I.<\/p>\n
She ceased, but I stood fixed by the sweetness of the song in wonderment and eager expectation, my ears still strained to listen. And then after a little I said: ‘Thou sovereign solace of the stricken soul, what refreshment hast thou brought me, no less by the sweetness of thy singing than by the weightiness of thy discourse! Verily, I think not that I shall hereafter be unequal to the blows of Fortune. Wherefore, I no longer dread the remedies which thou saidst were something too severe for my strength; nay, rather, I am eager to hear of them and call for them with all vehemence.’<\/p>\n
Then said she: ‘I marked thee fastening upon my words silently and intently, and I expected, or\u2014to speak more truly\u2014I myself brought about in thee, this state of mind. What now remains is of such sort that to the taste indeed it is biting, but when received within it turns to sweetness. But whereas thou dost profess thyself desirous of hearing, with what ardour wouldst thou not burn didst thou but perceive whither it is my task to lead thee!’<\/p>\n
‘Whither?’ said I.<\/p>\n
‘To true felicity,’ said she, ‘which even now thy spirit sees in dreams, but cannot behold in very truth, while thine eyes are engrossed with semblances.’<\/p>\n
Then said I: ‘I beseech thee, do thou show to me her true shape without a moment’s loss.’<\/p>\n
‘Gladly will I, for thy sake,’ said she. ‘But first I will try to sketch in words, and describe a cause which is more familiar to thee, that, when thou hast viewed this carefully, thou mayst turn thy eyes the other way, and recognise the beauty of true happiness.’<\/p>\n
SONG I.
\nThe Thorns of Error.<\/p>\n
Who fain would sow the fallow field,
\nAnd see the growing corn,
\nMust first remove the useless weeds,
\nThe bramble and the thorn.
\nAfter ill savour, honey’s taste
\nIs to the mouth more sweet;
\nAfter the storm, the twinkling stars
\nThe eyes more cheerly greet.
\nWhen night hath past, the bright dawn comes
\nIn car of rosy hue;
\nSo drive the false bliss from thy mind,
\nAnd thou shall see the true.<\/p>\n
II.<\/p>\n
For a little space she remained in a fixed gaze, withdrawn, as it were, into the august chamber of her mind; then she thus began:<\/p>\n
‘All mortal creatures in those anxious aims which find employment in so many varied pursuits, though they take many paths, yet strive to reach one goal\u2014the goal of happiness. Now, the good is that which, when a man hath got, he can lack nothing further. This it is which is the supreme good of all, containing within itself all particular good; so that if anything is still wanting thereto, this cannot be the supreme good, since something would be left outside which might be desired. ‘Tis clear, then, that happiness is a state perfected by the assembling together of all good things. To this state, as we have said, all men try to attain, but by different paths. For the desire of the true good is naturally implanted in the minds of men; only error leads them aside out of the way in pursuit of the false. Some, deeming it the highest good to want for nothing, spare no pains to attain affluence; others, judging the good to be that to which respect is most worthily paid, strive to win the reverence of their fellow-citizens by the attainment of official dignity. Some there are who fix the chief good in supreme power; these either wish themselves to enjoy sovereignty, or try to attach themselves to those who have it. Those, again, who think renown to be something of supreme excellence are in haste to spread abroad the glory of their name either through the arts of war or of peace. A great many measure the attainment of good by joy and gladness of heart; these think it the height of happiness to give themselves over to pleasure. Others there are, again, who interchange the ends and means one with the other in their aims; for instance, some want riches for the sake of pleasure and power, some covet power either for the sake of money or in order to bring renown to their name. So it is on these ends, then, that the aim of human acts and wishes is centred, and on others like to these\u2014for instance, noble birth and popularity, which seem to compass a certain renown; wife and children, which are sought for the sweetness of their possession; while as for friendship, the most sacred kind indeed is counted in the category of virtue, not of fortune; but other kinds are entered upon for the sake of power or of enjoyment. And as for bodily excellences, it is obvious that they are to be ranged with the above. For strength and stature surely manifest power; beauty and fleetness of foot bring celebrity; health brings pleasure. It is plain, then, that the only object sought for in all these ways is happiness. For that which each seeks in preference to all else, that is in his judgment the supreme good. And we have defined the supreme good to be happiness. Therefore, that state which each wishes in preference to all others is in his judgment happy.<\/p>\n
‘Thou hast, then, set before thine eyes something like a scheme of human happiness\u2014wealth, rank, power, glory, pleasure. Now Epicurus, from a sole regard to these considerations, with some consistency concluded the highest good to be pleasure, because all the other objects seem to bring some delight to the soul. But to return to human pursuits and aims: man’s mind seeks to recover its proper good, in spite of the mistiness of its recollection, but, like a drunken man, knows not by what path to return home. Think you they are wrong who strive to escape want? Nay, truly there is nothing which can so well complete happiness as a state abounding in all good things, needing nothing from outside, but wholly self-sufficing. Do they fall into error who deem that which is best to be also best deserving to receive the homage of reverence? Not at all. That cannot possibly be vile and contemptible, to attain which the endeavours of nearly all mankind are directed. Then, is power not to be reckoned in the category of good? Why, can that which is plainly more efficacious than anything else be esteemed a thing feeble and void of strength? Or is renown to be thought of no account? Nay, it cannot be ignored that the highest renown is constantly associated with the highest excellence. And what need is there to say that happiness is not haunted by care and gloom, nor exposed to trouble and vexation, since that is a condition we ask of the very least of things, from the possession and enjoyment of which we expect delight? So, then, these are the blessings men wish to win; they want riches, rank, sovereignty, glory, pleasure, because they believe that by these means they will secure independence, reverence, power, renown, and joy of heart. Therefore, it is the good which men seek by such divers courses; and herein is easily shown the might of Nature’s power, since, although opinions are so various and discordant, yet they agree in cherishing good as the end.’<\/p>\n
SONG II.
\nThe Bent of Nature.<\/p>\n
How the might of Nature sways
\nAll the world in ordered ways,
\nHow resistless laws control
\nEach least portion of the whole\u2014
\nFain would I in sounding verse
\nOn my pliant strings rehearse.
\nLo, the lion captive ta’en
\nMeekly wears his gilded chain;
\nYet though he by hand be fed,
\nThough a master’s whip he dread,
\nIf but once the taste of gore
\nWhet his cruel lips once more,
\nStraight his slumbering fierceness wakes,
\nWith one roar his bonds he breaks,
\nAnd first wreaks his vengeful force
\nOn his trainer’s mangled corse.
\nAnd the woodland songster, pent
\nIn forlorn imprisonment,
\nThough a mistress’ lavish care
\nStore of honeyed sweets prepare;
\nYet, if in his narrow cage,
\nAs he hops from bar to bar,
\nHe should spy the woods afar,
\nCool with sheltering foliage,
\nAll these dainties he will spurn,
\nTo the woods his heart will turn;
\nOnly for the woods he longs,
\nPipes the woods in all his songs.
