But you, although you may be ignorant of the cause of so great a disposition, yet since a good ruler governs the world, do not doubt that all things are done rightly. If one does not know that the stars of Arcturus glide near the topmost pole, why slow Bootes reads his wains and plunges his late fires in the sea, when he unfolds his risings all too swift—he will be amazed at the law of the high heaven. Let the horns of the full moon grow pale, infected by the bounds of the dark night, and let Phoebe, confused, uncover the stars which she had veiled with her shining face—a public error stirs the nations, and they weary the bronze with frequent beatings. No one wonders that the blasts of Corus pour the shore with roaring wave, nor that the hard mass of snow is loosed by the burning heat of fervent Phoebus. For here it is easy to discern the causes; there the hidden ones trouble the breast. Whatever rare ages bring forth, and the fickle crowd is amazed at as sudden—let the cloudy error of ignorance give way, and surely the wonders will cease to seem wonders.
So it is, I said; but since it is your office to unfold the causes of hidden things and to explain reasons veiled in mist, I beg that you set forth what you decree concerning this, since this marvel especially perturbs me. Then she, smiling a little: You call me, she said, to the greatest of all matters of inquiry, for which scarcely anything could suffice when exhausted. For the material is such that, one doubt being cut away, innumerable others spring up like the heads of the Hydra, nor would there be any limit unless one should restrain them with the most lively fire of the mind. For in this matter inquiry is wont to be made concerning the simplicity of providence, the chain of fate, sudden chances, divine knowledge and predestination, the freedom of the will—of how great a burden these are you yourself can judge. But since to know these things too is a certain portion of your medicine, although hemmed in by a narrow limit of time, we shall nevertheless try to taste something of it.
But if the delights of musical song please you, you must put off this pleasure for a little while, until I weave together for myself reasonings linked in order. As you please, I said. Then, beginning as if from another starting-point, she discoursed thus: The generation of all things, and the whole progression of mutable natures, and whatever is moved in any way, takes its causes, order, and forms from the stability of the divine mind. This mind, set in the citadel of its own simplicity, established a manifold mode for the governing of things. This mode, when it is beheld in the very purity of the divine intelligence, is named providence; but when it is referred to those things which it moves and disposes, it was called fate by the ancients. That these are diverse will easily be clear, if anyone should behold with his mind the force of each.
For providence is that very divine reason, established in the supreme prince of all things, which disposes all; but fate is a disposition inhering in mutable things, through which providence binds each thing in its own orders. For providence embraces all things equally, however diverse, however infinite; but fate sets individual things in motion, distributed in places, forms, and times, so that this unfolding of temporal order, gathered into the view of the divine mind, is providence, and the same gathering, when sorted out and unfolded into times, is called fate. Although these are diverse, yet the one depends on the other. For the order of fate proceeds from the simplicity of providence.
For just as an artisan, conceiving beforehand in his mind the form of the thing to be made, sets in motion the effect of the work, and what he had foreseen simply and in a present manner he carries out through temporal orders, so God by providence disposes the things to be done singly and stably, but by fate administers these very things which he has disposed in a manifold and temporal way. Whether therefore fate is exercised by certain divine spirits serving providence, or whether the fatal chain is woven by a soul, or by all of nature serving, or by the celestial motions of the stars, or by angelic power, or by the various skill of demons, or by some of these, or by all—that certainly is manifest: that providence is the immovable and simple form of the things to be done, but fate is the movable connection and temporal order of those things which the divine simplicity has disposed to be done.
Whence it comes about that all things which are subject to fate are also subject to providence, to which fate itself also lies subject; but certain things which are placed under providence transcend the chain of fate. Those, indeed, are the things which, fixed stably near the first divinity, exceed the order of fate's mobility. For just as of orbs revolving about the same axis, that which is innermost approaches the simplicity of the center and exists as a kind of axis for the others placed outside, about which they revolve, while the outermost, rotated in a greater circuit, the more it departs from the indivisible middle of the point, by so much the more is it unfolded in ampler spaces—but if anything joins and allies itself to that middle, it is gathered into simplicity and ceases to be diffused and to flow apart—by a like reasoning, that which departs farther from the first mind is entangled in greater bonds of fate, and a thing is so much the more free from fate, the more nearly it seeks that axis of things.
