The Muses of Music never heal but foster sorrow by poisonous sweets. Who permitted seducing mummers to approach this sick man
"A golden volume not unworthy of the leisure of Plato or Tully." "To acquire a taste for it is almost to become naturalised in the Middle Ages." Such was the praise for The Consolation of Philosophy granted by Edward Gibbon and C.S. Lewis; they were not the first to succumb. From the Carolingian epoch to the end of the Middle Ages and beyond, this was the most widely copied work of secular literature in Europe. It was translated into Old English by King Alfred, into Old French by Jean de Meun, into Middle English by Geoffrey Chaucer and into Elizabethan English by Queen Elizabeth herself -- to list only the most celebrated versions.
Yet the work is not mentioned by any of Boethius's contemporaries and it came into wide circulation only long after the author died a traitor's (or a martyr's) death. In the eighteenth century questions arose about the author's allegiances (could he have been something less than the devout Christian the Middle Ages took him for?) when a pietist writer attacked him for the incipient scholasticism of his writings. Since the late nineteenth century, it has been certain that the author of the Consolation also wrote theological pamphlets; but that certainty has done little to end scholarly debate. We have only recently seen the work situated securely in the geography of late antique thought (see the works of Courcelle and Chadwick in the Select Bibliography) and it is still far from clear why and how the work became so vastly popular in the Middle Ages. It is a work of surprising depths and beauties, of lasting fascination.
Life of Boethius
Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius was born in or near Rome around the year 480 A.D. Orphaned young, he was brought up in the household of one of the richest and most venerable aristocrats of the time, Symmachus. He married Symmachus's daughter and pursued a typical career for a senatorial scion of the time, alternating between ceremonial public office and private leisure.
In two ways, however, Boethius was unique. He was far and away the best educated Roman of his age: indeed, there had been no one like him for a century, and there would never be another (the senate, long since ceremoniously inane, disappeared forever by the end of the sixth century). He had a command of the Greek language adequate to make him a student, translator, and commentator of the Platonic philosophies of his age (to which we give the name Neoplatonism, to distinguish their opinions from the original doctrines of Plato himself). Boethius may in fact have studied in the Greek east, perhaps at Athens, perhaps at Alexandria, but we cannot be sure. At any rate, he undertook an ambitious project of translating and interpreting all the works of both Plato and Aristotle and then -- he opined -- demonstrating the essential agreement of the two. Only a few pieces of this large undertaking were completed before Boethius's life was cut short.
For the other unique facet of Boethius's character was that he took public affairs so seriously that he lost his life at the hands of an authoritarian monarch: such complete devotion to the public weal had long since faded from aristocratic fashion. Little is to be made of his term as consul in 510, or of his doting presence at the consular celebrations of 522 when his two sons held the office simultaneously. But in the early 520's, he served as magister officiorum in the half-Roman regime of the Ostrogothic king Theoderic.
Theoderic had taken Italy at the behest of the emperors in Constantinople; but political and theological fashions had changed in the thirty years since Theoderic entered Italy. In the reign of the emperor Justin (519-527), the aging Theoderic fell out with Constantinople; somehow, in ways that remain hotly controversial, Boethius came to be suspected by his monarch of disloyal sympathies; the suspicion may indeed have been well-placed, but the sympathies may have been well-grounded. Sometime c. 525/26 Boethius was executed. His father-in-law Symmachus went to the block not long after. When Theoderic died in August 526, legend quickly but implausibly had it that he was haunted at the end by his crimes.
The Consolation of Philosophy is apparently the fruit of Boethius's spell of imprisonment awaiting trial and execution. Its literary genre, with a regular alternation of prose and verse sections, is called Menippean Satire, after Roman models of which fragments and analogues survive. The dialogue between two characters (one of whom we may call Boethius, but only on condition that we distinguish Boethius the character from Boethius the author, who surely manipulated his self-representation for literary and philosophical effect) is carefully structured according to the best classical models. Its language is classical in intent, but some of the qualities that would characterize medieval Latin are already discernible.
One could but doubt
her varying stature, for at one moment she repressed it to
the common measure of a man, at another she seemed to touch
with her crown the very heavens: and when she had raised
higher her head, it pierced even the sky and baffled the
sight of those who would look upon it. Her clothing was
wrought of the finest thread by subtle workmanship brought
to an indivisible piece. This had she woven with her own
hands, as I afterwards did learn by her own shewing. Their
beauty was somewhat dimmed by the dulness of long neglect, as is seen in the
smoke-grimed masks of our ancestors. On the border below was
inwoven the symbol II, on [3]that above was to be read a
{image not available}1 And between the two letters
there could be marked degrees, by which, as by the rungs of
a ladder, ascent might be made from the lower principle to
the higher. Yet the
hands of rough men had torn this garment and snatched such
morsels as they could therefrom. In her right hand she
carried books, in her left was a sceptre brandished. When she saw that the
Muses of
poetry were
present by my couch giving words to my lamenting, she was stirred a while; her
eyes flashed
fiercely, and
said she, "Who has
suffered these seducing mummers to approach this sick man? Never do they support those in
sorrow by any healing remedies, but rather do
ever
foster the
sorrow by poisonous sweets. These are they who
stifle the fruit-bearing harvest of
reason with the barren briars of the
passions: they free not the minds of men from
disease, but accustom them thereto. I would think it
less grievous if your allurements drew away from
me some uninitiated man, as happens in the vulgar herd. In such an one my labours
would be naught harmed, but this
man has been nourished in the lore of Eleatics and
Academics; and to him have ye reached? Away with you, Sirens, seductive unto destruction! leave him to
my Muses to be cared for and to be
healed.' Their band thus rated
cast a saddened glance 3:1 -- {no image}
and {no image} are the first letters of the Greek words
denoting Practical and Theoretical, the two divisions of
philosophy.[4] upon the ground, confessing their shame in
blushes, and passed forth dismally over the threshold. For
my part, my eyes were dimmed with tears, and I could not
discern who was this woman of such commanding power. I was amazed, and
turning my eyes to the ground I began in silence to await
what she should do. Then she approached nearer and sat down
upon the end of my couch: she looked into my face heavy with
grief and cast down by sorrow to the ground, and then she
raised her complaint over the trouble of my mind in these
words. 'Ah me!
how blunted grows the mind when sunk below the
o'erwhelming flood! Its own true light no longer burns
within, and it would break forth to outer darknesses. How
often care, when fanned by earthly winds, grows to a larger and unmeasured bane.
