feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/novelguide/Consolation of Philosophy/section_5_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: Consolation of Philosophy.book iii
feat_summary_id: book iii
feat_summary: {"name": "Summary of Book III Part I-III", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210212221439/https://www.novelguide.com/consolation-of-philosophy/summaries/book3-parti-iii", "summary": "of Parts I and II       Boethius is enchanted by the song of Philosophy and tells her she is a great comfort to him. He believes he can now face the blows of Fortune. He is ready for the bitter medicine, which she says will bring him to the goal of \"true happiness\" . Because of the shadows of happiness in his mind, he cannot see true happiness. First she says she will give him an idea of the cause of happiness. He needs to turn his gaze in the right direction to recognize the pattern of true happiness. She explains in a song that when one wants to plant a field, one must first clear the land of undergrowth. Though mortals tread different paths, all are seeking happiness. Once one has it, nothing else is needed, because \"happiness is a state made perfect by the presence of everything that is good\" . The reason all people seek happiness is that the desire for it is planted in the mind by nature. Some think happiness lies in money; some think it is power or fame or pleasure or bodily health and beauty, but they confuse the ends and the means. Humans are like drunkards unable to find their way home. What really produces happiness is \"a condition of self-sufficiency with no wants\" . All those things--pleasure, fame, wealth, and beauty--are fine in their place, but they do not bring self-sufficiency by themselves, nor happiness. Yet Nature has set men on in their common pursuit of the good. Philosophy sings a song about Providence keeping all creatures in motion to fulfill their destiny. A bird wants to fly, the sun wants to rise: \"All things seek the place that best becomes . . . and make itself a circle without end\" .", "analysis": "Commentary on Parts I and II       Now that Philosophy has shown the gifts of worldly Fortune to bring false happiness, she turns to a definition of true happiness in Book III. So far she indicates that the desire for true happiness is inborn in all creatures, but humans alone seem confused as to how to get what they seek. They go about it backwards, looking outside themselves. Health, pleasure, wealth, and power are only good if one is already happy and self-sufficient within oneself. It is not these worldly gifts that are to blame, but the direction of the human gaze. She mentions that to find true happiness, one must turn the gaze in the right direction, towards oneself. Her song of Providence indicates that instead of going outward to find happiness, one has to circle back to one's own true inner nature. Summary of Part III       Philosophy continues, saying that humans have an unclear notion of going towards their origin, because \"errors\"  lead them astray. Boethius must therefore consider whether the means men employ will get them to the goal. First, she will consider riches. Philosophy asks him if as a rich man, he was ever worried. Did he feel something was missing or something there he did not want? He replies yes, he was always worried. So therefore, he was lacking something and not self-sufficient? He agrees. So, would he also agree then that wealth does not lead to self-sufficiency, and that money has no inherent property to keep it from being lost? Boethius agrees. And does he agree that a man would need outside help to protect his money? He says yes. But the man who has no money needs no outside help to keep it? Yes, that's true. Philosophy concludes then that wealth makes men dependent on others, so it cannot remove want. While \"nature is satisfied with little,\" \"nothing satisfies greed\" . Commentary on Part III       Philosophy begins using the Socratic method of argument on Boethius, getting him to clarify his thought by asking him questions about his assumptions and experience. She gets him to redefine wealth as self-sufficiency, showing him that having money does not remove either worry or want. Even with money, he felt something was missing, or had to worry about how to keep his money. Having a lot of money does not really make one self-sufficient. She argues that actually one's basic needs do not require much to satisfy, but the wealthy person becomes dependent on others to protect or manage the money. Money is no guarantee against loss, since it can be lost at any moment. It therefore cannot lead to happiness or self-sufficiency. Philosophy has covered these points in brief before, but now she gives him what she calls the more bitter medicine of logic. She will go through each assumption step by step to show that what is generally considered good fortune is sloppy thinking. If Boethius, or anyone, will consider these matters logically, they will see they have been walking around in a fog. Book III of Parts I and II Boethius is enchanted by the song of Philosophy and tells her she is a great comfort to him. He believes he can now face the blows of Fortune. He is ready for the bitter medicine, which she says will bring him to the goal of \"true happiness\" . Because of the shadows of happiness in his mind, he cannot see true happiness. First she says she will give him an idea of the cause of happiness. He needs to turn his gaze in the right direction to recognize the pattern of true happiness. She explains in a song that when one wants to plant a field, one must first clear the land of undergrowth. Though mortals tread different paths, all are seeking happiness. Once one has it, nothing else is needed, because \"happiness is a state made perfect by the presence of everything that is good\" . The reason all people seek happiness is that the desire for it is planted in the mind by nature. Some think happiness lies in money; some think it is power or fame or pleasure or bodily health and beauty, but they confuse the ends and the means. Humans are like drunkards unable to find their way home. What really produces happiness is \"a condition of self-sufficiency with no wants\" . All those things--pleasure, fame, wealth, and beauty--are fine in their place, but they do not bring self-sufficiency by themselves, nor happiness. Yet Nature has set men on in their common pursuit of the good. Philosophy sings a song about Providence keeping all creatures in motion to fulfill their destiny. A bird wants to fly, the sun wants to rise: \"All things seek the place that best becomes . . . and make itself a circle without end\" . Commentary on Parts I and II Commentary on Parts I and II Now that Philosophy has shown the gifts of worldly Fortune to bring false happiness, she turns to a definition of true happiness in Book III. So far she indicates that the desire for true happiness is inborn in all creatures, but humans alone seem confused as to how to get what they seek. They go about it backwards, looking outside themselves. Health, pleasure, wealth, and power are only good if one is already happy and self-sufficient within oneself. It is not these worldly gifts that are to blame, but the direction of the human gaze. She mentions that to find true happiness, one must turn the gaze in the right direction, towards oneself. Her song of Providence indicates that instead of going outward to find happiness, one has to circle back to one's own true inner nature. of Part III Philosophy continues, saying that humans have an unclear notion of going towards their origin, because \"errors\" lead them astray. Boethius must therefore consider whether the means men employ will get them to the goal. First, she will consider riches. Philosophy asks him if as a rich man, he was ever worried. Did he feel something was missing or something there he did not want? He replies yes, he was always worried. So therefore, he was lacking something and not self-sufficient? He agrees. So, would he also agree then that wealth does not lead to self-sufficiency, and that money has no inherent property to keep it from being lost? Boethius agrees. And does he agree that a man would need outside help to protect his money? He says yes. But the man who has no money needs no outside help to keep it? Yes, that's true. Philosophy concludes then that wealth makes men dependent on others, so it cannot remove want. While \"nature is satisfied with little,\" \"nothing satisfies greed\" . Commentary on Part III Commentary on Part III Philosophy begins using the Socratic method of argument on Boethius, getting him to clarify his thought by asking him questions about his assumptions and experience. She gets him to redefine wealth as self-sufficiency, showing him that having money does not remove either worry or want. Even with money, he felt something was missing, or had to worry about how to keep his money. Having a lot of money does not really make one self-sufficient. She argues that actually one's basic needs do not require much to satisfy, but the wealthy person becomes dependent on others to protect or manage the money. Money is no guarantee against loss, since it can be lost at any moment. It therefore cannot lead to happiness or self-sufficiency. Philosophy has covered these points in brief before, but now she gives him what she calls the more bitter medicine of logic. She will go through each assumption step by step to show that what is generally considered good fortune is sloppy thinking. If Boethius, or anyone, will consider these matters logically, they will see they have been walking around in a fog. Novel Author Boethius Novel Author Boethius"}
text: <CHAPTER>
  BOOK III. I.
  
