<CHAPTER>
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, AEneid,' xii. 764, 745: _cf_. 'Iliad,' xxii. 159-162.

SONG II. THE BONDAGE OF PASSION.

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

III.

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

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

SONG III. CIRCE'S CUP.

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

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

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

IV.

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

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

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

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

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

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

'What is that?'

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

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

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

'Yes,' said I.

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

'It would seem so.'

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

'It could scarcely be otherwise.'

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

'I cannot deny it.'

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

'Why, who would venture to deny it?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'I would not, certainly.'

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

'Yes,' I replied.

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

'Agreed,' said I.

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

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

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

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

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

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-orbed 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 Antaeus 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!

</CHAPTER>
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.

</CHAPTER>

Commentary on Parts I and II       The poem about the ascent of the soul to God includes a vision of Neoplatonic cosmology in which God, not earth, is the center of the universe. The reason humans like Boethius have trouble sorting out the truth is because earth is far from God, near the edge of darkness. The soul must traverse many spheres to get closer to the light. Philosophy says that this journey towards the light is possible for human beings. Philosophy continues her argument that there is only one power in the universe . God rules the universe by Providence. The wicked may appear to have power, but they are sunk in ignorance and have no idea how to obtain the good, which is the same as life. Goodness gives strength, and doing evil only makes people weak. They suffer the consequences, for sin is always punished, a sort of natural cause and effect. For instance, a person who pursues only bodily appetites will become sick and unbalanced. Those who try to control others through violence unleash a force by which they themselves are destroyed. In the long run, therefore, the wicked perish by their own evil acts. The good become happier the closer they rise to the light, the source of life. Summary of Part III       Philosophy points out that the goal of every action is its own reward. Goodness itself is the common reward of human activity, for all people desire it and act to obtain it. The goodness gained from good actions cannot be removed from those who are good. The good man's reward is his forever. The wicked cannot take goodness from them, for they must earn their own good. Goodness is happiness, so virtue is its own reward. The happy thus have access to the divine. Similarly, the punishment of the wicked is wickedness itself. Evil is like an infection or sickness. Another way to see this is that everything that exists is naturally good. Anything that turns away from goodness ceases to exist. Someone lost in evil has sunk to the level of an animal. The evil diminish themselves by destroying their own nature. They lose their souls and end up as mere physical bodies. They are human in appearance only. On the other hand, goodness raises people above the human level so they participate in divinity. Commentary on Part III       Philosophy's definition of the human seems a bit radical, but it follows the lofty Platonic strain of these arguments, in which the human is made in the image of God and can participate directly in divinity through being good. This view of human nature as essentially good is opposed to the Christian doctrine of original sin that sees human nature as fundamentally corrupt. Christianity generally posits the necessity for divine intervention to save human nature from its own evil tendencies. Boethius was a Christian, but he represents the line of philosophers who were Christian Platonists, combining certain concepts from Christianity with Platonic concepts. Boethius thus prefers to see humans as capable of perfection through their own efforts. Philosophy argues that humans have free will and the ability to choose whether to rise to the level of the divine by exercising their inherent goodness, or to fall to the level of beasts by becoming evil. She ends the section with a poem about the adventures of the Greek hero, Odysseus, as an example. When Odysseus and his men landed on the island ruled by Circe the witch, she enticed the men with food and drink, and through their gluttony they turned into animals, with only their minds left to mourn their fate. This symbolizes what happens to those who fall prey to outer temptations; they cease to exist as humans and become bestial. Summary of Part IV       Boethius agrees that evil people are like beasts, but he still laments that they are free to bring destruction to good people. Philosophy objects that it is not a matter of freedom. The evil are not free, for if they achieve their desire to do evil, they suffer. Evil men often suffer violent and unexpected ends, imposing a limit on how much evil they can do. Commentary on Part IV         Philosophy has been trying to get Boethius to let go of his resentment towards the injustice done him by wicked men. This sense of resentment makes him miserable. She tries to convince him, based on the definitions they have already laid down about true happiness, that the evil suffer and the wise do not. She concludes, "wickedness is a disease of the mind" . How can Boethius despise someone who is mentally ill while he is healthy? What the wicked do is "suicidal," so one should "love the good, show pity for the bad" . Boethius replies to Philosophy that this all makes sense, but the opinions of ordinary men on the subject would deny what she has said. She replies that one cannot heed the blind. According to "everlasting law," if one turns the mind to higher things, there is no need of an outer reward, for the mind enjoys its own high state. Similarly, if one turns the mind to lower things, there is no need for outer punishment, for that low state of mind is itself a form of suffering. The one who commits a crime is therefore more wretched than the one the crime was committed against. Consequently, there is no point in hating the wicked. Book IV of Parts I and II Since the existence of evil was the stumbling block for Boethius at the end of the last book, it is examined more closely now. Boethius comments that he likes the sweet songs of Philosophy, but he has not yet forgotten his sorrow. He challenges her that even though good ultimately rules the world, evil still exists and goes unpunished. What is worse, when wickedness is in charge, it not only does not reward the good, it actively punishes the good. It is a mystery how this