This man has been
free to the open heaven: his habit has it been to wander
into the paths of the sky: his to watch the light of the
bright sun, his to inquire into the brightness of the chilly
moon; he, like a conqueror, held fast bound in its order
every star that makes its wandering circle, turning its
peculiar course. Nay, more, deeply has he searched into the
springs of nature, whence came the roaring blasts
that ruffle the ocean's bosom calm: what is the spirit that
makes the firmament revolve; wherefore does the evening star
sink into the western wave but to rise from the radiant
East; what is the [5] cause which so tempers the season of
Spring that it decks the earth with rose-blossoms; whence
comes it to pass that Autumn is prolific in the years of
plenty and overflows with teeming vines: deeply to search these
causes was his wont, and to bring forth secrets deep in
Nature hid. 'Now he lies there;
extinct his
reason's light, his neck in heavy chains thrust down, his
countenance with grievous weight downcast; ah! the brute
earth is all he can behold. 'But now,' said she,'
is the time for the physician's art, rather than for
complaining.' Then fixing her eyes wholly on me, she said, '
Are you
the man who was nourished upon the milk of my learning, brought up with
my
food until
you had won your way to the power of a manly soul? Surely I had given
you such weapons as would keep you safe, and your strength
unconquered; if you had not thrown them away. Do you know
me? Why do you keep silence? Are you dumb from
shame or from dull amazement? I would it were from
shame, but I see that amazement has overwhelmed
you.' When she saw that I
was not only silent, but utterly tongue-tied and dumb, she
put her hand gently upon my breast, and said, 'There is
no danger: he is suffering from drowsiness, that disease which attacks
so many minds which have been deceived. He has forgotten himself for a moment and
will quickly remember, as [6] soon as he recognises me. That
he may do so, let me brush away from his eyes the darkening
cloud of thoughts of matters perishable.' So saying, she
gathered her robe into a fold and dried my swimming
eyes. Then was dark night
dispelled, the shadows fled away, and my eyes received
returning power as before. 'Twas just as when the heavenly
bodies are enveloped by the west wind's rush, and the sky
stands thick with watery clouds; the sun is hidden and the
stars are not yet come into the sky, and night descending
from above o'erspreads the earth: but if the north wind
smites this scene, launched forth from the Thracian cave, it
unlocks the imprisoned daylight; the sun shines forth, and
thus sparkling Phoebus smites with his rays our wondering
eyes. In such a manner were
the clouds of grief scattered. Then I drew breath again and
engaged my mind in taking knowledge of my physician's
countenance. So when I turned my eyes towards her and fixed
my gaze upon her, I recognised my nurse, Philosophy, in whose chambers I had
spent my life from earliest manhood. And I asked her,'
Wherefore have you, mistress of all virtues, come down from
heaven above to visit my lonely place of banishment? Is it
that you, as well as I, may be harried, the victim of false
charges? ' 'Should I,' said she,' desert you, my nursling?
[7] Should I not share and bear my part of the burden which
has been laid upon you from spite against my name?
Surely Philosophy
never allowed herself to let the innocent go upon their
journey unbefriended. Think you I would fear calumnies? that
I would be terrified as though they were a new misfortune?
Think you that this is the first time that wisdom has been
harassed by dangers among men of shameless ways? In ancient
days before the time of my child, Plato, have we not as well
as nowadays fought many a mighty battle against the
recklessness of folly? And though Plato did survive, did not
his master, Socrates, win his victory of an unjust death, with
me present at his side? When after him the followers of
Epicurus, and in turn the Stoics, and then others did all try
their utmost to seize his legacy, they dragged me, for all
my cries and struggles, as though to share me as plunder;
they tore my robe which I had woven with mine own hands, and
snatched away the fragments thereof: and when they thought I
had altogether yielded myself to them, they departed. And
since among them were to be seen certain signs of my outward
bearing, others ill-advised did think they wore my livery:
thus were many of them undone by the errors of the herd of
uninitiated. But if you have not heard of the exile of
Anaxagoras,1
7:1 --
Anaxagoras went into exile from Athens about 450 B.C.
[8] nor the poison drunk by Socrates,1 nor the torture of
Zeno,2 which all were of foreign
lands, yet you may know of Canius,3 Seneca,4 and Soranus,5 whose fame is neither small
nor passing old. Naught else brought them to ruin but that,
being built up in my ways, they appeared at variance with
the desires of unscrupulous men. So it is no matter for your
wonder if, in this sea of life, we are tossed about by
storms from all sides; for to oppose evil men is the chief
aim we set before ourselves. Though the band of such men is
great in numbers, yet is it to be contemned: for it is
guided by no leader, but is hurried along at random only by
error running riot everywhere. If this band when warring
against us presses too strongly upon us, our leader, Reason,
gathers her forces into her citadel, while the enemy are
busied in plundering useless baggage. As they seize the most
worthless things, we laugh at them from above, untroubled by
the whole band of mad marauders, and we are defended by that
rampart to which riotous folly may not hope to
attain. 'He who has calmly
reconciled his life to fate, and set proud death beneath his
feet, can 'Are such
your experiences, and do they sink into your soul?' she
asked. 'Do you
listen only as "the dull ass to the lyre"? Why do you weep?
Wherefore flow your tears? " Speak, nor keep secret in thine
heart." If you expect a physician to help you, you must lay
bare your wound.' Then did I rally my spirit till it was
strong again, and answered,' Does the savage bitterness of
my fortune still need recounting? Does it not stand forth
plainly enough of itself? Does not the very aspect of this
place strike you? Is this the library which you had chosen
[10] for yourself as your sure resting-place in my house? Is
this the room in which you would so often tarry with me
expounding the philosophy of things human and divine? Was my
condition like this, or my countenance, when I probed with
your aid the secrets of nature, when you marked out with a
wand the courses of the stars, when you shaped our habits
and the rule of all our life by the pattern of the
universe?1 Are these the rewards we reap
by yielding ourselves to you? Nay, you yourself have
established this saying by the mouth of Plato, that
commonwealths would be blessed if they were guided by those
who made wisdom their study, or if those who guided them
would make wisdom their study.2 By the mouth of that same
great man did you teach that this was the binding reason why
a commonwealth should be governed by philosophers, namely
that the helm of government should not be left to
unscrupulous or criminal citizens lest they should bring
corruption and ruin upon the good citizens.3 Since, then, I had learned
from you in quiet and inaction of this view, I followed it
further, for I desired to practise it in public government.
