feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/gradesaver/The Consolation of Philosophy/section_0_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: The Consolation of Philosophy.book i
feat_summary_id: book i
feat_summary: {"name": "Book I", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20201128165942/https://www.gradesaver.com/the-consolation-of-philosophy/study-guide/summary-book-i", "summary": "Book I of The Consolation of Philosophy begins with a poem which explains why the writer has begun this work. He says \"I who once composed with eager zest/Am driven by grief to shelter in sad songs.\" This lament echoes a classical form of Greek poetry and gives us information about the poet's situation as well as an introduction to his outlook and purpose for the ensuing dialogue. The lament is a conventional form of grief poetry, and the reference to \"song\" in the second line is also traditional for beginnings . The sorrowful writer is visited by a vision of a woman standing over him. A mystical vision, she is \"full of years\" yet with undiminished color and vigor. She appears to him of varying height, sometimes of normal human dimensions and sometimes scraping the heavens. Boethius carefully notes her robe, which he says consists of an \"imperishable material\" woven by her own hands. This magical dress, however, is covered with the dust of long neglect. She bears written on her hem the Greek letter Pi, and on the top of her gown the letter Theta. Between these letters is a ladder of steps going from the bottom to the top. Another feature of the woman's dress is that it has been \"torn by the hands of marauders who had each carried off such pieces as he could get.\" She also carries some books in her right hand, and in her left hand a scepter. Before the woman arrived, Boethius tells us that standing at his bedside were the muses of Poetry, who dictated to him as he wrote poetry and wept. At the sight of the Muses the woman becomes angry. She calls the muses \"hysterical sluts,\" and tells them that they have no medicine to cure Boethius's sickness, and they will steal his Reason away and make him worse. Boethius is not an ordinary man, she says, for he has been nourished by the philosophies of \"Zeno and Plato\". She further insults them, and the Muses blush and leave. The mysterious woman, now alone with Boethius, sits down on his bed and recites a poem to him, articulating his grief, and again lamenting his fall from grace. And the woman now says that the time has come for healing rather than lamentation. She says, Are you not the man who was raised on my learning? Why do you not recognize me? Continuing in the doctoring tone, she says that Boethius' grief is nothing serious - only a bit of amnesia. At this she takes a fold of her dress and wipes the tears from Boethius's eyes. His reaction is detailed in a poem, which says that Boethius's eyes were then cleared. Boethius looks upon the woman, and realizes that she is Philosophy, his nursemaid of old. She has come to succor him, and make his imprisonment easier. She details that she, like Boethius, has undergone many trials, and in the latter years the various philosophical sects had struggled to \"seize for their own the inheritance of wisdom\" by trying to carry her off. They only got parts of her robe, and each went away thinking that they had obtained the whole of philosophy. These traces of her clothing had given these Epicureans and Stoics a reputation of wisdom among the ignorant. Again, Philosophy recites a poem, extolling the virtues of men who are not moved by the vagaries of fortune. She asks Boethius why he weeps at this, and tells him to explain to her his \"illness\" or wound so that she may heal him. Boethius then details his list of woes. He reminds her that he is in prison, rather than studying her wisdom in the library of his home. He complains that such is the lot of her followers, and that he had gone into politics because Plato had written that any state was best run by \"philosopher-kings\". He explains how his gravity and honesty made him no friends in the political arena, and incited the jealousy and hatred of powerful enemies. He had campaigned for just laws and fair taxation, and had resisted and tried to uproot corruption. He explains the various charges brought against him, but the crux of the matter is that he was accused of having desired the safety of the Senate. Because of the crooked politics of the day, and because he had prevented an informer from producing evidence of the Senate's treason, he was judged by that same body has having commited a crime. Boethius cries out to Philosophy - Was this justice? He was also accused of unchecked ambition, but he says that he had always followed her recommendation of the Pythagorean maxim \"Follow God\" in all things. He is angry and saddened that, while he was faithful to Philosophy, his reward is imprisonment and, soon, execution. Boethius then recites a longer poem, extolling God but asking why the world is ruled by fickle Fortune. Philosophy responds, saying that it is not important that he is no longer in his ornate library. Her teachings are the only things of value, and those are still inside him. She diagnoses him as \"swollen and calloused\" under the influence of disturbing emotions, and she will begin with a gentle cure, working up to stronger medicine when he has begun to heal. She then questions Boethius to discover precisely the state of his mind. She wants to know if he believes in a directed universe, or if he is convinced of the haphazard nature of fate. Boethius responds that he believes that God the Creator watches over his creation. Continuing the questioning, she discovers that he is confused about how fate and fortune do not control the final, most important destiny of man. Philosophy says that Boethius has forgotten his true nature, and that he is a spiritual being, a soul in communication with God, rather than just a rational animal existing in the material world. Boethius weeps because he is in mortal peril and his possessions and honors have been taken away from him; Philosophy reminds him he still has his most important, and, in fact, his only true possession - his soul. She stops here, however, because the patient is still too ill to take the full \"cure\" she offers. The Book ends with a poem extolling the virtue of rejecting emotions and ignoring the dictates of fortune.", "analysis": "This Book sets up of Boethius' situation and introduces the mysterious personage of Philosophy.  Some of Boethius' conventions are specifically Classical in origin, and do not necessarily make sense when read by a reader today unless some historical context is included.  It was common for philosophical discussions and arguments of any type be presented in a dialogue format.  The apocalyptic nature of this dialogue  is necessary because of the solitary imprisonment of the writer.  He is alone in his cell, and has conversations only with himself.  He must imagine a speaker, or be visited by the incarnate spirit of Philosophy, in order to carry on a conversation and thus present his \"consolation\" of philosophical principles in the Platonic dialogue form. The varying height of Philosophy is significant; it is symbolic of the various guises of philosophical study.  When she is of average height, she offers the practical advice for the down-to-earth pursuit of moral, or ethical, philosophy.  When she is piercing the heavens, she is showing her capacity for metaphysical thought, which is considered by Boethius to be speculative or contemplative philosophy.  The Pi and Theta on her gown represent the two Greek names for these types of philosophy, which begin with those letters.  The division is between the practical and the contemplative forms of philosophy, the practical including moral philosophy and ethics, the contemplative or speculative includes theology, metaphysics, and the natural sciences such as physics.  The impermeable fabric of the gown represents the permanence and objective reality of Philosophy in its true form, and the scraps torn by the factions of lesser philosophers a metaphor for Boethius' opinion of those schools of thought. At the beginning of Part V, there is a line in the poem that reads \"swifter hours of the night\".  Roman timekeeping had much in common with how it is done today, but in their system of reckoning hours, by means of a water clock, there is a significant difference.  The Romans changed the length of the nighttime hours to coincide with the shortening and lengthening of days by the seasons.  During the winter, the nights were longer, so the same number of hours were used for nighttime as during the summer, but the length of the \"hours\" were lengthened.  The reverse was true for summer, with the nighttime hours being \"swifter\" and shorter. Boethius was imprisoned on what he called \"false accusations\".  Politically, Boethius had made no friends, for he was above corruption and graft during one of the most corrupt times of the Roman Empire.  He had formerly been a high official for the emperor Theodoric, and his fall from the heights of Roman patrician power to imprisonment was almost as great as any fall for a man of his time could be.  For a man of his culture and refinement, the irony of losing everything because of his own virtue, and in an arena,  which he didn't enter willingly but rather chose out of duty, must have been acute.  Boethius says in Book I that he mourns the fact that he is no longer in his library, with its ivory decorations, reading his beloved books.  So he creates, in his prison cell, under threat of imminent execution, a fantasy of philosophical discourse with the Lady Philosophy herself.  It is an academic conceit not unique to Boethius, but is also telling of his state of mind and emotional needs.  He needs comfort - consolation - and finds it in carefully constructing in his mind a person representing his most cherished pursuit of Philosophy.  To this authority he appeals for comfort and for answers to his questions, and make an attempt to formulate a theodicy, or theory of good and evil. After reading this first book of The Consolation of Philosophy, perhaps two things strike the modern reader.  Why doesn't Boethius, a Christian, appeal to God or Jesus or the Virgin Mary for his consolation in his time of mortal peril, rather than Philosophy?  Boethius was a Christian, and people often pray to God when they are in trouble or think they are going to die.  Boethius wrote a consolation of Philosophy, not Theology, and we could assume that at least part of his motivation was coldly stylistic rather than personally applicable.  Boethius carefully imitated the Platonic dialogues, and to have the Christian God intrude into what was a pagan form would have offended his sensibilities.  It is more likely, however, that Boethius, while a Christian, may not have been particularly religious.  But even if Boethius was devout, it also bears considering that his culture was still pagan in many ways.  He may have had an overlay of Christianity, and truly believed in it, but as a Neo-Platonist and Roman his appeal to reason and philosophy was perhaps closer to his heart.  He does, however, refer to a personal God, and reminds us to pray humbly to God at the end of this book. The second oddity is the inclusion of verse in a philosophical text.  Boethius was not exactly writing a dry philosophical treatise - this is a consolation  and meant to be a balm or medicine for a troubled soul.  This book, though definitely philosophical in nature, was meant to be a sort of instructional self-help book for the late Roman Empire.  Such consolations of philosophical thoughts were written by other writers and widely read. The divorce from emotions, and the shunning of the honors and cares of the material world are main themes in The Consolation of Philosophy.  This Neo-Platonist, and what would become later medieval philosophical idea is central to Boethius's thinking, and what he found most comforting in his prison cell."}
text: <CHAPTER>
  BOOK I. SONG I. BOETHIUS' COMPLAINT.
  
