Contents of Medieval Theologians DOCUMENT
2
Rule of St. Benedict
30
Boethius, The Consolation of
Philosophy
92 The Trinity Is One God
98
Patrick, The Confession of St. Patrick
105
The Shield of St. Patrick
107
Abelard, Peter: Historia
Calamitatum (Story of My Calamities)
130
Alighieri
Dante Inferno
225
Purgatorio
310
Paradiso
404 Anselm Anselm’s Philosophy (from Weber)
466
The Proslogium
552
Gaunilon’ Answer On Behalf of the Fool
556
Anselm’s Reply
579
The Monologium
646
Cur Deus Homo
698
Bernard of Clarivaux On Loving
God
711 Bonaventure MIRROR OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY
788
THE PSALTER OF THE
BLESSED VIRGIN MARY
849
THE MIND’S ROAD TO GOD
883 Rolle, Richard The Fire of Love
THE BOOK OF SUPREME TRUTH
1148
Anonymous The Cloud of the Unknowing
1224 Anonymous Theologica Germanica
1293 St. Catherine of
Discourse of the
Soul with the Body
Spiritual Dialogues
Treatise on Purgatory
1442 St. Catherine of
Divine
A Treatise of
Obedience
1588 Hilton, Walter The Scale or Ladder of Perfection
Treatise Written to a Devout Man
Song of Angels
1743 Julian of
1834 Hildegard of Bingen Life and Works
1875 Thomas a Kempis The Imitation of Christ
1989 St. Francis of
2093 Ugolino Little Flowers of St. Francis
of
The Holy Rule of St. Benedict
The 1949 Edition
Translated by Rev. Boniface Verheyen, OSB
of St. Benedict's Abbey,
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1: Of the Kinds or the Life of Monks
Chapter 2: What Kind of Man the Abbot Ought to Be
Chapter 3: Of Calling the Brethren for Counsel
Chapter 4: The Instruments of Good Works
Chapter 5: Of Obedience
Chapter 6: Of Silence
Chapter 7: Of Humility
Chapter 8: Of the Divine Office during the Night
Chapter 9: How Many Psalms Are to Be Said at the Night Office
Chapter 10: How the Office Is to Be Said during the Summer Season
Chapter 11: How the Night Office Is to Be Said on Sundays
Chapter 12: How Lauds Are to Be Said
Chapter 13: How Lauds Are to Be Said on Week Days
Chapter 14: How the Night Office Is to Be Said on the Feasts of the Saints
Chapter 15: At What Times the Alleluia Is to Be Said
Chapter 16: How the Work of God Is to Be Performed during the Day
Chapter 17: How Many Psalms Are to Be Sung at These Hours
Chapter 18: In What Order the Psalms Are to Be Said
Chapter 19: Of the Manner of Reciting the Psalter
Chapter 20: Of Reverence at Prayer
Chapter 21: Of the Deans of the Monastery
Chapter 22: How the Monks Are to Sleep
Chapter 23: Of Excommunication for Faults
Chapter 24: What the Manner of Excommunication Should Be
Chapter 25: Of Graver Faults
Chapter 26: Of Those Who without the Command of the Abbot Associate with the Excommunicated
Chapter 27: How Concerned the Abbot Should Be about the Excommunicated
Chapter 28: Of Those Who Having Often Been Corrected Do Not Amend
Chapter 29: Whether Brethren Who Leave the Monastery Ought to Be Received Again
Chapter 30: How Young Boys Are to Be Corrected
Chapter 31: The Kind of Man the Cellarer of the Monastery Ought to Be
Chapter 32: Of the Tools and Goods of the Monastery
Chapter 33: Whether Monks Ought to Have Anything of Their Own
Chapter 34: Whether All Should Receive in Equal Measure What Is Necessary
Chapter 35: Of the Weekly Servers in the Kitchen
Chapter 36: Of the Sick Brethren
Chapter 37: Of the Aged and Children
Chapter 38: Of the Weekly Reader
Chapter 39: Of the Quantity of Food
Chapter 40: Of the Quantity of Drink
Chapter 41: At What Times the Brethren Should Take Their Refection
Chapter 42: That No One Speak after Complin
Chapter 43: Of Those Who Are Tardy in Coming to the Work of God or to Table
Chapter 44: Of Those Who Are Excommunicated -- How They Make Satisfaction
Chapter 45: Of Those Who Commit a Fault in the Oratory
Chapter 46: Of Those Who Fail in Any Other Matters
Chapter 47: Of Giving the Signal for the Time of the Work of God
Chapter 48: Of the Daily Work
Chapter 49: On the Keeping of Lent
Chapter 50: Of the Brethren Who Work a Long Distance form the Oratory or Are on a Journey
Chapter 51: Of the Brethren Who Do Not Go Very Far Away
Chapter 52: Of the Oratory of the Monastery
Chapter 53: Of the Reception of Guests
Chapter 54: Whether a Monk Should Receive Letters or Anything Else
Chapter 55: Of the Clothing and the Footgear of the Brethren
Chapter 56: Of the Abbot's Table
Chapter 57: Of the Artists of the Monastery
Chapter 58: Of the Manner of Admitting Brethren
Chapter 59: Of the Children of the Noble and of the Poor Who Are Offered
Chapter 60: Of Priests Who May Wish to Live in the Monastery
Chapter 61: How Stranger Monks Are to Be Received
Chapter 62: Of the Priests of the Monastery
Chapter 63: Of the Order in the Monastery
Chapter 64: Of the Election of the Abbot
Chapter 65: Of the Prior of the Monastery
Chapter 66: Of the Porter of the Monastery
Chapter 67: Of the Brethren Who Are Sent on a Journey
Chapter 68: If a Brother is Commanded to Do Impossible Things
Chapter 69: That in the Monastery No One Presume to Defend Another
Chapter 70: That No One Presume to Strike Another
Chapter 71: That the Brethren be Obedient to One Another
Chapter 72: Of the Virtuous Zeal Which the Monks Ought to Have
Chapter 73: Of This, that Not the Whole Observance of Righteousness is Laid Down in this Rule
PROLOGUE
Listen, O my son, to the precepts of thy master, and incline the ear of thy heart, and cheerfully receive and
faithfully execute the admonitions of thy loving Father, that by the toil of obedience thou mayest return to Him
from whom by the sloth of disobedience thou hast gone away.
To thee, therefore, my speech is now directed, who, giving up thine own will, takest up the strong and most
excellent arms of obedience, to do battle for Christ the Lord, the true King.
In the first place, beg of Him by most earnest prayer, that He perfect whatever good thou dost begin, in order
that He who hath been pleased to count us in the number of His children, need never be grieved at our evil
deeds. For we ought at all times so to serve Him with the good things which He hath given us, that He may not,
like an angry father, disinherit his children, nor, like a dread lord, enraged at our evil deeds, hand us over to
everlasting punishment as most wicked servants, who would not follow Him to glory.
Let us then rise at length, since the Scripture arouseth us, saying: "It is now the hour for us to rise from sleep"
(Rom 13:11); and having opened our eyes to the deifying light, let us hear with awestruck ears what the divine
voice, crying out daily, doth admonish us, saying: "Today, if you shall hear his voice, harden not your hearts" (Ps
94[95]:8). And again: "He that hath ears to hear let him hear what the Spirit saith to the churches" (Rev 2:7). And
what doth He say? -- "Come, children, hearken unto me, I will teach you the fear of the Lord" (Ps 33[34]:12).
"Run whilst you have the light of life, that the darkness of death overtake you not" (Jn 12:35).
And the Lord seeking His workman in the multitude of the people, to whom He proclaimeth these words, saith
again: "Who is the man that desireth life and loveth to see good days" (Ps 33[34]:13)? If hearing this thou
answerest, "I am he," God saith to thee: "If thou wilt have true and everlasting life, keep thy tongue from evil, and
thy lips from speaking guile; turn away from evil and do good; seek after peace and pursue it" (Ps
33[34]:14-15). And when you shall have done these things, my eyes shall be upon you, and my ears unto your
prayers. And before you shall call upon me I will say: "Behold, I am here" (Is 58:9).
What, dearest brethren, can be sweeter to us than this voice of the Lord inviting us? See, in His loving kindness,
the Lord showeth us the way of life. Therefore, having our loins girt with faith and the performance of good
works, let us walk His ways under the guidance of the Gospel, that we may be found worthy of seeing Him who
hath called us to His kingdom (cf 1 Thes 2:12).
If we desire to dwell in the tabernacle of His kingdom, we cannot reach it in any way, unless we run thither by
good works. But let us ask the Lord with the Prophet, saying to Him: "Lord, who shall dwell in Thy tabernacle, or
who shall rest in Thy holy hill" (Ps 14[15]:1)?
After this question, brethren, let us listen to the Lord answering and showing us the way to this tabernacle,
saying: "He that walketh without blemish and worketh justice; he that speaketh truth in his heart; who hath not
used deceit in his tongue, nor hath done evil to his neighbor, nor hath taken up a reproach against his neighbor"
(Ps 14[15]:2-3), who hath brought to naught the foul demon tempting him, casting him out of his heart with his
temptation, and hath taken his evil thoughts whilst they were yet weak and hath dashed them against Christ (cf
Ps 14[15]:4; Ps 136[137]:9); who fearing the Lord are not puffed up by their goodness of life, but holding that
the actual good which is in them cannot be done by themselves, but by the Lord, they praise the Lord working in
them (cf Ps 14[15]:4), saying with the Prophet: "Not to us, O Lord, not to us; by to Thy name give glory" (Ps
113[115:1]:9). Thus also the Apostle Paul hath not taken to himself any credit for his preaching, saying: "By the
grace of God, I am what I am" (1 Cor 15:10). And again he saith: "He that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord" (2
Cor 10:17).
Hence, the Lord also saith in the Gospel: "He that heareth these my words and doeth them, shall be likened to a
wise man who built his house upon a rock; the floods came, the winds blew, and they beat upon that house, and
it fell not, for it was founded on a rock" (Mt 7:24-25). The Lord fulfilling these words waiteth for us from day to
day, that we respond to His holy admonitions by our works. Therefore, our days are lengthened to a truce for the
amendment of the misdeeds of our present life; as the Apostle saith: "Knowest thou not that the patience of
God leadeth thee to penance" (Rom 2:4)? For the good Lord saith: "I will not the death of the sinner, but that he
be converted and live" (Ezek 33:11).
Now, brethren, that we have asked the Lord who it is that shall dwell in His tabernacle, we have heard the
conditions for dwelling there; and if we fulfil the duties of tenants, we shall be heirs of the kingdom of heaven.
Our hearts and our bodies must, therefore, be ready to do battle under the biddings of holy obedience; and let
us ask the Lord that He supply by the help of His grace what is impossible to us by nature. And if, flying from the
pains of hell, we desire to reach life everlasting, then, while there is yet time, and we are still in the flesh, and are
able during the present life to fulfil all these things, we must make haste to do now what will profit us forever.
We are, therefore, about to found a school of the Lord's service, in which we hope to introduce nothing harsh or
burdensome. But even if, to correct vices or to preserve charity, sound reason dictateth anything that turneth out
somewhat stringent, do not at once fly in dismay from the way of salvation, the beginning of which cannot but be
narrow. But as we advance in the religious life and faith, we shall run the way of God's commandments with
expanded hearts and unspeakable sweetness of love; so that never departing from His guidance and
persevering in the monastery in His doctrine till death, we may by patience share in the sufferings of Christ, and
be found worthy to be coheirs with Him of His kingdom.
CHAPTER I
Of the Kinds or the Life of Monks
It is well known that there are four kinds of monks. The first kind is that of Cenobites, that is, the monastic, who
live under a rule and an Abbot.
The second kind is that of Anchorites, or Hermits, that is, of those who, no longer in the first fervor of their
conversion, but taught by long monastic practice and the help of many brethren, have already learned to fight
against the devil; and going forth from the rank of their brethren well trained for single combat in the desert, they
are able, with the help of God, to cope single-handed without the help of others, against the vices of the flesh
and evil thoughts.
But a third and most vile class of monks is that of Sarabaites, who have been tried by no rule under the hand of
a master, as gold is tried in the fire (cf Prov 27:21); but, soft as lead, and still keeping faith with the world by
their works, they are known to belie God by their tonsure. Living in two's and three's, or even singly, without a
shepherd, enclosed, not in the Lord's sheepfold, but in their own, the gratification of their desires is law unto
them; because what they choose to do they call holy, but what they dislike they hold to be unlawful.
But the fourth class of monks is that called Landlopers, who keep going their whole life long from one province
to another, staying three or four days at a time in different cells as guests. Always roving and never settled, they
indulge their passions and the cravings of their appetite, and are in every way worse than the Sarabaites. It is
better to pass all these over in silence than to speak of their most wretched life.
Therefore, passing these over, let us go on with the help of God to lay down a rule for that most valiant kind of
monks, the Cenobites.
CHAPTER II
What Kind of Man the Abbot Ought to Be
The Abbot who is worthy to be over a monastery, ought always to be mindful of what he is called, and make his
works square with his name of
he is called by his name, according to the saying of the Apostle: "You have received the spirit of adoption of
sons, whereby we cry Abba (Father)" (Rom 8:15). Therefore, the Abbot should never teach, prescribe, or
command (which God forbid) anything contrary to the laws of the Lord; but his commands and teaching should
be instilled like a leaven of divine justice into the minds of his disciples.
Let the Abbot always bear in mind that he must give an account in the dread judgment of God of both his own
teaching and of the obedience of his disciples. And let the Abbot know that whatever lack of profit the master of
the house shall find in the sheep, will be laid to the blame of the shepherd. On the other hand he will be
blameless, if he gave all a shepherd's care to his restless and unruly flock, and took all pains to correct their
corrupt manners; so that their shepherd, acquitted at the Lord's judgment seat, may say to the Lord with the
Prophet: "I have not hid Thy justice within my heart. I have declared Thy truth and Thy salvation" (Ps 39[40]:11).
"But they contemning have despised me" (Is 1:2; Ezek 20:27). Then at length eternal death will be the crushing
doom of the rebellious sheep under his charge.
When, therefore, anyone taketh the name of Abbot he should govern his disciples by a twofold teaching;
namely, he should show them all that is good and holy by his deeds more than by his words; explain the
commandments of God to intelligent disciples by words, but show the divine precepts to the dull and simple by
his works. And let him show by his actions, that whatever he teacheth his disciples as being contrary to the law
of God must not be done, "lest perhaps when he hath preached to others, he himself should become a
castaway" (1 Cor 9:27), and he himself committing sin, God one day say to him: "Why dost thou declare My
justices, and take My covenant in thy mouth? But thou hast hated discipline, and hast cast My words behind
thee" (Ps 49[50]:16-17). And: "Thou who sawest the mote in thy brother's eye, hast not seen the beam in thine
own" (Mt 7:3).
Let him make no distinction of persons in the monastery. Let him not love one more than another, unless it be
one whom he findeth more exemplary in good works and obedience. Let not a free-born be preferred to a
freedman, unless there be some other reasonable cause. But if from a just reason the Abbot deemeth it proper
to make such a distinction, he may do so in regard to the rank of anyone whomsoever; otherwise let everyone
keep his own place; for whether bond or free, we are all one in Christ (cf Gal 3:28; Eph 6:8), and we all bear an
equal burden of servitude under one Lord, "for there is no respect of persons with God" (Rom 2:11). We are
distinguished with Him in this respect alone, if we are found to excel others in good works and in humility.
Therefore, let him have equal charity for all, and impose a uniform discipline for all according to merit.
For in his teaching the Abbot should always observe that principle of the Apostle in which he saith: "Reprove,
entreat, rebuke" (2 Tm 4:2), that is, mingling gentleness with severity, as the occasion may call for, let him show
the severity of the master and the loving affection of a father. He must sternly rebuke the undisciplined and
restless; but he must exhort the obedient, meek, and patient to advance in virtue. But we charge him to rebuke
and punish the negligent and haughty. Let him not shut his eyes to the sins of evil-doers; but on their first
appearance let him do his utmost to cut them out from the root at once, mindful of the fate of Heli, the priest of
Silo (cf 1 Sam 2:11-4:18). The well-disposed and those of good understanding, let him correct at the first and
second admonition only with words; but let him chastise the wicked and the hard of heart, and the proud and
disobedient at the very first offense with stripes and other bodily punishments, knowing that it is written: "The
fool is not corrected with words" (Prov 29:19). And again: "Strike thy son with the rod, and thou shalt deliver his
soul from death" (Prov 23:14).
The Abbot ought always to remember what he is and what he is called, and to know that to whom much hath
been entrusted, from him much will be required; and let him understand what a difficult and arduous task he
assumeth in governing souls and accommodating himself to a variety of characters. Let him so adjust and
adapt himself to everyone -- to one gentleness of speech, to another by reproofs, and to still another by
entreaties, to each one according to his bent and understanding -- that he not only suffer no loss in his flock, but
may rejoice in the increase of a worthy fold.
Above all things, that the Abbot may not neglect or undervalue the welfare of the souls entrusted to him, let him
not have too great a concern about fleeting, earthly, perishable things; but let him always consider that he hath
undertaken the government of souls, of which he must give an account. And that he may not perhaps complain
of the want of earthly means, let him remember what is
written: "Seek ye first the
justice, and all these things shall be added unto you" (Mt 6:33). And again: "There is no want to them that fear
Him" (Ps 33[34]:10). And let him know that he who undertaketh the government of souls must prepare himself to
give an account for them; and whatever the number of brethren he hath under his charge, let him be sure that on
judgment day he will, without doubt, have to give an account to the Lord for all these souls, in addition to that of
his own. And thus, whilst he is in constant fear of the Shepherd's future examination about the sheep entrusted
to him, and is watchful of his account for others, he is made solicitous also on his own account; and whilst by his
admonitions he had administered correction to others, he is freed from his own failings.
CHAPTER III
Of Calling the Brethren for Counsel
Whenever weighty matters are to be transacted in the monastery, let the Abbot call together the whole
community, and make known the matter which is to be considered. Having heard the brethren's views, let him
weigh the matter with himself and do what he thinketh best. It is for this reason, however, we said that all should
be called for counsel, because the Lord often revealeth to the younger what is best. Let the brethren, however,
give their advice with humble submission, and let them not presume stubbornly to defend what seemeth right to
them, for it must depend rather on the Abbot's will, so that all obey him in what he considereth best. But as it
becometh disciples to obey their master, so also it becometh the master to dispose all things with prudence
and justice. Therefore, let all follow the Rule as their guide in everything, and let no one rashly depart from it.
Let no one in the monastery follow the bent of his own heart, and let no one dare to dispute insolently with his
Abbot, either inside or outside the monastery. If any one dare to do so, let him be placed under the correction of
the Rule. Let the Abbot himself, however, do everything in the fear of the Lord and out of reverence for the Rule,
knowing that, beyond a doubt, he will have to give an account to God, the most just Judge, for all his rulings. If,
however, matters of less importance, having to do with the welfare of the monastery, are to be treated of, let him
use the counsel of the Seniors only, as it is written: "Do all things with counsel, and thou shalt not repent when
thou hast done" (Sir 32:24).
CHAPTER IV
The Instruments of Good Works
(1) In the first place to love the Lord God with the whole heart, the whole soul, the whole strength...
(2) Then, one's neighbor as one's self (cf Mt 22:37-39; Mk 12:30-31; Lk 10:27).
(3) Then, not to kill...
(4) Not to commit adultery...
(5) Not to steal...
(6) Not to covet (cf Rom 13:9).
(7) Not to bear false witness (cf Mt 19:18; Mk 10:19; Lk 18:20).
(8) To honor all men (cf 1 Pt 2:17).
(9) And what one would not have done to himself, not to do to another (cf Tob 4:16; Mt 7:12; Lk 6:31).
(10) To deny one's self in order to follow Christ (cf Mt 16:24; Lk 9:23).
(11) To chastise the body (cf 1 Cor 9:27).
(12) Not to seek after pleasures.
(13) To love fasting.
(14) To relieve the poor.
(15) To clothe the naked...
(16) To visit the sick (cf Mt 25:36).
(17) To bury the dead.
(18) To help in trouble.
(19) To console the sorrowing.
(20) To hold one's self aloof from worldly ways.
(21) To prefer nothing to the love of Christ.
(22) Not to give way to anger.
(23) Not to foster a desire for revenge.
(24) Not to entertain deceit in the heart.
(25) Not to make a false peace.
(26) Not to forsake charity.
(27) Not to swear, lest perchance one swear falsely.
(28) To speak the truth with heart and tongue.
(29) Not to return evil for evil (cf 1 Thes 5:15; 1 Pt 3:9).
(30) To do no injury, yea, even patiently to bear the injury done us.
(31) To love one's enemies (cf Mt 5:44; Lk 6:27).
(32) Not to curse them that curse us, but rather to bless them.
(33) To bear persecution for justice sake (cf Mt 5:10).
(34) Not to be proud...
(35) Not to be given to wine (cf Ti 1:7; 1 Tm 3:3).
(36) Not to be a great eater.
(37) Not to be drowsy.
(38) Not to be slothful (cf Rom 12:11).
(39) Not to be a murmurer.
(40) Not to be a detractor.
(41) To put one's trust in God.
(42) To refer what good one sees in himself, not to self, but to God.
(43) But as to any evil in himself, let him be convinced that it is his own and charge it to himself.
(44) To fear the day of judgment.
(45) To be in dread of hell.
(46) To desire eternal life with all spiritual longing.
(47) To keep death before one's eyes daily.
(48) To keep a constant watch over the actions of our life.
(49) To hold as certain that God sees us everywhere.
(50) To dash at once against Christ the evil thoughts which rise in one's heart.
(51) And to disclose them to our spiritual father.
(52) To guard one's tongue against bad and wicked speech.
(53) Not to love much speaking.
(54) Not to speak useless words and such as provoke laughter.
(55) Not to love much or boisterous laughter.
(56) To listen willingly to holy reading.
(57) To apply one's self often to prayer.
(58) To confess one's past sins to God daily in prayer with sighs and tears, and to amend them for the future.
(59) Not to fulfil the desires of the flesh (cf Gal 5:16).
(60) To hate one's own will.
(61) To obey the commands of the Abbot in all things, even though he himself (which Heaven forbid) act
otherwise, mindful of that precept of the Lord: "What they say, do ye; what they do, do ye not" (Mt 23:3).
(62) Not to desire to be called holy before one is; but to be holy first, that one may be truly so called.
(63) To fulfil daily the commandments of God by works.
(64) To love chastity.
(65) To hate no one.
(66) Not to be jealous; not to entertain envy.
(67) Not to love strife.
(68) Not to love pride.
(69) To honor the aged.
(70) To love the younger.
(71) To pray for one's enemies in the love of Christ.
(72) To make peace with an adversary before the setting of the sun.
(73) And never to despair of God's mercy.
Behold, these are the instruments of the spiritual art, which, if they have been applied without ceasing day and
night and approved on judgment day, will merit for us from the Lord that reward which He hath promised: "The
eye hath not seen, nor the ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man, what things God hath
prepared for them that love Him" (1 Cor 2:9). But the workshop in which we perform all these works with
diligence is the enclosure of the monastery, and stability in the community.
CHAPTER V
Of Obedience
The first degree of humility is obedience without delay. This becometh those who, on account of the holy
subjection which they have promised, or of the fear of hell, or the glory of life everlasting, hold nothing dearer
than Christ. As soon as anything hath been commanded by the
as if the matter had been commanded by God Himself. Of these the Lord saith: "At the hearing of the ear he
hath obeyed Me" (Ps 17[18]:45). And again He saith to the teachers: "He that heareth you heareth Me" (Lk
10:16).
