Good and Bad Fortune

Softly and sweetly Philosophy sang these verses to the end without losing aught of the dignity of her expression or the seriousness of her tones; then, forasmuch as I was as yet unable to forget my deeply-seated sorrow, just as she was about to say something further, I broke in and cried: 'O thou guide into the way of true light, all that thy voice hath uttered from the beginning even unto now has manifestly seemed to me at once divine contemplated in itself, and by the force of thy arguments placed beyond the possibility of overthrow. Moreover, these truths have not been altogether unfamiliar to me heretofore, though because of indignation at my wrongs they have for a time been forgotten. But, lo! herein is the very chiefest cause of my grief—that, while there exists a good ruler of the universe, it is possible that evil should be at all, still more that it should go unpunished. Surely thou must see how deservedly this of itself provokes astonishment. But a yet greater marvel follows: While wickedness reigns and flourishes, virtue not only lacks its reward, but is even thrust down and trampled under the feet of the wicked, and suffers punishment in the place of crime. That this should happen under the rule of a God who knows all things and can do all things, but wills only the good, cannot be sufficiently wondered at nor sufficiently lamented.'

Philosophy sang these verses softly and sweetly to the end, without losing her dignified expression or serious tone. But I still could not forget my deep sorrow. Just as she was about to say more, I interrupted and cried: 'O guide to the path of true light, everything you have said from the beginning until now has seemed clearly divine in itself. And the force of your arguments has put it beyond dispute. These truths were not entirely unfamiliar to me before, though my anger at the wrongs I suffered had made me forget them for a time. But here is the greatest cause of my grief: a good ruler governs the universe, yet evil can exist at all, and even go unpunished. Surely you can see how astonishing this is in itself. But something even more astonishing follows. While wickedness reigns and flourishes, virtue not only goes unrewarded but is also cast down and trampled under the feet of the wicked. Virtue suffers punishment in place of crime. God knows all things, can do all things, and wills only what is good. That such things should happen under his rule cannot be wondered at or lamented enough.'

Then said she: 'It would indeed be infinitely astounding, and of all monstrous things most horrible, if, as thou esteemest, in the well-ordered home of so great a householder, the base vessels should be held in honour, the precious left to neglect. But it is not so. For if we hold unshaken those conclusions which we lately reached, thou shall learn that, by the will of Him of whose realm we are speaking, the good are always strong, the bad always weak and impotent; that vices never go unpunished, nor virtues unrewarded; that good fortune ever befalls the good, and ill fortune the bad, and much more of the sort, which shall hush thy murmurings, and stablish thee in the strong assurance of conviction. And since by my late instructions thou hast seen the form of happiness, hast learnt, too, the seat where it is to be found, all due preliminaries being discharged, I will now show thee the road which will lead thee home. Wings, also, will I fasten to thy mind wherewith thou mayst soar aloft, that so, all disturbing doubts removed, thou mayst return safe to thy country, under my guidance, in the path I will show thee, and by the means which I furnish.'

Then she said: 'If you were right, it would indeed be infinitely astonishing. It would be the most horrible of all monstrous things if, in the well-ordered home of so great a master, worthless vessels were honored and precious ones neglected. But that is not so. For if we hold firmly to the conclusions we recently reached, you will learn that, by the will of the ruler whose realm we are discussing, the good are always strong, while the wicked are always weak and powerless. You will learn that vices never go unpunished, and virtues never go unrewarded. Good fortune always comes to the good, and ill fortune to the wicked. You will learn much else of the same kind. All this will silence your complaints and give you the strength of firm conviction. 'My recent teaching has shown you what happiness is and where it can be found. Now that all these preparations are complete, I will show you the road home. I will also give your mind wings to soar on. Then, with all troubling doubts removed, you may return safely to your country. I will guide you along the path I show you, and give you the means to follow it.'

Then said I: 'Verily, wondrous great are thy promises; yet I do not doubt but thou canst make them good: only keep me not in suspense after raising such hopes.'

Then I said: 'Your promises are truly wonderful, and I do not doubt that you can fulfill them. But please do not keep me waiting after raising my hopes so high.'

'Learn, then, first,' said she, 'how that power ever waits upon the good, while the bad are left wholly destitute of strength.^K Of these truths the one proves the other; for since good and evil are contraries, if it is made plain that good is power, the feebleness of evil is clearly seen, and, conversely, if the frail nature of evil is made manifest, the strength of good is thereby known. However, to win ampler credence for my conclusion, I will pursue both paths, and draw confirmation for my statements first in one way and then in the other.