  
      Who wrought my studious numbers
        Smoothly once in happier days,
      Now perforce in tears and sadness
        Learn a mournful strain to raise.
      Lo, the Muses, grief-dishevelled,
        Guide my pen and voice my woe;
      Down their cheeks unfeigned the tear drops
        To my sad complainings flow!
      These alone in danger's hour
        Faithful found, have dared attend
      On the footsteps of the exile
        To his lonely journey's end.
      These that were the pride and pleasure
        Of my youth and high estate
      Still remain the only solace
        Of the old man's mournful fate.
      Old? Ah yes; swift, ere I knew it,
        By these sorrows on me pressed
      Age hath come; lo, Grief hath bid me
        Wear the garb that fits her best.
      O'er my head untimely sprinkled
        These white hairs my woes proclaim,
      And the skin hangs loose and shrivelled
        On this sorrow-shrunken frame.
      Blest is death that intervenes not
        In the sweet, sweet years of peace,
      But unto the broken-hearted,
        When they call him, brings release!
      Yet Death passes by the wretched,
        Shuts his ear and slumbers deep;
      Will not heed the cry of anguish,
        Will not close the eyes that weep.
      For, while yet inconstant Fortune
        Poured her gifts and all was bright,
      Death's dark hour had all but whelmed me
        In the gloom of endless night.
      Now, because misfortune's shadow
        Hath o'erclouded that false face,
      Cruel Life still halts and lingers,
        Though I loathe his weary race.
      Friends, why did ye once so lightly
        Vaunt me happy among men?
      Surely he who so hath fallen
        Was not firmly founded then.
  
  
  While I was thus mutely pondering within myself, and recording my
  sorrowful complainings with my pen, it seemed to me that there appeared
  above my head a woman of a countenance exceeding venerable. Her eyes
  were bright as fire, and of a more than human keenness; her complexion
  was lively, her vigour showed no trace of enfeeblement; and yet her
  years were right full, and she plainly seemed not of our age and time.
  Her stature was difficult to judge. At one moment it exceeded not the
  common height, at another her forehead seemed to strike the sky; and
  whenever she raised her head higher, she began to pierce within the very
  heavens, and to baffle the eyes of them that looked upon her. Her
  garments were of an imperishable fabric, wrought with the finest threads
  and of the most delicate workmanship; and these, as her own lips
  afterwards assured me, she had herself woven with her own hands. The
  beauty of this vesture had been somewhat tarnished by age and neglect,
  and wore that dingy look which marble contracts from exposure. On the
  lower-most edge was inwoven the Greek letter [Greek: P], on the topmost
  the letter [Greek: Th],[A] and between the two were to be seen steps,
  like a staircase, from the lower to the upper letter. This robe,
  moreover, had been torn by the hands of violent persons, who had each
  snatched away what he could clutch.[B] Her right hand held a note-book;
  in her left she bore a staff. And when she saw the Muses of Poesie
  standing by my bedside, dictating the words of my lamentations, she was
  moved awhile to wrath, and her eyes flashed sternly. 'Who,' said she,
  'has allowed yon play-acting wantons to approach this sick man--these
  who, so far from giving medicine to heal his malady, even feed it with
  sweet poison? These it is who kill the rich crop of reason with the
  barren thorns of passion, who accustom men's minds to disease, instead
  of setting them free. Now, were it some common man whom your allurements
  were seducing, as is usually your way, I should be less indignant. On
  such a one I should not have spent my pains for naught. But this is one
  nurtured in the Eleatic and Academic philosophies. Nay, get ye gone, ye
  sirens, whose sweetness lasteth not; leave him for my muses to tend and
  heal!' At these words of upbraiding, the whole band, in deepened
  sadness, with downcast eyes, and blushes that confessed their shame,
  dolefully left the chamber.
  
