Book I: Philosophy Meets Grief
Sorrow After Fortune Turns
I once wrote careful verses With ease in happier days. Now tears and sorrow force me To learn a mournful song. The Muses, disheveled by grief, Guide my pen and give my sorrow voice; Real tears fall down their cheeks As they listen to my lament. They alone have stayed faithful in danger, Daring to follow the exile To the lonely end of his journey. They were the pride and pleasure Of my youth and high standing; They remain the only comfort Of an old man in his sorrow. Old? Yes. Before I knew it, These troubles brought on age. Grief has made me wear The clothing that suits her best. White hair has come too soon To tell the story of my troubles, And my skin hangs loose On a body worn down by sorrow. Blessed is death when it spares The sweet years of peace, Yet answers the brokenhearted When they call for release. But death passes by the wretched, Closes his ears and sleeps; He will not hear their cries Or close their weeping eyes. When fickle Fortune still gave freely And everything seemed bright, Death’s dark hour nearly took me Into endless night. Now misfortune has darkened Fortune’s deceitful face, And cruel life lingers on, Though I loathe its weary course. Friends, why were you so quick To call me happy then? A man who has fallen so far Could not have stood securely.
Philosophy Dismisses the Muses
While I silently turned these thoughts over and wrote down my grief, a woman appeared to stand above my head. Her face commanded profound respect. Her eyes shone like fire and saw more keenly than human eyes. Her complexion was vivid, and she showed no weakness of age, though she had clearly lived a long time and seemed to belong to another age. Her height was hard to judge. At one moment she was of ordinary stature; at another, her forehead seemed to touch the sky. When she raised her head higher still, she pierced the heavens and passed beyond the sight of those looking at her.
Her clothing was made of an imperishable fabric, woven from the finest threads with extraordinary skill. She later told me she had woven it herself. Age and neglect had dimmed its beauty, giving it the dull look of marble exposed to the weather. The Greek letter Pi (Π) was woven into its lower edge and Theta (Θ) into its upper edge. Between them ran steps like a staircase leading from one letter to the other. Violent hands had torn the robe, each person taking whatever piece they could seize. She held a notebook in her right hand and a staff in her left.
When she saw the Muses of Poetry beside my bed, dictating my lament, anger flashed in her eyes. “Who allowed these theatrical temptresses near this sick man?” she said. “They offer no medicine for his illness. They feed it with sweet poison. They choke reason’s fertile growth with the barren thorns of passion and teach minds to live with disease instead of freeing them from it. If they were luring some ordinary man, as they usually do, I would be less angry. I would not have spent my care on such a man. But this one was raised on Eleatic and Academic philosophy. Go, you sirens whose sweetness never lasts. Leave him to my Muses to care for and heal.”
Rebuked, the whole company grew still sadder. They lowered their eyes, blushed with shame, and left the room in sorrow. My sight was blurred by tears, and I could not tell who this commanding woman was. I sat speechless, staring at the ground and waiting to see what she would do. She came closer and sat on the edge of my bed. Seeing my grief-stricken face turned toward the floor, she lamented the disorder of my mind in these words:
A Mind Bent Toward Earth
Alas, how deep his mind has sunk, How fiercely it is tossed! Again it falls toward the outer darkness, Losing its true light Whenever earthly cares rise Like waves driven by a storm. Once he ranged the open heavens And followed the sun’s bright course. He watched the cold moon wax and wane And studied every star That guides its way among The circling spheres. He sought the causes of the winds That trouble the calm sea, The power that turns the stable world, And the reason the sun travels From the red eastern sky To the waters of the west. He asked what makes spring mild And clothes the earth in roses, And what fills autumn’s ripeness With clusters of grapes. He always strove to understand The hidden workings of nature. Now reason’s light is gone from him. He lies with his neck in chains, Bent beneath their heavy weight, His eyes fixed on the dull earth.
Philosophy Clears His Sight
“But this is a time for healing, not lament,” she said. Looking directly at me, she went on: “Are you the man I once nourished with my own teaching until your spirit reached its full strength? I gave you armor that would have protected you against any attack, if you had not first thrown it away. Do you know me? Why are you silent? Is it shame or astonishment that has taken your voice? I wish it were shame, but I can see that you are stunned.”
