The Boethius Project

Consolation of Philosophy, II

At the beginning of Book II, the prisoner is ready for some “stronger medicines.” Now, Lady Philosophy discusses the inconstancies of Fortune—such is her nature—and why so many of the things we value during our earthly lives, like wealth, power, high honors, fame, and pleasure cannot provide us with true happiness.

Boccaccio and Fortune by Bobcicaut Master or workshop from The Getty Museum

  • Tired of the ups and downs of good and bad Fortune? Maybe it’s time to cast the anchor elsewhere…

    In the beginning of Book 2, Philosophy turns even more explicitly to the topic of Fortune, and why it’s a poor choice for anchoring our understanding of happiness. She asks the prisoner, are you lamenting your loss of good fortune? Come on, you knew “she was always whimsical and remains constant to her inconstancy. […] The changing face of blind power is unreliable. It always was.” Her point is that, if Boethius chose to equate happiness with good Fortune, he was always in for a rough ride. Her true nature is to change, from good to bad and back again, without rhyme or reason. But is Fortune even truly a governing force of our lives? Or an invention? (Aristotle might say, a phantasm, a sort of erroneous deduction from the data we gather through the senses about the world.) A figment of our imagination. Philosophy cautions us all: you can’t submit to her yoke and then be upset when she treats you badly, if you choose such a mistress. There has to be a better way…

The Wheel of Fortune by John La Farge, The Met Museum

  • Does it sometimes feel like life is indifferent and thus cruel? 

    In this first poem of book 2, Boethius’s Lady Philosophy picks back up the theme of the preceding prose passage. She explains that the “devotees” of Fortune — those who place their faith in her — have a wild ride in store. She cannot be constant because it’s not in her nature. She affords no stability to those who place their faith in her. “The only constant is change.” It’s like walking on quicksand, or building on it. The shifting nature of Fortune is reminiscent here of Matthew 7:24-26. In what will you place your faith? Where will you choose to anchor your life? The first step is remembering that you do have a choice, because of free will; we all do. Personally, I don’t care for Fortune’s “ruthless demonstration of power,” although I’ve sometimes had to walk through challenging times that taught me this lesson. I’ve learned that good fortune will come and go, as will the bad. The key is to continue on and believe my worth and value lies elsewhere… and that’s the secret: it takes away all the illusion of her power.

Wheel of Fortune Quilt by Edith Magnette, National Gallery of Art

  • Do you not know how a wheel works?

    Here, Lady Philosophy plays devil’s advocate and speaks for Fortune. “Do you not know how a wheel works?” She asks the prisoner. (Hint: it spins.) Why would people who ascribe to her as a mistress be upset when after being raised up high, she brings them low? After all, it’s not even a game of chance… the only constant of her nature is inconstancy. It’s a guarantee. Does each person not come naked into the world? To believe in her is to believe that any riches, fame, and other forms of good fortune come from her… all she does is take away what she herself gave. To subject to Fortune’s rule is to submit to this agreement. Sound unpleasant? To me, yes. And a good reminder that how we anchor ourselves as we journey through life matters. Do you yearn for something more? Stay tuned, because that desire for something else will find fulfillment later in the book. 

Woman with Cockatoo by Peter Oliver Foss, The Smithsonian Museum

  • Why is greed so dangerous? How does it wreak havoc on our souls?

    Philosophy offers us a simple answer to this question: because greed has no limits, and thus there is no end to the destruction it can cause in human beings. It always asks for more and can never be sated. So what are the consequences? (I’m glad you asked!) In this poem, Lady Philosophy accuses the baser motivations of human nature. As the song in The Greatest Showman goes, nothing is “ever enough.” Pour out riches as abundant as the grains of sand on a beach? Humans will still complain. If God were to shower gold in response to every prayer? We’d still want more. Honors? Never enough. We take everything we have for granted. If we were granted as many prayers for good fortune as there are stars in the night sky, we’d still feel hard done by. That’s what happens when we seek to anchor and ground our lives in the satisfaction of an empty promise, seeking to fill a perceived lack. We’re stuck in a downwards spiral. Surely, hints Philosophy, this can’t be the source of true happiness?

