Book: The Consolation of Philosophy

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SONG IV.

DISGRACE OF HONOURS CONFERRED BY A TYRANT.


Though royal purple soothes his pride,
And snowy pearls his neck adorn,
Nero in all his riot lives
The mark of universal scorn.

Yet he on reverend heads conferred
Th' inglorious honours of the state.
Shall we, then, deem them truly blessed
Whom such preferment hath made great?



V.


'Well, then, does sovereignty and the intimacy of kings prove able to
confer power? Why, surely does not the happiness of kings endure for
ever? And yet antiquity is full of examples, and these days also, of
kings whose happiness has turned into calamity. How glorious a power,
which is not even found effectual for its own preservation! But if
happiness has its source in sovereign power, is not happiness
diminished, and misery inflicted in its stead, in so far as that power
falls short of completeness? Yet, however widely human sovereignty be
extended, there must still be more peoples left, over whom each several
king holds no sway. Now, at whatever point the power on which happiness
depends ceases, here powerlessness steals in and makes wretchedness; so,
by this way of reckoning, there must needs be a balance of wretchedness
in the lot of the king. The tyrant who had made trial of the perils of
his condition figured the fears that haunt a throne under the image of a
sword hanging over a man's head.[G] What sort of power, then, is this
which cannot drive away the gnawings of anxiety, or shun the stings of
terror? Fain would they themselves have lived secure, but they cannot;
then they boast about their power! Dost thou count him to possess power
whom thou seest to wish what he cannot bring to pass? Dost thou count
him to possess power who encompasses himself with a body-guard, who
fears those he terrifies more than they fear him, who, to keep up the
semblance of power, is himself at the mercy of his slaves? Need I say
anything of the friends of kings, when I show royal dominion itself so
utterly and miserably weak--why ofttimes the royal power in its
plenitude brings them low, ofttimes involves them in its fall? Nero
drove his friend and preceptor, Seneca, to the choice of the manner of
his death. Antoninus exposed Papinianus, who was long powerful at
court, to the swords of the soldiery. Yet each of these was willing to
renounce his power. Seneca tried to surrender his wealth also to Nero,
and go into retirement; but neither achieved his purpose. When they
tottered, their very greatness dragged them down. What manner of thing,
then, is this power which keeps men in fear while they possess it--which
when thou art fain to keep, thou art not safe, and when thou desirest to
lay it aside thou canst not rid thyself of? Are friends any protection
who have been attached by fortune, not by virtue? Nay; him whom good
fortune has made a friend, ill fortune will make an enemy. And what
plague is more effectual to do hurt than a foe of one's own household?'

FOOTNOTES:

[G] The sword of Damocles.



SONG V.

SELF-MASTERY.


Who on power sets his aim,
First must his own spirit tame;
He must shun his neck to thrust
'Neath th' unholy yoke of lust.
For, though India's far-off land
Bow before his wide command,
Utmost Thule homage pay--
If he cannot drive away
Haunting care and black distress,
In his power, he's powerless.



VI.


'Again, how misleading, how base, a thing ofttimes is glory! Well does
the tragic poet exclaim:

'"Oh, fond Repute, how many a time and oft
Hast them raised high in pride the base-born churl!"

For many have won a great name through the mistaken beliefs of the
multitude--and what can be imagined more shameful than that? Nay, they
who are praised falsely must needs themselves blush at their own
praises! And even when praise is won by merit, still, how does it add to
the good conscience of the wise man who measures his good not by popular
repute, but by the truth of inner conviction? And if at all it does seem
a fair thing to get this same renown spread abroad, it follows that any
failure so to spread it is held foul. But if, as I set forth but now,
there must needs be many tribes and peoples whom the fame of any single
man cannot reach, it follows that he whom thou esteemest glorious seems
all inglorious in a neighbouring quarter of the globe. As to popular
favour, I do not think it even worthy of mention in this place, since it
never cometh of judgment, and never lasteth steadily.

'Then, again, who does not see how empty, how foolish, is the fame of
noble birth? Why, if the nobility is based on renown, the renown is
another's! For, truly, nobility seems to be a sort of reputation coming
from the merits of ancestors. But if it is the praise which brings
renown, of necessity it is they who are praised that are famous.
Wherefore, the fame of another clothes thee not with splendour if thou
hast none of thine own. So, if there is any excellence in nobility of
birth, methinks it is this alone--that it would seem to impose upon the
nobly born the obligation not to degenerate from the virtue of their
ancestors.'