When I still could not speak, she gently touched my chest. “There is no danger,” she said. “This is lethargy, the usual illness of a deluded mind. He has forgotten himself for a while. His memory will return easily once he recognizes me. Let me clear his eyes of the mist of mortal concerns so that he can see me.” With a fold of her robe, she dried my tear-filled eyes.
Daylight After the Storm
Then the darkness scattered, And sight returned to my eyes. So when rainy Caurus drives Storm clouds across the sky, The sun is hidden And heaven grows dark without a star. But when Boreas sweeps in fiercely And frees the imprisoned daylight, The sun suddenly pours out its radiance And dazzles our eyes with its beams.
Philosophy Stands by the Persecuted
In just that way, the clouds of my sorrow parted. I saw clearly again and recognized my physician. When I looked up at her, I saw Philosophy, who had cared for me and whose halls I had visited since my youth.
“Why, mistress of every excellence,” I cried, “have you come down from your heights to this lonely place of exile? Have false accusations brought persecution on you too, as they have on me?”
“Could I abandon you, my child, instead of sharing the burden you bear because people hate my name? Even if it were lawful for Philosophy to leave an innocent companion alone on his journey, do you think I would shrink from reproach as though it were something new? Is this the first evil age in which Wisdom has faced danger? Long before my servant Plato lived, I fought hard against reckless folly. With my help, his teacher Socrates won a victory even through an unjust death.
“Afterward, the Epicureans, the Stoics, and the rest came one after another to claim what Socrates had left. Each tried to drag me away as a prize, despite my resistance. They tore apart the garment I had woven with my own hands and carried off its pieces, each believing he possessed all of me. Some were later killed because traces of my clothing made an ignorant and dissolute crowd mistake them for my disciples.
“Perhaps you have not heard of the banishment of Anaxagoras, the poison given to Socrates, or the torture of Zeno, since those things happened in distant lands. But you could have learned what happened to Arrius, Seneca, and Soranus. Their stories are neither ancient nor obscure. They were destroyed because their lives, grounded in my principles, stood in plain contrast to the conduct of the wicked.
“So do not be surprised that storms toss us on the sea of life. We have made it our chief purpose to refuse to go along with evildoers. The wicked may be numerous, but their host deserves little respect. It has no leader and rushes blindly wherever madness and error drive it. If they gather their forces and attack us, our leader withdraws her people into the citadel while the attackers plunder worthless baggage. Safe above the turmoil, we laugh as they seize what has no value. Our defenses lie beyond the reach of their aggressive folly.”
The Courage to Face Fate
Whoever calmly stands against proud fate And keeps an unconquered spirit, Steady through whatever comes, Cannot be terrified By seas that rage and threaten, By flames that smoky Vesuvius pours out, Or by lightning striking a tower. Why fear a tyrant’s feeble power? Neither dread him nor fear what he may do, And his anger loses its force. But whoever yields to hope or fear Gives up command of his own heart. He throws away his shield, Flees the field like a coward, And unknowingly forges The chains that will bind his neck.
Boethius Pleads His Case
“Do you understand?” she asked. “Do my words reach your mind, or are you as unresponsive as an ass hearing a lyre? Why are you crying? Why do tears keep streaming from your eyes? ‘Speak out, hide it not in thy heart.’ If you want the physician’s help, you must show her your wound.”
Gathering what strength I could, I began. “Must I still explain? Isn’t Fortune’s cruelty toward me plain enough? Doesn’t this place itself move you? Is this the library you chose as your regular refuge in my home, where we so often sat together and discussed heaven and earth? Did I look like this when I explored nature’s hidden truths with you, while you traced the courses of the stars for me with your staff and shaped my character and conduct after the order of the heavens? Is this the reward for following you?