  
  She ceased, but I stood fixed by the sweetness of the song in wonderment
  and eager expectation, my ears still strained to listen. And then after
  a little I said: 'Thou sovereign solace of the stricken soul, what
  refreshment hast thou brought me, no less by the sweetness of thy
  singing than by the weightiness of thy discourse! Verily, I think not
  that I shall hereafter be unequal to the blows of Fortune. Wherefore, I
  no longer dread the remedies which thou saidst were something too severe
  for my strength; nay, rather, I am eager to hear of them and call for
  them with all vehemence.'
  
  Then said she: 'I marked thee fastening upon my words silently and
  intently, and I expected, or--to speak more truly--I myself brought
  about in thee, this state of mind. What now remains is of such sort that
  to the taste indeed it is biting, but when received within it turns to
  sweetness. But whereas thou dost profess thyself desirous of hearing,
  with what ardour wouldst thou not burn didst thou but perceive whither
  it is my task to lead thee!'
  
  'Whither?' said I.
  
  'To true felicity,' said she, 'which even now thy spirit sees in dreams,
  but cannot behold in very truth, while thine eyes are engrossed with
  semblances.'
  
  Then said I: 'I beseech thee, do thou show to me her true shape without
  a moment's loss.'
  
  'Gladly will I, for thy sake,' said she. 'But first I will try to sketch
  in words, and describe a cause which is more familiar to thee, that,
  when thou hast viewed this carefully, thou mayst turn thy eyes the other
  way, and recognise the beauty of true happiness.'
  
  
  
  SONG I. THE THORNS OF ERROR.
  
  
      Who fain would sow the fallow field,
        And see the growing corn,
      Must first remove the useless weeds,
        The bramble and the thorn.
  
      After ill savour, honey's taste
        Is to the mouth more sweet;
      After the storm, the twinkling stars
        The eyes more cheerly greet.
  
      When night hath past, the bright dawn comes
        In car of rosy hue;
      So drive the false bliss from thy mind,
        And thou shall see the true.
  
  
  
  II.
  
  
  For a little space she remained in a fixed gaze, withdrawn, as it were,
  into the august chamber of her mind; then she thus began:
  
  'All mortal creatures in those anxious aims which find employment in so
  many varied pursuits, though they take many paths, yet strive to reach
  one goal--the goal of happiness. Now, _the good_ is that which, when a
  man hath got, he can lack nothing further. This it is which is the
  supreme good of all, containing within itself all particular good; so
  that if anything is still wanting thereto, this cannot be the supreme
  good, since something would be left outside which might be desired. 'Tis
  clear, then, that happiness is a state perfected by the assembling
  together of all good things. To this state, as we have said, all men try
  to attain, but by different paths. For the desire of the true good is
  naturally implanted in the minds of men; only error leads them aside out
  of the way in pursuit of the false. Some, deeming it the highest good to
  want for nothing, spare no pains to attain affluence; others, judging
  the good to be that to which respect is most worthily paid, strive to
  win the reverence of their fellow-citizens by the attainment of official
  dignity. Some there are who fix the chief good in supreme power; these
  either wish themselves to enjoy sovereignty, or try to attach themselves
  to those who have it. Those, again, who think renown to be something of
  supreme excellence are in haste to spread abroad the glory of their name
  either through the arts of war or of peace. A great many measure the
  attainment of good by joy and gladness of heart; these think it the
  height of happiness to give themselves over to pleasure. Others there
  are, again, who interchange the ends and means one with the other in
  their aims; for instance, some want riches for the sake of pleasure and
  power, some covet power either for the sake of money or in order to
  bring renown to their name. So it is on these ends, then, that the aim
  of human acts and wishes is centred, and on others like to these--for
  instance, noble birth and popularity, which seem to compass a certain
  renown; wife and children, which are sought for the sweetness of their
  possession; while as for friendship, the most sacred kind indeed is
  counted in the category of virtue, not of fortune; but other kinds are
  entered upon for the sake of power or of enjoyment. And as for bodily
  excellences, it is obvious that they are to be ranged with the above.
  For strength and stature surely manifest power; beauty and fleetness of
  foot bring celebrity; health brings pleasure. It is plain, then, that
  the only object sought for in all these ways is _happiness_. For that
  which each seeks in preference to all else, that is in his judgment the
  supreme good. And we have defined the supreme good to be happiness.
  Therefore, that state which each wishes in preference to all others is
  in his judgment happy.
  
