Boethius, The Consolation 1.22

While I grieved so in long-drawn pratings, Philosophy looked on with a calm countenance, not one whit moved by my complaints.

Then she said, “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 there 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 there, may lawfully be put forth? For there is no fear that any man should merit exile, if he is 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.” . . .

—from Book 1, Prose 5

Lady Philosophy may have underestimated the degree of Boethius’ grief, but she is certain she is not mistaken about its root cause. He is convinced that because wrong has been done to him, he has been exiled from happiness. No, she insists, only you can exile yourself from your own happiness.

As soon as Boethius casts blame, Philosophy asks him to reconsider the very measure of blame. As soon as Boethius has finished expressing all of his worries, Philosophy tells him that they are not his true worries at all.

I have often looked at happiness as something precarious, something that others could snatch away at any moment. I have also had those times where I was certain it had already been taken from me, and wondered how I could somehow win it back. The assumption, of course, is that what has been given, can just as readily be taken away. But who is it that does the giving and the taking?

Given how much time and effort we put into thinking about ourselves, it’s quite odd that it never occurs to us that we are the masters of our own happiness. It seems so apparent that we expect to receive the blessings of life from outside of us, without thinking that we can provide it for ourselves.

Lady Philosophy here introduces a central argument to the entire text. We can’t be exiled from something that is ours to give and take. If we have lost it, it is because we have neglected it, or have wandered away.

Together with this we are introduced to another central argument, that we can always be guaranteed to possess what is rightfully our own. Yes, both our circumstances and other people can, and will, take away many things we think belong to us, but that is because they are outside of us, and our attachment to them is tenuous. But how is man to be separated from himself? He possesses himself by his very existence. Only he can surrender himself.

The very order of the Universe itself, which gives to everything its own distinct nature, assures us of this. The source of that order can have many names, but it is absolute, and not relative. It is one, and not many. It is perfect, and not flawed. Call it what you will, but Lady Philosophy will call it God.

Always remember that the Universe is a monarchy, and not a democracy, given meaning and form through complete goodness.

Lady Philosophy is not simply going to assume these basic principles, but will proceed to offer a variety of arguments for them for the remainder of the text. They will be the rational foundation for Boethius’ recovery.

When Napoleon was finally exiled to St. Helena, they say he could think of nothing but the home he had lost, and he was filled with rage and despair. A classic painting by Sandmann has the fallen Emperor staring out over the wide ocean. Did he ever consider that his comfort was right there within him, that he was the one who had chosen to exile himself from happiness? 

Written in 6/2015

Image: Franz Josef Sandmann, Napoleon in St. Helena (c. 1820)