You and God Himself, who has grafted you in the minds of
philosophers, are my witnesses that never have I applied
myself to any office of state except that I might work for
the [11] common welfare
of all good men. Thence followed bitter quarrels with evil
men which could not be appeased, and, for the sake of
preserving justice, contempt of the enmity of those in
power, for this is the result of a free and fearless
conscience. How often have I withstood Conigastus 1 to his
face, whenever he has attacked a weak man's fortune! How
often have I turned by force Trigulla,1 the overseer of the Emperor's
household, from an unjust act that he had begun or even
carried out! How many times have I put my own authority in
danger by protecting those wretched people who were harried
with unending false charges by the greed of barbarian Goths
which ever went unpunished! Never, I say, has any man
depraved me from justice to injustice. My heart has ached as
bitterly as those of the sufferers when I have seen the
fortunes of our subjects ruined both by the rapacity of
persons and the taxes of the state. Again, in a time of
severe famine, a grievous, intolerable sale by compulsion
was decreed in Campania, and devastation threatened that
province. Then I undertook for the sake of the common
welfare a struggle against the commander of the Imperial
guard; though the king was aware of it, I fought against the
enforcement of the sale, and fought successfully. Paulinus
was a man who had been consul: the jackals of the court
had 'Would you learn the
sum of the charges against me? It was said that "I had
desired the safety of the Senate." You would learn in what
way. I was charged with "having hindered an informer from
producing papers by which the Senate could be accused of
treason." What think you, my mistress? Shall I deny it lest
it shame you? Nay, I did desire the safety of the Senate,
nor shall ever cease to desire it. Shall I confess it? Then
there would have been no need to hinder an informer. Shall I
call it a crime to have wished for the safety of that order?
By its own decrees concerning myself it has established that
this is a crime. Though want of foresight often deceives
itself, it cannot alter the merits of facts, and, in
obedience to the Senate's command, I cannot think it right
to hide the truth or to assent to falsehood. 'However, I leave it
to your judgment and that of philosophers to decide how the
justice of this may be; but I have committed to writing for
history the true course of events, that posterity may not be
ignorant thereof. I think it unnecessary to speak of the
forged letters through which I am accused of " hoping for
the freedom of Rome." Their falsity would have been apparent
if I had been free to question the evidence of the informers
themselves, for their confessions have much force in all
such business. 'But what avails it?
No liberty is left to hope for. Would there were any! I
would answer in the words of Canius, who was accused [14] by
Gaius Cæsar,1 Germanicus's son, of being
cognisant of a plot against himself: " If I had known of it,
you would not have." 'And in this matter
grief has not so blunted my powers that I should complain of
wicked men making impious attacks upon virtue: but at this I
do wonder, that they should hope to succeed. Evil desires
are, it may be, due to our natural failings, but that the
conceptions of any wicked mind should prevail against
innocence while God watches over us, seems to me unnatural.
Wherefore not without cause has one of your own followers
asked, " If God is, whence come evil things? If He is not,
whence come good? " 'Again, let impious
men, who thirst for the blood of the whole Senate and of all
good citizens, be allowed to wish for the ruin of us too
whom they recognise as champions of the Senate and all good
citizens: but surely such as I have not deserved the same
hatred from the members of the Senate too? 'Since you were
always present to guide me in my words and my deeds, I think
you remember what happened at Verona. When King Theodoric,
desiring the common ruin of the Senate, was for extending to
the whole order the charge of treason laid against Albinus,
you remember how I laboured to defend the innocence of the
order without any care for my own danger? You know that I
declare this truthfully and with no boasting praise of
self. 'Founder of the
star-studded universe, resting on Thine eternal throne
whence Thou turnest the swiftly rolling sky, and bindest the
stars to keep Thy law; at Thy word the moon now shines
brightly with full face, ever turned to her brother's light,
and so she dims the lesser lights; or now she is herself
obscured, for nearer to the sun her beams shew her pale
horns alone. Cool rises the evening star at night's first
drawing nigh: the same is the morning star who casts off the
harness that she bore [18] before, and paling meets the
rising sun. When winter's cold doth strip the trees, Thou
settest a shorter span to day. And Thou, when summer comes
to warm, dost change the short divisions of the night. Thy
power doth order the seasons of the year, so that the
western breeze of spring brings back the leaves which
winter's north wind tore away; so that the dog-star's heat
makes ripe the ears of corn whose seed Arcturus watched.
Naught breaks that ancient law: naught leaves undone the
work appointed to its place. Thus all things Thou dost rule
with limits fixed: the lives of men alone dost Thou scorn to
restrain, as a guardian, within bounds. F or why does
Fortune with her fickle hand deal out such changing lots?
The hurtful penalty is due to crime, but falls upon the
sinless head: depraved men rest at ease on thrones aloft,
and by their unjust lot can spurn beneath their hurtful heel
the necks of virtuous men. Beneath obscuring shadows lies
bright virtue hid: the just man bears the unjust's infamy.
They suffer not for forsworn oaths, they suffer not for
crimes glozed over with their lies. But when their will is
to put forth their strength, with triumph they subdue the
mightiest kings whom peoples in their thousands fear. O Thou
who dost weave the bonds of Nature's self, look down upon
this pitiable earth! Mankind is no base part of this great
work, and we are tossed on Fortune's wave. Restrain, our
Guardian, the engulfing surge, and as Thou dost the
unbounded [19] heaven rule, with a like bond make true and
firm these lands.' While I grieved thus in
long-drawn pratings, Philosophy looked on with a calm
countenance, not one whit moved by my complaints Then said
she,' When I saw you in grief and in tears I knew thereby
that you were unhappy and in exile, but I knew not how
distant was your exile until your speech declared it. But
you have not been driven so far from your home; you have
wandered thence yourself: or if you would rather hold that
you have been driven, you have been driven by yourself
rather than by any other. No other could have done so to
you. For if
you recall your true native country, you know that it is not
under the rule of the many-headed people, as was Athens of
old, but there is one Lord, one King, who rejoices in the greater number of his
subjects, not in their banishment. To be
guided by his reins, to bow to his justice, is the highest
liberty. Know you not that sacred and ancient law of your
own state by which it is enacted that no man, who would
establish a dwelling-place for himself therein, may lawfully
be put forth? For there is no fear
that any man should merit exile, if he be kept
safe therein
by its protecting walls. But any man that may
no longer wish to dwell there, does
equally no longer deserve to be there. Wherefore it is your
looks rather than the aspect of this place which disturb
me.l It 'When the sign of the
crab doth scorch the field, fraught with the sun's most
grievous rays, the husbandman that has freely intrusted his
seed to the fruitless furrow, is cheated by the faithless
harvest-goddess; and he must turn him to the oak tree's
fruit. 'When the field is
scarred by the bleak north winds, wouldst thou seek the
wood's dark carpet to gather violets? If thou wilt enjoy the
grapes, wouldst thou seek with clutching hand to prune the
vines in spring? 'Tis in autumn Bacchus brings his gifts.
