'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 'Phædo,' 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 Tænarus 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 prevailèd!' 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.

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.

BOOK IV.

I.

Softly and sweetly Philosophy sang these verses to the end without

losing aught of the dignity of her expression or the seriousness of her

tones; then, forasmuch as I was as yet unable to forget my deeply-seated

sorrow, just as she was about to say something further, I broke in and

cried: 'O thou guide into the way of true light, all that thy voice hath

uttered from the beginning even unto now has manifestly seemed to me at

once divine contemplated in itself, and by the force of thy arguments

placed beyond the possibility of overthrow. Moreover, these truths have

not been altogether unfamiliar to me heretofore, though because of

indignation at my wrongs they have for a time been forgotten. But, lo!

herein is the very chiefest cause of my grief--that, while there exists

a good ruler of the universe, it is possible that evil should be at all,

still more that it should go unpunished. Surely thou must see how

deservedly this of itself provokes astonishment. But a yet greater

marvel follows: While wickedness reigns and flourishes, virtue not only

lacks its reward, but is even thrust down and trampled under the feet of

the wicked, and suffers punishment in the place of crime. That this

should happen under the rule of a God who knows all things and can do

all things, but wills only the good, cannot be sufficiently wondered at

nor sufficiently lamented.'

Then said she: 'It would indeed be infinitely astounding, and of all

monstrous things most horrible, if, as thou esteemest, in the

well-ordered home of so great a householder, the base vessels should be

held in honour, the precious left to neglect. But it is not so. For if

we hold unshaken those conclusions which we lately reached, thou shall

learn that, by the will of Him of whose realm we are speaking, the good

are always strong, the bad always weak and impotent; that vices never go

unpunished, nor virtues unrewarded; that good fortune ever befalls the

good, and ill fortune the bad, and much more of the sort, which shall

hush thy murmurings, and stablish thee in the strong assurance of

conviction. And since by my late instructions thou hast seen the form of

happiness, hast learnt, too, the seat where it is to be found, all due

preliminaries being discharged, I will now show thee the road which will

lead thee home. Wings, also, will I fasten to thy mind wherewith thou

mayst soar aloft, that so, all disturbing doubts removed, thou mayst

return safe to thy country, under my guidance, in the path I will show

thee, and by the means which I furnish.'

SONG I.

THE SOUL'S FLIGHT.

Wings are mine; above the pole

Far aloft I soar.

Clothed with these, my nimble soul

Scorns earth's hated shore,

Cleaves the skies upon the wind,

Sees the clouds left far behind.

Soon the glowing point she nears,

Where the heavens rotate,

Follows through the starry spheres

Phoebus' course, or straight

Takes for comrade 'mid the stars

Saturn cold or glittering Mars;

Thus each circling orb explores

Through Night's stole that peers;

Then, when all are numbered, soars

Far beyond the spheres,

Mounting heaven's supremest height

To the very Fount of light.

There the Sovereign of the world

His calm sway maintains;

As the globe is onward whirled

Guides the chariot reins,

And in splendour glittering

Reigns the universal King.

Hither if thy wandering feet

Find at last a way,

Here thy long-lost home thou'lt greet:

'Dear lost land,' thou'lt say,

'Though from thee I've wandered wide,

Hence I came, here will abide.'

Yet if ever thou art fain

Visitant to be

Of earth's gloomy night again,

Surely thou wilt see

Tyrants whom the nations fear

Dwell in hapless exile here.

II.

Then said I: 'Verily, wondrous great are thy promises; yet I do not

doubt but thou canst make them good: only keep me not in suspense after

raising such hopes.'

'Learn, then, first,' said she, 'how that power ever waits upon the

good, while the bad are left wholly destitute of strength.[K] Of these

truths the one proves the other; for since good and evil are contraries,

if it is made plain that good is power, the feebleness of evil is

clearly seen, and, conversely, if the frail nature of evil is made

manifest, the strength of good is thereby known. However, to win ampler

credence for my conclusion, I will pursue both paths, and draw

confirmation for my statements first in one way and then in the other.

'The carrying out of any human action depends upon two things--to wit,

will and power; if either be wanting, nothing can be accomplished. For

if the will be lacking, no attempt at all is made to do what is not

willed; whereas if there be no power, the will is all in vain. And so,

if thou seest any man wishing to attain some end, yet utterly failing to

attain it, thou canst not doubt that he lacked the power of getting what

he wished for.'

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

'Canst thou, then, doubt that he whom thou seest to have accomplished

what he willed had also the power to accomplish it?'

'Of course not.'

'Then, in respect of what he can accomplish a man is to be reckoned

strong, in respect of what he cannot accomplish weak?'

'Granted,' said I.

'Then, dost thou remember that, by our former reasonings, it was

concluded that the whole aim of man's will, though the means of pursuit

vary, is set intently upon happiness?'

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

'Dost thou also call to mind how happiness is absolute good, and

therefore that, when happiness is sought, it is good which is in all

cases the object of desire?'

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

'Then, all men, good and bad alike, with one indistinguishable purpose

strive to reach good?'

'Yes, that follows.'

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

'It is.'

'Then, do the good attain their object?'

'It seems so.'

'But if the bad were to attain the good which is _their_ object, they

could not be bad?'

'No.'

'Then, since both seek good, but while the one sort attain it, the other

attain it not, is there any doubt that the good are endued with power,

while they who are bad are weak?'

'If any doubt it, he is incapable of reflecting on the nature of things,

or the consequences involved in reasoning.'

'Again, supposing there are two things to which the same function is

prescribed in the course of nature, and one of these successfully

accomplishes the function by natural action, the other is altogether

incapable of that natural action, instead of which, in a way other than

is agreeable to its nature, it--I will not say fulfils its function, but

feigns to fulfil it: which of these two would in thy view be the

stronger?'

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

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

'Certainly.'

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

discharge this function?'

'No; surely I do not.'

'Now, if one man who is able to use his feet walks, and another to whom

the natural use of his feet is wanting tries to walk on his hands,

which of the two wouldst thou rightly esteem the stronger?'

'Go on,' said I; 'no one can question but that he who has the natural

capacity has more strength than he who has it not.'

'Now, the supreme good is set up as the end alike for the bad and for

the good; but the good seek it through the natural action of the

virtues, whereas the bad try to attain this same good through all manner

of concupiscence, which is not the natural way of attaining good. Or

dost thou think otherwise?'

'Nay; rather, one further consequence is clear to me: for from my

admissions it must needs follow that the good have power, and the bad

are impotent.'

'Thou anticipatest rightly, and that as physicians reckon is a sign that

nature is set working, and is throwing off the disease. But, since I see

thee so ready at understanding, I will heap proof on proof. Look how

manifest is the extremity of vicious men's weakness; they cannot even

reach that goal to which the aim of nature leads and almost constrains

them. What if they were left without this mighty, this well-nigh

irresistible help of nature's guidance! Consider also how momentous is

the powerlessness which incapacitates the wicked. Not light or

trivial[L] are the prizes which they contend for, but which they cannot

win or hold; nay, their failure concerns the very sum and crown of

things. Poor wretches! they fail to compass even that for which they

toil day and night. Herein also the strength of the good conspicuously

appears. For just as thou wouldst judge him to be the strongest walker

whose legs could carry him to a point beyond which no further advance

was possible, so must thou needs account him strong in power who so

attains the end of his desires that nothing further to be desired lies

beyond. Whence follows the obvious conclusion that they who are wicked

are seen likewise to be wholly destitute of strength. For why do they

forsake virtue and follow vice? Is it from ignorance of what is good?

Well, what is more weak and feeble than the blindness of ignorance? Do

they know what they ought to follow, but lust drives them aside out of

the way? If it be so, they are still frail by reason of their

incontinence, for they cannot fight against vice. Or do they knowingly

and wilfully forsake the good and turn aside to vice? Why, at this rate,

they not only cease to have power, but cease to be at all. For they who

forsake the common end of all things that are, they likewise also cease

to be at all. Now, to some it may seem strange that we should assert

that the bad, who form the greater part of mankind, do not exist. But

the fact is so. I do not, indeed, deny that they who are bad are bad,

but that they _are_ in an unqualified and absolute sense I deny. Just as

we call a corpse a dead man, but cannot call it simply "man," so I would

allow the vicious to be bad, but that they _are_ in an absolute sense I

cannot allow. That only _is_ which maintains its place and keeps its

nature; whatever falls away from this forsakes the existence which is

essential to its nature. "But," thou wilt say, "the bad have an

ability." Nor do I wish to deny it; only this ability of theirs comes

not from strength, but from impotence. For their ability is to do evil,

which would have had no efficacy at all if they could have continued in

the performance of good. So this ability of theirs proves them still

more plainly to have no power. For if, as we concluded just now, evil is

nothing, 'tis clear that the wicked can effect nothing, since they are

only able to do evil.'

''Tis evident.'

'And that thou mayst understand what is the precise force of this power,

we determined, did we not, awhile back, that nothing has more power than

supreme good?'

'We did,' said I.

'But that same highest good cannot do evil?'

'Certainly not.'

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

'None but a madman.'

'Yet they are able to do evil?'

'Ay; would they could not!'

'Since, then, he who can do only good is omnipotent, while they who can

do evil also are not omnipotent, it is manifest that they who can do

evil have less power. There is this also: we have shown that all power

is to be reckoned among things desirable, and that all desirable things

are referred to good as to a kind of consummation of their nature. But

the ability to commit crime cannot be referred to the good; therefore it

is not a thing to be desired. And yet all power is desirable; it is

clear, then, that ability to do evil is not power. From all which

considerations appeareth the power of the good, and the indubitable

weakness of the bad, and it is clear that Plato's judgment was true; the

wise alone are able to do what they would, while the wicked follow their

own hearts' lust, but can _not_ accomplish what they would. For they go

on in their wilfulness fancying they will attain what they wish for in

the paths of delight; but they are very far from its attainment, since

shameful deeds lead not to happiness.'

FOOTNOTES:

[K] The paradoxes in this chapter and chapter iv. are taken from Plato's

'Gorgias.' See Jowett, vol. ii., pp. 348-366, and also pp. 400, 401

('Gorgias,' 466-479, and 508, 509).

