. . . “How often have I withstood
Conigastus to his face, whenever he has attacked a weak man's fortune! How
often have I turned by force Trigulla, 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 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, so 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 defamed, at
any rate for the baseness of the defamers?” . . .
—from
Book 1, Prose 4
Boethius
is suddenly quite talkative, and I can hardly blame him. He is a man with a
powerful conscience, and it rips him apart to see the unjust have their way. He
is also a man who has been deeply hurt, and this is an expression of his pain.
He is most certainly following Lady Philosophy’s advice to lay bare his wound.
As
difficult as it is for me, I try not to assume that Boethius is necessarily
thinking in the same way that I think, but I feel like I have been in much the
same place he describes. My own experiences have never been as grand in their
scale, but they have certainly been as deep in their sorrow. I often find it
very hard to distinguish between an anger that is righteous, and an anger that
is nothing more than spite and resentment. My great-grandfather once told me
that there was a great difference between being right and being full of piss
and vinegar.
Boethius
is rightly concerned about two rather terrifying things in this world: that bad
people succeed in their efforts, and that good people suffer so greatly as a
consequence.
If I
look back through the years, I see much the same thing, not simply as an
occasional aberration, but as a fairly consistent pattern. Far too many of the
most decent, loving, and principled people I have known seemingly ended up with
no reward for their values. Far too many of the most deceptive, selfish, and
manipulative people I have known are now at the top of the heap, looking down
at the rest of us with smug satisfaction.
This is
all the more frustrating when I know full well what someone is up to, but he is
clever enough to also know that he has covered his tracks with impeccable care,
and that there is no way I could ever expose his misdeeds, or call him to
justice. It isn’t just that evil triumphs over good, but also that manipulation
triumphs over truth.
I am
sure that every person who has ever loved what is right and good has had his
own versions of Conigastus, Trigulla, Cyprian, Basilius, Opilio, or Gaudentius.
Many of the same kind of people are still running our businesses, our schools,
our courts, or our government. The names change, but the abuses just seem to
stay the same.
I taught
for a number of years at a small Catholic, Liberal Arts college, where the
opportunity to help students think for themselves would keep me going, but the
abuses of a grossly corrupt administration would drive me to tears.
It
became all the more unbearable when I slowly learned that one of our priests
was sexually abusing our female students. I pursued every option I could, more
carefully at first, and more firmly as the matter progressed, but I was met
only with other priests making excuses for the crimes, a faculty concerned only
with their own careers, and a Board of Directors that looked the other way. A scandal
would hardly help their prestige and profit.
One day,
I saw, with my own eyes, that very priest with his hands on the parts of a girl
where they should most certainly not have been. I lay awake all night, knowing
that I could do the right thing, and lose my job. Or I could keep my job, and
live with my guilt as an accessory.
If I am
given the time and patience to reflect, I know I ended up doing the right
thing. At the same time, I ended up losing everything I loved doing in this
life. I will most likely never teach again, because nobody likes a snitch,
especially not in academia, where personal pride trumps moral principles most
every time.
I felt
disgusted by the wrong that had been done, but I then also felt the deepest
despair with the consequences I had to face. How could this be right? The
priest continues in his usual ways, the cock of the walk, no pun intended at
all, and the faculty and administrators who enabled him continue to go from
strength to strength.
I was
called a troublemaker, a liar, and a traitor. Students I loved and respected told
me I would go to Hell for criticizing the Church. Colleagues I thought were
friends were suddenly nowhere to be found.
Once
again, my experience is hardly very grand, but it is still very deep in its
sorrow.
There
are moments, when like Boethius, I feel that there is no justice in this world.
There only seems to be power and its many abuses. I even begin to speculate
that if there is indeed a God, He perhaps finds some perverse satisfaction in
watching decency get stepped on. In the immortal words of Depeche Mode:
I don’t want to start any
blasphemous rumors
But I think that God’s got a sick
sense of humor
And when I die
I expect to find Him laughing
I once
had a rather abrasive friend who told me it could be worse: “Why assume He
cares at all? Instead of laughing, he may just ignore you completely, just like
everyone else does.”
I know
very well that this is not the answer, but the temptation to surrender to
despair is mightily strong.
So when
Boethius has his litany of offenders, and his list of wrongs, I get it
completely.
I’ve been
there.
Written in 8/2016
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