\nTo rude force the sapling bends,
\nWhile the hand its pressure lends;
\nIf the hand its pressure slack,
\nStraight the supple wood springs back.
\nPh\u0153bus in the western main
\nSinks; but swift his car again
\nBy a secret path is borne
\nTo the wonted gates of morn.
\nThus are all things seen to yearn
\nIn due time for due return;
\nAnd no order fixed may stay,
\nSave which in th’ appointed way
\nJoins the end to the beginning
\nIn a steady cycle spinning.<\/p>\n
III.<\/p>\n
‘Ye, too, creatures of earth, have some glimmering of your origin, however faint, and though in a vision dim and clouded, yet in some wise, notwithstanding, ye discern the true end of happiness, and so the aim of nature leads you thither\u2014to that true good\u2014while error in many forms leads you astray therefrom. For reflect whether men are able to win happiness by those means through which they think to reach the proposed end. Truly, if either wealth, rank, or any of the rest, bring with them anything of such sort as seems to have nothing wanting to it that is good, we, too, acknowledge that some are made happy by the acquisition of these things. But if they are not able to fulfil their promises, and, moreover, lack many good things, is not the happiness men seek in them clearly discovered to be a false show? Therefore do I first ask thee thyself, who but lately wert living in affluence, amid all that abundance of wealth, was thy mind never troubled in consequence of some wrong done to thee?’<\/p>\n
‘Nay,’ said I, ‘I cannot ever remember a time when my mind was so completely at peace as not to feel the pang of some uneasiness.’<\/p>\n
‘Was it not because either something was absent which thou wouldst not have absent, or present which thou wouldst have away?’<\/p>\n
‘Yes,’ said I.<\/p>\n
‘Then, thou didst want the presence of the one, the absence of the other?’<\/p>\n
‘Admitted.’<\/p>\n
‘But a man lacks that of which he is in want?’<\/p>\n
‘He does.’<\/p>\n
‘And he who lacks something is not in all points self-sufficing?’<\/p>\n
‘No; certainly not,’ said I.<\/p>\n
‘So wert thou, then, in the plenitude of thy wealth, supporting this insufficiency?’<\/p>\n
‘I must have been.’<\/p>\n
‘Wealth, then, cannot make its possessor independent and free from all want, yet this was what it seemed to promise. Moreover, I think this also well deserves to be considered\u2014that there is nothing in the special nature of money to hinder its being taken away from those who possess it against their will.’<\/p>\n
‘I admit it.’<\/p>\n
‘Why, of course, when every day the stronger wrests it from the weaker without his consent. Else, whence come lawsuits, except in seeking to recover moneys which have been taken away against their owner’s will by force or fraud?’<\/p>\n
‘True,’ said I.<\/p>\n
‘Then, everyone will need some extraneous means of protection to keep his money safe.’<\/p>\n
‘Who can venture to deny it?’<\/p>\n
‘Yet he would not, unless he possessed the money which it is possible to lose.’<\/p>\n
‘No; he certainly would not.’<\/p>\n
‘Then, we have worked round to an opposite conclusion: the wealth which was thought to make a man independent rather puts him in need of further protection. How in the world, then, can want be driven away by riches? Cannot the rich feel hunger? Cannot they thirst? Are not the limbs of the wealthy sensitive to the winter’s cold? “But,” thou wilt say, “the rich have the wherewithal to sate their hunger, the means to get rid of thirst and cold.” True enough; want can thus be soothed by riches, wholly removed it cannot be. For if this ever-gaping, ever-craving want is glutted by wealth, it needs must be that the want itself which can be so glutted still remains. I do not speak of how very little suffices for nature, and how for avarice nothing is enough. Wherefore, if wealth cannot get rid of want, and makes new wants of its own, how can ye believe that it bestows independence?’<\/p>\n
SONG III.
\nThe Insatiableness of Avarice.<\/p>\n
Though the covetous grown wealthy
\nSee his piles of gold rise high;
\nThough he gather store of treasure
\nThat can never satisfy;
\nThough with pearls his gorget blazes,
\nRarest that the ocean yields;
\nThough a hundred head of oxen
\nTravail in his ample fields;
\nNe’er shall carking care forsake him
\nWhile he draws this vital breath,
\nAnd his riches go not with him,
\nWhen his eyes are closed in death.<\/p>\n
IV.<\/p>\n
‘Well, but official dignity clothes him to whom it comes with honour and reverence! Have, then, offices of state such power as to plant virtue in the minds of their possessors, and drive out vice? Nay, they are rather wont to signalize iniquity than to chase it away, and hence arises our indignation that honours so often fall to the most iniquitous of men. Accordingly, Catullus calls Nonius an “ulcer-spot,” though “sitting in the curule chair.” Dost not see what infamy high position brings upon the bad? Surely their unworthiness will be less conspicuous if their rank does not draw upon them the public notice! In thy own case, wouldst thou ever have been induced by all these perils to think of sharing office with Decoratus, since thou hast discerned in him the spirit of a rascally parasite and informer? No; we cannot deem men worthy of reverence on account of their office, whom we deem unworthy of the office itself. But didst thou see a man endued with wisdom, couldst thou suppose him not worthy of reverence, nor of that wisdom with which he was endued?’<\/p>\n
‘No; certainly not.’<\/p>\n
‘There is in Virtue a dignity of her own which she forthwith passes over to those to whom she is united. And since public honours cannot do this, it is clear that they do not possess the true beauty of dignity. And here this well deserves to be noticed\u2014that if a man is the more scorned in proportion as he is despised by a greater number, high position not only fails to win reverence for the wicked, but even loads them the more with contempt by drawing more attention to them. But not without retribution; for the wicked pay back a return in kind to the dignities they put on by the pollution of their touch. Perhaps, too, another consideration may teach thee to confess that true reverence cannot come through these counterfeit dignities. It is this: If one who had been many times consul chanced to visit barbaric lands, would his office win him the reverence of the barbarians? And yet if reverence were the natural effect of dignities, they would not forego their proper function in any part of the world, even as fire never anywhere fails to give forth heat. But since this effect is not due to their own efficacy, but is attached to them by the mistaken opinion of mankind, they disappear straightway when they are set before those who do not esteem them dignities. Thus the case stands with foreign peoples. But does their repute last for ever, even in the land of their origin? Why, the prefecture, which was once a great power, is now an empty name\u2014a burden merely on the senator’s fortune; the commissioner of the public corn supply was once a personage\u2014now what is more contemptible than this office? For, as we said just now, that which hath no true comeliness of its own now receives, now loses, lustre at the caprice of those who have to do with it. So, then, if dignities cannot win men reverence, if they are actually sullied by the contamination of the wicked, if they lose their splendour through time’s changes, if they come into contempt merely for lack of public estimation, what precious beauty have they in themselves, much less to give to others?’<\/p>\n
SONG IV.
\nDisgrace of Honours conferred by a Tyrant.<\/p>\n
Though royal purple soothes his pride,
\nAnd snowy pearls his neck adorn,
\nNero in all his riot lives
\nThe mark of universal scorn.