[L]

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

life.'

_Conington_.

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

SONG II.

THE BONDAGE OF PASSION.

When high-enthroned the monarch sits, resplendent in the pride

Of purple robes, while flashing steel guards him on every side;

When baleful terrors on his brow with frowning menace lower,

And Passion shakes his labouring breast--how dreadful seems his power!

But if the vesture of his state from such a one thou tear,

Thou'lt see what load of secret bonds this lord of earth doth wear.

Lust's poison rankles; o'er his mind rage sweeps in tempest rude;

Sorrow his spirit vexes sore, and empty hopes delude.

Then thou'lt confess: one hapless wretch, whom many lords oppress,

Does never what he would, but lives in thraldom's helplessness.

III.

'Thou seest, then, in what foulness unrighteous deeds are sunk, with

what splendour righteousness shines. Whereby it is manifest that

goodness never lacks its reward, nor crime its punishment. For, verily,

in all manner of transactions that for the sake of which the particular

action is done may justly be accounted the reward of that action, even

as the wreath for the sake of which the race is run is the reward

offered for running. Now, we have shown happiness to be that very good

for the sake of which all things are done. Absolute good, then, is

offered as the common prize, as it were, of all human actions. But,

truly, this is a reward from which it is impossible to separate the good

man, for one who is without good cannot properly be called good at all;

wherefore righteous dealing never misses its reward. Rage the wicked,

then, never so violently, the crown shall not fall from the head of the

wise, nor wither. Verily, other men's unrighteousness cannot pluck from

righteous souls their proper glory. Were the reward in which the soul of

the righteous delighteth received from without, then might it be taken

away by him who gave it, or some other; but since it is conferred by his

own righteousness, then only will he lose his prize when he has ceased

to be righteous. Lastly, since every prize is desired because it is

believed to be good, who can account him who possesses good to be

without reward? And what a prize, the fairest and grandest of all! For

remember the corollary which I chiefly insisted on a little while back,

and reason thus: Since absolute good is happiness, 'tis clear that all

the good must be happy for the very reason that they are good. But it

was agreed that those who are happy are gods. So, then, the prize of the

good is one which no time may impair, no man's power lessen, no man's

unrighteousness tarnish; 'tis very Godship. And this being so, the wise

man cannot doubt that punishment is inseparable from the bad. For since

good and bad, and likewise reward and punishment, are contraries, it

necessarily follows that, corresponding to all that we see accrue as

reward of the good, there is some penalty attached as punishment of

evil. As, then, righteousness itself is the reward of the righteous, so

wickedness itself is the punishment of the unrighteous. Now, no one who

is visited with punishment doubts that he is visited with evil.

Accordingly, if they were but willing to weigh their own case, could

_they_ think themselves free from punishment whom wickedness, worst of

all evils, has not only touched, but deeply tainted?

'See, also, from the opposite standpoint--the standpoint of the

good--what a penalty attends upon the wicked. Thou didst learn a little

since that whatever is is one, and that unity itself is good.

Accordingly, by this way of reckoning, whatever falls away from goodness

ceases to be; whence it comes to pass that the bad cease to be what they

were, while only the outward aspect is still left to show they have been

men. Wherefore, by their perversion to badness, they have lost their

true human nature. Further, since righteousness alone can raise men

above the level of humanity, it must needs be that unrighteousness

degrades below man's level those whom it has cast out of man's estate.

It results, then, that thou canst not consider him human whom thou seest

transformed by vice. The violent despoiler of other men's goods,

enflamed with covetousness, surely resembles a wolf. A bold and restless

spirit, ever wrangling in law-courts, is like some yelping cur. The

secret schemer, taking pleasure in fraud and stealth, is own brother to

the fox. The passionate man, phrenzied with rage, we might believe to be

animated with the soul of a lion. The coward and runaway, afraid where

no fear is, may be likened to the timid deer. He who is sunk in

ignorance and stupidity lives like a dull ass. He who is light and

inconstant, never holding long to one thing, is for all the world like a

bird. He who wallows in foul and unclean lusts is sunk in the pleasures

of a filthy hog. So it comes to pass that he who by forsaking

righteousness ceases to be a man cannot pass into a Godlike condition,

but actually turns into a brute beast.'

SONG III.

CIRCE'S CUP.

Th' Ithacan discreet,

And all his storm-tossed fleet,

Far o'er the ocean wave

The winds of heaven drave--

Drave to the mystic isle,

Where dwelleth in her guile

That fair and faithless one,

The daughter of the Sun.

There for the stranger crew

With cunning spells she knew

To mix th' enchanted cup.

For whoso drinks it up,

Must suffer hideous change

To monstrous shapes and strange.

One like a boar appears;

This his huge form uprears,

Mighty in bulk and limb--

An Afric lion--grim

With claw and fang. Confessed

A wolf, this, sore distressed

When he would weep, doth howl;

And, strangely tame, these prowl

The Indian tiger's mates.

And though in such sore straits,

The pity of the god

Who bears the mystic rod

Had power the chieftain brave

From her fell arts to save;

His comrades, unrestrained,

The fatal goblet drained.

All now with low-bent head,

Like swine, on acorns fed;

Man's speech and form were reft,

No human feature left;

But steadfast still, the mind,

Unaltered, unresigned,

The monstrous change bewailed.

How little, then, availed

The potencies of ill!

These herbs, this baneful skill,

May change each outward part,

But cannot touch the heart.

In its true home, deep-set,

Man's spirit liveth yet.

_Those_ poisons are more fell,

More potent to expel

Man from his high estate,

Which subtly penetrate,

And leave the body whole,

But deep infect the soul.

IV.

Then said I: 'This is very true. I see that the vicious, though they

keep the outward form of man, are rightly said to be changed into beasts

in respect of their spiritual nature; but, inasmuch as their cruel and

polluted minds vent their rage in the destruction of the good, I would

this license were not permitted to them.'

'Nor is it,' said she, 'as shall be shown in the fitting place. Yet if

that license which thou believest to be permitted to them were taken

away, the punishment of the wicked would be in great part remitted. For

verily, incredible as it may seem to some, it needs must be that the bad

are more unfortunate when they have accomplished their desires than if

they are unable to get them fulfilled. If it is wretched to will evil,

to have been able to accomplish evil is more wretched; for without the

power the wretched will would fail of effect. Accordingly, those whom

thou seest to will, to be able to accomplish, and to accomplish crime,

must needs be the victims of a threefold wretchedness, since each one of

these states has its own measure of wretchedness.'

'Yes,' said I; 'yet I earnestly wish they might speedily be quit of this

misfortune by losing the ability to accomplish crime.'

'They will lose it,' said she, 'sooner than perchance thou wishest, or

they themselves think likely; since, verily, within the narrow bounds of

our brief life there is nothing so late in coming that anyone, least of

all an immortal spirit, should deem it long to wait for. Their great

expectations, the lofty fabric of their crimes, is oft overthrown by a

sudden and unlooked-for ending, and this but sets a limit to their

misery. For if wickedness makes men wretched, he is necessarily more

wretched who is wicked for a longer time; and were it not that death, at

all events, puts an end to the evil doings of the wicked, I should

account them wretched to the last degree. Indeed, if we have formed true

conclusions about the ill fortune of wickedness, that wretchedness is

plainly infinite which is doomed to be eternal.'

Then said I: 'A wonderful inference, and difficult to grant; but I see

that it agrees entirely with our previous conclusions.'

'Thou art right,' said she; 'but if anyone finds it hard to admit the

conclusion, he ought in fairness either to prove some falsity in the

premises, or to show that the combination of propositions does not

adequately enforce the necessity of the conclusion; otherwise, if the

premises be granted, nothing whatever can be said against the inference

of the conclusion. And here is another statement which seems not less

wonderful, but on the premises assumed is equally necessary.'

'What is that?'

'The wicked are happier in undergoing punishment than if no penalty of

justice chasten them. And I am not now meaning what might occur to

anyone--that bad character is amended by retribution, and is brought

into the right path by the terror of punishment, or that it serves as an

example to warn others to avoid transgression; but I believe that in

another way the wicked are more unfortunate when they go unpunished,

even though no account be taken of amendment, and no regard be paid to

example.'

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

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

wretched?'

'Yes,' said I.

'Now, if,' said she, 'to one in affliction there be given along with his

misery some good thing, is he not happier than one whose misery is

misery pure and simple without admixture of any good?'

'It would seem so.'

'But if to one thus wretched, one destitute of all good, some further

evil be added besides those which make him wretched, is he not to be

judged far more unhappy than he whose ill fortune is alleviated by some

share of good?'

'It could scarcely be otherwise.'

'Surely, then, the wicked, when they are punished, have a good thing

added to them--to wit, the punishment which by the law of justice is

good; and likewise, when they escape punishment, a new evil attaches to

them in that very freedom from punishment which thou hast rightly

acknowledged to be an evil in the case of the unrighteous.'

'I cannot deny it.'

'Then, the wicked are far more unhappy when indulged with an unjust

freedom from punishment than when punished by a just retribution. Now,

it is manifest that it is just for the wicked to be punished, and for

them to escape unpunished is unjust.'

'Why, who would venture to deny it?'

'This, too, no one can possibly deny--that all which is just is good,

and, conversely, all which is unjust is bad.'

Then I answered: 'These inferences do indeed follow from what we lately

concluded; but tell me,' said I, 'dost thou take no account of the

punishment of the soul after the death of the body?'

'Nay, truly,' said she, 'great are these penalties, some of them

inflicted, I imagine, in the severity of retribution, others in the

mercy of purification. But it is not my present purpose to speak of

these. So far, my aim hath been to make thee recognise that the power of

the bad which shocked thee so exceedingly is no power; to make thee see

that those of whose freedom from punishment thou didst complain are

never without the proper penalties of their unrighteousness; to teach

thee that the license which thou prayedst might soon come to an end is

not long-enduring; that it would be more unhappy if it lasted longer,

most unhappy of all if it lasted for ever; thereafter that the

unrighteous are more wretched if unjustly let go without punishment than

if punished by a just retribution--from which point of view it follows

that the wicked are afflicted with more severe penalties just when they

are supposed to escape punishment.'

