light, choose the straight road, the beaten path; away with passing joys! away with fear! put vain hopes to flight! and grant no place to grief! Where these distractions reign, the mind is clouded o'er, the soul is bound in chains.' [25] |
|
|
'Again, who can but see how
empty a name, and how futile, is noble birth? For if its
glory is due to renown, it belongs not to the man. For the
glory of noble birth seems to be praise for the merits of a
man's forefathers. But if praise creates the renown, it is
the renowned who are praised. Wherefore, if you have no
renown of your own, that of others cannot glorify you. But
if there is any good in noble birth, I conceive it to be
this, and this alone, that the highborn seem to be bound in
honour not to show any degeneracy from their fathers'
virtue.
'From like beginning rise all men on earth, for there is one Father of all things; one is the guide of everything. 'Tis He who gave the sun his rays, and horns unto the moon. 'Tis He who set mankind on earth, and in the heavens the stars. He put within our bodies spirits which were born in heaven. And thus a highborn race has He set forth in man. Why do ye men rail on your forefathers? If ye look to your beginning and your author, which is God, is any man degenerate or base but he who by his own vices cherishes base things and leaves that beginning which was his? 'And now what am I to say of the pleasures of the body? The desires of the flesh are full of cares, their fulfilment is full of remorse. What terrible diseases, what unbearable griefs, [72] truly the fruits of sin, do they bring upon the bodies of those who enjoy them! I know not what pleasure their impulse affords, but any who cares to recall his indulgences of his passions, will know that the results of such pleasures are indeed gloomy. If any can shew that those results are blest with happiness, then may the beasts of the field be justly called blessed, for all their aims are urged toward the satisfying of their bodies' wants. The pleasures of wife and children may be most honourable; but nature makes it all too plain that some have found torment in their children. How bitter is any such kind of suffering, I need not tell you now, for you have never known it, nor have any such anxiety now. Yet in this matter I would hold with my philosopher Euripides,l that he who has no children is happy in his misfortune.
'There is then no
doubt that these roads to happiness are no roads, and they
cannot lead any man to any end whither they profess to take
him. I would shew you shortly with 'Ah! how wretched are
they whom ignorance leads astray by her crooked path! Ye
seek not gold upon green trees, nor gather precious stones
from vines, nor set your nets on mountain tops to catch the
fishes for your feast, nor hunt the Umbrian sea in search of
goats. Man knows the depths of the sea themselves, hidden
though they be beneath its waves; he knows which water best
yields him pearls, and which the scarlet dye. But in their
blindness men are content, and know not where lies hid the
good which they desire. They sink in earthly things, and
there they seek that which has soared 'So far,' she continued,' we have been content to set forth the form of false happiness. If you clearly understand that, my next duty is to shew what is true happiness.' 'I do see,' said I,' that wealth cannot satisfy, that power comes not to kingdoms, nor veneration to high offices; that true renown cannot accompany ambition, nor true enjoyment wait upon the pleasures of the body.' 'Have you grasped the reasons why it is so? ' she asked. 'I seem to look at them as through a narrow chink, but I would learn more clearly from you.' 'The reason is to hand,' said she; 'human error takes that which is simple and by nature impossible to divide, tries to divide it, and turns its truth and perfection into falsity and imperfection. Tell me, do you think that anything which lacks nothing, can be without power? ' 'Of course not.' 'You are right; for if anything has any weakness in any part, it must lack the help of something else.' 'That is so,' I said. [76] 'Then perfect satisfaction and power have the same nature? ' 'Yes, it seems so.' 'And do you think such a thing contemptible, or the opposite, worthy of all veneration? ' 'There can be no doubt that it is worthy.' 'Then let us add veneration to that satisfaction and power, and so consider these three as one.' 'Yes, we must add it if we wish to proclaim the truth.' 'Do you then think that this whole is dull and of no reputation, or renowned with all glory? For consider it thus: we have granted that it lacks nothing, that it has all power and is worthy of all veneration; it must not therefore lack the glory which it cannot supply for itself, and thereby seem to be in any direction contemptible.' 