SONG VI.

TRUE NOBILITY.


All men are of one kindred stock, though scattered far and wide;
For one is Father of us all--one doth for all provide.
He gave the sun his golden beams, the moon her silver horn;
He set mankind upon the earth, as stars the heavens adorn.
He shut a soul--a heaven-born soul--within the body's frame;
The noble origin he gave each mortal wight may claim.
Why boast ye, then, so loud of race and high ancestral line?
If ye behold your being's source, and God's supreme design,
None is degenerate, none base, unless by taint of sin
And cherished vice he foully stain his heavenly origin.



VII.


'Then, what shall I say of the pleasures of the body? The lust thereof
is full of uneasiness; the sating, of repentance. What sicknesses, what
intolerable pains, are they wont to bring on the bodies of those who
enjoy them--the fruits of iniquity, as it were! Now, what sweetness the
stimulus of pleasure may have I do not know. But that the issues of
pleasure are painful everyone may understand who chooses to recall the
memory of his own fleshly lusts. Nay, if these can make happiness, there
is no reason why the beasts also should not be happy, since all their
efforts are eagerly set upon satisfying the bodily wants. I know,
indeed, that the sweetness of wife and children should be right comely,
yet only too true to nature is what was said of one--that he found in
his sons his tormentors. And how galling such a contingency would be, I
must needs put thee in mind, since thou hast never in any wise suffered
such experiences, nor art thou now under any uneasiness. In such a case,
I agree with my servant Euripides, who said that a man without children
was fortunate in his misfortune.'[H]


FOOTNOTES:

[H] Paley translates the lines in Euripides' 'Andromache': 'They [the
childless] are indeed spared from much pain and sorrow, but their
supposed happiness is after all but wretchedness.' Euripides' meaning is
therefore really just the reverse of that which Boethius makes it. See
Euripides, 'Andromache,' Il. 418-420.



SONG VII.

PLEASURE'S STING.


This is the way of Pleasure:
She stings them that despoil her;
And, like the winged toiler
Who's lost her honeyed treasure,
She flies, but leaves her smart
Deep-rankling in the heart.




VIII.


'It is beyond doubt, then, that these paths do not lead to happiness;
they cannot guide anyone to the promised goal. Now, I will very briefly
show what serious evils are involved in following them. Just consider.
Is it thy endeavour to heap up money? Why, thou must wrest it from its
present possessor! Art thou minded to put on the splendour of official
dignity? Thou must beg from those who have the giving of it; thou who
covetest to outvie others in honour must lower thyself to the humble
posture of petition. Dost thou long for power? Thou must face perils,
for thou wilt be at the mercy of thy subjects' plots. Is glory thy aim?
Thou art lured on through all manner of hardships, and there is an end
to thy peace of mind. Art fain to lead a life of pleasure? Yet who does
not scorn and contemn one who is the slave of the weakest and vilest of
things--the body? Again, on how slight and perishable a possession do
they rely who set before themselves bodily excellences! Can ye ever
surpass the elephant in bulk or the bull in strength? Can ye excel the
tiger in swiftness? Look upon the infinitude, the solidity, the swift
motion, of the heavens, and for once cease to admire things mean and
worthless. And yet the heavens are not so much to be admired on this
account as for the reason which guides them. Then, how transient is the
lustre of beauty! how soon gone!--more fleeting than the fading bloom of
spring flowers. And yet if, as Aristotle says, men should see with the
eyes of Lynceus, so that their sight might pierce through obstructions,
would not that body of Alcibiades, so gloriously fair in outward
seeming, appear altogether loathsome when all its inward parts lay open
to the view? Therefore, it is not thy own nature that makes thee seem
beautiful, but the weakness of the eyes that see thee. Yet prize as
unduly as ye will that body's excellences; so long as ye know that this
that ye admire, whatever its worth, can be dissolved away by the feeble
flame of a three days' fever. From all which considerations we may
conclude as a whole, that these things which cannot make good the
advantages they promise, which are never made perfect by the assemblage
of all good things--these neither lead as by-ways to happiness, nor
themselves make men completely happy.'



SONG VIII.

HUMAN FOLLY.