Then said I: 'While I follow thy reasonings, I am deeply impressed with

their truth; but if I turn to the common convictions of men, I find few

who will even listen to such arguments, let alone admit them to be

credible.'

'True,' said she; 'they cannot lift eyes accustomed to darkness to the

light of clear truth, and are like those birds whose vision night

illumines and day blinds; for while they regard, not the order of the

universe, but their own dispositions of mind, they think the license to

commit crime, and the escape from punishment, to be fortunate. But mark

the ordinance of eternal law. Hast thou fashioned thy soul to the

likeness of the better, thou hast no need of a judge to award the

prize--by thine own act hast thou raised thyself in the scale of

excellence; hast thou perverted thy affections to baser things, look not

for punishment from one without thee--thine own act hath degraded thee,

and thrust thee down. Even so, if alternately thou turn thy gaze upon

the vile earth and upon the heavens, though all without thee stand

still, by the mere laws of sight thou seemest now sunk in the mire, now

soaring among the stars. But the common herd regards not these things.

What, then? Shall we go over to those whom we have shown to be like

brute beasts? Why, suppose, now, one who had quite lost his sight

should likewise forget that he had ever possessed the faculty of vision,

and should imagine that nothing was wanting in him to human perfection,

should we deem those who saw as well as ever blind? Why, they will not

even assent to this, either--that they who do wrong are more wretched

than those who suffer wrong, though the proof of this rests on grounds

of reason no less strong.'

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

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

'I would not, certainly.'

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

'Yes,' I replied.

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

wretched?'

'Agreed,' said I.

'So, then, if thou wert sitting in judgment, on whom wouldst thou decree

the infliction of punishment--on him who had done the wrong, or on him

who had suffered it?'

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

of the wrong.'

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

'Yes; it follows. And so for this and other reasons resting on the same

ground, inasmuch as baseness of its own nature makes men wretched, it is

plain that a wrong involves the misery of the doer, not of the

sufferer.'

'And yet,' says she, 'the practice of the law-courts is just the

opposite: advocates try to arouse the commiseration of the judges for

those who have endured some grievous and cruel wrong; whereas pity is

rather due to the criminal, who ought to be brought to the judgment-seat

by his accusers in a spirit not of anger, but of compassion and

kindness, as a sick man to the physician, to have the ulcer of his fault

cut away by punishment. Whereby the business of the advocate would

either wholly come to a standstill, or, did men prefer to make it

serviceable to mankind, would be restricted to the practice of

accusation. The wicked themselves also, if through some chink or cranny

they were permitted to behold the virtue they have forsaken, and were to

see that by the pains of punishment they would rid themselves of the

uncleanness of their vices, and win in exchange the recompense of

righteousness, they would no longer think these sufferings pains; they

would refuse the help of advocates, and would commit themselves wholly

into the hands of their accusers and judges. Whence it comes to pass

that for the wise no place is left for hatred; only the most foolish

would hate the good, and to hate the bad is unreasonable. For if vicious

propensity is, as it were, a disease of the soul like bodily sickness,

even as we account the sick in body by no means deserving of hate, but

rather of pity, so, and much more, should they be pitied whose minds are

assailed by wickedness, which is more frightful than any sickness.'

SONG IV.

THE UNREASONABLENESS OF HATRED.

Why all this furious strife? Oh, why

With rash and wilful hand provoke death's destined day?

If death ye seek--lo! Death is nigh,

Not of their master's will those coursers swift delay!

The wild beasts vent on man their rage,

Yet 'gainst their brothers' lives men point the murderous steel;

Unjust and cruel wars they wage,

And haste with flying darts the death to meet or deal.

No right nor reason can they show;

'Tis but because their lands and laws are not the same.

Wouldst _thou_ give each his due; then know

Thy love the good must have, the bad thy pity claim.

V.

On this I said: 'I see how there is a happiness and misery founded on

the actual deserts of the righteous and the wicked. Nevertheless, I

wonder in myself whether there is not some good and evil in fortune as

the vulgar understand it. Surely, no sensible man would rather be

exiled, poor and disgraced, than dwell prosperously in his own country,

powerful, wealthy, and high in honour. Indeed, the work of wisdom is

more clear and manifest in its operation when the happiness of rulers is

somehow passed on to the people around them, especially considering that

the prison, the law, and the other pains of legal punishment are

properly due only to mischievous citizens on whose account they were

originally instituted. Accordingly, I do exceedingly marvel why all this

is completely reversed--why the good are harassed with the penalties due

to crime, and the bad carry off the rewards of virtue; and I long to

hear from thee what reason may be found for so unjust a state of

disorder. For assuredly I should wonder less if I could believe that all

things are the confused result of chance. But now my belief in God's

governance doth add amazement to amazement. For, seeing that He

sometimes assigns fair fortune to the good and harsh fortune to the bad,

and then again deals harshly with the good, and grants to the bad their

hearts' desire, how does this differ from chance, unless some reason is

discovered for it all?'

'Nay; it is not wonderful,' said she, 'if all should be thought random

and confused when the principle of order is not known. And though thou

knowest not the causes on which this great system depends, yet forasmuch

as a good ruler governs the world, doubt not for thy part that all is

rightly done.'

SONG V.

WONDER AND IGNORANCE.

Who knoweth not how near the pole

Bootes' course doth go,

Must marvel by what heavenly law

He moves his Wain so slow;

Why late he plunges 'neath the main,

And swiftly lights his beams again.

When the full-orbèd moon grows pale

In the mid course of night,

And suddenly the stars shine forth

That languished in her light,

Th' astonied nations stand at gaze,

And beat the air in wild amaze.[M]

None marvels why upon the shore

The storm-lashed breakers beat,

Nor why the frost-bound glaciers melt

At summer's fervent heat;

For here the cause seems plain and clear,

Only what's dark and hid we fear.

Weak-minded folly magnifies

All that is rare and strange,

And the dull herd's o'erwhelmed with awe

At unexpected change.

But wonder leaves enlightened minds,

When ignorance no longer blinds.

FOOTNOTES:

[M] To frighten away the monster swallowing the moon. The superstition

was once common. See Tylor's 'Primitive Culture,' pp. 296-302.

VI.

'True,' said I; 'but, since it is thy office to unfold the hidden cause

of things, and explain principles veiled in darkness, inform me, I pray

thee, of thine own conclusions in this matter, since the marvel of it is

what more than aught else disturbs my mind.'

A smile played one moment upon her lips as she replied: 'Thou callest me

to the greatest of all subjects of inquiry, a task for which the most

exhaustive treatment barely suffices. Such is its nature that, as fast

as one doubt is cut away, innumerable others spring up like Hydra's

heads, nor could we set any limit to their renewal did we not apply the

mind's living fire to suppress them. For there come within its scope the

questions of the essential simplicity of providence, of the order of

fate, of unforeseen chance, of the Divine knowledge and predestination,

and of the freedom of the will. How heavy is the weight of all this

thou canst judge for thyself. But, inasmuch as to know these things also

is part of the treatment of thy malady, we will try to give them some

consideration, despite the restrictions of the narrow limits of our

time. Moreover, thou must for a time dispense with the pleasures of

music and song, if so be that thou findest any delight therein, whilst I

weave together the connected train of reasons in proper order.'

'As thou wilt,' said I.

Then, as if making a new beginning, she thus discoursed: 'The coming

into being of all things, the whole course of development in things that

change, every sort of thing that moves in any wise, receives its due

cause, order, and form from the steadfastness of the Divine mind. This

mind, calm in the citadel of its own essential simplicity, has decreed

that the method of its rule shall be manifold. Viewed in the very purity

of the Divine intelligence, this method is called _providence_; but

viewed in regard to those things which it moves and disposes, it is

what the ancients called _fate_. That these two are different will

easily be clear to anyone who passes in review their respective

efficacies. Providence is the Divine reason itself, seated in the

Supreme Being, which disposes all things; fate is the disposition

inherent in all things which move, through which providence joins all

things in their proper order. Providence embraces all things, however

different, however infinite; fate sets in motion separately individual

things, and assigns to them severally their position, form, and time.

'So the unfolding of this temporal order unified into the foreview of

the Divine mind is providence, while the same unity broken up and

unfolded in time is fate. And although these are different, yet is there

a dependence between them; for the order of destiny issues from the

essential simplicity of providence. For as the artificer, forming in his

mind beforehand the idea of the thing to be made, carries out his

design, and develops from moment to moment what he had before seen in a

single instant as a whole, so God in His providence ordains all things

as parts of a single unchanging whole, but carries out these very

ordinances by fate in a time of manifold unity. So whether fate is

accomplished by Divine spirits as the ministers of providence, or by a

soul, or by the service of all nature--whether by the celestial motion

of the stars, by the efficacy of angels, or by the many-sided cunning of

demons--whether by all or by some of these the destined series is woven,

this, at least, is manifest: that providence is the fixed and simple

form of destined events, fate their shifting series in order of time, as

by the disposal of the Divine simplicity they are to take place. Whereby

it is that all things which are under fate are subjected also to

providence, on which fate itself is dependent; whereas certain things

which are set under providence are above the chain of fate--viz., those

things which by their nearness to the primal Divinity are steadfastly

fixed, and lie outside the order of fate's movements. For as the

innermost of several circles revolving round the same centre approaches

the simplicity of the midmost point, and is, as it were, a pivot round

which the exterior circles turn, while the outermost, whirled in ampler

orbit, takes in a wider and wider sweep of space in proportion to its

departure from the indivisible unity of the centre--while, further,

whatever joins and allies itself to the centre is narrowed to a like

simplicity, and no longer expands vaguely into space--even so whatsoever

departs widely from primal mind is involved more deeply in the meshes of

fate, and things are free from fate in proportion as they seek to come

nearer to that central pivot; while if aught cleaves close to supreme

mind in its absolute fixity, this, too, being free from movement, rises

above fate's necessity. Therefore, as is reasoning to pure intelligence,

as that which is generated to that which is, time to eternity, a circle

to its centre, so is the shifting series of fate to the steadfastness

and simplicity of providence.