  'Thou hast, then, set before thine eyes something like a scheme of human
  happiness--wealth, rank, power, glory, pleasure. Now Epicurus, from a
  sole regard to these considerations, with some consistency concluded the
  highest good to be pleasure, because all the other objects seem to bring
  some delight to the soul. But to return to human pursuits and aims:
  man's mind seeks to recover its proper good, in spite of the mistiness
  of its recollection, but, like a drunken man, knows not by what path to
  return home. Think you they are wrong who strive to escape want? Nay,
  truly there is nothing which can so well complete happiness as a state
  abounding in all good things, needing nothing from outside, but wholly
  self-sufficing. Do they fall into error who deem that which is best to
  be also best deserving to receive the homage of reverence? Not at all.
  That cannot possibly be vile and contemptible, to attain which the
  endeavours of nearly all mankind are directed. Then, is power not to be
  reckoned in the category of good? Why, can that which is plainly more
  efficacious than anything else be esteemed a thing feeble and void of
  strength? Or is renown to be thought of no account? Nay, it cannot be
  ignored that the highest renown is constantly associated with the
  highest excellence. And what need is there to say that happiness is not
  haunted by care and gloom, nor exposed to trouble and vexation, since
  that is a condition we ask of the very least of things, from the
  possession and enjoyment of which we expect delight? So, then, these are
  the blessings men wish to win; they want riches, rank, sovereignty,
  glory, pleasure, because they believe that by these means they will
  secure independence, reverence, power, renown, and joy of heart.
  Therefore, it is _the good_ which men seek by such divers courses; and
  herein is easily shown the might of Nature's power, since, although
  opinions are so various and discordant, yet they agree in cherishing
  _good_ as the end.'
  
  
  
  SONG II. THE BENT OF NATURE.
  
  
      How the might of Nature sways
      All the world in ordered ways,
      How resistless laws control
      Each least portion of the whole--
      Fain would I in sounding verse
      On my pliant strings rehearse.
  
      Lo, the lion captive ta'en
      Meekly wears his gilded chain;
      Yet though he by hand be fed,
      Though a master's whip he dread,
      If but once the taste of gore
      Whet his cruel lips once more,
      Straight his slumbering fierceness wakes,
      With one roar his bonds he breaks,
      And first wreaks his vengeful force
      On his trainer's mangled corse.
  
      And the woodland songster, pent
      In forlorn imprisonment,
      Though a mistress' lavish care
      Store of honeyed sweets prepare;
      Yet, if in his narrow cage,
      As he hops from bar to bar,
      He should spy the woods afar,
      Cool with sheltering foliage,
      All these dainties he will spurn,
      To the woods his heart will turn;
      Only for the woods he longs,
      Pipes the woods in all his songs.
  
      To rude force the sapling bends,
      While the hand its pressure lends;
      If the hand its pressure slack,
      Straight the supple wood springs back.
      Phoebus in the western main
      Sinks; but swift his car again
      By a secret path is borne
      To the wonted gates of morn.
  
      Thus are all things seen to yearn
      In due time for due return;
      And no order fixed may stay,
      Save which in th' appointed way
      Joins the end to the beginning
      In a steady cycle spinning.
  
  
  
  III.
  
  
  'Ye, too, creatures of earth, have some glimmering of your origin,
  however faint, and though in a vision dim and clouded, yet in some wise,
  notwithstanding, ye discern the true end of happiness, and so the aim of
  nature leads you thither--to that true good--while error in many forms
  leads you astray therefrom. For reflect whether men are able to win
  happiness by those means through which they think to reach the proposed
  end. Truly, if either wealth, rank, or any of the rest, bring with them
  anything of such sort as seems to have nothing wanting to it that is
  good, we, too, acknowledge that some are made happy by the acquisition
  of these things. But if they are not able to fulfil their promises, and,
  moreover, lack many good things, is not the happiness men seek in them
  clearly discovered to be a false show? Therefore do I first ask thee
  thyself, who but lately wert living in affluence, amid all that
  abundance of wealth, was thy mind never troubled in consequence of some
  wrong done to thee?'
  
  'Nay,' said I, 'I cannot ever remember a time when my mind was so
  completely at peace as not to feel the pang of some uneasiness.'
  
  'Was it not because either something was absent which thou wouldst not
  have absent, or present which thou wouldst have away?'
  
  'Yes,' said I.
  
  'Then, thou didst want the presence of the one, the absence of the
  other?'
  
  'Admitted.'
  
  'But a man lacks that of which he is in want?'
  
  'He does.'
  
  'And he who lacks something is not in all points self-sufficing?'
  
  'No; certainly not,' said I.
  
  'So wert thou, then, in the plenitude of thy wealth, supporting this
  insufficiency?'
  
  'I must have been.'
  
  'Wealth, then, cannot make its possessor independent and free from all
  want, yet this was what it seemed to promise. Moreover, I think this
  also well deserves to be considered--that there is nothing in the
  special nature of money to hinder its being taken away from those who
  possess it against their will.'
  
  'I admit it.'
  
  'Why, of course, when every day the stronger wrests it from the weaker
  without his consent. Else, whence come lawsuits, except in seeking to
  recover moneys which have been taken away against their owner's will by
  force or fraud?'
  
  'True,' said I.
  
  'Then, everyone will need some extraneous means of protection to keep
  his money safe.'
  
  'Who can venture to deny it?'
  
  'Yet he would not, unless he possessed the money which it is possible to
  lose.'
  
  'No; he certainly would not.'
  
  'Then, we have worked round to an opposite conclusion: the wealth which
  was thought to make a man independent rather puts him in need of further
  protection. How in the world, then, can want be driven away by riches?
  Cannot the rich feel hunger? Cannot they thirst? Are not the limbs of
  the wealthy sensitive to the winter's cold? "But," thou wilt say, "the
  rich have the wherewithal to sate their hunger, the means to get rid of
  thirst and cold." True enough; want can thus be soothed by riches,
  wholly removed it cannot be. For if this ever-gaping, ever-craving want
  is glutted by wealth, it needs must be that the want itself which can be
  so glutted still remains. I do not speak of how very little suffices for
  nature, and how for avarice nothing is enough. Wherefore, if wealth
  cannot get rid of want, and makes new wants of its own, how can ye
  believe that it bestows independence?'
  