Alas! how wide astray
Doth Ignorance these wretched mortals lead
From Truth's own way!
For not on leafy stems
Do ye within the green wood look for gold,
Nor strip the vine for gems;

Your nets ye do not spread
Upon the hill-tops, that the groaning board
With fish be furnished;
If ye are fain to chase
The bounding goat, ye sweep not in vain search
The ocean's ruffled face.

The sea's far depths they know,
Each hidden nook, wherein the waves o'erwash
The pearl as white as snow;
Where lurks the Tyrian shell,
Where fish and prickly urchins do abound,
All this they know full well.

But not to know or care
Where hidden lies the good all hearts desire--
This blindness they can bear;
With gaze on earth low-bent,
They seek for that which reacheth far beyond
The starry firmament.

What curse shall I call down
On hearts so dull? May they the race still run
For wealth and high renown!
And when with much ado
The false good they have grasped--ah, then too late!--
May they discern the true!



IX.


'This much may well suffice to set forth the form of false happiness; if
this is now clear to thine eyes, the next step is to show what true
happiness is.'

'Indeed,' said I, 'I see clearly enough that neither is independence to
be found in wealth, nor power in sovereignty, nor reverence in
dignities, nor fame in glory, nor true joy in pleasures.'

'Hast thou discerned also the causes why this is so?'

'I seem to have some inkling, but I should like to learn more at large
from thee.'

'Why, truly the reason is hard at hand. _That which is simple and
indivisible by nature human error separates_, and transforms from the
true and perfect to the false and imperfect. Dost thou imagine that
which lacketh nothing can want power?'

'Certainly not.'

'Right; for if there is any feebleness of strength in anything, in this
there must necessarily be need of external protection.'

'That is so.'

'Accordingly, the nature of independence and power is one and the same.'

'It seems so.'

'Well, but dost think that anything of such a nature as this can be
looked upon with contempt, or is it rather of all things most worthy of
veneration?'

'Nay; there can be no doubt as to that.'

'Let us, then, add reverence to independence and power, and conclude
these three to be one.'

'We must if we will acknowledge the truth.'

'Thinkest thou, then, this combination of qualities to be obscure and
without distinction, or rather famous in all renown? Just consider: can
that want renown which has been agreed to be lacking in nothing, to be
supreme in power, and right worthy of honour, for the reason that it
cannot bestow this upon itself, and so comes to appear somewhat poor in
esteem?'

'I cannot but acknowledge that, being what it is, this union of
qualities is also right famous.'

'It follows, then, that we must admit that renown is not different from
the other three.'

'It does,' said I.

'That, then, which needs nothing outside itself, which can accomplish
all things in its own strength, which enjoys fame and compels reverence,
must not this evidently be also fully crowned with joy?'

'In sooth, I cannot conceive,' said I, 'how any sadness can find
entrance into such a state; wherefore I must needs acknowledge it full
of joy--at least, if our former conclusions are to hold.'

'Then, for the same reasons, this also is necessary--that independence,
power, renown, reverence, and sweetness of delight, are different only
in name, but in substance differ no wise one from the other.'

'It is,' said I.

'This, then, which is one, and simple by nature, human perversity
separates, and, in trying to win a part of that which has no parts,
fails to attain not only that portion (since there are no portions), but
also the whole, to which it does not dream of aspiring.'

'How so?' said I.

'He who, to escape want, seeks riches, gives himself no concern about
power; he prefers a mean and low estate, and also denies himself many
pleasures dear to nature to avoid losing the money which he has gained.
But at this rate he does not even attain to independence--a weakling
void of strength, vexed by distresses, mean and despised, and buried in
obscurity. He, again, who thirsts alone for power squanders his wealth,
despises pleasure, and thinks fame and rank alike worthless without
power. But thou seest in how many ways his state also is defective.
Sometimes it happens that he lacks necessaries, that he is gnawed by
anxieties, and, since he cannot rid himself of these inconveniences,
even ceases to have that power which was his whole end and aim. In like
manner may we cast up the reckoning in case of rank, of glory, or of
pleasure. For since each one of these severally is identical with the
rest, whosoever seeks any one of them without the others does not even
lay hold of that one which he makes his aim.'

'Well,' said I, 'what then?'

'Suppose anyone desire to obtain them together, he does indeed wish for
happiness as a whole; but will he find it in these things which, as we
have proved, are unable to bestow what they promise?'