Such as these, therefore, instantly quitting their own work and giving up their own will, with hands disengaged,
and leaving unfinished what they were doing, follow up, with the ready step of obedience, the work of command
with deeds; and thus, as if in the same moment, both matters -- the master's command and the disciple's
finished work -- are, in the swiftness of the fear of God, speedily finished together, whereunto the desire of
advancing to eternal life urgeth them. They, therefore, seize upon the narrow way whereof the Lord saith:
"Narrow is the way which leadeth to life" (Mt 7:14), so that, not living according to their own desires and
pleasures but walking according to the judgment and will of another, they live in monasteries, and desire an
Abbot to be over them. Such as these truly live up to the maxim of the Lord in which He saith: "I came not to do
My own will, but the will of Him that sent Me" (Jn 6:38).
This obedience, however, will be acceptable to God and agreeable to men then only, if what is commanded is
done without hesitation, delay, lukewarmness, grumbling or complaint, because the obedience which is
rendered to Superiors is rendered to God. For He Himself hath said: "He that heareth you heareth Me" (Lk
10:16). And it must be rendered by the disciples with a good will, "for the Lord loveth a cheerful giver (2 Cor
9:7). " For if the disciple obeyeth with an ill will, and murmureth, not only with lips but also in his heart, even
though he fulfil the command, yet it will not be acceptable to God, who regardeth the heart of the murmurer. And
for such an action he acquireth no reward; rather he incurreth the penalty of murmurers, unless he maketh
satisfactory amendment.
CHAPTER VI
Of Silence
Let us do what the Prophet saith: "I said, I will take heed of my ways, that I sin not with my tongue: I have set a
guard to my mouth, I was dumb, and was humbled, and kept silence even from good things" (Ps 38[39]:2-3).
Here the prophet showeth that, if at times we ought to refrain from useful speech for the sake of silence, how
much more ought we to abstain from evil words on account of the punishment due to sin.
Therefore, because of the importance of silence, let permission to speak be seldom given to perfect disciples
even for good and holy and edifying discourse, for it is written: "In much talk thou shalt not escape sin" (Prov
10:19). And elsewhere: "Death and life are in the power of the tongue" (Prov 18:21). For it belongeth to the
master to speak and to teach; it becometh the disciple to be silent and to listen. If, therefore, anything must be
asked of the Superior, let it be asked with all humility and respectful submission. But coarse jests, and idle
words or speech provoking laughter, we condemn everywhere to eternal exclusion; and for such speech we do
not permit the disciple to open his lips.
CHAPTER VII
Of Humility
Brethren, the Holy Scripture crieth to us saying: "Every one that exalteth himself shall be humbled; and he that
humbleth himself shall be exalted" (Lk 14:11; 18:14). Since, therefore, it saith this, it showeth us that every
exaltation is a kind of pride. The Prophet declareth that he guardeth himself against this, saying: "Lord, my heart
is not puffed up; nor are my eyes haughty. Neither have I walked in great matters nor in wonderful things above
me" (Ps 130[131]:1). What then? "If I was not humbly minded, but exalted my soul; as a child that is weaned is
towards his mother so shalt Thou reward my soul" (Ps 130[131]:2).
Hence, brethren, if we wish to reach the greatest height of humility, and speedily to arrive at that heavenly
exaltation to which ascent is made in the present life by humility, then, mounting by our actions, we must erect
the ladder which appeared to Jacob in his dream, by means of which angels were shown to him ascending and
descending (cf Gen 28:12). Without a doubt, we understand this ascending and descending to be nothing else
but that we descend by pride and ascend by humility. The erected ladder, however, is our life in the present
world, which, if the heart is humble, is by the Lord lifted up to heaven. For we say that our body and our soul are
the two sides of this ladder; and into these sides the divine calling hath inserted various degrees of humility or
discipline which we must mount.
The first degree of humility, then, is that a man always have the fear of God before his eyes (cf Ps 35[36]:2),
shunning all forgetfulness and that he be ever mindful of all that God hath commanded, that he always
considereth in his mind how those who despise God will burn in hell for their sins, and that life everlasting is
prepared for those who fear God. And whilst he guardeth himself evermore against sin and vices of thought,
word, deed, and self-will, let him also hasten to cut off the desires of the flesh.
Let a man consider that God always seeth him from Heaven, that the eye of God beholdeth his works
everywhere, and that the angels report them to Him every hour. The Prophet telleth us this when he showeth
God thus ever present in our thoughts, saying: "The searcher of hearts and reins is God" (Ps 7:10). And again:
"The Lord knoweth the thoughts of men" (Ps 93[94]:11) And he saith: "Thou hast understood my thoughts afar
off" (Ps 138[139]:3). And: "The thoughts of man shall give praise to Thee" (Ps 75[76]:11). Therefore, in order
that he may always be on his guard against evil thoughts, let the humble brother always say in his heart: "Then I
shall be spotless before Him, if I shall keep myself from iniquity" (Ps 17[18]:24).
We are thus forbidden to do our own will, since the Scripture saith to us: "And turn away from thy evil will" (Sir
18:30). And thus, too, we ask God in prayer that His will may be done in us (cf Mt 6:10). We are, therefore,
rightly taught not to do our own will, when we guard against what Scripture saith: "There are ways that to men
seem right, the end whereof plungeth into the depths of hell" (Prov 16:25). And also when we are filled with
dread at what is said of the negligent: "They are corrupted and become abominable in their pleasure" (Ps
13[14]:1). But as regards desires of the flesh, let us believe that God is thus ever present to us, since the
Prophet saith to the Lord: "Before Thee is all my desire" (Ps 37[38]:10).
We must, therefore, guard thus against evil desires, because death hath his station near the entrance of
pleasure. Whence the Scripture commandeth, saying: "Go no after thy lusts" (Sir 18:30). If, therefore, the eyes
of the Lord observe the good and the bad (cf Prov 15:3) and the Lord always looketh down from heaven on the
children of men, to see whether there be anyone that understandeth or seeketh God (cf Ps 13[14]:2); and if our
actions are reported to the Lord day and night by the angels who are appointed to watch over us daily, we must
ever be on our guard, brethren, as the Prophet saith in the psalm, that God may at no time see us "gone aside
to evil and become unprofitable" (Ps 13[14]:3), and having spared us in the present time, because He is kind
and waiteth for us to be changed for the better, say to us in the future: "These things thou hast done and I was
silent" (Ps 49[50]:21).
The second degree of humility is, when a man loveth not his own will, nor is pleased to fulfill his own desires but
by his deeds carrieth our that word of the Lord which saith: "I came not to do My own will but the will of Him that
sent Me" (Jn 6:38). It is likewise said: "Self-will hath its punishment, but necessity winneth the crown."
The third degree of humility is, that for the love of God a man subject himself to a Superior in all obedience,
imitating the Lord, of whom the Apostle saith: "He became obedient unto death" (Phil 2:8).
The fourth degree of humility is, that, if hard and distasteful things are commanded, nay, even though injuries are
inflicted, he accept them with patience and even temper, and not grow weary or give up, but hold out, as the
Scripture saith: "He that shall persevere unto the end shall be saved" (Mt 10:22). And again: "Let thy heart take
courage, and wait thou for the Lord" (Ps 26[27]:14). And showing that a faithful man ought even to bear every
disagreeable thing for the Lord, it saith in the person of the suffering: "For Thy sake we suffer death all the day
long; we are counted as sheep for the slaughter" (Rom 8:36; Ps 43[44]:22). And secure in the hope of the divine
reward, they go on joyfully, saying: "But in all these things we overcome because of Him that hath loved us"
(Rom 8:37). And likewise in another place the Scripture saith: "Thou, O God, hast proved us; Thou hast tried us
by fire as silver is tried; Thou hast brought us into a net, Thou hast laid afflictions on our back" (Ps
65[66]:10-11). And to show us that we ought to be under a Superior, it continueth, saying: "Thou hast set men
over our heads" (Ps 65[66]:12). And fulfilling the command of the Lord by patience also in adversities and
injuries, when struck on the one cheek they turn also the other; the despoiler of their coat they give their cloak
also; and when forced to go one mile they go two (cf Mt 5:39-41); with the Apostle Paul they bear with false
brethren and "bless those who curse them" (2 Cor 11:26; 1 Cor 4:12).
The fifth degree of humility is, when one hideth from his Abbot none of the evil thoughts which rise in his heart or
the evils committed by him in secret, but humbly confesseth them. Concerning this the Scripture exhorts us,
saying: "Reveal thy way to the Lord and trust in Him" (Ps 36[37]:5). And it saith further: "Confess to the Lord, for
He is good, for His mercy endureth forever" (Ps 105[106]:1; Ps 117[118]:1). And the Prophet likewise saith: "I
have acknowledged my sin to Thee and my injustice I have not concealed. I said I will confess against myself my
injustice to the Lord; and Thou hast forgiven the wickedness of my sins" (Ps 31[32]:5).
The sixth degree of humility is, when a monk is content with the meanest and worst of everything, and in all that
is enjoined him holdeth himself as a bad and worthless workman, saying with the Prophet: "I am brought to
nothing and I knew it not; I am become as a beast before Thee, and I am always with Thee" (Ps 72[73]:22-23).
The seventh degree of humility is, when, not only with his tongue he declareth, but also in his inmost soul
believeth, that he is the lowest and vilest of men, humbling himself and saying with the Prophet: "But I am a
worm and no man, the reproach of men and the outcast of the people" (Ps 21[22]:7). "I have been exalted and
humbled and confounded" (Ps 87[88]:16). And also: "It is good for me that Thou hast humbled me, that I may
learn Thy commandments" (Ps 118[119]:71,73).
The eighth degree of humility is, when a monk doeth nothing but what is sanctioned by the common rule of the
monastery and the example of his elders.
The ninth degree of humility is, when a monk withholdeth his tongue from speaking, and keeping silence doth
not speak until he is asked; for the Scripture showeth that "in a multitude of words there shall not want sin" (Prov
10:19); and that "a man full of tongue is not established in the earth" (Ps 139[140]:12).
The tenth degree of humility is, when a monk is not easily moved and quick for laughter, for it is written: "The fool
exalteth his voice in laughter" (Sir 21:23).
The eleventh degree of humility is, that, when a monk speaketh, he speak gently and without laughter, humbly
and with gravity, with few and sensible words, and that he be not loud of voice, as it is written: "The wise man is
known by the fewness of his words."
The twelfth degree of humility is, when a monk is not only humble of heart, but always letteth it appear also in his
whole exterior to all that see him; namely, at the Work of God, in the garden, on a journey, in the field, or
wherever he may be, sitting, walking, or standing, let him always have his head bowed down, his eyes fixed on
the ground, ever holding himself guilty of his sins, thinking that he is already standing before the dread judgment
seat of God, and always saying to himself in his heart what the publican in the Gospel said, with his eyes fixed
on the ground: "Lord, I am a sinner and not worthy to lift up mine eyes to heaven" (Lk 18:13); and again with the
Prophet: "I am bowed down and humbled exceedingly" (Ps 37[38]:7-9; Ps 118[119]:107).
Having, therefore, ascended all these degrees of humility, the monk will presently arrive at that love of God,
which being perfect, casteth out fear (1 Jn 4:18). In virtue of this love all things which at first he observed not
without fear, he will now begin to keep without any effort, and as it were, naturally by force of habit, no longer
from the fear of hell, but from the love of Christ, from the very habit of good and the pleasure in virtue. May the
Lord be pleased to manifest all this by His Holy Spirit in His laborer now cleansed from vice and sin.
CHAPTER VIII
Of the Divine Office during the Night
Making due allowance for circumstances, the brethren will rise during the winter season, that is, from the
calends of November till Easter, at the eighth hour of the night; so that, having rested till a little after midnight,
they may rise refreshed. The time, however, which remains over after the night office (Matins) will be employed
in study by those of the brethren who still have some parts of the psalms and the lessons to learn.
But from Easter to the aforesaid calends, let the hour for celebrating the night office (Matins) be so arranged,
that after a very short interval, during which the brethren may go out for the necessities of nature, the morning
office (Lauds), which is to be said at the break of day, may follow presently.
CHAPTER IX
How Many Psalms Are to Be Said at the Night Office
During the winter season, having in the first place said the verse: Deus, in adjutorium meum intende; Domine,
ad adjuvandum me festina, there is next to be said three times, Domine, labia mea aperies, et os meum
annuntiabit laudem tuam (Ps 50[51]:17). To this the third psalm and the Gloria are to be added. After this the
94th psalm with its antiphon is to be said or chanted. Hereupon let a hymn follow, and after that six psalms with
antiphons. When these and the verse have been said, let the Abbot give the blessing. All being seated on the
benches, let three lessons be read alternately by the brethren from the book on the reading stand, between
which let three responsories be said. Let two of the responsories be said without the Gloria, but after the third
lesson, let him who is chanting say the Gloria. When the cantor beginneth to sing it, let all rise at once from their
seats in honor and reverence of the Blessed Trinity.
Let the inspired books of both the Old and the New Testaments be read at the night offices, as also the
expositions of them which have been made by the most eminent orthodox and Catholic Fathers.
After these three lessons with their responsories, let six other psalms follow, to be sung with Alleluia. After
these let the lessons from the Apostle follow, to be said by heart, then the verse, the invocation of the litany, that
is, Kyrie eleison. And thus let the night office come to an end.
CHAPTER X
How the Office Is to Be Said during the Summer Season
From Easter till the calends of November let the whole psalmody, as explained above, be said, except that on
account of the shortness of the nights, no lessons are read from the book; but instead of these three lessons, let
one from the Old Testament be said from memory. Let a short responsory follow this, and let all the rest be
performed as was said; namely, that never fewer than twelve psalms be said at the night office, exclusive of the
third and the 94th psalm.
CHAPTER XI
How the Night Office Is to Be Said on Sundays
For the night office on Sunday the monks should rise earlier. At this office let the following regulations be
observed, namely: after six psalms and the verse have been sung, as we arranged above, and all have been
properly seated on the benches in their order, let four lessons with their responsories be read from the book, as
we said above. In the fourth responsory only, let the Gloria be said by the chanter, and as soon as he beginneth
it let all presently rise with reverence.
After these lessons let six other psalms with antiphons and the verse follow in order as before. After these let
there be said three canticles from the Prophets, selected by the Abbot, and chanted with Alleluia. When the
verse also hath been said and the Abbot hath given the blessing, let four other lessons from the New Testament
be read in the order above mentioned. But after the fourth responsory let the Abbot intone the hymn Te Deum
laudamus. When this hath been said, let the Abbot read the lesson from the Gospel, all standing with reverence
and awe. When the Gospel hath been read let all answer Amen, and immediately the Abbot will follow up with
the hymn Te decet laus, and when he hath given the blessing Lauds will begin.
Let this order of the night office be observed on Sunday the same way in all seasons, in summer as well as in
winter, unless perchance (which God forbid) the brethren should rise too late and part of the lessons or the
responsories would have to be shortened. Let every precaution be taken that this does not occur. If it should
happen, let him through whose neglect it came about make due satisfaction for it to God in the oratory.
CHAPTER XII
How Lauds Are to Be Said
At Lauds on Sunday, let the 66th psalm be said first simply, without an antiphon. After that let the 50th psalm be
said with Alleluia; after this let the 117th and the 62d be said; then the blessing and the praises, one lesson
from the Apocalypse, said by heart, a responsory, the Ambrosian hymn, the verse and the canticle from the
Gospel, the litany, and it is finished.
CHAPTER XIII
How Lauds Are to Be Said on Week Days
On week days let Lauds be celebrated in the following manner, to wit: Let the 66th psalm be said without an
antiphon, drawing it out a little as on Sunday, that all may arriver for the 50th, which is to be said with an
antiphon. After this let two other psalms be said according to custom; namely, the 5th and the 35th on the
second day, the 42d and the 56th on the third day, the 63rd and the 64th on the fourth day, the 87th and the 89th
on the fifth day, the 75th and the 91st on the sixth day, and on Saturday the 142d and the canticle of
Deuteronomy, which should be divided into two Glorias. On the other days, however, let the canticle from the
Prophets, each for its proper day, be said as the Roman Church singeth it. After these let the psalms of praise
follow; then one lesson from the Apostle, to be said from memory, the responsory, the Ambrosian hymn, the
verse, the canticle from the Gospel, the litany, and it is finished.
Owing to the sandals which are wont to spring up, the morning and the evening office should, plainly, never end
unless the Lord's Prayer is said in the hearing of all by the Superior in its place at the end; so that in virtue of the
promise which the brethren make when they say, "Forgive us as we forgive" (Mt 6:12), they may cleanse
themselves of failings of this kind.
At the other hours which are to be said, however, let only the last part of this prayer be said aloud, so that all
may answer, "But deliver us from evil" (Mt 6:13).
CHAPTER XIV
How the Night Office Is to Be Said on the Feasts of the Saints
On the feasts of the saints and on all solemn festivals let the night office be performed as we said it should be
done on Sunday; except that the psalms, the antiphons, and the lessons proper for that day be said; but let the
number above mentioned be maintained.
CHAPTER XV
At What Times the Alleluia Is to Be Said
From holy Easter until Pentecost let the Alleluia be said without intermission, both with the psalms and with the
responsories; but from Pentecost until the beginning of Lent let it be said every night at the nocturns with the six
latter psalms only. However, on all Sundays outside of Lent, let the canticles, Lauds, Prime, Tierce, Sext, and
None be said with Alleluia. Let Vespers, however, be said with the antiphon; but let the responsories never be
said with Alleluia, except from Easter to Pentecost.
CHAPTER XVI
How the Work of God Is to Be Performed during the Day
As the Prophet saith: "Seven times a day I have given praise to Thee" (Ps 118[119]:164), this sacred sevenfold
number will be fulfilled by us in this wise if we perform the duties of our service at the time of Lauds, Prime,
Tierce, Sext, None, Vespers, and Complin; because it was of these day hours that he hath said: "Seven times a
day I have given praise to Thee" (Ps 118[119]:164). For the same Prophet saith of the night watches: "At
midnight I arose to confess to Thee" (Ps 118[119]:62). At these times, therefore, let us offer praise to our
Creator "for the judgments of His justice;" namely, at Lauds, Prime, Tierce, Sext, None, Vespers, and Complin;
and let us rise at night to praise Him (cf Ps 118[119]:164, 62).
CHAPTER XVII
How Many Psalms Are to Be Sung at These Hours
We have now arranged the order of the psalmody for the night and the morning office; let us next arrange for the
succeeding Hours. At the first Hour let three psalms be said separately, and not under one Gloria. Let the hymn
for the same Hour be said after the verse Deus, in adjutorium (Ps 69[70]:2), before the psalms are begun.
Then, after the completion of three psalms, let one lesson be said, a verse, the Kyrie eleison, and the collects.
At the third, the sixth, and the ninth Hours, the prayer will be said in the same order; namely, the verse, the hymn
proper to each Hour, the three psalms, the lesson, the verse, the Kyrie eleison, and the collects. If the
brotherhood is large, let these Hours be sung with antiphons; but if small, let them be said without a break.
Let the office of Vespers be ended with four psalms and antiphons; after these psalms a lesson is to be recited,
next a responsory, the Ambrosian hymn, a verse, the canticle from the Gospel, the litany, the Lord's Prayer, and
the collects.
Let Complin end with the saying of three psalms, which are to be said straight on without an antiphon, and after
these the hymn for the same Hour, one lesson, the verse, Kyrie eleison, the blessing, and the collects.
CHAPTER XVIII
In What Order the Psalms Are to Be Said
In the beginning let there be said the verse, Deus, in adjutorium meum intende; Domine, ad adjuvandum me
festina (Ps 69[70]:2), and the Gloria, followed by the hymn for each Hour. At Prime on Sunday, then, there are to
be said four sections of the 118th psalm. At the other Hours, however, namely Tierce, Sext, and None, let three
sections of the same psalm be said. But at Prime on Monday let three psalms be said, namely, the first, the
second, and the sixth; and thus each day at Prime until Sunday, let three psalms be said each time in
consecutive order up to the 19th psalm, yet so that the ninth psalm and the 17th be each divided into two
Glorias; and thus it will come about that at the night office on Sundays we always begin with the 20th psalm.
At Tierce, Sext, and None, on Monday, however, let the nine sections which remain over the 118th psalm be
said, three sections at each of these Hours. The 118th psalm having thus been parceled out for two days,
namely, Sunday and Monday, let there be sung on Tuesday for Tierce, Sext, and None, three psalms each, from
the 119th to the 127th, that is, nine psalms. These psalms will always be repeated at the same Hours in just the
same way until Sunday, observing also for all these days a regular succession of the hymns, the lessons, and
the verses, so, namely, that on Sunday the beginning is always made with the 118th psalm.
Let Vespers be sung daily with the singing of four psalms. Let these psalms begin with the 109th to the 147th,
excepting those which are set aside for the other Hours; namely, from the 117th to the 127th, and the 133d, and
the 142d. All the rest are to be said at Vespers; and as the psalms fall three short, those of the aforesaide
psalms which are found to be longer, are to be divided; namely, the 138th, the 143d, and the 144th. But
because the 116th is short, let it be joined to the 115th. The order of the psalms for Vespers having thus been
arranged let the rest, namely, the lessons, the responsories, the hymns, the verses, and the canticles, be said
as we have directed above.
At Complin, however, let the same psalms be repeated every day; namely, the 4th, the 90th, and the 133d.
Having arranged the order of the office, let all the rest of the psalms which remain over, be divided equally into
seven night offices, by so dividing such of them as are of greater length that twelve fall to each night. We
especially impress this, that, if this distribution of the psalms should perchance displease anyone, he arrange
them if he thinketh another better, by all means seeing to it that the whole Psalter of one hundred and fifty
psalms be said every week, and that it always start again from the beginning at Matins on Sunday; because
those monks show too lax a service in their devotion who in the course of a week chant less than the whole
Psalter with is customary canticles; since we read, that our holy forefathers promptly fulfilled in one day what we
lukewarm monks should, please God, perform at least in a week.
CHAPTER XIX
Of the Manner of Reciting the Psalter
We believe that God is present everywhere and that the eyes of the Lord behold the good and the bad in every
place (cf Prov 15:3). Let us firmly believe this, especially when we take part in the Work of God. Let us,
therefore, always be mindful of what the Prophet saith, "Serve ye the Lord with fear" (Ps 2:11). And again, "Sing
ye wisely" (Ps 46[47]:8). And, "I will sing praise to Thee in the sight of the angels" (Ps 137[138]:1). Therefore, let
us consider how it becometh us to behave in the sight of God and His angels, and let us so stand to sing, that
our mind may be in harmony with our voice.
CHAPTER XX
Of Reverence at Prayer
If we do not venture to approach men who are in power, except with humility and reverence, when we wish to
ask a favor, how much must we beseech the Lord God of all things with all humility and purity of devotion? And
let us be assured that it is not in many words, but in the purity of heart and tears of compunction that we are
heard. For this reason prayer ought to be short and pure, unless, perhaps it is lengthened by the inspiration of
divine grace. At the community exercises, however, let the prayer always be short, and the sign having been
given by the Superior, let all rise together.
CHAPTER XXI
Of the Deans of the Monastery
If the brotherhood is large, let brethren of good repute and holy life be chosen from among them and be
appointed Deans; and let them take care of their deaneries in everything according to the commandments of
God and the directions of their Abbot. Let such be chosen Deans as the Abbot may safely trust to share his
burden. Let them not be chosen for their rank, but for the merit of their life and their wisdom and knowledge; and
if any of them, puffed up with pride, should be found blameworthy and, after having been corrected once and
again and even a third time, refuseth to amend, let him be deposed, and one who is worthy be placed in his
stead. We make the same regulation with reference to the Prior.