\nYet he on reverend heads conferred
\nTh’ inglorious honours of the state.
\nShall we, then, deem them truly blessed
\nWhom such preferment hath made great?<\/p>\n
V.<\/p>\n
‘Well, then, does sovereignty and the intimacy of kings prove able to confer power? Why, surely does not the happiness of kings endure for ever? And yet antiquity is full of examples, and these days also, of kings whose happiness has turned into calamity. How glorious a power, which is not even found effectual for its own preservation! But if happiness has its source in sovereign power, is not happiness diminished, and misery inflicted in its stead, in so far as that power falls short of completeness? Yet, however widely human sovereignty be extended, there must still be more peoples left, over whom each several king holds no sway. Now, at whatever point the power on which happiness depends ceases, here powerlessness steals in and makes wretchedness; so, by this way of reckoning, there must needs be a balance of wretchedness in the lot of the king. The tyrant who had made trial of the perils of his condition figured the fears that haunt a throne under the image of a sword hanging over a man’s head.[G] What sort of power, then, is this which cannot drive away the gnawings of anxiety, or shun the stings of terror? Fain would they themselves have lived secure, but they cannot; then they boast about their power! Dost thou count him to possess power whom thou seest to wish what he cannot bring to pass? Dost thou count him to possess power who encompasses himself with a body-guard, who fears those he terrifies more than they fear him, who, to keep up the semblance of power, is himself at the mercy of his slaves? Need I say anything of the friends of kings, when I show royal dominion itself so utterly and miserably weak\u2014why ofttimes the royal power in its plenitude brings them low, ofttimes involves them in its fall? Nero drove his friend and preceptor, Seneca, to the choice of the manner of his death. Antoninus exposed Papinianus, who was long powerful at court, to the swords of the soldiery. Yet each of these was willing to renounce his power. Seneca tried to surrender his wealth also to Nero, and go into retirement; but neither achieved his purpose. When they tottered, their very greatness dragged them down. What manner of thing, then, is this power which keeps men in fear while they possess it\u2014which when thou art fain to keep, thou art not safe, and when thou desirest to lay it aside thou canst not rid thyself of? Are friends any protection who have been attached by fortune, not by virtue? Nay; him whom good fortune has made a friend, ill fortune will make an enemy. And what plague is more effectual to do hurt than a foe of one’s own household?’<\/p>\n
SONG V.
\nSelf-mastery.<\/p>\n
Who on power sets his aim,
\nFirst must his own spirit tame;
\nHe must shun his neck to thrust
\n‘Neath th’ unholy yoke of lust.
\nFor, though India’s far-off land
\nBow before his wide command,
\nUtmost Thule homage pay\u2014
\nIf he cannot drive away
\nHaunting care and black distress,
\nIn his power, he’s powerless.<\/p>\n
VI.<\/p>\n
‘Again, how misleading, how base, a thing ofttimes is glory! Well does the tragic poet exclaim:<\/p>\n
‘”Oh, fond Repute, how many a time and oft
\nHast them raised high in pride the base-born churl!”
\nFor many have won a great name through the mistaken beliefs of the multitude\u2014and what can be imagined more shameful than that? Nay, they who are praised falsely must needs themselves blush at their own praises! And even when praise is won by merit, still, how does it add to the good conscience of the wise man who measures his good not by popular repute, but by the truth of inner conviction? And if at all it does seem a fair thing to get this same renown spread abroad, it follows that any failure so to spread it is held foul. But if, as I set forth but now, there must needs be many tribes and peoples whom the fame of any single man cannot reach, it follows that he whom thou esteemest glorious seems all inglorious in a neighbouring quarter of the globe. As to popular favour, I do not think it even worthy of mention in this place, since it never cometh of judgment, and never lasteth steadily.<\/p>\n
‘Then, again, who does not see how empty, how foolish, is the fame of noble birth? Why, if the nobility is based on renown, the renown is another’s! For, truly, nobility seems to be a sort of reputation coming from the merits of ancestors. But if it is the praise which brings renown, of necessity it is they who are praised that are famous. Wherefore, the fame of another clothes thee not with splendour if thou hast none of thine own. So, if there is any excellence in nobility of birth, methinks it is this alone\u2014that it would seem to impose upon the nobly born the obligation not to degenerate from the virtue of their ancestors.’<\/p>\n
SONG VI.
\nTrue Nobility.<\/p>\n
All men are of one kindred stock, though scattered far and wide;
\nFor one is Father of us all\u2014one doth for all provide.
\nHe gave the sun his golden beams, the moon her silver horn;
\nHe set mankind upon the earth, as stars the heavens adorn.
\nHe shut a soul\u2014a heaven-born soul\u2014within the body’s frame;
\nThe noble origin he gave each mortal wight may claim.
\nWhy boast ye, then, so loud of race and high ancestral line?
\nIf ye behold your being’s source, and God’s supreme design,
\nNone is degenerate, none base, unless by taint of sin
\nAnd cherished vice he foully stain his heavenly origin.<\/p>\n
VII.<\/p>\n
‘Then, what shall I say of the pleasures of the body? The lust thereof is full of uneasiness; the sating, of repentance. What sicknesses, what intolerable pains, are they wont to bring on the bodies of those who enjoy them\u2014the fruits of iniquity, as it were! Now, what sweetness the stimulus of pleasure may have I do not know. But that the issues of pleasure are painful everyone may understand who chooses to recall the memory of his own fleshly lusts. Nay, if these can make happiness, there is no reason why the beasts also should not be happy, since all their efforts are eagerly set upon satisfying the bodily wants. I know, indeed, that the sweetness of wife and children should be right comely, yet only too true to nature is what was said of one\u2014that he found in his sons his tormentors. And how galling such a contingency would be, I must needs put thee in mind, since thou hast never in any wise suffered such experiences, nor art thou now under any uneasiness. In such a case, I agree with my servant Euripides, who said that a man without children was fortunate in his misfortune.'[H]<\/p>\n
SONG VII.
