Book: The Consolation of Philosophy

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There the Sovereign of the world
His calm sway maintains;
As the globe is onward whirled
Guides the chariot reins,
And in splendour glittering
Reigns the universal King.

Hither if thy wandering feet
Find at last a way,
Here thy long-lost home thou'lt greet:
'Dear lost land,' thou'lt say,
'Though from thee I've wandered wide,
Hence I came, here will abide.'

Yet if ever thou art fain
Visitant to be
Of earth's gloomy night again,
Surely thou wilt see
Tyrants whom the nations fear
Dwell in hapless exile here.



II.


Then said I: 'Verily, wondrous great are thy promises; yet I do not
doubt but thou canst make them good: only keep me not in suspense after
raising such hopes.'

'Learn, then, first,' said she, 'how that power ever waits upon the
good, while the bad are left wholly destitute of strength.[K] Of these
truths the one proves the other; for since good and evil are contraries,
if it is made plain that good is power, the feebleness of evil is
clearly seen, and, conversely, if the frail nature of evil is made
manifest, the strength of good is thereby known. However, to win ampler
credence for my conclusion, I will pursue both paths, and draw
confirmation for my statements first in one way and then in the other.

'The carrying out of any human action depends upon two things--to wit,
will and power; if either be wanting, nothing can be accomplished. For
if the will be lacking, no attempt at all is made to do what is not
willed; whereas if there be no power, the will is all in vain. And so,
if thou seest any man wishing to attain some end, yet utterly failing to
attain it, thou canst not doubt that he lacked the power of getting what
he wished for.'

'Why, certainly not; there is no denying it.'

'Canst thou, then, doubt that he whom thou seest to have accomplished
what he willed had also the power to accomplish it?'

'Of course not.'

'Then, in respect of what he can accomplish a man is to be reckoned
strong, in respect of what he cannot accomplish weak?'

'Granted,' said I.

'Then, dost thou remember that, by our former reasonings, it was
concluded that the whole aim of man's will, though the means of pursuit
vary, is set intently upon happiness?'

'I do remember that this, too, was proved.'

'Dost thou also call to mind how happiness is absolute good, and
therefore that, when happiness is sought, it is good which is in all
cases the object of desire?'

'Nay, I do not so much call to mind as keep it fixed in my memory.'

'Then, all men, good and bad alike, with one indistinguishable purpose
strive to reach good?'

'Yes, that follows.'

'But it is certain that by the attainment of good men become good?'

'It is.'

'Then, do the good attain their object?'

'It seems so.'

'But if the bad were to attain the good which is _their_ object, they
could not be bad?'

'No.'

'Then, since both seek good, but while the one sort attain it, the other
attain it not, is there any doubt that the good are endued with power,
while they who are bad are weak?'

'If any doubt it, he is incapable of reflecting on the nature of things,
or the consequences involved in reasoning.'

'Again, supposing there are two things to which the same function is
prescribed in the course of nature, and one of these successfully
accomplishes the function by natural action, the other is altogether
incapable of that natural action, instead of which, in a way other than
is agreeable to its nature, it--I will not say fulfils its function, but
feigns to fulfil it: which of these two would in thy view be the
stronger?'

'I guess thy meaning, but I pray thee let me hear thee more at large.'

'Walking is man's natural motion, is it not?'

'Certainly.'

'Thou dost not doubt, I suppose, that it is natural for the feet to
discharge this function?'

'No; surely I do not.'

'Now, if one man who is able to use his feet walks, and another to whom
the natural use of his feet is wanting tries to walk on his hands,
which of the two wouldst thou rightly esteem the stronger?'

'Go on,' said I; 'no one can question but that he who has the natural
capacity has more strength than he who has it not.'

'Now, the supreme good is set up as the end alike for the bad and for
the good; but the good seek it through the natural action of the
virtues, whereas the bad try to attain this same good through all manner
of concupiscence, which is not the natural way of attaining good. Or
dost thou think otherwise?'

'Nay; rather, one further consequence is clear to me: for from my
admissions it must needs follow that the good have power, and the bad
are impotent.'