  But I, because my sight was dimmed with much weeping, and I could not
  tell who was this woman of authority so commanding--I was dumfoundered,
  and, with my gaze fastened on the earth, continued silently to await
  what she might do next. Then she drew near me and sat on the edge of my
  couch, and, looking into my face all heavy with grief and fixed in
  sadness on the ground, she bewailed in these words the disorder of my
  mind:
  
  FOOTNOTES:
  
  [A] [Greek: P] (P) stands for the Political life, the life of action;
  [Greek: Th] (Th) for the Theoretical life, the life of thought.
  
  [B] The Stoic, Epicurean, and other philosophical sects, which Boethius
  regards as heterodox. See also below, ch. iii., p. 14.
  
  
  SONG II. HIS DESPONDENCY.
  
  
      Alas! in what abyss his mind
        Is plunged, how wildly tossed!
      Still, still towards the outer night
        She sinks, her true light lost,
      As oft as, lashed tumultuously
      By earth-born blasts, care's waves rise high.
  
      Yet once he ranged the open heavens,
        The sun's bright pathway tracked;
      Watched how the cold moon waxed and waned;
        Nor rested, till there lacked
      To his wide ken no star that steers
      Amid the maze of circling spheres.
  
      The causes why the blusterous winds
        Vex ocean's tranquil face,
      Whose hand doth turn the stable globe,
        Or why his even race
      From out the ruddy east the sun
      Unto the western waves doth run:
  
      What is it tempers cunningly
        The placid hours of spring,
      So that it blossoms with the rose
        For earth's engarlanding:
      Who loads the year's maturer prime
      With clustered grapes in autumn time:
  
      All this he knew--thus ever strove
        Deep Nature's lore to guess.
      Now, reft of reason's light, he lies,
        And bonds his neck oppress;
      While by the heavy load constrained,
      His eyes to this dull earth are chained.
  
  
  
  II.
  
  
  'But the time,' said she, 'calls rather for healing than for
  lamentation.' Then, with her eyes bent full upon me, 'Art thou that
  man,' she cries, 'who, erstwhile fed with the milk and reared upon the
  nourishment which is mine to give, had grown up to the full vigour of a
  manly spirit? And yet I had bestowed such armour on thee as would have
  proved an invincible defence, hadst thou not first cast it away. Dost
  thou know me? Why art thou silent? Is it shame or amazement that hath
  struck thee dumb? Would it were shame; but, as I see, a stupor hath
  seized upon thee.' Then, when she saw me not only answering nothing, but
  mute and utterly incapable of speech, she gently touched my breast with
  her hand, and said: 'There is no danger; these are the symptoms of
  lethargy, the usual sickness of deluded minds. For awhile he has
  forgotten himself; he will easily recover his memory, if only he first
  recognises me. And that he may do so, let me now wipe his eyes that are
  clouded with a mist of mortal things.' Thereat, with a fold of her robe,
  she dried my eyes all swimming with tears.
  
  
  
  SONG III. THE MISTS DISPELLED.
  
  
      Then the gloom of night was scattered,
        Sight returned unto mine eyes.
      So, when haply rainy Caurus
        Rolls the storm-clouds through the skies,
      Hidden is the sun; all heaven
        Is obscured in starless night.
      But if, in wild onset sweeping,
        Boreas frees day's prisoned light,
      All suddenly the radiant god outstreams,
      And strikes our dazzled eyesight with his beams.
  
  
  
  III.
  
  
  Even so the clouds of my melancholy were broken up. I saw the clear sky,
  and regained the power to recognise the face of my physician.
  Accordingly, when I had lifted my eyes and fixed my gaze upon her, I
  beheld my nurse, Philosophy, whose halls I had frequented from my youth
  up.
  
  'Ah! why,' I cried, 'mistress of all excellence, hast thou come down
  from on high, and entered the solitude of this my exile? Is it that
  thou, too, even as I, mayst be persecuted with false accusations?'
  
  'Could I desert thee, child,' said she, 'and not lighten the burden
  which thou hast taken upon thee through the hatred of my name, by
  sharing this trouble? Even forgetting that it were not lawful for
  Philosophy to leave companionless the way of the innocent, should I,
  thinkest thou, fear to incur reproach, or shrink from it, as though
  some strange new thing had befallen? Thinkest thou that now, for the
  first time in an evil age, Wisdom hath been assailed by peril? Did I not
  often in days of old, before my servant Plato lived, wage stern warfare
  with the rashness of folly? In his lifetime, too, Socrates, his master,
  won with my aid the victory of an unjust death. And when, one after the
  other, the Epicurean herd, the Stoic, and the rest, each of them as far
  as in them lay, went about to seize the heritage he left, and were
  dragging me off protesting and resisting, as their booty, they tore in
  pieces the garment which I had woven with my own hands, and, clutching
  the torn pieces, went off, believing that the whole of me had passed
  into their possession. And some of them, because some traces of my
  vesture were seen upon them, were destroyed through the mistake of the
  lewd multitude, who falsely deemed them to be my disciples. It may be
  thou knowest not of the banishment of Anaxagoras, of the poison draught
  of Socrates, nor of Zeno's torturing, because these things happened in
  a distant country; yet mightest thou have learnt the fate of Arrius, of
  Seneca, of Soranus, whose stories are neither old nor unknown to fame.
  These men were brought to destruction for no other reason than that,
  settled as they were in my principles, their lives were a manifest
  contrast to the ways of the wicked. So there is nothing thou shouldst
  wonder at, if on the seas of this life we are tossed by storm-blasts,
  seeing that we have made it our chiefest aim to refuse compliance with
  evil-doers. And though, maybe, the host of the wicked is many in number,
  yet is it contemptible, since it is under no leadership, but is hurried
  hither and thither at the blind driving of mad error. And if at times
  and seasons they set in array against us, and fall on in overwhelming
  strength, our leader draws off her forces into the citadel while they
  are busy plundering the useless baggage. But we from our vantage ground,
  safe from all this wild work, laugh to see them making prize of the most
  valueless of things, protected by a bulwark which aggressive folly may
  not aspire to reach.'
  