But if it should cleave to the firmness of the supernal mind, being free from motion it also surpasses the necessity of fate. Therefore, as reasoning is to understanding, as that which comes to be is to that which is, as time is to eternity, as the circle to its center, so is the movable chain of fate to the stable simplicity of providence. That chain moves the heaven and the stars, tempers the elements among themselves in turn, and transforms them by alternating exchange; the same renews all things being born and dying by similar progressions of offspring and seeds. This also binds the acts and fortunes of men by an indissoluble connection of causes; and since this proceeds from the beginnings of immovable providence, it is necessary that these too be unchangeable. For thus are things best ruled, if a simplicity remaining in the divine mind presses the unswerving order of causes.
This order, indeed, restrains mutable things, which would otherwise flow at random, by its own immutability. Whence it comes about that, although to you, by no means able to consider this order, all things may seem confused and disturbed, nevertheless its own mode, directing all things to the good, disposes them. For there is nothing which is done for the sake of evil, even by the wicked themselves; whom, as has been most abundantly shown, a depraved error turns aside while they seek the good—much less does the order proceeding from the axis of the supreme good turn aside from its own beginning in any respect. But what, you will say, can be any more unjust confusion than that to the good there should befall now adverse, now prosperous things, and to the wicked also now their wishes, now hateful things? Do men, then, live with such integrity of mind that those whom they have judged upright or wicked must also necessarily be as they suppose them to be?
And yet in this the judgments of men do battle, and those whom some judge worthy of reward, others judge worthy of punishment. But let us grant that someone could discern the good and the bad; will he then be able to behold that inmost temperament of souls, as is customary to speak of in bodies? For it is no dissimilar marvel to one who does not know why to sound bodies sweet things suit some, but bitter things others; why the sick too are aided, some by gentle, others by sharp remedies. But this the physician, who discerns the measure and temperament of health itself and of sickness, by no means wonders at. But what else does the health of souls seem to be than uprightness? What sickness, but vices? And who is the preserver of the good or the repeller of the evil, other than God, the ruler and healer of minds? Who, when he has looked down from the high watchtower of providence, recognizes what is fitting for each, and applies what he knows to be fitting.
Here now occurs that notable marvel of the fatal order, that it is carried out by one who knows what those who are ignorant are amazed at. For—to graze briefly on a few things which human reason is able to attain concerning the divine depth—concerning this man whom you think most just and most observant of equity, to the providence that knows all things it seems otherwise; and that the victorious cause pleased the gods, but the vanquished pleased Cato, our familiar Lucan has admonished us. Here, therefore, whatever you see done contrary to hope, in things indeed there is a right order, but to your opinion a perverse confusion. But let there be someone so well-mannered that concerning him the divine and the human judgment alike consent, yet he is weak in the strength of his soul; to whom, if anything adverse should befall, perhaps he will cease to cultivate the innocence through which he could not retain his fortune. The wise dispensation therefore spares him whom adversity might make worse, lest it suffer one to labor for whom it is not fitting.
There is another, perfect in all virtues, holy, and most near to God; this man providence judges it impious to be touched by any adversities whatever, so that it does not even permit him to be agitated by bodily diseases. For as one more excellent than I has said: 'the bodies of holy men have been built up by the aethers.' But it often happens that the supreme governance of things is conferred upon the good, that exuberant wickedness may be beaten back. To others it distributes certain mixed things according to the quality of their souls; some it bites again, lest they run riot through long felicity; others it suffers to be agitated by hard things, that they may confirm the virtues of the soul by the use and exercise of patience. Some fear more than is fair what they are able to bear; others despise more than is fair what they cannot bear; these it leads through sad things to a trial of themselves. Not a few have purchased a name venerable to the age at the price of a glorious death: certain men, unconquerable by punishments, have set forth to others the example that virtue is unconquered by evils.