'It is this causal series which moves heaven and the stars, attempers

the elements to mutual accord, and again in turn transforms them into

new combinations; _this_ which renews the series of all things that are

born and die through like successions of germ and birth; it is _its_

operation which binds the destinies of men by an indissoluble nexus of

causality, and, since it issues in the beginning from unalterable

providence, these destinies also must of necessity be immutable.

Accordingly, the world is ruled for the best if this unity abiding in

the Divine mind puts forth an inflexible order of causes. And this

order, by its intrinsic immutability, restricts things mutable which

otherwise would ebb and flow at random. And so it happens that, although

to you, who are not altogether capable of understanding this order, all

things seem confused and disordered, nevertheless there is everywhere an

appointed limit which guides all things to good. Verily, nothing can be

done for the sake of evil even by the wicked themselves; for, as we

abundantly proved, they seek good, but are drawn out of the way by

perverse error; far less can this order which sets out from the supreme

centre of good turn aside anywhither from the way in which it began.

'"Yet what confusion," thou wilt say, "can be more unrighteous than that

prosperity and adversity should indifferently befall the good, what

they like and what they loathe come alternately to the bad!" Yes; but

have men in real life such soundness of mind that their judgments of

righteousness and wickedness must necessarily correspond with facts?

Why, on this very point their verdicts conflict, and those whom some

deem worthy of reward, others deem worthy of punishment. Yet granted

there were one who could rightly distinguish the good and bad, yet would

he be able to look into the soul's inmost constitution, as it were, if

we may borrow an expression used of the body? The marvel here is not

unlike that which astonishes one who does not know why in health sweet

things suit some constitutions, and bitter others, or why some sick men

are best alleviated by mild remedies, others by severe. But the

physician who distinguishes the precise conditions and characteristics

of health and sickness does not marvel. Now, the health of the soul is

nothing but righteousness, and vice is its sickness. God, the guide and

physician of the mind, it is who preserves the good and banishes the

bad. And He looks forth from the lofty watch-tower of His providence,

perceives what is suited to each, and assigns what He knows to be

suitable.

'This, then, is what that extraordinary mystery of the order of destiny

comes to--that something is done by one who knows, whereat the ignorant

are astonished. But let us consider a few instances whereby appears what

is the competency of human reason to fathom the Divine unsearchableness.

Here is one whom thou deemest the perfection of justice and scrupulous

integrity; to all-knowing Providence it seems far otherwise. We all know

our Lucan's admonition that it was the winning cause that found favour

with the gods, the beaten cause with Cato. So, shouldst thou see

anything in this world happening differently from thy expectation, doubt

not but events are rightly ordered; it is in thy judgment that there is

perverse confusion.

'Grant, however, there be somewhere found one of so happy a character

that God and man alike agree in their judgments about him; yet is he

somewhat infirm in strength of mind. It may be, if he fall into

adversity, he will cease to practise that innocency which has failed to

secure his fortune. Therefore, God's wise dispensation spares him whom

adversity might make worse, will not let him suffer who is ill fitted

for endurance. Another there is perfect in all virtue, so holy and nigh

to God that providence judges it unlawful that aught untoward should

befall him; nay, doth not even permit him to be afflicted with bodily

disease. As one more excellent than I[N] hath said:

'"The very body of the holy saint

Is built of purest ether."

Often it happens that the governance is given to the good that a

restraint may be put upon superfluity of wickedness. To others

providence assigns some mixed lot suited to their spiritual nature; some

it will plague lest they grow rank through long prosperity; others it

will suffer to be vexed with sore afflictions to confirm their virtues

by the exercise and practice of patience. Some fear overmuch what they

have strength to bear; others despise overmuch that to which their

strength is unequal. All these it brings to the test of their true self

through misfortune. Some also have bought a name revered to future ages

at the price of a glorious death; some by invincible constancy under

their sufferings have afforded an example to others that virtue cannot

be overcome by calamity--all which things, without doubt, come to pass

rightly and in due order, and to the benefit of those to whom they are

seen to happen.

'As to the other side of the marvel, that the bad now meet with

affliction, now get their hearts' desire, this, too, springs from the

same causes. As to the afflictions, of course no one marvels, because

all hold the wicked to be ill deserving. The truth is, their punishments

both frighten others from crime, and amend those on whom they are

inflicted; while their prosperity is a powerful sermon to the good, what

judgments they ought to pass on good fortune of this kind, which often

attends the wicked so assiduously.

'There is another object which may, I believe, be attained in such

cases: there is one, perhaps, whose nature is so reckless and violent

that poverty would drive him more desperately into crime. _His_ disorder

providence relieves by allowing him to amass money. Such a one, in the

uneasiness of a conscience stained with guilt, while he contrasts his

character with his fortune, perchance grows alarmed lest he should come

to mourn the loss of that whose possession is so pleasant to him. He

will, then, reform his ways, and through the fear of losing his fortune

he forsakes his iniquity. Some, through a prosperity unworthily borne,

have been hurled headlong to ruin; to some the power of the sword has

been committed, to the end that the good may be tried by discipline, and

the bad punished. For while there can be no peace between the righteous

and the wicked, neither can the wicked agree among themselves. How

should they, when each is at variance with himself, because his vices

rend his conscience, and ofttimes they do things which, when they are

done, they judge ought not to have been done. Hence it is that this

supreme providence brings to pass this notable marvel--that the bad make

the bad good. For some, when they see the injustice which they

themselves suffer at the hands of evil-doers, are inflamed with

detestation of the offenders, and, in the endeavour to be unlike those

whom they hate, return to the ways of virtue. It is the Divine power

alone to which things evil are also good, in that, by putting them to

suitable use, it bringeth them in the end to some good issue. For order

in some way or other embraceth all things, so that even that which has

departed from the appointed laws of the order, nevertheless falleth

within _an_ order, though _another_ order, that nothing in the realm of

providence may be left to haphazard. But

'"Hard were the task, as a god, to recount all, nothing omitting."

Nor, truly, is it lawful for man to compass in thought all the mechanism

of the Divine work, or set it forth in speech. Let us be content to

have apprehended this only--that God, the creator of universal nature,

likewise disposeth all things, and guides them to good; and while He

studies to preserve in likeness to Himself all that He has created, He

banishes all evil from the borders of His commonweal through the links

of fatal necessity. Whereby it comes to pass that, if thou look to

disposing providence, thou wilt nowhere find the evils which are

believed so to abound on earth.

'But I see thou hast long been burdened with the weight of the subject,

and fatigued with the prolixity of the argument, and now lookest for

some refreshment of sweet poesy. Listen, then, and may the draught so

restore thee that thou wilt bend thy mind more resolutely to what

remains.'

FOOTNOTES:

[N] Parmenides. Boethius seems to forget for the moment that Philosophy

is speaking.

SONG VI.

THE UNIVERSAL AIM.

Wouldst thou with unclouded mind

View the laws by God designed,

Lift thy steadfast gaze on high

To the starry canopy;

See in rightful league of love

All the constellations move.

Fiery Sol, in full career,

Ne'er obstructs cold Phoebe's sphere;

When the Bear, at heaven's height,

Wheels his coursers' rapid flight,

Though he sees the starry train

Sinking in the western main,

He repines not, nor desires

In the flood to quench his fires.

In true sequence, as decreed,

Daily morn and eve succeed;

Vesper brings the shades of night,

Lucifer the morning light.

Love, in alternation due,

Still the cycle doth renew,

And discordant strife is driven

From the starry realm of heaven.

Thus, in wondrous amity,

Warring elements agree;

Hot and cold, and moist and dry,

Lay their ancient quarrel by;

High the flickering flame ascends,

Downward earth for ever tends.

So the year in spring's mild hours

Loads the air with scent of flowers;

Summer paints the golden grain;

Then, when autumn comes again,

Bright with fruit the orchards glow;

Winter brings the rain and snow.

Thus the seasons' fixed progression,

Tempered in a due succession,

Nourishes and brings to birth

All that lives and breathes on earth.

Then, soon run life's little day,

All it brought it takes away.

But One sits and guides the reins,

He who made and all sustains;

King and Lord and Fountain-head,

Judge most holy, Law most dread;

Now impels and now keeps back,

Holds each waverer in the track.

Else, were once the power withheld

That the circling spheres compelled

In their orbits to revolve,

This world's order would dissolve,

And th' harmonious whole would all

In one hideous ruin fall.

But through this connected frame

Runs one universal aim;

Towards the Good do all things tend,

Many paths, but one the end.

For naught lasts, unless it turns

Backward in its course, and yearns

To that Source to flow again

Whence its being first was ta'en.

VII.

'Dost thou, then, see the consequence of all that we have said?'

'Nay; what consequence?'

'That absolutely every fortune is good fortune.'

'And how can that be?' said I.

'Attend,' said she. 'Since every fortune, welcome and unwelcome alike,

has for its object the reward or trial of the good, and the punishing or

amending of the bad, every fortune must be good, since it is either just

or useful.'

'The reasoning is exceeding true,' said I, 'the conclusion, so long as I

reflect upon the providence and fate of which thou hast taught me, based

on a strong foundation. Yet, with thy leave, we will count it among

those which just now thou didst set down as paradoxical.'

'And why so?' said she.

'Because ordinary speech is apt to assert, and that frequently, that

some men's fortune is bad.'

'Shall we, then, for awhile approach more nearly to the language of the

vulgar, that we may not seem to have departed too far from the usages of

men?'

'At thy good pleasure,' said I.

'That which advantageth thou callest good, dost thou not?'

'Certainly.'

'And that which either tries or amends advantageth?'

'Granted.'

'Is good, then?'

'Of course.'

'Well, this is _their_ case who have attained virtue and wage war with

adversity, or turn from vice and lay hold on the path of virtue.'

'I cannot deny it.'

'What of the good fortune which is given as reward of the good--do the

vulgar adjudge it bad?'

'Anything but that; they deem it to be the best, as indeed it is.'