'First, learn that the good always have power, while the bad have no strength at all,^K' she said. 'Each of these truths proves the other, because good and evil are opposites. If good is shown to be powerful, then evil is clearly weak. Conversely, if evil is shown to be weak, then good is clearly strong. But to make my conclusion more convincing, I will follow both paths. I will support my claims first in one way and then in the other.

'The carrying out of any human action depends upon two things—to wit, will and power; if either be wanting, nothing can be accomplished. For if the will be lacking, no attempt at all is made to do what is not willed; whereas if there be no power, the will is all in vain. And so, if thou seest any man wishing to attain some end, yet utterly failing to attain it, thou canst not doubt that he lacked the power of getting what he wished for.'

'Every human action depends on two things: will and power. If either is missing, nothing can be accomplished. If the will is lacking, no attempt is made to do what a person does not wish to do. But if the power is lacking, the will is useless. So, if you see someone who wishes to achieve a goal but utterly fails, you can be sure that the person lacked the power to achieve it.'

'Why, certainly not; there is no denying it.'

'No, certainly not. There's no denying it.'

'Canst thou, then, doubt that he whom thou seest to have accomplished what he willed had also the power to accomplish it?'

'Then can you doubt that the man you see has done what he wanted also had the power to do it?'

'Of course not.'

'Of course not.'

'Then, in respect of what he can accomplish a man is to be reckoned strong, in respect of what he cannot accomplish weak?'

'Then is a man strong in what he can do and weak in what he cannot do?'

'Granted,' said I.

'Agreed,' I said.

'Then, dost thou remember that, by our former reasonings, it was concluded that the whole aim of man's will, though the means of pursuit vary, is set intently upon happiness?'

'Then, do you remember what we concluded in our earlier reasoning? We concluded that everyone seeks happiness, though people pursue it in different ways.'

'I do remember that this, too, was proved.'

'I remember that this was proved, too.'

'Dost thou also call to mind how happiness is absolute good, and therefore that, when happiness is sought, it is good which is in all cases the object of desire?'

'Do you also remember that happiness is the absolute good? So whenever people seek happiness, it is always good they desire.'

'Nay, I do not so much call to mind as keep it fixed in my memory.'

'No, I do not so much recall it as keep it fixed in my memory.'

'Then, all men, good and bad alike, with one indistinguishable purpose strive to reach good?'

'Then do all people, good and bad alike, have the same aim of reaching what is good?'

'Yes, that follows.'

'Yes, that makes sense.'

'But it is certain that by the attainment of good men become good?'

'But isn't it certain that people become good by attaining goodness?'

'It is.'

'It is.'

'Then, do the good attain their object?'

'Then, do good people achieve their goal?'

'It seems so.'

'It seems so.'

'But if the bad were to attain the good which is their object, they could not be bad?'

'But if bad people achieved the good that is their goal, they could not be bad?'

'No.'

'No.'

'Then, since both seek good, but while the one sort attain it, the other attain it not, is there any doubt that the good are endued with power, while they who are bad are weak?'

'Both seek good, but one group attains it while the other does not. So can there be any doubt that the good are powerful and the bad are weak?'

'If any doubt it, he is incapable of reflecting on the nature of things, or the consequences involved in reasoning.'

'If anyone doubts it, they cannot reflect on the nature of things or the implications of reasoning.'

'Again, supposing there are two things to which the same function is prescribed in the course of nature, and one of these successfully accomplishes the function by natural action, the other is altogether incapable of that natural action, instead of which, in a way other than is agreeable to its nature, it—I will not say fulfils its function, but feigns to fulfil it: which of these two would in thy view be the stronger?'

'Again, suppose nature assigns the same task to two things. One successfully performs the task through its natural activity. The other is completely incapable of that natural activity. Instead, it acts in a way contrary to its nature. I would not say it performs the task, but only pretends to. Which of the two would you consider stronger?'

'I guess thy meaning, but I pray thee let me hear thee more at large.'

'I think I understand what you mean, but please explain it in more detail.'

'Walking is man's natural motion, is it not?'

'Walking is the natural way for people to move, isn't it?'

'Certainly.'

'Certainly.'

'Thou dost not doubt, I suppose, that it is natural for the feet to discharge this function?'

'I suppose you don't doubt that it is natural for feet to perform this function?'

'No; surely I do not.'

'No, I certainly don't.'

'Now, if one man who is able to use his feet walks, and another to whom the natural use of his feet is wanting tries to walk on his hands, which of the two wouldst thou rightly esteem the stronger?'

'Now, suppose one man can use his feet and walks. Another cannot use his feet naturally and tries to walk on his hands. Which of the two would you rightly consider stronger?'

'Go on,' said I; 'no one can question but that he who has the natural capacity has more strength than he who has it not.'