'Thou anticipatest rightly, and that as physicians reckon is a sign that
nature is set working, and is throwing off the disease. But, since I see
thee so ready at understanding, I will heap proof on proof. Look how
manifest is the extremity of vicious men's weakness; they cannot even
reach that goal to which the aim of nature leads and almost constrains
them. What if they were left without this mighty, this well-nigh
irresistible help of nature's guidance! Consider also how momentous is
the powerlessness which incapacitates the wicked. Not light or
trivial[L] are the prizes which they contend for, but which they cannot
win or hold; nay, their failure concerns the very sum and crown of
things. Poor wretches! they fail to compass even that for which they
toil day and night. Herein also the strength of the good conspicuously
appears. For just as thou wouldst judge him to be the strongest walker
whose legs could carry him to a point beyond which no further advance
was possible, so must thou needs account him strong in power who so
attains the end of his desires that nothing further to be desired lies
beyond. Whence follows the obvious conclusion that they who are wicked
are seen likewise to be wholly destitute of strength. For why do they
forsake virtue and follow vice? Is it from ignorance of what is good?
Well, what is more weak and feeble than the blindness of ignorance? Do
they know what they ought to follow, but lust drives them aside out of
the way? If it be so, they are still frail by reason of their
incontinence, for they cannot fight against vice. Or do they knowingly
and wilfully forsake the good and turn aside to vice? Why, at this rate,
they not only cease to have power, but cease to be at all. For they who
forsake the common end of all things that are, they likewise also cease
to be at all. Now, to some it may seem strange that we should assert
that the bad, who form the greater part of mankind, do not exist. But
the fact is so. I do not, indeed, deny that they who are bad are bad,
but that they _are_ in an unqualified and absolute sense I deny. Just as
we call a corpse a dead man, but cannot call it simply "man," so I would
allow the vicious to be bad, but that they _are_ in an absolute sense I
cannot allow. That only _is_ which maintains its place and keeps its
nature; whatever falls away from this forsakes the existence which is
essential to its nature. "But," thou wilt say, "the bad have an
ability." Nor do I wish to deny it; only this ability of theirs comes
not from strength, but from impotence. For their ability is to do evil,
which would have had no efficacy at all if they could have continued in
the performance of good. So this ability of theirs proves them still
more plainly to have no power. For if, as we concluded just now, evil is
nothing, 'tis clear that the wicked can effect nothing, since they are
only able to do evil.'

''Tis evident.'

'And that thou mayst understand what is the precise force of this power,
we determined, did we not, awhile back, that nothing has more power than
supreme good?'

'We did,' said I.

'But that same highest good cannot do evil?'

'Certainly not.'

'Is there anyone, then, who thinks that men are able to do all things?'

'None but a madman.'

'Yet they are able to do evil?'

'Ay; would they could not!'

'Since, then, he who can do only good is omnipotent, while they who can
do evil also are not omnipotent, it is manifest that they who can do
evil have less power. There is this also: we have shown that all power
is to be reckoned among things desirable, and that all desirable things
are referred to good as to a kind of consummation of their nature. But
the ability to commit crime cannot be referred to the good; therefore it
is not a thing to be desired. And yet all power is desirable; it is
clear, then, that ability to do evil is not power. From all which
considerations appeareth the power of the good, and the indubitable
weakness of the bad, and it is clear that Plato's judgment was true; the
wise alone are able to do what they would, while the wicked follow their
own hearts' lust, but can _not_ accomplish what they would. For they go
on in their wilfulness fancying they will attain what they wish for in
the paths of delight; but they are very far from its attainment, since
shameful deeds lead not to happiness.'

FOOTNOTES:

[K] The paradoxes in this chapter and chapter iv. are taken from Plato's
'Gorgias.' See Jowett, vol. ii., pp. 348-366, and also pp. 400, 401
('Gorgias,' 466-479, and 508, 509).

[L]

'No trivial game is here; the strife Is waged for Turnus' own dear
life.'

_Conington_.

See Virgil, AEneid,' xii. 764, 745: _cf_. 'Iliad,' xxii. 159-162.



SONG II.

THE BONDAGE OF PASSION.


When high-enthroned the monarch sits, resplendent in the pride
Of purple robes, while flashing steel guards him on every side;
When baleful terrors on his brow with frowning menace lower,
And Passion shakes his labouring breast--how dreadful seems his power!
But if the vesture of his state from such a one thou tear,
Thou'lt see what load of secret bonds this lord of earth doth wear.
Lust's poison rankles; o'er his mind rage sweeps in tempest rude;
Sorrow his spirit vexes sore, and empty hopes delude.
Then thou'lt confess: one hapless wretch, whom many lords oppress,
Does never what he would, but lives in thraldom's helplessness.



III.