  
  
  SONG III. THE INSATIABLENESS OF AVARICE.
  
  
      Though the covetous grown wealthy
        See his piles of gold rise high;
      Though he gather store of treasure
        That can never satisfy;
      Though with pearls his gorget blazes,
        Rarest that the ocean yields;
      Though a hundred head of oxen
        Travail in his ample fields;
      Ne'er shall carking care forsake him
        While he draws this vital breath,
      And his riches go not with him,
        When his eyes are closed in death.
  
  
  
  IV.
  
  
  'Well, but official dignity clothes him to whom it comes with honour and
  reverence! Have, then, offices of state such power as to plant virtue in
  the minds of their possessors, and drive out vice? Nay, they are rather
  wont to signalize iniquity than to chase it away, and hence arises our
  indignation that honours so often fall to the most iniquitous of men.
  Accordingly, Catullus calls Nonius an "ulcer-spot," though "sitting in
  the curule chair." Dost not see what infamy high position brings upon
  the bad? Surely their unworthiness will be less conspicuous if their
  rank does not draw upon them the public notice! In thy own case, wouldst
  thou ever have been induced by all these perils to think of sharing
  office with Decoratus, since thou hast discerned in him the spirit of a
  rascally parasite and informer? No; we cannot deem men worthy of
  reverence on account of their office, whom we deem unworthy of the
  office itself. But didst thou see a man endued with wisdom, couldst thou
  suppose him not worthy of reverence, nor of that wisdom with which he
  was endued?'
  
  'No; certainly not.'
  
  'There is in Virtue a dignity of her own which she forthwith passes over
  to those to whom she is united. And since public honours cannot do this,
  it is clear that they do not possess the true beauty of dignity. And
  here this well deserves to be noticed--that if a man is the more scorned
  in proportion as he is despised by a greater number, high position not
  only fails to win reverence for the wicked, but even loads them the more
  with contempt by drawing more attention to them. But not without
  retribution; for the wicked pay back a return in kind to the dignities
  they put on by the pollution of their touch. Perhaps, too, another
  consideration may teach thee to confess that true reverence cannot come
  through these counterfeit dignities. It is this: If one who had been
  many times consul chanced to visit barbaric lands, would his office win
  him the reverence of the barbarians? And yet if reverence were the
  natural effect of dignities, they would not forego their proper function
  in any part of the world, even as fire never anywhere fails to give
  forth heat. But since this effect is not due to their own efficacy, but
  is attached to them by the mistaken opinion of mankind, they disappear
  straightway when they are set before those who do not esteem them
  dignities. Thus the case stands with foreign peoples. But does their
  repute last for ever, even in the land of their origin? Why, the
  prefecture, which was once a great power, is now an empty name--a burden
  merely on the senator's fortune; the commissioner of the public corn
  supply was once a personage--now what is more contemptible than this
  office? For, as we said just now, that which hath no true comeliness of
  its own now receives, now loses, lustre at the caprice of those who have
  to do with it. So, then, if dignities cannot win men reverence, if they
  are actually sullied by the contamination of the wicked, if they lose
  their splendour through time's changes, if they come into contempt
  merely for lack of public estimation, what precious beauty have they in
  themselves, much less to give to others?'
  
  
  
  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. INVOCATION.
  
  [I] 
  
  
      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?'
  
  'I would thou wouldst unfold the whole matter to me at large.'
  
  'We judge happiness to be good, do we not?'
  
  'Yea, the supreme good.'
  
  'And this superlative applies to all; for this same happiness is
  adjudged to be the completest independence, the highest power,
  reverence, renown, and pleasure.'
  
  'What then?'
  
  'Are all these goods--independence, power, and the rest--to be deemed
  members of happiness, as it were, or are they all relative to good as to
  their summit and crown?'
  
  'I understand the problem, but I desire to hear how thou wouldst solve
  it.'
  
  'Well, then, listen to the determination of the matter. Were all these
  members composing happiness, they would differ severally one from the
  other. For this is the nature of parts--that by their difference they
  compose one body. All these, however, have been proved to be the same;
  therefore they cannot possibly be members, otherwise happiness will seem
  to be built up out of one member, which cannot be.'
  
  'There can be no doubt as to that,' said I; 'but I am impatient to hear
  what remains.'
  
  'Why, it is manifest that all the others are relative to the good. For
  the very reason why independence is sought is that it is judged good,
  and so power also, because it is believed to be good. The same, too, may
  be supposed of reverence, of renown, and of pleasant delight. Good,
  then, is the sum and source of all desirable things. That which has not
  in itself any good, either in reality or in semblance, can in no wise be
  desired. Contrariwise, even things which by nature are not good are
  desired as if they were truly good, if they seem to be so. Whereby it
  comes to pass that goodness is rightly believed to be the sum and hinge
  and cause of all things desirable. Now, that for the sake of which
  anything is desired itself seems to be most wished for. For instance, if
  anyone wishes to ride for the sake of health, he does not so much wish
  for the exercise of riding as the benefit of his health. Since, then,
  all things are sought for the sake of the good, it is not these so much
  as good itself that is sought by all. But that on account of which all
  other things are wished for was, we agreed, happiness; wherefore thus
  also it appears that it is happiness alone which is sought. From all
  which it is transparently clear that the essence of absolute good and of
  happiness is one and the same.'
  
  'I cannot see how anyone can dissent from these conclusions.'
  
  'But we have also proved that God and true happiness are one and the
  same.'
  
  'Yes,' said I.
  
  'Then we can safely conclude, also, that God's essence is seated in
  absolute good, and nowhere else.'
  
  
  
  SONG X. THE TRUE LIGHT.
  
  
      Hither come, all ye whose minds
      Lust with rosy fetters binds--
      Lust to bondage hard compelling
      Th' earthy souls that are his dwelling--
      Here shall be your labour's close;
      Here your haven of repose.
      Come, to your one refuge press;
      Wide it stands to all distress!
  