“Through Plato, you gave the maxim ‘that states would be happy, either if philosophers ruled them, or if it should so befall that their rulers would turn philosophers.’ Through him, you also explained why philosophers should take part in government: if they leave power to corrupt and unprincipled people, good people will suffer ruin. I followed these teachings. I tried to put into public service the principles I had learned from you in private study. You and the divinity who placed you in the hearts of the wise know that I entered public life with no aim but the common good. That is why I became entangled in bitter, lasting feuds. Anyone who keeps an independent conscience in the cause of justice must be willing to offend the powerful.
“How often did I confront Conigastus and stop him from taking the property of the weak? How often did I thwart Trigguilla, steward of the king’s household, even when his schemes were nearly complete? How often did I risk my position and influence to protect helpless people from the endless false charges brought against them by the greed and lawlessness of the barbarians? No one ever turned me from justice toward oppression. When private plunder and public taxes together ruined the people of the provinces, I grieved as much as they did. During a severe shortage, an unjust forced sale threatened to leave Campania starving. I took up the public’s cause against the praetorian prefect, argued it before the king, and prevented the sale. I rescued Paulinus, a former consul, from the court’s predators, who had already set their greedy sights on his wealth. To save Albinus, a man of the same high rank, from punishment on a charge already prejudged, I exposed myself to the hatred of Cyprian, the informer.
“Do you think I had made enough enemies? At least I should have been safe among my fellow citizens, since my commitment to justice had left me no hope of safety at court. Yet who brought the charges that ruined me? One accuser was Basil. After his dismissal from the king’s household, his debts drove him to make an accusation against me. Others were Opilio and Gaudentius, whom the king had sentenced to exile for many offenses. They refused to leave and sought sanctuary. When the king heard, he ordered that, unless they left Ravenna within a set time, they would be branded on the forehead and expelled. Could any judgment have been more severe? Yet that very day their accusation against me was accepted.
“Heavens, had my conduct earned this? Did the certainty of my condemnation somehow make them credible accusers? Has Fortune no shame, if not over the accusation of an innocent man, then at least over the vileness of those accusing him? Perhaps you wonder what they say I did. I wanted to save the senate. How, then, did I supposedly commit a crime? They say I prevented an informer from producing evidence that would have proved the senate guilty of treason. Tell me, my mistress, what should I do? Deny that I wished to save the senate, and disgrace you? I did wish it, and I always will. Admit it? Then there is no longer any question of thwarting the informer. Should I call the desire to preserve that distinguished body a crime? By its decisions about me, the senate itself has made it one. But folly cannot change the true character of things by giving them false names. Remembering Socrates’ teaching, I believe it wrong either to hide the truth or to let falsehood stand. I leave this matter to your judgment and to that of discerning people. I have also written down what happened, so that later generations may know the events and the facts.
“Why speak of the forged letters used to claim that I hoped Rome would be free? Their falsity would have been clear if I had been allowed to use the informers’ own confessions, evidence that carries the greatest weight. But what hope of freedom do we have? If only we had some! I would have answered as Canius did when Caligula told him he had known about a plot against the emperor: ‘If I had known, thou shouldst never have known.’
“Grief has not so dulled my judgment that I complain merely because wicked people devise crimes against the good. What astonishes me is that they succeed. Human imperfection may explain an evil intention. But that scoundrels can carry out their worst plans against the innocent while God looks on seems monstrous. One of your disciples therefore had reason to ask, ‘If God exists, whence comes evil? Yet whence comes good, if He exists not?’
“It is understandable that men who seek the blood of every honest person and of the whole senate should wish to destroy me. They saw me defending both. But did I deserve this from the senators themselves? You remember, for you were always beside me to guide my words and actions, what happened at Verona. The king wanted to implicate the entire senate in the treason charge against Albinus and seemed eager to destroy them all. I disregarded my own danger and declared every senator innocent. You know I speak the truth and have never boasted of my good deeds for praise. When a man wins public fame by announcing his good deeds, he diminishes the private reward of a clear conscience.