'What, then, of that which remains, which, though it is harsh, puts the

restraint of just punishment on the bad--does popular opinion deem it

good?'

'Nay; of all that can be imagined, it is accounted the most miserable.'

'Observe, then, if, in following popular opinion, we have not ended in a

conclusion quite paradoxical.'

'How so?' said I.

'Why, it results from our admissions that of all who have attained, or

are advancing in, or are aiming at virtue, the fortune is in every case

good, while for those who remain in their wickedness fortune is always

utterly bad.'

'It is true,' said I; 'yet no one dare acknowledge it.'

'Wherefore,' said she, 'the wise man ought not to take it ill, if ever

he is involved in one of fortune's conflicts, any more than it becomes a

brave soldier to be offended when at any time the trumpet sounds for

battle. The time of trial is the express opportunity for the one to win

glory, for the other to perfect his wisdom. Hence, indeed, virtue gets

its name, because, relying on its own efficacy, it yieldeth not to

adversity. And ye who have taken your stand on virtue's steep ascent,

it is not for you to be dissolved in delights or enfeebled by pleasure;

ye close in conflict--yea, in conflict most sharp--with all fortune's

vicissitudes, lest ye suffer foul fortune to overwhelm or fair fortune

to corrupt you. Hold the mean with all your strength. Whatever falls

short of this, or goes beyond, is fraught with scorn of happiness, and

misses the reward of toil. It rests with you to make your fortune what

you will. Verily, every harsh-seeming fortune, unless it either

disciplines or amends, is punishment.'

SONG VII.

THE HERO'S PATH.

Ten years a tedious warfare raged,

Ere Ilium's smoking ruins paid

For wedlock stained and faith betrayed,

And great Atrides' wrath assuaged.

But when heaven's anger asked a life,

And baffling winds his course withstood,

The king put off his fatherhood,

And slew his child with priestly knife.

When by the cavern's glimmering light

His comrades dear Odysseus saw

In the huge Cyclops' hideous maw

Engulfed, he wept the piteous sight.

But blinded soon, and wild with pain--

In bitter tears and sore annoy--

For that foul feast's unholy joy

Grim Polyphemus paid again.

His labours for Alcides win

A name of glory far and wide;

He tamed the Centaur's haughty pride,

And from the lion reft his skin.

The foul birds with sure darts he slew;

The golden fruit he stole--in vain

The dragon's watch; with triple chain

From hell's depths Cerberus he drew.

With their fierce lord's own flesh he fed

The wild steeds; Hydra overcame

With fire. 'Neath his own waves in shame

Maimed Achelous hid his head.

Huge Cacus for his crimes was slain;

On Libya's sands Antæus hurled;

The shoulders that upheld the world

The great boar's dribbled spume did stain.

Last toil of all--his might sustained

The ball of heaven, nor did he bend

Beneath; this toil, his labour's end,

The prize of heaven's high glory gained.

Brave hearts, press on! Lo, heavenward lead

These bright examples! From the fight

Turn not your backs in coward flight;

Earth's conflict won, the stars your meed!

BOOK V.

FREE WILL AND GOD'S FOREKNOWLEDGE.

SUMMARY.

CH. I. Boethius asks if there is really any such thing as chance.

Philosophy answers, in conformity with Aristotle's definition

(Phys., II. iv.), that chance is merely relative to human purpose,

and that what seems fortuitous really depends on a more subtle form

of causation.--CH. II. Has man, then, any freedom, if the reign of

law is thus absolute? Freedom of choice, replies Philosophy, is a

necessary attribute of reason. Man has a measure of freedom, though

a less perfect freedom than divine natures.--CH. III. But how can

man's freedom be reconciled with God's absolute foreknowledge? If

God's foreknowledge be certain, it seems to exclude the possibility

of man's free will. But if man has no freedom of choice, it

follows that rewards and punishments are unjust as well as useless;

that merit and demerit are mere names; that God is the cause of

men's wickednesses; that prayer is meaningless.--CH. IV. The

explanation is that man's reasoning faculties are not adequate to

the apprehension of the ways of God's foreknowledge. If we could

know, as He knows, all that is most perplexing in this problem

would be made plain. For knowledge depends not on the nature of the

thing known, but on the faculty of the knower.--CH. V. Now, where

our senses conflict with our reason, we defer the judgment of the

lower faculty to the judgment of the higher. Our present perplexity

arises from our viewing God's foreknowledge from the standpoint of

human reason. We must try and rise to the higher standpoint of

God's immediate intuition.--CH. VI. To understand this higher form

of cognition, we must consider God's nature. God is eternal.

Eternity is more than mere everlasting duration. Accordingly, His

knowledge surveys past and future in the timelessness of an eternal

present. His foreseeing is seeing. Yet this foreseeing does not in

itself impose necessity, any more than our seeing things happen

makes their happening necessary. We may, however, if we please,

distinguish two necessities--one absolute, the other conditional on

knowledge. In this conditional sense alone do the things which God

foresees necessarily come to pass. But this kind of necessity

affects not the nature of things. It leaves the reality of free

will unimpaired, and the evils feared do not ensue. Our

responsibility is great, since all that we do is done in the sight

of all-seeing Providence.

BOOK V.

I.

She ceased, and was about to pass on in her discourse to the exposition

of other matters, when I break in and say: 'Excellent is thine

exhortation, and such as well beseemeth thy high authority; but I am

even now experiencing one of the many difficulties which, as thou saidst

but now, beset the question of providence. I want to know whether thou

deemest that there is any such thing as chance at all, and, if so, what

it is.'

Then she made answer: 'I am anxious to fulfil my promise completely, and

open to thee a way of return to thy native land. As for these matters,

though very useful to know, they are yet a little removed from the path

of our design, and I fear lest digressions should fatigue thee, and thou

shouldst find thyself unequal to completing the direct journey to our

goal.'

'Have no fear for that,' said I. 'It is rest to me to learn, where

learning brings delight so exquisite, especially when thy argument has

been built up on all sides with undoubted conviction, and no place is

left for uncertainty in what follows.'

She made answer: 'I will accede to thy request;' and forthwith she thus

began: 'If chance be defined as a result produced by random movement

without any link of causal connection, I roundly affirm that there is no

such thing as chance at all, and consider the word to be altogether

without meaning, except as a symbol of the thing designated. What place

can be left for random action, when God constraineth all things to

order? For "ex nihilo nihil" is sound doctrine which none of the

ancients gainsaid, although they used it of material substance, not of

the efficient principle; this they laid down as a kind of basis for all

their reasonings concerning nature. Now, if a thing arise without

causes, it will appear to have arisen from nothing. But if this cannot

be, neither is it possible for there to be chance in accordance with the

definition just given.'

'Well,' said I, 'is there, then, nothing which can properly be called

chance or accident, or is there something to which these names are

appropriate, though its nature is dark to the vulgar?'

'Our good Aristotle,' says she, 'has defined it concisely in his

"Physics," and closely in accordance with the truth.'

'How, pray?' said I.

'Thus,' says she: 'Whenever something is done for the sake of a

particular end, and for certain reasons some other result than that

designed ensues, this is called chance; for instance, if a man is

digging the earth for tillage, and finds a mass of buried gold. Now,

such a find is regarded as accidental; yet it is not "ex nihilo," for it

has its proper causes, the unforeseen and unexpected concurrence of

which has brought the chance about. For had not the cultivator been

digging, had not the man who hid the money buried it in that precise

spot, the gold would not have been found. These, then, are the reasons

why the find is a chance one, in that it results from causes which met

together and concurred, not from any intention on the part of the

discoverer. Since neither he who buried the gold nor he who worked in

the field _intended_ that the money should be found, but, as I said, it

_happened_ by coincidence that one dug where the other buried the

treasure. We may, then, define chance as being an unexpected result

flowing from a concurrence of causes where the several factors had some

definite end. But the meeting and concurrence of these causes arises

from that inevitable chain of order which, flowing from the

fountain-head of Providence, disposes all things in their due time and

place.'

SONG I.

CHANCE.

In the rugged Persian highlands,

Where the masters of the bow

Skill to feign a flight, and, fleeing,

Hurl their darts and pierce the foe;

There the Tigris and Euphrates

At one source[O] their waters blend,

Soon to draw apart, and plainward

Each its separate way to wend.

When once more their waters mingle

In a channel deep and wide,

All the flotsam comes together

That is borne upon the tide:

Ships, and trunks of trees, uprooted

In the torrent's wild career,

Meet, as 'mid the swirling waters

Chance their random way may steer.

Yet the shelving of the channel

And the flowing water's force

Guides each movement, and determines

Every floating fragment's course.

Thus, where'er the drift of hazard

Seems most unrestrained to flow,

Chance herself is reined and bitted,

And the curb of law doth know.

FOOTNOTES:

[O] This is not, of course, literally true, though the Tigris and

Euphrates rise in the same mountain district.

II.

'I am following needfully,' said I, 'and I agree that it is as thou

sayest. But in this series of linked causes is there any freedom left to

our will, or does the chain of fate bind also the very motions of our

souls?'

'There is freedom,' said she; 'nor, indeed, can any creature be

rational, unless he be endowed with free will. For that which hath the

natural use of reason has the faculty of discriminative judgment, and of

itself distinguishes what is to be shunned or desired. Now, everyone

seeks what he judges desirable, and avoids what he thinks should be

shunned. Wherefore, beings endowed with reason possess also the faculty

of free choice and refusal. But I suppose this faculty not equal alike

in all. The higher Divine essences possess a clear-sighted judgment, an

uncorrupt will, and an effective power of accomplishing their wishes.

Human souls must needs be comparatively free while they abide in the

contemplation of the Divine mind, less free when they pass into bodily

form, and still less, again, when they are enwrapped in earthly members.

But when they are given over to vices, and fall from the possession of

their proper reason, then indeed their condition is utter slavery. For

when they let their gaze fall from the light of highest truth to the

lower world where darkness reigns, soon ignorance blinds their vision;

they are disturbed by baneful affections, by yielding and assenting to

which they help to promote the slavery in which they are involved, and

are in a manner led captive by reason of their very liberty. Yet He who

seeth all things from eternity beholdeth these things with the eyes of

His providence, and assigneth to each what is predestined for it by its

merits:

'"All things surveying, all things overhearing.'"

