Boethius, The Consolation 1.5

“Ah me! How blunted grows the mind

when sunk below the overwhelming 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 cause that 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.”

—from Book 1, Verse 2

I was born into a family deeply committed to the love of wisdom, and despite our missteps and blunders, to the practice of virtue. I was never nearly as gifted or insightful as Boethius was, of course, but I had been offered all the tools I needed to be a thoughtful man, and to be a good man. I never needed to look any further than the example of my own kin to follow the right path.

I was certainly always curious to understand how anything and everything worked, from a vacuum cleaner to the source of law, from a nuclear reactor to Divine Providence, and when all the other pieces were set up comfortably, my interest was insatiable. But there was the rub. When things that were immediate threatened me, I quite quickly lost track of what was ultimate. I simmered, I stewed, and I spat all sorts of nastiness and doom.

As long there was nothing dragging me down, I rose to great heights. Once a burden was added, however, I flopped back to the ground. I suspect Lady Philosophy is describing something similar about Boethius’ own struggle. Reason was brilliant when all seemed right, but it darkened as soon as all seemed wrong.

It is fairly easy to dedicate myself to thinking, when thinking is abstracted from living. Intellectual pursuits are quite satisfying, as long as they serve to satisfy the profit of my comfort and convenience.

But what am I to do when the world doesn’t go the way I want it to go? Was my commitment to wisdom a waste of time?

This would actually be the best time to put that wisdom to use. The secrets of Nature are never more needed than at such a time.

Then why do they appear to fall away, and why am I suddenly feeling lost and hopeless?

Written in 4/2015