      Not the glint of yellow gold
      Down bright Hermus' current rolled;
      Not the Tagus' precious sands,
      Nor in far-off scorching lands
      All the radiant gems that hide
      Under Indus' storied tide--
      Emerald green and glistering white--
      Can illume our feeble sight;
      But they rather leave the mind
      In its native darkness blind.
      For the fairest beams they shed
      In earth's lowest depths were fed;
      But the splendour that supplies
      Strength and vigour to the skies,
      And the universe controls,
      Shunneth dark and ruined souls.
      He who once hath seen _this_ light
      Will not call the sunbeam bright.
  
  
  
  XI.
  
  
  'I quite agree,' said I, 'truly all thy reasonings hold admirably
  together.'
  
  Then said she: 'What value wouldst thou put upon the boon shouldst thou
  come to the knowledge of the absolute good?'
  
  'Oh, an infinite,' said I, 'if only I were so blest as to learn to know
  God also who is the good.'
  
  'Yet this will I make clear to thee on truest grounds of reason, if only
  our recent conclusions stand fast.'
  
  'They will.'
  
  'Have we not shown that those things which most men desire are not true
  and perfect good precisely for this cause--that they differ severally
  one from another, and, seeing that one is wanting to another, they
  cannot bestow full and absolute good; but that they become the true good
  when they are gathered, as it were, into one form and agency, so that
  that which is independence is likewise power, reverence, renown, and
  pleasant delight, and unless they are all one and the same, they have no
  claim to be counted among things desirable?'
  
  'Yes; this was clearly proved, and cannot in any wise be doubted.'
  
  'Now, when things are far from being good while they are different, but
  become good as soon as they are one, is it not true that these become
  good by acquiring unity?'
  
  'It seems so,' said I.
  
  'But dost not thou allow that all which is good is good by participation
  in goodness?'
  
  'It is.'
  
  'Then, thou must on similar grounds admit that unity and goodness are
  the same; for when the effects of things in their natural working differ
  not, their essence is one and the same.'
  
  'There is no denying it.'
  
  'Now, dost thou know,' said she, 'that all which is abides and subsists
  so long as it continues one, but so soon as it ceases to be one it
  perishes and falls to pieces?'
  
  'In what way?'
  
  'Why, take animals, for example. When soul and body come together, and
  continue in one, this is, we say, a living creature; but when this unity
  is broken by the separation of these two, the creature dies, and is
  clearly no longer living. The body also, while it remains in one form by
  the joining together of its members, presents a human appearance; but if
  the separation and dispersal of the parts break up the body's unity, it
  ceases to be what it was. And if we extend our survey to all other
  things, without doubt it will manifestly appear that each several thing
  subsists while it is one, but when it ceases to be one perishes.'
  
  'Yes; when I consider further, I see it to be even as thou sayest.'
  
  'Well, is there aught,' said she, 'which, in so far as it acts
  conformably to nature, abandons the wish for life, and desires to come
  to death and corruption?'
  
  'Looking to living creatures, which have some faults of choice, I find
  none that, without external compulsion, forego the will to live, and of
  their own accord hasten to destruction. For every creature diligently
  pursues the end of self-preservation, and shuns death and destruction!
  As to herbs and trees, and inanimate things generally, I am altogether
  in doubt what to think.'
  
  'And yet there is no possibility of question about this either, since
  thou seest how herbs and trees grow in places suitable for them, where,
  as far as their nature admits, they cannot quickly wither and die. Some
  spring up in the plains, others in the mountains; some grow in marshes,
  others cling to rocks; and others, again, find a fertile soil in the
  barren sands; and if you try to transplant these elsewhere, they wither
  away. Nature gives to each the soil that suits it, and uses her
  diligence to prevent any of them dying, so long as it is possible for
  them to continue alive. Why do they all draw their nourishment from
  roots as from a mouth dipped into the earth, and distribute the strong
  bark over the pith? Why are all the softer parts like the pith deeply
  encased within, while the external parts have the strong texture of
  wood, and outside of all is the bark to resist the weather's
  inclemency, like a champion stout in endurance? Again, how great is
  nature's diligence to secure universal propagation by multiplying seed!
  Who does not know all these to be contrivances, not only for the present
  maintenance of a species, but for its lasting continuance, generation
  after generation, for ever? And do not also the things believed
  inanimate on like grounds of reason seek each what is proper to itself?
  Why do the flames shoot lightly upward, while the earth presses downward
  with its weight, if it is not that these motions and situations are
  suitable to their respective natures? Moreover, each several thing is
  preserved by that which is agreeable to its nature, even as it is
  destroyed by things inimical. Things solid like stones resist
  disintegration by the close adhesion of their parts. Things fluid like
  air and water yield easily to what divides them, but swiftly flow back
  and mingle with those parts from which they have been severed, while
  fire, again, refuses to be cut at all. And we are not now treating of
  the voluntary motions of an intelligent soul, but of the drift of
  nature. Even so is it that we digest our food without thinking about it,
  and draw our breath unconsciously in sleep; nay, even in living
  creatures the love of life cometh not of conscious will, but from the
  principles of nature. For oftentimes in the stress of circumstances will
  chooses the death which nature shrinks from; and contrarily, in spite of
  natural appetite, will restrains that work of reproduction by which
  alone the persistence of perishable creatures is maintained. So entirely
  does this love of self come from drift of nature, not from animal
  impulse. Providence has furnished things with this most cogent reason
  for continuance: they must desire life, so long as it is naturally
  possible for them to continue living. Wherefore in no way mayst thou
  doubt but that things naturally aim at continuance of existence, and
  shun destruction.'
  
  'I confess,' said I, 'that what I lately thought uncertain, I now
  perceive to be indubitably clear.'
  
  'Now, that which seeks to subsist and continue desires to be one; for if
  its oneness be gone, its very existence cannot continue.'
  
  'True,' said I.
  
  'All things, then, desire to be one.'
  
  'I agree.'
  
  'But we have proved that one is the very same thing as good.'
  
  'We have.'
  
  'All things, then, seek the good; indeed, you may express the fact by
  defining good as that which all desire.'
  
  'Nothing could be more truly thought out. Either there is no single end
  to which all things are relative, or else the end to which all things
  universally hasten must be the highest good of all.'
  
