To this the sorrowing Mind made answer, saying, ‘Oh, would that the anchors were as fast and enduring, in respect of God and of the world, as thou sayest! Then could I far more easily bear such adversities as might befall me, for they all seem lighter as long as the anchors hold. But nevertheless thou mayest perceive how my happiness and worldly honour are changed.’
XI
Then answered Philosophy, that is Reason, and said, ‘Indeed I thought to have raised thee somewhat from thy sadness, and almost restored thee to the same position that thou once hadst, but thou art even yet too sated with that which is left thee, and therefore thou art filled with loathing. Yet I cannot suffer thy lamentation for the little thou hast lost; for ever with weeping and dolour thou art complaining if thou failest to get anything on which thy desire is set, however small it be. What man ever lived in this life or shall live after us in this world, and nothing cross his will, whether little or great? Very narrow and very paltry is human happiness, for either it cometh not to any man, or abideth not steadily with him such as it was when it came; this I will show more clearly later on.
‘We know that many have worldly riches enough, but they are ashamed of their wealth if they are not as well born as they would desire. Some again are noble and famous from their high birth, but they are oppressed and saddened by their base estate and their poverty, so that they would rather be of mean birth than so poor, were it but in their power. Many are both well born and well endowed, yet are joyless, being wedded to an ill-matched or unpleasing wife. Many are happy enough in their marriage, but being childless must leave all the wealth they amass to strangers to enjoy, and therefore they are sad. Some have children enough, but these are perhaps weakly, or wicked and ignoble, or they die young, so that their parents sorrow for them all their days. Therefore no man may in this present life altogether stand with Fate; for even if he have nothing now to grieve about, yet he may grieve not to know what his future will be, whether good or evil, even as thou also didst not know; and moreover, that which he enjoys so happily while he hath it, he dreads to lose. Show me, I pray thee, the man who to thy mind is most happy, and who is most give over to self-indulgence; I will soon cause thee to see that he is often exceedingly put out by the veriest trifles if anything, however slight, thwart his will or his habits, unless he can beckon every one to run at his bidding. A very little thing may make the happiest of men in this world believe his happiness to be impaired or altogether lost. Thou art thinking now, for instance, that thou art very unhappy, and yet I know that many a man would fancy himself raised up to heaven if he had any part of the happiness which is still remaining to thee. Why, the place where thou art now imprisoned, and which thou callest exile, is a home to them that were born there, and also to them that live in it by choice. Nothing is bad, unless a man think it bad; and though it be hard to bear and adverse, yet is it happiness if a man does it cheerfully and bears it with patience. Few are so wise as not to wish in their impatience that their fortune may be changed. With the sweets of this world much bitterness is mingled; though they seem desirable, yet a man cannot keep them, once they begin to flee from him. Is it not then plain that worldly happiness is a poor thing? It is unable to satisfy poor man, who ever desireth what he hath not at the time, and even with men of patience and of sober life it will never long abide.
‘Why then do ye seek outside yourselves the happiness ye have planted within you by the divine power? But ye know not what ye do, being in error. I will show you in a few words what is the pinnacle of all happiness; towards which I know that thou, O Mind, wilt hasten before even thou perceivest it; it is Goodness. What is more precious to thee than thyself? Nothing, I think thou wilt say. Well I know that if thou hadst full governance of thyself thou wouldst have something within thee which thou wouldst never willingly give up, and which Fate could not wrest from thee. Let me remind thee that there is in this present life no other happiness but Wisdom, for nothing can make men lost it; and that possession which can never be lost is better than that which can, and some day must. Is it not now quite clearly proven that Fate can give thee no happiness? For both Fate and Happiness are inconstant, and therefore these joys are very frail and very perishable. Now every man that possesses these joys either knows that they will depart from him, or he does not know it. If he knows it not, what happiness hath he in his prosperity, knowing full well that he must forfeit it. Continual fear, too, prevents him from being happy. If then anyone care not whether he have it or have it not, why, that must be little or no happiness, when a man can so easily part from it. Methinks I have before this proved to thee clearly enough, by many tokens, that human souls are immortal and everlasting, and it is plain enough that no man need doubt but that death is the end of all men, and of their riches also. Therefore I marvel why men are so unreasonable as to think this present life can make a man happy while he lives, when it cannot make him miserable hereafter. Indeed, we know of many and many a man that hath sought eternal happiness not merely by seeking the death of the body, but by desiring many most grievous tortures, so that he might win eternal life; of such were all the holy martyrs.’
XII
Then Philosophy began to chaunt a law, and sang thus; she added song to her discourse, and these were her words: ‘He that would build a house to last must not place it high on the hilltop; and he that desireth Divine Wisdom cannot find it with pride. Again, he that would built an enduring habitation should not sat it on sandhills. So also, if thou will build up Wisdom, base it not on covetousness, for as the crumbling sand drinketh up the rain, so covetousness swalloweth up the fleeting goods of this earth, being ever athirst for them. No house may stand for long on a high hill if a very mighty wind assail it; nor again one that is built on crumbling sand, by reason of the heavy rains. So too the soul of men is undermined and moved from its place when the wind of sore hardship assaileth it, or the rain of excessive anxiety. Whoever would seek eternal happiness must flee from the perilous beauty of this earth, and build the house of his mind upon the firm rock of humility, for Christ dwelleth in the Valley of Humility, and in the memory of Wisdom. Therefore it is that the wise man spendeth all his life in joy unchangeable and freedom from care, despising these earthly delights and those that are evil, and putting his hope in the joys to come, that are eternal. For God encompasseth him on every side, living as he doth ever in the joys of the soul, though the wind of adversity blow against him, and the ceaseless care begotten of worldly pleasures.’
XIII
Having sung this lay, Philosophy, that is, Reason, took up once more her argument, and spake on this wise: ‘Methinks that we may now speak in more searching and darker words, for I perceive that my teaching is in some measure penetrating thy mind, and thou understandest well enough what I say to thee. Consider, therefore, how much of all these worldly possessions and riches is thine own, and which of them when closely considered cannot be replaced? What profit hast thou from the gifts that Fate, as thou sayest, giveth thee, and from