'Go on,' I said. 'No one can doubt that a person with the natural ability is stronger than someone without it.'

'Now, the supreme good is set up as the end alike for the bad and for the good; but the good seek it through the natural action of the virtues, whereas the bad try to attain this same good through all manner of concupiscence, which is not the natural way of attaining good. Or dost thou think otherwise?'

'Now, the highest good is the goal of both bad and good people. But good people seek it through the natural practice of virtue. Bad people try to reach the same good through all kinds of desire. That is not the natural way to attain the good. Or do you think otherwise?'

'Nay; rather, one further consequence is clear to me: for from my admissions it must needs follow that the good have power, and the bad are impotent.'

'No, rather, one further consequence is clear to me. What I have admitted must mean that good people have power and bad people are powerless.'

'Thou anticipatest rightly, and that as physicians reckon is a sign that nature is set working, and is throwing off the disease. But, since I see thee so ready at understanding, I will heap proof on proof. Look how manifest is the extremity of vicious men's weakness; they cannot even reach that goal to which the aim of nature leads and almost constrains them. What if they were left without this mighty, this well-nigh irresistible help of nature's guidance! Consider also how momentous is the powerlessness which incapacitates the wicked. Not light or trivial[^L] are the prizes which they contend for, but which they cannot win or hold; nay, their failure concerns the very sum and crown of things. Poor wretches! they fail to compass even that for which they toil day and night. Herein also the strength of the good conspicuously appears. For just as thou wouldst judge him to be the strongest walker whose legs could carry him to a point beyond which no further advance was possible, so must thou needs account him strong in power who so attains the end of his desires that nothing further to be desired lies beyond. Whence follows the obvious conclusion that they who are wicked are seen likewise to be wholly destitute of strength. For why do they forsake virtue and follow vice? Is it from ignorance of what is good? Well, what is more weak and feeble than the blindness of ignorance? Do they know what they ought to follow, but lust drives them aside out of the way? If it be so, they are still frail by reason of their incontinence, for they cannot fight against vice. Or do they knowingly and wilfully forsake the good and turn aside to vice? Why, at this rate, they not only cease to have power, but cease to be at all. For they who forsake the common end of all things that are, they likewise also cease to be at all. Now, to some it may seem strange that we should assert that the bad, who form the greater part of mankind, do not exist. But the fact is so. I do not, indeed, deny that they who are bad are bad, but that they are in an unqualified and absolute sense I deny. Just as we call a corpse a dead man, but cannot call it simply "man," so I would allow the vicious to be bad, but that they are in an absolute sense I cannot allow. That only is which maintains its place and keeps its nature; whatever falls away from this forsakes the existence which is essential to its nature. "But," thou wilt say, "the bad have an ability." Nor do I wish to deny it; only this ability of theirs comes not from strength, but from impotence. For their ability is to do evil, which would have had no efficacy at all if they could have continued in the performance of good. So this ability of theirs proves them still more plainly to have no power. For if, as we concluded just now, evil is nothing, 'tis clear that the wicked can effect nothing, since they are only able to do evil.'

'You are right to anticipate my point. Doctors would say that this is a sign that nature is at work, throwing off the disease. But since I see that you understand so readily, I will offer proof after proof. See how plainly wicked people reveal their extreme weakness. They cannot even reach the goal toward which nature guides and almost compels them. What if they were left without this mighty, almost irresistible help from nature's guidance? Consider also how serious the powerlessness of the wicked is. The prizes they compete for but cannot win or keep are not small or trivial[^L]. No, their failure concerns the highest and greatest good of all. Poor wretches! They cannot achieve even what they work for day and night. Here, too, the strength of the good is clearly shown. You would judge the strongest walker to be the one whose legs could carry him as far as anyone could go. In the same way, you must consider powerful the person who attains the object of his desires, leaving nothing further to desire. The obvious conclusion is that the wicked are also seen to be entirely without strength. Why do they abandon virtue and follow vice? Is it because they do not know what is good? But what is weaker or more feeble than the blindness of ignorance? Do they know what they should pursue, but find themselves led astray by desire? If so, they are still weak because they lack self-control and cannot fight vice. Or do they knowingly and willingly abandon good and turn to vice? In that case, they not only cease to have power but cease to exist altogether. For those who abandon the common goal of all things that exist also cease to exist altogether. Now, some may find it strange that we say bad people do not exist, since they make up most of humanity. But it is true. I do not deny that bad people are bad. What I deny is that they exist in a full and absolute sense. We call a corpse a dead man, but we cannot simply call it a "man." In the same way, I would grant that vicious people are bad, but I cannot grant that they exist in an absolute sense. Only what holds its place and keeps its nature truly exists. Whatever falls away from its nature gives up the existence essential to that nature. "But," you will say, "bad people have an ability." I do not wish to deny that. Their ability, however, comes not from strength but from weakness. Their ability is to do evil. Evil would have no effect at all if they could have continued doing good. So their ability shows even more clearly that they have no power. For if evil is nothing, as we just concluded, the wicked can clearly accomplish nothing, since they can only do evil.'

