Boethius, The Consolation 3.21

“. . . Look upon the expanse of heaven, the strength with which it stands, the rapidity with which it moves, and cease for a while to wonder at base things. This heaven is not more wonderful for those things than for the design that guides it. How sweeping is the brightness of outward form, how swift its movement, yet more fleeting than the passing of the flowers of spring.

“But if, as Aristotle says, many could use the eyes of lynxes to see through that which meets the eye, then if they saw into the organs within, would not that body, though it had the most fair outside of Alcibiades, seem most vile within? Wherefore it is not your own nature, but the weakness of the eyes of them that see you, that makes you seem beautiful.

“But consider how in excess you desire the pleasures of the body, when you know that howsoever you admire it, it can be reduced to nothing by a three-days' fever.

“To put all these points then in a word: these things cannot grant the good that they promise; they are not made perfect by the union of all good things in them; they do not lead to happiness as a path there; they do not make men blessed.”

—from Book 3, Prose 8

I need to remind myself quite regularly that the secret to a good life is hardly a secret at all. Yes, all of us are called to be philosophical, but this isn’t in the sense that we might be used to.

To engage in philosophy is not to sound profound, or to meddle in obscure complexities, or to acquire hidden knowledge available only to the select few. It is not merely an academic exercise to puff up our sense of self-importance.

To be philosophical is to come to understand oneself and one’s world more richly, more deeply, more fundamentally. It is an attitude of looking for what is ultimate over what is immediate, for what is on the inside and not just the outside, for the whole instead of just the part. In this we discover our meaning and purpose.

This isn’t just one of things we can, or even should, do in life; it is the only thing that really matters, because everything else hinges upon our awareness of what is true, good, and beautiful.

Yet what do I so often find myself looking at? A shallow appearance, not the inner reality. A pretty face, not a virtuous character. A passing fancy, not a lasting bond. I am still drawn to such things not because they have any real goodness to them, but because of a weakness in my vision. If I commit to focusing more closely, the proverbial scales will fall from my eyes.

I have long adored the ancient and medieval legend about how the lynx has such powerful vision that it can even see right inside solid objects. This is figuratively what we are also called to do when we examine something beneath the surface.

One doesn’t need to be clever or educated to discern how things that are actually quite weak come to appear so strong. In fact, being clever or educated can sometimes only make the illusion worse. We are distracted by only one charming aspect, magnify it out of proportion, and neglect all the rest. We glorify the outer form of human body, when it is really a bag of blood and bones, subject to disease and death, able to be snuffed out in a moment. We worship wealth, fame, and power, though by doing so we enslave ourselves to lifeless trinkets that go as quickly as they come. If I look with a sharper eye, I know it to be true.

Things sometimes seem to offer rewards they can’t provide, just as people sometimes make promises they have no intention of keeping. We are quite able to see right through this, because something incomplete and imperfect cannot offer anything complete and perfect, just as a dishonest character cannot speak words that are true. They are already showing us what they really are, if we only look behind the mask.

As they say, if it looks to good to be true, it probably is.

So when I find myself tempted by a pleasure of the senses, or longing to acquire more possessions, or scheming to improve my reputation, I am always best served by remembering all the other times when those imposters told me their sweet little lies, and then left me high and dry. A moment of calm reflection will assure me that they are now just as shifty and fleeting as they were every time before. The glittering prizes are nothing but tricks of the light. 

Written in 9/2015