\nPleasure’s Sting.<\/p>\n
This is the way of Pleasure:
\nShe stings them that despoil her;
\nAnd, like the wing\u00e9d toiler
\nWho’s lost her honeyed treasure,
\nShe flies, but leaves her smart
\nDeep-rankling in the heart.<\/p>\n
VIII.<\/p>\n
‘It is beyond doubt, then, that these paths do not lead to happiness; they cannot guide anyone to the promised goal. Now, I will very briefly show what serious evils are involved in following them. Just consider. Is it thy endeavour to heap up money? Why, thou must wrest it from its present possessor! Art thou minded to put on the splendour of official dignity? Thou must beg from those who have the giving of it; thou who covetest to outvie others in honour must lower thyself to the humble posture of petition. Dost thou long for power? Thou must face perils, for thou wilt be at the mercy of thy subjects’ plots. Is glory thy aim? Thou art lured on through all manner of hardships, and there is an end to thy peace of mind. Art fain to lead a life of pleasure? Yet who does not scorn and contemn one who is the slave of the weakest and vilest of things\u2014the body? Again, on how slight and perishable a possession do they rely who set before themselves bodily excellences! Can ye ever surpass the elephant in bulk or the bull in strength? Can ye excel the tiger in swiftness? Look upon the infinitude, the solidity, the swift motion, of the heavens, and for once cease to admire things mean and worthless. And yet the heavens are not so much to be admired on this account as for the reason which guides them. Then, how transient is the lustre of beauty! how soon gone!\u2014more fleeting than the fading bloom of spring flowers. And yet if, as Aristotle says, men should see with the eyes of Lynceus, so that their sight might pierce through obstructions, would not that body of Alcibiades, so gloriously fair in outward seeming, appear altogether loathsome when all its inward parts lay open to the view? Therefore, it is not thy own nature that makes thee seem beautiful, but the weakness of the eyes that see thee. Yet prize as unduly as ye will that body’s excellences; so long as ye know that this that ye admire, whatever its worth, can be dissolved away by the feeble flame of a three days’ fever. From all which considerations we may conclude as a whole, that these things which cannot make good the advantages they promise, which are never made perfect by the assemblage of all good things\u2014these neither lead as by-ways to happiness, nor themselves make men completely happy.’<\/p>\n
SONG VIII.
\nHuman Folly.<\/p>\n
Alas! how wide astray
\nDoth Ignorance these wretched mortals lead
\nFrom Truth’s own way!
\nFor not on leafy stems
\nDo ye within the green wood look for gold,
\nNor strip the vine for gems;
\nYour nets ye do not spread
\nUpon the hill-tops, that the groaning board
\nWith fish be furnish\u00e8d;
\nIf ye are fain to chase
\nThe bounding goat, ye sweep not in vain search
\nThe ocean’s ruffled face.
\nThe sea’s far depths they know,
\nEach hidden nook, wherein the waves o’erwash
\nThe pearl as white as snow;
\nWhere lurks the Tyrian shell,
\nWhere fish and prickly urchins do abound,
\nAll this they know full well.
\nBut not to know or care
\nWhere hidden lies the good all hearts desire\u2014
\nThis blindness they can bear;
\nWith gaze on earth low-bent,
\nThey seek for that which reacheth far beyond
\nThe starry firmament.
\nWhat curse shall I call down
\nOn hearts so dull? May they the race still run
\nFor wealth and high renown!
\nAnd when with much ado
\nThe false good they have grasped\u2014ah, then too late!\u2014
\nMay they discern the true!<\/p>\n
IX.<\/p>\n
‘This much may well suffice to set forth the form of false happiness; if this is now clear to thine eyes, the next step is to show what true happiness is.’<\/p>\n
‘Indeed,’ said I, ‘I see clearly enough that neither is independence to be found in wealth, nor power in sovereignty, nor reverence in dignities, nor fame in glory, nor true joy in pleasures.’<\/p>\n
‘Hast thou discerned also the causes why this is so?’<\/p>\n
‘I seem to have some inkling, but I should like to learn more at large from thee.’<\/p>\n
‘Why, truly the reason is hard at hand. That which is simple and indivisible by nature human error separates, and transforms from the true and perfect to the false and imperfect. Dost thou imagine that which lacketh nothing can want power?’<\/p>\n
‘Certainly not.’<\/p>\n
‘Right; for if there is any feebleness of strength in anything, in this there must necessarily be need of external protection.’<\/p>\n
‘That is so.’<\/p>\n
‘Accordingly, the nature of independence and power is one and the same.’<\/p>\n
‘It seems so.’<\/p>\n
‘Well, but dost think that anything of such a nature as this can be looked upon with contempt, or is it rather of all things most worthy of veneration?’<\/p>\n
‘Nay; there can be no doubt as to that.’<\/p>\n
‘Let us, then, add reverence to independence and power, and conclude these three to be one.’<\/p>\n
‘We must if we will acknowledge the truth.’<\/p>\n
‘Thinkest thou, then, this combination of qualities to be obscure and without distinction, or rather famous in all renown? Just consider: can that want renown which has been agreed to be lacking in nothing, to be supreme in power, and right worthy of honour, for the reason that it cannot bestow this upon itself, and so comes to appear somewhat poor in esteem?’<\/p>\n
‘I cannot but acknowledge that, being what it is, this union of qualities is also right famous.’<\/p>\n
‘It follows, then, that we must admit that renown is not different from the other three.’<\/p>\n
‘It does,’ said I.<\/p>\n
‘That, then, which needs nothing outside itself, which can accomplish all things in its own strength, which enjoys fame and compels reverence, must not this evidently be also fully crowned with joy?’<\/p>\n
‘In sooth, I cannot conceive,’ said I, ‘how any sadness can find entrance into such a state; wherefore I must needs acknowledge it full of joy\u2014at least, if our former conclusions are to hold.’<\/p>\n
‘Then, for the same reasons, this also is necessary\u2014that independence, power, renown, reverence, and sweetness of delight, are different only in name, but in substance differ no wise one from the other.’<\/p>\n
‘It is,’ said I.<\/p>\n
‘This, then, which is one, and simple by nature, human perversity separates, and, in trying to win a part of that which has no parts, fails to attain not only that portion (since there are no portions), but also the whole, to which it does not dream of aspiring.’<\/p>\n
‘How so?’ said I.<\/p>\n
‘He who, to escape want, seeks riches, gives himself no concern about power; he prefers a mean and low estate, and also denies himself many pleasures dear to nature to avoid losing the money which he has gained. But at this rate he does not even attain to independence\u2014a weakling void of strength, vexed by distresses, mean and despised, and buried in obscurity. He, again, who thirsts alone for power squanders his wealth, despises pleasure, and thinks fame and rank alike worthless without power. But thou seest in how many ways his state also is defective. Sometimes it happens that he lacks necessaries, that he is gnawed by anxieties, and, since he cannot rid himself of these inconveniences, even ceases to have that power which was his whole end and aim. In like manner may we cast up the reckoning in case of rank, of glory, or of pleasure. For since each one of these severally is identical with the rest, whosoever seeks any one of them without the others does not even lay hold of that one which he makes his aim.’<\/p>\n