'No,' I said,' I must allow that it has glory too.' 'Therefore we must rank this glory equally with the other three.' 'Yes, we must.' 'Then that which lacks nothing from outside itself, which is all-powerful by its own might, which has renown and veneration, must surely be allowed to be most happy too?' 'I cannot imagine from what quarter unhappiness would creep into such a thing, wherefore we must grant that it is full of happiness if the other qualities remain existent.' 'Then it follows further, that though perfect [77] satisfaction, power, glory, veneration, and happiness differ in name, they cannot differ at all in essence?' 'They cannot.' 'This then,' said she,' is a simple, single thing by nature, only divided by the mistakes of base humanity; and while men try to gain a part of that which has no parts, they fail both to obtain a fraction, which cannot exist, and the whole too after which they do not strive.' 'Tell me how they fail thus,' I said. 'One seeks riches by fleeing from poverty, and takes no thought of power,' she answered, 'and so he prefers to be base and unknown, and even deprives himself of natural pleasures lest he should part with the riches which he has gathered. Thus not even that satisfaction reaches the man who loses all power, who is stabbed by sorrow, lowered by his meanness, hidden by his lack of fame. Another seeks power only: he scatters his wealth, he despises pleasures and honours which have no power, and sets no value upon glory. You see how many things such an one lacks. Sometimes he goes without necessaries even, sometimes he feels the bite and torture of care; and as he cannot rid himself of these, he loses the power too which he sought above all things. The same argument may be applied to offices, glory, and pleasure. For since each one of these is the same as each other, any man who seeks one without the others, gains not even that one which he desires.' [78] 'What then? ' I asked. 'If any man desires to obtain all together, he will be seeking the sum of happiness. But will he ever find that in these things which we have shewn cannot supply what they promise?' 'No. 'Then happiness is not to be sought for among these things which are separately believed to supply each thing so sought.' 'Nothing could be more plainly true,' I said. 'Then you have before you the form of false happiness, and its causes; now turn your attention in the opposite direction, and you will quickly see the true happiness which I have promised to shew you.' 'But surely this is clear even to the blindest, and you shewed it before when you were trying to make clear the causes of false happiness. For if I mistake not, true and perfect happiness is that which makes a man truly satisfied, powerful, venerated, renowned, and happy. And (for I would have you see that I have looked deeply into the matter) I realise without doubt that that which can truly yield any one of these, since they are all one, is perfect happiness. 'Ah! my son,' said she,' I do see that you are blessed in this opinion, but I would have you add one thing.' 'What is that? ' I asked. 'Do you think that there is anything among mortals, and in our perishable lives, which could yield such a state? ' [79] 'I do not think that there is, and I think that you have shewn this beyond the need of further proof.' 'These then seem to yield to mortals certain appearances of the true good, or some such imperfections; but they cannot give true and perfect good.' 'No.' 'Since, then, you have seen what is true happiness, and what are the false imitations thereof, it now remains that you should learn whence this true happiness may be sought.' 'For that,' said I,' I have been impatiently waiting.' 'But divine help must be sought in small things as well as great (as my pupil Plato says in his Timoeus)1; so what, think you, must we do to deserve to find the place of that highest good? ' 'Call,' I said,' upon the Father of all, for if we do not do so, no undertaking would be rightly or duly begun.' 'You are right,' said she; and thus she cried aloud: -- 2 'Thou who dost rule
the universe with
'Since then you have seen the form both of the imperfect and the perfect good, I think I should now shew you where lies this perfection of happiness. In this I think our first inquiry must be whether any good of this kind can exist in the very nature of a subject; for we must not let any vain form of thought make us miss the truth of this matter. But there can be no denial of its existence, that it is as the very source of all good. For if anything is said to be imperfect, it is held to be so by some loss of its perfection. Wherefore if in any kind of thing a particular seems imperfect, there must also be a perfect specimen in the same kind. For if you take away the perfection, [82] it is impossible even to imagine whence could come the so-called imperfect specimen. For nature does not start from degenerate or imperfect specimens, but starting from the perfect and ideal, it degenerates to these lower and weaker forms. If then, as we have shewn above, there is an uncertain and imperfect happiness to be found in the good, then there must doubtless be also a sure and perfect happiness therein.'1 'Yes,' said I,' that is quite surely proved to be true.' 'Now consider,' she continued,' where it lies. The universally accepted notion of men