That these things are done how rightly and dispositively, and out of the good of those to whom they seem to accrue, there is no doubt. For that also—that to the wicked now sad, now wished-for things come to pass—is drawn from the same causes. And concerning the sad things indeed no one wonders, since all judge them to have ill-deserved. Whose punishments both deter the rest from crimes, and amend those very ones on whom they are brought to bear; but joyful things speak a great argument to the good, what they ought to judge concerning felicity of this kind, which they often discern to be servant to the wicked. In which matter I believe this also to be dispensed: that there is perhaps someone of so headlong and inopportune a nature that poverty of household goods could exasperate him rather toward crimes; for the disease of this one providence heals by the remedy of conferred money.
This one, awaiting a conscience defiled by base deeds, and comparing himself with his own fortune, perhaps greatly fears lest the loss be grievous of that whose enjoyment is pleasant to him. He will therefore change his ways, and while he fears to lose his fortune, he forsakes his wickedness. Others a felicity unworthily exercised has cast headlong into deserved ruin; to certain men the right of punishing has been permitted, that it might be a cause of exercise to the good and of punishment to the evil. For just as there is no covenant between the upright and the wicked, so the wicked themselves cannot agree among themselves. Why not, when each disagrees with himself, his vices tearing apart his conscience, and they often do things which, when they have done them, they decree ought not to have been done? Whence often that supreme providence has brought forth a notable marvel, that the wicked should make the wicked good.
For while certain men seem to themselves to suffer unjust things from the worst men, blazing with hatred of the harmful, they have returned to the fruit of virtue, while they strive to be unlike those whom they hated. For there is only the divine power, to which evils too are good, since by using them suitably it draws forth the effect of some good. For a certain order embraces all things, so that whatever has departed from the assigned reason of order, this, though it slip back into another, yet falls back into order, lest anything be permitted to rashness in the kingdom of providence. 'But it is hard for me, like a god, to declare all these things.' For neither is it lawful for man to comprehend by his wit, or to unfold in speech, all the machines of the divine work.
Let it suffice to have discerned only this: that God, the producer of all natures, the same disposes all things, directing them to the good; and while he hastens to retain in his own likeness those things which he has brought forth, he eliminates all evil from the boundaries of his own commonwealth through the chain of fatal necessity. Whence it comes about that those things which are believed to abound on earth, if you regard the disposing providence, you will weigh that nowhere is there anything of evil. But I see you for some time now both burdened by the weight of the question and wearied by the prolixity of the reasoning, awaiting some sweetness of song. Receive therefore a draught by which, refreshed, you may strive more strongly toward what lies beyond. If you wish, skillful, to discern with a pure mind the laws of the lofty Thunderer, look upon the summits of the highest heaven. There, by a just covenant of things, the stars keep their ancient peace. Not the sun, urged on by ruddy fire, blocks the cold axle of Phoebe, nor does the Bear, which at the topmost summit of the world bends her swift courses,
though it beholds the other stars sink, never, washed in the western deep, desires to dip its flames in the ocean. Always, with the equal turns of time, the Evening Star announces the late shadows, and the Morning Star brings back the kindly day. Thus mutual love renews the eternal courses; thus discordant war is banished from the starry shores. This concord tempers the elements in equal measures, so that the warring things yield by turns—the moist to the dry—and cold things join their faith with flames; the hanging fire rises on high, and the heavy lands settle by their weight. From these same causes, in the warming spring, the flower-bearing year breathes forth its fragrances; fervid summer dries the grain of Ceres; autumn returns heavy with fruits; the falling rain waters winter. This temperance nourishes and brings forth whatever breathes life in the world. The same, snatching away, buries and bears off, plunging in death what had arisen, with the final setting.
