Boethius, The Consolation 3.28

“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