Portrait of a Boy in Fancy Dress by Nicolas de Largillierre, The Getty Museum

  • Are you asking Fortune to coddle you like her pet? 

    Lady Philosophy takes Boethius to task. Has he not enjoyed position, born and also marrying into two of the wealthiest, oldest, most prominent families of Rome? Did his two sons not both get elected consuls at the same time—an honor shared by few? Didn’t he rejoice at the upswings of Fortune? So why, now, would he bewail the downturn? Ah… it’s because he got used to honor, position, wealth, and all the other earthly benefits “good fortune” brings. Lady Philosophy doesn’t mince words: she tells Boethius he has grown accustomed to Fortune “coddling him as her pet.” We can’t celebrate Fortune when things go our way, and blame her for the times things don’t. Her nature isn’t to coddle us. For every up, when we buy into her system, there will inevitably be a down.

Phaethon Driving the Chariot of Phoebus, The Art Institute of Chicago

  • Do you realize that the sun chases away the twinkling stars? And yet, they don’t cease to sparkle…

    Capping off her critique that Fortune wants Boethius to coddle him as her pet, she calls his mind and soul to rise through poetry and song. When the sun rises, do the stars not cease to sparkle, only to come back the next night? When a soft warm breeze from the south ushers in the spring, doesn’t a north wind sometimes stir up the oceans and bring storms? We all accept these ebbs and flows in nature… they’re part of what it means to be alive. (As Lucretius points out in “On the Nature of Things,” the absence of change is death.) It’s not supposed to be easy, but what happens when we think of seasons in our life as changing and alive? Wherever you are right now, circumstances may change tomorrow. Implicitly, this means we have to seek stability outside of these cycles of change of course… which begs the question: how? That’s an answer she’ll pick up later, once the prisoner is ready.

Tree of Virtues from Speculum Virginum, Ms. W.72, fol. 26r., The Walters Art Museum

  • When things go well for us for a while… does it make it even worse when they go wrong?

    The prisoner is coming around. He admits in this section that Philosophy is right and that of course the nature of Fortune is that she changes. He admits that Philosophy is indeed “the nurse of all the virtues.” But he adds that what makes it so hard for him is that he has enjoyed a certain prosperity, which makes he fall from grace all the harder. “The worst kind of misfortune,” he concludes, “is when it befalls someone who was previously happy.” Philosophy is patient with him, but her answer is clear: no. The prisoner is suffering because of his own “incorrect beliefs.” He’s confusing, in other words, a life free of care and of some pleasure with happiness. Until he’s willing to consider that true happiness is something else entirely, she won’t be able to help him set his mind free. “Why do people look outside of themselves for happiness,” she wonders, “when it is to be found inside them?” A good reminder to examine our own lives, and ask similar questions: where does true happiness reside? This is what Book 2 is going to be about.

Beach Girl by Dawn Hudson, PublicDomainPictures.net

  • Are you building sandcastles? (Metaphorical and allegorical ones…  To be clear, I do love  me  a  good  IRL  sandcastle.)

