“Since then you have seen the form both
of the imperfect and the perfect good, I think I should now show you where lies
this perfection of happiness. In this I think our first inquiry must be whether
any good of this kind can exist in the very nature of a subject; for we must
not let any vain form of thought make us miss the truth of this matter. But
there can be no denial of its existence, that it is as the very source of all that
is good.
For if anything is said to be
imperfect, it is held to be so by some loss of its perfection. Wherefore if in
any kind of thing a particular seems imperfect, there must also be a perfect
specimen in the same kind. For if you take away the perfection, it is
impossible even to imagine from where could come the so-called imperfect
specimen.
For Nature does not start from degenerate
or imperfect specimens, but starting from the perfect and ideal, it degenerates
to these lower and weaker forms.
If then, as we have shown above, there
is an uncertain and imperfect happiness to be found in the good, then there
must doubtless be also a sure and perfect happiness therein.”
“Yes,” said I, “that is quite surely
proved to be true.” . . .
—from
Book 3, Prose 10
If I can
only be satisfied by the best, I will need to surround myself with the best.
I can
think of so many imperfect analogies, where I wasn’t dealing with the source of
all happiness, but rather simply pursuing lesser degrees of good. I may have
thought that I could still get the same quality while paying less, or have the
same results by cutting some corners, or consume more of something inferior in
place of less of something superior. In each and every case, I found myself
sorely disappointed.
I have
tried this with some of my guilty pleasures over the years, like pipe tobacco,
or beer, or fedora hats, and when I realized how I had sold myself short, I
could only wonder what I had been thinking. I have tried it with more important
things, like the sort of books I read, the kind of home I live in, or the
quality of the company I keep, and the consequences were even more disturbing.
I was, as they say, settling for second-best.
If I can
see the problem in these less significant ways, should I not also be paying
attention to it in the most significant ways? A cheap pair of shoes will not
last me long, just as a weak moral anchor will not keep my life steady.
But does
something truly perfect, that which contains within itself the goodness of all
other things, actually exist? Is it even possible for there to be such a being?
After all, the things that I can directly perceive with my senses may contain
their own particular goodness, but each is distinct by lacking the goodness
within other things. It would be quite foolish of me to begin with a
conclusion, however convenient, if I can’t know it be true.
The
relativist fashion of the age, which insists that there really is no truth,
didn’t help me in these matters. I was told that nothing could ever be perfect,
and that it was best for me to be quite imperfect. When I thought that through
for a moment, I was puzzled. Worse is better, less is more, and it’s an
absolute that nothing can be absolute? It sounded positively Orwellian!
My own
doubts about striving for what is perfect also had much to do with other sorts
of people, who had repeatedly told me that God existed because they said so,
and that following Him was simply a duty I had to perform. Asking questions,
they insisted, would only get me into trouble.
Now I
had come across all sorts of different arguments, from various times and
traditions, for the existence of that which is Absolute, the very source and
standard of all that is. Perhaps it was just the way Boethius explained it, or
where I happened to be in my own musings, but for the first time these insights
started to come together, not just as a theoretical model, but also as a
practical solution.
That
imperfect creatures existed showed in itself the necessity of a perfect
Creator, and that I longed for a deeper happiness pointed me directly to the
object of my desire.
Wherever
there are degrees of more or less, this is only possible through the maximum of
what is the most, in that there can be no measuring without first having a
measure. This is as true in the nature of things as it is in the order of
thought. For it to be incomplete, or for it to be conceived of as incomplete,
demands the context of that which is complete. Put another way, absence can
only be judged through presence.
The
principle of causality reminds us that something can never come from nothing,
and by extension that more can never come from less. Rather, what is lesser is
always an effect of the greater that preceded it. The very fact that I am
constantly aware of different degrees and changing combinations of good around
me is itself proof of the Perfect Good standing behind all of them.
And if
this Perfect Good is real, the most real thing there could ever be, then the
goal of happiness is also real, the highest purpose there could ever be.
Written in 9/2015
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