  
  
  SONG IV. NOTHING CAN SUBDUE VIRTUE.
  
  
      Whoso calm, serene, sedate,
      Sets his foot on haughty fate;
      Firm and steadfast, come what will,
      Keeps his mien unconquered still;
      Him the rage of furious seas,
      Tossing high wild menaces,
      Nor the flames from smoky forges
      That Vesuvius disgorges,
      Nor the bolt that from the sky
      Smites the tower, can terrify.
      Why, then, shouldst thou feel affright
      At the tyrant's weakling might?
      Dread him not, nor fear no harm,
      And thou shall his rage disarm;
      But who to hope or fear gives way--
      Lost his bosom's rightful sway--
      He hath cast away his shield,
      Like a coward fled the field;
      He hath forged all unaware
      Fetters his own neck must bear!
  
  
  
  IV.
  
  
  'Dost thou understand?' she asks. Do my words sink into thy mind? Or art
  thou dull "as the ass to the sound of the lyre"? Why dost thou weep? Why
  do tears stream from thy eyes?
  
      '"Speak out, hide it not in thy heart."
  
  If thou lookest for the physician's help, thou must needs disclose thy
  wound.'
  
  Then I, gathering together what strength I could, began: 'Is there still
  need of telling? Is not the cruelty of fortune against me plain enough?
  Doth not the very aspect of this place move thee? Is this the library,
  the room which thou hadst chosen as thy constant resort in my home, the
  place where we so often sat together and held discourse of all things in
  heaven and earth? Was my garb and mien like this when I explored with
  thee nature's hid secrets, and thou didst trace for me with thy wand
  the courses of the stars, moulding the while my character and the whole
  conduct of my life after the pattern of the celestial order? Is this the
  recompense of my obedience? Yet thou hast enjoined by Plato's mouth the
  maxim, "that states would be happy, either if philosophers ruled them,
  or if it should so befall that their rulers would turn philosophers." By
  his mouth likewise thou didst point out this imperative reason why
  philosophers should enter public life, to wit, lest, if the reins of
  government be left to unprincipled and profligate citizens, trouble and
  destruction should come upon the good. Following these precepts, I have
  tried to apply in the business of public administration the principles
  which I learnt from thee in leisured seclusion. Thou art my witness and
  that divinity who hath implanted thee in the hearts of the wise, that I
  brought to my duties no aim but zeal for the public good. For this cause
  I have become involved in bitter and irreconcilable feuds, and, as
  happens inevitably, if a man holds fast to the independence of
  conscience, I have had to think nothing of giving offence to the
  powerful in the cause of justice. How often have I encountered and
  balked Conigastus in his assaults on the fortunes of the weak? How often
  have I thwarted Trigguilla, steward of the king's household, even when
  his villainous schemes were as good as accomplished? How often have I
  risked my position and influence to protect poor wretches from the false
  charges innumerable with which they were for ever being harassed by the
  greed and license of the barbarians? No one has ever drawn me aside from
  justice to oppression. When ruin was overtaking the fortunes of the
  provincials through the combined pressure of private rapine and public
  taxation, I grieved no less than the sufferers. When at a season of
  grievous scarcity a forced sale, disastrous as it was unjustifiable, was
  proclaimed, and threatened to overwhelm Campania with starvation, I
  embarked on a struggle with the praetorian prefect in the public
  interest, I fought the case at the king's judgment-seat, and succeeded
  in preventing the enforcement of the sale. I rescued the consular
  Paulinus from the gaping jaws of the court bloodhounds, who in their
  covetous hopes had already made short work of his wealth. To save
  Albinus, who was of the same exalted rank, from the penalties of a
  prejudged charge, I exposed myself to the hatred of Cyprian, the
  informer.
  
  'Thinkest thou I had laid up for myself store of enmities enough? Well,
  with the rest of my countrymen, at any rate, my safety should have been
  assured, since my love of justice had left me no hope of security at
  court. Yet who was it brought the charges by which I have been struck
  down? Why, one of my accusers is Basil, who, after being dismissed from
  the king's household, was driven by his debts to lodge an information
  against my name. There is Opilio, there is Gaudentius, men who for many
  and various offences the king's sentence had condemned to banishment;
  and when they declined to obey, and sought to save themselves by taking
  sanctuary, the king, as soon as he heard of it, decreed that, if they
  did not depart from the city of Ravenna within a prescribed time, they
  should be branded on the forehead and expelled. What would exceed the
  rigour of this severity? And yet on that same day these very men lodged
  an information against me, and the information was admitted. Just
  Heaven! had I deserved this by my way of life? Did it make them fit
  accusers that my condemnation was a foregone conclusion? Has fortune no
  shame--if not at the accusation of the innocent, at least for the
  vileness of the accusers? Perhaps thou wonderest what is the sum of the
  charges laid against me? I wished, they say, to save the senate. But
  how? I am accused of hindering an informer from producing evidence to
  prove the senate guilty of treason. Tell me, then, what is thy counsel,
  O my mistress. Shall I deny the charge, lest I bring shame on thee? But
  I did wish it, and I shall never cease to wish it. Shall I admit it?
  Then the work of thwarting the informer will come to an end. Shall I
  call the wish for the preservation of that illustrious house a crime?
  Of a truth the senate, by its decrees concerning me, has made it such!
  But blind folly, though it deceive itself with false names, cannot alter
  the true merits of things, and, mindful of the precept of Socrates, I do
  not think it right either to keep the truth concealed or allow falsehood
  to pass. But this, however it may be, I leave to thy judgment and to the
  verdict of the discerning. Moreover, lest the course of events and the
  true facts should be hidden from posterity, I have myself committed to
  writing an account of the transaction.
  