Thus God marks out the times and fits to them peculiar
works: He has set out a course of change, and lets no
confusion come. If aught betake itself to headlong ways, and
leaves its sure design, ill will the outcome be
thereto. 'First then,' she
continued,' will you let me find out and make trial of the
state of your mind by a few small questions, that so I may
understand what should be the method of your treatment?
' 'Ask,' said I,' what
your judgment would have you ask, and I will answer
you.' Then said she,' Think
you that this universe is guided only at random and by mere
chance? or think you there is any rule of reason constituted
in it? ' 'No, never would I
think it could be so, nor [22] believe that such sure
motions could be made at random or by chance. I know that
God, the founder of the universe, does overlook His work;
nor ever may that day come which shall drive me to abandon
this belief as untrue.' 'So is it,' she
said,' and even so you cried just now, and only mourned that
mankind alone has no part in this divine guardianship: you
were fixed in your belief that all other things are ruled by
reason. Yet, how strange! how much I wonder how it is that
you can be so sick though you are set in such a
health-giving state of mind! But let us look deeper into it:
I cannot but think there is something lacking. Since you are
not in doubt that the universe is ruled by God, tell me by
what method you think that government is guided? '
'I scarcely know the
meaning of your question; much less can I answer it.'
'Was I wrong,' said
she,' to think that something was lacking, that there was
some opening in your armour, some way by which this
distracting disease has crept into your soul? But tell me,
do you remember what is the aim and end of all things? what
the object to which all nature tends? ' 'I have heard indeed,
but grief has blunted my memory.' 'But do you not
somehow know whence all things have their source? '
'Yes,' I said; ' that
source is God.' 'Is it possible that
you, who know the beginning of all things, should not know
their end? [23] But such are the ways of these distractions,
such is their power, that though they can move a man's
position, they cannot pluck him from himself or wrench him
from his roots. But this question would I have you answer:
do you remember that you are a man? ' 'How can I but
remember that? ' 'Can you then say
what is a man? ' 'Need you ask? I know
that he is an animal, reasoning and mortal; that I know, and
that I confess myself to be.' 'Know you naught else
that you are? ' asked Philosophy. 'Naught,' said
I. 'Now,' said she,' I
know the cause, or the chief cause, of your sickness. You
have forgotten what you are. Now therefore I have found out
to the full the manner of your sickness, and how to attempt
the restoring of your health. You are overwhelmed by this
forgetfulness of yourself: hence you have been thus
sorrowing that you are exiled and robbed of all your
possessions. You do not know the aim and end of all things;
hence you think that if men are worthless and wicked, they
are powerful and fortunate. You have forgotten by what
methods the universe is guided; hence you think that the
chances of good and bad fortune are tossed about with no
ruling hand. These things may lead not to disease only, but
even to death as well. But let us thank the Giver of all
health, that your nature has not altogether left you. We
have yet the chief [24] spark for your health's fire, for
you have a true knowledge of the hand that guides the
universe: you do believe that its government is not subject
to random chance, but to divine reason. Therefore have no
fear. From this tiny spark the fire of life shall forthwith
shine upon you. But it is not time to use severer remedies,
and since we know that it is the way of all minds to clothe
themselves ever in false opinions as they throw off the
true, and these false ones breed a dark distraction which
confuses the true insight, therefore will I try to lessen
this darkness for a while with gentle applications of easy
remedies, that so the shadows of deceiving passions may be
dissipated, and you may have power to perceive the
brightness of true light.' 'When the stars are
hidden by black clouds, no light can they afford. When the
boisterous south wind rolls along the sea and stirs the
surge, the water, but now as clear as glass, bright as the
fair sun's light, is dark, impenetrable to sight, with
stirred and scattered sand. The stream, that wanders down
the mountain's side, must often find a stumbling-block, a
stone within its path torn from the hill's own rock. So too
shalt thou: if thou wouldst see the truth in undimmed light,
choose the straight road, the beaten path; away with passing
joys! away with fear! put vain hopes to flight! and grant no
place to grief! Where these distractions reign, the mind is
clouded o'er, the soul is bound in chains.' [25] |
|
|
'From like beginning
rise all men on earth, for there is one Father of all
things; one is the guide of everything. 'Tis He who gave the
sun his rays, and horns unto the moon. 'Tis He who set
mankind on earth, and in the heavens the stars. He put
within our bodies spirits which were born in heaven. And
thus a highborn race has He set forth in man. Why do ye men
rail on your forefathers? If ye look to your beginning and
your author, which is God, is any man degenerate or base but
he who by his own vices cherishes base things and leaves
that beginning which was his? 'And now what am I to
say of the pleasures of the body? The desires of the flesh
are full of cares, their fulfilment is full of remorse. What
terrible diseases, what unbearable griefs, [72] truly the
fruits of sin, do they bring upon the bodies of those who
enjoy them! I know not what pleasure their impulse affords,
but any who cares to recall his indulgences of his passions,
will know that the results of such pleasures are indeed
gloomy. If any can shew that those results are blest with
happiness, then may the beasts of the field be justly called
blessed, for all their aims are urged toward the satisfying
of their bodies' wants. The pleasures of wife and children
may be most honourable; but nature makes it all too plain
that some have found torment in their children. How bitter
is any such kind of suffering, I need not tell you now, for
you have never known it, nor have any such anxiety now. Yet
in this matter I would hold with my philosopher
Euripides,l that he who has no children
is happy in his misfortune. 'All
pleasures have this way: those who enjoy them they
drive on with
stings.