'Yes, I accept that; it cannot be in any way contradicted.' 'But,' she said,' I beg you, be sure that you accept with a sure conscience and determination this fact, that we have said that the highest Deity is filled with the highest good.' 'How should I think of it? ' I asked. 'You must not think of God, the Father of all, whom we hold to be filled with the highest good, as having received this good into Himself from without, nor that He has it by nature in such a manner that you might consider Him, its possessor, and the happiness possessed, as having different essential existences. For if you think that good has been received from without, that which gave it must be more excellent than that which received it; but we have most rightly stated that He is the most excellent of all things. And if you think that it is in Him by His nature, but different in kind, then, while we speak of God as the fountain-head of all things, who could imagine by whom these different kinds can have been united? Lastly, that which is different from anything cannot be the thing from which it differs. So anything which is by its nature different from the highest good, cannot be the highest good. And this we must not think of God, than whom there is nothing more excellent, as we have agreed. Nothing in this world can have a nature which is better than [84] its origin, wherefore I would conclude that that which is the origin of all things, according to the truest reasoning, is by its essence the highest good.' 'Most truly,' I said. 'You agree that the highest good is happiness? ' 'Yes.' 'Then you must allow that God is absolute happiness? 'I cannot deny what you put forward before, and I see that this follows necessarily from those propositions.' 'Look then,' she said,' whether it is proved more strongly by this too: there cannot be two highest goods which are different. For where two good things are different, the one cannot be the other; wherefore neither can be the perfect good, while each is lacking to the other. And that which is not perfect cannot be the highest, plainly. Therefore if two things are highest good, they cannot be different. Further, we have proved to ourselves that both happiness and God are each the highest good. Therefore the highest Deity must be identical with the highest happiness.' 'No conclusion,' I said,' could be truer in fact, or more surely proved by reason, or more worthy of our God.' 'Besides this let me give you corollary, as geometricians do, when they wish to add a point drawn from the propositions they have proved. Since men become happy by [85] acquiring happiness, and happiness is identical with divinity, it is plain that they become happy by acquiring divinity. But just as men become just by acquiring the quality of justice, and wise by wisdom, so by the same reasoning, by acquiring divinity they become divine. Every happy man then is divine. But while nothing prevents as many men as possible from being divine, God is so by His nature, men become so by participation.' 'This corollary,' I said,' or whatever you call it, is indeed beautiful and very precious.' 'Yes, but nothing can be more beautiful than this too which reason would have us add to what we have agreed upon.' 'What is that? ' I asked. 'Happiness seems to include many things: do all these join it together as into a whole which is happiness, as though each thing were a different part thereof, or is any one of them a good which fulfils the essence of happiness, and do the others merely bear relations to this one .? ' 'I would have you make this plain by the enunciation of these particulars.' 'Do we not,' she asked,' hold that happiness is a good thing? ' 'Yes,' I answered,' the highest good.' 'But you may apply this quality of happiness to them all. For the perfect satisfaction is the same, and the highest power, and veneration, and renown, and pleasure; these are all held to be happiness. [86] 'What then? ' I asked. 'Are all these things, satisfaction, power, and the others, as it were, members of the body, happiness, or do they all bear their relation to the good, as members to a head? ' 'I understand what you propose to examine, but I am waiting eagerly to hear what you will lay down.' 