    There’s  a  good  deal  of  ongoing  debate  amongst  scholars  about  whether  or  not  Boethius  was  a  Christian or  not.  (The  crux  of  the  argument  tends  to  rely on  the  fact he speaks  of  “God”  rather  than  “Christ,”  and  never  explicitly  mentions  Christianity.)  All  of  my  students  find  this  hard  to  believe.  Why?  Because  they  recognize  many  embedded  allusions  within  the  text.  This  poem  in  the  Consolation  is  one  of  the  most  striking  examples.  Don’t  build  your  life  and  house  on  sand,  where  it  can  be  destroyed  by  the  waves  and  the  gales…  build  it  on  solid  rock.  If  that  sounds  familiar,  it’s  because  the  whole  poem  is  almost  verbatim  an  homage  to  Matthew  7:24-27,  the  Parable  of  the  Wise  and  Foolish  builders.  Here’s  the  full  passage  in  Matthew,  so  you  can  compare  it  to  Boethius’s  poem:  “Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.”  Whether  you’re  a  believer  or  not,  this  Parable—and  Boethius’s  poem—invites  us  to  consider  the  foundations  upon  which  we  are  living  out,  and  building  our  lives.  Are  they  solid?  Or  are  we  blowing  around  with  the  wind,  susceptible  to  every  one  of  life’s  storms?  Here,  Boethius  is  asking  the  reader to  follow  Philosophy’s  challenge  to  himself,  the  prisoner  in  the  book:  what  would  it  look  like  if  you  built  your  life  on  a  solid  foundation?  Where  might  you  begin?  Certainly,  Fortune  with  her  wheel,  lifting  us  up  for  a  season  only  to  bring  us  crashing  down  again,  cannot  be  the  way  forward.  So,  then,  what  is?  As  per  usual,  the  poetic  reflections  and  songs  of  the  Consolation  invite  us  to  ponder  beyond  the  text  itself,  and  even  beyond  our  own  conscious  minds…  do  you  hear  the  whisper  in  your  ear,  reminding  you  that  you’re  meant  for  so  much  more?

Death and the Miser by Hieronymus Bosch, The National Gallery of Art

  • What are you going to do with all that gold or money?

    In this passage, Lady Philosophy takes a new approach: let’s assume, she says, that these things you think will make you happy are valuable. Which, of course, they are. I don’t think Lady Philosophy is suggesting you should try to get by in the world without any money and without the ability to feed, clothe, or house yourself. Her point is that the gold or money can sometimes be equated with happiness itself, and that’s the mistake. Rather, she views gold or money as a tool. Riches empower you to buy things. You give them away in order to get something back. If we agree on that, then riches cannot be the true source of happiness and the highest Good, because if they were, we wouldn’t want to give them way. There wouldn’t be anything worth trading them for. Is the value of riches in the piles of gold? In the financial statements? No, it lies in their ability to be exchanged for something else, in which case you don’t have them anymore. This is a great reminder in our consumerist culture not to worship money as the only thing that will make us happy, and to build a healthy relationship with it—one that doesn’t presume it is the ultimate Good, the source of all Happiness.

Banks of the Seine, Vétheuil by Claude Monet from the National Gallery of Art

  • Is the beauty of nature the source of happiness? (Spoiler: No, it’s not. But it’s not a bad thing either and don’t worry: it can be the source of great delight.)

    Lady Philosophy continues her line of questioning, this time picking something that is inherently good, in and of itself: beauty. Specifically, the beauty of nature. There’s nothing wrong with it in and of itself. It inspires and delights us. There’s nothing quite like looking at the wonderful blooms of flowers, or the sun reflecting off a beautiful pool. Does not the sea itself inspire? (I was born beside the ocean and love it in all of its states.) Philosophy’s point is to pay attention to what happens when we consider Nature our own to dispose of, rather than a gift to us. Are they your flowers that bloom in the springtime? Are they your fruit that ripen on trees in the summer? Why do you treat them as if they belong to you (or originate with you)? As we contemplate the beautify and magnificence of creation we’re invited to realize that we are all part of it… it doesn’t belong to us. The fruit of the earth bring nourishment to all living things, and asking Fortune for more of this good thing makes no sense to Philosophy, because (in true Aristotelian fashion) we get exactly what we need. Or, to quote a parallel in Ephesians, Grace has been apportioned to each of us. 

The Golden Age by Auguste Rodin, The Met Museum

  • What is the cause of all strife? An age old question…

    The poem picks back up the themes of the prose. It’s an ode to the lost “Golden Age,” described by Hesiod, revisited by Ovid, and commemorated in the artwork below by Pietro da Cortona. This is the idea that humanity originated in an age without strife. Oftentimes, today, we read about people looking back and upholding the past as idealized. That’s misguided, and not what this is about for Lady Philosophy. What she’s getting at is that all of creation is inherently good. And we’re part of it. Ancient poets spoke of the demise of the golden age not because of limitations imposed upon creation itself, but because of the actions of humankind. That’s why she ends the poem: shame on the man who first dug gold from the earth! The problem is not with the gold in and of itself, but with the decisions and actions of human beings in its presence. We set up new, misguided, systems to attribute value to things and people. We fight over it. We covet it… when in fact it’s no more special in the scheme of creation than a pebble on a beach. (It’s not surprising that Ovid points out that gold was the stuff of which idols were first made.) What are you coveting like gold in your life? Is there an alternative view point you might adopt?