  'What need to speak of the forged letters by which an attempt is made to
  prove that I hoped for the freedom of Rome? Their falsity would have
  been manifest, if I had been allowed to use the confession of the
  informers themselves, evidence which has in all matters the most
  convincing force. Why, what hope of freedom is left to us? Would there
  were any! I should have answered with the epigram of Canius when
  Caligula declared him to have been cognisant of a conspiracy against
  him. "If I had known," said he, "thou shouldst never have known." Grief
  hath not so blunted my perceptions in this matter that I should complain
  because impious wretches contrive their villainies against the virtuous,
  but at their achievement of their hopes I do exceedingly marvel. For
  evil purposes are, perchance, due to the imperfection of human nature;
  that it should be possible for scoundrels to carry out their worst
  schemes against the innocent, while God beholdeth, is verily monstrous.
  For this cause, not without reason, one of thy disciples asked, "If God
  exists, whence comes evil? Yet whence comes good, if He exists not?"
  However, it might well be that wretches who seek the blood of all honest
  men and of the whole senate should wish to destroy me also, whom they
  saw to be a bulwark of the senate and all honest men. But did I deserve
  such a fate from the Fathers also? Thou rememberest, methinks--since
  thou didst ever stand by my side to direct what I should do or say--thou
  rememberest, I say, how at Verona, when the king, eager for the general
  destruction, was bent on implicating the whole senatorial order in the
  charge of treason brought against Albinus, with what indifference to my
  own peril I maintained the innocence of its members, one and all. Thou
  knowest that what I say is the truth, and that I have never boasted of
  my good deeds in a spirit of self-praise. For whenever a man by
  proclaiming his good deeds receives the recompense of fame, he
  diminishes in a measure the secret reward of a good conscience. What
  issues have overtaken my innocency thou seest. Instead of reaping the
  rewards of true virtue, I undergo the penalties of a guilt falsely laid
  to my charge--nay, more than this; never did an open confession of guilt
  cause such unanimous severity among the assessors, but that some
  consideration, either of the mere frailty of human nature, or of
  fortune's universal instability, availed to soften the verdict of some
  few. Had I been accused of a design to fire the temples, to slaughter
  the priests with impious sword, of plotting the massacre of all honest
  men, I should yet have been produced in court, and only punished on due
  confession or conviction. Now for my too great zeal towards the senate I
  have been condemned to outlawry and death, unheard and undefended, at a
  distance of near five hundred miles away.[C] Oh, my judges, well do ye
  deserve that no one should hereafter be convicted of a fault like mine!
  
  'Yet even my very accusers saw how honourable was the charge they
  brought against me, and, in order to overlay it with some shadow of
  guilt, they falsely asserted that in the pursuit of my ambition I had
  stained my conscience with sacrilegious acts. And yet thy spirit,
  indwelling in me, had driven from the chamber of my soul all lust of
  earthly success, and with thine eye ever upon me, there could be no
  place left for sacrilege. For thou didst daily repeat in my ear and
  instil into my mind the Pythagorean maxim, "Follow after God." It was
  not likely, then, that I should covet the assistance of the vilest
  spirits, when thou wert moulding me to such an excellence as should
  conform me to the likeness of God. Again, the innocency of the inner
  sanctuary of my home, the company of friends of the highest probity, a
  father-in-law revered at once for his pure character and his active
  beneficence, shield me from the very suspicion of sacrilege.
  Yet--atrocious as it is--they even draw credence for this charge from
  _thee_; I am like to be thought implicated in wickedness on this very
  account, that I am imbued with _thy_ teachings and stablished in _thy_
  ways. So it is not enough that my devotion to thee should profit me
  nothing, but thou also must be assailed by reason of the odium which I
  have incurred. Verily this is the very crown of my misfortunes, that
  men's opinions for the most part look not to real merit, but to the
  event; and only recognise foresight where Fortune has crowned the issue
  with her approval. Whereby it comes to pass that reputation is the first
  of all things to abandon the unfortunate. I remember with chagrin how
  perverse is popular report, how various and discordant men's judgments.
  This only will I say, that the most crushing of misfortune's burdens is,
  that as soon as a charge is fastened upon the unhappy, they are believed
  to have deserved their sufferings. I, for my part, who have been
  banished from all life's blessings, stripped of my honours, stained in
  repute, am punished for well-doing.
  
  'And now methinks I see the villainous dens of the wicked surging with
  joy and gladness, all the most recklessly unscrupulous threatening a new
  crop of lying informations, the good prostrate with terror at my danger,
  every ruffian incited by impunity to new daring and to success by the
  profits of audacity, the guiltless not only robbed of their peace of
  mind, but even of all means of defence. Wherefore I would fain cry out:
  
  FOOTNOTES:
  
  [C] The distance from Rome to Pavia, the place of Boethius'
  imprisonment, is 455 Roman miles.
  
  
  
  SONG V. BOETHIUS' PRAYER.
  
  
      'Builder of yon starry dome,
        Thou that whirlest, throned eternal,
      Heaven's swift globe, and, as they roam,
        Guid'st the stars by laws supernal:
          So in full-sphered splendour dight
          Cynthia dims the lamps of night,
        But unto the orb fraternal
          Closer drawn,[D] doth lose her light.
  
      'Who at fall of eventide,
        Hesper, his cold radiance showeth,
      Lucifer his beams doth hide,
        Paling as the sun's light groweth,
          Brief, while winter's frost holds sway,
          By thy will the space of day;
        Swift, when summer's fervour gloweth,
          Speed the hours of night away.
  
      'Thou dost rule the changing year:
        When rude Boreas oppresses,
      Fall the leaves; they reappear,
        Wooed by Zephyr's soft caresses.
          Fields that Sirius burns deep grown
          By Arcturus' watch were sown:
        Each the reign of law confesses,
          Keeps the place that is his own.
  
      'Sovereign Ruler, Lord of all!
        Can it be that Thou disdainest
      Only man? 'Gainst him, poor thrall,
        Wanton Fortune plays her vainest.
          Guilt's deserved punishment
          Falleth on the innocent;
        High uplifted, the profanest
          On the just their malice vent.
  