Pleasure, like the winged bee, scatters its honey sweet,
then flies away, and
with a clinging sting it strikes the hearts it
touches. 'There is then no
doubt that these roads to happiness are no roads, and they
cannot lead any man to any end whither they profess to take
him. I would shew you shortly with 'Ah! how wretched are
they whom ignorance leads astray by her crooked path! Ye
seek not gold upon green trees, nor gather precious stones
from vines, nor set your nets on mountain tops to catch the
fishes for your feast, nor hunt the Umbrian sea in search of
goats. Man knows the depths of the sea themselves, hidden
though they be beneath its waves; he knows which water best
yields him pearls, and which the scarlet dye. But in their
blindness men are content, and know not where lies hid the
good which they desire. They sink in earthly things, and
there they seek that which has soared 'So far,' she
continued,' we have been content to set forth the form of
false happiness. If you clearly understand that, my next
duty is to shew what is true happiness.' 'I do see,' said I,'
that wealth cannot satisfy, that power comes not to
kingdoms, nor veneration to high offices; that true renown
cannot accompany ambition, nor true enjoyment wait upon the
pleasures of the body.' 'Have you grasped the
reasons why it is so? ' she asked. 'I seem to look at
them as through a narrow chink, but I would learn more
clearly from you.' 'The reason is to
hand,' said she; 'human error takes that which is simple and
by nature impossible to divide, tries to divide it, and
turns its truth and perfection into falsity and
imperfection. Tell me, do you think that anything which
lacks nothing, can be without power? ' 'Of course
not.' 'You are right; for
if anything has any weakness in any part, it must lack the
help of something else.' 'That is so,' I said.
[76] 'Then perfect
satisfaction and power have the same nature? ' 'Yes, it seems
so.' 'And do you think
such a thing contemptible, or the opposite, worthy of all
veneration? ' 'There can be no
doubt that it is worthy.' 'Then let us add
veneration to that satisfaction and power, and so consider
these three as one.' 'Yes, we must add it
if we wish to proclaim the truth.' 'Do you then think
that this whole is dull and of no reputation, or renowned
with all glory? For consider it thus: we have granted that
it lacks nothing, that it has all power and is worthy of all
veneration; it must not therefore lack the glory which it
cannot supply for itself, and thereby seem to be in any
direction contemptible.' 'No,' I said,' I must
allow that it has glory too.' 'Therefore we must
rank this glory equally with the other three.' 'Yes, we
must.' 'Then that which
lacks nothing from outside itself, which is all-powerful by
its own might, which has renown and veneration, must surely
be allowed to be most happy too?' 'I cannot imagine
from what quarter unhappiness would creep into such a thing,
wherefore we must grant that it is full of happiness if the
other qualities remain existent.' 'Then it follows
further, that though perfect [77] satisfaction, power,
glory, veneration, and happiness differ in name, they cannot
differ at all in essence?' 'They cannot.'
'This then,' said
she,' is a simple, single thing by nature, only divided by
the mistakes of base humanity; and while men try to gain a
part of that which has no parts, they fail both to obtain a
fraction, which cannot exist, and the whole too after which
they do not strive.' 'Tell me how they
fail thus,' I said. 'One seeks riches by
fleeing from poverty, and takes no thought of power,' she
answered, 'and so he prefers to be base and unknown, and
even deprives himself of natural pleasures lest he should
part with the riches which he has gathered. Thus not even
that satisfaction reaches the man who loses all power, who
is stabbed by sorrow, lowered by his meanness, hidden by his
lack of fame. Another seeks power only: he scatters his
wealth, he despises pleasures and honours which have no
power, and sets no value upon glory. You see how many things
such an one lacks. Sometimes he goes without necessaries
even, sometimes he feels the bite and torture of care; and
as he cannot rid himself of these, he loses the power too
which he sought above all things. The same argument may be
applied to offices, glory, and pleasure. For since each one
of these is the same as each other, any man who seeks one
without the others, gains not even that one which he
desires.' [78] 'What then? ' I
asked. 'If any man desires
to obtain all together, he will be seeking the sum of
happiness. But will he ever find that in these things which
we have shewn cannot supply what they promise?' 'No.
'Then happiness is
not to be sought for among these things which are separately
believed to supply each thing so sought.' 'Nothing could be
more plainly true,' I said. 'Then you have before
you the form of false happiness, and its causes; now turn
your attention in the opposite direction, and you will
quickly see the true happiness which I have promised to shew
you.' 'But surely this is
clear even to the blindest, and you shewed it before when
you were trying to make clear the causes of false happiness.
For if I mistake not, true and perfect happiness is that
which makes a man truly satisfied, powerful, venerated,
renowned, and happy. And (for I would have you see that I
have looked deeply into the matter) I realise without doubt
that that which can truly yield any one of these, since they
are all one, is perfect happiness. 'Ah! my son,' said
she,' I do see that you are blessed in this opinion, but I
would have you add one thing.' 'What is that? ' I
asked. 'Do you think that
there is anything among mortals, and in our perishable
lives, which could yield such a state? ' [79] 'I do not think that
there is, and I think that you have shewn this beyond the
need of further proof.' 'These then seem to
yield to mortals certain appearances of the true good, or
some such imperfections; but they cannot give true and
perfect good.' 'No.' 'Since, then, you
have seen what is true happiness, and what are the false
imitations thereof, it now remains that you should learn
whence this true happiness may be sought.' 'For that,' said I,'
I have been impatiently waiting.' 'But divine help must
be sought in small things as well as great (as my pupil
Plato says in his Timoeus)1; so what, think you, must we
do to deserve to find the place of that highest good?
' 'Call,' I said,' upon
the Father of all, for if we do not do so, no undertaking
would be rightly or duly begun.' 'You are right,' said
she; and thus she cried aloud: -- 2 'Thou who dost rule
the universe with Thus is
the soul divided as it takes its course, making two circles,
as though a binding thread around the world. Thereafter it
returns unto itself and passes around the lower earthly
mind; and in like manner it gives motion to the heavens to
turn their course. Thou it is who dost
carry forward with like inspiration these souls and lower
lives. Thou dost fill these
weak
vessels [81]
with lofty
souls, and
send them abroad throughout the heavens and earth, and
by Thy kindly law
dost turn them again to Thyself and bring them to seek, as
fire doth, to rise to Thee again. 'Grant
then, O Father, that this mind of ours may rise to Thy throne of
majesty; grant us to reach that fount of good. Grant that we
may so find light that we may set on Thee unblinded eyes;
cast Thou therefrom the heavy clouds of this material world.
Shine forth upon us
in Thine own
true glory.
Thou art the bright and peaceful rest of all Thy children
that worship
Thee. To see
Thee clearly is the limit of our aim. Thou art our
beginning, our progress, our guide, our way, our end.