Alexander the Great Meeting Diogenes, The Met Museum

  • Do you enjoy power? Do you crave high office? A cautionary tale…

    Lady Philosophy gets to the heart of power in this passage, pointing out that Boethius mourns his lost political offices for all the wrong reasons. We are tempted, she explains, to imagine that the office makes the man, when in fact it’s the other way around. The true worth of the office comes from the virtue and wisdom of the person who occupies it — not the other way around. When power falls into the hands of people who are not virtuous, it can cause greater disasters than the worst of floods and eruption of Mount Etna. In other words, it can wipe out an entire civilization. (He’s thinking of things like the Atlantis flood in the Timaeus here, and Pompeii.) I love the example Philosophy adopts to signal how laughable earthy power is, when compared to eternity: what if a mouse declared itself king of all mice? Would you not laugh? Until we understand that high offices become enobled by the noble and virtuous soul that occupies them, we are no better, declaring our fiefdoms and doomed to misunderstand the value of freedom.

The Death of Seneca by Pierre Peyron, The Met Museum

  • Could all this power restrain his madness? (Boethius, on Nero)

    In this poem, Lady Philosophy reminds the prisoner of the excesses of tyrannical rule, through an example well-known in ancient Rome: the emperor Nero. Nero was responsible for murdering many people, including his mother, his first and second wives, and perhaps even his tutor. He disguised the death of his mother, Agrippina the Younger, as a suicide. (And he probably forced his tutor Seneca to attest to the Senate that this was indeed the case.) Then, he had his first wife, Claudia Octavia (whom he had already “divorced” and banished) executed on charges of adultery… possibly because she didn’t produce an heir, and his second wife, Poppaea Sabina, was now pregnant. Sadly, he also allegedly murdered Poppaea by kicking her in the belly when she was pregnant. And then, of course, he ordered his trusted tutor and adviser, Seneca, to commit suicide. For all of his power, what virtue did he bring to the office of emperor? None. That’s Lady Philosophy’s point. Nero’s example is just one of many to prove that office does not bestow virtue. The person does. And just as the good bring virtue to public office, the wicked corrupt it and use the position to do more evil. So, if you ever hear someone tell you that it’s worth having a wicked, unvirtuous person in power just because they’ll be transformed by the office or do good with it, well… think again. Lady Philosophy says otherwise.

Paradise Canto XXI by Dante, Sketch by Gustave Doré from Le Purgatoire de Dante Alighieri, Bibliothèque nationale de France, département Réserve des livres rares, SMITH LESOUEF R-6278

  • Fame, popularity, renown: why cling to such things? They might seem important right now, but in the grand scope of eternity? Not so much.

    The prisoner objects: I was motivated to do my duty, to bring whatever virtue I have to public office, he says. Philosophy purses her lips. (Always watch for this: the momentary pauses that signal her patience for his/ our attempts to self-justify and cling to our explanations for less than desirable behavior.) Really? She answers? Did i not see you listening to rumors, playing the political game, angling for popularity… and to what end? Let’s say you even achieve fame. What does that mean? Amongst what group of people? And if it’s worldwide, what then? Take a look at the vast expanse of the universe: the entire earth will appear small to you. (She makes this point by quoting Cicero and directing us to Scipio’s dream, in which Africanus finally has to say: can you please stop staring at the earth? Look at the vast expanse of the heavens and everything you’re missing!) The lesson is timeless, and as important today as when it was written down 1500 years ago. Another pioneering author, Dante, picks it back up in his Divine Comedy. In Paradiso 21-22, the Contemplatives climb a ladder to be closer to God — shout out here to Bonaventure and St. Bernard of Clairvaux as well. And as they look back from on high, the earth seems so small to them. (Which is not to say it, and we, aren’t important: we are. It’s the status we attach to vapid fame that is in question here.)