      'Virtue cowers in dark retreats,
        Crime's foul stain the righteous beareth,
      Perjury and false deceits
        Hurt not him the wrong who dareth;
          But whene'er the wicked trust
          In ill strength to work their lust,
        Kings, whom nations' awe declareth
          Mighty, grovel in the dust.
  
      'Look, oh look upon this earth,
        Thou who on law's sure foundation
      Framedst all! Have we no worth,
        We poor men, of all creation?
          Sore we toss on fortune's tide;
          Master, bid the waves subside!
        And earth's ways with consummation
          Of Thy heaven's order guide!'
  
  
  FOOTNOTES:
  
  [D] The moon is regarded as farthest from the sun at the full, and, as
  she wanes, approaching gradually nearer.
  
  
  
  V.
  
  
  When I had poured out my griefs in this long and unbroken strain of
  lamentation, she, with calm countenance, and in no wise disturbed at my
  complainings, thus spake:
  
  'When I saw thee sorrowful, in tears, I straightway knew thee wretched
  and an exile. But how far distant that exile I should not know, had not
  thine own speech revealed it. Yet how far indeed from thy country hast
  thou, not been banished, but rather hast strayed; or, if thou wilt have
  it banishment, hast banished thyself! For no one else could ever
  lawfully have had this power over thee. Now, if thou wilt call to mind
  from what country thou art sprung, it is not ruled, as once was the
  Athenian polity, by the sovereignty of the multitude, but "one is its
  Ruler, one its King," who takes delight in the number of His citizens,
  not in their banishment; to submit to whose governance and to obey
  whose ordinances is perfect freedom. Art thou ignorant of that most
  ancient law of this thy country, whereby it is decreed that no one
  whatsoever, who hath chosen to fix there his dwelling, may be sent into
  exile? For truly there is no fear that one who is encompassed by its
  ramparts and defences should deserve to be exiled. But he who has ceased
  to wish to dwell therein, he likewise ceases to deserve to do so. And so
  it is not so much the aspect of this place which moves me, as thy
  aspect; not so much the library walls set off with glass and ivory which
  I miss, as the chamber of thy mind, wherein I once placed, not books,
  but that which gives books their value, the doctrines which my books
  contain. Now, what thou hast said of thy services to the commonweal is
  true, only too little compared with the greatness of thy deservings. The
  things laid to thy charge whereof thou hast spoken, whether such as
  redound to thy credit, or mere false accusations, are publicly known. As
  for the crimes and deceits of the informers, thou hast rightly deemed
  it fitting to pass them over lightly, because the popular voice hath
  better and more fully pronounced upon them. Thou hast bitterly
  complained of the injustice of the senate. Thou hast grieved over my
  calumniation, and likewise hast lamented the damage to my good name.
  Finally, thine indignation blazed forth against fortune; thou hast
  complained of the unfairness with which thy merits have been
  recompensed. Last of all thy frantic muse framed a prayer that the peace
  which reigns in heaven might rule earth also. But since a throng of
  tumultuous passions hath assailed thy soul, since thou art distraught
  with anger, pain, and grief, strong remedies are not proper for thee in
  this thy present mood. And so for a time I will use milder methods, that
  the tumours which have grown hard through the influx of disturbing
  passion may be softened by gentle treatment, till they can bear the
  force of sharper remedies.'
  
  
  
  SONG VI. ALL THINGS HAVE THEIR NEEDFUL ORDER
  
  
      He who to th' unwilling furrows
        Gives the generous grain,
      When the Crab with baleful fervours
        Scorches all the plain;
      He shall find his garner bare,
      Acorns for his scanty fare.
  
      Go not forth to cull sweet violets
        From the purpled steep,
      While the furious blasts of winter
        Through the valleys sweep;
      Nor the grape o'erhasty bring
      To the press in days of spring.
  
      For to each thing God hath given
        Its appointed time;
      No perplexing change permits He
        In His plan sublime.
      So who quits the order due
      Shall a luckless issue rue.
  
  
  VI.
  
  
  'First, then, wilt thou suffer me by a few questions to make some
  attempt to test the state of thy mind, that I may learn in what way to
  set about thy cure?'
  
  'Ask what thou wilt,' said I, 'for I will answer whatever questions thou
  choosest to put.'
  
  Then said she: 'This world of ours--thinkest thou it is governed
  haphazard and fortuitously, or believest thou that there is in it any
  rational guidance?'
  
  'Nay,' said I, 'in no wise may I deem that such fixed motions can be
  determined by random hazard, but I know that God, the Creator, presideth
  over His work, nor will the day ever come that shall drive me from
  holding fast the truth of this belief.'
  
  'Yes,' said she; 'thou didst even but now affirm it in song, lamenting
  that men alone had no portion in the divine care. As to the rest, thou
  wert unshaken in the belief that they were ruled by reason. Yet I
  marvel exceedingly how, in spite of thy firm hold on this opinion, thou
  art fallen into sickness. But let us probe more deeply: something or
  other is missing, I think. Now, tell me, since thou doubtest not that
  God governs the world, dost thou perceive by what means He rules it?'
  
  'I scarcely understand what thou meanest,' I said, 'much less can I
  answer thy question.'
  
  'Did I not say truly that something is missing, whereby, as through a
  breach in the ramparts, disease hath crept in to disturb thy mind? But,
  tell me, dost thou remember the universal end towards which the aim of
  all nature is directed?'
  
  'I once heard,' said I, 'but sorrow hath dulled my recollection.'
  
  'And yet thou knowest whence all things have proceeded.'
  
  'Yes, that I know,' said I, 'and have answered that it is from God.'
  
  'Yet how is it possible that thou knowest not what is the end of
  existence, when thou dost understand its source and origin? However,
  these disturbances of mind have force to shake a man's position, but
  cannot pluck him up and root him altogether out of himself. But answer
  this also, I pray thee: rememberest thou that thou art a man?'
  
  'How should I not?' said I.
  
  'Then, canst thou say what man is?'
  
  'Is this thy question: Whether I know myself for a being endowed with
  reason and subject to death? Surely I do acknowledge myself such.'
  
  Then she: 'Dost know nothing else that thou art?'
  
  'Nothing.'
  