'Thou seest, then, in what foulness unrighteous deeds are sunk, with
what splendour righteousness shines. Whereby it is manifest that
goodness never lacks its reward, nor crime its punishment. For, verily,
in all manner of transactions that for the sake of which the particular
action is done may justly be accounted the reward of that action, even
as the wreath for the sake of which the race is run is the reward
offered for running. Now, we have shown happiness to be that very good
for the sake of which all things are done. Absolute good, then, is
offered as the common prize, as it were, of all human actions. But,
truly, this is a reward from which it is impossible to separate the good
man, for one who is without good cannot properly be called good at all;
wherefore righteous dealing never misses its reward. Rage the wicked,
then, never so violently, the crown shall not fall from the head of the
wise, nor wither. Verily, other men's unrighteousness cannot pluck from
righteous souls their proper glory. Were the reward in which the soul of
the righteous delighteth received from without, then might it be taken
away by him who gave it, or some other; but since it is conferred by his
own righteousness, then only will he lose his prize when he has ceased
to be righteous. Lastly, since every prize is desired because it is
believed to be good, who can account him who possesses good to be
without reward? And what a prize, the fairest and grandest of all! For
remember the corollary which I chiefly insisted on a little while back,
and reason thus: Since absolute good is happiness, 'tis clear that all
the good must be happy for the very reason that they are good. But it
was agreed that those who are happy are gods. So, then, the prize of the
good is one which no time may impair, no man's power lessen, no man's
unrighteousness tarnish; 'tis very Godship. And this being so, the wise
man cannot doubt that punishment is inseparable from the bad. For since
good and bad, and likewise reward and punishment, are contraries, it
necessarily follows that, corresponding to all that we see accrue as
reward of the good, there is some penalty attached as punishment of
evil. As, then, righteousness itself is the reward of the righteous, so
wickedness itself is the punishment of the unrighteous. Now, no one who
is visited with punishment doubts that he is visited with evil.
Accordingly, if they were but willing to weigh their own case, could
_they_ think themselves free from punishment whom wickedness, worst of
all evils, has not only touched, but deeply tainted?

'See, also, from the opposite standpoint--the standpoint of the
good--what a penalty attends upon the wicked. Thou didst learn a little
since that whatever is is one, and that unity itself is good.
Accordingly, by this way of reckoning, whatever falls away from goodness
ceases to be; whence it comes to pass that the bad cease to be what they
were, while only the outward aspect is still left to show they have been
men. Wherefore, by their perversion to badness, they have lost their
true human nature. Further, since righteousness alone can raise men
above the level of humanity, it must needs be that unrighteousness
degrades below man's level those whom it has cast out of man's estate.
It results, then, that thou canst not consider him human whom thou seest
transformed by vice. The violent despoiler of other men's goods,
enflamed with covetousness, surely resembles a wolf. A bold and restless
spirit, ever wrangling in law-courts, is like some yelping cur. The
secret schemer, taking pleasure in fraud and stealth, is own brother to
the fox. The passionate man, phrenzied with rage, we might believe to be
animated with the soul of a lion. The coward and runaway, afraid where
no fear is, may be likened to the timid deer. He who is sunk in
ignorance and stupidity lives like a dull ass. He who is light and
inconstant, never holding long to one thing, is for all the world like a
bird. He who wallows in foul and unclean lusts is sunk in the pleasures
of a filthy hog. So it comes to pass that he who by forsaking
righteousness ceases to be a man cannot pass into a Godlike condition,
but actually turns into a brute beast.'



SONG III.

CIRCE'S CUP.


Th' Ithacan discreet,
And all his storm-tossed fleet,
Far o'er the ocean wave
The winds of heaven drave--
Drave to the mystic isle,
Where dwelleth in her guile
That fair and faithless one,
The daughter of the Sun.
There for the stranger crew
With cunning spells she knew
To mix th' enchanted cup.
For whoso drinks it up,
Must suffer hideous change
To monstrous shapes and strange.
One like a boar appears;
This his huge form uprears,
Mighty in bulk and limb--
An Afric lion--grim
With claw and fang. Confessed
A wolf, this, sore distressed
When he would weep, doth howl;
And, strangely tame, these prowl
The Indian tiger's mates.

And though in such sore straits,
The pity of the god
Who bears the mystic rod
Had power the chieftain brave
From her fell arts to save;
His comrades, unrestrained,
The fatal goblet drained.
All now with low-bent head,
Like swine, on acorns fed;
Man's speech and form were reft,
No human feature left;
But steadfast still, the mind,
Unaltered, unresigned,
The monstrous change bewailed.