'Nay; by no means,' said I.

'Then, happiness must certainly not be sought in these things which
severally are believed to afford some one of the blessings most to be
desired.'

'They must not, I admit. No conclusion could be more true.'

'So, then, the form and the causes of false happiness are set before
thine eyes. Now turn thy gaze to the other side; there thou wilt
straightway see the true happiness I promised.'

'Yea, indeed, 'tis plain to the blind.' said I. 'Thou didst point it out
even now in seeking to unfold the causes of the false. For, unless I am
mistaken, that is true and perfect happiness which crowns one with the
union of independence, power, reverence, renown, and joy. And to prove
to thee with how deep an insight I have listened--since all these are
the same--that which can truly bestow one of them I know to be without
doubt full and complete happiness.'

'Happy art thou, my scholar, in this thy conviction; only one thing
shouldst thou add.'

'What is that?' said I.

'Is there aught, thinkest thou, amid these mortal and perishable things
which can produce a state such as this?'

'Nay, surely not; and this thou hast so amply demonstrated that no word
more is needed.'

'Well, then, these things seem to give to mortals shadows of the true
good, or some kind of imperfect good; but the true and perfect good they
cannot bestow.'

'Even so,' said I.

'Since, then, thou hast learnt what that true happiness is, and what men
falsely call happiness, it now remains that thou shouldst learn from
what source to seek this.'

'Yes; to this I have long been eagerly looking forward.'

'Well, since, as Plato maintains in the "Timaeus," we ought even in the
most trivial matters to implore the Divine protection, what thinkest
thou should we now do in order to deserve to find the seat of that
highest good?'

'We must invoke the Father of all things,' said I; 'for without this no
enterprise sets out from a right beginning.'

'Thou sayest well,' said she; and forthwith lifted up her voice and
sang:



SONG IX.[I]

INVOCATION.


Maker of earth and sky, from age to age
Who rul'st the world by reason; at whose word
Time issues from Eternity's abyss:
To all that moves the source of movement, fixed
Thyself and moveless. Thee no cause impelled
Extrinsic this proportioned frame to shape
From shapeless matter; but, deep-set within
Thy inmost being, the form of perfect good,
From envy free; and Thou didst mould the whole
To that supernal pattern. Beauteous
The world in Thee thus imaged, being Thyself


Most beautiful. So Thou the work didst fashion
In that fair likeness, bidding it put on
Perfection through the exquisite perfectness
Of every part's contrivance. Thou dost bind
The elements in balanced harmony,
So that the hot and cold, the moist and dry,
Contend not; nor the pure fire leaping up
Escape, or weight of waters whelm the earth.

Thou joinest and diffusest through the whole,
Linking accordantly its several parts,
A soul of threefold nature, moving all.
This, cleft in twain, and in two circles gathered,
Speeds in a path that on itself returns,
Encompassing mind's limits, and conforms
The heavens to her true semblance. Lesser souls
And lesser lives by a like ordinance
Thou sendest forth, each to its starry car
Affixing, and dost strew them far and wide
O'er earth and heaven. These by a law benign
Thou biddest turn again, and render back
To thee their fires. Oh, grant, almighty Father,
Grant us on reason's wing to soar aloft
To heaven's exalted height; grant us to see
The fount of good; grant us, the true light found,
To fix our steadfast eyes in vision clear
On Thee. Disperse the heavy mists of earth,
And shine in Thine own splendour. For Thou art
The true serenity and perfect rest
Of every pious soul--to see Thy face,
The end and the beginning--One the guide,
The traveller, the pathway, and the goal.

FOOTNOTES:

[I] The substance of this poem is taken from Plato's 'Timaeus,' 29-42.
See Jowett, vol. iii., pp. 448-462 (third edition).



X.


'Since now thou hast seen what is the form of the imperfect good, and
what the form of the perfect also, methinks I should next show in what
manner this perfection of felicity is built up. And here I conceive it
proper to inquire, first, whether any excellence, such as thou hast
lately defined, can exist in the nature of things, lest we be deceived
by an empty fiction of thought to which no true reality answers. But it
cannot be denied that such does exist, and is, as it were, the source of
all things good. For everything which is called imperfect is spoken of
as imperfect by reason of the privation of some perfection; so it comes
to pass that, whenever imperfection is found in any particular, there
must necessarily be a perfection in respect of that particular also. For
were there no such perfection, it is utterly inconceivable how that
so-called _im_perfection should come into existence. Nature does not
make a beginning with things mutilated and imperfect; she starts with
what is whole and perfect, and falls away later to these feeble and
inferior productions. So if there is, as we showed before, a happiness
of a frail and imperfect kind, it cannot be doubted but there is also a
happiness substantial and perfect.'