CHAPTER XXII
How the Monks Are to Sleep
Let the brethren sleep singly, each in a separate bed. Let them receive the bedding befitting their mode of life,
according to the direction of their Abbot. If it can be done, let all sleep in one apartment; but if the number doth
not allow it, let them sleep in tens or twenties with the seniors who have charge of them. Let a light be kept
burning constantly in the cell till morning.
Let them sleep clothed and girded with cinctures or cords, that they may be always ready; but let them not have
knives at their sides whilst they sleep, lest perchance the sleeping be wounded in their dreams; and the sign
having been given, rising without delay, let them hasten to outstrip each other to the Work of God, yet with all
gravity and decorum. Let the younger brethren not have their beds beside each other, but intermingled with the
older ones; and rising to the Work of God, let them gently encourage one another on account of the excuses of
the drowsy.
CHAPTER XXIII
Of Excommunication for Faults
If a brother is found stubborn or disobedient or proud or murmuring, or opposed to anything in the Holy Rule and
a contemner of the commandments of his Superiors, let him be admonished by his Superiors once and again in
secret, according to the command of our Lord (cf Mt 18:15-16). If he doth not amend let him be taken to task
publicly before all. But if he doth not reform even then, and he understandeth what a penalty it is, let him be
placed under excommunication; but if even then he remaineth obstinate let him undergo corporal punishment.
CHAPTER XXIV
What the Manner of Excommunication Should Be
The degree of excommunication or punishment ought to be meted out according to the gravity of the offense,
and to determine that is left to the judgment of the Abbot. If, however, anyone of the brethren is detected in
smaller faults, let him be debarred from eating at the common table.
The following shall be the practice respecting one who is excluded from the common table: that he does not
intone a psalm or an antiphon nor read a lesson in the oratory until he hath made satisfaction; let him take his
meal alone, after the refection of the brethren; thus: if, for instance, the brethren take their meal at the sixth hour
that brother will take his at the ninth, and if the brethren take theirs at the ninth, he will take his in the evening,
until by due satisfaction he obtaineth pardon.
CHAPTER XXV
Of Graver Faults
But let the brother who is found guilty of a graver fault be excluded from both the table and the oratory. Let none
of the brethren join his company or speak with him. Let him be alone at the work enjoined on him, persevering in
penitential sorrow, mindful of the terrible sentence of the Apostle who saith, that "such a man is delivered over
for the destruction of the flesh, that the spirit may be saved in the day of the Lord" (1 Cor 5:5). Let him get his
food alone in such quantity and at such a time as the Abbot shall deem fit; and let him not be blessed by anyone
passing by, nor the food that is given him.
CHAPTER XXVI
Of Those Who without the Command of the Abbot Associate with the Excommunicated
If any brother presume to associate with an excommunicated brother in any way, or to speak with him, or to
send him a message, without the command of the Abbot, let him incur the same penalty of excommunication.
CHAPTER XXVII
How Concerned the Abbot Should Be about the Excommunicated
Let the Abbot show all care and concern towards offending brethren because "they that are in health need not a
physician, but they that are sick" (Mt 9:12). Therefore, like a prudent physician he ought to use every opportunity
to send consolers, namely, discreet elderly brethren, to console the wavering brother, as it were, in secret, and
induce him to make humble satisfaction; and let them cheer him up "lest he be swallowed up with overmuch
sorrow" (2 Cor 2:7); but, as the same Apostle saith, "confirm your charity towards him" (2 Cor 2:8); and let
prayer be said for him by all.
The Abbot must take the utmost pains, and strive with all prudence and zeal, that none of the flock entrusted to
him perish. For the Abbot must know that he has taken upon himself the care of infirm souls, not a despotism
over the strong; and let him fear the threat of the Prophet wherein the Lord saith: "What ye saw to be fat, that ye
took to yourselves, and what was diseased you threw away" (Ezek 34:3-4). And let him follow the loving
example of the Good Shepherd, who, leaving the ninety-nine sheep on the mountains, went to seek the one that
had gone astray, on whose weakness He had such pity, that He was pleased to lay it on His sacred shoulders
and thus carry it back to the fold (cf Lk 15:5).
CHAPTER XXVIII
Of Those Who Having Often Been Corrected Do Not Amend
If a brother hath often been corrected and hath even been excommunicated for a fault and doth not amend, let a
more severe correction be applied to him, namely, proceed against him with corporal punishment.
But if even then he doth not reform, or puffed up with pride, should perhaps, which God forbid, even defend his
actions, then let the Abbot act like a prudent physician. After he hath applied soothing lotions, ointments of
admonitions, medicaments of the Holy Scriptures, and if, as a last resource, he hath employed the caustic of
excommunication and the blows of the lash, and seeth that even then his pains are of no avail, let him apply for
that brother also what is more potent than all these measures: his own prayer and that of the brethren, that the
Lord who is all-powerful may work a cure in that brother.
But if he is not healed even in this way, then finally let the Abbot dismiss him from the community, as the Apostle
saith: "Put away the evil one from among you" (1 Cor 5:13); and again: "If the faithless depart, let him depart" (1
Cor 7:15); lest one diseased sheep infect the whole flock.
CHAPTER XXIX
Whether Brethren Who Leave the Monastery Ought to Be Received Again
If a brother, who through his own fault leaveth the monastery or is expelled, desireth to return, let him first
promise full amendment of the fault for which he left; and thus let him be received in the last place, that by this
means his humility may be tried. If he should leave again, let him be received even a third time, knowing that
after this every means of return will be denied him.
CHAPTER XXX
How Young Boys Are to Be Corrected
Every age and understanding should have its proper discipline. Whenever, therefore, boys or immature youths
or such as can not understand how grave a penalty excommunication is, are guilty of a serious fault, let them
undergo severe fasting or be disciplined with corporal punishment, that they may be corrected.
CHAPTER XXXI
The Kind of Man the Cellarer of the Monastery Ought to Be
Let there be chosen from the brotherhood as Cellarer of the monastery a wise man, of settled habits, temperate
and frugal, not conceited, irritable, resentful, sluggish, or wasteful, but fearing God, who may be as a father to
the whole brotherhood.
Let him have the charge of everything, let him do nothing without the command of the Abbot, let him do what
hath been ordered him and not grieve the brethren. If a brother should perchance request anything of him
unreasonably let him not sadden the brother with a cold refusal, but politely and with humility refuse him who
asketh amiss. Let him be watchful of his own soul, always mindful of the saying of the Apostle: "For they that
have ministered well, shall purchase to themselves a good degree" (1 Tm 3:13). Let him provide for the sick,
the children, the guests, and the poor, with all care, knowing that, without doubt, he will have to give an account
of all these things on judgment day. Let him regard all the vessels of the monastery and all its substance, as if
they were sacred vessels of the altar. Let him neglect nothing and let him not give way to avarice, nor let him be
wasteful and a squanderer of the goods of the monastery; but let him do all things in due measure and
according to the bidding of his Abbot.
Above all things, let him be humble; and if he hath not the things to give, let him answer with a kind word,
because it is written: "A good word is above the best gift" (Sir 18:17). Let him have under his charge everything
that the Abbot hath entrusted to him, and not presume to meddle with matters forbidden him. Let him give the
brethren their apportioned allowance without a ruffle or delay, that they may not be scandalized, mindful of what
the Divine Word declareth that he deserveth who shall scandalize one of these little ones: "It were better for him
that a millstone were hanged about his neck and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea" (Mt 18:6).
If the community is large, let assistants be given him, that, with their help, he too may fulfil the office entrusted to
him with an even temper. Let the things that are to be given be distributed, and the things that are to be gotten
asked for at the proper times, so that nobody may be disturbed or grieved in the house of God.
CHAPTER XXXII
Of the Tools and Goods of the Monastery
Let the Abbot appoint brethren on whose life and character he can rely, over the property of the monastery in
tools, clothing, and things generally, and let him assign to them, as he shall deem proper, all the articles which
must be collected after use and stored away. Let the Abbot keep a list of these articles, so that, when the
brethren in turn succeed each other in these trusts, he may know what he giveth and what he receiveth back. If
anyone, however, handleth the goods of the monastery slovenly or carelessly let him be reprimanded and if he
doth not amend let him come under the discipline of the Rule.
CHAPTER XXXIII
Whether Monks Ought to Have Anything of Their Own
The vice of personal ownership must by all means be cut out in the monastery by the very root, so that no one
may presume to give or receive anything without the command of the Abbot; nor to have anything whatever as
his own, neither a book, nor a writing tablet, nor a pen, nor anything else whatsoever, since monks are allowed
to have neither their bodies nor their wills in their own power. Everything that is necessary, however, they must
look for from the Father of the monastery; and let it not be allowed for anyone to have anything which the Abbot
did not give or permit him to have. Let all things be common to all, as it is written. And let no one call or take to
himself anything as his own (cf Acts 4:32). But if anyone should be found to indulge this most baneful vice, and,
having been admonished once and again, doth not amend, let him be subjected to punishment.
CHAPTER XXXIV
Whether All Should Receive in Equal Measure What Is Necessary
It is written, "Distribution was made to everyone according as he had need" (Acts 4:35). We do not say by this
that respect should be had for persons (God forbid), but regard for infirmities. Let him who hath need of less
thank God and not give way to sadness, but let him who hath need of more, humble himself for his infirmity, and
not be elated for the indulgence shown him; and thus all the members will be at peace.
Above all, let not the evil of murmuring appear in the least word or sign for any reason whatever. If anyone be
found guilty herein, let him be placed under very severe discipline.
CHAPTER XXXV
Of the Weekly Servers in the Kitchen
Let the brethren serve each other so that no one be excused from the work in the kitchen, except on account of
sickness or more necessary work, because greater merit and more charity is thereby acquired. Let help be
given to the weak, however, that they may not do this work with sadness; but let all have help according to the
size of the community and the circumstances of the place. If the community is large, let the Cellarer be excused
from the kitchen, or if, as we have said, any are engaged in more urgent work; let the rest serve each other in
charity.
Let him who is to go out of the weekly service, do the cleaning on Saturday. Let him wash the towels with which
the brethren wipe their hands and feet. Let him who goeth out, as well as him who is to come in, wash the feet of
all. Let him return the utensils of his department to the Cellarer clean and whole. Let the Cellarer give the same
to the one who cometh in, so that he may know what he giveth and what he receiveth back.
An hour before meal time let the weekly servers receive each a cup of drink and a piece of bread over the
prescribed portion, that they may serve their brethren at the time time of refection without murmuring and undue
strain. On solemn feast days, however, let them abstain till after Mass.
As soon as the morning office on Sunday is ended, let the weekly servers who come in and who go out, cast
themselves upon their knees in the oratory before all, asking their prayers. Let him who goeth out of the weekly
service, say the following verse: Benedictus es, Domine Deus, qui adjuvisti me et consolatus se me (Dan
3:52; Ps 85[86]:17). The one going out having said this three times and received the blessing, let the one who
cometh in follow and say: Deus in adjutorium meum intende; Domine, ad adjuvandum me festina (Ps
69[70]:2). And let this also be repeated three times by all, and having received the blessing let him enter upon
his weekly service.
CHAPTER XXXVI
Of the Sick Brethren
Before and above all things, care must be taken of the sick, that they be served in very truth as Christ is served;
because He hath said, "I was sick and you visited Me" (Mt 25:36). And "As long as you did it to one of these My
least brethren, you did it to Me" (Mt 25:40). But let the sick themselves also consider that they are served for the
honor of God, and let them not grieve their brethren who serve them by unnecessary demands. These must,
however, be patiently borne with, because from such as these a more bountiful reward is gained. Let the
Abbot's greatest concern, therefore, be that they suffer no neglect.
Let a cell be set apart for the sick brethren, and a God-fearing, diligent, and careful attendant be appointed to
serve them. Let the use of the bath be offered to the sick as often as it is useful, but let it be granted more rarely
to the healthy and especially the young. Thus also let the use of meat be granted to the sick and to the very
weak for their recovery. But when they have been restored let them all abstain from meat in the usual manner.
But let the Abbot exercise the utmost care that the sick are not neglected by the Cellarer or the attendants,
because whatever his disciples do amiss falleth back on him.
CHAPTER XXXVII
Of the Aged and Children
Although human nature is of itself drawn to feel compassion for these life-periods, namely, old age and
childhood, still, let the decree of the Rule make provision also for them. Let their natural weakness be always
taken into account and let the strictness of the Rule not be kept with them in respect to food, but let there be a
tender regard in their behalf and let them eat before regular hours.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
Of the Weekly Reader
Reading must not be wanting at the table of the brethren when they are eating. Neither let anyone who may
chance to take up the book venture to read there; but let him who is to read for the whole week enter upon that
office on Sunday. After Mass and Communion let him ask all to pray for him that God may ward off from him the
spirit of pride. And let the following verse be said three times by all in the oratory, he beginning it: Domine, labia
mea aperies, et os meum annuntiabit laudem tuam (Ps 50[51]:17), and thus having received the blessing let
him enter upon the reading.
Let the deepest silence be maintained that no whispering or voice be heard except that of the reader alone. But
let the brethren so help each other to what is needed for eating and drinking, that no one need ask for anything.
If, however, anything should be wanted, let it be asked for by means of a sign of any kind rather than a sound.
And let no one presume to ask any questions there, either about the book or anything else, in order that no
cause to speak be given [to the devil] (Eph 4:27; 1 Tm 5:14), unless, perchance, the Superior wisheth to say a
few words for edification.
Let the brother who is reader for the week take a little bread and wine before he beginneth to read, on account
of Holy Communion, and lest it should be too hard for him to fast so long. Afterward, however, let him take his
meal in the kitchen with the weekly servers and the waiters. The brethren, however, will not read or sing in order,
but only those who edify their hearers.
CHAPTER XXXIX
Of the Quantity of Food
Making allowance for the infirmities of different persons, we believe that for the daily meal, both at the sixth and
the ninth hour, two kinds of cooked food are sufficient at all meals; so that he who perchance cannot eat of one,
may make his meal of the other. Let two kinds of cooked food, therefore, be sufficient for all the brethren. And if
there be fruit or fresh vegetables, a third may be added. Let a pound of bread be sufficient for the day, whether
there be only one meal or both dinner and supper. If they are to eat supper, let a third part of the pound be
reserved by the Cellarer and be given at supper.
If, however, the work hath been especially hard, it is left to the discretion and power of the Abbot to add
something, if he think fit, barring above all things every excess, that a monk be not overtaken by indigestion. For
nothing is so contrary to Christians as excess, as our Lord saith: "See that your hearts be not overcharged with
surfeiting" (Lk 21:34).
Let the same quantity of food, however, not be served out to young children but less than to older ones,
observing measure in all things.
But let all except the very weak and the sick abstain altogether from eating the flesh of four-footed animals.
CHAPTER XL
Of the Quantity of Drink
"Every one hath his proper gift from God, one after this manner and another after that" (1 Cor 7:7). It is with
some hesitation, therefore, that we determine the measure of nourishment for others. However, making
allowance for the weakness of the infirm, we think one hemina of wine a day is sufficient for each one. But to
whom God granteth the endurance of abstinence, let them know that they will have their special reward. If the
circumstances of the place, or the work, or the summer's heat should require more, let that depend on the
judgment of the Superior, who must above all things see to it, that excess or drunkenness do not creep in.
Although we read that wine is not at all proper for monks, yet, because monks in our times cannot be
persuaded of this, let us agree to this, at least, that we do not drink to satiety, but sparingly; because "wine
maketh even wise men fall off" (Sir 19:2). But where the poverty of the place will not permit the aforesaid
measure to be had, but much less, or none at all, let those who live there bless God and murmur not. This we
charge above all things, that they live without murmuring.
CHAPTER XLI
At What Times the Brethren Should Take Their Refection
From holy Easter till Pentecost let the brethren dine at the sixth hour and take supper in the evening. From
Pentecost on, however, during the whole summer, if the monks have no work in the fields and the excess of the
heat doth not interfere, let them fast on Wednesday and Friday until the ninth hour; but on the other days let them
dine at the sixth hour. This sixth hour for dinner is to be continued, if they have work in the fields or the heat of
the summer is great. Let the Abbot provide for this; and so let him manage and adapt everything that souls may
be saved, and that what the brethren do, they may do without having a reasonable cause to murmur. From the
ides of September until the beginning of Lent let them always dine at the ninth hour. During Lent, however, until
Easter, let them dine in the evening. But let this evening hour be so arranged that they will not need lamp-light
during their meal; but let everything be finished whilst it is still day. But at all times let the hour of meals, whether
for dinner or for supper, be so arranged that everything is done by daylight.
CHAPTER XLII
That No One Speak after Complin
Monks should always be given to silence, especially, however, during the hours of the night. Therefore, on every
day, whether of fast or of a mid-day meal, as soon as they have risen from their evening meal, let all sit together
in one place, and let one read the Conferences or the Lives of the Fathers, or something else that will edify the
hearers; not, however, the Heptateuch or the Books of the Kings, because it would not be wholesome for weak
minds to hear this part of the Scripture at that hour; they should, however, be read at other times. But if it was a
fast-day, then, when Vespers have been said, and after a short interval, let them next come together for the
reading of the Conferences, as we have said; and when the four or five pages have been read, or as much as
the hour will permit, and all have assembled in one place during the time of the reading, let him also come who
was perchance engaged in work enjoined on him. All, therefore, having assembled in one place, let them say
Complin, and after going out from Complin, let there be no more permission from that time on for anyone to say
anything.
If, however, anyone is found to break this rule, let him undergo heavy punishment, unless the needs of guests
should arise, or the Abbot should perhaps give a command to anyone. But let even this be done with the utmost
gravity and moderation.
CHAPTER XLIII
Of Those Who Are Tardy in Coming to the Work of God or to Table
As soon as the signal for the time of the divine office is heard, let everyone, leaving whatever he hath in his
hands, hasten with all speed, yet with gravity, that there may be no cause for levity. Therefore, let nothing be
preferred to the Work of God. If at Matins anyone cometh after the Gloria of the 94th psalm, which on that
account we wish to be much drawn out and said slowly, let him not stand in his place in the choir; but let him
stand last of all, or in a place which the Abbot hath set apart for such careless ones, that he may be seen by him
and by all, until, the Work of God being ended, he maketh satisfaction by public penance. The reason, however,
why we think they should stand in the last place, or apart from the rest, is this, that seen by all they may amend
for very shame. For if they stayed outside the oratory, there might be one who would go back to sleep, or
anyhow would seat himself outside, indulge in vain gossip, and give a "chance to the devil" (Eph 4:27; 1 Tm
5:14). Let him go inside, therefore, that he may not lose the whole, and may amend for the future.
At the day hours, however, whoever doth not arrive for the Work of God after the verse and the Gloria of the first
psalm, which is said after the verse, let him stand in the last place, according to the rule which we stated above;
and let him not attempt to join the choir of the chanters until he hath made satisfaction, unless, perchance, the
Abbot's permission hath given him leave to do so, with the understanding that he atone the fault afterwards.
If anyone doth not come to table before the verse, so that all may say the verse and pray together and sit down
to table at the same time, let him be twice corrected for this, if he failed to come through his own fault and
negligence. If he doth not amend after this, let him not be permitted to eat at the common table; but separated
from the company of all, let him eat alone, his portion of wine being taken from him, until he hath made
satisfaction and hath amended. In like manner let him suffer who is not present also at the verse which is said
after the refection.
And let no one presume to take food or drink before or after the appointed time. But if anything should be
offered to a brother by the Superior and he refuseth to accept it, and afterwards desireth what at first he refused
or anything else, let him receive nothing at all, until he maketh due satisfaction.
CHAPTER XLIV
Of Those Who Are Excommunicated -- How They Make Satisfaction
Whoever is excommunicated for graver faults from the oratory and the table, let him, at the time that the Work of
God is celebrated in the oratory, lie stretched, face down in silence before the door of the oratory at the feet of
all who pass out. And let him do this until the Abbot judgeth that it is enough. When he then cometh at the
Abbot's bidding, let him cast himself at the Abbot's feet, then at the feet of all, that they may pray for him. If then
the Abbot ordereth it, let him be received back into the choir in the place which the Abbot shall direct; yet so that
he doth not presume to intone a psalm or a lesson or anything else in the oratory, unless the Abbot again
biddeth him to do so. Then, at all the Hours, when the Work of God is ended, let him cast himself on the ground
in the place where he standeth, and thus let him make satisfaction, until the Abbot again biddeth him finally to
cease from this penance.
But let those who are excommunicated for lighter faults from the table only make satisfaction in the oratory, as
long as the Abbot commandeth, and let them perform this until he giveth his blessing and saith, "It is enough."
CHAPTER XLV
Of Those Who Commit a Fault in the Oratory
If anyone whilst he reciteth a psalm, a responsory, an antiphon, or a lesson, maketh a mistake, and doth not
humble himself there before all by making satisfaction, let him undergo a greater punishment, because he
would not correct by humility what he did amiss through negligence. But let children be beaten for such a fault.
CHAPTER XLVI
Of Those Who Fail in Any Other Matters
If anyone whilst engaged in any work, in the kitchen, in the cellar, in serving, in the bakery, in the garden, at any
art or work in any place whatever, committeth a fault, or breaketh or loseth anything, or transgresseth in any way
whatever, and he doth not forthwith come before the Abbot and the community, and of his own accord confess
his offense and make satisfaction, and it becometh known through another, let him be subjected to a greater
correction.
If, however, the cause of the offense is secret, let him disclose it to the Abbot alone, or to his spiritual Superiors,
who know how to heal their own wounds, and not expose and make public those of others.
CHAPTER XLVII
Of Giving the Signal for the Time of the Work of God
Let it be the Abbot's care that the time for the Work of God be announced both by day and by night; either to
announce it himself, or to entrust this charge to a careful brother that everything may be done at the proper time.
Let those who have been ordered, intone the psalms or the antiphons in their turn after the Abbot. No one,
however, should presume to sing or read unless he is able so to perform this office that the hearers may be
edified; and let it be done with humility, gravity, and reverence by him whom the Abbot hath ordered.
CHAPTER XLVIII
Of the Daily Work
Idleness is the enemy of the soul; and therefore the brethren ought to be employed in manual labor at certain
times, at others, in devout reading. Hence, we believe that the time for each will be properly ordered by the
following arrangement; namely, that from Easter till the calends of October, they go out in the morning from the
first till about the fourth hour, to do the necessary work, but that from the fourth till about the sixth hour they
devote to reading. After the sixth hour, however, when they have risen from table, let them rest in their beds in
complete silence; or if, perhaps, anyone desireth to read for himself, let him so read that he doth not disturb
others. Let None be said somewhat earlier, about the middle of the eighth hour; and then let them work again at
what is necessary until Vespers.
If, however, the needs of the place, or poverty should require that they do the work of gathering the harvest
themselves, let them not be downcast, for then are they monks in truth, if they live by the work of their hands, as
did also our forefathers and the Apostles. However, on account of the faint-hearted let all things be done with
moderation.
From the calends of October till the beginning of Lent, let them apply themselves to reading until the second
hour complete. At the second hour let Tierce be said, and then let all be employed in the work which hath been
assigned to them till the ninth hour. When, however, the first signal for the hour of None hath been given, let each
one leave off from work and be ready when the second signal shall strike. But after their repast let them devote
themselves to reading or the psalms.
During the Lenten season let them be employed in reading from morning until the third hour, and till the tenth
hour let them do the work which is imposed on them. During these days of Lent let all received books from the
library, and let them read them through in order. These books are to be given out at the beginning of the Lenten
season.