  Then she: 'Exceedingly do I rejoice, dear pupil; thine eye is now fixed
  on the very central mark of truth. Moreover, herein is revealed that of
  which thou didst erstwhile profess thyself ignorant.'
  
  'What is that?' said I.
  
  'The end and aim of the whole universe. Surely it is that which is
  desired of all; and, since we have concluded the good to be such, we
  ought to acknowledge the end and aim of the whole universe to be "the
  good."'
  
  
  
  SONG XI. REMINISCENCE.
  
  [J]
  
  
      Who truth pursues, who from false ways
        His heedful steps would keep,
      By inward light must search within
        In meditation deep;
      All outward bent he must repress
      His soul's true treasure to possess.
  
      Then all that error's mists obscured
        Shall shine more clear than light,
      This fleshly frame's oblivious weight
        Hath quenched not reason quite;
      The germs of truth still lie within,
      Whence we by learning all may win.
  
      Else how could ye the answer due
        Untaught to questions give,
      Were't not that deep within the soul
        Truth's secret sparks do live?
      If Plato's teaching erreth not,
      We learn but that we have forgot.
  
  
  FOOTNOTES:
  
  [J] The doctrine of Reminiscence--_i.e._, that all learning is really
  recollection--is set forth at length by Plato in the 'Meno,' 81-86, and
  the 'Phaedo,' 72-76. See Jowett, vol. ii., pp. 40-47 and 213-218.
  
  
  XII.
  
  
  Then said I: 'With all my heart I agree with Plato; indeed, this is now
  the second time that these things have been brought back to my
  mind--first I lost them through the clogging contact of the body; then
  after through the stress of heavy grief.'
  
  Then she continued: 'If thou wilt reflect upon thy former admissions, it
  will not be long before thou dost also recollect that of which erstwhile
  thou didst confess thyself ignorant.'
  
  'What is that?' said I.
  
  'The principles of the world's government,' said she.
  
  'Yes; I remember my confession, and, although I now anticipate what thou
  intendest, I have a desire to hear the argument plainly set forth.'
  
  'Awhile ago thou deemedst it beyond all doubt that God doth govern the
  world.'
  
  'I do not think it doubtful now, nor shall I ever; and by what reasons
  I am brought to this assurance I will briefly set forth. This world
  could never have taken shape as a single system out of parts so diverse
  and opposite were it not that there is One who joins together these so
  diverse things. And when it had once come together, the very diversity
  of natures would have dissevered it and torn it asunder in universal
  discord were there not One who keeps together what He has joined. Nor
  would the order of nature proceed so regularly, nor could its course
  exhibit motions so fixed in respect of position, time, range, efficacy,
  and character, unless there were One who, Himself abiding, disposed
  these various vicissitudes of change. This power, whatsoever it be,
  whereby they remain as they were created, and are kept in motion, I call
  by the name which all recognise--God.'
  
  Then said she: 'Seeing that such is thy belief, it will cost me little
  trouble, I think, to enable thee to win happiness, and return in safety
  to thy own country. But let us give our attention to the task that we
  have set before ourselves. Have we not counted independence in the
  category of happiness, and agreed that God is absolute happiness?'
  
  'Truly, we have.'
  
  'Then, He will need no external assistance for the ruling of the world.
  Otherwise, if He stands in need of aught, He will not possess complete
  independence.'
  
  'That is necessarily so,' said I.
  
  'Then, by His own power alone He disposes all things.'
  
  'It cannot be denied.'
  
  'Now, God was proved to be absolute good.'
  
  'Yes; I remember.'
  
  'Then, He disposes all things by the agency of good, if it be true that
  _He_ rules all things by His own power whom we have agreed to be good;
  and He is, as it were, the rudder and helm by which the world's
  mechanism is kept steady and in order.'
  
  'Heartily do I agree; and, indeed, I anticipated what thou wouldst say,
  though it may be in feeble surmise only.'
  
  'I well believe it,' said she; 'for, as I think, thou now bringest to
  the search eyes quicker in discerning truth; but what I shall say next
  is no less plain and easy to see.'
  
  'What is it?' said I.
  
  'Why,' said she, 'since God is rightly believed to govern all things
  with the rudder of goodness, and since all things do likewise, as I have
  taught, haste towards good by the very aim of nature, can it be doubted
  that His governance is willingly accepted, and that all submit
  themselves to the sway of the Disposer as conformed and attempered to
  His rule?'
  
  'Necessarily so,' said I; 'no rule would seem happy if it were a yoke
  imposed on reluctant wills, and not the safe-keeping of obedient
  subjects.'
  
  'There is nothing, then, which, while it follows nature, endeavours to
  resist good.'
  
  'No; nothing.'
  
  'But if anything should, will it have the least success against Him whom
  we rightly agreed to be supreme Lord of happiness?'
  
  'It would be utterly impotent.'
  
  'There is nothing, then, which has either the will or the power to
  oppose this supreme good.'
  
  'No; I think not.'
  
  'So, then,' said she, 'it is the supreme good which rules in strength,
  and graciously disposes all things.'
  
  Then said I: 'How delighted am I at thy reasonings, and the conclusion
  to which thou hast brought them, but most of all at these very words
  which thou usest! I am now at last ashamed of the folly that so sorely
  vexed me.'
  
  'Thou hast heard the story of the giants assailing heaven; but a
  beneficent strength disposed of them also, as they deserved. But shall
  we submit our arguments to the shock of mutual collision?--it may be
  from the impact some fair spark of truth may be struck out.'
  
  'If it be thy good pleasure,' said I.
  
  'No one can doubt that God is all-powerful.'
  
  'No one at all can question it who thinks consistently.'
  
  'Now, there is nothing which One who is all-powerful cannot do.'
  
  'Nothing.'
  
  'But can God do evil, then?'
  
  'Nay; by no means.'
  
  'Then, evil is nothing,' said she, 'since He to whom nothing is
  impossible is unable to do evil.'
  