‘Well,’ said I, ‘what then?’<\/p>\n
‘Suppose anyone desire to obtain them together, he does indeed wish for happiness as a whole; but will he find it in these things which, as we have proved, are unable to bestow what they promise?’<\/p>\n
‘Nay; by no means,’ said I.<\/p>\n
‘Then, happiness must certainly not be sought in these things which severally are believed to afford some one of the blessings most to be desired.’<\/p>\n
‘They must not, I admit. No conclusion could be more true.’<\/p>\n
‘So, then, the form and the causes of false happiness are set before thine eyes. Now turn thy gaze to the other side; there thou wilt straightway see the true happiness I promised.’<\/p>\n
‘Yea, indeed, ’tis plain to the blind.’ said I. ‘Thou didst point it out even now in seeking to unfold the causes of the false. For, unless I am mistaken, that is true and perfect happiness which crowns one with the union of independence, power, reverence, renown, and joy. And to prove to thee with how deep an insight I have listened\u2014since all these are the same\u2014that which can truly bestow one of them I know to be without doubt full and complete happiness.’<\/p>\n
‘Happy art thou, my scholar, in this thy conviction; only one thing shouldst thou add.’<\/p>\n
‘What is that?’ said I.<\/p>\n
‘Is there aught, thinkest thou, amid these mortal and perishable things which can produce a state such as this?’<\/p>\n
‘Nay, surely not; and this thou hast so amply demonstrated that no word more is needed.’<\/p>\n
‘Well, then, these things seem to give to mortals shadows of the true good, or some kind of imperfect good; but the true and perfect good they cannot bestow.’<\/p>\n
‘Even so,’ said I.<\/p>\n
‘Since, then, thou hast learnt what that true happiness is, and what men falsely call happiness, it now remains that thou shouldst learn from what source to seek this.’<\/p>\n
‘Yes; to this I have long been eagerly looking forward.’<\/p>\n
‘Well, since, as Plato maintains in the “Tim\u00e6us,” we ought even in the most trivial matters to implore the Divine protection, what thinkest thou should we now do in order to deserve to find the seat of that highest good?’<\/p>\n
‘We must invoke the Father of all things,’ said I; ‘for without this no enterprise sets out from a right beginning.’<\/p>\n
‘Thou sayest well,’ said she; and forthwith lifted up her voice and sang:<\/p>\n
SONG IX.[I]
\nInvocation.<\/p>\n
Maker of earth and sky, from age to age
\nWho rul’st the world by reason; at whose word
\nTime issues from Eternity’s abyss:
\nTo all that moves the source of movement, fixed
\nThyself and moveless. Thee no cause impelled
\nExtrinsic this proportioned frame to shape
\nFrom shapeless matter; but, deep-set within
\nThy inmost being, the form of perfect good,
\nFrom envy free; and Thou didst mould the whole
\nTo that supernal pattern. Beauteous
\nThe world in Thee thus imaged, being Thyself
\nMost beautiful. So Thou the work didst fashion
\nIn that fair likeness, bidding it put on
\nPerfection through the exquisite perfectness
\nOf every part’s contrivance. Thou dost bind
\nThe elements in balanced harmony,
\nSo that the hot and cold, the moist and dry,
\nContend not; nor the pure fire leaping up
\nEscape, or weight of waters whelm the earth.
\nThou joinest and diffusest through the whole,
\nLinking accordantly its several parts,
\nA soul of threefold nature, moving all.
\nThis, cleft in twain, and in two circles gathered,
\nSpeeds in a path that on itself returns,
\nEncompassing mind’s limits, and conforms
\nThe heavens to her true semblance. Lesser souls
\nAnd lesser lives by a like ordinance
\nThou sendest forth, each to its starry car
\nAffixing, and dost strew them far and wide
\nO’er earth and heaven. These by a law benign
\nThou biddest turn again, and render back
\nTo thee their fires. Oh, grant, almighty Father,
\nGrant us on reason’s wing to soar aloft
\nTo heaven’s exalted height; grant us to see
\nThe fount of good; grant us, the true light found,
\nTo fix our steadfast eyes in vision clear
\nOn Thee. Disperse the heavy mists of earth,
\nAnd shine in Thine own splendour. For Thou art
\nThe true serenity and perfect rest
\nOf every pious soul\u2014to see Thy face,
\nThe end and the beginning\u2014One the guide,
\nThe traveller, the pathway, and the goal.<\/p>\n
X.<\/p>\n
‘Since now thou hast seen what is the form of the imperfect good, and what the form of the perfect also, methinks I should next show in what manner this perfection of felicity is built up. And here I conceive it proper to inquire, first, whether any excellence, such as thou hast lately defined, can exist in the nature of things, lest we be deceived by an empty fiction of thought to which no true reality answers. But it cannot be denied that such does exist, and is, as it were, the source of all things good. For everything which is called imperfect is spoken of as imperfect by reason of the privation of some perfection; so it comes to pass that, whenever imperfection is found in any particular, there must necessarily be a perfection in respect of that particular also. For were there no such perfection, it is utterly inconceivable how that so-called imperfection should come into existence. Nature does not make a beginning with things mutilated and imperfect; she starts with what is whole and perfect, and falls away later to these feeble and inferior productions. So if there is, as we showed before, a happiness of a frail and imperfect kind, it cannot be doubted but there is also a happiness substantial and perfect.’<\/p>\n
‘Most true is thy conclusion, and most sure,’ said I.<\/p>\n
‘Next to consider where the dwelling-place of this happiness may be. The common belief of all mankind agrees that God, the supreme of all things, is good. For since nothing can be imagined better than God, how can we doubt Him to be good than whom there is nothing better? Now, reason shows God to be good in such wise as to prove that in Him is perfect good. For were it not so, He would not be supreme of all things; for there would be something else more excellent, possessed of perfect good, which would seem to have the advantage in priority and dignity, since it has clearly appeared that all perfect things are prior to those less complete. Wherefore, lest we fall into an infinite regression, we must acknowledge the supreme God to be full of supreme and perfect good. But we have determined that true happiness is the perfect good; therefore true happiness must dwell in the supreme Deity.’<\/p>\n
‘I accept thy reasonings,’ said I; ‘they cannot in any wise be disputed.’<\/p>\n
‘But, come, see how strictly and incontrovertibly thou mayst prove this our assertion that the supreme Godhead hath fullest possession of the highest good.’<\/p>\n