  'Now,' said she, 'I know another cause of thy disease, one, too, of
  grave moment. Thou hast ceased to know thy own nature. So, then, I have
  made full discovery both of the causes of thy sickness and the means of
  restoring thy health. It is because forgetfulness of thyself hath
  bewildered thy mind that thou hast bewailed thee as an exile, as one
  stripped of the blessings that were his; it is because thou knowest not
  the end of existence that thou deemest abominable and wicked men to be
  happy and powerful; while, because thou hast forgotten by what means the
  earth is governed, thou deemest that fortune's changes ebb and flow
  without the restraint of a guiding hand. These are serious enough to
  cause not sickness only, but even death; but, thanks be to the Author of
  our health, the light of nature hath not yet left thee utterly. In thy
  true judgment concerning the world's government, in that thou believest
  it subject, not to the random drift of chance, but to divine reason, we
  have the divine spark from which thy recovery may be hoped. Have, then,
  no fear; from these weak embers the vital heat shall once more be
  kindled within thee. But seeing that it is not yet time for strong
  remedies, and that the mind is manifestly so constituted that when it
  casts off true opinions it straightway puts on false, wherefrom arises a
  cloud of confusion that disturbs its true vision, I will now try and
  disperse these mists by mild and soothing application, that so the
  darkness of misleading passion may be scattered, and thou mayst come to
  discern the splendour of the true light.'
  
  
  
  SONG VII. THE PERTURBATIONS OF PASSION.
  
  
      Stars shed no light
        Through the black night,
          When the clouds hide;
      And the lashed wave,
        If the winds rave
          O'er ocean's tide,--
  
      Though once serene
        As day's fair sheen,--
          Soon fouled and spoiled
      By the storm's spite,
        Shows to the sight
          Turbid and soiled.
  
      Oft the fair rill,
        Down the steep hill
          Seaward that strays,
      Some tumbled block
        Of fallen rock
          Hinders and stays.
  
      Then art thou fain
        Clear and most plain
          Truth to discern,
      In the right way
        Firmly to stay,
          Nor from it turn?
  
      Joy, hope and fear
        Suffer not near,
          Drive grief away:
      Shackled and blind
        And lost is the mind
          Where these have sway.
  
  
  
  
  </CHAPTER>
  BOOK II.
  
  THE VANITY OF FORTUNE'S GIFTS
  
  
       Summary
  
       CH. I. Philosophy reproves Boethius for the foolishness of his
       complaints against Fortune. Her very nature is caprice.--CH. II.
       Philosophy in Fortune's name replies to Boethius' reproaches, and
       proves that the gifts of Fortune are hers to give and to take
       away.--CH. III. Boethius falls back upon his present sense of
       misery. Philosophy reminds him of the brilliancy of his former
       fortunes.--CH. IV. Boethius objects that the memory of past
       happiness is the bitterest portion of the lot of the unhappy.
       Philosophy shows that much is still left for which he may be
       thankful. None enjoy perfect satisfaction with their lot. But
       happiness depends not on anything which Fortune can give. It is to
       be sought within.--CH. V. All the gifts of Fortune are external;
       they can never truly be our own. Man cannot find his good in
       worldly possessions. Riches bring anxiety and trouble.--CH. VI.
       High place without virtue is an evil, not a good. Power is an empty
       name.--CH. VII. Fame is a thing of little account when compared
       with the immensity of the Universe and the endlessness of
       Time.--CH. VIII. One service only can Fortune do, when she reveals
       her own nature and distinguishes true friends from false.
  