'I would have you take the following explanation,' she said.' If these were all members of the one body, happiness, they would differ individually. For this is the nature of particulars, to make up one body of different parts. But all these have been shewn to be one and the same. Therefore they are not as members; and further, this happiness will then appear to be joined together into a whole body out of one member, which is impossible.' 'That is quite certain,' said I,' but I would hear what is to come.' 'It is plain that the others have some relation to the good. It is for that reason, namely because it is held to be good, that this satisfaction is sought, and power likewise, and the others too; we may suppose the same of veneration, renown, and pleasure. The good then is the cause of the desire for all of these, and their consummation also. Such a thing as has in itself no real or even pretended good, cannot ever be sought. On the other hand, such things as are not by nature good, but seem to be so, are sought as though they were truly good. Wherefore we may justly believe that [87] their good quality is the cause of the desire for them, the very hinge on which they turn, and their consummation. The really important object of a desire, is that for the sake of which anything is sought, as a means. For instance, if a man wishes to ride for the sake of his health, he does not so much desire the motion of riding, as the effect, namely health. As, therefore, each of these things is desired for the sake of the good, the absolute good is the aim, rather than themselves. But we have agreed that the other things are desired for the sake of happiness, wherefore in this case too, it is happiness alone which is the object of the desire. Wherefore it is plain that the essence of the good and of happiness is one and the same.' 'I cannot see how any one can think otherwise.' 'But we have shewn that God and true happiness are one and the same.' 'Yes.' 'Therefore,' said she,' we may safely conclude that the essence of God also lies in the absolute good and nowhere else.
'I cannot but agree with that,' I said,' for it all stands woven together by the strongest proofs.' Then she said,' At what would you value this, namely if you could find out what is the absolute good? ' 'I would reckon it,' I said,' at an infinite value, if I could find out God too, who is the good.' 'And that too I will make plain by most true reasoning, if you will allow to stand the conclusions we have just now arrived at.' 'They shall stand good.' 'Have I not shewn,'
she asked,' that those upon the things which most men seek
are for this reason not perfect goods, because they differ
between the highest themselves; they are lacking to one
another, and so cannot afford full, absolute good? But 'That has been proved beyond all doubt.' 'Then such things as differ among themselves are not goods, but they become so when they begin to be a single unity. Is it not then the case these become goods by the attainment of unity? ' 'Yes,' I said,' it seems so.' 'But I think you allow that every good is good by participation in good? ' 'Yes, I do.' 'Then by reason of this likeness both unity and good must be allowed to be the same thing; for such things as have by nature the same operation, have the same essence.' 'Undeniably.' 'Do you realise that everything remains existent so long as it keeps its unity, but perishes in dissolution as soon as it loses its unity? ' 'How so? ' I asked. 'In the case of animals,' she said,' so long as mind and body remain united, you have what you call an animal. But as soon as this unity is dissolved by the separation of the two, the animal perishes and can plainly be no longer called an animal. In the case of the body, too, [90] so long as it remains in a single form by the union of its members, the human figure is presented. But if the division or separation of the body's parts drags that union asunder, it at once ceases to be what it was. In this way one may go through every subject, and it will be quite evident that each thing exists individually, so long as it is one, but perishes so soon as it ceases to be one.' 'Yes, I see the same when I think of other cases.' 'Is there anything,' she then asked,' which, in so far as it acts by nature, ever loses its desire for self-preservation, and would voluntarily seek to come to death and corruption?' 'No,' I said; ' while I think of animals which have volition in their nature, I can find in them no desire to throw away their determination to remain as they are, or to hasten to perish of their own accord, so long as there are no external forces compelling them thereto. Every animal labours for its preservation, shunning death and extinction. But about trees and plants, I have great doubts as to what I should agree to in their case, and in all inanimate objects.' 