SONG II.

THE TRUE SUN.

Homer with mellifluous tongue

Phoebus' glorious light hath sung,

Hymning high his praise;

Yet _his_ feeble rays

Ocean's hollows may not brighten,

Nor earth's central gloom enlighten.

But the might of Him, who skilled

This great universe to build,

Is not thus confined;

Not earth's solid rind,

Nor night's blackest canopy,

Baffle His all-seeing eye.

All that is, hath been, shall be,

In one glance's compass, He

Limitless descries;

And, save His, no eyes

All the world survey--no, none!

_Him_, then, truly name the Sun.

III.

Then said I: 'But now I am once more perplexed by a problem yet more

difficult.'

'And what is that?' said she; 'yet, in truth, I can guess what it is

that troubles you.'

'It seems,' said I, 'too much of a paradox and a contradiction that God

should know all things, and yet there should be free will. For if God

foresees everything, and can in no wise be deceived, that which

providence foresees to be about to happen must necessarily come to pass.

Wherefore, if from eternity He foreknows not only what men will do, but

also their designs and purposes, there can be no freedom of the will,

seeing that nothing can be done, nor can any sort of purpose be

entertained, save such as a Divine providence, incapable of being

deceived, has perceived beforehand. For if the issues can be turned

aside to some other end than that foreseen by providence, there will not

then be any sure foreknowledge of the future, but uncertain conjecture

instead, and to think this of God I deem impiety.

'Moreover, I do not approve the reasoning by which some think to solve

this puzzle. For they say that it is not because God has foreseen the

coming of an event that _therefore_ it is sure to come to pass, but,

conversely, because something is about to come to pass, it cannot be

hidden from Divine providence; and accordingly the necessity passes to

the opposite side, and it is not that what is foreseen must necessarily

come to pass, but that what is about to come to pass must necessarily be

foreseen. But this is just as if the matter in debate were, which is

cause and which effect--whether foreknowledge of the future cause of the

necessity, or the necessity of the future of the foreknowledge. But we

need not be at the pains of demonstrating that, whatsoever be the order

of the causal sequence, the occurrence of things foreseen is necessary,

even though the foreknowledge of future events does not in itself

impose upon them the necessity of their occurrence. For example, if a

man be seated, the supposition of his being seated is necessarily true;

and, conversely, if the supposition of his being seated is true, because

he is really seated, he must necessarily be sitting. So, in either case,

there is some necessity involved--in this latter case, the necessity of

the fact; in the former, of the truth of the statement. But in both

cases the sitter is not therefore seated because the opinion is true,

but rather the opinion is true because antecedently he was sitting as a

matter of fact. Thus, though the cause of the truth of the opinion comes

from the other side,[P] yet there is a necessity on both sides alike. We

can obviously reason similarly in the case of providence and the future.

Even if future events are foreseen because they are about to happen, and

do not come to pass because they are foreseen, still, all the same,

there is a necessity, both that they should be foreseen by God as about

to come to pass, and that when they are foreseen they should happen, and

this is sufficient for the destruction of free will. However, it is

preposterous to speak of the occurrence of events in time as the cause

of eternal foreknowledge. And yet if we believe that God foresees future

events because they are about to come to pass, what is it but to think

that the occurrence of events is the cause of His supreme providence?

Further, just as when I _know_ that anything is, that thing

_necessarily_ is, so when I know that anything will be, it will

_necessarily_ be. It follows, then, that things foreknown come to pass

inevitably.

'Lastly, to think of a thing as being in any way other than what it is,

is not only not knowledge, but it is false opinion widely different from

the truth of knowledge. Consequently, if anything is about to be, and

yet its occurrence is not certain and necessary, how can anyone foreknow

that it will occur? For just as knowledge itself is free from all

admixture of falsity, so any conception drawn from knowledge cannot be

other than as it is conceived. For this, indeed, is the cause why

knowledge is free from falsehood, because of necessity each thing must

correspond exactly with the knowledge which grasps its nature. In what

way, then, are we to suppose that God foreknows these uncertainties as

about to come to pass? For if He thinks of events which possibly may not

happen at all as inevitably destined to come to pass, He is deceived;

and this it is not only impious to believe, but even so much as to

express in words. If, on the other hand, He sees them in the future as

they are in such a sense as to know that they may equally come to pass

or not, what sort of foreknowledge is this which comprehends nothing

certain nor fixed? What better is this than the absurd vaticination of

Teiresias?

'"Whate'er I say

Shall either come to pass--or not."

In that case, too, in what would Divine providence surpass human opinion

if it holds for uncertain things the occurrence of which is uncertain,

even as men do? But if at that perfectly sure Fountain-head of all

things no shadow of uncertainty can possibly be found, then the

occurrence of those things which He has surely foreknown as coming is

certain. Wherefore there can be no freedom in human actions and designs;

but the Divine mind, which foresees all things without possibility of

mistake, ties and binds them down to one only issue. But this admission

once made, what an upset of human affairs manifestly ensues! Vainly are

rewards and punishments proposed for the good and bad, since no free and

voluntary motion of the will has deserved either one or the other; nay,

the punishment of the wicked and the reward of the righteous, which is

now esteemed the perfection of justice, will seem the most flagrant

injustice, since men are determined either way not by their own proper

volition, but by the necessity of what must surely be. And therefore

neither virtue nor vice is anything, but rather good and ill desert are

confounded together without distinction. Moreover, seeing that the whole

course of events is deduced from providence, and nothing is left free to

human design, it comes to pass that our vices also are referred to the

Author of all good--a thought than which none more abominable can

possibly be conceived. Again, no ground is left for hope or prayer,

since how can we hope for blessings, or pray for mercy, when every

object of desire depends upon the links of an unalterable chain of

causation? Gone, then, is the one means of intercourse between God and

man--the communion of hope and prayer--if it be true that we ever earn

the inestimable recompense of the Divine favour at the price of a due

humility; for this is the one way whereby men seem able to hold

communion with God, and are joined to that unapproachable light by the

very act of supplication, even before they obtain their petitions. Then,

since these things can scarcely be believed to have any efficacy, if the

necessity of future events be admitted, what means will there be whereby

we may be brought near and cleave to Him who is the supreme Head of all?

Wherefore it needs must be that the human race, even as thou didst

erstwhile declare in song, parted and dissevered from its Source, should

fall to ruin.'

FOOTNOTES:

[P] _I.e._, the necessity of the truth of the statement from the fact.

SONG III.

TRUTH'S PARADOXES.

Why does a strange discordance break

The ordered scheme's fair harmony?

Hath God decreed 'twixt truth and truth

There may such lasting warfare be,

That truths, each severally plain,

We strive to reconcile in vain?

Or is the discord not in truth,

Since truth is self consistent ever?

But, close in fleshly wrappings held,

The blinded mind of man can never

Discern--so faint her taper shines--

The subtle chain that all combines?

Ah! then why burns man's restless mind

Truth's hidden portals to unclose?

Knows he already what he seeks?

Why toil to seek it, if he knows?

Yet, haply if he knoweth not,

Why blindly seek he knows not what?[Q]

Who for a good he knows not sighs?

Who can an unknown end pursue?

How find? How e'en when haply found

Hail that strange form he never knew?

Or is it that man's inmost soul

Once knew each part and knew the whole?

Now, though by fleshly vapours dimmed,

Not all forgot her visions past;

For while the several parts are lost,

To the one whole she cleaveth fast;

Whence he who yearns the truth to find

Is neither sound of sight nor blind.

For neither does he know in full,

Nor is he reft of knowledge quite;

But, holding still to what is left,

He gropes in the uncertain light,

And by the part that still survives

To win back all he bravely strives.

FOOTNOTES:

[Q] Compare Plato, 'Meno,' 80; Jowett, vol. ii., pp. 39, 40.

IV.

Then said she: 'This debate about providence is an old one, and is

vigorously discussed by Cicero in his "Divination"; thou also hast long

and earnestly pondered the problem, yet no one has had diligence and

perseverance enough to find a solution. And the reason of this obscurity

is that the movement of human reasoning cannot cope with the simplicity

of the Divine foreknowledge; for if a conception of its nature could in

any wise be framed, no shadow of uncertainty would remain. With a view

of making this at last clear and plain, I will begin by considering the

arguments by which thou art swayed. First, I inquire into the reasons

why thou art dissatisfied with the solution proposed, which is to the

effect that, seeing the fact of foreknowledge is not thought the cause

of the necessity of future events, foreknowledge is not to be deemed any

hindrance to the freedom of the will. Now, surely the sole ground on

which thou arguest the necessity of the future is that things which are

foreknown cannot fail to come to pass. But if, as thou wert ready to

acknowledge just now, the fact of foreknowledge imposes no necessity on

things future, what reason is there for supposing the results of

voluntary action constrained to a fixed issue? Suppose, for the sake of

argument, and to see what follows, we assume that there is no

foreknowledge. Are willed actions, then, tied down to any necessity in

_this_ case?'

'Certainly not.'

'Let us assume foreknowledge again, but without its involving any actual

necessity; the freedom of the will, I imagine, will remain in complete

integrity. But thou wilt say that, even although the foreknowledge is

not the necessity of the future event's occurrence, yet it is a sign

that it will necessarily happen. Granted; but in this case it is plain

that, even if there had been no foreknowledge, the issues would have

been inevitably certain. For a sign only indicates something which is,

does not bring to pass that of which it is the sign. We require to show

beforehand that all things, without exception, happen of necessity in

order that a preconception may be a sign of this necessity. Otherwise,

if there is no such universal necessity, neither can any preconception

be a sign of a necessity which exists not. Manifestly, too, a proof

established on firm grounds of reason must be drawn not from signs and

loose general arguments, but from suitable and necessary causes. But how

can it be that things foreseen should ever fail to come to pass? Why,

this is to suppose us to believe that the events which providence

foresees to be coming were not about to happen, instead of our supposing

that, although they should come to pass, yet there was no necessity

involved in their own nature compelling their occurrence. Take an

illustration that will help to convey my meaning. There are many things

which we see taking place before our eyes--the movements of charioteers,

for instance, in guiding and turning their cars, and so on. Now, is any

one of these movements compelled by any necessity?'