''Tis evident.'

'It's clear.'

'And that thou mayst understand what is the precise force of this power, we determined, did we not, awhile back, that nothing has more power than supreme good?'

'And to understand exactly what this power means, didn't we agree earlier that nothing is more powerful than the supreme good?'

'We did,' said I.

'We did,' I said.

'But that same highest good cannot do evil?'

'But that same highest good cannot do evil?'

'Certainly not.'

'Certainly not.'

'Is there anyone, then, who thinks that men are able to do all things?'

'Does anyone, then, think that people can do everything?'

'None but a madman.'

'Only a madman.'

'Yet they are able to do evil?'

'But can they do evil?'

'Ay; would they could not!'

'Yes, I wish they couldn't!'

'Since, then, he who can do only good is omnipotent, while they who can do evil also are not omnipotent, it is manifest that they who can do evil have less power. There is this also: we have shown that all power is to be reckoned among things desirable, and that all desirable things are referred to good as to a kind of consummation of their nature. But the ability to commit crime cannot be referred to the good; therefore it is not a thing to be desired. And yet all power is desirable; it is clear, then, that ability to do evil is not power. From all which considerations appeareth the power of the good, and the indubitable weakness of the bad, and it is clear that Plato's judgment was true; the wise alone are able to do what they would, while the wicked follow their own hearts' lust, but can not accomplish what they would. For they go on in their wilfulness fancying they will attain what they wish for in the paths of delight; but they are very far from its attainment, since shameful deeds lead not to happiness.'

'The one who can do only good is all-powerful, while those who can also do evil are not. So clearly, those who can do evil have less power. There is another point. We have shown that all power is desirable. We have also shown that all desirable things lead to good, where their nature is fulfilled. But the ability to commit crimes cannot lead to good. Therefore, the ability to commit crimes is not desirable. Yet all power is desirable. Clearly, then, the ability to do evil is not power. All these arguments show the power of the good and the undeniable weakness of the wicked. They also show that Plato was right. Only the wise can do what they truly want. The wicked follow their own desires, but they can not accomplish what they truly want. They act on their desires, imagining that pleasure will give them what they want. But they are very far from getting it, because shameful deeds do not lead to happiness.'

'Thou seest, then, in what foulness unrighteous deeds are sunk, with what splendour righteousness shines. Whereby it is manifest that goodness never lacks its reward, nor crime its punishment. For, verily, in all manner of transactions that for the sake of which the particular action is done may justly be accounted the reward of that action, even as the wreath for the sake of which the race is run is the reward offered for running. Now, we have shown happiness to be that very good for the sake of which all things are done. Absolute good, then, is offered as the common prize, as it were, of all human actions. But, truly, this is a reward from which it is impossible to separate the good man, for one who is without good cannot properly be called good at all; wherefore righteous dealing never misses its reward. Rage the wicked, then, never so violently, the crown shall not fall from the head of the wise, nor wither. Verily, other men's unrighteousness cannot pluck from righteous souls their proper glory. Were the reward in which the soul of the righteous delighteth received from without, then might it be taken away by him who gave it, or some other; but since it is conferred by his own righteousness, then only will he lose his prize when he has ceased to be righteous. Lastly, since every prize is desired because it is believed to be good, who can account him who possesses good to be without reward? And what a prize, the fairest and grandest of all! For remember the corollary which I chiefly insisted on a little while back, and reason thus: Since absolute good is happiness, 'tis clear that all the good must be happy for the very reason that they are good. But it was agreed that those who are happy are gods. So, then, the prize of the good is one which no time may impair, no man's power lessen, no man's unrighteousness tarnish; 'tis very Godship. And this being so, the wise man cannot doubt that punishment is inseparable from the bad. For since good and bad, and likewise reward and punishment, are contraries, it necessarily follows that, corresponding to all that we see accrue as reward of the good, there is some penalty attached as punishment of evil. As, then, righteousness itself is the reward of the righteous, so wickedness itself is the punishment of the unrighteous. Now, no one who is visited with punishment doubts that he is visited with evil. Accordingly, if they were but willing to weigh their own case, could they think themselves free from punishment whom wickedness, worst of all evils, has not only touched, but deeply tainted?