How little, then, availed
The potencies of ill!
These herbs, this baneful skill,
May change each outward part,
But cannot touch the heart.
In its true home, deep-set,
Man's spirit liveth yet.
_Those_ poisons are more fell,
More potent to expel
Man from his high estate,
Which subtly penetrate,
And leave the body whole,
But deep infect the soul.



IV.


Then said I: 'This is very true. I see that the vicious, though they
keep the outward form of man, are rightly said to be changed into beasts
in respect of their spiritual nature; but, inasmuch as their cruel and
polluted minds vent their rage in the destruction of the good, I would
this license were not permitted to them.'

'Nor is it,' said she, 'as shall be shown in the fitting place. Yet if
that license which thou believest to be permitted to them were taken
away, the punishment of the wicked would be in great part remitted. For
verily, incredible as it may seem to some, it needs must be that the bad
are more unfortunate when they have accomplished their desires than if
they are unable to get them fulfilled. If it is wretched to will evil,
to have been able to accomplish evil is more wretched; for without the
power the wretched will would fail of effect. Accordingly, those whom
thou seest to will, to be able to accomplish, and to accomplish crime,
must needs be the victims of a threefold wretchedness, since each one of
these states has its own measure of wretchedness.'

'Yes,' said I; 'yet I earnestly wish they might speedily be quit of this
misfortune by losing the ability to accomplish crime.'

'They will lose it,' said she, 'sooner than perchance thou wishest, or
they themselves think likely; since, verily, within the narrow bounds of
our brief life there is nothing so late in coming that anyone, least of
all an immortal spirit, should deem it long to wait for. Their great
expectations, the lofty fabric of their crimes, is oft overthrown by a
sudden and unlooked-for ending, and this but sets a limit to their
misery. For if wickedness makes men wretched, he is necessarily more
wretched who is wicked for a longer time; and were it not that death, at
all events, puts an end to the evil doings of the wicked, I should
account them wretched to the last degree. Indeed, if we have formed true
conclusions about the ill fortune of wickedness, that wretchedness is
plainly infinite which is doomed to be eternal.'

Then said I: 'A wonderful inference, and difficult to grant; but I see
that it agrees entirely with our previous conclusions.'

'Thou art right,' said she; 'but if anyone finds it hard to admit the
conclusion, he ought in fairness either to prove some falsity in the
premises, or to show that the combination of propositions does not
adequately enforce the necessity of the conclusion; otherwise, if the
premises be granted, nothing whatever can be said against the inference
of the conclusion. And here is another statement which seems not less
wonderful, but on the premises assumed is equally necessary.'

'What is that?'

'The wicked are happier in undergoing punishment than if no penalty of
justice chasten them. And I am not now meaning what might occur to
anyone--that bad character is amended by retribution, and is brought
into the right path by the terror of punishment, or that it serves as an
example to warn others to avoid transgression; but I believe that in
another way the wicked are more unfortunate when they go unpunished,
even though no account be taken of amendment, and no regard be paid to
example.'

'Why, what other way is there beside these?' said I.

Then said she: 'Have we not agreed that the good are happy, and the evil
wretched?'

'Yes,' said I.

'Now, if,' said she, 'to one in affliction there be given along with his
misery some good thing, is he not happier than one whose misery is
misery pure and simple without admixture of any good?'

'It would seem so.'

'But if to one thus wretched, one destitute of all good, some further
evil be added besides those which make him wretched, is he not to be
judged far more unhappy than he whose ill fortune is alleviated by some
share of good?'

'It could scarcely be otherwise.'

'Surely, then, the wicked, when they are punished, have a good thing
added to them--to wit, the punishment which by the law of justice is
good; and likewise, when they escape punishment, a new evil attaches to
them in that very freedom from punishment which thou hast rightly
acknowledged to be an evil in the case of the unrighteous.'

'I cannot deny it.'

'Then, the wicked are far more unhappy when indulged with an unjust
freedom from punishment than when punished by a just retribution. Now,
it is manifest that it is just for the wicked to be punished, and for
them to escape unpunished is unjust.'

'Why, who would venture to deny it?'

'This, too, no one can possibly deny--that all which is just is good,
and, conversely, all which is unjust is bad.'

