Boethius, The Consolation 1.26

. . . “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 I would 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 nothing else that you are?” asked Philosophy.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Now,” she said, “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 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 more severe 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 that 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.”

—from Book 1, Prose 6

I may forget the purpose of my humanity, but as long as I do not allow myself to be diverted, I should surely be able to recover such an awareness.

Formal definitions may be entirely accurate, though they will be of no help if I simply mouth the words, or if I fail to fully understand and apply their meaning. To know what something is requires more than sticking on a label, or even providing a list of characteristics, but it digs down to the root, to the very essence. Whenever I ask, “what is it?” I must consider what brought it about, what it is made out of, what identity it takes, and toward what purpose it is ordered.

Lady Philosophy now asks Boethius if he knows what it means to be a man. Earlier in this part of the text, he said he knew that God had made him. He now adds that he knows he has been made as an animal, one that can reason, and one that will die.

However true both these statements may be, is that a complete answer, one that will leave me confident and content with my place in the world? Does it explain how I can find peace through such knowledge?

I remember the many times I gave oral exams in philosophy, not because they were any easier to administer, but because I always believed they were the most helpful for students. If someone told me that Aristotle argued how man was a rational animal, for example, I could immediately press the point. If a man is indeed rational, what does this mean about how he will live his life? How might this awareness change what matters to him? In what way is the function of a creature that shares in reason any different from a creature that doesn’t share in reason?

Now some students would stare at me, realizing it hadn’t been enough to just memorize the phrases in their notes. Others, though frustrated, would recognize what I was up to.

“So wait, you want me to tell you where that definition is going to take me?”

Exactly. You are seeing how the identity of anything is necessarily tied up with its purpose. Don’t just tell me that a car is a self-powered machine that moves on four wheels. Where can it take you? Why bother going there to begin with? How can that make your life better?

When I started teaching in the early 90’s, most any progressive college student was listening to the band Phish. They would always nod knowingly when I quoted these lyrics:

The tires are the things on your car

That make contact with the road.

The car is the thing on the road

That takes you back to your abode.

Boethius has the textbook answer down on who made him, and what he was made as. He has nothing further to add when Lady Philosophy presses him for more, because he has no sense of what he was made for. What is the end, the direction, the goal of my existence? Where am I supposed to be going, and how should I go about getting there?

The sort of Universe Boethius currently envisions has all sorts cars tossed on the roads, but without any rules of traffic, and without drivers who have a route or destination in mind.

I have often known that feeling where I let myself me distracted by all the shiny signs on the side of the highway, and I remember being told that the distracted driver is the deadly driver. Time to keep my eyes on what is up ahead. 

Written in 7/2015