Meanwhile the lofty founder sits, and ruling the affairs of things he bends the reins—King and Lord, fount and origin, Law and wise arbiter of equity—and the things which he stirs by motion to go, he halts, drawing back, and steadies the wandering ones. For unless, recalling their straight courses, he should again compel the bent ones into orbits, the things which now a stable order contains would, sundered, fall away from their own fount. This is the love common to all things, and they seek again to be held by the end which is the good, because they could not otherwise endure, unless, with love turned back again, they should flow back to the causes which gave them being. Do you see now what follows from all these things which we have said? What, pray? I said. That all fortune whatever, she said, is wholly good. And how, I said, can that be? Attend, she said. Since all fortune, whether pleasant or harsh, is conferred either for the sake of rewarding or exercising the good, or for the sake of punishing or correcting the wicked, all fortune is good, which it is agreed to be either just or useful.
A very true reasoning indeed, I said; and if one should consider the providence or fate which you taught a little before, it is a judgment resting on firm strength. But let us, if it please you, number it among those things which you a little before set down as incredible. Why? she said. Because the common speech of men makes use of it, and indeed frequently, that the fortune of certain people is bad. Do you wish, then, she said, that we should accede for a little while to the speech of the crowd, lest we seem to have receded too far, as it were, from the usage of humanity? As it pleases you, I said. Do you not then judge that to be good which profits? So it is, I said. But that which either exercises or corrects, does it profit? I confess it, I said. It is good, then? Why not? But this belongs to those who, being placed in virtue, wage war against adverse things, or who, declining from vices, seize the path of virtue. I cannot deny it, I said. But what of pleasant fortune, which is bestowed on the good as a reward—does the crowd decree it to be bad?
By no means; but as it is, so also they judge it to be the best. What of the rest, which, since it is harsh, restrains the wicked by just punishment—does the people think it good? Nay rather, I said, of all things that can be devised, it judges this to be the most wretched. See then, lest, following the opinion of the people, we have concluded something quite incredible. What? I said. From these things, she said, which have been granted, it comes about that, of those who are either in the possession, or in the advancement, or in the attainment of virtue, all fortune whatever it may be is good, but for those remaining in wickedness, all fortune is the worst. This, I said, is true, although no one would dare to confess it.
Therefore, she said, just as a wise man ought not to take it ill whenever he is drawn into a struggle with Fortune, so it does not befit a brave man to grow indignant whenever the tumult of war breaks out; for to both of them—to the one for the spreading of his glory, to the other for the shaping of his wisdom—the very difficulty is the material. And it is from this that it is called virtue (virtus), because, relying on its own strength (vires), it is not overcome by adversities. For you who are set upon the path of advancing virtue have not come to dissolve in delights and grow faint with pleasure. You join too fierce a battle with every kind of fortune, lest either the grievous overwhelm you or the pleasant corrupt you. With firm strength take hold of the middle course! Whatever either stops short below or advances beyond has contempt for happiness, but has no reward of toil. For it lies set within your own hand to fashion for yourselves whatever fortune you prefer; for every fortune that seems harsh, unless it either exercises or corrects, punishes.
Having waged war for twice five years, the avenging son of Atreus atoned with the ruins of Phrygia for his brother's stolen marriage-bed; and while he longed to give sails to the Greek fleet and bought the winds with blood, that grieving priest cast off the father and sealed the wretched pact upon his daughter's slaughtered throat. The man of Ithaca wept for his lost companions, whom savage Polyphemus, reclining in his vast cave, sank into his monstrous belly; yet, raging with his blinded eye, he repaid their joy with mournful tears. Hard labors celebrate Hercules. He tamed the proud Centaurs, stripped the spoil from the fierce lion, and pierced the birds with sure arrows. From the watching dragon he snatched the apples, his left hand made heavier by the golden metal; he dragged Cerberus on a threefold chain. As victor he is said to have set the cruel master as fodder for his savage four-horse team. The Hydra perished by its own burnt venom; the river Achelous, disfigured in his brow, plunged his shameful face beneath the banks.
He laid Antaeus low on the Libyan sands; Cacus glutted the wrath of Evander; and the bristled boar, whom the lofty world was destined to feel his crushing, marked his shoulders with foam. His last labor bore up the heavens upon his unbending neck, and again as the reward of his last labor he won the heavens. Go now, brave ones, where the high road of great example leads! Why do you, slothful, bare your backs in flight? The earth, once overcome, grants the stars.