‘In what way, pray?’ said I.<\/p>\n
‘Do not rashly suppose that He who is the Father of all things hath received that highest good of which He is said to be possessed either from some external source, or hath it as a natural endowment in such sort that thou mightest consider the essence of the happiness possessed, and of the God who possesses it, distinct and different. For if thou deemest it received from without, thou mayst esteem that which gives more excellent than that which has received. But Him we most worthily acknowledge to be the most supremely excellent of all things. If, however, it is in Him by nature, yet is logically distinct, the thought is inconceivable, since we are speaking of God, who is supreme of all things. Who was there to join these distinct essences? Finally, when one thing is different from another, the things so conceived as distinct cannot be identical. Therefore that which of its own nature is distinct from the highest good is not itself the highest good\u2014an impious thought of Him than whom, ’tis plain, nothing can be more excellent. For universally nothing can be better in nature than the source from which it has come; therefore on most true grounds of reason would I conclude that which is the source of all things to be in its own essence the highest good.’<\/p>\n
‘And most justly,’ said I.<\/p>\n
‘But the highest good has been admitted to be happiness.’<\/p>\n
‘Yes.’<\/p>\n
‘Then,’ said she, ‘it is necessary to acknowledge that God is very happiness.’<\/p>\n
‘Yes,’ said I; ‘I cannot gainsay my former admissions, and I see clearly that this is a necessary inference therefrom.’<\/p>\n
‘Reflect, also,’ said she, ‘whether the same conclusion is not further confirmed by considering that there cannot be two supreme goods distinct one from the other. For the goods which are different clearly cannot be severally each what the other is: wherefore neither of the two can be perfect, since to either the other is wanting; but since it is not perfect, it cannot manifestly be the supreme good. By no means, then, can goods which are supreme be different one from the other. But we have concluded that both happiness and God are the supreme good; wherefore that which is highest Divinity must also itself necessarily be supreme happiness.’<\/p>\n
‘No conclusion,’ said I, ‘could be truer to fact, nor more soundly reasoned out, nor more worthy of God.’<\/p>\n
‘Then, further,’ said she, ‘just as geometricians are wont to draw inferences from their demonstrations to which they give the name “deductions,” so will I add here a sort of corollary. For since men become happy by the acquisition of happiness, while happiness is very Godship, it is manifest that they become happy by the acquisition of Godship. But as by the acquisition of justice men become just, and wise by the acquisition of wisdom, so by parity of reasoning by acquiring Godship they must of necessity become gods. So every man who is happy is a god; and though in nature God is One only, yet there is nothing to hinder that very many should be gods by participation in that nature.’<\/p>\n
‘A fair conclusion, and a precious,’ said I, ‘deduction or corollary, by whichever name thou wilt call it.’<\/p>\n
‘And yet,’ said she, ‘not one whit fairer than this which reason persuades us to add.’<\/p>\n
‘Why, what?’ said I.<\/p>\n
‘Why, seeing happiness has many particulars included under it, should all these be regarded as forming one body of happiness, as it were, made up of various parts, or is there some one of them which forms the full essence of happiness, while all the rest are relative to this?’<\/p>\n
‘I would thou wouldst unfold the whole matter to me at large.’<\/p>\n
‘We judge happiness to be good, do we not?’<\/p>\n
‘Yea, the supreme good.’<\/p>\n
‘And this superlative applies to all; for this same happiness is adjudged to be the completest independence, the highest power, reverence, renown, and pleasure.’<\/p>\n
‘What then?’<\/p>\n
‘Are all these goods\u2014independence, power, and the rest\u2014to be deemed members of happiness, as it were, or are they all relative to good as to their summit and crown?’<\/p>\n
‘I understand the problem, but I desire to hear how thou wouldst solve it.’<\/p>\n
‘Well, then, listen to the determination of the matter. Were all these members composing happiness, they would differ severally one from the other. For this is the nature of parts\u2014that by their difference they compose one body. All these, however, have been proved to be the same; therefore they cannot possibly be members, otherwise happiness will seem to be built up out of one member, which cannot be.’<\/p>\n
‘There can be no doubt as to that,’ said I; ‘but I am impatient to hear what remains.’<\/p>\n
‘Why, it is manifest that all the others are relative to the good. For the very reason why independence is sought is that it is judged good, and so power also, because it is believed to be good. The same, too, may be supposed of reverence, of renown, and of pleasant delight. Good, then, is the sum and source of all desirable things. That which has not in itself any good, either in reality or in semblance, can in no wise be desired. Contrariwise, even things which by nature are not good are desired as if they were truly good, if they seem to be so. Whereby it comes to pass that goodness is rightly believed to be the sum and hinge and cause of all things desirable. Now, that for the sake of which anything is desired itself seems to be most wished for. For instance, if anyone wishes to ride for the sake of health, he does not so much wish for the exercise of riding as the benefit of his health. Since, then, all things are sought for the sake of the good, it is not these so much as good itself that is sought by all. But that on account of which all other things are wished for was, we agreed, happiness; wherefore thus also it appears that it is happiness alone which is sought. From all which it is transparently clear that the essence of absolute good and of happiness is one and the same.’<\/p>\n
‘I cannot see how anyone can dissent from these conclusions.’<\/p>\n
‘But we have also proved that God and true happiness are one and the same.’<\/p>\n
‘Yes,’ said I.<\/p>\n
‘Then we can safely conclude, also, that God’s essence is seated in absolute good, and nowhere else.’<\/p>\n
SONG X.
\nThe True Light.<\/p>\n
Hither come, all ye whose minds
\nLust with rosy fetters binds\u2014
\nLust to bondage hard compelling
\nTh’ earthy souls that are his dwelling\u2014
\nHere shall be your labour’s close;
\nHere your haven of repose.
\nCome, to your one refuge press;
\nWide it stands to all distress!
\nNot the glint of yellow gold
\nDown bright Hermus’ current rolled;
\nNot the Tagus’ precious sands,
\nNor in far-off scorching lands
\nAll the radiant gems that hide
\nUnder Indus’ storied tide\u2014
\nEmerald green and glistering white\u2014
\nCan illume our feeble sight;
\nBut they rather leave the mind
\nIn its native darkness blind.
\nFor the fairest beams they shed
\nIn earth’s lowest depths were fed;
\nBut the splendour that supplies
\nStrength and vigour to the skies,
\nAnd the universe controls,
\nShunneth dark and ruined souls.
