Boethius, The Consolation 1.14

. . . “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