  
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Book I
target: Book I of The Consolation of Philosophy begins with a poem which explains why the writer has begun this work. He says "I who once composed with eager zest/Am driven by grief to shelter in sad songs." This lament echoes a classical form of Greek poetry and gives us information about the poet's situation as well as an introduction to his outlook and purpose for the ensuing dialogue. The lament is a conventional form of grief poetry, and the reference to "song" in the second line is also traditional for beginnings . The sorrowful writer is visited by a vision of a woman standing over him. A mystical vision, she is "full of years" yet with undiminished color and vigor. She appears to him of varying height, sometimes of normal human dimensions and sometimes scraping the heavens. Boethius carefully notes her robe, which he says consists of an "imperishable material" woven by her own hands. This magical dress, however, is covered with the dust of long neglect. She bears written on her hem the Greek letter Pi, and on the top of her gown the letter Theta. Between these letters is a ladder of steps going from the bottom to the top. Another feature of the woman's dress is that it has been "torn by the hands of marauders who had each carried off such pieces as he could get." She also carries some books in her right hand, and in her left hand a scepter. Before the woman arrived, Boethius tells us that standing at his bedside were the muses of Poetry, who dictated to him as he wrote poetry and wept. At the sight of the Muses the woman becomes angry. She calls the muses "hysterical sluts," and tells them that they have no medicine to cure Boethius's sickness, and they will steal his Reason away and make him worse. Boethius is not an ordinary man, she says, for he has been nourished by the philosophies of "Zeno and Plato". She further insults them, and the Muses blush and leave. The mysterious woman, now alone with Boethius, sits down on his bed and recites a poem to him, articulating his grief, and again lamenting his fall from grace. And the woman now says that the time has come for healing rather than lamentation. She says, Are you not the man who was raised on my learning? Why do you not recognize me? Continuing in the doctoring tone, she says that Boethius' grief is nothing serious - only a bit of amnesia. At this she takes a fold of her dress and wipes the tears from Boethius's eyes. His reaction is detailed in a poem, which says that Boethius's eyes were then cleared. Boethius looks upon the woman, and realizes that she is Philosophy, his nursemaid of old. She has come to succor him, and make his imprisonment easier. She details that she, like Boethius, has undergone many trials, and in the latter years the various philosophical sects had struggled to "seize for their own the inheritance of wisdom" by trying to carry her off. They only got parts of her robe, and each went away thinking that they had obtained the whole of philosophy. These traces of her clothing had given these Epicureans and Stoics a reputation of wisdom among the ignorant. Again, Philosophy recites a poem, extolling the virtues of men who are not moved by the vagaries of fortune. She asks Boethius why he weeps at this, and tells him to explain to her his "illness" or wound so that she may heal him. Boethius then details his list of woes. He reminds her that he is in prison, rather than studying her wisdom in the library of his home. He complains that such is the lot of her followers, and that he had gone into politics because Plato had written that any state was best run by "philosopher-kings". He explains how his gravity and honesty made him no friends in the political arena, and incited the jealousy and hatred of powerful enemies. He had campaigned for just laws and fair taxation, and had resisted and tried to uproot corruption. He explains the various charges brought against him, but the crux of the matter is that he was accused of having desired the safety of the Senate. Because of the crooked politics of the day, and because he had prevented an informer from producing evidence of the Senate's treason, he was judged by that same body has having commited a crime. Boethius cries out to Philosophy - Was this justice? He was also accused of unchecked ambition, but he says that he had always followed her recommendation of the Pythagorean maxim "Follow God" in all things. He is angry and saddened that, while he was faithful to Philosophy, his reward is imprisonment and, soon, execution. Boethius then recites a longer poem, extolling God but asking why the world is ruled by fickle Fortune. Philosophy responds, saying that it is not important that he is no longer in his ornate library. Her teachings are the only things of value, and those are still inside him. She diagnoses him as "swollen and calloused" under the influence of disturbing emotions, and she will begin with a gentle cure, working up to stronger medicine when he has begun to heal. She then questions Boethius to discover precisely the state of his mind. She wants to know if he believes in a directed universe, or if he is convinced of the haphazard nature of fate. Boethius responds that he believes that God the Creator watches over his creation. Continuing the questioning, she discovers that he is confused about how fate and fortune do not control the final, most important destiny of man. Philosophy says that Boethius has forgotten his true nature, and that he is a spiritual being, a soul in communication with God, rather than just a rational animal existing in the material world. Boethius weeps because he is in mortal peril and his possessions and honors have been taken away from him; Philosophy reminds him he still has his most important, and, in fact, his only true possession - his soul. She stops here, however, because the patient is still too ill to take the full "cure" she offers. The Book ends with a poem extolling the virtue of rejecting emotions and ignoring the dictates of fortune.
feat_summary_analysis: This Book sets up of Boethius' situation and introduces the mysterious personage of Philosophy.  Some of Boethius' conventions are specifically Classical in origin, and do not necessarily make sense when read by a reader today unless some historical context is included.  It was common for philosophical discussions and arguments of any type be presented in a dialogue format.  The apocalyptic nature of this dialogue  is necessary because of the solitary imprisonment of the writer.  He is alone in his cell, and has conversations only with himself.  He must imagine a speaker, or be visited by the incarnate spirit of Philosophy, in order to carry on a conversation and thus present his "consolation" of philosophical principles in the Platonic dialogue form. The varying height of Philosophy is significant; it is symbolic of the various guises of philosophical study.  When she is of average height, she offers the practical advice for the down-to-earth pursuit of moral, or ethical, philosophy.  When she is piercing the heavens, she is showing her capacity for metaphysical thought, which is considered by Boethius to be speculative or contemplative philosophy.  The Pi and Theta on her gown represent the two Greek names for these types of philosophy, which begin with those letters.  The division is between the practical and the contemplative forms of philosophy, the practical including moral philosophy and ethics, the contemplative or speculative includes theology, metaphysics, and the natural sciences such as physics.  The impermeable fabric of the gown represents the permanence and objective reality of Philosophy in its true form, and the scraps torn by the factions of lesser philosophers a metaphor for Boethius' opinion of those schools of thought. At the beginning of Part V, there is a line in the poem that reads "swifter hours of the night".  Roman timekeeping had much in common with how it is done today, but in their system of reckoning hours, by means of a water clock, there is a significant difference.  The Romans changed the length of the nighttime hours to coincide with the shortening and lengthening of days by the seasons.  During the winter, the nights were longer, so the same number of hours were used for nighttime as during the summer, but the length of the "hours" were lengthened.  The reverse was true for summer, with the nighttime hours being "swifter" and shorter. Boethius was imprisoned on what he called "false accusations".  Politically, Boethius had made no friends, for he was above corruption and graft during one of the most corrupt times of the Roman Empire.  He had formerly been a high official for the emperor Theodoric, and his fall from the heights of Roman patrician power to imprisonment was almost as great as any fall for a man of his time could be.  For a man of his culture and refinement, the irony of losing everything because of his own virtue, and in an arena,  which he didn't enter willingly but rather chose out of duty, must have been acute.  Boethius says in Book I that he mourns the fact that he is no longer in his library, with its ivory decorations, reading his beloved books.  So he creates, in his prison cell, under threat of imminent execution, a fantasy of philosophical discourse with the Lady Philosophy herself.  It is an academic conceit not unique to Boethius, but is also telling of his state of mind and emotional needs.  He needs comfort - consolation - and finds it in carefully constructing in his mind a person representing his most cherished pursuit of Philosophy.  To this authority he appeals for comfort and for answers to his questions, and make an attempt to formulate a theodicy, or theory of good and evil. After reading this first book of The Consolation of Philosophy, perhaps two things strike the modern reader.  Why doesn't Boethius, a Christian, appeal to God or Jesus or the Virgin Mary for his consolation in his time of mortal peril, rather than Philosophy?  Boethius was a Christian, and people often pray to God when they are in trouble or think they are going to die.  Boethius wrote a consolation of Philosophy, not Theology, and we could assume that at least part of his motivation was coldly stylistic rather than personally applicable.  Boethius carefully imitated the Platonic dialogues, and to have the Christian God intrude into what was a pagan form would have offended his sensibilities.  It is more likely, however, that Boethius, while a Christian, may not have been particularly religious.  But even if Boethius was devout, it also bears considering that his culture was still pagan in many ways.  He may have had an overlay of Christianity, and truly believed in it, but as a Neo-Platonist and Roman his appeal to reason and philosophy was perhaps closer to his heart.  He does, however, refer to a personal God, and reminds us to pray humbly to God at the end of this book. The second oddity is the inclusion of verse in a philosophical text.  Boethius was not exactly writing a dry philosophical treatise - this is a consolation  and meant to be a balm or medicine for a troubled soul.  This book, though definitely philosophical in nature, was meant to be a sort of instructional self-help book for the late Roman Empire.  Such consolations of philosophical thoughts were written by other writers and widely read. The divorce from emotions, and the shunning of the honors and cares of the material world are main themes in The Consolation of Philosophy.  This Neo-Platonist, and what would become later medieval philosophical idea is central to Boethius's thinking, and what he found most comforting in his prison cell.