Above all, let one or two of the seniors be appointed to go about the monastery during the time that the brethren
devote to reading and take notice, lest perhaps a slothful brother be found who giveth himself up to idleness or
vain talk, and doth not attend to his reading, and is unprofitable, not only to himself, but disturbeth also others. If
such a one be found (which God forbid), let him be punished once and again. If he doth not amend, let him
come under the correction of the Rule in such a way that others may fear. And let not brother join brother at
undue times.
On Sunday also let all devote themselves to reading, except those who are appointed to the various functions.
But if anyone should be so careless and slothful that he will not or cannot meditate or read, let some work be
given him to do, that he may not be idle.
Let such work or charge be given to the weak and the sickly brethren, that they are neither idle, nor so wearied
with the strain of work that they are driven away. Their weakness must be taken into account by the Abbot.
CHAPTER XLIX
On the Keeping of Lent
The life of a monk ought always to be a Lenten observance. However, since such virtue is that of few, we advise
that during these days of Lent he guard his life with all purity and at the same time wash away during these holy
days all the shortcomings of other times. This will then be worthily done, if we restrain ourselves from all vices.
Let us devote ourselves to tearful prayers, to reading and compunction of heart, and to abstinence.
During these days, therefore, let us add something to the usual amount of our service, special prayers,
abstinence from food and drink, that each one offer to God "with the joy of the Holy Ghost" (1 Thes 1:6), of his
own accord, something above his prescribed measure; namely, let him withdraw from his body somewhat of
food, drink, sleep, speech, merriment, and with the gladness of spiritual desire await holy Easter.
Let each one, however, make known to his Abbot what he offereth and let it be done with his approval and
blessing; because what is done without permission of the spiritual father will be imputed to presumption and
vain glory, and not to merit. Therefore, let all be done with the approval of the Abbot.
CHAPTER L
Of Brethren Who Work a Long Distance from the Oratory or Are on a Journey
The brethren who are at work too far away, and cannot come to the oratory at the appointed time, and the Abbot
hath assured himself that such is the case -- let them perform the Work of God in the fear of God and on bended
knees where they are working. In like manner let those who are sent on a journey not permit the appointed hours
to pass by; but let them say the office by themselves as best they can, and not neglect to fulfil the obligation of
divine service.
CHAPTER LI
Of the Brethren Who Do Not Go Very Far Away
A brother who is sent out on any business and is expected to return to the monastery the same day, may not
presume to eat outside, even though he be urgently requested to do so, unless, indeed, it is commanded him by
his Abbot. If he act otherwise, let him be excommunicated.
CHAPTER LII
Of the Oratory of the Monastery
Let the oratory be what it is called, and let nothing else be done or stored there. When the Work of God is
finished, let all go out with the deepest silence, and let reverence be shown to God; that a brother who perhaps
desireth to pray especially by himself is not prevented by another's misconduct. But if perhaps another desireth
to pray alone in private, let him enter with simplicity and pray, not with a loud voice, but with tears and fervor of
heart. Therefore, let him who doth not say his prayers in this way, not be permitted to stay in the oratory after the
Work of God is finished, as we said, that another may not be disturbed.
CHAPTER LIII
Of the Reception of Guests
Let all guests who arrive be received as Christ, because He will say: "I was a stranger and you took Me in" (Mt
25:35). And let due honor be shown to all, especially to those "of the household of the faith" (Gal 6:10) and to
wayfarers.
When, therefore, a guest is announced, let him be met by the Superior and the brethren with every mark of
charity. And let them first pray together, and then let them associate with one another in peace. This kiss of
peace should not be given before a prayer hath first been said, on account of satanic deception. In the greeting
let all humility be shown to the guests, whether coming or going; with the head bowed down or the whole body
prostrate on the ground, let Christ be adored in them as He is also received.
When the guests have been received, let them be accompanied to prayer, and after that let the Superior, or
whom he shall bid, sit down with them. Let the divine law be read to the guest that he may be edified, after
which let every kindness be shown him. Let the fast be broken by the Superior in deference to the guest, unless,
perchance, it be a day of solemn fast, which cannot be broken. Let the brethren, however, keep the customary
fast. Let the Abbot pour the water on the guest's hands, and let both the Abbot and the whole brotherhood wash
the feet of all the guests. When they have been washed, let them say this verse: "We have received Thy mercy,
O God, in the midst of Thy temple" (Ps 47[48]:10). Let the greatest care be taken, especially in the reception of
the poor and travelers, because Christ is received more specially in them; whereas regard for the wealthy itself
procureth them respect.
Let the kitchen of the Abbot and the guests be apart, that the brethren may not be disturbed by the guests who
arrive at uncertain times and who are never wanting in the monastery. Let two brothers who are able to fulfil this
office well go into the kitchen for a year. Let help be given them as they need it, that they may serve without
murmuring; and when they have not enough to do, let them go out again for work where it is commanded them.
Let this course be followed, not only in this office, but in all the offices of the monastery -- that whenever the
brethren need help, it be given them, and that when they have nothing to do, they again obey orders. Moreover,
let also a God-fearing brother have assigned to him the apartment of the guests, where there should be
sufficient number of beds made up; and let the house of God be wisely managed by the wise.
On no account let anyone who is not ordered to do so, associate or speak with guests; but if he meet or see
them, having saluted them humbly, as we have said, and asked a blessing, let him pass on saying that he is not
allowed to speak with a guest.
CHAPTER LIV
Whether a Monk Should Receive Letters or Anything Else
Let it not be allowed at all for a monk to give or to receive letters, tokens, or gifts of any kind, either from parents
or any other person, nor from each other, without the permission of the Abbot. But even if anything is sent him by
his parents, let him not presume to accept it before it hath been make known to the Abbot. And if he order it to
be accepted, let it be in the Abbot's power to give it to whom he pleaseth. And let not the brother to whom
perchance it was sent, become sad, that "no chance be given to the devil" (Eph 4:27; 1 Tm 5:14). But
whosoever shall presume to act otherwise, let him fall under the discipline of the Rule.
CHAPTER LV
Of the Clothing and the Footgear of the Brethren
Let clothing be given to the brethren according to the circumstances of the place and the nature of the climate in
which they live, because in cold regions more in needed, while in warm regions less. This consideration,
therefore, resteth with the Abbot. We believe, however, that for a temperate climate a cowl and a tunic for each
monk are sufficient, -- a woolen cowl for winter and a thin or worn one for summer, and a scapular for work, and
stockings and shoes as covering for the feet. Let the monks not worry about the color or the texture of all these
things, but let them be such as can be bought more cheaply. Let the Abbot, however, look to the size, that these
garments are not too small, but fitted for those who are to wear them.
Let those who receive new clothes always return the old ones, to be put away in the wardrobe for the poor. For it
is sufficient for a monk to have two tunics and two cowls, for wearing at night and for washing. Hence, what is
over and above is superfluous and must be taken away. So, too, let them return stockings and whatever is old,
when they receive anything new. Let those who are sent out on a journey receive trousers from the wardrobe,
which, on their return, they will replace there, washed. The cowls and the tunics should also be a little better than
the ones they usually wear, which they received from the wardrobe when they set out on a journey, and give
back when they return.
For their bedding, let a straw mattress, a blanket, a coverlet, and a pillow be sufficient. These beds must,
however, be frequently examined by the Abbot, to prevent personal goods from being found. And if anything
should be found with anyone that he did not receive from the Abbot, let him fall under the severest discipline.
And that this vice of private ownership may be cut off by the root, let everything necessary be given by the
Abbot; namely, cowl, tunic, stockings, shoes, girdle, knife, pen, needle, towel, writing tablet; that all pretence of
want may be removed. In this connection, however, let the following sentence from the Acts of the Apostles
always be kept in mind by the Abbot: "And distribution was made to every man according as he had need"
(Acts 4:35). In this manner, therefore, let the Abbot also have regard for the infirmities of the needy, not for the
bad will of the envious. Yet in all his decisions, let the Abbot think of God's retribution.
CHAPTER LVI
Of the Abbot's Table
Let the Abbot's table always be with the guests and travelers. When, however, there are no guests, let it be in
his power to invite any of the brethren he desireth. Let him provide, however, that one or two of the seniors
always remain with the brethren for the sake of discipline.
CHAPTER LVII
Of the Artists of the Monastery
If there be skilled workmen in the monastery, let them work at their art in all humility, if the Abbot giveth his
permission. But if anyone of them should grow proud by reason of his art, in that he seemeth to confer a benefit
on the monastery, let him be removed from that work and not return to it, unless after he hath humbled himself,
the Abbot again ordereth him to do so. But if any of the work of the artists is to be sold, let them, through whose
hands the transaction must pass, see to it, that they do not presume to practice any fraud on the monastery. Let
them always be mindful of Ananias and Saphira, lest, perhaps, the death which these suffered in the body (cf
Acts 5:1-11), they and all who practice any fraud in things belonging to the monastery suffer in the soul. On the
other hand, as regards the prices of these things, let not the vice of avarice creep in, but let it always be given a
little cheaper than it can be given by seculars, That God May Be Glorified in All Things (1 Pt 4:11).
CHAPTER LVIII
Of the Manner of Admitting Brethren
Let easy admission not be given to one who newly cometh to change his life; but, as the Apostle saith, "Try the
spirits, whether they be of God" (1 Jn 4:1). If, therefore, the newcomer keepeth on knocking, and after four or
five days it is seen that he patiently beareth the harsh treatment offered him and the difficulty of admission, and
that he persevereth in his request, let admission be granted him, and let him live for a few days in the apartment
of the guests.
But afterward let him live in the apartment of novices, and there let him meditate, eat, and sleep. Let a senior
also be appointed for him, who is qualified to win souls, who will observe him with great care and see whether
he really seeketh God, whether he is eager for the Work of God, obedience and humiliations. Let him be shown
all the hard and rugged things through which we pass on to God.
If he promiseth to remain steadfast, let this Rule be read to him in order after the lapse of two months, and let it
be said to him: Behold the law under which thou desirest to combat. If thou canst keep it, enter; if, however, thou
canst not, depart freely. If he still persevereth, then let him be taken back to the aforesaid apartment of the
novices, and let him be tried again in all patience. And after the lapse of six months let the Rule be read over to
him, that he may know for what purpose he entereth. And if he still remaineth firm, let the same Rule be read to
him again after four months. And if, after having weighed the matter with himself he promiseth to keep
everything, and to do everything that is commanded him, then let him be received into the community, knowing
that he is now placed under the law of the Rule, and that from that day forward it is no longer permitted to him to
wrest his neck from under the yoke of the Rule, which after so long a deliberation he was at liberty either to
refuse or to accept.
Let him who is received promise in the oratory, in the presence of all, before God and His saints, stability, the
conversion of morals, and obedience, in order that, if he should ever do otherwise, he may know that he will be
condemned by God "Whom he mocketh." Let him make a written statement of his promise in the name of the
saints whose relics are there, and of the Abbot there present. Let him write this document with his own hand; or
at least, if he doth not know how to write, let another write it at his request, and let the novice make his mark,
and with his own hand place it on the altar. When he hath placed it there, let the novice next begin the verse:
"Uphold me, O Lord, according to Thy word and I shall live; and let me not be confounded in my expectations"
(Ps 118[119]:116). Then let all the brotherhood repeat this verse three times, adding the Gloria Patri.
The let that novice brother cast himself down at the feet of all, that they may pray for him; and from that day let
him be counted in the brotherhood. If he hath any property, let him first either dispose of it to the poor or bestow
it on the monastery by a formal donation, reserving nothing for himself as indeed he should know that from that
day onward he will no longer have power even over his own body.
Let him, therefore, be divested at once in the oratory of the garments with which he is clothed, and be vested in
the garb of the monastery. But let the clothes of which he was divested by laid by in the wardrobe to be
preserved, that, if on the devil's suasion he should ever consent to leave the monastery (which God forbid) he
be then stripped of his monastic habit and cast out. But let him not receive the document of his profession which
the Abbot took from the altar, but let it be preserved in the monastery.
CHAPTER LIX
Of the Children of the Noble and of the Poor Who Are Offered
If it happen that a nobleman offereth his son to God in the monastery and the boy is of tender age, let his
parents execute the written promise which we have mentioned above; and with the oblation let them wrap that
document and the boy's hand in the altar cloth and thus offer him.
As to their property, let them bind themselves under oath in the same document that they will never give him
anything themselves nor through any other person, nor in any way whatever, nor leave a chance for his owning
anything; or else, if they refuse to do this and want to make an offering to the monastery as an alms for their own
benefit, let them make a donation to the monastery of whatever goods they wish to give, reserving to
themselves the income of it, if they so desire. And let everything be so barred that the boy remain in no
uncertainty, which might deceive and ruin him (which God forbid) -- a pass we have learned by experience.
Let those who are poor act in like manner. But as to those who have nothing at all, let them simply make the
declaration, and with the oblation offer their son in the presence of witnesses.
CHAPTER LX
Of Priests Who May Wish to Live in the Monastery
If a priest asketh to be received into the monastery, let consent not be granted too readily; still, if he urgently
persisteth in his request, let him know that he must keep the whole discipline of the Rule, and that nothing will be
relaxed in his favor, that it may be as it is written: "Friend, whereunto art thou come" (Mt 26:25)?
It may be granted him, however, to stand next after the Abbot, and to give the blessing, or to celebrate Mass,
but only if the Abbot ordereth him to do so; but if he doth not bid him, let him not presume to do anything under
whatever consideration, knowing that he is under the discipline of the Rule, and let him rather give examples of
humility to all. But if there is a question of an appointment in the monastery, or any other matter, let him be
ranked by the time of his entry into the monastery, and not by the place granted him in consideration of the
priesthood.
But if a cleric, moved by the same desire, wisheth to join the monastery, let him too have a middle place,
provided he promiseth to keep the Rule and personal stability.
CHAPTER LXI
How Stranger Monks Are to Be Received
If a monk who is a stranger, arriveth from a distant place and desireth to live in the monastery as a guest, and is
satisfied with the customs he findeth there, and doth not trouble the monastery with superfluous wants, but is
satisfied with what he findeth, let him be received for as long a time as he desireth. Still, if he should reasonably,
with humility and charity, censure or point out anything, let the Abbot consider discreetly whether the Lord did
not perhaps send him for that very purpose. If later on he desireth to declare his stability let his wish not be
denied, and especially since his life could be known during his stay as a guest.
But if during the time that he was a guest he was found to be troublesome and disorderly, he must not only not
associate with the monastic body but should even be politely requested to leave, that others may not be
infected by his evil life. But if he hath not been such as deserveth to be cast forth, he should not only be admitted
to join the brotherhood, if he apply, but he should even be urged to remain, that others may be taught by his
example, because we serve one Lord and fight under one King everywhere. If the Abbot recognize him to be
such a one he may also place him in a somewhat higher rank.
The Abbot may, however, place not only a monk, but also those of the aforesaid grades of priests and clerics, in
a higher place than that of their entry, if he seeth their lives to be such as to deserve it. But let the Abbot take
care never to admit a monk of any other known monastery to residence, without the consent of his Abbot or
commendatory letters, because it is written: "What thou wilt not have done to thyself, do not to another" (Tb
4:16).
CHAPTER LXII
Of the Priests of the Monastery
If the Abbot desireth to have a priest or a deacon ordained, let him select from among his monks one who is
worthy to discharge the priestly office.
But let the one who hath been ordained be on his guard against arrogance and pride, and let him not attempt to
do anything but what is commanded him by the Abbot, knowing that he is now all the more subject to the
discipline of the Rule; and in consequence of the priesthood let him not forget the obedience and discipline of
the Rule, but advance more and more in godliness.
Let him, however, always keep the place which he had when he entered the monastery, except when he is
engaged in sacred functions, unless the choice of the community and the wish of the Abbot have promoted him
in acknowledgment of the merit of his life. Let him know, however, that he must observe the Rule prescribed by
the Deans and the Superiors.
If he should otherwise, let him be judged, not as a priest, but as a rebel; and if after frequent warnings he doth
not amend, and his guilt is clearly shown, let him be cast forth from the monastery, provided his obstinacy is
such that he will neither submit nor obey the Rule.
CHAPTER LXIII
Of the Order in the Monastery
Let all keep their order in the monastery in such wise, that the time of their conversion and the merit of their life
distinguish it, or as the Abbot hath directed. Let the Abbot not disorder the flock committed to him, nor by an
arbitrary use of his power dispose of anything unjustly; but let him always bear in mind that he will have to give
an account to God of all his judgments and works. Hence in the order that he hath established, or that the
brethren had, let them approach for the kiss of peace, for Communion, intone the psalms, and stand in choir.
And in no place whatever let age determine the order or be a disadvantage; because Samuel and Daniel when
mere boys judged the priests (cf 1 Sam 3; Dan 13:44-62). Excepting those, therefore, whom, as we have said,
the Abbot from higher motives hath advanced, or, for certain reasons, hath lowered, let all the rest take their
place as they are converted: thus, for instance, let him who came into the monastery at the second hour of the
day, know that he is younger than he who came at the first hour, whatever his age or dignity may be.
Children are to be kept under discipline at all times and by everyone. Therefore, let the younger honor their
elders, and the older love the younger.
In naming each other let no one be allowed to address another by his simple name; but let the older style the
younger brethren, brothers; let the younger, however, call their elders, fathers, by which is implied the reverence
due to a father. But because the Abbot is believed to hold the place of Christ, let him be styled Lord and Abbot,
not only by assumption on his part, but out of love and reverence for Christ. Let him think of this and so show
himself, that he be worthy of such an honor. Wherever, then, the brethren meet each other, let the younger ask
the blessing from the older; and when the older passeth by, let the younger rise and give him place to sit; and let
the younger not presume to sit down with him unless his elder biddeth him to do so, that it may be done as it is
written: "In honor preventing one another" (Rom 12:10).
Let children and boys take their places in the oratory and at table with all due discipline; outdoors, however, or
wherever they may be, let them be under custody and discipline until they reach the age of understanding.
CHAPTER LXIV
Of the Election of the Abbot
In the election of an Abbot let this always be observed as a rule, that he be placed in the position whom the
whole community with one consent, in the fear of God, or even a small part, with sounder judgment, shall elect.
But let him who is to be elected be chosen for the merit of his life and the wisdom of his doctrine, though he be
the last in the community.
But even if the whole community should by mutual consent elect a man who agreeth to connive at their evil ways
(which God forbid) and these irregularities in some come to the knowledge of the Bishop to whose diocese the
place belongeth, or to neighboring Abbots, or Christian people, let them not permit the intrigue of the wicked to
succeed, but let them appoint a worthy steward over the house of God, knowing that they shall receive a
bountiful reward for this action, if they do it with a pure intention and godly zeal; whereas, on the other hand, they
commit a sin if they neglect it.
But when the Abbot hath been elected let him bear in mind how great a burden he hath taken upon himself, and
to whom he must give an account of his stewardship (cf Lk 16:2); and let him be convinced that it becometh him
better to serve than to rule. He must, therefore, be versed in the divine law, that he may know whence "to bring
forth new things and old" (Mt 13:52). Let him be chaste, sober, and merciful, and let him always exalt "mercy
above judgment" (Jas 2:13), that he also may obtain mercy.
Let him hate vice, but love the brethren. And even in his corrections, let him act with prudence and not go to
extremes, lest, while he aimeth to remove the rust too thoroughly, the vessel be broken. Let him always keep his
own frailty in mind, and remember that "the bruised reed must not be broken" (Is 42:3). In this we are not saying
that he should allow evils to take root, but that he cut them off with prudence and charity, as he shall see it is
best for each one, as we have already said; and let him aim to be loved rather than feared.
Let him not be fussy or over-anxious, exacting, or headstrong; let him not be jealous or suspicious, because he
will never have rest. In all his commands, whether they refer to things spiritual or temporal, let him be cautious
and considerate. Let him be discerning and temperate in the tasks which he enjoineth, recalling the discretion
of holy Jacob who saith: "If I should cause my flocks to be overdriven, they would all die in one day" (Gen 33:13).
Keeping in view these and other dictates of discretion, the mother of virtues, let him so temper everything that
the strong may still have something to desire and the weak may not draw back. Above all, let him take heed that
he keep this Rule in all its detail; that when he hath served well he may hear from the Lord what the good servant
heard who gave his fellow-servants bread in season: "Amen, I say to you," He saith,"he shall set him over all his
goods" (Mt 24:47).
CHAPTER LXV
Of the Prior of the Monastery
It often happeneth indeed, that grave scandals arise in monasteries out of the appointment of the Prior; since
there are some who, puffed up with the wicked spirit of pride and thinking themselves to be second Abbots, set
up a despotic rule, foster scandals, and excite quarrels in the community, and especially in those places where
also the Prior is appointed by the same Bishop or the same Abbots who appointeth his Abbot. How foolish this
is can easily be seen; because, from the very beginning of his appointment, matter for pride is furnished him,
when his thoughts suggest to him that now he is exempt from the authority of the Abbot, because "thou too hast
been appointed by those by whom the Abbot was appointed." From this source arise envy, discord, slander,
quarrels, jealousy, and disorders. While the Abbot and the Prior are thus at variance with each other, it must
follow that their souls are endangered by this discord and that those who are under them, as long as they humor
the parties, go to ruin. The fault of this evil resteth on the heads of those who were the authors of such disorders.
We foresee, therefore, that for the preservation of peace and charity it is best that the government of the
monastery should depend on the will of the Abbot; and if it can be done, let the affairs of the monastery (as we
have explained before) be attended to by deans, as the Abbot shall dispose; so that, the same office being
shared by many, no one may become proud.
If, however, the place require it, or the brotherhood reasonably and with humility make the request, and the
Abbot shall deem it advisable, let the Abbot himself appoint as Prior whomever, with the advice of God-fearing
brethren, he shall select. But let the Prior reverently do what his Abbot hath enjoined on him, doing nothing
against the will or the direction of the Abbot; for the higher he is placed above others, the more careful should
he be to obey the precepts of the Rule.
If the Prior be found disorderly or blinded by vainglory, or hath been proved to be a contemner of the Holy Rule,
let him be admonished up to the fourth time; if he doth not amend, let the correction of the regular discipline be
applied to him. But if he doth not amend even then, let him be deposed from the office of priorship, and another
who is worthy be appointed in his stead. But if even afterward he be not quiet and submissive in the
brotherhood, let him also be expelled from the monastery. Still, let the Abbot reflect that he must give an account
to God for all his judgments, lest perhaps envy or jealousy should sear his conscience.
CHAPTER LXVI
Of the Porter of the Monastery
Let a wise old man be placed at the door of the monastery, one who knoweth how to take and give an answer,
and whose mature age doth not permit him to stray about.
The porter should have a cell near the door, that they who come may always find one present from whom they
may obtain an answer. As soon as anyone knocketh or a poor person calleth, let him answer, "Thanks be to
God," or invoke a blessing, and with the meekness of the fear of God let him return an answer speedily in the
fervor of charity. If the porter hath need of assistance, let him have a younger brother.
If it can be done, the monastery should be so situated that all the necessaries, such as water, the mill, the
garden, are enclosed, and the various arts may be plied inside of the monastery, so that there may be no need
for the monks to go about outside, because it is not good for their souls. But we desire that this Rule be read
quite often in the community, that none of the brethren may excuse himself of ignorance.
CHAPTER LXVII
Of the Brethren Who Are Sent on a Journey
Let the brethren who are to be sent on a journey recommend themselves to the prayers of all the brotherhood
and of the Abbot. And after the last prayer at the Work of God, let a commemoration always be made for the
absent brethren.
On the day that the brethren return from the journey, let them lie prostrate on the floor of the oratory at all the
Canonical Hours, when the Work of God is finished, and ask the prayers of all on account of failings, for fear
that the sight of evil or the sound of frivolous speech should have surprised them on the way.
