“But,” she said, “do not think that I
would urge implacable war upon Fortune. There are times when her deception of
men has certain merits. I mean when she discovers herself, unveils her face,
and proclaims her ways.
Perhaps you do not yet understand what
I would say. It is a strange thing that I am trying to say, and for that reason
I can scarcely explain myself in words. I think that ill fortune is of greater advantage
to men than good fortune. Good fortune is ever lying when she seems to favor by
an appearance of happiness. Ill fortune is ever true when by her changes she shows
herself inconstant.
The one deceives, the other edifies.
The one by a deceitful appearance of good things enchains the minds of those
who enjoy them. The other frees them by a knowledge that happiness is so
fragile.
You see, then, that the one is blown
about by winds, is ever moving and ever ignorant of its own self. The other is sober,
ever prepared and ever made provident by the undergoing of its very adversities.
Lastly, good fortune draws men from the
straight path of true good by her fawning. Ill fortune draws most men to the
true good, and holds them back by her curved staff.” . . .
—from
Book 2, Prose 8
The
argument here is something I had long failed to really consider, for far too many
years. We all assume, of course, that good fortune is beneficial, and that bad
fortune is harmful. Why else would we call them “good” and “bad”? If I win a
million dollars, the world is looking great, and if my house has burned down,
things have taken a turn for the worse.
Now Lady
Philosophy has been explaining to Boethius that any kind of fortune, whether we
call it good or bad, is hardly a reliable source of happiness. As soon as we
start depending upon it, we are placing our trust in something over which we
really have little control. Would it not be wiser to build our lives on what we
do, rather than what happens to us?
But
surely, even if our lives can only be what we make of them, fortune can still
be of assistance, or make that path easier, or offer the mean for us to become
better. If fortune can help me to build my own character, I would be a fool to
turn her away. If I have wealth, I could use that wealth for good, or if I have
fame, I could employ my fame for the sake of what is right.
Yet
human nature can be fickle, and being given more will not necessarily mean that
we will make more of it. In fact, Lady Philosophy now suggests that the more
good fortune comes our way, the more likely we will be to make ourselves worse.
The choice, of course, is up to us, but the weight of influence will be such
that good fortune will actually discourage us from virtue, and bad fortune will
encourage us to virtue.
This
flies in the face of everything we take for granted, but our assumptions are
still built on the idea that life is measured by our circumstances. Once we
begin to see that what is on the outside is entirely relative to what is on the
inside, we can be open to a transformation of values.
Give us
all the supposed blessings of fortune, and we will be easily tempted to rest in
them, or use them as our support, and we think that they are trustworthy and
constant. We begin to find our contentment in them alone, and we can then
neglect our moral worth.
Take
away all the supposed blessings of fortune, and we realize that we can never
rest in them, or use them as our support, and we no longer think they are
trustworthy and constant. We begin to find our contentment in ourselves alone,
and we can then improve our moral worth.
The odd
irony ends up being that what we thought was helping was actually hurting, and
what we thought was hurting was actually helping. Good fortune can deceive us
into a false sense of security and dependence, and makes us ignorant of our
true nature. Bad fortune can wake us from our slumber, reminding us of what
truly matters in life, and makes us stronger in the face of adversity.
My own
experience, considered with brutal honesty, has taught me how much this has
been true in my life. I have done some things right, and many things wrong,
in all sort of circumstances, but the general pattern, far more often than not,
has been that when you given me more, I make less of myself, and when you give
me less, I make more of myself.
Fortune
can “reward” me with more, or she can “punish” me with less. At first it is
clear which I should prefer, but what if I see that a reward can spoil me,
making me weak, entitled, and arrogant, while a punishment can correct me,
making be committed, responsible, and humble? I might want to rethink my
preference.
More and
less are not always what we think they are.
Written in 9/2015
IMAGE: Frans Francken II, Allegory of Fortune (c. 1615)
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