'But in this case too,' she said,' you have no reason to be in doubt, when you see how trees and plants grow in places which suit them, and where, so far as nature is able to prevent it, they cannot quickly wither and perish. For some grow in plains, others on mountains; some are nourished by marshes, [91] others cling to rocks; some are fertilised by otherwise barren sands, and would wither away if one tried to transplant them to better soil. Nature grants to each what suits it, and works against their perishing while they can possibly remain alive. I need hardly remind you that all plants seem to have their mouths buried in the earth, and so they suck up nourishment by their roots and diffuse their strength through their pith and bark: the pith being the softest part is always hidden away at the heart and covered, protected, as it were, by the strength of the wood; while outside, the bark, as being the defender who endures the best, is opposed to the unkindness of the weather. Again, how great is nature's care, that they should all propagate themselves by the reproduction of their seed; they all, as is so well known, are like regular machines not merely for lasting a time, but for reproducing themselves for ever, and that by their own kinds. Things too which are supposed to be inanimate, surely do all seek after their own by a like process. For why is flame carried upward by its lightness, while solid things are carried down by their weight, unless it be that these positions and movements are suitable to each? Further, each thing preserves what is suitable to itself, and what is harmful, it destroys. Hard things, such as stones, cohere with the utmost tenacity of their parts, and resist easy dissolution; while liquids, water, and air, yield easily to division, but quickly slip back to mingle their parts [92] which have been cut asunder. And fire cannot be cut at all. 'We are not now discussing the voluntary movements of a reasoning mind, but the natural instinct. For instance, we unwittingly digest the food we have eaten, and unconsciously breathe in sleep. Not even in animals does this love of self-preservation come from mental wishes, but from elementary nature. For often the will, under stress of external causes, embraces the idea of death, from which nature revolts in horror.1 And, on the other hand, the will sometimes restrains what nature always desires, namely the operation of begetting, by which alone the continuance of mortal things becomes enduring. Thus far, then, this love of self-preservation arises not from the reasoning animal s intention, but from natural instinct. Providence has given to its creatures this the greatest cause of permanent existence, the instinctive desire to remain existent so far as possible. Wherefore you have no reason to doubt that all things, which exist, seek a permanent existence by nature, and similarly avoid extinction.' 'Yes,' I said,' I confess that I see now beyond all doubt what appeared to me just now uncertain.' 'But,' she
continued,' that which seeks to continue its existence, aims
at unity; for take 'That is true.' 'Then all things desire unity,' she said, and I agreed. 'But we have shewn unity to be identical with the good? ' 'Yes,' said I. 'Then all things desire the good; and that you may define as being the absolute good which is desired by all.' 'Nothing could be more truthfully reasoned. For either everything is brought back to nothing, and all will flow on at random with no guiding head; or if there is any universal aim, it will be the sum of all good.' 'Great is my rejoicing, my son,' said she, 'for you have set firmly in your mind the mark of the central truth. And hereby is made plain to you that which you a short time ago said that you knew not.' 'What was that? ' 'What was the final aim of all things,' she said,' for that is plainly what is desired by all: since we have agreed that that is the good, we must confess that the good is the end of all things. 'If any man makes search for truth with all his penetration, and would be led astray by no deceiving paths,
'If,' said she,' you look back upon what we that have agreed upon earlier, you will also soon recall what you just now said you knew not.' 'What is that? ' I