‘You see, then, how deeply wrongdoing sinks into ugliness, and how brightly righteousness shines. This shows that goodness never lacks its reward, and wrongdoing never lacks its punishment. In every kind of action, the goal of the action can rightly be called its reward. The wreath for which a runner races, for example, is the reward for running. Now, we have shown that happiness is the very good for which all things are done. Absolute good, then, is offered as the common prize of all human actions. But this reward cannot be separated from a good person. Someone without goodness cannot properly be called good at all. Therefore, righteous conduct never goes without its reward. However violently the wicked rage, the crown will not fall from the wise person’s head or wither. The wrongdoing of others cannot rob righteous souls of their rightful glory. If the reward that delights a righteous soul came from outside, someone could take it away. The giver or someone else could take it. But the reward comes from the person’s own righteousness, so it will be lost only if that person ceases to be righteous. Finally, every prize is desired because it is believed to be good. Who, then, can say that someone who possesses good has no reward? And what a prize it is, the fairest and greatest of all! Remember the conclusion I emphasized above all others a little while ago, and reason as follows: Since absolute good is happiness, all good people must be happy simply because they are good. But we agreed that those who are happy are gods. So the prize of the good is godhood itself. No time can wear it away, no person’s power can lessen it, and no person’s wrongdoing can tarnish it. This being so, the wise person cannot doubt that punishment is inseparable from the wicked. Good and evil are opposites, as are reward and punishment. Therefore, just as every reward comes to the good, a penalty must be attached to evil as its punishment. So, just as righteousness itself is the reward of the righteous, wickedness itself is the punishment of the wicked. No one who suffers punishment doubts that they suffer something bad. If the wicked were willing to consider their own condition, could they think themselves free from punishment? Wickedness, the worst of all evils, has not merely touched them but deeply tainted them.’

'See, also, from the opposite standpoint—the standpoint of the good—what a penalty attends upon the wicked. Thou didst learn a little since that whatever is is one, and that unity itself is good. Accordingly, by this way of reckoning, whatever falls away from goodness ceases to be; whence it comes to pass that the bad cease to be what they were, while only the outward aspect is still left to show they have been men. Wherefore, by their perversion to badness, they have lost their true human nature. Further, since righteousness alone can raise men above the level of humanity, it must needs be that unrighteousness degrades below man's level those whom it has cast out of man's estate. It results, then, that thou canst not consider him human whom thou seest transformed by vice. The violent despoiler of other men's goods, enflamed with covetousness, surely resembles a wolf. A bold and restless spirit, ever wrangling in law-courts, is like some yelping cur. The secret schemer, taking pleasure in fraud and stealth, is own brother to the fox. The passionate man, phrenzied with rage, we might believe to be animated with the soul of a lion. The coward and runaway, afraid where no fear is, may be likened to the timid deer. He who is sunk in ignorance and stupidity lives like a dull ass. He who is light and inconstant, never holding long to one thing, is for all the world like a bird. He who wallows in foul and unclean lusts is sunk in the pleasures of a filthy hog. So it comes to pass that he who by forsaking righteousness ceases to be a man cannot pass into a Godlike condition, but actually turns into a brute beast.'

'Now consider the punishment that comes to the wicked from the opposite standpoint, that of the good. You learned a little while ago that everything that exists is one, and that unity itself is good. By this reasoning, whatever falls away from goodness ceases to exist. Thus, bad people cease to be what they were. Only their outward appearance remains to show that they were human. By turning to evil, they have lost their true human nature. Moreover, righteousness alone can raise people above the human level. So unrighteousness must degrade below the human level those it has cast out of humanity. You cannot, then, consider someone human when you see that vice has transformed them. A violent robber, inflamed by greed for other people's possessions, surely resembles a wolf. A bold, restless person, always arguing in court, is like a yapping dog. A secret schemer who delights in fraud and stealth is a close relative of the fox. We might believe that a passionate person, driven wild by anger, has the soul of a lion. A coward who runs away, afraid where there is nothing to fear, may be compared to a timid deer. Someone sunk in ignorance and stupidity lives like a dull donkey. Someone who is fickle and never sticks to one thing for long is just like a bird. Someone who wallows in foul and unclean lusts is sunk in the pleasures of a filthy pig. So someone who abandons righteousness and ceases to be human cannot become godlike. Instead, they actually turn into a brute beast.'

Then said I: 'This is very true. I see that the vicious, though they keep the outward form of man, are rightly said to be changed into beasts in respect of their spiritual nature; but, inasmuch as their cruel and polluted minds vent their rage in the destruction of the good, I would this license were not permitted to them.'