'No; certainly not. There would be no efficacy in skill if all motions

took place perforce.'

'Then, things which in taking place are free from any necessity as to

their being in the present must also, before they take place, be about

to happen without necessity. Wherefore there are things which will come

to pass, the occurrence of which is perfectly free from necessity. At

all events, I imagine that no one will deny that things now taking place

were about to come to pass before they were actually happening. Such

things, however much foreknown, are in their occurrence _free_. For even

as knowledge of things present imports no necessity into things that are

taking place, so foreknowledge of the future imports none into things

that are about to come. But this, thou wilt say, is the very point in

dispute--whether any foreknowing is possible of things whose occurrence

is not necessary. For here there seems to thee a contradiction, and, if

they are foreseen, their necessity follows; whereas if there is no

necessity, they can by no means be foreknown; and thou thinkest that

nothing can be grasped as known unless it is certain, but if things

whose occurrence is uncertain are foreknown as certain, this is the very

mist of opinion, not the truth of knowledge. For to think of things

otherwise than as they are, thou believest to be incompatible with the

soundness of knowledge.

'Now, the cause of the mistake is this--that men think that all

knowledge is cognized purely by the nature and efficacy of the thing

known. Whereas the case is the very reverse: all that is known is

grasped not conformably to its own efficacy, but rather conformably to

the faculty of the knower. An example will make this clear: the

roundness of a body is recognised in one way by sight, in another by

touch. Sight looks upon it from a distance as a whole by a simultaneous

reflection of rays; touch grasps the roundness piecemeal, by contact and

attachment to the surface, and by actual movement round the periphery

itself. Man himself, likewise, is viewed in one way by Sense, in another

by Imagination, in another way, again, by Thought, in another by pure

Intelligence. Sense judges figure clothed in material substance,

Imagination figure alone without matter. Thought transcends this again,

and by its contemplation of universals considers the type itself which

is contained in the individual. The eye of Intelligence is yet more

exalted; for overpassing the sphere of the universal, it will behold

absolute form itself by the pure force of the mind's vision. Wherein the

main point to be considered is this: the higher faculty of comprehension

embraces the lower, while the lower cannot rise to the higher. For Sense

has no efficacy beyond matter, nor can Imagination behold universal

ideas, nor Thought embrace pure form; but Intelligence, looking down, as

it were, from its higher standpoint in its intuition of form,

discriminates also the several elements which underlie it; but it

comprehends them in the same way as it comprehends that form itself,

which could be cognized by no other than itself. For it cognizes the

universal of Thought, the figure of Imagination, and the matter of

Sense, without employing Thought, Imagination, or Sense, but surveying

all things, so to speak, under the aspect of pure form by a single flash

of intuition. Thought also, in considering the universal, embraces

images and sense-impressions without resorting to Imagination or Sense.

For it is Thought which has thus defined the universal from its

conceptual point of view: "Man is a two-legged animal endowed with

reason." This is indeed a universal notion, yet no one is ignorant that

the _thing_ is imaginable and presentable to Sense, because Thought

considers it not by Imagination or Sense, but by means of rational

conception. Imagination, too, though its faculty of viewing and forming

representations is founded upon the senses, nevertheless surveys

sense-impressions without calling in Sense, not in the way of

Sense-perception, but of Imagination. See'st thou, then, how all things

in cognizing use rather their own faculty than the faculty of the things

which they cognize? Nor is this strange; for since every judgment is the

act of the judge, it is necessary that each should accomplish its task

by its own, not by another's power.'

SONG IV.

A PSYCHOLOGICAL FALLACY.[R]

From the Porch's murky depths

Comes a doctrine sage,

That doth liken living mind

To a written page;

Since all knowledge comes through

Sense,

Graven by Experience.

'As,' say they, 'the pen its marks

Curiously doth trace

On the smooth unsullied white

Of the paper's face,

So do outer things impress

Images on consciousness.'

But if verily the mind

Thus all passive lies;

If no living power within

Its own force supplies;

If it but reflect again,

Like a glass, things false and vain--

Whence the wondrous faculty

That perceives and knows,

That in one fair ordered scheme

Doth the world dispose;

Grasps each whole that Sense presents,

Or breaks into elements?

So divides and recombines,

And in changeful wise

Now to low descends, and now

To the height doth rise;

Last in inward swift review

Strictly sifts the false and true?

Of these ample potencies

Fitter cause, I ween,

Were Mind's self than marks impressed

By the outer scene.

Yet the body through the sense

Stirs the soul's intelligence.

When light flashes on the eye,

Or sound strikes the ear,

Mind aroused to due response

Makes the message clear;

And the dumb external signs

With the hidden forms combines.

FOOTNOTES:

[R] A criticism of the doctrine of the mind as a blank sheet of paper on

which experience writes, as held by the Stoics in anticipation of Locke.

See Zeller, 'Stoics, Epicureans, and Sceptics,' Reichel's translation,

p. 76.

V.

'Now, although in the case of bodies endowed with sentiency the

qualities of external objects affect the sense-organs, and the activity

of mind is preceded by a bodily affection which calls forth the mind's

action upon itself, and stimulates the forms till that moment lying

inactive within, yet, I say, if in these bodies endowed with sentiency

the mind is not inscribed by mere passive affection, but of its own

efficacy discriminates the impressions furnished to the body, how much

more do intelligences free from all bodily affections employ in their

discrimination their own mental activities instead of conforming to

external objects? So on these principles various modes of cognition

belong to distinct and different substances. For to creatures void of

motive power--shell-fish and other such creatures which cling to rocks

and grow there--belongs Sense alone, void of all other modes of gaining

knowledge; to beasts endowed with movement, in whom some capacity of

seeking and shunning seems to have arisen, Imagination also. Thought

pertains only to the human race, as Intelligence to Divinity alone;

hence it follows that that form of knowledge exceeds the rest which of

its own nature cognizes not only its proper object, but the objects of

the other forms of knowledge also. But what if Sense and Imagination

were to gainsay Thought, and declare that universal which Thought deems

itself to behold to be nothing? For the object of Sense and Imagination

cannot be universal; so that either the judgment of Reason is true and

there is no sense-object, or, since they know full well that many

objects are presented to Sense and Imagination, the conception of

Reason, which looks on that which is perceived by Sense and particular

as if it were a something "universal," is empty of content. Suppose,

further, that Reason maintains in reply that it does indeed contemplate

the object of both Sense and Imagination under the form of

universality, while Sense and Imagination cannot aspire to the

knowledge of the universal, since their cognizance cannot go beyond

bodily figures, and that in the cognition of reality we ought rather to

trust the stronger and more perfect faculty of judgment. In a dispute of

this sort, should not we, in whom is planted the faculty of reasoning as

well as of imagining and perceiving, espouse the cause of Reason?

'In like manner is it that human reason thinks that Divine Intelligence

cannot see the future except after the fashion in which its own

knowledge is obtained. For thy contention is, if events do not appear to

involve certain and necessary issues, they cannot be foreseen as

certainly about to come to pass. There is, then, no foreknowledge of

such events; or, if we can ever bring ourselves to believe that there

is, there can be nothing which does not happen of necessity. If,

however, we could have some part in the judgment of the Divine mind,

even as we participate in Reason, we should think it perfectly just that

human Reason should submit itself to the Divine mind, no less than we

judged that Imagination and Sense ought to yield to Reason. Wherefore

let us soar, if we can, to the heights of that Supreme Intelligence; for

there Reason will see what in itself it cannot look upon; and that is in

what way things whose occurrence is not certain may yet be seen in a

sure and definite foreknowledge; and that this foreknowledge is not

conjecture, but rather knowledge in its supreme simplicity, free of all

limits and restrictions.'

SONG V.

THE UPWARD LOOK.

In what divers shapes and fashions do the creatures great and small

Over wide earth's teeming surface skim, or scud, or walk, or crawl!

Some with elongated body sweep the ground, and, as they move,

Trail perforce with writhing belly in the dust a sinuous groove;

Some, on light wing upward soaring, swiftly do the winds divide,

And through heaven's ample spaces in free motion smoothly glide;

These earth's solid surface pressing, with firm paces onward rove,

Ranging through the verdant meadows, crouching in the woodland grove.

Great and wondrous is their variance! Yet in all the head low-bent

Dulls the soul and blunts the senses, though their forms be different.

Man alone, erect, aspiring, lifts his forehead to the skies,

And in upright posture steadfast seems earth's baseness to despise.

If with earth not all besotted, to this parable give ear,

Thou whose gaze is fixed on heaven, who thy face on high dost rear:

Lift thy soul, too, heavenward; haply lest it stain its heavenly worth,

And thine eyes alone look upward, while thy mind cleaves to the earth!

VI.

'Since, then, as we lately proved, everything that is known is cognized

not in accordance with its own nature, but in accordance with the nature

of the faculty that comprehends it, let us now contemplate, as far as

lawful, the character of the Divine essence, that we may be able to

understand also the nature of its knowledge.

'God is eternal; in this judgment all rational beings agree. Let us,

then, consider what eternity is. For this word carries with it a

revelation alike of the Divine nature and of the Divine knowledge. Now,

eternity is the possession of endless life whole and perfect at a single

moment. What this is becomes more clear and manifest from a comparison

with things temporal. For whatever lives in time is a present proceeding

from the past to the future, and there is nothing set in time which can

embrace the whole space of its life together. To-morrow's state it

grasps not yet, while it has already lost yesterday's; nay, even in the

life of to-day ye live no longer than one brief transitory moment.