And let no one presume to relate to another what he hath seen or heard outside of the monastery, because it is
most hurtful. But if anyone presume to do so, let him undergo the penalty of the Rule. In like manner let him be
punished who shall presume to go beyond the enclosure of the monastery, or anywhere else, or to do anything,
however little, without the order of the Abbot.
CHAPTER LXVIII
If a Brother Is Commanded to Do Impossible Things
If, perchance, any difficult or impossible tasks be enjoined on a brother, let him nevertheless receive the order
of him who commandeth with all meekness and obedience. If, however, he see that the gravity of the task is
altogether beyond his strength, let him quietly and seasonably submit the reasons for his inability to his
Superior, without pride, protest, or dissent. If, however, after his explanation the Superior still insisteth on his
command, let the younger be convinced that so it is good for him; and let him obey from love, relying on the help
of God.
CHAPTER LXIX
That in the Monastery No One Presume to Defend Another
Care must be taken that on no occasion one monk try to defend another in the monastery, or to take his part,
even though they be closely related by ties of blood. Let it not be attempted by the monks in any way; because
such conduct may give rise to very grave scandal. If anyone overstep this rule, let him be severely punished.
CHAPTER LXX
That No One Presume to Strike Another
Let every occasion for presumption be avoided in the monastery. We decree that no one be permitted to
excommunicate or to strike any one of his brethren, unless the Abbot hath given him the authority. But let those
who transgress be taken to task in the presence of all, that the others may fear (cf 1 Tm 5:20).
Let all, however, exercise diligent and watchful care over the discipline of children, until the age of fifteen; but
even that, within due limits and with discretion. For if anyone should presume to chastise those of more
advanced years, without the command of the Abbot, or should be unduly provoked with children, let him be
subject to the discipline of the Rule; because it is written: "What thou dost not wish to be done to thee, do not
thou to another" (Tb 4:16).
CHAPTER LXXI
That the Brethren Be Obedient to One Another
The brethren must render the service of obedience not only to the Abbot, but they must thus also obey one
another, knowing that they shall go to God by this path of obedience. Hence, granted the command of the Abbot
and of the Superiors who are appointed by him (to which we do not permit private commands to be preferred),
in other respects let the younger brethren obey their elders with all charity and zeal. But if anyone is found to be
obstinate, let him be punished.
And if a brother be punished in any way by the Abbot or by any of his Superiors for even a slight reason or if he
perceive that the temper of any of his Superiors is but slightly ruffled or excited against him in the least, let him
without delay cast himself down on the ground at his feet making satisfaction, until the agitation is quieted by a
blessing. If anyone scorn to do this, either let him undergo corporal punishment, or, if he be obstinate, let him be
expelled from the monastery.
CHAPTER LXXII
Of the Virtuous Zeal Which the Monks Ought to Have
As there is a harsh and evil zeal which separateth from God and leadeth to hell, so there is a virtuous zeal which
separateth from vice and leadeth to God and life everlasting.
Let the monks, therefore, practice this zeal with most ardent love; namely, that in honor they forerun one another
(cf Rom 12:10). Let them bear their infirmities, whether of body or mind, with the utmost patience; let them vie
with one another in obedience. Let no one follow what he thinketh useful to himself, but rather to another. Let
them practice fraternal charity with a chaste love.
Let them fear God and love their Abbot with sincere and humble affection; let them prefer nothing whatever to
Christ, and my He lead us all together to life everlasting.
CHAPTER LXXIII
Of This, that Not the Whole Observance of Righteousness Is Laid Down in this Rule
Now, we have written this Rule that, observing it in monasteries, we may show that we have acquired at least
some moral righteousness, or a beginning of the monastic life.
On the other hand, he that hasteneth on to the perfection of the religious life, hath at hand the teachings of the
holy Fathers, the observance of which leadeth a man to the height of perfection. For what page or what
utterance of the divinely inspired books of the Old and the New Testament is not a most exact rule of human
life? Or, what book of the holy Catholic Fathers doth not loudly proclaim how we may go straight to our Creator?
So, too, the collations of the Fathers, and their institutes and lives, and the rule of our holy Father, Basil -- what
are they but the monuments of the virtues of exemplary and obedient monks? But for us slothful, disedifying, and
negligent monks they are a source for shame and confusion.
Thou, therefore, who hastenest to the heavenly home, with the help of Christ fulfil this least rule written for a
beginning; and then thou shalt with God's help attain at last to the greater heights of knowledge and virtue which
we have mentioned above.
U. I. O. G. D.
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The Consolation of Philosophy
Boethius
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The Consolation of Philosophy
Boethius
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1998
About the print version
The Consolation of Philosophy
Boethius Translated by W.V. Cooper
J.M. Dent and Company
London
1902
The Temple Classics, edited by Israel Golancz M.A
Prepared for the University of Virginia Library Electronic Text Center.
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Published: 520-526?
English
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Page 1
Book 1
BOOK I
'To pleasant songs my work was erstwhile given, and bright were all my labours then; but now in tears to sad refrains am I
compelled to turn. Thus my maimed Muses guide my pen, and gloomy songs make no feigned tears bedew my face. Then
could no fear so overcome to leave me companionless upon my way. They were the pride of my earlier bright-lived days: in my
later gloomy days they are the comfort of my fate; for hastened by unhappiness has age come upon me without warning, and
grief hath set within me the old age of her gloom. White hairs are scattered untimely on my head, and the skin hangs loosely
from my worn-out limbs.
'Happy is that death which thrusts not itself upon men in their pleasant years, yet comes to them at the oft-repeated cry of
their sorrow. Sad is it how death turns away from the unhappy with so deaf an ear, and will not close, cruel, the eyes that
weep. Ill is it to trust to
Page 2
Fortune's fickle bounty, and while yet she smiled upon me, the hour of gloom had well-nigh overwhelmed my head. Now has
the cloud put off its alluring face, wherefore without scruple my life drags out its wearying delays.
'Why, O my friends, did ye so often puff me up, telling me that I was fortunate? For he that is fallen low did never firmly
stand.'
While I was pondering thus in silence, and using my pen to set down so tearful a complaint, there appeared standing over my
head a woman's form, whose countenance was full of majesty, whose eyes shone as with fire and in power of insight surpassed
the eyes of men, whose colour was full of life, whose strength was yet intact though she was so full of years that none would
ever think that she was subject to such age as ours. 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
Page 3
that above was to be read a 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 -- and are the first letters of the Greek words denoting Practical and Theoretical, the two divisions of philosophy.
Page 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
Page 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 utter]y 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
Page 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?
Page 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.
Page 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
8:1 -- Socrates was executed by the Athenian state, B.C. 399.
8:2 -- Zeno of Elea was tortured by Nearchus, tyrant of Elea, about 440 B.C.
8:3 -- Canius was put to death by Caligula, c. A.D. 40.
8:4 -- Seneca was driven to commit suicide by Nero, A.D. 66.
8:5 -- Soranus was condemned to death by Nero, A.D. 66.
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look fortune in the face, unbending both to good and bad: his countenance unconquered he can shew. The rage and
threatenings of the sea will not move him though they stir from its depths the upheaving swell: Vesuvius's furnaces may never so
often burst forth, and he may send rolling upwards smoke and fire; the lightning, whose wont it is to smite down lofty towers,
may flash upon its way, but such men shall they never move. Why then stand they wretched and aghast when fierce tyrants rage
in impotence? Fear naught, and hope naught: thus shall you have a weak man's rage disarmed. But whoso fears with trembling,
or desires aught from them, he stands not firmly rooted, but dependent: thus has he thrown away his shield; he can be rooted
up, and he links for himself the very chain whereby he may be dragged.
'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
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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
10:1 -- Boethius means that his chief ' philosophical ' studies had been physics, astronomy, and ethics.
10:2 -- Plato, Repub. v 473.
10:3 -- Plato, Repub. vi, 488, 489.
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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
11:1 -- Conigastus and Trigulla were favourite officers of the Emperor, Theodoric, the Goth: they used their influence with him
for the oppression of the weak.
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in their own hopes and desires already swallowed up his possessions, but I snatched him from their very gaping jaws. I
exposed myself to the hatred of the treacherous informer Cyprian, that I might prevent Albinus, also a former consul, being
overwhelmed by the penalty of a trumped-up charge. Think you that I have raised up against myself bitter and great quarrels
enough? But I ought to have been safer among those whom I helped; for, from my love of justice, I laid up for myself among
the courtiers no resource to which I might turn for safety. Who, further, were the informers upon whose evidence I was
banished? One was Basilius: he was formerly expelled from the royal service, and was driven by debt to inform against me.
Again, Opilio and Gaudentius had been condemned to exile by the king for many unjust acts and crimes: this decree they would
not obey, and they sought sanctuary in sacred buildings, but when the king was aware of it, he declared that if they departed
not from Ravenna before a certain day, they should be driven forth branded upon their foreheads. What could be more
stringent than this? Yet upon that very day information against me was laid by these same men and accepted. Why so? Did my
character deserve this treatment? Or did my prearranged condemnation give credit and justification to my accusers? Did
Fortune feel no shame for this? If not for innocence calumniated, at any rate for the baseness of the calumniators?
Page 13
'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
Page 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.
14:1 -- The Emperor Caligula.
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For the secret value of a conscience, that approves its own action, is lessened somewhat each time that it receives the reward
of fame by displaying its deeds. But you see what end has fallen upon my innocency. In the place of the rewards of honest
virtue, I am suffering the punishments of an ill deed that was not mine. And did ever any direct confession of a crime find its
judges so well agreed upon exercising harshness, that neither the liability of the human heart to err, nor the changeableness of
the fortune of all mankind, could yield one dissentient voice? If it had been said that I had wished to burn down temples, to
murder with sacrilegious sword their priests, that I had planned the massacre of all good citizens, even so I should have been
present to plead guilty or to be convicted, before the sentence was executed. But here am I, nearly five hundred-miles away,
without the opportunity of defending myself, condemned to death and the confiscation of my property because of my tao great
zeal for the Senate. Ah! well have they deserved that none should ever be liable to be convicted on such a charge! Even those
who laid information have seen the honour of this accusation, for, that they might blacken it with some criminal ingredient, they
had need to lie, saying that I had violated my conscience by using unholy means to obtain offices corruptly. But you, by being
planted within me, dispelled from the chamber of my soul all craving for that which perishes, and
Page 16
where your eyes were looking there could be no place for any such sacrilege. For you instilled into my ears, and thus into my
daily thoughts, that saying of Pythagoras, " Follow after God." Nor was it seemly that I, whom you had built up to such
excellence that you made me as a god, should seek the support of the basest wills of men. Yet, further, the innocent life within
my home, my gathering of most honourable friends, my father-in-law Symmachus,l a man esteemed no less in his public life than
for his private conscientiousness, these all put far from me all suspicion of this crime. But -- O the shame of it! -- it is from you
that they think they derive the warrant for such a charge, and we seem to them to be allied to ill-doing from this very fact that
we are steeped in the principles of your teaching, and trained in your manners of life. Thus it is not enough that my deep respect
for you has profited me nothing, but you yourself have received wanton contumely from the hatred that had rather fallen on me.
Yet besides this, is another load added to my heap of woes: the judgment of the world looks not to the deserts of the case, but
to the evolution of chance, and holds that only this has been intended which good fortune may chance to foster: whence it
comes that the good opinion of the world is the first to desert the unfortunate. It is wearisome to recall what were the tales by
people told, or how little
16:1 -- Symmachus was executed by Theodoric at the same time as Boethius.
Page 17
their many various opinions agreed. This alone I would fain say: it is the last burden laid upon us by unkind fortune, that when
any charge is invented to be fastened upon unhappy men, they are believed to have deserved all they have to bear. For
kindness I have received persecutions; I have been driven from all my possessions, stripped of my honours, and stained for
ever in my reputation. I think I see the intoxication of joy in the sin-steeped dens of criminals: I see the most abandoned of men
intent upon new and evil schemes of spying: I see honest men lying crushed with the fear which smites them after the result of
my perilous case: wicked men one and all encouraged to dare every crime without fear of punishment, nay, with hope of
rewards for the accomplishment thereof: the innocent I see robbed not merely of their peace and safety, but even of all chance
of defending themselves. So then I may cry aloud: --
'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
Page 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
Page 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
19:1 -- Cp. Prose iv. of this book,p. 9.
Page 20
is not the walls of your library, decked with ivory and glass, that I need, but rather the resting-place in your heart, wherein I
have not stored books, but I have of old put that which gives value to books, a store of thoughts from books of mine. As to
your services to the common weal, you have spoken truly, though but scantily, if you consider your manifold exertions. Of all
wherewith you have been charged either truthfully or falsely, you have but recorded what is well known. As for the crimes and
wicked lies of the informers, you have rightly thought fit to touch but shortly thereon, for they are better and more fruitfully made
common in the mouth of the crowd that discusses all matters. You have loudly and strongly upbraided the unjust ingratitude of
the Senate: you have grieved over the charges made against myself, and shed tears over the insult to my fair fame: your last
outburst of wrath was against Fortune, when you complained that she paid no fair rewards according to deserts: finally, you
have prayed with passionate Muse that the same peace and order, that are seen in the heavens, might also rule the earth. But
you are overwhelmed by this variety of mutinous passions: grief, rage, and gloom tear your mind asunder, and so in this present
mood stronger measures cannot yet come nigh to heal you. Let us therefore use gentler means, and since, just as matter in the
body hardens into a swelling, so have these disquieting influences, let these means soften by kindly handling the
Page 21
unhealthy spot, until it will bear a sharper remedy.
'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
Page 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?
Page 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
Page 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.'
Page 25
Book 2
BOOK II
THEN for a while she held her peace. But when her silence, so discreet, made my thoughts to cease from straying, she thus
began to speak: 'If I have thoroughly learned the causes and the manner of your sickness, your former good fortune has so
affected you that you are being consumed by longing for it. The change of one of her this alone has overturned your peace of
mind through your own imagination. I understand the varied disguises of that unnatural state. I know how Fortune is ever most
friendly and alluring to those whom she strives to deceive, until she overwhelms them with grief beyond bearing, by deserting
them when least expected. If you recall her nature, her ways, or her deserts, you will see that you never had in her, nor have
lost with her, aught that was lovely. Yet, I think, I shall not need great labour to recall this to your memory. For then too, when
she was at your side with all her flattery, you were wont to reproach her in strong and manly terms; and to revile her with the
opinions that you had gathered in worship of me with my favoured ones. But no sudden change of outward affairs can ever
come without some upheaval in the mind. Thus has it followed
Page 26
that you, like others, have fallen somewhat away from your calm peace of mind. But it is time now for you to make trial of some
gentle and pleasant draught, which by reaching your inmost parts shall prepare the way for yet stronger healing draughts. Try
therefore the assuring influence of gentle argument which keeps its straight path only when it holds fast to my instructions. And
with this art of orators let my handmaid, the art of song, lend her aid in chanting light or weighty harmonies as we desire.
'What is it, mortal man, that has cast you down into grief and mourning? You have seen something unwonted, it would seem,
something strange to you. But if you think that Fortune has changed towards you, you are wrong. These are ever her ways: this
is her very nature. She has with you preserved her own constancy by her very change. She was ever changeable at the time
when she smiled upon you, when she was mocking you with the allurements of false good fortune. You have discovered both
the different faces of the blind goddess. To the eyes of others she is veiled in part: to you she has made herself wholly known. If
you find her welcome, make use of her ways, and so make no complaining. If she fills you with horror by her treachery, treat
her with despite; thrust her away from you, for she tempts you to your ruin. For though she is the cause of this great trouble for
you, she ought to have been the subject of
Page 27
calmness and peace. For no man can ever make himself sure that she will never desert him, and thus has she deserted you. Do
you reckon such happiness to be prized, which is sure to pass away? Is good fortune dear to you, which is with you for a time
and is not sure to stay, and which is sure to bring you unhappiness when it is gone? But seeing that it cannot be stayed at will,
and that when it flees away it leaves misery behind, what is such a fleeting thing but a sign of coming misery? Nor should it ever
satisfy any man to look only at that which is placed before his eyes. Prudence takes measure of the results to come from all
things. The very changeableness of good and bad makes Fortune's threats no more fearful, nor her smiles to be desired. And
lastly, when you have once put your neck beneath the yoke of Fortune, you must with steadfast heart bear whatever comes to
pass within her realm. But if you would dictate the law by which she whom you have freely chosen to be your mistress must
stay or go, surely you will be acting without justification; and your very impatience will make more bitter a lot which you cannot
change. If you set your sails before the wind, will you not move forward whither the wind drives you, not whither your will may
choose to go? If you intrust your seed to the furrow, will you not weigh the rich years and the barren against each other? You
have given yourself over to Fortune's rule, and you must bow yourself to
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your mistress's ways. Are you trying to stay the force of her turning wheel? Ah! dull-witted mortal, if Fortune begin to stay still,
she is no longer Fortune.
'As thus she turns her wheel of chance with haughty hand, and presses on like the surge of Euripus's tides, fortune now
tramples fiercely on a fearsome king, and now deceives no less a conquered man by raising from the ground his humbled face.
She hears no wretch's cry, she heeds no tears, but wantonly she mocks the sorrow which her cruelty has made. This is her
sport: thus she proves her power; if in the selfsame hour one man is raised to happiness, and cast down in despair,' tis thus she
shews her might.
' Now would I argue with you by these few words which Fortune herself might use: and do you consider whether her
demands are fair "Why, O man," she might say, " do you daily accuse me with your complainings? What injustice have I
wrought upon you? Of what good things have I robbed you? Choose your judge whom you will, and before him strive with me
for the right to hold your wealth and honours. If you can prove that any one of these does truly belong to any mortal man,
readily will I grant that these you seek to regain were yours. When nature brought you forth from your mother's womb, I
received you in my arms naked and bare of all things; I cherished you
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with my gifts, and I brought you up all too kindly with my favouring care, wherefore now you cannot bear with me, and I
surrounded you with glory and all the abundance that was mine to give. Now it pleases me to withdraw my hand: be thankful,
as though you had lived upon my loans. You have no just cause of complaint, as though you had really lost what was once your
own. Why do you rail against me? I have wrought no violence towards you. Wealth, honours, and all such are within my rights.
They are my handmaids; they know their mistress; they come with me and go when I depart. Boldly will I say that if these, of
whose loss you complain, were ever yours, you would never have lost them at all. Am I alone to be stayed from using my
rightful power? The heavens may grant bright sunlit days, and hide the same beneath the shade of night. The year may deck the
earth's countenance with flowers and fruits, and again wrap it with chilling clouds. The sea may charm with its smoothed
surface, but no less justly it may soon bristle in storms with rough waves. Is the insatiate discontent of man to bind me to a
constancy which belongs not to my ways? Herein lies my very strength; this is my unchanging sport. I turn my wheel that spins
its circle fairly; I delight to make the lowest turn to the top, the highest to the bottom. Come you to the top if you will, but on
this condition, that you think it no unfairness to sink when the rule of my game demands it. Do
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you not know my ways? Have you not heard how Croesus,1 king of Lydia, who filled even Cyrus with fear but a little earlier,
was miserably put upon a pyre of burning faggots, but was saved by rain sent down from heaven? Have you forgotten how
Paulus shed tears of respect for the miseries of his captive, King Perses?2 For what else is the crying and the weeping in
tragedies but for the happiness of kings overturned by the random blow of fortune? Have you never learnt in your youth the
ancient allegory that in the threshold of Jove's hall there stand two vessels, one full of evil, and one of good? What if you have
received more richly of the good? What if I have not ever withheld myself from you? What if my changing nature is itself a
reason that you should-hope for better things? In any way, let not your spirit eat itself away: you are set in the sphere that is
common to all, let your desire therefore be to live with your own lot of life, a subject of the kingdom of the world.
"'If Plenty with o'erflowing horn scatter her wealth abroad, abundantly, as in the storm-tossed sea the sand is cast around, or
so beyond all measure as the stars shine forth upon the studded sky in cloudless nights; though she
30:1 -- The proverbially rich and happy king; defeated and condemned to death by Cyrus, king of Media, in 546 B.C., but
spared by him.
30:2 -- The last king of Macedonia, defeated at Pydna, 168.c., by L.Æmilius Paulus.
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never stay her hand, yet will the race of men Met II. still weep and wail. Though God accept their prayers freely and give gold
with ungrudging hand, and deck with honours those who deserve them, yet when they are gotten, these gifts seem naught. Wild
greed swallows what it has sought, and still gapes wide for more. What bit or bridle will hold within its course this headlong lust,
when, whetted by abundance of rich gifts, the thirst for possession burns? Never call we that man rich who is ever trembling in
haste and groaning for that he thinks he lack
'If Fortune should thus defend herself to you,' said Philosophy,' you would have naught, I think, to utter on the other part. But
if you have any just defence for your complaining, you must put it forward. We will grant you the opportunity of speaking.'
Then I answered,' Those arguments have a fair form and are clothed with all the sweetness of speech and of song. When a
man listens to them, they delight him; but only so long. The wretched have a deeper feeling of their misfortunes. Wherefore
when these pleasing sounds fall no longer upon the ear, this deep-rooted misery again weighs down the spirit.'
'It is so,' she said.' For these are not the remedies for your sickness, but in some sort are the applications for your grief which
chafes against its cure. When the time comes, I will apply those which are to penetrate deeply. with Boethius
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But that you may not be content to think yourself wretched, remember how many and how great have been the occasions of
your good fortune. I will not describe how, when you lost your father, men of the highest rank received you into their care: how
you were chosen by the chief men in the state to be allied to them by marriage; 1 and you were dear to them before you were
ever closely related; which is the most valuable of all relationships. Who hesitated to pronounce you most fortunate for the
greatness of your wives' families, for their virtues, and for your blessings in your sons too? I need not speak of those things that
are familiar, so I pass over the honours which are denied to most old men, but were granted to you when yet young. I choose
to come to the unrivalled crown of your good fortune. If the enjoyment of anything mortal can weigh at all in the balance of
good fortune, can your memory of one great day ever be extinguished by any mass of accumulated ills? I mean that day when
you saw your two sons proceed forth from your house as consuls together, amid the crowding senators, the eager and
applauding populace: when they sat down in the seats of honour and you delivered the speech of congratulation to the king,
gaining
32:1 -- Boethius's first wife was Elpis, daughter of Festus: his second was Rusticiana, daughter of Symmachus, a senator and
consul, A.D. 485. His second wife was the mother of the two sons mentioned below. (See Appendix, p. 169.)
Page 33
thereby glory for your talent and your eloquence: when in the circus you sat in the place of honour between the consuls, and by
a display of lavishness worthy of a triumphing general, you pleased to the full the multitude who were crowded around in
expectation.
'While Fortune then favoured you, it seems you flaunted her, though she cherished you as her own darling. You carried off a
bounty which she had never granted to any citizen before. Will you then balance accounts with Fortune? This is the first time
that she has looked upon you with a grudging eye. If you think of your happy and unhappy circumstances both in number and in
kind, you will not be able to say that you have not been fortunate until now. And if you think that you were not fortunate
because these things have passed away which then seemed to bring happiness, these things too are passing away, which you
now hold to be miserable, wherefore you cannot think that you are wretched now. Is this your first entrance upon the stage of
life? Are you come here unprepared and a stranger to the scene? Think you that there is any certainty in the affairs of mankind,
when you know that often one swift hour can utterly destroy a man? For though the chances of life may seldom be depended
upon, yet the last day of a lifetime seems to be the end of Fortune's power, though it perhaps would stay. What, think you,
should we therefore say; that you desert her by dying, or that she deserts you by leaving you? '
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'When o'er the heaven Phoebus from his rose-red car begins to shed his light abroad, his flames oppress the paling stars and
blunt their whitened rays. When the grove grows bright in spring with roses 'neath the west wind's warming breath, let but the
cloudy gale once wildly blow, and their beauty is gone, the thorns alone remain. Often the sea is calmly glistening bright with all
untroubled waves, but as often does the north wind stir them up, making the troubling tempest boil. If then the earth's own
covering so seldom constant stays, if its changes are so great, shalt thou trust the brittle fortunes of mankind, have faith in
fleeting good? For this is sure, and this is fixed by everlasting law, that naught which is brought to birth shall constant here
abide.'