'Since then you have
seen the form both of the imperfect and the perfect good, I
think I should now shew you where lies this perfection of
happiness. In this I think our first inquiry must be whether
any good of this kind can exist in the very nature of a
subject; for we must not let any vain form of thought make
us miss the truth of this matter. But there can be no denial
of its existence, that it is as the very source of all good.
For if anything is said to be imperfect, it is held to be so
by some loss of its perfection. Wherefore if in any kind of
thing a particular seems imperfect, there must also be a
perfect specimen in the same kind. For if you take away the
perfection, [82] it is impossible even to imagine whence
could come the so-called imperfect specimen. For nature does
not start from degenerate or imperfect specimens, but
starting from the perfect and ideal, it degenerates to these
lower and weaker forms. If then, as we have shewn above,
there is an uncertain and imperfect happiness to be found in
the good, then there must doubtless be also a sure and
perfect happiness therein.'1
'Yes,' said I,' that
is quite surely proved to be true.' 'Now consider,' she
continued,' where it lies. The universally accepted notion
of men proves
that God, the fountain-head of all things, is good. For nothing can be
thought of better than God, and surely He, than whom there
is nothing better, must without doubt be good. Now reason shews us
that God is so good, that we are convinced that in Him lies
also the perfect good. For if it is not so, He cannot be the
fountain-head; for there must then be something more
excellent, possessing that perfect good, which appears to be
of older origin than God: for it has been proved
that all perfections are of earlier origin than the
imperfect specimens of the same: wherefore, unless we
are to prolong the series to infinity, we must allow that
the highest Deity must be full of the highest, the perfect
good. But as we have laid down that true happiness is
perfect 'Yes, I accept that;
it cannot be in any way contradicted.' 'But,' she said,' I
beg you, be sure that you accept with a sure conscience and
determination this fact, that we have said that the highest
Deity is filled with the highest good.' 'How should I think
of it? ' I asked. 'You must not think
of God, the Father of all, whom we hold to be filled with
the highest good, as having received this good into Himself
from without, nor that He has it by nature in such a manner
that you might consider Him, its possessor, and the
happiness possessed, as having different essential
existences. For if you think that good has been received
from without, that which gave it must be more excellent than
that which received it; but we have most rightly stated that
He is the most excellent of all things. And if you think
that it is in Him by His nature, but different in kind,
then, while we speak of God as the fountain-head of all
things, who could imagine by whom these different kinds can
have been united? Lastly, that which is different from
anything cannot be the thing from which it differs. So
anything which is by its nature different from the highest
good, cannot be the highest good. And this we must not think
of God, than whom there is nothing more excellent, as we
have agreed. Nothing in this world can have a nature which
is better than [84] its origin, wherefore I would conclude
that that which is the origin of all things, according to
the truest reasoning, is by its essence the highest
good.' 'Most truly,' I
said. 'You agree that the
highest good is happiness? ' 'Yes.' 'Then you must allow
that God is absolute happiness? 'I cannot deny what
you put forward before, and I see that this follows
necessarily from those propositions.' 'Look then,' she
said,' whether it is proved more strongly by this too: there
cannot be two highest goods which are different. For where
two good things are different, the one cannot be the other;
wherefore neither can be the perfect good, while each is
lacking to the other. And that which is not perfect cannot
be the highest, plainly. Therefore if two things are highest
good, they cannot be different. Further, we have proved to
ourselves that both happiness and God are each the highest
good. Therefore the highest Deity must be identical with the
highest happiness.' 'No conclusion,' I
said,' could be truer in fact, or more surely proved by
reason, or more worthy of our God.' 'Besides this let me
give you corollary, as geometricians do, when they wish to
add a point drawn from the propositions they have proved.
Since men become happy by [85] acquiring happiness, and
happiness is identical with divinity, it is plain that they
become happy by acquiring divinity. But just as men become
just by acquiring the quality of justice, and wise by
wisdom, so by the same reasoning, by acquiring divinity they
become divine. Every happy man then is divine. But while
nothing prevents as many men as possible from being divine,
God is so by His nature, men become so by
participation.' 'This corollary,' I
said,' or whatever you call it, is indeed beautiful and very
precious.' 'Yes, but nothing can
be more beautiful than this too which reason would have us
add to what we have agreed upon.' 'What is that? ' I
asked. 'Happiness seems to
include many things: do all these join it together as into a
whole which is happiness, as though each thing were a
different part thereof, or is any one of them a good which
fulfils the essence of happiness, and do the others merely
bear relations to this one .? ' 'I would have you
make this plain by the enunciation of these
particulars.' 'Do we not,' she
asked,' hold that happiness is a good thing? ' 'Yes,' I answered,'
the highest good.' 'But you may apply
this quality of happiness to them all. For the perfect
satisfaction is the same, and the highest power, and
veneration, and renown, and pleasure; these are all held to
be happiness. [86] 'What then? ' I
asked. 'Are all these
things, satisfaction, power, and the others, as it were,
members of the body, happiness, or do they all bear their
relation to the good, as members to a head? ' 'I understand what
you propose to examine, but I am waiting eagerly to hear
what you will lay down.' 'I would have you
take the following explanation,' she said.' If these were
all members of the one body, happiness, they would differ
individually. For this is the nature of particulars, to make
up one body of different parts. But all these have been
shewn to be one and the same. Therefore they are not as
members; and further, this happiness will then appear to be
joined together into a whole body out of one member, which
is impossible.' 'That is quite
certain,' said I,' but I would hear what is to come.'
'It is plain that the
others have some relation to the good. It is for that
reason, namely because it is held to be good, that this
satisfaction is sought, and power likewise, and the others
too; we may suppose the same of veneration, renown, and
pleasure. The good then is the cause of the desire for all
of these, and their consummation also. Such a thing as has
in itself no real or even pretended good, cannot ever be
sought. On the other hand, such things as are not by nature
good, but seem to be so, are sought as though they were
truly good. Wherefore we may justly believe that [87] their
good quality is the cause of the desire for them, the very
hinge on which they turn, and their consummation. The really
important object of a desire, is that for the sake of which
anything is sought, as a means. For instance, if a man
wishes to ride for the sake of his health, he does not so
much desire the motion of riding, as the effect, namely
health. As, therefore, each of these things is desired for
the sake of the good, the absolute good is the aim, rather
than themselves. But we have agreed that the other things
are desired for the sake of happiness, wherefore in this
case too, it is happiness alone which is the object of the
desire. Wherefore it is plain that the essence of the good
and of happiness is one and the same.' 'I cannot see how any
one can think otherwise.' 'But we have shewn
that God and true happiness are one and the same.'