“You see what has come of my innocence. Instead of receiving the rewards of virtue, I bear the penalties of a guilt falsely assigned to me. Even when people openly confess a crime, their judges are rarely so unanimously severe that none considers human frailty or the changeability of Fortune. If I had been accused of planning to burn temples, murder priests, or massacre every honest person, I would at least have appeared in court. I could have been punished only after a confession or conviction. Yet for my excessive devotion to the senate, I have been condemned to exile and death, unheard and undefended, from nearly five hundred miles away. My judges deserve a world in which no one is ever convicted of a fault like mine!
“Even my accusers saw that the charge against me was honorable. To cast a shadow of guilt over it, they falsely claimed that ambition had led me into sacrilege. Yet your spirit within me had driven every desire for worldly success out of my soul. With your eyes always on me, there was no room for sacrilege. You repeated the Pythagorean maxim ‘Follow after God’ to me every day and fixed it in my mind. Why would I seek help from the vilest spirits when you were shaping me to resemble God? The innocence of my home, my friends of the highest integrity, and a father-in-law respected for both his pure character and his active generosity all protect me from even the suspicion of sacrilege.
“Yet they have done something appalling: they use you to make their accusation seem believable. They think me capable of wickedness precisely because I have absorbed your teachings and followed your ways. My devotion to you brings me no benefit, and now the hatred directed at me is directed at you as well. This is the worst of my misfortunes. Most people judge merit by outcomes, recognizing good judgment only when Fortune makes it succeed. Reputation is therefore the first thing an unfortunate person loses. I remember with bitterness how distorted public opinion is and how varied and contradictory people’s judgments are. I will say only this: the heaviest burden of misfortune is that, once an accusation is attached to those who suffer, people assume they deserve their suffering. For doing good, I have lost life’s blessings, my honors, and my good name, and I am punished.
“I can almost see the criminals in their dens celebrating. The most reckless are ready with a new crop of false accusations. Good people lie terrified by my danger. Every scoundrel is encouraged to act by the promise of impunity and to expect profit from audacity. The innocent have lost both their peace and every means of defense. So I want to cry out:”
A Plea for Justice on Earth
Builder of the starry dome, Eternally enthroned, you turn The swift sphere of heaven And guide the wandering stars by law. When Cynthia shines as a full moon, She dims the lights of night; Drawn closer to her brother’s sun, She loses all her light. At evening Hesper shows his cool glow; As sunlight grows, the morning star Hides its fading beams. By your will, daylight is brief When winter’s frost holds sway; When summer’s heat returns, The hours of night pass quickly. You govern the changing year. Leaves fall beneath fierce Boreas And return at Zephyr’s gentle touch. Fields scorched by Sirius Were sown under Arcturus’ watch. Each season obeys the law And keeps its appointed place. Sovereign ruler of all, Do you disregard only humankind? Fortune plays cruelly with us. Punishment earned by the guilty Falls on the innocent; The most profane rise high And vent their malice on the just. Virtue hides in dark retreats. The righteous bear the stain of crime, While lies and broken oaths Leave their authors unharmed. When the wicked rely on strength To carry out their desires, Kings before whom nations tremble Grovel in the dust. Look upon this earth! You founded all things upon law. Do we alone, among your creatures, Count for nothing? We are tossed on Fortune’s waves. Master, command the waves to settle, And guide the ways of earth By the order that rules heaven.
Exile from the Mind’s True Home
When I had poured out this long, uninterrupted lament, she remained calm, undisturbed by my complaints, and spoke.
“When I saw you grieving and in tears, I knew at once that you were wretched and in exile. I would not have known how far away your exile had taken you if you had not told me. Yet you have not been banished far from your country; you have wandered away from it. If you insist on calling this banishment, you have banished yourself. No one else could lawfully have that power over you.
“Remember the country you come from. It is not governed by the many, as Athens once was. There, ‘one is its Ruler, one its King.’ He delights in having many citizens, not in sending them away. To submit to his government and obey his laws is perfect freedom. Do you not know your country’s ancient law? No one who chooses to make a home there can be exiled. Within its walls and defenses, no one need fear deserving exile. A person who no longer wants to live there, however, also ceases to deserve to live there.