\nHe who once hath seen this light
\nWill not call the sunbeam bright.<\/p>\n
XI.<\/p>\n
‘I quite agree,’ said I, ‘truly all thy reasonings hold admirably together.’<\/p>\n
Then said she: ‘What value wouldst thou put upon the boon shouldst thou come to the knowledge of the absolute good?’<\/p>\n
‘Oh, an infinite,’ said I, ‘if only I were so blest as to learn to know God also who is the good.’<\/p>\n
‘Yet this will I make clear to thee on truest grounds of reason, if only our recent conclusions stand fast.’<\/p>\n
‘They will.’<\/p>\n
‘Have we not shown that those things which most men desire are not true and perfect good precisely for this cause\u2014that they differ severally one from another, and, seeing that one is wanting to another, they cannot bestow full and absolute good; but that they become the true good when they are gathered, as it were, into one form and agency, so that that which is independence is likewise power, reverence, renown, and pleasant delight, and unless they are all one and the same, they have no claim to be counted among things desirable?’<\/p>\n
‘Yes; this was clearly proved, and cannot in any wise be doubted.’<\/p>\n
‘Now, when things are far from being good while they are different, but become good as soon as they are one, is it not true that these become good by acquiring unity?’<\/p>\n
‘It seems so,’ said I.<\/p>\n
‘But dost not thou allow that all which is good is good by participation in goodness?’<\/p>\n
‘It is.’<\/p>\n
‘Then, thou must on similar grounds admit that unity and goodness are the same; for when the effects of things in their natural working differ not, their essence is one and the same.’<\/p>\n
‘There is no denying it.’<\/p>\n
‘Now, dost thou know,’ said she, ‘that all which is abides and subsists so long as it continues one, but so soon as it ceases to be one it perishes and falls to pieces?’<\/p>\n
‘In what way?’<\/p>\n
‘Why, take animals, for example. When soul and body come together, and continue in one, this is, we say, a living creature; but when this unity is broken by the separation of these two, the creature dies, and is clearly no longer living. The body also, while it remains in one form by the joining together of its members, presents a human appearance; but if the separation and dispersal of the parts break up the body’s unity, it ceases to be what it was. And if we extend our survey to all other things, without doubt it will manifestly appear that each several thing subsists while it is one, but when it ceases to be one perishes.’<\/p>\n
‘Yes; when I consider further, I see it to be even as thou sayest.’<\/p>\n
‘Well, is there aught,’ said she, ‘which, in so far as it acts conformably to nature, abandons the wish for life, and desires to come to death and corruption?’<\/p>\n
‘Looking to living creatures, which have some faults of choice, I find none that, without external compulsion, forego the will to live, and of their own accord hasten to destruction. For every creature diligently pursues the end of self-preservation, and shuns death and destruction! As to herbs and trees, and inanimate things generally, I am altogether in doubt what to think.’<\/p>\n
‘And yet there is no possibility of question about this either, since thou seest how herbs and trees grow in places suitable for them, where, as far as their nature admits, they cannot quickly wither and die. Some spring up in the plains, others in the mountains; some grow in marshes, others cling to rocks; and others, again, find a fertile soil in the barren sands; and if you try to transplant these elsewhere, they wither away. Nature gives to each the soil that suits it, and uses her diligence to prevent any of them dying, so long as it is possible for them to continue alive. Why do they all draw their nourishment from roots as from a mouth dipped into the earth, and distribute the strong bark over the pith? Why are all the softer parts like the pith deeply encased within, while the external parts have the strong texture of wood, and outside of all is the bark to resist the weather’s inclemency, like a champion stout in endurance? Again, how great is nature’s diligence to secure universal propagation by multiplying seed! Who does not know all these to be contrivances, not only for the present maintenance of a species, but for its lasting continuance, generation after generation, for ever? And do not also the things believed inanimate on like grounds of reason seek each what is proper to itself? Why do the flames shoot lightly upward, while the earth presses downward with its weight, if it is not that these motions and situations are suitable to their respective natures? Moreover, each several thing is preserved by that which is agreeable to its nature, even as it is destroyed by things inimical. Things solid like stones resist disintegration by the close adhesion of their parts. Things fluid like air and water yield easily to what divides them, but swiftly flow back and mingle with those parts from which they have been severed, while fire, again, refuses to be cut at all. And we are not now treating of the voluntary motions of an intelligent soul, but of the drift of nature. Even so is it that we digest our food without thinking about it, and draw our breath unconsciously in sleep; nay, even in living creatures the love of life cometh not of conscious will, but from the principles of nature. For oftentimes in the stress of circumstances will chooses the death which nature shrinks from; and contrarily, in spite of natural appetite, will restrains that work of reproduction by which alone the persistence of perishable creatures is maintained. So entirely does this love of self come from drift of nature, not from animal impulse. Providence has furnished things with this most cogent reason for continuance: they must desire life, so long as it is naturally possible for them to continue living. Wherefore in no way mayst thou doubt but that things naturally aim at continuance of existence, and shun destruction.’<\/p>\n
‘I confess,’ said I, ‘that what I lately thought uncertain, I now perceive to be indubitably clear.’<\/p>\n
‘Now, that which seeks to subsist and continue desires to be one; for if its oneness be gone, its very existence cannot continue.’<\/p>\n
‘True,’ said I.<\/p>\n
‘All things, then, desire to be one.’<\/p>\n
‘I agree.’<\/p>\n
‘But we have proved that one is the very same thing as good.’<\/p>\n
‘We have.’<\/p>\n
‘All things, then, seek the good; indeed, you may express the fact by defining good as that which all desire.’<\/p>\n
‘Nothing could be more truly thought out. Either there is no single end to which all things are relative, or else the end to which all things universally hasten must be the highest good of all.’<\/p>\n
Then she: ‘Exceedingly do I rejoice, dear pupil; thine eye is now fixed on the very central mark of truth. Moreover, herein is revealed that of which thou didst erstwhile profess thyself ignorant.’<\/p>\n
‘What is that?’ said I.<\/p>\n
‘The end and aim of the whole universe. Surely it is that which is desired of all; and, since we have concluded the good to be such, we ought to acknowledge the end and aim of the whole universe to be “the good.”‘<\/p>\n
SONG XI.
\nReminiscence.[J]<\/p>\n
Who truth pursues, who from false ways
\nHis heedful steps would keep,
\nBy inward light must search within
\nIn meditation deep;
\nAll outward bent he must repress
\nHis soul’s true treasure to possess.
\nThen all that error’s mists obscured
\nShall shine more clear than light,
\nThis fleshly frame’s oblivious weight
\nHath quenched not reason quite;
\nThe germs of truth still lie within,
\nWhence we by learning all may win.
\nElse how could ye the answer due
\nUntaught to questions give,
\nWere’t not that deep within the soul
\nTruth’s secret sparks do live?
\nIf Plato’s teaching erreth not,
\nWe learn but that we have forgot.<\/p>\n
XII.<\/p>\n
Then said I: ‘With all my heart I agree with Plato; indeed, this is now the second time that these things have been brought back to my mind\u2014first I lost them through the clogging contact of the body; then after through the stress of heavy grief.’<\/p>\n
Then she continued: ‘If thou wilt reflect upon thy former admissions, it will not be long before thou dost also recollect that of which erstwhile thou didst confess thyself ignorant.’<\/p>\n
‘What is that?’ said I.<\/p>\n
‘The principles of the world’s government,’ said she.<\/p>\n