Roman de la Rose, 1945-65-3 from Department of Prints, Drawings, and Photographs, BiblioPhilly

  • Is ill-fortune better for us than good ? It’s difficult to think about when we’re going through a hard time, but Boethius’s answer is helpful…

    Lady  Philosophy’s point  is  simple:  when  Fortune  smiles  upon  us,  she  is  always  false.  We’re  receiving  a  false  message  of  being  on  top  of  earthly  success,  which itself  is  like  quicksand.  In  this  way,  good  Fortune  always  deceives  us.  It  even  gives  us  a  false  sense  of  security.   But  when  we  go  through  a  period  we  conceive  of  as  ill-fortuned,  something  quite  different  happens.  We  find  out  who  are  real  friends  are.  We  realize  how  fragile  our  sense  of  happiness  rooted  in worldly  things  is.  She  tells  Boethius:  you  have  indeed  lost  wealth  and  position,  but  have  gained  the  knowledge  of  who  you  real  friends  are.  And  he  has  been  redirected  to  see  the  true  nature  of  worldly  fame  and  glory.  Not  only  is  earthly  success  judged  by  the  standard  of  human  kind  vapid,  but  when  it  comes  to  the  pursuit  of  virtue,  it’s  dangerous.

Maximusdn from Adobe Stock

  • You think fame’s all that? Really?

    No matter how far the reach of earthly success, now matter how many people know about you or celebrate you, it pales in comparison to the vast expanse of the earth, itself small in the scope of the universe. How funny to think that mortal beings forget that their names, too, will fade along with their bones. The implication here is clear: from dust we were born and to dust we will return. What is special about this life is not fame or celebrity, but how we answer the question: how shall I live? Look to the stars tonight, friends, and remember that in the short moment we all have, we are all part of something so much bigger than ourselves. A fitting thought for today, the date we commemorate Boethius’s feast day and the 1500th anniversary of his death.

Friendship is Equality; A Friend is Another Self [fol. 10r.], The National Gallery of Art

  • Do you know who your friends are?

    As we push towards the end of Book 2, Lady Philosophy says something that might be surprising: sometimes Fortune is deserving of our respect. What does this mean? Wasn’t Fortune with her wheel some kind of illusion? What Lady Philosophy appears to be getting at is that the concept of Fortune can serve us well, but only “when she shows her true face.” That true face is to remind that you will, indeed, experience life as a series of ups and downs (but as we’ll find out in Books 4 and 5, something more is at stake: Divine Providence). Anyhow, for now, she asks us to think about the false state of security we’re in when we feel like we’re experiencing the high of good fortune. This is a lie, because Fortune is inconstant. It’s in her nature. However, we tend to only think of her inconstancy when we experience bad fortune. Who doesn’t want to come back up on top when going through a downturn? It’s in those moments, she says, that the turn for the worse helps us really find out new information, like who our real friends are. It’s not an easy approach to accept for some of us, but she does tell us that because bad fortune reveals truth to us, maybe we ought to be thankful for it and for the purpose it’s occupying in our lives. How might you wrestle with Philosophy’s challenge in your own life?

Jonicus, the First Astronomer, Ms. 33 (88.MP.70), fol. 12 by artist unknown and author, Rudolf von Ems., The Getty Museum

  • When did you last look up at the night sky and stare in wonder? Taking it all in…

    The final poem of Book 2 is one of my favorite moments of the Consolation. A true reminder that, even if we forget it or are blind to it, Love rules over all things. It binds us and all of creation together. We’re all part of something so much bigger than ourselves. And not because we have to strive for anything; just because. You’re special, exactly how you are. No matter the flaws, the disappointments, the challenges, or how burned out you might feel by the grind of daily existence… you don’t have to. Lean out of your own sense of control, and into the Love that binds all things. It’s there, even when we can’t see it. And it’s waiting for you. “Oh happy race of mortals, if only you opened your eyes you’d see that the Love that rules and orders the stars rules your hearts as well.”

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