Then I answered: 'These inferences do indeed follow from what we lately
concluded; but tell me,' said I, 'dost thou take no account of the
punishment of the soul after the death of the body?'

'Nay, truly,' said she, 'great are these penalties, some of them
inflicted, I imagine, in the severity of retribution, others in the
mercy of purification. But it is not my present purpose to speak of
these. So far, my aim hath been to make thee recognise that the power of
the bad which shocked thee so exceedingly is no power; to make thee see
that those of whose freedom from punishment thou didst complain are
never without the proper penalties of their unrighteousness; to teach
thee that the license which thou prayedst might soon come to an end is
not long-enduring; that it would be more unhappy if it lasted longer,
most unhappy of all if it lasted for ever; thereafter that the
unrighteous are more wretched if unjustly let go without punishment than
if punished by a just retribution--from which point of view it follows
that the wicked are afflicted with more severe penalties just when they
are supposed to escape punishment.'

Then said I: 'While I follow thy reasonings, I am deeply impressed with
their truth; but if I turn to the common convictions of men, I find few
who will even listen to such arguments, let alone admit them to be
credible.'

'True,' said she; 'they cannot lift eyes accustomed to darkness to the
light of clear truth, and are like those birds whose vision night
illumines and day blinds; for while they regard, not the order of the
universe, but their own dispositions of mind, they think the license to
commit crime, and the escape from punishment, to be fortunate. But mark
the ordinance of eternal law. Hast thou fashioned thy soul to the
likeness of the better, thou hast no need of a judge to award the
prize--by thine own act hast thou raised thyself in the scale of
excellence; hast thou perverted thy affections to baser things, look not
for punishment from one without thee--thine own act hath degraded thee,
and thrust thee down. Even so, if alternately thou turn thy gaze upon
the vile earth and upon the heavens, though all without thee stand
still, by the mere laws of sight thou seemest now sunk in the mire, now
soaring among the stars. But the common herd regards not these things.
What, then? Shall we go over to those whom we have shown to be like
brute beasts? Why, suppose, now, one who had quite lost his sight
should likewise forget that he had ever possessed the faculty of vision,
and should imagine that nothing was wanting in him to human perfection,
should we deem those who saw as well as ever blind? Why, they will not
even assent to this, either--that they who do wrong are more wretched
than those who suffer wrong, though the proof of this rests on grounds
of reason no less strong.'

'Let me hear these same reasons,' said I.

'Wouldst thou deny that every wicked man deserves punishment?'

'I would not, certainly.'

'And that those who are wicked are unhappy is clear in manifold ways?'

'Yes,' I replied.

'Thou dost not doubt, then, that those who deserve punishment are
wretched?'

'Agreed,' said I.

'So, then, if thou wert sitting in judgment, on whom wouldst thou decree
the infliction of punishment--on him who had done the wrong, or on him
who had suffered it?'

'Without doubt, I would compensate the sufferer at the cost of the doer
of the wrong.'

'Then, the injurer would seem more wretched than the injured?'

'Yes; it follows. And so for this and other reasons resting on the same
ground, inasmuch as baseness of its own nature makes men wretched, it is
plain that a wrong involves the misery of the doer, not of the
sufferer.'

'And yet,' says she, 'the practice of the law-courts is just the
opposite: advocates try to arouse the commiseration of the judges for
those who have endured some grievous and cruel wrong; whereas pity is
rather due to the criminal, who ought to be brought to the judgment-seat
by his accusers in a spirit not of anger, but of compassion and
kindness, as a sick man to the physician, to have the ulcer of his fault
cut away by punishment. Whereby the business of the advocate would
either wholly come to a standstill, or, did men prefer to make it
serviceable to mankind, would be restricted to the practice of
accusation. The wicked themselves also, if through some chink or cranny
they were permitted to behold the virtue they have forsaken, and were to
see that by the pains of punishment they would rid themselves of the
uncleanness of their vices, and win in exchange the recompense of
righteousness, they would no longer think these sufferings pains; they
would refuse the help of advocates, and would commit themselves wholly
into the hands of their accusers and judges. Whence it comes to pass
that for the wise no place is left for hatred; only the most foolish
would hate the good, and to hate the bad is unreasonable. For if vicious
propensity is, as it were, a disease of the soul like bodily sickness,
even as we account the sick in body by no means deserving of hate, but
rather of pity, so, and much more, should they be pitied whose minds are
assailed by wickedness, which is more frightful than any sickness.'

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