‘Yes; I remember my confession, and, although I now anticipate what thou intendest, I have a desire to hear the argument plainly set forth.’<\/p>\n
‘Awhile ago thou deemedst it beyond all doubt that God doth govern the world.’<\/p>\n
‘I do not think it doubtful now, nor shall I ever; and by what reasons I am brought to this assurance I will briefly set forth. This world could never have taken shape as a single system out of parts so diverse and opposite were it not that there is One who joins together these so diverse things. And when it had once come together, the very diversity of natures would have dissevered it and torn it asunder in universal discord were there not One who keeps together what He has joined. Nor would the order of nature proceed so regularly, nor could its course exhibit motions so fixed in respect of position, time, range, efficacy, and character, unless there were One who, Himself abiding, disposed these various vicissitudes of change. This power, whatsoever it be, whereby they remain as they were created, and are kept in motion, I call by the name which all recognise\u2014God.’<\/p>\n
Then said she: ‘Seeing that such is thy belief, it will cost me little trouble, I think, to enable thee to win happiness, and return in safety to thy own country. But let us give our attention to the task that we have set before ourselves. Have we not counted independence in the category of happiness, and agreed that God is absolute happiness?’<\/p>\n
‘Truly, we have.’<\/p>\n
‘Then, He will need no external assistance for the ruling of the world. Otherwise, if He stands in need of aught, He will not possess complete independence.’<\/p>\n
‘That is necessarily so,’ said I.<\/p>\n
‘Then, by His own power alone He disposes all things.’<\/p>\n
‘It cannot be denied.’<\/p>\n
‘Now, God was proved to be absolute good.’<\/p>\n
‘Yes; I remember.’<\/p>\n
‘Then, He disposes all things by the agency of good, if it be true that He rules all things by His own power whom we have agreed to be good; and He is, as it were, the rudder and helm by which the world’s mechanism is kept steady and in order.’<\/p>\n
‘Heartily do I agree; and, indeed, I anticipated what thou wouldst say, though it may be in feeble surmise only.’<\/p>\n
‘I well believe it,’ said she; ‘for, as I think, thou now bringest to the search eyes quicker in discerning truth; but what I shall say next is no less plain and easy to see.’<\/p>\n
‘What is it?’ said I.<\/p>\n
‘Why,’ said she, ‘since God is rightly believed to govern all things with the rudder of goodness, and since all things do likewise, as I have taught, haste towards good by the very aim of nature, can it be doubted that His governance is willingly accepted, and that all submit themselves to the sway of the Disposer as conformed and attempered to His rule?’<\/p>\n
‘Necessarily so,’ said I; ‘no rule would seem happy if it were a yoke imposed on reluctant wills, and not the safe-keeping of obedient subjects.’<\/p>\n
‘There is nothing, then, which, while it follows nature, endeavours to resist good.’<\/p>\n
‘No; nothing.’<\/p>\n
‘But if anything should, will it have the least success against Him whom we rightly agreed to be supreme Lord of happiness?’<\/p>\n
‘It would be utterly impotent.’<\/p>\n
‘There is nothing, then, which has either the will or the power to oppose this supreme good.’<\/p>\n
‘No; I think not.’<\/p>\n
‘So, then,’ said she, ‘it is the supreme good which rules in strength, and graciously disposes all things.’<\/p>\n
Then said I: ‘How delighted am I at thy reasonings, and the conclusion to which thou hast brought them, but most of all at these very words which thou usest! I am now at last ashamed of the folly that so sorely vexed me.’<\/p>\n
‘Thou hast heard the story of the giants assailing heaven; but a beneficent strength disposed of them also, as they deserved. But shall we submit our arguments to the shock of mutual collision?\u2014it may be from the impact some fair spark of truth may be struck out.’<\/p>\n
‘If it be thy good pleasure,’ said I.<\/p>\n
‘No one can doubt that God is all-powerful.’<\/p>\n
‘No one at all can question it who thinks consistently.’<\/p>\n
‘Now, there is nothing which One who is all-powerful cannot do.’<\/p>\n
‘Nothing.’<\/p>\n
‘But can God do evil, then?’<\/p>\n
‘Nay; by no means.’<\/p>\n
‘Then, evil is nothing,’ said she, ‘since He to whom nothing is impossible is unable to do evil.’<\/p>\n
‘Art thou mocking me,’ said I, ‘weaving a labyrinth of tangled arguments, now seeming to begin where thou didst end, and now to end where thou didst begin, or dost thou build up some wondrous circle of Divine simplicity? For, truly, a little before thou didst begin with happiness, and say it was the supreme good, and didst declare it to be seated in the supreme Godhead. God Himself, too, thou didst affirm to be supreme good and all-complete happiness; and from this thou didst go on to add, as by the way, the proof that no one would be happy unless he were likewise God. Again, thou didst say that the very form of good was the essence both of God and of happiness, and didst teach that the absolute One was the absolute good which was sought by universal nature. Thou didst maintain, also, that God rules the universe by the governance of goodness, that all things obey Him willingly, and that evil has no existence in nature. And all this thou didst unfold without the help of assumptions from without, but by inherent and proper proofs, drawing credence one from the other.’<\/p>\n
Then answered she: ‘Far is it from me to mock thee; nay, by the blessing of God, whom we lately addressed in prayer, we have achieved the most important of all objects. For such is the form of the Divine essence, that neither can it pass into things external, nor take up anything external into itself; but, as Parmenides says of it,<\/p>\n
‘”In body like to a sphere on all sides perfectly rounded,”
\nit rolls the restless orb of the universe, keeping itself motionless the while. And if I have also employed reasonings not drawn from without, but lying within the compass of our subject, there is no cause for thee to marvel, since thou hast learnt on Plato’s authority that words ought to be akin to the matter of which they treat.’<\/p>\n
SONG XII.
\nOrpheus and Eurydice.<\/p>\n
Blest he whose feet have stood
\nBeside the fount of good;
\nBlest he whose will could break
\nEarth’s chains for wisdom’s sake!
\nThe Thracian bard, ’tis said,
\nMourned his dear consort dead;
\nTo hear the plaintive strain
\nThe woods moved in his train,
\nAnd the stream ceased to flow,
\nHeld by so soft a woe;
\nThe deer without dismay
\nBeside the lion lay;
\nThe hound, by song subdued,
\nNo more the hare pursued,
\nBut the pang unassuaged
\nIn his own bosom raged.
\nThe music that could calm
\nAll else brought him no balm.
\nChiding the powers immortal,
\nHe came unto Hell’s portal;
\nThere breathed all tender things
\nUpon his sounding strings,
\nEach rhapsody high-wrought
\nHis goddess-mother taught\u2014
\nAll he from grief could borrow
\nAnd love redoubling sorrow,
\nTill, as the echoes waken,
\nAll T\u00e6narus is shaken;
\nWhilst he to ruth persuades
\nThe monarch of the shades
\nWith dulcet prayer. Spell-bound,
\nThe triple-headed hound
\nAt sounds so strangely sweet
\nFalls crouching at his feet.
\nThe dread Avengers, too,
\nThat guilty minds pursue
\nWith ever-haunting fears,
\nAre all dissolved in tears.
\nIxion, on his wheel,
\nA respite brief doth feel;
\nFor, lo! the wheel stands still.
\nAnd, while those sad notes thrill,
\nThirst-maddened Tantalus
\nListens, oblivious
\nOf the stream’s mockery
\nAnd his long agony.
\nThe vulture, too, doth spare
\nSome little while to tear
\nAt Tityus’ rent side,
\nSated and pacified.
\nAt length the shadowy king,
\nHis sorrows pitying,
\n‘He hath prevail\u00e8d!’ cried;
\n‘We give him back his bride!
\nTo him she shall belong,
\nAs guerdon of his song.
\nOne sole condition yet
\nUpon the boon is set:
\nLet him not turn his eyes
\nTo view his hard-won prize,
\nTill they securely pass
\nThe gates of Hell.’ Alas!
\nWhat law can lovers move?
\nA higher law is love!
\nFor Orpheus\u2014woe is me!\u2014
\nOn his Eurydice\u2014
\nDay’s threshold all but won\u2014
\nLooked, lost, and was undone!
\nYe who the light pursue,
\nThis story is for you,
\nWho seek to find a way
\nUnto the clearer day.
\nIf on the darkness past
\nOne backward look ye cast,
\nYour weak and wandering eyes
\nHave lost the matchless prize.<\/p>\n\n\t\t\t Candela Citations<\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t