Then I said: 'That is very true. I see that wicked people keep their human form. Yet it is right to say they have become beasts in their spiritual nature. But their cruel and corrupt minds express their rage by destroying good people. I wish they were not allowed to do this.'

'Nor is it,' said she, 'as shall be shown in the fitting place. Yet if that license which thou believest to be permitted to them were taken away, the punishment of the wicked would be in great part remitted. For verily, incredible as it may seem to some, it needs must be that the bad are more unfortunate when they have accomplished their desires than if they are unable to get them fulfilled. If it is wretched to will evil, to have been able to accomplish evil is more wretched; for without the power the wretched will would fail of effect. Accordingly, those whom thou seest to will, to be able to accomplish, and to accomplish crime, must needs be the victims of a threefold wretchedness, since each one of these states has its own measure of wretchedness.'

'Nor is it so,' she said, 'as I will show at the proper time. Yet if the freedom you believe the wicked possess were taken away, much of their punishment would be removed. This may seem unbelievable to some. But the wicked must be more unfortunate when they achieve their desires than when they cannot fulfill them. If it is miserable to wish to do evil, it is even more miserable to be able to do it. Without that power, the miserable desire would come to nothing. So those you see who wish to commit crimes, can commit them, and do commit them must be miserable three times over. Each of these states has its own measure of misery.'

'Yes,' said I; 'yet I earnestly wish they might speedily be quit of this misfortune by losing the ability to accomplish crime.'

'Yes,' I said, 'but I sincerely wish they would soon be free of this misfortune by losing the ability to commit crimes.'

'They will lose it,' said she, 'sooner than perchance thou wishest, or they themselves think likely; since, verily, within the narrow bounds of our brief life there is nothing so late in coming that anyone, least of all an immortal spirit, should deem it long to wait for. Their great expectations, the lofty fabric of their crimes, is oft overthrown by a sudden and unlooked-for ending, and this but sets a limit to their misery. For if wickedness makes men wretched, he is necessarily more wretched who is wicked for a longer time; and were it not that death, at all events, puts an end to the evil doings of the wicked, I should account them wretched to the last degree. Indeed, if we have formed true conclusions about the ill fortune of wickedness, that wretchedness is plainly infinite which is doomed to be eternal.'

'They will lose it,' she said, 'perhaps sooner than you wish or they expect. For within the narrow limits of our brief lives, nothing comes so late that anyone should think the wait long. Least of all should an immortal spirit think so. Their great expectations and the towering structure of their crimes are often brought down by a sudden, unexpected end. But this only puts a limit on their misery. For if wickedness makes people miserable, anyone who remains wicked longer must be more miserable. And if death did not at least put an end to the evil deeds of the wicked, I would consider them utterly miserable. Indeed, if our conclusions about the misery caused by wickedness are true, misery that is destined to last forever is plainly infinite.'

Then said I: 'A wonderful inference, and difficult to grant; but I see that it agrees entirely with our previous conclusions.'

Then I said: 'That is a remarkable conclusion, and hard to accept. But I see that it agrees completely with our earlier conclusions.'

'Thou art right,' said she; 'but if anyone finds it hard to admit the conclusion, he ought in fairness either to prove some falsity in the premises, or to show that the combination of propositions does not adequately enforce the necessity of the conclusion; otherwise, if the premises be granted, nothing whatever can be said against the inference of the conclusion. And here is another statement which seems not less wonderful, but on the premises assumed is equally necessary.'

'You are right,' she said. 'But suppose someone finds the conclusion hard to accept. In fairness, they must either prove that a premise is false or show that the premises do not necessarily lead to the conclusion. Otherwise, if the premises are accepted, nothing at all can be said against the inference. Here is another statement that seems no less surprising. Yet it follows just as necessarily from the premises we have assumed.'

'What is that?'

'What is that?'

'The wicked are happier in undergoing punishment than if no penalty of justice chasten them. And I am not now meaning what might occur to anyone—that bad character is amended by retribution, and is brought into the right path by the terror of punishment, or that it serves as an example to warn others to avoid transgression; but I believe that in another way the wicked are more unfortunate when they go unpunished, even though no account be taken of amendment, and no regard be paid to example.'

'Wicked people are happier when they are punished than when justice imposes no penalty on them. I do not mean what anyone might think of: that punishment corrects bad character and fear of punishment leads people back to the right path. Nor do I mean that punishment serves as an example, warning others not to do wrong. I believe wicked people are more unfortunate when they go unpunished for another reason, even if we disregard their reform and the example set for others.'

'Why, what other way is there beside these?' said I.

'Why, what other way is there besides these?' I asked.

Then said she: 'Have we not agreed that the good are happy, and the evil wretched?'

Then she said, 'Haven't we agreed that good people are happy and evil people are miserable?'