asked. 'The guidance by which the universe is directed.' 'Yes, I remember confessing my ignorance, and though I think I foresee the answer you will offer, I am eager to hear you explain it more fully.' 'This world,' she said,' you thought a little while ago must without doubt be guided by God.' 'And I think so now,' I said,' and will never think there is any doubt thereof; and I will shortly explain by what reasoning I arrive at that point. This universe would never have been suitably put together into one form from such various and opposite parts, unless there were some One who joined such different parts together; and when joined, the very variety of their natures, so discordant among themselves, would break their harmony and tear them asunder unless the One held together what it wove into one whole. Such a fixed order of nature could not continue its course, could not develop motions taking such various directions in place, time, operation, space, and attributes, unless there were One who, being immutable, had the disposal of these various changes. And this cause of their remaining fixed and their moving, I call God, according to the name familiar to all.' Then said she,' Since these are your feelings, I think there is but little trouble left me before you may revisit your home with happiness in your grasp. But let us look into the matter we [96] have set before ourselves. Have we not shewn that complete satisfaction exists in true happiness, and we have agreed that God is happiness itself, have we not? ' 'We have.' 'Wherefore He needs no external aid in governing the universe, or, if He had any such need, He would not have this complete sufficiency.' 'That of necessity follows,' I said. 'Then He arranges all things by Himself.' Without doubt He does.' 'And God has been shewn to be the absolute good.' 'Yes, I remember.' 'Then He arranges all things by good, if He arranges them by Himself, whom we have agreed to be the absolute good. And so this is the tiller and rudder by which the ship of the universe is kept sure and unbreakable.' 'I feel that most strongly,' I said; 'and I foresaw that you would say so before, though I had a slight uncertainty.' 'I believe you,' she said,' for now you bring your eyes more watchfully to scan the truth. But what I am going to say is no less plain to the sight.' 'What is that; ' 'Since we may reasonably be sure that God steers all things by the helm of goodness, and, as I have shewn you, all things have a natural instinct to hasten towards the good, can there be any doubt that they are guided according to [97] their own will: and that of their own accord they turn to the will of the supreme disposer, as though agreeing with, and obedient to, the helmsman? ' 'That is so,' I said,' and the government would not seem happy if it was a yoke upon discontented necks, and not the salvation of the submissive.' 'Then nothing need oppose God's way for its own nature's preservation.' 'No.' 'But if it try to oppose Him, will it ever have any success at all against One whom we have justly allowed to be supremely powerful in matters of happiness? ' 'Certainly not.' 'Then there is nothing which could have the will or the power to resist the highest good? ' I think not.' 'Then it is the highest good which is guiding with strength and disposing with gentleness? ' Then said I,' How great pleasure these things give me! not only those which have been proved by the strongest arguments, but still more the words in which you prove them, which make me ashamed that my folly has bragged so loudly.' 'You have heard in mythology how the giants attacked heaven. It was this kindly strength which overthrew them too, as was their desert. But would you care to put these [98] arguments at variance? For perhaps from such a friction, some fair spark of truth may leap forth.' 'As you hold best,' I said. 'Nobody would care to doubt that God is all-powerful? ' 'At any rate, no sane man would doubt it.' 'Being, then, all-powerful, nothing is beyond His power? ' 'Nothing.' 'Can, then, God do evil? ' 'No.' 'Then evil is nothing, since it is beyond His power, and nothing is beyond His power? ' 'Are you playing with me,' I asked,' weaving arguments as a labyrinth out of which I shall find no way? You may enter a labyrinth by the way by which you may come forth: come now forth by the way you have gone in: or are you folding your reason in some wondrous circle of divine simplicity?
Then she answered,' I was not mocking you. We have worked out the greatest of all matters by the grace of God, to whom we prayed. For the form of the divine essence is such that it is not diffused without, nor receives aught into itself from without. But as Parmenides says of it, " It is a mass well rounded upon all sides."1 But if you examine it with reasoning, sought for not externally but by lying within the sphere of the very thing we are handling, you will not wonder at what you have learnt on Plato's authority,2 that our language must be akin to the subjects of which we speak. 'Happy the man who
could reach the crystal fount of good: happy he who could
shake off 'To you too this tale refers; you, who seek to lead your thoughts to the light above. For whosoever is overcome of desire, and turns his gaze upon the darkness 'neath the earth, he, while he looks on hell, loses the prize he carried off.'
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