Week 15: The Consolation of Philosophy
Every week is getting better. Last week I had barely heard of a man named Boethius; this week he is the author of one of my top-three books of all time. I know—with a banger of a title like that, how could I not love it?
Much like last week, this is a week where I can see threads from prior weeks coming together. It’s honestly the most amazing experience. I wish everyone could have it, and I’m so grateful to Ted Gioia for his work in putting this Humanities Course together. I can’t believe how this project continues to consume me, but it’s so rewarding. And that is without necessarily looking at all of the art or listening to all of the music each week. But let’s get going with the book.
Boethius is technically a Roman writer, an actual Roman who lived just after the fall of the Roman Empire (which for our purposes we’ll say was in 476, when the last Roman Emperor was sacked by a German). He was incredibly smart and very busy; he wrote several translations of Greek philosophy, among them Aristotle and Plato, was a trusted aid to the Goth king Theodoric who took over Boethius’ town of Ravenna, was a mathematician and astronomer, had all kinds of ideas about education, and even built a water clock for Theodoric to give another king as a present. In addition, he was a family man whose two sons were so widely respected they served together as Roman consuls before Boethius’ death. (Do the math—they must have been in their early 20s, quite young!) He was a Christian serving Theodoric, who was an Arian, and that may be why Theodoric got crossways with him. By the time Boethius was 44, he was imprisoned by Theodoric, and soon tortured to death. That execution was a black mark on Theodoric’s rule, and he actually died in some disgrace from it a couple of years later.
That little history lesson minimizes Boethius unbelievable contributions to Medieval philosophy, science and literature. It turns out that without Boethius, the Middle Ages would have known virtually nothing of Greek, and even a lot of Roman, philosophy. He also wrote his own treatises on education, although only two of those survived (de musica and de arithmeteca). They were so good they were used as textbooks for about a thousand years. Chaucer, Aquinas, Dante, Milton, Shakespeare…all of them refer to ideas that Boethius wrote about, especially in this book I had never heard of.
The Consolation of Philosophy…imagine that you have lived a good, productive life. You’re respected, you have great kids who are well-launched, you have work you love that is valuable, you have friends in high places who are interested in what you think, you have a devoted relationship with Jesus, you think you probably have many years left to spend your life doing what makes your heart sing. And then one day, that friend in a high place changes his mind, and he puts you in a windowless, empty room, with the promise that you won’t leave alive, and that getting out even that way will be pretty painful. No books to pass the time. Some blank paper, though. And what emerges from that time is one of the sweetest, most beautiful and most influential works of literature that has ever been produced. That is Consolation.
I KNOW I’m going on and on about this book, but here’s a quote from the introduction: “As C.S Lewis has remarked of this work, ‘Until about two hundred years ago [now 300 years] it would…have been hard to find an educated man in any European country who did not love it.’” (The Lewis quote is from The Discarded Image.) Now it is my turn.
I’ll start with the general organization of the book. Consolation is divided into five “books,” each one comprising a series of essays (prosa) alternating with poetry (metrea). It is loosely a conversation between Boethius and Lady Philosophy, although Lady Philosophy does talk so much that you can forget that there is a conversation happening sometimes. The topics of the books form a loose narrative as Lady Philosophy comforts Boethius and then helps him to see the truth of his situation:
Book One introduces Boethius, his imprisonment, and Lady Philosophy.
In Book Two, Lady Philosophy reminds Boethius of many things he already knows, but has merely forgotten in the face of his present troubles. In particular they talk about Lady Fortune.
Book Three is a discussion of the nature of the highest Good.
Book Four takes a turn toward the nature of evil—the evergreen question of how God can allow it.
Finally, in Book Five Boethius wrestles with divine foreknowledge and man’s free will, only to return to the idea that really, you need to pursue God.
The metrea serve as little intermissions and typically make the point of the corresponding prosa using vivid imagery and many, many mythological, historical, and even Biblical references. On a practical level, I loved having the breaks in the prose. From reading Aristotle, I know that long passages of philosophy can get deep pretty fast, and I appreciated the poetry breaks. Plus, some of the poetry is gorgeous, even in translation.