  'Art thou mocking me,' said I, 'weaving a labyrinth of tangled
  arguments, now seeming to begin where thou didst end, and now to end
  where thou didst begin, or dost thou build up some wondrous circle of
  Divine simplicity? For, truly, a little before thou didst begin with
  happiness, and say it was the supreme good, and didst declare it to be
  seated in the supreme Godhead. God Himself, too, thou didst affirm to be
  supreme good and all-complete happiness; and from this thou didst go on
  to add, as by the way, the proof that no one would be happy unless he
  were likewise God. Again, thou didst say that the very form of good was
  the essence both of God and of happiness, and didst teach that the
  absolute One was the absolute good which was sought by universal nature.
  Thou didst maintain, also, that God rules the universe by the governance
  of goodness, that all things obey Him willingly, and that evil has no
  existence in nature. And all this thou didst unfold without the help of
  assumptions from without, but by inherent and proper proofs, drawing
  credence one from the other.'
  
  Then answered she: 'Far is it from me to mock thee; nay, by the blessing
  of God, whom we lately addressed in prayer, we have achieved the most
  important of all objects. For such is the form of the Divine essence,
  that neither can it pass into things external, nor take up anything
  external into itself; but, as Parmenides says of it,
  
      '"In body like to a sphere on all sides perfectly rounded,"
  
  it rolls the restless orb of the universe, keeping itself motionless the
  while. And if I have also employed reasonings not drawn from without,
  but lying within the compass of our subject, there is no cause for thee
  to marvel, since thou hast learnt on Plato's authority that words ought
  to be akin to the matter of which they treat.'
  
  
  
  SONG XII. ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE.
  
  
      Blest he whose feet have stood
      Beside the fount of good;
      Blest he whose will could break
      Earth's chains for wisdom's sake!
  
      The Thracian bard, 'tis said,
      Mourned his dear consort dead;
      To hear the plaintive strain
      The woods moved in his train,
      And the stream ceased to flow,
      Held by so soft a woe;
      The deer without dismay
      Beside the lion lay;
      The hound, by song subdued,
      No more the hare pursued,
      But the pang unassuaged
      In his own bosom raged.
      The music that could calm
      All else brought him no balm.
      Chiding the powers immortal,
      He came unto Hell's portal;
      There breathed all tender things
      Upon his sounding strings,
      Each rhapsody high-wrought
      His goddess-mother taught--
      All he from grief could borrow
      And love redoubling sorrow,
      Till, as the echoes waken,
      All Taenarus is shaken;
      Whilst he to ruth persuades
      The monarch of the shades
      With dulcet prayer. Spell-bound,
      The triple-headed hound
      At sounds so strangely sweet
      Falls crouching at his feet.
      The dread Avengers, too,
      That guilty minds pursue
      With ever-haunting fears,
      Are all dissolved in tears.
      Ixion, on his wheel,
      A respite brief doth feel;
      For, lo! the wheel stands still.
      And, while those sad notes thrill,
      Thirst-maddened Tantalus
      Listens, oblivious
      Of the stream's mockery
      And his long agony.
      The vulture, too, doth spare
      Some little while to tear
      At Tityus' rent side,
      Sated and pacified.
  
      At length the shadowy king,
      His sorrows pitying,
      'He hath prevailed!' cried;
      'We give him back his bride!
      To him she shall belong,
      As guerdon of his song.
      One sole condition yet
      Upon the boon is set:
      Let him not turn his eyes
      To view his hard-won prize,
      Till they securely pass
      The gates of Hell.' Alas!
      What law can lovers move?
      A higher law is love!
      For Orpheus--woe is me!--
      On his Eurydice--
      Day's threshold all but won--
      Looked, lost, and was undone!
  
      Ye who the light pursue,
      This story is for you,
      Who seek to find a way
      Unto the clearer day.
      If on the darkness past
      One backward look ye cast,
      Your weak and wandering eyes
      Have lost the matchless prize.
  
  
  
  </CHAPTER>
  BOOK IV.
  
  GOOD AND ILL FORTUNE.
  
  
       SUMMARY.
  
       CH. I. The mystery of the seeming moral confusion. Philosophy
       engages to make this plain, and to fulfil her former promise to the
       full.--CH. II. Accordingly, (a) she first expounds the paradox that
       the good alone have power, the bad are altogether powerless.--CH.
       III. (b) The righteous never lack their reward, nor the wicked
       their punishment.--CH. IV. (c) The wicked are more unhappy when
       they accomplish their desires than when they fail to attain them.
       (d) Evil-doers are more fortunate when they expiate their crimes by
       suffering punishment than when they escape unpunished. (e) The
       wrong-doer is more wretched than he who suffers injury.--CH. V.
       Boethius still cannot understand why the distribution of happiness
       and misery to the righteous and the wicked seems the result of
       chance. Philosophy replies that this only seems so because we do
       not understand the principles of God's moral governance.--CH. VI.
       The distinction of Fate and Providence. The apparent moral
       confusion is due to our ignorance of the secret counsels of God's
       providence. If we possessed the key, we should see how all things
       are guided to good.--CH. VII. Thus all fortune is good fortune; for
       it either rewards, disciplines, amends, or punishes, and so is
       either useful or just.
  