'Yes.' 'Therefore,' said
she,' we may safely conclude that the essence of God also
lies in the absolute good and nowhere else. 'Come
hither all who are the prey of passions, bound by their ruthless
chains; those
deceiving passions which blunt the minds of men. Here shall you find
rest from your labours; here a haven lying in tranquil
peace; this shall be a resting-place open to receive within
itself all the miserable on earth. Not [88] all the wealth of Tagus's golden
sands, nor Hermus's gleaming strand,1 nor Indus, nigh earth's
hottest zone, mingling its emeralds and pearls, can bring
light to the eyes of any soul, but rather plunge the soul more blindly
in their shade. In her
deepest caverns does earth rear all that pleases the eye and
excites the
mind. The
glory by which the heavens move and have their being, has
nought to do with the darknesses which bring ruin to the
soul. Whosoever can look on this true light will scarce
allow the sun's rays to be clear.' 'I cannot but agree
with that,' I said,' for it all stands woven together by the
strongest proofs.' Then she said,' At what would you value
this, namely if you could find out what is the absolute
good? ' 'I would reckon it,'
I said,' at an infinite value, if I could find out God too,
who is the good.' 'And that too I will
make plain by most true reasoning, if you will allow to
stand the conclusions we have just now arrived at.'
'They shall stand
good.' 'Have I not shewn,'
she asked,' that those upon the things which most men seek
are for this reason not perfect goods, because they differ
between the highest themselves; they are lacking to one
another, and so cannot afford full, absolute good? But 'That has been proved
beyond all doubt.' 'Then such things as
differ among themselves are not goods, but they become so
when they begin to be a single unity. Is it not then the
case these become goods by the attainment of unity? '
'Yes,' I said,' it
seems so.' 'But I think you
allow that every good is good by participation in good?
' 'Yes, I do.'
'Then by reason of
this likeness both unity and good must be allowed to be the
same thing; for such things as have by nature the same
operation, have the same essence.' 'Undeniably.'
'Do you realise that
everything remains existent so long as it keeps its unity,
but perishes in dissolution as soon as it loses its unity?
' 'How so? ' I
asked. 'In the case of
animals,' she said,' so long as mind and body remain united,
you have what you call an animal. But as soon as this unity
is dissolved by the separation of the two, the animal
perishes and can plainly be no longer called an animal. In
the case of the body, too, [90] so long as it remains in a
single form by the union of its members, the human figure is
presented. But if the division or separation of the body's
parts drags that union asunder, it at once ceases to be what
it was. In this way one may go through every subject, and it
will be quite evident that each thing exists individually,
so long as it is one, but perishes so soon as it ceases to
be one.' 'Yes, I see the same
when I think of other cases.' 'Is there anything,'
she then asked,' which, in so far as it acts by nature, ever
loses its desire for self-preservation, and would
voluntarily seek to come to death and corruption?'
'No,' I said; ' while
I think of animals which have volition in their nature, I
can find in them no desire to throw away their determination
to remain as they are, or to hasten to perish of their own
accord, so long as there are no external forces compelling
them thereto. Every animal labours for its preservation,
shunning death and extinction. But about trees and plants, I
have great doubts as to what I should agree to in their
case, and in all inanimate objects.' 'But in this case
too,' she said,' you have no reason to be in doubt, when you
see how trees and plants grow in places which suit them, and
where, so far as nature is able to prevent it, they cannot
quickly wither and perish. For some grow in plains, others
on mountains; some are nourished by marshes, [91] others
cling to rocks; some are fertilised by otherwise barren
sands, and would wither away if one tried to transplant them
to better soil. Nature grants to each what suits it, and
works against their perishing while they can possibly remain
alive. I need hardly remind you that all plants seem to have
their mouths buried in the earth, and so they suck up
nourishment by their roots and diffuse their strength
through their pith and bark: the pith being the softest part
is always hidden away at the heart and covered, protected,
as it were, by the strength of the wood; while outside, the
bark, as being the defender who endures the best, is opposed
to the unkindness of the weather. Again, how great is
nature's care, that they should all propagate themselves by
the reproduction of their seed; they all, as is so well
known, are like regular machines not merely for lasting a
time, but for reproducing themselves for ever, and that by
their own kinds. Things too which are supposed to be
inanimate, surely do all seek after their own by a like
process. For why is flame carried upward by its lightness,
while solid things are carried down by their weight, unless
it be that these positions and movements are suitable to
each? Further, each thing preserves what is suitable to
itself, and what is harmful, it destroys. Hard things, such
as stones, cohere with the utmost tenacity of their parts,
and resist easy dissolution; while liquids, water, and air,
yield easily to division, but quickly slip back to mingle
their parts [92] which have been cut asunder. And fire
cannot be cut at all. 'We are not now
discussing the voluntary movements of a reasoning mind, but
the natural instinct. For instance, we unwittingly digest
the food we have eaten, and unconsciously breathe in sleep.
Not even in animals does this love of self-preservation come
from mental wishes, but from elementary nature. For often
the will, under stress of external causes, embraces the idea
of death, from which nature revolts in
horror.1 And, on the other hand, the
will sometimes restrains what nature always desires, namely
the operation of begetting, by which alone the continuance
of mortal things becomes enduring. Thus far, then, this love
of self-preservation arises not from the reasoning animal s
intention, but from natural instinct. Providence has given
to its creatures this the greatest cause of permanent
existence, the instinctive desire to remain existent so far
as possible. Wherefore you have no reason to doubt that all
things, which exist, seek a permanent existence by nature,
and similarly avoid extinction.' 'Yes,' I said,' I
confess that I see now beyond all doubt what appeared to me
just now uncertain.' 'But,' she
continued,' that which seeks to continue its existence, aims
at unity; for take 'That is
true.' 'Then all things
desire unity,' she said, and I agreed. 'But we have shewn
unity to be identical with the good? ' 'Yes,' said I.
'Then all things
desire the good; and that you may define as being the
absolute good which is desired by all.' 'Nothing could be
more truthfully reasoned. For either everything is brought
back to nothing, and all will flow on at random with no
guiding head; or if there is any universal aim, it will be
the sum of all good.' 'Great is my
rejoicing, my son,' said she, 'for you have set firmly in
your mind the mark of the central truth. And hereby is made
plain to you that which you a short time ago said that you
knew not.' 'What was that?