Whatever, therefore, is subject to the condition of time, although, as

Aristotle deemed of the world, it never have either beginning or end,

and its life be stretched to the whole extent of time's infinity, it yet

is not such as rightly to be thought eternal. For it does not include

and embrace the whole space of infinite life at once, but has no present

hold on things to come, not yet accomplished. Accordingly, that which

includes and possesses the whole fulness of unending life at once, from

which nothing future is absent, from which nothing past has escaped,

this is rightly called eternal; this must of necessity be ever present

to itself in full self-possession, and hold the infinity of movable time

in an abiding present. Wherefore they deem not rightly who imagine that

on Plato's principles the created world is made co-eternal with the

Creator, because they are told that he believed the world to have had

no beginning in time,[S] and to be destined never to come to an end. For

it is one thing for existence to be endlessly prolonged, which was what

Plato ascribed to the world, another for the whole of an endless life to

be embraced in the present, which is manifestly a property peculiar to

the Divine mind. Nor need God appear earlier in mere duration of time to

created things, but only prior in the unique simplicity of His nature.

For the infinite progression of things in time copies this immediate

existence in the present of the changeless life, and when it cannot

succeed in equalling it, declines from movelessness into motion, and

falls away from the simplicity of a perpetual present to the infinite

duration of the future and the past; and since it cannot possess the

whole fulness of its life together, for the very reason that in a manner

it never ceases to be, it seems, up to a certain point, to rival that

which it cannot complete and express by attaching itself indifferently

to any present moment of time, however swift and brief; and since this

bears some resemblance to that ever-abiding present, it bestows on

everything to which it is assigned the semblance of existence. But since

it cannot abide, it hurries along the infinite path of time, and the

result has been that it continues by ceaseless movement the life the

completeness of which it could not embrace while it stood still. So, if

we are minded to give things their right names, we shall follow Plato in

saying that God indeed is eternal, but the world everlasting.

'Since, then, every mode of judgment comprehends its objects conformably

to its own nature, and since God abides for ever in an eternal present,

His knowledge, also transcending all movement of time, dwells in the

simplicity of its own changeless present, and, embracing the whole

infinite sweep of the past and of the future, contemplates all that

falls within its simple cognition as if it were now taking place. And

therefore, if thou wilt carefully consider that immediate presentment

whereby it discriminates all things, thou wilt more rightly deem it not

foreknowledge as of something future, but knowledge of a moment that

never passes. For this cause the name chosen to describe it is not

prevision, but providence, because, since utterly removed in nature from

things mean and trivial, its outlook embraces all things as from some

lofty height. Why, then, dost thou insist that the things which are

surveyed by the Divine eye are involved in necessity, whereas clearly

men impose no necessity on things which they see? Does the act of vision

add any necessity to the things which thou seest before thy eyes?'

'Assuredly not.'

'And yet, if we may without unfitness compare God's present and man's,

just as ye see certain things in this your temporary present, so does He

see all things in His eternal present. Wherefore this Divine

anticipation changes not the natures and properties of things, and it

beholds things present before it, just as they will hereafter come to

pass in time. Nor does it confound things in its judgment, but in the

one mental view distinguishes alike what will come necessarily and what

without necessity. For even as ye, when at one and the same time ye see

a man walking on the earth and the sun rising in the sky, distinguish

between the two, though one glance embraces both, and judge the former

voluntary, the latter necessary action: so also the Divine vision in its

universal range of view does in no wise confuse the characters of the

things which are present to its regard, though future in respect of

time. Whence it follows that when it perceives that something will come

into existence, and yet is perfectly aware that this is unbound by any

necessity, its apprehension is not opinion, but rather knowledge based

on truth. And if to this thou sayest that what God sees to be about to

come to pass cannot fail to come to pass, and that what cannot fail to

come to pass happens of necessity, and wilt tie me down to this word

necessity, I will acknowledge that thou affirmest a most solid truth,

but one which scarcely anyone can approach to who has not made the

Divine his special study. For my answer would be that the same future

event is necessary from the standpoint of Divine knowledge, but when

considered in its own nature it seems absolutely free and unfettered.

So, then, there are two necessities--one simple, as that men are

necessarily mortal; the other conditioned, as that, if you know that

someone is walking, he must necessarily be walking. For that which is

known cannot indeed be otherwise than as it is known to be, and yet this

fact by no means carries with it that other simple necessity. For the

former necessity is not imposed by the thing's own proper nature, but by

the addition of a condition. No necessity compels one who is voluntarily

walking to go forward, although it is necessary for him to go forward at

the moment of walking. In the same way, then, if Providence sees

anything as present, that must necessarily be, though it is bound by no

necessity of nature. Now, God views as present those coming events which

happen of free will. These, accordingly, from the standpoint of the

Divine vision are made necessary conditionally on the Divine

cognizance; viewed, however, in themselves, they desist not from the

absolute freedom naturally theirs. Accordingly, without doubt, all

things will come to pass which God foreknows as about to happen, but of

these certain proceed of free will; and though these happen, yet by the

fact of their existence they do not lose their proper nature, in virtue

of which before they happened it was really possible that they might not

have come to pass.

'What difference, then, does the denial of necessity make, since,

through their being conditioned by Divine knowledge, they come to pass

as if they were in all respects under the compulsion of necessity? This

difference, surely, which we saw in the case of the instances I formerly

took, the sun's rising and the man's walking; which at the moment of

their occurrence could not but be taking place, and yet one of them

before it took place was necessarily obliged to be, while the other was

not so at all. So likewise the things which to God are present without

doubt exist, but some of them come from the necessity of things, others

from the power of the agent. Quite rightly, then, have we said that

these things are necessary if viewed from the standpoint of the Divine

knowledge; but if they are considered in themselves, they are free from

the bonds of necessity, even as everything which is accessible to sense,

regarded from the standpoint of Thought, is universal, but viewed in its

own nature particular. "But," thou wilt say, "if it is in my power to

change my purpose, I shall make void providence, since I shall perchance

change something which comes within its foreknowledge." My answer is:

Thou canst indeed turn aside thy purpose; but since the truth of

providence is ever at hand to see that thou canst, and whether thou

dost, and whither thou turnest thyself, thou canst not avoid the Divine

foreknowledge, even as thou canst not escape the sight of a present

spectator, although of thy free will thou turn thyself to various

actions. Wilt thou, then, say: "Shall the Divine knowledge be changed at

my discretion, so that, when I will this or that, providence changes its

knowledge correspondingly?"

'Surely not.'

'True, for the Divine vision anticipates all that is coming, and

transforms and reduces it to the form of its own present knowledge, and

varies not, as thou deemest, in its foreknowledge, alternating to this

or that, but in a single flash it forestalls and includes thy mutations

without altering. And this ever-present comprehension and survey of all

things God has received, not from the issue of future events, but from

the simplicity of His own nature. Hereby also is resolved the objection

which a little while ago gave thee offence--that our doings in the

future were spoken of as if supplying the cause of God's knowledge. For

this faculty of knowledge, embracing all things in its immediate

cognizance, has itself fixed the bounds of all things, yet itself owes

nothing to what comes after.

'And all this being so, the freedom of man's will stands unshaken, and

laws are not unrighteous, since their rewards and punishments are held

forth to wills unbound by any necessity. God, who foreknoweth all

things, still looks down from above, and the ever-present eternity of

His vision concurs with the future character of all our acts, and

dispenseth to the good rewards, to the bad punishments. Our hopes and

prayers also are not fixed on God in vain, and when they are rightly

directed cannot fail of effect. Therefore, withstand vice, practise

virtue, lift up your souls to right hopes, offer humble prayers to

Heaven. Great is the necessity of righteousness laid upon you if ye will

not hide it from yourselves, seeing that all your actions are done

before the eyes of a Judge who seeth all things.'

FOOTNOTES:

[S] Plato expressly states the opposite in the 'Timæus' (28B), though

possibly there the account of the beginning of the world in time is to

be understood figuratively, not literally. See Jowett, vol. iii., pp.

448, 449 (3rd edit.).

EPILOGUE.

Within a short time of writing 'The Consolation of Philosophy,' Boethius

died by a cruel death. As to the manner of his death there is some

uncertainty. According to one account, he was cut down by the swords of

the soldiers before the very judgment-seat of Theodoric; according to

another, a cord was first fastened round his forehead, and tightened

till 'his eyes started'; he was then killed with a club.

_Elliot Stock, Paternoster Row, London_

REFERENCES TO QUOTATIONS IN THE TEXT.

Bk. I., ch. iv., p. 17, l. 6: 'Iliad,' I. 363.

" ch. iv., p. 18, l. 7: Plato, 'Republic,'

V. 473, D; Jowett, vol. iii., pp. 170, 171

(3rd edit.).

" ch. iv., p. 22, l. 6: Plato, 'Republic,'

I. 347, C; Jowett, III., p. 25.

" ch. v., p. 30, l. 19: 'Iliad,' II., 204, 205.

Bk. II., ch. ii., p. 50, l. 21: 'Iliad.' XXIV.

527, 528.

" ch. vii., p. 78, l. 25: Cicero, 'De

Republicâ,' VI. 20, in the 'Somnium

Scipionis.'

Bk. III., ch. iv., p. 106, l. 10: Catullus, LII., 2.

" ch. vi., p. 114, l. 4: Euripides, 'Andromache,'

319, 320.

" ch. ix., p. 129, l. 3: Plato, 'Timæus,'

27, C; Jowett, vol. iii., p. 448.

" ch. xii., p. 157, l. 14: Quoted Plato,

'Sophistes,' 244, E; Jowett, vol. iv.,

p. 374.

" ch. xii., p. 157, l. 22: Plato, 'Timæus,'

29, B; Jowett, vol. iii., p. 449.

Bk. IV., ch. vi., p. 206, l. 17: Lucan, 'Pharsalia,'

I. 126.

" ch. vi., p. 210, l. 23: 'Iliad,' XII. 176.

Bk. V., ch. i., p. 227,l. 16: Aristotle, 'Physics,'

II. v. 5.

" ch. iii., p. 238, l. 20: Horace, 'Satires,'

II. v. 59.

" ch. iv., p. 243, l. 3: Cicero, 'De Divinatione,'

II. 7, 8.

" ch. vi., p. 258, l. 8: Aristotle, 'De

Cælo,' II. 1.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Consolation of Philosophy, by Boethius