Then I answered her,' Cherisher of all the virtues, you tell me but the truth: I cannot deny my rapid successes and my
prosperity. But it is such remembrances that torment me more than others. For of all suffering from Fortune, the unhappiest
misfortune is to have known a happy fortune.'
'But,' said Philosophy,' you are paying the him penalty for your mistaken expectations, and with this you cannot justly charge
your life's circumstances. If you are affected by this empty name of Fortune's gift of happiness, you must listen while I recall
how many and how great are your sources of happiness: and thus, if you have possessed that which is the most
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precious among all Fortune's gifts, and if that is still safe and unharmed in your possession, you will never, while you keep these
better gifts, be able to justly charge Fortune with unkindness. Firstly, your wife's father, Symmachus, is still living and hale; and
what more precious glory has the human race than him? And he, because your worth is undiminished and your life still so
valuable, is mourning for the injustice you suffer, this man who is wholly made up of wisdom and virtue. Again, your wife lives, a
woman whose character is full of virtue, whose modesty excels its kind; a woman who (to put in a word the gifts she brought
you) is like her father. She lives, and, hating this life, for your sake alone she clings to it. Herein only will I yield to allow you
unhappiness; she pines with tears and grief through her longing for you. Need I speak of your sons who have both been
consuls, and whose lives, as when they were boys, are yet bright with the character of their grandfather and their father?
Wherefore, since mortals desire exceedingly to keep a hold on life, how happy you should be, knew you but your blessings,
since you have still what none doubts to be dearer than life itself? Wherefore now dry your tears. For-tune's hatred has not yet
been so great as to destroy all your holds upon happiness: the tempest that is fallen upon you is not too great for you: your
anchors hold yet firm, and they should keep ever nigh to you confidence in the present and hope for future time.
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'And may they continue to hold fast,' said I,' that is my prayer: while they are firm, we will reach the end of our voyage,
however things may be. But you see how much my glory has departed.'
And she answered,' We have made some progress, if you are not now weary entirely of your present lot. But I cannot bear
this dallying so softly, so long as you complain that your happiness lacks aught, so long as you are full of sorrow and care.
Whose happiness is so firmly established that he has no quarrel from any side with his estate of life? For the condition of our
welfare is a matter fraught with care: either its completeness never appears, or it never remains. One man's wealth is abundant,
but his birth and breeding put him to shame. Another is famous for his noble birth, but would rather be unknown because he is
hampered by his narrow means. A third is blessed with wealth and breeding, but bewails his life because he has no wife.
Another is happy in his marriage, but has no children, and saves his wealth only for an heir that is no son of his. Another is
blessed with children, but weeps tears of sorrow for the misdeeds of son or daughter. So none is readily at peace with the lot
his fortune sends him. For in each case there is that which is unknown to him who has not experienced it, and which brings
horror to him who has experienced it. Consider further, that the feelings of the most fortunate men are the most easily affected,
wherefore, unless all
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their desires are supplied, such men, being unused to all adversity, are cast down by every little care: so small are the
troubles which can rob them of complete happiness.
'How many are they, think you, who would think themselves raised to heaven if the smallest part of the remnants of your
good fortune fell to them? This very place, which you call a place of exile, is home to those who live herein. Thus there is
nothing wretched unless you think it to be so: and in like manner he who bears all with a calm mind finds his lot wholly blessed.
Who is so happy but would wish to change his estate, if he yields to impatience of his lot? With how much bitterness is the
sweetness of man's life mingled! For even though its enjoyment seem pleasant, yet it may not be surely kept from departing
when it will. It is plain then how wretched is the happiness of mortal life which neither endures for ever with men of calm mind,
nor ever wholly delights the care-ridden. Wherefore, then, O mortal men, seek ye that happiness without, which lies within
yourselves? Ye are confounded by error and ignorance. I will shew you as shortly as I may, the pole on which turns the highest
happiness. Is there aught that you value more highly than your own self? You will answer that there is nothing. If then you are
master of yourself, you will be in possession of that which you will never wish to lose, and which Fortune will never be able to
take from you. Yet consider this further, that you may
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be assured that happiness cannot be fixed in matters of chance: if happiness is the highest good of a man who lives his life by
reason, and if that which can by any means be snatched away, is not the highest good (since that which is best cannot be
snatched away), it is plain that Fortune by its own uncertainty can never come near to reaching happiness. Further, the man
who is borne along by a happiness which may stumble, either knows that it may change, or knows it not: if he knows it not,
what happiness can there be in the blindness of ignorance ? If he knows it, he must needs live in fear of losing that which he
cannot doubt that he may lose; wherefore an ever-present fear allows not such an one to be happy. Or at any rate, if he lose it
without unhappiness, does he not think it worthless? For that, whose loss can be calmly borne, is indeed a small good. You, I
know well, are firmly persuaded that men's understandings can never die; this truth is planted deep in you by many proofs: since
then it is plain that the happiness of fortune is bounded by the death of the body, you cannot doubt that, if death can carry away
happiness, the whole race of mortals is sinking into wretchedness to be found upon the border of death. But we know that
many have sought the enjoyment of happiness not only by death, but even by sorrow and sufferings: how then can the presence
of this life make us happy, when its end cannot make us unhappy?
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'He that would build on a lasting resting-place; who would be firm to resist the blasts of the storming wind; who seeks, too,
safety where he may contemn the surge and threatening of the sea; must leave the lofty mountain's top, and leave the thirsting
sands. The hill is swept by all the might of the headstrong gale: the sands dissolve, and will not bear the load upon them. Let him
fly the danger in a lot which is pleasant rest unto the eye: let him be mindful to set his house surely upon the lowly rock. Then let
the wind bellow, confounding wreckage in the sea, and thou wilt still be founded upon unmoving peace, wilt be blessed in the
strength of thy defence: thy life will be spent in calmness, and thou mayest mock the raging passions of the air.
'But now,' she continued,' the first remedies of reasoning are reaching you more deeply, and I think I should now use those
that are somewhat stronger. If the gifts of Fortune fade not nor pass quickly away, even so, what is there in them which could
ever be truly yours, or which would not lose its value when examined or thought upon?
'Are riches valuable for their own nature, or on account of your and other men's natures? Which is the more valuable, the
gold itself or the power of the stored up-money? Surely wealth shines more brightly when spent than when put away in masses.
Avarice ever brings hatred, while generous spending brings honour.
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But that cannot remain with one person which is handed over to another: therefore money becomes valuable to its possessor
when, by being scattered, it is transferred to others, and ceases to be possessed. And if all that is heaped together among
mankind comes to one man, it makes the others all poor. A voice indeed fills equally the ears of all that hear: but your riches
cannot pass to others without being lessened: and when they pass, they make poor those whom they leave. How strait then and
poor are those riches, which most men may not have, and which can only come to one by making others poor!
'Think again of precious stones: does their gleam attract your eyes? But any excellence they have is their own brilliance, and
belongs not to men: wherefore I am amazed that men so strongly admire them. What manner of thing can that be which has no
mind to influence, which has no structure of parts, and yet can justly seem to a living, reasoning mind to be beautiful? Though
they be works of their creator, and by their own beauty and adornment have a certain low beauty, yet are they in rank lower
than your own excellence, and have in no wise deserved your admiration.
'Does the beauty of landscape delight you? '
'Surely, for it is a beautiful part of a beautiful creation: and in like manner we rejoice at times in the appearance of a calm sea,
and we admire the sky, the stars, the sun, and the moon.
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'Does any one of these,' said she,' concern you? Dare you boast yourself of the splendid beauty of any one of such things?
Are you yourself adorned by the flowers of spring? Is it your richness that swells the fruits of autumn? Why are you carried
away by empty rejoicing. Why do you embrace as your own the good things which are outside yourself? Fortune will never
make yours what Nature has made to belong to other things. The fruits of the earth should doubtless serve as nourishment for
living beings, but if you would satisfy your need as fully as Nature needs, you need not the abundance of Fortune. Nature is
content with very little, and if you seek to thrust upon her more than is enough, then what you cast in will become either
unpleasing or even harmful
'Again, you think that you appear beautiful in many kinds of clothing. But if their form is pleasant to the eyes, I would admire
the nature of the material or the skill of the maker. Or are you made happy by a long line of attendants? Surely if they are
vicious, they are but . a burden to the house, and full of injury to their master himself; while if they are honest, how can the
honesty of others be counted among your possessions?
'Out of all these possessions, then, which you reckon as your wealth, not one can really be shown to be your own. For if they
have no beauty for you to acquire, what have they for which you should grieve if you lose them, or in keeping which you should
rejoice? And if
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they are beautiful by their own nature, how are you the richer thereby? For these would have been pleasing of themselves,
though cut out from your possessions. They do not become valuable by reason that they have come into your wealth; but you
have desired to count them among your wealth, because they seemed valuable. Why then do you long for them with such railing
against Fortune? You seek, I believe, to put want to flight by means of plenty. But you find that the opposite results. The more
various is the beauty of furniture, the more helps are needed to keep it beautiful;and it is ever true that they who have much,
need much; and on the other hand, they need least who measure their wealth by the needs of nature, not by excess of display.
Is there then no good which belongs to you and is implanted within you, that you seek your good things elsewhere, in things
without you and separate from you? Have things taken such a turn that the animal, whose reason gives it a claim to divinity,
cannot seem beautiful to itself except by the possession of. lifeless trappings? Other classes of things are satisfied by their
intrinsic possessions; but men, though made like God in understanding, seek to find among the lowest things adornment for their
higher nature: and you do not understand that you do a great wrong thereby to your Creator. He intended that the human race
should be above all other earthly beings; yet you thrust down your honourable place below the lowest.
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For if every good thing is allowed to be more valuable than that to which it belongs, surely you are putting yourselves lower
than them in your estimation, since you think precious the most worthless of things; and this is indeed a just result. Since, then,
this is the condition of human nature, that it surpasses other classes only when it realises what is in itself; as soon as it ceases to
know itself, it must be reduced to a lower rank than the beasts. To other animals ignorance of themselves is natural; in men it is
a fault. How plainly and how widely do you err by thinking that anything can be adorned by ornaments that belong to others!
Surely that cannot be. For if anything becomes brilliant by additions thereto, the praise for the brilliance belongs to the
additions. But the subject remains in its own vileness, though hidden and covered by these externals.
'Again, I say that naught can be a good thing which does harm to its possessor. Am I wrong? "No," you will say. Yet many a
time do riches harm their possessors, since all base men, who are therefore the most covetous, think that they themselves alone
are worthy to possess all gold and precious stones. You therefore, who now go in fear of the cudgel and sword of the robber,
could laugh in his face if you had entered upon this path with empty pockets. l How wonderful is the
43:1 -- This is an application of Juvenal's lines (Sat. x. 19)which contrast the terror of the money-laden traveller
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surpassing blessing of mortal wealth! As soon as you have acquired it, your cares begin!
'O happy was that early age of men, contented with their trusted and unfailing fields, nor ruined by the wealth that enervates.
Easily was the acorn got that used to satisfy their longwhile fast. They knew not Bacchus' gifts, nor honey mixed therewith.
They knew not how to tinge with Tyre's purple dyes the sheen of China's silks. Their sleep kept health on rush and grass; the
stream gave them to drink as it flowed by: the lofty pine to them gave shade. Not one of them yet clave the ocean's depths, nor,
carrying stores of merchandise, had visited new shores. Then was not heard the battle's trump, nor had blood made red with
bitter hate the bristling swords of war. For why should any madness urge to take up first their arms upon an enemy such ones
as knew no sight of cruel wounds nor knew rewards that could be reaped in blood? Would that our times could but return to
those old ways! but love of gain and greed of holding burn more fiercely far than &’Etna's fires. Ah! who was the wretch who
first unearthed the mass of hidden gold, the gems that only longed to lie unfound? For full of danger was the prize he found.
'What am I to say of power and of the with the careless happiness of the man who meets highwayman with no purse and
empty pockets.
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honours of office, which you raise to heaven because you know not true honoured power? What fires belched forth from
&’Etna's flames, what overwhelming flood could deal such ruin as these when they fall into the hands of evil men? I am sure you
remember how your forefathers wished to do away with the consular power, which had been the very foundation of liberty,
because of the overbearing pride of the consuls, just as your ancestors had too in earlier times expunged from the state the
name of king on account of the same pride. But if, as rarely happens, places of honour are granted to honest men, what else is
delightful in them but the honesty they practise thereby? Wherefore honour comes not to virtue from holding office, but comes
to office from virtues there practised.
'But what is the power which you seek and esteem so highly? O creatures of the earth, can you not think over whom you are
set? If you saw in a community of mice, one mouse asserting his rights and his power over the others, with what mirth you
would greet the sight! Yet if you consider the body, what can you find weaker than humanity? Cannot a tiny gnat by its bite, or
by creeping into the inmost parts, kill that body? How can any exercise right upon any other except upon the body alone, or
that which is below the body, whereby I mean the fortunes? Can you ever impose any law upon a free spirit? Can you eyer
disturb the peculiar restfulness which is the property of a mind that hangs together
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upon the firm basis of its reason? When a certain tyrant thought that by tortures he would compel a free manl to betray the
conspirators in a plot against his life, the philosopher bit through his tongue and spat it out in the tyrant's face. Thus were the
tortures, which the tyrant intended to have cruel results, turned by the philosopher into subjects of high courage. Is there aught
that one man can do to another, which he may not suffer from another in his turn? We have heard how Busiris, who used to kill
strangers, was killed by Hercules when he came to Egypt. Regulus,2 who had cast into chains many a Carthaginian captive,
soon yielded himself a prisoner to their chains. Do you think that power to be any power, whose possessor cannot ensure his
own escape from suffering at another's hands what he inflicts upon some other?
'Further, if there were any intrinsic good in the nature of honours and powers themselves, they could never crowd upon the
basest men. For opposites will not be bound together. Nature refuses to allow contraries to be linked to each other.
Wherefore, while it is un-doubted that for the most part offices of honour are enjoyed by bad men, it is also manifest that those
things are not by nature good, which
46:1 -- This story is told of Anaxagoras and Nicocreon, king of Cyprus, c. B.C. 323.
46:2 -- Regulus was the Roman general in Sicily in the first Punic War, taken prisoner in 255 B.C., and put to death in 250.
Page 47
allow themselves to cling to evil men. And this indeed may worthily be held of all the gifts of fortune which come with the
greatest success to the most unscrupulous. And in this matter we must also think on this fact, that no one doubts a man to be
brave in whom he has found by examination that bravery is implanted: and whoever has the quality of swiftness is plainly swift.
So also music makes men musical, medicine makes men physicians, oratory makes men orators. The nature of each quality acts
as is peculiar to itself: it is not confused with the results of contrary qualities, but goes so far as to drive out those qualities which
are opposed to it. Wealth cannot quench the insatiable thirst of avarice: nor can power ever make master of himself the man
whom vicious passions hold fast in un-breakable chains. Honours, when joined to dishonest men, so far from making them
honour-able, betray them rather, and show them to be dishonourable. Why is this so? It is because you rejoice to call things by
false ¤ames which belong not to them their names are refuted by the reality of their qualities: wherefore neither riches, nor that
kind of power, nor these honours, can justly so be called. Lastly, we may come to the same conclusion concerning all the
aspects of Fortune: nothing is to be sought in her, and it is plain she has no innate good, for she is not always joined with good
men, nor does she make good those with whom she is joined.'
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'We have heard what ruin Nero wrought when Rome was burnt and senators were slain. We know how savagely he did to
death his brother,l how he was stained by the spilling of his own mother's blood, and how he looked upon her cold body and
yet no tear fell upon his cheek: yet could this man be judge of the morals that were dead. Nay, he was ruler of the peoples
whom the sun looks upon from the time he rises in the east until he hides his rays beneath the waves, and those whom the
chilling northern Wain o'errules, and those whom the southern gale burns with its dry blast, as it heats the burning sands. Say,
could great power chasten Nero's maddened rage? Ah! heavy fate, how often is the sword of high injustice given where is
already most poisonous cruelty!'
Then I said,' You know that the vain-glory of this world has had but little influence over me; but I have desired the means of
so managing affairs that virtue might not grow aged in silence.'
'Yes,' said she,' but there is one thing which can attract minds, which, though by nature excelling, yet are not led by perfection
to the furthest bounds of virtue; and that thing is the love of fame and reputation for deserving well of one's country. Think then
thus upon it, and see that it is but a slight
48:1 -- Britannicus, son of Nero's father, the Emperor Claudius, put to death A.D. 55.
Page 49
thing of no weight. As you have learnt from astronomers' shewing, the whole circumference of the earth is but as a point
compared with the size of the heavens. That is, if you compare the earth with the circle of the universe, it must be reckoned as
of no size at all. And of this tiny portion of the universe there is but a fourth part, as you have learnt from the demonstration of
Ptolemæus,l which is inhabited by living beings known to us. If from this fourth part you imagine subtracted all that is covered
by sea and marsh, and all the vast regions of thirsty desert, you will find but the narrowest space left for human habitation. And
do you think of setting forth your fame and publishing your name in this space, which is but as a point within another point so
closely circumscribed? And what size or magnificence can fame have which is shut in by such close and narrow bounds?
Further, this narrow enclosure of habitation is peopled by many races of men which differ in language, in customs, and in their
whole scheme of living; and owing to difficulty of travelling, differences of speech, and rareness of any intercourse, the fame of
cities cannot reach them, much less the fame of men. Has not Cicero written somewhere that in his time the fame of Rome had
not reached the mountains of the Caucasus, though the Republic was already well grown and
49:1 -- A mathematician, astronomer, and geographer of Alexandria. Fl. 140-160 A.D. Boethius translated one of his works.
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striking awe among the Parthians and other nations in those parts? Do you see then how narrow and closely bounded must be
that fame which you wish to extend more widely? Can the fame of a Roman ever reach parts to which the name of Rome
cannot come?
Further, the manners and customs of different races are so little in agreement, that what is make his name known, because he
takes pleasure in a glorious fame. So each man shall be content if his fame travels throughout his own countrymen, and the
immortality of his name shall be bounded by the limits of one nation. But how many men, the most famous of their times, are
wiped out by oblivion because no man has written of them! 1 And yet what advantage is there in much that is written? For with
their authors these writings are overwhelmed in the length and dimness of age. Yet when you think upon your fame in future
ages, you seem to think that you are prolonging it to immortality. But if you think upon the unending length of eternity, what
enjoyment do you find in the long endurance of Boethius is thinking of Horace, Odes iv. 9. Ere Agamemnon saw the light,
There lived brave men: but tearless all Enfolded in eternal night, For lack of sacred minstrels, fall. (Mr.. Gladstone's translation.)
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your name? For though one moment bears but the least proportion to ten thousand years, yet there is a definite ratio, because
both are limited spaces of time. But even ten thousand years, or the greatest number you will, cannot even be compared with
eternity. For there will always be ratio between finite things, but between the finite and the infinite there can never be any
comparison. Wherefore, however long drawn out may be the life of your fame, it is not even small, but it is absolutely nothing
when compared with eternity. You know not how to act rightly except for the breezes of popular opinion and for the sake of
empty rumours; thus the excellence of conscience and of virtue is left behind, and you seek rewards from the tattle of other
men. Listen to the witty manner in which one played once upon the shallowness of this pride. A certain man once bitterly
attacked another who had taken to himself falsely the name of philosopher, not for the purpose of true virtue, but for pride of
fame; he added to his attack that he would know soon whether he was a philosopher, when he saw whether the other bore
with meekness and patience the insults he heaped upon him. The other showed patience for a while and took the insults as
though he scoffed at them, until he said, " Do you now see that I am a philosopher? " " I should have, had you kept silence,"
said the other stingingly. But we are speaking of great men: and I ask, what do they gain from fame, though they seek
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glory by virtue? what have they after the body is dissolved at death? For if men die utterly, as our reason forbids us to believe,
there is no glory left to them at all, since they whose it is said to be, do not exist. If, on the other hand, the mind is still conscious
and working when it is freed from its earthly prison, it seeks heaven in its freedom and surely spurns all earthly traffic: it enjoys
heaven and rejoices in its release from the of this world.
'The mind that rushes headlong in its search for fame, thinking that is its highest good, should look upon the spreading regions
of the air, and then upon the bounded tracts that are this world: then will shame enter it; that, though fame grow, yet can it never
fill so small a circle. Proud men! why will ye try in vain to free your necks from the yoke mortality has set thereon? Though fame
may be wide scattered and find its way through distant lands, and set the tongues there talking; though a splendid house may
draw brilliance from famous names and tales; yet death regards not any glory, howsoever great. Alike he overwhelms the lowly
and the lofty head, and levels high with low.
'Where are Fabricius's1 bones, that honourable man? What now is Brutus?2 or
52:1 -- Fabricius -- was the Roman general whom Pyrrhus could neither bribe nor intimidate, B.C. 280.
52:2 -- L. Junius Brutus, who led the Romans to expel the last of the kings, and was elected the first consul, B.C. 509.
Page 53
unbending Cato?1 Their fame survives in this: it has no more than a few slight letters shewing forth an empty name. We see their
noble names engraved, and only know thereby that they are brought to naught. Ye lie then all unknown, and fame can give no
knowledge of you. But if you think that life can be prolonged by the breath of mortal fame, yet when the slow time robs you of
this too, then there awaits you but a second death.
'But,' she said,' do not think that I would urge implacable war upon Fortune. There are times when her deception of men has
certain merits: I mean when she discovers herself, unveils her face, and proclaims her ways. Perhaps you do not yet understand
what I would say. It is a strange thing that I am trying to say, and for that reason I can scarcely explain myself in words. I think
that ill fortune is of greater advantage to men than good fortune. Good fortune is ever lying when she seems to favour by an
appearance of happiness. Ill fortune is ever true when by her changes she shews herself inconstant. The one deceives; the other
edifies. The one by a deceitful appearance of good things enchains the
53:1 -- Probably Cato Major, the great censor, B.C. 184, the rigid champion of the stern old Roman morals; or possibly Cato
Minor, who committed suicide at Utica after the battle of Thapsus, B.C. 46, because he considered that Cæsar's victory was
fatal to the Republic and the liberty of Rome.
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minds of those who enjoy them: the other frees them by a knowledge that happiness is so fragile. You see, then, that the one is
blown about by winds, is ever moving and ever ignorant of its own self ; the other is sober, ever prepared and ever made
provident by the undergoing of its very adversities. Lastly, good fortune draws men from the straight path of true good by her
fawning: ill fortune draws most men to the true good, and holds them back by her curved staff.
'And do you think that this should be reckoned among the least benefits of this rough, unkind, and terrible ill fortune, that she
has discovered to you the minds of your faithful friends? Fortune has distinguished for you your sure and your doubtful friends;
her departure has taken away her friends and left you yours. At what price could you have bought this benefit if you had been
untouched and, as you thought, fortunate? Cease then to seek the wealth you have lost. You have found your friends, and they
are the most precious of all riches.
'Through Love1 the universe with constancy makes changes all without discord: earth's elements, though contrary, abide in
treaty bound: Phoebus in his golden car leads up the glowing day; his sister rules the night that
54:1 -- Boethius in this passage is probably thinking of Empedocles's doctrine of Love which unites, and Strife which divides,
the two primal forces in the universe.