can happen in a world ruled by an omnipotent God. Philosophy corrects his ideas, saying that the good are always strong, and the wicked always weak. Sin is always punished and virtue always rewarded. She tells him she will show him the path to bring him home, and she will give his mind wings. Then she recites a poem about the ascent of the soul to God where the soul says, "I remember" . Boethius says he is anxious for her to keep her promise to give his mind wings. All human activity depends on will and power, she says. The instinctive direction of the human will is towards happiness, which is the same as the good. Both good men and bad men strive for the same thing--the good. The good men become good because they are already by nature virtuous. If the bad men obtain the good, they are no longer bad. The power of good men is therefore stronger in the pursuit of good, and the bad are weaker and have to put forth more effort. Because they do not know how to gain the good, the bad are ignorant and weak through lack of self-control. If the ignorant turn to vice on purpose, they not only cease to be powerful, they cease to exist at all, because existence and life derive from the good. Whatever "power" the evil have, therefore, comes from weakness, not strength. Since God has the supreme power, and that supreme power is goodness, evil cannot be counted as a form of power. The wise achieve their desire, while the wicked only get pleasure without the good. Commentary on Parts I and II Commentary on Parts I and II The poem about the ascent of the soul to God includes a vision of Neoplatonic cosmology in which God, not earth, is the center of the universe. The reason humans like Boethius have trouble sorting out the truth is because earth is far from God, near the edge of darkness. The soul must traverse many spheres to get closer to the light. Philosophy says that this journey towards the light is possible for human beings. Philosophy continues her argument that there is only one power in the universe . God rules the universe by Providence. The wicked may appear to have power, but they are sunk in ignorance and have no idea how to obtain the good, which is the same as life. Goodness gives strength, and doing evil only makes people weak. They suffer the consequences, for sin is always punished, a sort of natural cause and effect. For instance, a person who pursues only bodily appetites will become sick and unbalanced. Those who try to control others through violence unleash a force by which they themselves are destroyed. In the long run, therefore, the wicked perish by their own evil acts. The good become happier the closer they rise to the light, the source of life. of Part III Philosophy points out that the goal of every action is its own reward. Goodness itself is the common reward of human activity, for all people desire it and act to obtain it. The goodness gained from good actions cannot be removed from those who are good. The good man's reward is his forever. The wicked cannot take goodness from them, for they must earn their own good. Goodness is happiness, so virtue is its own reward. The happy thus have access to the divine. Similarly, the punishment of the wicked is wickedness itself. Evil is like an infection or sickness. Another way to see this is that everything that exists is naturally good. Anything that turns away from goodness ceases to exist. Someone lost in evil has sunk to the level of an animal. The evil diminish themselves by destroying their own nature. They lose their souls and end up as mere physical bodies. They are human in appearance only. On the other hand, goodness raises people above the human level so they participate in divinity. Commentary on Part III Commentary on Part III Philosophy's definition of the human seems a bit radical, but it follows the lofty Platonic strain of these arguments, in which the human is made in the image of God and can participate directly in divinity through being good. This view of human nature as essentially good is opposed to the Christian doctrine of original sin that sees human nature as fundamentally corrupt. Christianity generally posits the necessity for divine intervention to save human nature from its own evil tendencies. Boethius was a Christian, but he represents the line of philosophers who were Christian Platonists, combining certain concepts from Christianity with Platonic concepts. Boethius thus prefers to see humans as capable of perfection through their own efforts. Philosophy argues that humans have free will and the ability to choose whether to rise to the level of the divine by exercising their inherent goodness, or to fall to the level of beasts by becoming evil. She ends the section with a poem about the adventures of the Greek hero, Odysseus, as an example. When Odysseus and his men landed on the island ruled by Circe the witch, she enticed the men with food and drink, and through their gluttony they turned into animals, with only their minds left to mourn their fate. This symbolizes what happens to those who fall prey to outer temptations; they cease to exist as humans and become bestial. of Part IV Boethius agrees that evil people are like beasts, but he still laments that they are free to bring destruction to good people. Philosophy objects that it is not a matter of freedom. The evil are not free, for if they achieve their desire to do evil, they suffer. Evil men often suffer violent and unexpected ends, imposing a limit on how much evil they can do. Commentary on Part IV         Philosophy has been trying to get Boethius to let go of his resentment towards the injustice done him by wicked men. This sense of resentment makes him miserable. She tries to convince him, based on the definitions they have already laid down about true happiness, that the evil suffer and the wise do not. She concludes, "wickedness is a disease of the mind" . How can Boethius despise someone who is mentally ill while he is healthy? What the wicked do is "suicidal," so one should "love the good, show pity for the bad" . Commentary on Part IV Philosophy has been trying to get Boethius to let go of his resentment towards the injustice done him by wicked men. This sense of resentment makes him miserable. She tries to convince him, based on the definitions they have already laid down about true happiness, that the evil suffer and the wise do not. She concludes, "wickedness is a disease of the mind" . How can Boethius despise someone who is mentally ill while he is healthy? What the wicked do is "suicidal," so one should "love the good, show pity for the bad" . Commentary on Part IV Commentary on Part IV Philosophy has been trying to get Boethius to let go of his resentment towards the injustice done him by wicked men. This sense of resentment makes him miserable. She tries to convince him, based on the definitions they have already laid down about true happiness, that the evil suffer and the wise do not. She concludes, "wickedness is a disease of the mind" . How can Boethius despise someone who is mentally ill while he is healthy? What the wicked do is "suicidal," so one should "love the good, show pity for the bad" . Boethius replies to Philosophy that this all makes sense, but the opinions of ordinary men on the subject would deny what she has said. She replies that one cannot heed the blind. According to "everlasting law," if one turns the mind to higher things, there is no need of an outer reward, for the mind enjoys its own high state. Similarly, if one turns the mind to lower things, there is no need for outer punishment, for that low state of mind is itself a form of suffering. The one who commits a crime is therefore more wretched than the one the crime was committed against. Consequently, there is no point in hating the wicked. Novel Author Boethius Novel Author Boethius