'Yes,' said I.

'Yes,' I said.

'Now, if,' said she, 'to one in affliction there be given along with his misery some good thing, is he not happier than one whose misery is misery pure and simple without admixture of any good?'

'Now, suppose someone who is suffering is given something good along with the misery,' she said. 'Wouldn't that person be happier than someone whose misery has no good mixed in?'

'It would seem so.'

'It seems so.'

'But if to one thus wretched, one destitute of all good, some further evil be added besides those which make him wretched, is he not to be judged far more unhappy than he whose ill fortune is alleviated by some share of good?'

'But suppose someone is wretched and has no good at all. If another evil is added to those that make this person wretched, isn't that person far more unhappy than someone whose bad fortune is eased by some good?'

'It could scarcely be otherwise.'

'It could hardly be any other way.'

'Surely, then, the wicked, when they are punished, have a good thing added to them—to wit, the punishment which by the law of justice is good; and likewise, when they escape punishment, a new evil attaches to them in that very freedom from punishment which thou hast rightly acknowledged to be an evil in the case of the unrighteous.'

'Surely, then, when wicked people are punished, something good is added to their lives. That good is the punishment itself, which is good according to the law of justice. Likewise, when wicked people escape punishment, a new evil comes to them in that very freedom from punishment. You have rightly acknowledged that freedom from punishment is an evil for the unrighteous.'

'I cannot deny it.'

'I can't deny it.'

'Then, the wicked are far more unhappy when indulged with an unjust freedom from punishment than when punished by a just retribution. Now, it is manifest that it is just for the wicked to be punished, and for them to escape unpunished is unjust.'

'So the wicked are far more unhappy when they unjustly escape punishment than when they are justly punished. Clearly, it is just to punish the wicked and unjust to let them escape punishment.'

'Why, who would venture to deny it?'

'Why, who would dare deny it?'

'This, too, no one can possibly deny—that all which is just is good, and, conversely, all which is unjust is bad.'

'No one can deny that everything just is good. Likewise, everything unjust is bad.'

Then I answered: 'These inferences do indeed follow from what we lately concluded; but tell me,' said I, 'dost thou take no account of the punishment of the soul after the death of the body?'

Then I answered: 'These conclusions do follow from what we recently established. But tell me, do you not take into account the punishment of the soul after the body dies?'

'Nay, truly,' said she, 'great are these penalties, some of them inflicted, I imagine, in the severity of retribution, others in the mercy of purification. But it is not my present purpose to speak of these. So far, my aim hath been to make thee recognise that the power of the bad which shocked thee so exceedingly is no power; to make thee see that those of whose freedom from punishment thou didst complain are never without the proper penalties of their unrighteousness; to teach thee that the license which thou prayedst might soon come to an end is not long-enduring; that it would be more unhappy if it lasted longer, most unhappy of all if it lasted for ever; thereafter that the unrighteous are more wretched if unjustly let go without punishment than if punished by a just retribution—from which point of view it follows that the wicked are afflicted with more severe penalties just when they are supposed to escape punishment.'

'No, indeed,' she said, 'these punishments are severe. I imagine that some are inflicted as harsh retribution, others to purify mercifully. But I do not intend to discuss them now. So far, my aim has been to show you that the power of the wicked, which shocked you so deeply, is no power at all. You complained that the wicked go unpunished, but they are never without the punishments their wrongdoing deserves. I also wanted you to see that the wicked do not have the freedom to do as they please for long. You prayed that this freedom would soon end. The wicked would be unhappier if it lasted longer, and unhappiest of all if it lasted forever. I also wanted to show you that the wicked are more miserable when unjustly allowed to go unpunished than when they receive just punishment. It follows that the wicked suffer more severe punishments at the very moment they are thought to escape punishment.'

Then said I: 'While I follow thy reasonings, I am deeply impressed with their truth; but if I turn to the common convictions of men, I find few who will even listen to such arguments, let alone admit them to be credible.'

Then I said: 'When I follow your reasoning, I am deeply impressed by its truth. But when I consider what people generally believe, I find few who will even listen to such arguments. Fewer still will accept them as credible.'