'Most true is thy conclusion, and most sure,' said I.

'Next to consider where the dwelling-place of this happiness may be. The
common belief of all mankind agrees that God, the supreme of all things,
is good. For since nothing can be imagined better than God, how can we
doubt Him to be good than whom there is nothing better? Now, reason
shows God to be good in such wise as to prove that in Him is perfect
good. For were it not so, He would not be supreme of all things; for
there would be something else more excellent, possessed of perfect good,
which would seem to have the advantage in priority and dignity, since it
has clearly appeared that all perfect things are prior to those less
complete. Wherefore, lest we fall into an infinite regression, we must
acknowledge the supreme God to be full of supreme and perfect good. But
we have determined that true happiness is the perfect good; therefore
true happiness must dwell in the supreme Deity.'

'I accept thy reasonings,' said I; 'they cannot in any wise be
disputed.'

'But, come, see how strictly and incontrovertibly thou mayst prove this
our assertion that the supreme Godhead hath fullest possession of the
highest good.'

'In what way, pray?' said I.

'Do not rashly suppose that He who is the Father of all things hath
received that highest good of which He is said to be possessed either
from some external source, or hath it as a natural endowment in such
sort that thou mightest consider the essence of the happiness possessed,
and of the God who possesses it, distinct and different. For if thou
deemest it received from without, thou mayst esteem that which gives
more excellent than that which has received. But Him we most worthily
acknowledge to be the most supremely excellent of all things. If,
however, it is in Him by nature, yet is logically distinct, the thought
is inconceivable, since we are speaking of God, who is supreme of all
things. Who was there to join these distinct essences? Finally, when one
thing is different from another, the things so conceived as distinct
cannot be identical. Therefore that which of its own nature is distinct
from the highest good is not itself the highest good--an impious thought
of Him than whom, 'tis plain, nothing can be more excellent. For
universally nothing can be better in nature than the source from which
it has come; therefore on most true grounds of reason would I conclude
that which is the source of all things to be in its own essence the
highest good.'

'And most justly,' said I.

'But the highest good has been admitted to be happiness.'

'Yes.'

'Then,' said she, 'it is necessary to acknowledge that God is very
happiness.'

'Yes,' said I; 'I cannot gainsay my former admissions, and I see clearly
that this is a necessary inference therefrom.'

'Reflect, also,' said she, 'whether the same conclusion is not further
confirmed by considering that there cannot be two supreme goods distinct
one from the other. For the goods which are different clearly cannot be
severally each what the other is: wherefore neither of the two can be
perfect, since to either the other is wanting; but since it is not
perfect, it cannot manifestly be the supreme good. By no means, then,
can goods which are supreme be different one from the other. But we have
concluded that both happiness and God are the supreme good; wherefore
that which is highest Divinity must also itself necessarily be supreme
happiness.'

'No conclusion,' said I, 'could be truer to fact, nor more soundly
reasoned out, nor more worthy of God.'

'Then, further,' said she, 'just as geometricians are wont to draw
inferences from their demonstrations to which they give the name
"deductions," so will I add here a sort of corollary. For since men
become happy by the acquisition of happiness, while happiness is very
Godship, it is manifest that they become happy by the acquisition of
Godship. But as by the acquisition of justice men become just, and wise
by the acquisition of wisdom, so by parity of reasoning by acquiring
Godship they must of necessity become gods. So every man who is happy is
a god; and though in nature God is One only, yet there is nothing to
hinder that very many should be gods by participation in that nature.'

'A fair conclusion, and a precious,' said I, 'deduction or corollary, by
whichever name thou wilt call it.'

'And yet,' said she, 'not one whit fairer than this which reason
persuades us to add.'

'Why, what?' said I.

'Why, seeing happiness has many particulars included under it, should
all these be regarded as forming one body of happiness, as it were, made
up of various parts, or is there some one of them which forms the full
essence of happiness, while all the rest are relative to this?'

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