Then,
as though beginning afresh, she spoke thus:
“The
engendering of all things, the whole advance of all changing natures, and every
motion and progress in the world, draw their causes, their order, and their
forms from the allotment of the unchanging mind of God, which lays manifold
restrictions on all action from the calm fortress of its own directness.
“Such
restrictions are called Providence when they can be seen to lie in the very
simplicity of Divine Understanding; but they were called Fate in old times when
they were viewed with reference to the objects which they moved or arranged.
“It
will easily be understood that these two are very different if the mind
examines the force of each. For Providence is the very Divine Reason which
arranges all things, and rests with the Supreme Disposer of all; while Fate is
that ordering which is a part of all changeable things, and by means of which
Providence binds all things together in their own order.
“Providence
embraces all things equally, however different they may be, even however
infinite. When they are assigned to their own places, forms, and times, Fate
sets them in an orderly motion; so that this development of the temporal order,
unified in the intelligence of the mind of God, is Providence. The working of
this unified development in time is called Fate. These are different, but the
one hangs upon the other. For this order, which is ruled by Fate, emanates from
the directness of Providence.
“Just
as when a craftsman perceives in his mind the form of the object he would make,
he sets his working power in motion, and brings through the order of time that
which he had seen directly and ready present to his mind. So by Providence does
God dispose all that is to be done, each thing by itself and unchangeably;
while these same things which Providence has arranged are worked out by Fate in
many ways and in time.”
—from
Book 4, Prose 6
These next
parts of the text will sometimes frustrate readers, and they may well be
tempted to give up. At first glance, it may appear that the argument is growing
quite technical, exactly the reason why so many folks are turned off by
philosophy as a whole, by a profusion of fancy words with little relevance to
real life. I understand completely, because, despite my own bookishness, I also
want answers that will improve my condition, not merely look good on paper.
I would
respectfully suggest, however, that the problem here is not a technical one at
all, but rather one grounded in the difficulty of changing our attitudes. I
know that whenever I see something new and challenging, I am prone to becoming
defensive, and whenever I am asked to question a cherished assumption, I am
ready to walk away. I take a deep breath, I calm my mind, and I try to counter
my own panicked confusion with a careful clarity.
When I
see these two terms, for example, Providence and Fate, I have all sorts of
baggage that goes along with them. Providence can imply something terribly
mysterious, perhaps even superstitious, so vague and imprecise that it can be
used to justify most anything. Fate immediately brings me an image of something
impersonal and heartless, a cold prison of necessity from which we can never
hope to escape.
If I
begin with such an approach to the concepts, it is no wonder that I will feel
discouraged; the world, it might seem, is subject to a nebulous force, and it
really won’t make any difference what I think about it all. I might as well be
back at the beginning of the Consolation.
But let
me cast aside my previous thinking, and ask myself if either assumption needs
to be the case. Does Providence really have to be so transcendent that it
becomes unintelligible? Does Fate really have to be so destined that it leaves
no place for me?
How does
Boethius begin to define his terms here? The meaning will become more refined
as we move along, but for the moment he simply argues that all moving and
changing things are subject to a rational order; no effect can proceed without
a cause, no motion is possible without a mover, and a degree of relative
imperfection is only possible through the existence of an absolute perfection.
We already saw these principles introduced earlier in the text.
In the
most direct terms, this means that the Universe must always act according to a
single design and purpose that binds all things together as one. It
necessitates the activity of Divine Mind in all things, for otherwise there
would be, quite literally, nothing.
Within
this context Providence and Fate are simply two different ways of approaching
that order. Providence describes how everything flows from the timeless perfection of God, and Fate describes how that
actions flows into created things,
each in their own particular way. One can look at the world from the aspect of
the cause of Providence, and from the aspect of the effect of Fate. The Divine
Mind, in its boundless wisdom, wills it, and the Universe follows suit.
The
analogy of the craftsman can work quite well. Within his own mind, the artist
conceives his plan, and through his actions, at a specific time and place, he
engages in his work to produce a masterpiece. In their basic senses, Providence
and Fate are no more complex or confusing than that.
“But
wait! I don’t get exactly what’s going on in the Divine Mind! Why can’t I see
the blueprint like He does?”
For now,
it is sufficient to say that reason demands that there must be a blueprint,
even if I am not privy to the details. Does the apprentice always know
precisely what the master craftsman intends?
“Hold
on! If God determines how everything will be, how do the things he creates have
any of their own power, any of their own worth?”
For now,
it is sufficient to say that all lower power comes from a highest power, and
that all created things receive their worth from their Creator. Does the master
craftsman not still allow the apprentice to contribute his own share to the art
that he makes?
Providence
does not need to be cryptic, and Fate does not need to be uncaring.
Written in 11/2015
IMAGE: Alphonse Mucha, Fate (1920)
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