Boethius, The Consolation of Philosophy 4.16

“This too, which I am about to say, may not seem less strange, but it follows equally from what has been taken as fact.”

“What is that?” I asked.

“That wicked men are happier when they pay the penalty for their wickedness than when they receive no penalty at the hands of justice. I am not going to urge what may occur to any one, namely, that depraved habits are corrected by penalties, and drawn towards the right by fear of punishment, and that an example is hereby given to others to avoid all that deserves blame. But I think that the wicked who are not punished are in another way the more unhappy, without regard to the corrective quality of punishment, nor its value as an example.”

“And what way is there other than these?”

“We have allowed, have we not,” she said, ”that the good are happy, but the bad are miserable?”

“Yes.”

“Then if any good be added to the misery of any evil man, is he not happier than the man whose miserable state is purely and simply miserable without any good at all mingled therewith?”

“I suppose so.”

“What if some further evil beyond those by which a man, who lacked all good things, were made miserable, were added to his miseries? Should not he be reckoned far more unhappy than the man whose misfortune was lightened by a share in some good?”

“Of course it is so.”

“Therefore,” she said, “the wicked when punished have something good added to their lot, to wit, their punishment, which is good by reason of its quality of justice; and they also, when unpunished, have something of further evil, their very impunity, which you have allowed to be an evil, by reason of its injustice.”

“I cannot deny that,” said I.

“Then the wicked are far more unhappy when they are unjustly unpunished, than when they are justly punished. It is plain that it is just that the wicked should be punished, and unfair that they should escape punishment.”

“No one will gainsay you.”

“But no one will deny this either, that all which is just is good; and on the other part, all that is unjust is evil.”

—from Book 4, Prose 4

I am accustomed to thinking of a punishment as something bad, a suffering inflicted upon the wrongdoer, and at the very least a necessary evil for the one who inflicts it. When the intention shifts to a deliberate desire to cause pain for another, to seek vengeance instead of justice, it can itself become a vice, adding one hurt to another hurt. I would prefer to avoid being punished, since I don’t like to feel pain, and I would prefer to avoid doing the punishing, as I also don’t like to inflict pain.

Yet when I take step back, and reconsider the very measure of human nature, as Lady Philosophy is asking me to do, I will once again find that I am confused about my sense of benefit and harm.

I have long been looking at my circumstances, the things that happen to me, as the standard of what is good or bad, and so I pursue pleasure, wealth, or honor. I fail to see that it is my own thoughts, choices, and actions that are good or bad, and that pleasure, wealth, or honor only become good or bad through the content of my character.

So what is it that will benefit me? The increase of my virtues. What is it that will do me harm? The increase of my vices. My happiness or misery will hinge upon the quality of my living, and I will only find contentment by becoming better.

Now if I understand punishment rightly, it is about more than just changing my behavior through the fear of pain, or acting as a deterrent against bad behavior. Punishment is more fundamentally an expression of justice, in that it restores the right balance where there has been the wrong imbalance, that what has been unfairly taken away can now be fairly returned.

In this way, to be punished for the wrong I have committed is actually good for me, because it gives me the opportunity to make up for my errors, to restore my own moral worth, to wipe away my vices and increase my virtues. If I only choose to understand it properly, it has the power of cleansing my soul. In giving something back to the person I have wronged, I will also give something back to the dignity of my conscience.

Conversely, to escape punishment for the wrong I have committed is actually bad for me, because I only remain in error, unwilling to undo the evil I have done, indignant in my unwillingness to fix what I have broken, wallowing in my own selfishness. I don’t want to understand my obligations to others, so my soul remains filthy. In refusing to give something back to the person I have wronged, I am also refusing to answer the call of my conscience.

I run away from a rightful and deserved punishment when I don’t even know what’s good for me; I am only escaping from my own humanity. Will it hurt? Most certainly, but the discomfort I will feel is as nothing to the merit I gain.

I recall the many times I did something absolutely terrible, the sort of deeds I would be afraid to admit even to my best friend, and I was so certain that not getting caught, and not paying a price, was a glorious triumph.

Yet all it did was gnaw at me, and the original greed, or lust, or malice just grew bigger inside of me. And then it produced guilt, an awareness of my own failings, though there was not necessarily shame, from the awareness held by others of my own failings. There can be no happiness in a soul burdened by such a weight.

Few things in this life have done me as much good as taking responsibility for my sins, and doing whatever I can to make them right. Wherever and whenever it is possible, a decent man will show his regret and embrace his need to improve by freely offering to make up for his crimes. And even when he doesn’t do so freely, at least at first, it remains a chance for redemption.

Justice, and the retribution it sometimes demands, have nothing to do with hatred. It is nothing more than the call to love, even when answering the call is well after the fact. Only then are the scales back in the right place, and only then can I find the peace I seek.

Written in 11/2015