  
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Summary of Book III Part I-III
target: of Parts I and II       Boethius is enchanted by the song of Philosophy and tells her she is a great comfort to him. He believes he can now face the blows of Fortune. He is ready for the bitter medicine, which she says will bring him to the goal of "true happiness" . Because of the shadows of happiness in his mind, he cannot see true happiness. First she says she will give him an idea of the cause of happiness. He needs to turn his gaze in the right direction to recognize the pattern of true happiness. She explains in a song that when one wants to plant a field, one must first clear the land of undergrowth. Though mortals tread different paths, all are seeking happiness. Once one has it, nothing else is needed, because "happiness is a state made perfect by the presence of everything that is good" . The reason all people seek happiness is that the desire for it is planted in the mind by nature. Some think happiness lies in money; some think it is power or fame or pleasure or bodily health and beauty, but they confuse the ends and the means. Humans are like drunkards unable to find their way home. What really produces happiness is "a condition of self-sufficiency with no wants" . All those things--pleasure, fame, wealth, and beauty--are fine in their place, but they do not bring self-sufficiency by themselves, nor happiness. Yet Nature has set men on in their common pursuit of the good. Philosophy sings a song about Providence keeping all creatures in motion to fulfill their destiny. A bird wants to fly, the sun wants to rise: "All things seek the place that best becomes . . . and make itself a circle without end" .
feat_summary_analysis: Commentary on Parts I and II       Now that Philosophy has shown the gifts of worldly Fortune to bring false happiness, she turns to a definition of true happiness in Book III. So far she indicates that the desire for true happiness is inborn in all creatures, but humans alone seem confused as to how to get what they seek. They go about it backwards, looking outside themselves. Health, pleasure, wealth, and power are only good if one is already happy and self-sufficient within oneself. It is not these worldly gifts that are to blame, but the direction of the human gaze. She mentions that to find true happiness, one must turn the gaze in the right direction, towards oneself. Her song of Providence indicates that instead of going outward to find happiness, one has to circle back to one's own true inner nature. Summary of Part III       Philosophy continues, saying that humans have an unclear notion of going towards their origin, because "errors"  lead them astray. Boethius must therefore consider whether the means men employ will get them to the goal. First, she will consider riches. Philosophy asks him if as a rich man, he was ever worried. Did he feel something was missing or something there he did not want? He replies yes, he was always worried. So therefore, he was lacking something and not self-sufficient? He agrees. So, would he also agree then that wealth does not lead to self-sufficiency, and that money has no inherent property to keep it from being lost? Boethius agrees. And does he agree that a man would need outside help to protect his money? He says yes. But the man who has no money needs no outside help to keep it? Yes, that's true. Philosophy concludes then that wealth makes men dependent on others, so it cannot remove want. While "nature is satisfied with little," "nothing satisfies greed" . Commentary on Part III       Philosophy begins using the Socratic method of argument on Boethius, getting him to clarify his thought by asking him questions about his assumptions and experience. She gets him to redefine wealth as self-sufficiency, showing him that having money does not remove either worry or want. Even with money, he felt something was missing, or had to worry about how to keep his money. Having a lot of money does not really make one self-sufficient. She argues that actually one's basic needs do not require much to satisfy, but the wealthy person becomes dependent on others to protect or manage the money. Money is no guarantee against loss, since it can be lost at any moment. It therefore cannot lead to happiness or self-sufficiency. Philosophy has covered these points in brief before, but now she gives him what she calls the more bitter medicine of logic. She will go through each assumption step by step to show that what is generally considered good fortune is sloppy thinking. If Boethius, or anyone, will consider these matters logically, they will see they have been walking around in a fog. Book III of Parts I and II Boethius is enchanted by the song of Philosophy and tells her she is a great comfort to him. He believes he can now face the blows of Fortune. He is ready for the bitter medicine, which she says will bring him to the goal of "true happiness" . Because of the shadows of happiness in his mind, he cannot see true happiness. First she says she will give him an idea of the cause of happiness. He needs to turn his gaze in the right direction to recognize the pattern of true happiness. She explains in a song that when one wants to plant a field, one must first clear the land of undergrowth. Though mortals tread different paths, all are seeking happiness. Once one has it, nothing else is needed, because "happiness is a state made perfect by the presence of everything that is good" . The reason all people seek happiness is that the desire for it is planted in the mind by nature. Some think happiness lies in money; some think it is power or fame or pleasure or bodily health and beauty, but they confuse the ends and the means. Humans are like drunkards unable to find their way home. What really produces happiness is "a condition of self-sufficiency with no wants" . All those things--pleasure, fame, wealth, and beauty--are fine in their place, but they do not bring self-sufficiency by themselves, nor happiness. Yet Nature has set men on in their common pursuit of the good. Philosophy sings a song about Providence keeping all creatures in motion to fulfill their destiny. A bird wants to fly, the sun wants to rise: "All things seek the place that best becomes . . . and make itself a circle without end" . Commentary on Parts I and II Commentary on Parts I and II Now that Philosophy has shown the gifts of worldly Fortune to bring false happiness, she turns to a definition of true happiness in Book III. So far she indicates that the desire for true happiness is inborn in all creatures, but humans alone seem confused as to how to get what they seek. They go about it backwards, looking outside themselves. Health, pleasure, wealth, and power are only good if one is already happy and self-sufficient within oneself. It is not these worldly gifts that are to blame, but the direction of the human gaze. She mentions that to find true happiness, one must turn the gaze in the right direction, towards oneself. Her song of Providence indicates that instead of going outward to find happiness, one has to circle back to one's own true inner nature. of Part III Philosophy continues, saying that humans have an unclear notion of going towards their origin, because "errors" lead them astray. Boethius must therefore consider whether the means men employ will get them to the goal. First, she will consider riches. Philosophy asks him if as a rich man, he was ever worried. Did he feel something was missing or something there he did not want? He replies yes, he was always worried. So therefore, he was lacking something and not self-sufficient? He agrees. So, would he also agree then that wealth does not lead to self-sufficiency, and that money has no inherent property to keep it from being lost? Boethius agrees. And does he agree that a man would need outside help to protect his money? He says yes. But the man who has no money needs no outside help to keep it? Yes, that's true. Philosophy concludes then that wealth makes men dependent on others, so it cannot remove want. While "nature is satisfied with little," "nothing satisfies greed" . Commentary on Part III Commentary on Part III Philosophy begins using the Socratic method of argument on Boethius, getting him to clarify his thought by asking him questions about his assumptions and experience. She gets him to redefine wealth as self-sufficiency, showing him that having money does not remove either worry or want. Even with money, he felt something was missing, or had to worry about how to keep his money. Having a lot of money does not really make one self-sufficient. She argues that actually one's basic needs do not require much to satisfy, but the wealthy person becomes dependent on others to protect or manage the money. Money is no guarantee against loss, since it can be lost at any moment. It therefore cannot lead to happiness or self-sufficiency. Philosophy has covered these points in brief before, but now she gives him what she calls the more bitter medicine of logic. She will go through each assumption step by step to show that what is generally considered good fortune is sloppy thinking. If Boethius, or anyone, will consider these matters logically, they will see they have been walking around in a fog. Novel Author Boethius Novel Author Boethius