“So this place troubles me less than the state in which I find you. I miss the chamber of your mind more than these library walls decorated with glass and ivory. I once placed there something more valuable than books: the teachings that give my books their worth.
“What you have said about your public service is true, though it falls short of all you have done. Everyone knows the charges you have mentioned, whether they honor you or are entirely false. You were right to say little about the informers’ crimes and deceptions, since public opinion has already said more about them and said it better. You have complained bitterly of the senate’s injustice. You have grieved over the slander against me and the injury to my reputation. You have been angry with Fortune and protested the reward you received for your merits. Finally, your agitated Muse prayed that the peace of heaven might govern earth as well.
“But anger, pain, and grief have stirred up a crowd of violent feelings in your soul. You cannot bear strong remedies in your present state. I will begin with gentler treatment. It will soften the swellings hardened by those emotions until you can bear stronger medicine.”
A Time for Everything
Sow generous grain in unwilling furrows When the Crab’s fierce heat Scorches the plain, And your storehouse will be empty; Acorns will be your scanty food. Do not go to gather sweet violets From the purple hillside While winter’s furious winds Sweep through the valleys. Do not hurry spring’s grapes To the winepress. God has given each thing Its appointed time And allows no disorder To overturn his plan. Whoever abandons the proper order Will meet an unhappy end.
The Beliefs Behind His Illness
“First,” she said, “will you let me ask a few questions to test the state of your mind? Then I can learn how to begin your cure.”
“Ask whatever you wish,” I said. “I will answer every question you choose to put to me.”
“Do you think this world is governed by chance, or do you believe it has rational guidance?”
“I could never think its fixed movements result from random chance. I know that God, its creator, presides over his work, and nothing will ever make me give up that belief.”
“Yes,” she said. “You said as much in your song just now, though you lamented that human beings alone had no share in divine care. You remained certain that everything else is governed by reason. I am therefore astonished that you have fallen ill despite holding so firmly to this belief. Let us look deeper. Something is missing. Since you have no doubt that God governs the world, do you understand how he governs it?”
“I hardly understand what you mean,” I said, “much less how to answer.”
“Was I not right that something is missing? Through that breach in your defenses, sickness has entered and disturbed your mind. Tell me, do you remember the universal end toward which all nature aims?”
“I once learned it, but grief has dulled my memory.”
“And yet you know where all things come from.”
“Yes. I have said that they come from God.”
“How can you know their source and origin while forgetting the end toward which they exist? Such disturbances can shake a person’s position, though they cannot tear him completely from himself. Answer another question: do you remember that you are human?”
“How could I forget?”
“Then can you say what a human being is?”
“Are you asking whether I know that I am a rational being subject to death? I certainly know that.”
“Do you know nothing else about what you are?”
“Nothing.”
“Now I see another, very serious cause of your illness. You no longer know your own nature. I have discovered both the causes of your sickness and the means of curing it. Because you have forgotten yourself, you have mourned as an exile stripped of his blessings. Because you do not know the end toward which existence moves, you believe wicked and contemptible people to be happy and powerful. And because you have forgotten how the world is governed, you think Fortune’s changes rise and fall without a guiding hand. These errors could bring not only illness but death.
“Yet thanks to the author of our health, the light of nature has not left you entirely. You rightly believe that the world is governed by divine reason rather than the random drift of chance. That belief is the spark from which your recovery can begin. Do not be afraid. From these faint embers, living warmth will be kindled again.
“It is still too soon for strong remedies. A mind that gives up true beliefs immediately takes on false ones, and the resulting confusion clouds its sight. I will first try to clear that mist with gentle treatment. Once the darkness of your troubled feelings has lifted, you may again see the brightness of true light.”
Clearing the Mind for Truth
Stars cannot shine through a black night When clouds cover the sky. The sea, once clear and bright, Grows muddy and troubled When wild winds lash its waves. A clear stream running down a hill May be blocked on its way to the sea By a fallen rock. Do you want to see the truth plainly, Stay firmly on the right path, And never turn away? Then keep joy, hope, and fear at a distance, And drive sorrow away. Where they hold sway, The mind is chained, blinded, and lost.