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Hesperus brought: the greedy sea confines its waves in bounds, lest the earth's borders be changed by its beating on them: all
these are firmly bound by Love, which rules both earth and sea, and has its empire in the heavens too. If Love should slacken
this its hold, all mutual love would change to war; and these would strive to undo the scheme which now their glorious
movements carry out with trust and with accord. By Love are peoples too kept bound together by a treaty which they may not
break. Love binds with pure affection the sacred tie of wedlock, and speaks its bidding to all trusty friends. O happy race of
mortals, if your hearts are ruled as is the universe, by Love!1'
55:1 -- C p. Bk. I. Prose iv, p. 10.
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Book 3
BOOK III
When she finished her lay, its soothing tones left me spellbound with my ears alert in my eagerness to listen. So a while
afterwards I said, 'Greatest comforter of weary minds, how have you cheered me with your deep thoughts and sweet singing
too! No more shall I doubt my power to meet the blows of Fortune. So far am I from terror at the remedies which you did
lately tell me were sharper, that I am longing to hear them, and eagerly I beg you for them.'
Then said she,' I knew it when you laid hold upon my words in silent attention, and I was waiting for that frame of mind in
you, or more truly, I brought it about in you. They that remain are indeed bitter to the tongue, but sweet to the inner man. But as
you say you are eager to hear, how ardently you would be burning, if you knew whither I am attempting to lead you! '
Whither is that? ' I asked.
'To the true happiness, of which your soul too dreams; but your sight is taken up in imaginary views thereof, so that you
cannot look upon itself.'
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Then said I,' I pray you shew me what that truly is, and quickly.'
'I will do so,' she said,' for your sake willingly. But first I will try to picture in words and give you the form of the cause, which
is already better known to you, that so, when that picture is perfect and you turn your eyes to the other side, you may recognise
the form of true happiness.
'When a man would sow in virgin soil, first he clears away the bushes, cuts the brambles and the ferns, that the corn-goddess
may go forth laden with her new fruit. The honey, that the bee has toiled to give us, is sweeter when the mouth has tasted bitter
things. The stars shine with more pleasing grace when a storm has ceased to roar and pour down rain. After the morning star
has dispersed the shades of night, the day in all its beauty drives its rosy chariot forth. So thou hast looked upon false happiness
first; now draw thy neck from under her yoke: so shall true happiness now come into thy soul.'
She lowered her eyes for a little while as though searching the innermost recesses of her mind; and then she continued: -- '
The trouble of the many and various aims of mortal men bring them much care, and herein they go forward by different paths
but strive to reach one end, which is happiness. And that good is that, to which if any man attain, he
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can desire nothing further. It is that highest of all good things, and it embraces in itself all good things: if any good is lacking, it
cannot be the highest good, since then there is left outside it something which can be desired. Wherefore happiness is a state
which is made perfect by the union of all good things. This end all men seek to reach, as I said, though by different paths. For
there is implanted by nature in the minds of men a desire for the true good; but error leads them astray towards false goods by
wrong paths.
'Some men believe that the highest good is to lack nothing, and so they are at pains to possess abundant riches. Others
consider the true good to be that which is most worthy of admiration, and so they strive to attain to places of honour, and to be
held by their fellow-citizens in honour thereby. Some determine that the highest good lies in the highest power;and so they either
desire to reign themselves, or try to cleave to those who do reign. Others think that renown is the greatest good, and they
therefore hasten to make a famous name by the arts of peace or of war. But more than all measure the fruit of good by pleasure
and enjoyment, and these think that the happiest man is abandoned to pleasure.
'Further, there are those who confuse the aims and the causes of these good things: as those who desire riches for the sake of
power or of pleasure, or those who seek power for the sake of money or celebrity. In these, then, and
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other things like to them, lies the aim of men's actions and prayers, such as renown and popularity, which seem to afford some
fame, or wife and children, which are sought for the pleasure they give. On the other hand, the good of friends, which is the
most honourable and holy of all, lies not in Fortune's but in Virtue's realm. All others are adopted for the sake of power or
enjoyment.
'Again, it is plain that the good things of the body must be accounted to those false causes which we have mentioned; for
bodily strength and stature seem to make men more able and strong; beauty and swiftness seem to give renown; health seems
to give pleasure. By all these happiness alone is plainly desired. For each man holds that to be the highest good, which he seeks
before all others. But we have defined the highest good to be happiness. Wherefore what each man desires above all others, he
holds to be a state of happiness.
'Wherefore you have each of these placed before you as the form of human happiness: wealth, honours, power, glory, and
pleasure. Epicurus1 considered these forms alone, and accordingly determined upon pleasure as the highest good, because all
the others seemed but
59:1 -- Epicurus (B.C. 342-270) was the famous founder of the Epicurean school of philosophy. His school had a large
following of Romans under the Empire. His own teaching was of a higher nature than might be supposed from this bare
statement that he thought 'pleasure was the highest good.'
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to join with it in bringing enjoyment to the mind.
'But to return to the aims of men: their minds seem to seek to regain the highest good, and their memories seem to dull their
powers. It is as though a drunken man were seeking his home, but could not remember the way thither. Can those people be
altogether wrong whose aim it is to lack nothing? No, there is nothing which can make happiness so perfect as an abundant
possession of good things, needing naught that belongs to others, but in all ways sufficing for itself. Surely those others too are
not mistaken who think that what is best is also most worthy of reverence and respect. It cannot be any cheap or base thing, to
attain which almost all men aim and strive. And is power not to be accounted a good thing? Surely it is: can that be a weak
thing or forceless, which is allowed in all cases to excel? Is renown of no value ? We cannot surrender this; that whatever is
most excellent, has also great renown. It is hardly worth saying that happiness has no torturing cares or gloom, and is not
subject to grief and trouble; for even in small things, the aim is to find that which it is a delight to have and to enjoy. These, then,
are the desires of men: they long for riches, places of honour, kingdoms, glory, and pleasure; and they long for them because
they think that thereby they will find satisfaction, veneration, power, renown, and happiness. It is the good then which men seek
by their different desires;
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and it is easy to shew how great a force nature has put therein, since in spite of such varying and discordant opinions, they
are all agreed in the goal they seek, that of the highest good.
'I would to pliant strings set forth a song of how almighty Nature turns her guiding reins, telling with what laws her providence
keeps safe this boundless universe, binding and tying each and all with cords that never shall be loosed. The lions of Carthage,
though they bear the gorgeous bonds and trappings of captivity, and eat the food that is given them by hand, and though they
fear their harsh master with his lash they know so well; yet if once blood has touched their bristling jaws, their old, their latent
wills return; with deep roaring they remember their old selves; they loose their bands and free their necks, and their tamer is the
first torn by their cruel teeth, and his blood is poured out by their rage and wrath.
'If the bird who sings so lustily upon the high tree-top, be caught and caged, men may minister to him with dainty care, may
give him cups of liquid honey and feed him with all gentleness on plenteous food; yet if he fly to the roof of his cage and see the
shady trees he loves, he spurns with his foot the food they have put before him; the woods are all his sorrow calls for, for the
woods he sings with his sweet tones.
'The bough which has been downward thrust by force of strength to bend its top to
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earth, so soon as the pressing hand is gone, looks up again straight to the sky above.
'Phoebus sinks into the western waves, but by his unknown track he turns his car once more to his rising in the east.
'All things must find their own peculiar course again, and each rejoices in his own return. Not one can keep the order handed
down to it, unless in some way it unites its rising to its end, and so makes firm, immutable, its own encircling course.
'And you too, creatures of the earth, do dream of your first state, though with a dim idea. With whatsoever thinking it may be,
you look to that goal of happiness, though never so obscure your thoughts: thither, to true happiness, your natural course does
guide you, and from the same your various errors lead you. For I would have you consider whether men can reach the end they
have resolved upon, namely happiness, by these ways by which they think to attain thereto. If money and places of honour and
such-like do bring anything of that sort to a man who seems to lack no good thing, then let us acknowledge with them that men
do become happy by the possession of these things. But if they cannot perform their promises, and there is still lack of further
good things, surely it is plain that a false appearance of happiness is there discovered. You, therefore, who had lately abundant
riches, shall first answer me. With all that great wealth, was your mind never
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perturbed by torturing care arising from some sense of injustice? '
'Yes,' I said; ' I cannot remember that my mind was ever free from some such care.'
Was it not because something was lacking, which you missed, or because something was present to you which you did not
like to have? '
'Yes,' I answered.
'You desired, then, the presence of the one, and the absence of the other? '
'I acknowledge it.'
'Then,' said she,' such a man lacks what he desires.'
'He does.'
'But while a man lacks anything, can he possibly satisfy himself? '
'No,' said I.
'Then, while you were bountifully supplied with wealth, you felt that you did not satisfy yourself? '
'I did indeed.'
'Then,' said she,' wealth cannot prevent a man from lacking or make him satisfied. And this is what it apparently professed to
do. And this point too I feel is most important: money has in itself, by its own nature, nothing which can prevent its being carried
off from those, who possess it, against their will.'
'It has not,' I said.
'No, you cannot deny that any stronger man may any day snatch it from them. For how come about the quarrels of the
law-courts ? Is it not because people try to regain money that
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has been by force or by fraud taken from them? ' ' Yes,' I answered.
'Then,' said she,' a man will need to seek from the outside help to guard his own money.'
'That cannot be denied,' I said.
'And a man will not need that unless he possesses money which he can lose.'
'Undoubtedly he will not.'
'Then the argument turns round the other way,' she said.' The riches which were thought to make a man all-sufficient for
himself, do really put him in need of other people's help. Then how can need be separated from wealth? Do the rich never feel
hunger nor thirst? Do the limbs of moneyed men never feel the cold of winter? You will say, " Yes, but the rich have the
wherewithal to satisfy hunger and thirst, and drive away cold." But though riches may thus console wants, they cannot entirely
take them away. For, though these ever crying wants, these continual requests, are satisfied, yet there must exist that which is to
be satisfied. I need not say that nature is satisfied with little, greed is never satisfied. Wherefore, I ask you, if wealth cannot
remove want, and even creates its own wants, what reason is there that you should think it affords satisfaction to a man?
' Though the rich man with greed heap up from ever-flowing streams the wealth that cannot satisfy, though he deck himself
with pearls from the Red Sea's shore, and plough
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his fertile field with oxen by the score, yet gnawing care will never in his lifetime leave him, and at his death his wealth will not go
with him, but leave him faithlessly.'
'But,' I urged,' places of honour make the man, to whom they fall, honoured and venerated.'
'Ah! ' she answered,' have those offices their force in truth that they may instil virtues into the minds of those that hold them,
and drive out vices therefrom? And yet we are too well accustomed to see them making wickedness conspicuous rather than
avoiding it. Wherefore we are displeased to see such places often falling to the most wicked of men, so that Catullus called
Nonius "a diseased growth,"1 though he sat in the highest chair of office. Do you see how great a disgrace high honours can add
to evil men? Their unworthiness is less conspicuous if they are not made famous by honours. Could you yourself have been
induced by any dangers to think of being a colleague with Decoratus, 2 when you saw that he had the mind of an unscrupulous
buffoon, and a base informer? We cannot consider men worthy of veneration on account of their high places, when we hold
them to be unworthy of those
65:1 -- Probably Boethius makes a mistake in his interpretation of Catullus (Carm. 52), as Nonius's surname was very likely '
Struma ' (which also means a wen); in which case Catullus cannot at most have intended more to be understood than a play
upon the man's true name.
65:2 -- Decoratus was a minion of Theodoric.
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high places. But if you see a man endowed with wisdom, you cannot but consider him worthy of veneration, or at least of the
wisdom with which he is endowed. For such a man has the worth peculiar to virtue, which it transmits directly to those in whom
it is found. But since honours from the vulgar crowd cannot create merit, it is plain that they have not the peculiar beauty of this
worth. And here is a particular point to be noticed: if men are the more worthless as they are despised by more people, high
position makes them all the worse because it cannot make venerable those whom it shews to so many people to be
contemptible. And this brings its penalty with it: wicked people bring a like quality into their positions, and stain them with their
infection.
'Now I would have you consider the matter thus, that you may recognise that true veneration cannot be won through these
shadowy honours. If a man who had filled the office of consul many times in Rome, came by chance into a country of
barbarians, would his high position make him venerated by the barbarians? Yet if this were a natural quality in such dignities,
they would never lose their effective function in any land, just as fire is never aught but hot in all countries. But since they do not
receive this quality of veneration from any force peculiar to themselves, but only from a connexion in the untrustworthy opinions
of men, they become as nothing as soon as they are among those who do not consider these dignities as such.
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'But that is only in the case of foreign peoples. Among the very peoples where they had their beginnings, do these dignities
last for ever? Consider how great was the power in Rome of old of the office of Præfect: now it is an empty name and a heavy
burden upon the income of any man of Senator's rank.'The præfect then, who was commissioner of the corn-market, was held
to be a great man. Now there is no office more despised. For, as I said before, that which has no intrinsic beauty, sometimes
receives a certain glory, sometimes loses it, according to the opinion of those who are concerned with it. If then high offices
cannot make men venerated, if furthermore they grow vile by the infection of bad men, if changes of time can end their glory,
and, lastly, if they are held cheaply in the estimation of whole peoples, I ask you, so far from affording true beauty to men, what
beauty have they in themselves which men can desire?
'Though Nero decked himself proudly with purple of Tyre and snow-white gems, none the less that man of rage and luxury
lived ever hated of all. Yet would that evil man at times give his dishonoured offices to men who were revered. Who then could
count men blessed, who to such a villain owed their high estate?
'Can kingdoms and intimacies with kings make people powerful? " Certainly," some The may answer, " in so far as their
happiness is lasting." But antiquity and our times too are
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full of examples of the contrary; examples of men whose happiness as kings has been exchanged for disaster. What wonderful
power, which is found to be powerless even for its own preservation! But if this kingly power is really a source of happiness,
surely then, if it fail in any way, it lessens the happiness it brings, and equally causes unhappiness. However widely human
empires may extend, there must be still more nations left, over whom each king does not reign. And so, in whatever direction
this power ceases to make happy, thereby comes in powerlessness, which makes men unhappy; thus therefore there must be a
greater part of unhappiness in every king's estate. That tyrant 1 had learnt well the dangers of his lot, who likened the fear which
goes with kingship to the terror inspired by a sword ever hanging overhead. What then is such a power, which cannot drive
away the bite of cares, nor escape the stings of fear?
'Yet these all would willingly live without fear, but they cannot, and yet they boast of their power. Think you a man is
powerful when you see that he longs for that which he cannot bring to pass? Do you reckon a man powerful who walks abroad
with dignity and attended by servants? A man who strikes fear into his subjects, yet fears them more himself? Damocles, what it
was to be a tyrant, by setting him in his own seat at a sumptuous banquet,' but hung a sword above him by a hair.
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A man who must be at the mercy of those that serve him, in order that he may seem to have power?
'Need I speak of intimacies with kings when kingship itself is shewn to be full of weakness? Not only when kings' powers fall
are their friends laid low, but often even when their powers are intact. Nero compelled his friend and tutor, Seneca,l to choose
how he would die. Papinianus,2 for a long while a powerful courtier, was handed over to the soldiers' swords by the Emperor
Antoninus. Yet each of these was willing to surrender all his power. Seneca even tried to give up all his wealth to Nero, and to
seek retirement. But the very weight of their wealth and power dragged them down to ruin, and neither could do what he
wished.
'What then is that power, whose possessors fear it? in desiring to possess which, you are not safe, and from which you
cannot escape, even though you try to lay it down? What help are friends, made not by virtue but by fortune? The friend gained
by good fortune becomes an enemy in ill-fortune. And what plague can more effectually injure than an intimate enemy?
'The man who would true power gain, must needs subdue his own wild thoughts: never
69:1 -- Seneca, the philosopher and wise counsellor of Nero, was by him compelled to commit suicide, A.D. 65.
69:2 -- Papinianus, the greatest lawyer of his time, was put to death by the Emperor Antoninus Caracalla, A.D. 212.
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must he let his passions triumph and yoke his neck by their foul bonds. For though the earth, as far as India's shore, tremble
before the laws you give, though Thule bow to your service on earth's farthest bounds, yet if thou canst not drive away black
cares, if thou canst not put to flight complaints, then is no true power thine.
'How deceitful is fame often, and how base a thing it is! Justly did the tragic poet cry out,1 "O Fame, Fame, how many lives
of men Of naught hast thou puffed up! " For many men have got a great name from the false opinions of the crowd.-And what
could be baser than such a thing? For those who are falsely praised, must blush to hear their praises. And if they are justly won
by merits, what can they add to the pleasure of a wise man's conscience? For he measures his happiness not by popular talk,
but by the truth of his conscience. If it attracts a man to make his name widely known, he must equally think it a shame if it be
not made known. But I have already said that there must be yet more lands into which the renown of a single man can never
come; wherefore it follows that the man, whom you think famous, will seem to have no such fame in the next quarter of the
earth.
'Popular favour seems to me to be unworthy even of mention under this head, for it comes not by any judgment, and is never
constant.
70:1 -- Euriped, Andromache,.319-320.
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'Again, who can but see how empty a name, and how futile, is noble birth? For if its glory is due to renown, it belongs not to
the man. For the glory of noble birth seems to be praise for the merits of a man's forefathers. But if praise creates the renown, it
is the renowned who are praised. Wherefore, if you have no renown of your own, that of others cannot glorify you. But if there
is any good in noble birth, I conceive it to be this, and this alone, that the highborn seem to be bound in honour not to show any
degeneracy from their fathers' virtue.
'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,
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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
72:1 -- Referring to lines in the Andromache (419-420), where Euripides says: 'The man who complains that he has no children
suffers less than he who has them, and is blest in his misfortune.'
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what great evils they are bound up. Would you heap up money? You will need to tear it from its owner. Would you seem
brilliant by the glory of great honours? You must kneel before their dispenser, and in your desire to surpass other men in
honour, you must debase yourself by setting aside all pride. Do you long for power? You will be subject to the wiles of all over
whom you have power, you will be at the mercy of many dangers. You seek fame? You will be drawn to and fro among rough
paths, and lose all freedom from care. Would you spend a life of pleasure? Who would not despise and cast off such servitude
to so vile and brittle a thing as your body? How petty are all the aims of those who put before themselves the pleasures of the
body, how uncertain is the possession of such? In bodily size will you ever surpass the elephant? In strength will you ever lead
the bull, or in speed the tiger? Look upon the expanse of heaven, the strength with which it stands, the rapidity with which it
moves, and cease for a while to wonder at base things. This heaven is not more wonderful for those things than for the design
which guides it. How sweeping is the brightness of outward form, how swift its movement, yet more fleeting than the passing of
the flowers of spring. But if, as Aristotle says, many could use the eyes of lynxes to see through that which meets the eye, then if
they saw into the organs within, would not that body,
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though it had the most fair outside of Alcibiades,1 seem most vile within? Wherefore it is not your own nature, but the weakness
of the eyes of them that see you, which makes you seem beautiful. But consider how in excess you desire the pleasures of the
body, when you know that howsoever you admire it, it can be reduced to nothing by a three-days' fever. To put all these points
then in a word: these things cannot grant the good which they promise; they are not made perfect by the union of all good things
in them; they do not lead to happiness as a path thither; they do not make men blessed.2
'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
74:1 -- Alcibiades was the most handsome and brilliantly fascinating of all the public men of Athens in her most brilliant period.
74:2 -- Compare Philosophy's first words about the highest good, p. 58.
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above the star-lit heavens. What can I call down upon them worthy of their stubborn folly? They go about in search of wealth
and honours; and only when they have by labours vast stored up deception for themselves, do they at last know what is their
true good.
'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.
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'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
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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.'
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'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? '
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'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
79:1 -- Plato, Timoeus, 27 C. (ch. v.) -- ' All those who have even the least share of moderation, on undertaking any
enterprise, small or great, always call upon God at the beginning.
79:2 -- This hymn is replete with the highest development of Plato's theory of ideas, as expressed in the Timoeus, and his
theory of the ideal good being the moving spirit of the material world. Compare also the speculative portion of Virgil, Æneid, vi.
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everlasting law, founder of earth and heaven alike, who hast bidden time stand forth from out Eternity, for ever firm Thyself, yet
giving movement unto all. No causes were without Thee which could thence impel Thee to create this mass of changing matter,
but within Thyself exists the very idea of perfect good, which grudges naught, for of what can it have envy? Thou makest all
things follow that high pattern. In perfect beauty Thou movest in Thy mind a world of beauty, making all in a like image, and
bidding the perfect whole to complete its perfect functions. All the first principles of nature Thou dost bind together by perfect
orders as of numbers, so that they may be balanced each with its opposite: cold with heat, and dry with moist together; thus fire
may not fly upward too swiftly because too purely, nor may the weight of the solid earth drag it down and overwhelm it. Thou
dost make the soul as a third between mind and material bodies: to these the soul gives life and movement, for Thou dost
spread it abroad among the members of the universe, now working in accord. 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
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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,
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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
82:1 -- This reasoning hangs upon Plato's theory of ideas and so is the opposite of the theory of evolution.
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good, it must be that true happiness is situated in His Divinity.'
'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
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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
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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.
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'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
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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
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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
88:1 -- The modern Sarabat, in Asia Minor, formerly auriferous.
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when they are gathered together, as it were, into one form and one operation, so that complete satisfaction, power, veneration,
renown, and pleasure are all the same, then they become the true good. Unless they are all one and the same, they have no
claim to be reckoned among the true objects of men's desires.'
'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,
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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,
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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
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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
92:1 -- Boethius is possibly thinking here of passages in Plato's Republic, Bk. iv. (439-441) where Socrates points out the
frequent opposition of reason and instinct.
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this away, and none will have any chance of continued existence.'
'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
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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.
94:1 -- Plato's doctrine of remembrance is chiefly treated of in his Phædo and Meno.
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'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
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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
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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
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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
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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
99:1 -- This is a verse from the poems in which Parmenides embodied his philosophy: this was the doctrine of the unity which
must have been in Boethius's mind above. Parmenides, the founder of the Eleatic school (495 B.C.) was perhaps, considering
his early date, the greatest and most original of Greek philosophers. Boethius probably did not make a clear distinction between
the philosopher's own poems and the views expressed in Plato's Parmenides.
99:2 -- Plato in the Timoeus says,' The language must also be akin to the subjects of which its words are the interpreters' --
-(29 B.).
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the chains of matter and of earth. The singer of Thrace in olden time lamented his dead wife: by his tearful strains he made the
trees to follow him, and bound the flowing streams to stay: for him the hind would fearlessly go side by side with fiercest lions,
and the hare would look upon the hound, nor be afraid, for he was gentle under the song's sway. But when the hotter flame
burnt up his inmost soul, even the strains, which had subdued all other things, could not soothe their own lord's mind.
Complaining of the hard hearts of the gods above, he dared approach the realms below. There he tuned his songs to soothing
tones, and sang the lays he had drawn from his mother's1 fount of excellence. His unrestrained grief did give him power, his love
redoubled his grief's power: his mourning moved the depths of hell. With gentlest prayers he prayed to the lords of the shades
for grace. The three-headed porter2 was taken captive with amazement at his fresh songs. The avenging goddesses,3 who haunt
with fear the guilty, poured out sad tears. Ixion's4 wheel no longer swiftly turned. Tantalus,5 so long abandoned unto thirst,
could
100:1 -- Orpheus's mother was the Muse Calliope, mistress of the Castalian fount.
100:2 -- The dog Cerberus.
100:3 -- The Furies.
100:4 -- Ixion for his crimes was bound upon a rolling wheel
100:5 -- Tantalus for his crimes was condemned to perpetual hunger and thirst though surrounded by fruits and water which
ever eluded his grasp.