' 'What was the final
aim of all things,' she said,' for that is plainly what is
desired by all: since we have agreed that that is the good,
we must confess that the good is the end of all
things. 'If any man
makes search
for truth with all his penetration, and would be led astray by
no deceiving paths, let him
turn upon himself the light of an inward gaze, let him bend by force
the long-drawn wanderings of his thoughts into [94] one
circle; let him
tell surely to
his soul,
that he has, thrust away within the treasures of his mind,
all that he labours to acquire without. Then shall that
truth, which now was hid in error's darkening cloud, shine
forth more clear than Phoebus's self. For the
body, though it brings material mass which breeds forgetfulness, has never driven forth all light from the
mind. The seed of truth
does surely cling within, and can be roused as a spark by
the fanning of philosophy. For if it is not so, how do ye
men make answers true of your own instinct when teachers
question you? Is it not that the quick spark of truth lies
buried in the heart's low depths? And if the
Muse of
Plato sends
through those depths the voice of truth, each man has not
forgotten and is but reminding himself of what he
learns.'1 When she made an end, I
said,' I agree very strongly with Plato; for this is the
second time that you have reminded me of these thoughts. The
first time I had lost them through the material influence of
the body; the second, when overwhelmed by this weight of
trouble.' 'If,' said she,' you
look back upon what we that have agreed upon earlier, you
will also soon recall what you just now said you knew
not.' 'What is that? ' I
asked. 'The guidance by
which the universe is directed.' 'Yes, I remember
confessing my ignorance, and though I think I foresee the
answer you will offer, I am eager to hear you explain it
more fully.' 'This world,' she
said,' you thought a little while ago must without doubt be
guided by God.' 'And I think so now,'
I said,' and will never think there is any doubt thereof;
and I will shortly explain by what reasoning I arrive at
that point. This universe would never have been suitably put
together into one form from such various and opposite parts,
unless there were some One who joined such different parts
together; and when joined, the very variety of their
natures, so discordant among themselves, would break their
harmony and tear them asunder unless the One held together
what it wove into one whole. Such a fixed order of nature
could not continue its course, could not develop motions
taking such various directions in place, time, operation,
space, and attributes, unless there were One who, being
immutable, had the disposal of these various changes. And
this cause of their remaining fixed and their moving, I call
God, according to the name familiar to all.' Then said she,' Since
these are your feelings, I think there is but little trouble
left me before you may revisit your home with happiness in
your grasp. But let us look into the matter we [96] have set
before ourselves. Have we not shewn that complete
satisfaction exists in true happiness, and we have agreed
that God is happiness itself, have we not? ' 'We have.'
'Wherefore He needs
no external aid in governing the universe, or, if He had any
such need, He would not have this complete
sufficiency.' 'That of necessity
follows,' I said. 'Then He arranges all
things by Himself.' Without doubt He does.' 'And God has been
shewn to be the absolute good.' 'Yes, I
remember.' 'Then He arranges all
things by good, if He arranges them by Himself, whom we have
agreed to be the absolute good. And so this is the tiller
and rudder by which the ship of the universe is kept sure
and unbreakable.' 'I feel that most
strongly,' I said; 'and I foresaw that you would say so
before, though I had a slight uncertainty.' 'I believe you,' she
said,' for now you bring your eyes more watchfully to scan
the truth. But what I am going to say is no less plain to
the sight.' 'What is that;
' 'Since we may
reasonably be sure that God steers all things by the helm of
goodness, and, as I have shewn you, all things have a
natural instinct to hasten towards the good, can there be
any doubt that they are guided according to [97] their own
will: and that of their own accord they turn to the will of
the supreme disposer, as though agreeing with, and obedient
to, the helmsman? ' 'That is so,' I
said,' and the government would not seem happy if it was a
yoke upon discontented necks, and not the salvation of the
submissive.' 'Then nothing need
oppose God's way for its own nature's preservation.'
'No.' 'But if it try to
oppose Him, will it ever have any success at all against One
whom we have justly allowed to be supremely powerful in
matters of happiness? ' 'Certainly
not.' 'Then there is
nothing which could have the will or the power to resist the
highest good? ' I think not.' 'Then it is the
highest good which is guiding with strength and disposing
with gentleness? ' Then said I,' How
great pleasure these things give me! not only those which
have been proved by the strongest arguments, but still more
the words in which you prove them, which make me ashamed
that my folly has bragged so loudly.' 'You have heard in
mythology how the giants attacked heaven. It was this kindly
strength which overthrew them too, as was their desert. But
would you care to put these [98] arguments at variance? For
perhaps from such a friction, some fair spark of truth may
leap forth.' 'As you hold best,' I
said. 'Nobody would care to
doubt that God is all-powerful? ' 'At any rate, no sane
man would doubt it.' 'Being, then,
all-powerful, nothing is beyond His power? ' 'Nothing.'
'Can, then, God do
evil? ' 'No.' 'Then evil is
nothing, since it is beyond His power, and nothing is beyond
His power? ' 'Are you playing with
me,' I asked,' weaving arguments as a labyrinth out of which
I shall find no way? You may enter a labyrinth by the way by
which you may come forth: come now forth by the way you have
gone in: or are you folding your reason in some wondrous
circle of divine simplicity? A little
while ago you started from happiness, and said that
happiness was the highest good; and you shewed how that
rested in the highest Deity. And you reasoned that
God too was the highest good, and the fullest happiness; and
you allowed, as though granting a slight gift, that none
could be happy except such as were similarly divine.
Again, you said that
the essence of God and of happiness was identical with the
very form of good; and that that alone was good which was
sought by all nature. And you
argued, too, that God guided this universe by the helm of
[99] goodness; and that all creatures with free will
obeyed this guidance, and that there was no such thing as
natural evil; and all these things you developed by no help
from without, but by homely and internal proofs, each
gaining its credence from that which went before it.'
Then she answered,' I
was not mocking you. We have worked out the greatest of all
matters by the grace of God, to whom we prayed. For the form
of the divine essence is such that it is not diffused
without, nor receives aught into itself from without. But as
Parmenides says of it, " It is a mass well rounded upon all
sides."1 But if you examine it with
reasoning, sought for not externally but by lying within the
sphere of the very thing we are handling, you will not
wonder at what you have learnt on Plato's
authority,2 that our language must be
akin to the subjects of which we speak. 'Happy the man who
could reach the crystal fount of good: happy he who could
shake off 'To you too this tale
refers; you, who seek to lead your thoughts to the light
above. For whosoever is overcome of desire, and turns his
gaze upon the darkness 'neath the earth, he, while he looks
on hell, loses the prize he carried off.' |
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