In case you can’t tell, I learned so much from this book that I’m not sure how to even start. So forgive me if I just resort to bullet points. They won’t really go with each other very much but hopefully I can convey some of the breadth and wisdom of this book:
Over and over, Platonic ideas pop up. Boethius was, according to the many footnotes in my book, a neoplatonist. (Short answer, a lot of beliefs based in Platonic ideas but with a Christian metaphysic. It’s more than that but I’m not an expert.) For example, kings should aspire to be philosophers, or perhaps philosophers kings, so that wicked men don’t rise to positions of power. And we are born with longings and understandings. Lady P says: “You, too, earthly creature, dream of your origin, although only in faint images.” Such a beautiful picture of Plato’s idea of knowing.
Stoicism certainly stakes its claim on Boethius as well. Right at the beginning, Lady P explains to Boethius that he’s only exiled in body—his mind is truly free. And even later, Boethius spent a lot of time reflecting on nature, enough that I recalled an idea from Marcus Aurelius. I’ll paraphrase: cultivating an appreciation for nature, and stopping to contemplate it, will develop in you an appreciation and interest in everything around you. Boethius seems to exhibit that interest in his world in an extraordinary way.
And then, of course, he does pull in some Aristotle. While he completely rejects the idea of the new mind as blank slate (“tabula rasa”), he does certainly embrace the idea of the Unmoved Mover, or, as Boethius knows Him, God.
I really want to consider the idea of “Exile as Spiritual Crisis” going forward. Boethius wasn’t exiled bodily, but over and over again Lady P refers to his need to “return to his fatherland” of his own spirit. I’ve run into a lot of exiles already: Aristotle, Odysseus, Aeneas, Oedipus, even Dido. And there are more to come, like Dante the Pilgrim. It’s just something I’m mulling over.
Some of the poems are truly lovely. In Book 3, metreum 12 is a beautiful recounting of the myth of Orpheus and Euridyce. At the moment before freeing his beloved from Hades, Orpheus turns to steal a glance—and Eurydice is whisked back to the underworld. A reminder to keep your eyes ahead? Jesus’ parable of building your home on solid rock is found in 1met5, and “What ignorance seduces senseless men?” is the question of the central metreum in the whole book. It raises the question Boethius probably pondered a lot in his cell.
I think that’s enough for now! Simply put, this is a great book. I can tell I’ll need to reread it, and hopefully soon. I also have several books I’m interested in reading based on this week: Chaucer (coming up in Week 21), Milton (later than that), C.S. Lewis’ The Discarded Image, Chadwick’s biography Boethius, and Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole, to name just a few. With a couple more weeks like this I’ll have a DECADE of reading ahead of me.
A note about the edition I read, from Ignatius Press. Scott Goins and Barbara Wyman did an amazing job with this particular edition. The translation was easy to read, with excellent FOOTnotes. (You know I love a footnote instead of endnotes.) The paper was even a great weight for notes and underlining. I wish all of my books were this well-made. I would highly recommend it!
As for music, once again I’m grateful for the nudge to classical music. Schubert’s String Quartet No. 14 is also known as “Death and the Maiden.” What an interesting piece to listen to. I completely loved it, and I’m grateful to get to know a composer I don’t hear very often.
The other work was Mozart’s Requiem, simply towering. And, yes, you would know it from the movie Amadeus:
Once again, confession time, I skipped out on the art. Durer, Bosch, and Bruegel the Elder may wait until next week, because unfortunately I will gloss over next week’s art assignment. (I am who I am.)
Next week! We leave the West to head back to China and TWO major works, Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching and Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. I am going to try something new with my reading schedule for both of these books, since I know they are both heavy on the aphorisms with little-to-no narrative. I’ll let you know how that goes. The music will be a TREAT: The Beatles’ White Album, Sgt. Pepper, and Abbey Road, and The Rolling Stones’ Let It Bleed, Beggars Banquet, and Exile on Main Street. The art? Chinese Architecture.
Okay, as usual my editions are here, if you’d like to see precisely what I’m reading. Thanks as always to Ted Gioia for his Immersive Course in the Humanities.
I think this is the most “obscure” book on the reading list, at least so far, and is definitely the most obscure classic book I’ve ever read. Have you read it? Even heard of it? What’s the most obscure classic you’ve read so far? Have a great week!