Boethius, The Consolation 3.23

“So far,” she continued, “we have been content to set forth the form of false happiness. If you clearly understand that, my next duty is to show what is true happiness.”

“I do see,” said I, “that wealth cannot satisfy, that power comes not to kingdoms, nor veneration to high offices; that true renown cannot accompany ambition, nor true enjoyment wait upon the pleasures of the body.”

“Have you grasped the reasons why it is so?” she asked.

“I seem to look at them as through a narrow chink, but I would learn more clearly from you.”

“The reason is to hand,” said she; “human error takes that which is simple and by nature impossible to divide, tries to divide it, and turns its truth and perfection into falsity and imperfection. Tell me, do you think that anything which lacks nothing, can be without power?”

“Of course not.”

“You are right; for if anything has any weakness in any part, it must lack the help of something else.”

“That is so,” I said.

“Then perfect satisfaction and power have the same nature?”

“Yes, it seems so.”

“And do you think such a thing contemptible, or the opposite, worthy of all veneration?”

'There can be no doubt that it is worthy.”

“Then let us add veneration to that satisfaction and power, and so consider these three as one.”

“Yes, we must add it if we wish to proclaim the truth.”

“Do you then think that this whole is dull and of no reputation, or renowned with all glory? For consider it thus: we have granted that it lacks nothing, that it has all power and is worthy of all veneration; it must not therefore lack the glory which it cannot supply for itself, and thereby seem to be in any direction contemptible.”

“No,” I said, “I must allow that it has glory too.”

“Therefore we must rank this glory equally with the other three.”

“Yes, we must.”

“Then that which lacks nothing from outside itself, which is all-powerful by its own might, which has renown and veneration, must surely be allowed to be most happy too?”

“I cannot imagine from what quarter unhappiness would creep into such a thing, wherefore we must grant that it is full of happiness if the other qualities remain existent.”

“Then it follows further, that though perfect satisfaction, power, glory, veneration, and happiness differ in name, they cannot differ at all in essence?”

“They cannot.” . . .

—from Book 3, Prose 9

I find my mind returning, time and time again, to how readily we will all run around in this life without any precise understanding of what that very life is made for. Being clueless, we are therefore aimless. We acquire all sorts of knowledge and skill about this or that profession, while overlooking insight into that highest vocation, that of simply being human.

I do it as much as the next man, and I can hardly say that this is simply because I have been given a bad example. No, I can only blame my own laziness in taking what appears to be the easiest route, looking for clever shortcuts to happiness, and pursuing what most tugs at my desire for immediate gratification.

The irony is that I think I am making it simpler for myself, when in fact I am making it far more complex than it has to be. Instead of seeking that one end, that which is most worthy and contains all others goods within it, I fracture the good into many tiny little bits.

I should be seeking that priceless jewel, but I am filling my pockets with assorted trinkets. I should be hunting the biggest game, but I’m scrambling up trees after squirrels.

If I go about asking all the people I meet what they think they might need to be happy, I will be thought of as an annoying gadfly, a no-good troublemaker much like that Socrates, a loose cannon. Yet that really is the most important question, isn’t it? Perhaps we become angry when we are asked to answer it because it reveals to us that we really don’t know.

I suppose I have made a feeble attempt at doing precisely this, not just in my years of teaching but also in all aspects of my life, and I can honestly say that I am quite surprised when I have a serious conversation with someone, and they then offer a clear and concise account of why life is worth living. It has happened so rarely that I can remember each and every instance.

The point is not whether they say something that I happen to find agreeable, but that they are willing to reflect upon the question at all. Some dismissive people tell me that other folks are just “stupid”, but I know that isn’t the case; so many are far brighter than I can ever be. I suspect we just aren’t used to pushing ourselves in such a direction, like never using a certain muscle, because we didn’t even know we had it.  

If I push the point, what will I hear about the good life? I affectionately call it the “laundry list”, a series of individual things that often seem to have no connection with one another.

“Well. I’d need enough money to be happy. And be sure that I’ll always have enough money for the future. I want to have lots of fun. I want to have lots of friends. I’d have to be in good health, of course, and stay fit, but not so much that it makes me cranky. It would be great if I had a wonderful job, where I was respected and treated well, knowing I could get a good promotion if I worked hard enough, and that would help with the money thing, and for having more fun. That sounds like a pretty good life!”

Bit after a pause, the list will often continue to grow. “Wait, I need some vacation time, obviously, and it won’t be any good without a smoking-hot wife. It would be nice if she could cook a good meal, too. I would feel better if I was someone important, someone other people looked up to. Kids sound great too, but I would want them to go to the best schools, and I guess it would mean having some extra money for that. . .”

You aren’t alone if you recognize this as an expression of everything Lady Philosophy has warned Boethius about: the scattered pieces, the imperfect reflections of what is perfect, and the replacement of one complete source with many incomplete substitutes.

During a rather dark time in my life, spending yet another holiday alone, a drinking buddy jokingly asked me what I wanted for Christmas. “World peace,” I said sarcastically.

“Would inner peace do the trick?” he asked. Despite how confused we were, there was a fellow that got it, however cynically he was trying to come across.

Why should I look to so many small things, all of which put together amount to so very little, when I should be looking for the one thing that can give all of it meaning and purpose?

If it is truly good, happiness will lack in nothing, without exception, and so it will be the fullness of power.

If it is truly good, happiness will be worthy of respect, without exception, and so it will be the fullness of what is desirable.

If it is truly good, happiness will be most glorious, without exception, and will admit of nothing flawed whatsoever.

And here we are not describing a number of different things, but only aspects of one and the same thing; we are not listing many needs, but pointing to a single need, joined together in essence. Happiness, by its very definition as that which can never be added to, will therefore itself be simple and indivisible.

Written in 9/2015