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then despise the flowing stream. The vulture, satisfied by his strains, tore not awhile at Tityos's1 heart. At last the lord of the
shades2 in pity cried: "We are conquered; take your bride with you, bought by your song; but one condition binds our gift: till
she has left these dark abodes, turn not your eyes upon her." Who shall set a law to lovers? Love is a greater law unto itself.
Alack! at the very bounds of darkness Orpheus looked upon his Eurydice; looked, and lost her, and was lost himself.
'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.'
101:1 -- Tityos for his crimes was for ever fastened to the ground while a vulture devoured his entrails.
101:2 -- Pluto.
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Book 4
BOOK IV
THUS gently sang the Lady Philosophy with dignified mien and grave countenance; and when she ceased, I, who had not
thoroughly forgotten the grief within me, interrupted her as she was about to speak further.' Herald of true light,' I said,' right
clear have been the outpourings of your speech till now, seeming inspired as one contemplates them, and invincible through
your reasonings. And though through grief for the injustices I suffer, I had forgotten them, yet you have not spoken of They
what I knew not at all before. But this one thing is the chief cause of my grief, namely that, when there exists a good governor of
the world, evils should exist at all, or, existing, should go unpunished. I would have you think how strange is this fact alone. But
there is an even stranger attached thereto: ill-doing reigns and flourishes, while virtue not only lacks its reward, but is even
trampled underfoot by wicked doers, and pays the penalties instead of crime. Who can wonder and complain enough that such
things should happen under the rule of One who, while all-knowing and all-powerful, wills good alone? '
Then she answered: ' Yes, it would be most terrible, monstrous, and infinitely amazing if
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it were as you think. It would be as though in a well-ordered house of a good master, the vilest vessels were cared for while the
precious were left defiled. But it is not so. If our former conclusions are unshaken, God Himself, of whose government we
speak, will teach you that the good are always powerful, the evil are always the lowest and weakest; vice never goes
unpunished; virtue never goes without its own reward; happiness comes to the good, misfortune to the wicked: and when your
complaints are set at rest, many such things would most firmly strengthen you in this opinion. You have seen now from my
teaching the form of true happiness; you know now its place: let us go quickly through all that must be lightly passed over, and
let me shew you the road which shall lead you to your home. I will give wings to your mind, by which it shall raise itself aloft: so
shall disquiet be driven away, and you may return safe to your home by my guidance, by the path I shall shew you, even by
myself carrying you thither.
'Yea, airy wings are mine to scale the heights of heaven; when these the mind has donned, swiftly she loathes and spurns this
earth. She soars above the sphere of this vast atmosphere, sees the clouds behind her far; she passes high above the topmost
fires which seethe above the feverish turmoil of the air,1 until she rises
103:1 -- This and some of the following lines allude to some of the theories of the early Physicists.
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to the stars' own home, and joins her path unto the sun's; or accompanies on her path the cold and ancient Saturn, maybe as
the shining warrior Mars; or she may take her course through the circle of every star that decks the night. And when she has
had her fill of journeying, then may she leave the sky and tread the outer plane of the swift moving air, as mistress of the awful
light. Here holds the King of kings His sway, and guides the reins of the universe, and Himself unmoved He drives His winged
chariot, the bright disposer of the world. And if this path brings thee again hither, the path that now thy memory seeks to recall,
I tell thee, thou shalt say, " This is my home, hence was I derived, here shall I stay my course." But if thou choose to look back
upon the earthly night behind thee, thou shalt see as exiles from light the tyrants whose grimness made wretched peoples so to
fear.'
'Wondrous,' I cried; 'what vast things do you promise! and I doubt not that you can fulfil them. I only beg that you will not
hold me back with delays, now that you have excited me thus far.'
'First, then, you must learn that power is never lacking to the good, while the wicked are devoid of all strength. The proofs of
these two statements hang upon each other. For good and bad are opposites, and therefore, if it is allowed that good is
powerful, the weakness
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of evil is manifest: if the weakness and uncertainty of evil is made plain, the strength and sureness of good is proved. To gain
more full credit for my opinion, I will go on to make my argument sure by first the one, then the other of the two paths, side by
side.
'It is allowed that there are two things upon which depend the entire operation of human actions: they are will and power. For
if the will be wanting, a man does not even attempt that which he has no desire to perform; if the power be wanting, the will is
exercised in vain. Wherefore, if you see a man wish for that which he will in no wise gain, you cannot doubt that he lacks the
power to attain that which he wishes.'
'That is plain beyond doubt.'
'And if you see a man gain that which he wishes, can you doubt that he has the power? '
'No.'
'But wherein a man has power, he is strong; wherein he has not power, he must be counted weak? '
'Yes.'
'Do you remember that we agreed from our earlier reasonings, that the instinct of all human will, though acted upon by
different aims, does lead with eagerness towards happiness? '
'Yes,' said I,' I remember that that too was proved.'
'Do you remember that happiness is the absolute good, and that the good is desired of all, when in that manner happiness is
sought? '
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'I need not recall that,' I said,' since it is present fixedly in my memory.'
'Then all men, good and bad alike, seek to arrive at the good by no different instincts? '
'Yes, that follows necessarily.'
'But it is certain that the good become so by the attainment of good? '
'Yes.'
'Then the good attain that which they wish? '
'Yes,' said I,' it seems so.'
'But if evil men attain the good they seek, they cannot be evil? '
'No.'
'Since, then, both classes seek the good, which the good attain, but the evil attain not, it is plain that the good are powerful,
while the evil are weak? '
'If any doubt that, he cannot judge by the nature of the world, nor by the sequence of arguments.'
Again she said,' If there are two persons before whom the same object is put by natural instinct, and one person carries his
object through, working by his natural functions, but the other cannot put his natural instinct into practice, but using some
function unsuitable to nature he can imitate the successful person, but not fulfil his original purpose, in this case, which of the two
do you decide to be the more capable? '
'I think I guess what you mean, but I would hear more explicitly.'
'You will not, I think, deny that the motion of walking is a natural one to mankind? '
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'No, I will not.'
'And is not that the natural function of the feet? '
'Yes.'
'If, then, one man walks, being able to advance upon his feet, while another, who lacks the natural function of feet, uses his
hands and so tries to walk, which of these two may justly be held the more capable? '
'Weave me other riddles I ' I exclaimed, ' for can any one doubt that a man who enjoys his natural functions, is more capable
than one who is incapable in that respect? '
'But in the case of the highest good,' she said,' it is equally the purpose set before good and bad men; good men seek it by
the natural functions of virtue, while bad men seek to attain the same through their cupidity, which is not a natural function for
the attainment of good. Think you not so? '
'I do indeed,' said I; ' this is plain, as also is the deduction which follows. For it must be, from what I have already allowed,
that the good are powerful, the wicked weak.'
'Your anticipation is right; and as doctors are wont to hope, it shews a lively nature now fit to withstand disease. But I see
that you are very ready in understanding, and I will multiply my arguments one upon another. See how great is the weakness of
these wicked men who cannot even attain that to which their natural instinct leads them, nay, almost drives them. And further,
how if they are deprived of this
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great, this almost invincible, aid of a natural instinct to follow? Think what a powerlessness possesses these men. They are no
light objects which they seek; they seek no objects in sport, objects which it is impossible that they should achieve. They fail in
the very highest of all things, the crown of all, and in this they find none of the success for which they labour day and night in
wretchedness. But herein the strength of good men is conspicuous. If a man could advance on foot till he arrived at an utmost
point beyond which there was no path for further advance, you would think him most capable of walking: equally so, if a man
grasps the very end and aim of his search, you must think him most capable. Wherefore also the contrary is true; that evil men
are similarly deprived of all strength. For why do they leave virtue and follow after vice? Is it from ignorance of good? Surely
not, for what is weaker or less compelling than the blindness of ignorance? Do they know what they ought to follow, and are
they thrown from the straight road by passions? Then they must be weak too in self-control if they cannot struggle with their evil
passions. But they lose thus not only power, but existence all together. For those who abandon the common end of all who
exist, must equally cease to exist. And this may seem strange, that we should say that evil men, though the majority of mankind,
do not exist at all; but it is so. For while I do not deny that evil men are evil, I do deny that they " are,"
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in the sense of absolute existence. You may say, for instance, that a corpse is a dead man, but you cannot call it a man. In a like
manner, though I grant that wicked men are bad, I cannot allow that they are men at all, as regards absolute being. A thing
exists which keeps its proper place and preserves its nature; but when anything falls away from its nature, its existence too
ceases, for that lies in its nature. You will say, " Evil men are capable of evil ": and that I would not deny. But this very power of
theirs comes not from strength, but from weakness. They are capable of evil; but this evil would have no efficacy if it could have
stayed under the operation of good men. And this very power of ill shews the more plainly that their power is naught. For if, as
we have agreed, evil is nothing, then, since they are only capable of evil, they are capable of nothing '
'That is quite plain.'
'I would have you understand what is this strength of power. We have a little while ago laid down that nothing is more
powerful than the highest good? '
'Yes,' I said.
'But the highest good can do no evil? '
'No.'
'Is there any one who thinks that men are all-powerful? '
'No one,' I said,' unless he be mad.'
'And yet those same men can do evil.' Would to heaven they could not! ' I cried. ' Then a powerful man is capable only of all
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good; but even those who are capable of evil, are not capable of all: so it is plain that those who are capable of evil, are
capable of less. Further, we have shewn that all power is to be counted among objects of desire, and all objects of desire have
their relation to the good, as to the coping-stone of their nature. But the power of committing crime has no possible relation to
the good. Therefore it is not an object of desire. Yet, as we said, all power is to be desired. Therefore the power of doing evil
is no power at all. For all these reasons the power of good men and the weakness of evil men is apparent. So Plato's opinion1
is plain that " the wise alone are able to do what they desire, but unscrupulous men can only labour at what they like, they
cannot fulfil their real desires." They do what they like so long as they think that they will gain through their pleasures the good
which they desire; but they do not gain it, since nothing evil ever reaches happiness.
'Kings you may see sitting aloft upon their thrones, gleaming with purple, hedged about with grim guarding weapons,
threatening with
110:1 -- From Plato's Gorgias (466). Boethius in this and several other passages in this book has the Gorgias in mind; for
Plato there discusses the strength and happiness of good men, and the impotence and unhappiness of bad men. Socrates is also
there represented as proving that the unjust man is happier punished than unpunished, as Boethius does below.
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fierce glances, and their hearts heaving with passion. If any man take from these proud ones their outward covering of empty
honour, he will see within, will see that these great ones bear secret chains. For the heart of one is thus filled by lust with the
poisons of greed, or seething rage lifts up its waves and lashes his mind therewith: or gloomy grief holds them weary captives,
or by slippery hopes they are tortured. So when you see one head thus labouring beneath so many tyrants, you know he cannot
do as he would, for by hard task-masters is the master himself oppressed.
'Do you see then in what a slough crimes are involved, and with what glory honesty shines forth? It is plain from this that
reward is never lacking to good deeds, nor punishment to crime. We may justly say that the reward of every act which is
performed is the object for which it is performed. For instance, on the racecourse the crown for which the runner strives is his
reward. But we have shewn that happiness is the identical good for the sake of which all actions are performed. Therefore the
absolute good is the reward put before all human actions. But good men cannot be deprived of this. And further, a man who
lacks good cannot justly be described as a good man; wherefore we may say that good habits pever miss their rewards. Let the
wicked rage never so wildly, the wise man's crown shall never fail nor wither. And the
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wickedness of bad men can never take away from good men the glory which belongs to them. Whereas if a good man rejoiced
in a glory which he received from outside, then could another, or even he, may be, who granted it, carry it away. But since
honesty grants to every good man its own rewards, he will only lack his reward when he ceases to be good. And lastly, since
every reward is sought for the reason that it is held to be good, who shall say that the man, who possesses goodness, does not
receive his reward? And what reward is this? Surely the fairest and greatest of all. Remember that corollary1 which I
emphasised when speaking to you a little while ago; and reason thus therefrom. While happiness is the absolute good, it is plain
that all good men become good by virtue of the very fact that they are good. But we agreed that happy men are as gods.
Therefore this is the reward of the good, which no time can wear out, no power can lessen, no wickedness can darken; they
become divine. In this case, then, no wise man can doubt of the inevitable punishment of the wicked as well. For good and evil
are so set, differing from each other just as reward and punishment are in opposition to each other: hence the rewards, which
we see fall to the good, must correspond precisely to the punishments of the evil on the other side. As, therefore, honesty is
itself the reward of the honest, so wickedness is itself the punishment
112:1 -- P.84.
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of the wicked. Now whosoever suffers punishment, doubts not that he is suffering an evil: if, then, they are ready so to judge of
themselves, can they think that they do not receive punishment, considering that they are not only affected but thoroughly
permeated by wickedness, the worst of all evils?
'Then, from the other point of view of the good, see what a punishment ever goes with the wicked. You have learnt a little
while past that all that exists is one, and that the good itself is one; it follows therefrom that all that exists must appear to be
good. In this way, therefore, all that falls away from the good, ceases also to exist, wherefore evil men cease to be what they
were. The form of their human bodies still proves that they have been � men; wherefore they must have lost their human nature
when they turned to evil-doing. But as goodness alone can lead men forward beyond their humanity, so evil of necessity will
thrust down below the honourable estate of humanity those whom it casts down from their first position. The result is that you
cannot hold him to be a man who has been, so to say, transformed by his vices. If a violent man and a robber burns with greed
of other men's possessions, you say he is like a wolf. Another fierce man is always working his restless tongue at lawsuits, and
you will compare him to a hound. Does another delight to spring upon men from ambushes with hidden guile? He is as a fox.
Does one man roar and not restrain
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his rage? He would be reckoned as having the heart of a lion. Does another flee and tremble in terror where there is no cause
of fear? He would be held to be as deer. If another is dull and lazy, does he not live the life of an ass? One whose aims are
inconstant and ever changed at his whims, is in no wise different from the birds. If another is in a slough of foul and filthy lusts,
he is kept down by the lusts of an unclean swine. Thus then a man who loses his goodness, ceases to be a man, and since he
cannot change his condition for that of a god, he turns into a beast.
'The east wind wafted the sails which carried on the wandering ships of Ithaca's king to the island where dwelt the fair
goddess Circe, the sun's own daughter. There for her new guests she mingled cups bewitched by charms. Her hand, well
skilled in use of herbs, changed these guests to different forms. One bears the face of a boar; another grows like to an African
lion with fangs and claws; this one becomes as a wolf, and when he thinks to weep, he howls; that one is an Indian tiger, though
he walks all harmless round about the dwelling-place. The leader alone, Ulysses, though beset by so many dangers, was saved
from the goddess's bane by the pity of the winged god, Mercury. But the sailors had drunk of her cups, and now had turned
from food of corn to husks and acorns, food of swine. Naught is left the same, speech and form are gone; only the mind
remains
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unchanged, to bewail their unnatural sufferings.
'How weak was that hand, how powerless those magic herbs which could change the limbs but not the heart! Within lies the
strength of men, hidden in deep security. Stronger are those dread poisons which can drag a man out of himself, which work
their way within: they hurt not the body, but on the mind their rage inflicts a grievous wound.'1
Then I answered: 'I confess that I think it is justly said that vicious men keep only the outward bodily form of their humanity,
and, in the attributes of their souls, are changed to beasts. But I would never have allowed them willingly the power to rage in
the ruin of good men through their fierce and wicked intentions.'
'They have not that power,' said she,' as I will shew you at a convenient time. But if this very power, which you believe is
allowed to them, were taken from them, the punishment of vicious men would be to a great extent lightened. For, though some
may scarcely believe it, evil men must be more unhappy when they carry out their ill desires than when they cannot fulfil them.
For if it is pitiable to have wished bad things, it is more pitiable to have had the power to perform them, without which power
the performance of this pitiable will would never have effect. Thus, when you
115:1 -- Cf. St. Matthew x. 28.
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see men with the will and the power to commit a crime, and you see them perform it, they must be the victims of a threefold
misfortune, since each of those three things brings its own misery.
'Yes,' said I,' I agree; but I do wish from my heart that they may speedily be rid of one of these misfortunes, being deprived
of this power of doing evil.'
'They will be rid of it,' she said,' more speedily even than you wish perhaps, and sooner than they think they will be rid
thereof. There is in the short course of life naught which is so long coming that an immortal mind can think it has long to wait for
it. Many a time are their high hopes and great plans for evil-doing cut short by a sudden and unlooked-for end. This indeed it is
that sets a limit to their misery. For if wickedness makes a man miserable, the longer he is wicked, the more miserable must he
be; and I should hold them most miserable of all, if not even death at last put an end to their evil-doing. If we have reached true
conclusions concerning the unhappiness of depravity, the misery, which is said to be eternal, can have no limit.'
'That is a strange conclusion and hard to accept. But I see that it is suited too well by what we have agreed upon earlier.'
'You are right,' she said; ' but when one finds it hard to agree with a conclusion, one ought in fairness to point out some fault
in the argument which has preceded, or shew that
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the sequence of statements is not so joined together as to effectively lead to the conclusion; otherwise, if the premises are
granted, it is not just to cavil at the inference. This too, which I am about to say, may not seem less strange, but it follows
equally from what has been taken as fact.'
'What is that? ' I asked.
'That wicked men are happier when they pay the penalty for their wickedness than when they receive no penalty at the hands
of justice.1 I am not going to urge what may occur to any one, namely, that depraved habits are corrected by penalties, and
drawn towards the right by fear of punishment, and that an example is hereby given to others to avoid all that deserves blame.
But I think that the wicked who are not punished are in another way the more unhappy, without regard to the corrective quality
of punishment, nor its value as an example.'
'And what way is there other than these?'
'We have allowed, have we not,' she said, 'that the good are happy, but the bad are miserable .
'Yes.'
'Then if any good be added to the misery of any evil man, is he not happier than the man whose miserable state is purely and
simply miserable without any good at all mingled therewith?'
'I suppose so.'
117:1 -- Plato, Gorgias, 472 and ff.
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'What if some further evil beyond those by which a man, who lacked all good things, were made miserable, were added to
his miseries? Should not he be reckoned far more unhappy than the man whose misfortune was lightened by a share in some
good? '
'Of course it is so.'
'Therefore,' she said,' the wicked when punished have something good added to their lot, to wit, their punishment, which is
good by reason of its quality of justice; and they also, when unpunished, have something of further evil, their very impunity,
which you have allowed to be an evil, by reason of its injustice.'
'I cannot deny that,' said I.
'Then the wicked are far more unhappy when they are unjustly unpunished, than when they are justly punished. It is plain that
it is just that the wicked should be punished, and unfair that they should escape punishment.'
'No one will gainsay you.'
'But no one will deny this either, that all which is just is good; and on the other part, all that is unjust is evil.'
Then I said: 'The arguments which we have accepted bring us to that conclusion. But tell me, do you leave no punishment of
the soul to follow after the death of the body?'
'Yes,' she answered,' heavy punishments, of which some, I think, are effected by bitter penalties, others by a cleansing
mercy.1 But
118:1 -- It must not be supposed from the words ' cleansing mercy ' (purgatoria clementia) that Boethius held the same views
as were held by the Church later concerning purgatory, and as are now taught by the Roman Catholic Church. It is true that St.
Augustine had in 407 A.D. hinted at the existence of such a state, but it was not dogmatically inculcated till 604, in the Papacy
of Gregory the Great.
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it is not my intention to discuss these now. My object has been to bring you to know that the power of evil men, which seems
to you so unworthy, is in truth nothing; and that you may see that those wicked men, of whose impunity you complained, do
never miss the reward of their ill-doing; and that you may learn that their passion, which you prayed might soon be cut short, is
not long-enduring, and that the longer it lasts, the more unhappiness it brings, and that it would be most unhappy if it endured
for ever. Further, I have tried to shew you that the wicked are more to be pitied if they escape with unjust impunity, than if they
are punished by just retribution. And it follows upon this fact that they will be undergoing heavier penalties when they are
thought to be unpunished.'
'When I hear your arguments, I feel sure that they are true as possible. But if I turn to human opinions, I ask what man would
not think them not only incredible, but even unthinkable? '
'Yes,' she said,' for men cannot raise to the transparent light of truth their eyes which have been accustomed to darkness.
They are like those birds whose sight is clear at night, but blinded by daylight. So long as they look not
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upon the true course of nature, but upon their own feelings, they think that the freedom of passion and the impunity of crime are
happy things. Think upon the sacred ordinances of eternal law. If your mind is fashioned after better things, there is no need of a
judge to award a prize; you have added yourself to the number of the more excellent. If your mind sinks to worse things, seek
no avenger from without: you have thrust yourself downward to lower things. It is as though you were looking at the squalid
earth and the heavens in turn; then take away all that is about you; and by the power of sight, you will seem to be in the midst
now of mud, now of stars. But mankind looks not to such things. What then shall we do? Shall we join ourselves to those
whom we have shewn to be as beasts? If a man lost utterly his sight, and even forgot that he had ever seen, so that he thought
he lacked naught of human perfection, should we think that such a blind one can see as we do? Most people would not even
allow another point, which rests no less firmly upon strong reasons, namely, that those who do an injury are more unhappy than
those who suffer one.'1
'I would hear those strong reasons,' I said.
'You do not deny that every wicked man deserves punishment? '
'No.'
'It is plain for many reasons that the wicked are unhappy? '
120:1 Plato, Gorgias, 474 and ff.
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'Yes.'
'Then you doubt not that those who are worthy of punishment are miserable? '
'No, I agree.'
'If then you were sitting as a judge, upon which would you consider punishment should fall -- the man who did the injury, or
the man who suffered it? '
'I have no hesitation in saying that I would make amends to the sufferer at the expense of the doer of the injustice.'
'Then the doer of the injustice would seem to you more miserable than the sufferer? '
'That follows.'
'Then from this,' said she,' and other causes which rest upon the same foundation, it is plain that, since baseness makes men
more miserable by its own nature, the misery is brought not to the sufferer of an injustice, but to the doer thereof. But the
speakers in law-courts take the opposite course: they try to excite the pity of the judges for those who have suffered any heavy
or bitter wrong; but more justly their pity would be due to those who have committed the wrong. These guilty men ought to be
brought, by accusers kindly rather than angry, to justice, as patients to a doctor, that their disease of crime may be checked by
punishment. Under such an arrangement the occupation of advocates for defence would either come to a complete stand-still,
or if it seemed more to the advantage of mankind, it might turn to the work of prosecution.
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And if the wicked too themselves might by some device look on virtue left behind them, and if they could see that they would
lay aside the squalor of vice by the pain of punishment, and that they would gain the compensation of achieving virtue again,
they would no longer hold it punishment, but would refuse the aid of advocates for their defence, and would intrust themselves
unreservedly to their accusers and their judges. In this way there would be no place left for hatred among wise men. For who
but the most foolish would hate good men? And there is no cause to hate bad men. Vice is as a disease of the mind, just as
feebleness shews ill-health in the body. As, then, we should never think that those, who are sick in the body, deserve hatred, so
are those, whose minds are oppressed by a fiercer disease than feebleness, namely wickedness, much more worthy of pity than
of persecution.
'To what good end do men their passions raise, even to drag from fate their deaths by their own hands? If ye seek death, she
is surely nigh of her own will; and her winged horses she will not delay. Serpents and lions, bears, tigers and boars, all seek
your lives with their fangs, yet do ye seek them with swords? Is it because your manners are so wide in variance that men raise
up unjust battles and savage wars, and seek to perish by each other's darts? Such is no just reason for this cruelty.
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Wouldst thou apportion merit to merit fitly? Then love good men as is their due, and for the evil shew your pity.'
Then said I,' I see how happiness and misery lie inseparably in the deserts of good and bad men. But I am s