'True,' said she; 'they cannot lift eyes accustomed to darkness to the light of clear truth, and are like those birds whose vision night illumines and day blinds; for while they regard, not the order of the universe, but their own dispositions of mind, they think the license to commit crime, and the escape from punishment, to be fortunate. But mark the ordinance of eternal law. Hast thou fashioned thy soul to the likeness of the better, thou hast no need of a judge to award the prize—by thine own act hast thou raised thyself in the scale of excellence; hast thou perverted thy affections to baser things, look not for punishment from one without thee—thine own act hath degraded thee, and thrust thee down. Even so, if alternately thou turn thy gaze upon the vile earth and upon the heavens, though all without thee stand still, by the mere laws of sight thou seemest now sunk in the mire, now soaring among the stars. But the common herd regards not these things. What, then? Shall we go over to those whom we have shown to be like brute beasts? Why, suppose, now, one who had quite lost his sight should likewise forget that he had ever possessed the faculty of vision, and should imagine that nothing was wanting in him to human perfection, should we deem those who saw as well as ever blind? Why, they will not even assent to this, either—that they who do wrong are more wretched than those who suffer wrong, though the proof of this rests on grounds of reason no less strong.'

‘True,’ she said. ‘They cannot lift eyes used to darkness toward the light of clear truth. They are like birds that can see at night but are blinded by day. They look at their own states of mind rather than the order of the universe. So they think it fortunate to be free to commit crimes and escape punishment. ‘But consider the decree of eternal law. If you have shaped your soul in the likeness of what is better, you need no judge to award your prize. By your own act, you have raised yourself on the scale of excellence. If you have turned your affections toward baser things, do not look for punishment from anyone else. Your own act has degraded you and brought you down. In the same way, suppose you look first at the filthy earth and then at the heavens. Though everything outside you remains still, the mere laws of sight make you seem first sunk in the mud, then soaring among the stars. ‘But the common herd pays no attention to these things. What then? Shall we side with those we have shown to be like brute beasts? Suppose someone completely lost his sight and also forgot that he had ever been able to see. Suppose he imagined that he lacked nothing needed for human perfection. Would we consider those who could still see as well as ever to be blind? They will not even agree that those who do wrong are more miserable than those who suffer wrong. Yet the proof of this rests on reasons no less strong.’

'Let me hear these same reasons,' said I.

'Let me hear those same reasons,' I said.

'Wouldst thou deny that every wicked man deserves punishment?'

'Would you deny that every wicked person deserves punishment?'

'I would not, certainly.'

'I certainly would not.'

'And that those who are wicked are unhappy is clear in manifold ways?'

'And is it clear in many ways that wicked people are unhappy?'

'Yes,' I replied.

'Yes,' I replied.

'Thou dost not doubt, then, that those who deserve punishment are wretched?'

'You do not doubt, then, that those who deserve punishment are miserable?'

'Agreed,' said I.

'Agreed,' I said.

'So, then, if thou wert sitting in judgment, on whom wouldst thou decree the infliction of punishment—on him who had done the wrong, or on him who had suffered it?'

'So, if you were the judge, whom would you punish? The person who did the wrong, or the person who suffered it?'

'Without doubt, I would compensate the sufferer at the cost of the doer of the wrong.'

'Without doubt, I would make the person who did wrong compensate the person who suffered.'

'Then, the injurer would seem more wretched than the injured?'

'Then the person who causes harm would seem more miserable than the person harmed?'

'Yes; it follows. And so for this and other reasons resting on the same ground, inasmuch as baseness of its own nature makes men wretched, it is plain that a wrong involves the misery of the doer, not of the sufferer.'

'Yes, that follows. Because wickedness by its very nature makes people miserable, this and similar reasons lead to a clear conclusion. A wrong makes the person who commits it miserable, not the person who suffers it.'

'And yet,' says she, 'the practice of the law-courts is just the opposite: advocates try to arouse the commiseration of the judges for those who have endured some grievous and cruel wrong; whereas pity is rather due to the criminal, who ought to be brought to the judgment-seat by his accusers in a spirit not of anger, but of compassion and kindness, as a sick man to the physician, to have the ulcer of his fault cut away by punishment. Whereby the business of the advocate would either wholly come to a standstill, or, did men prefer to make it serviceable to mankind, would be restricted to the practice of accusation. The wicked themselves also, if through some chink or cranny they were permitted to behold the virtue they have forsaken, and were to see that by the pains of punishment they would rid themselves of the uncleanness of their vices, and win in exchange the recompense of righteousness, they would no longer think these sufferings pains; they would refuse the help of advocates, and would commit themselves wholly into the hands of their accusers and judges. Whence it comes to pass that for the wise no place is left for hatred; only the most foolish would hate the good, and to hate the bad is unreasonable. For if vicious propensity is, as it were, a disease of the soul like bodily sickness, even as we account the sick in body by no means deserving of hate, but rather of pity, so, and much more, should they be pitied whose minds are assailed by wickedness, which is more frightful than any sickness.'

'And yet,' she says, 'courts do just the opposite. Lawyers try to make judges pity those who have suffered a serious and cruel wrong. But pity belongs instead to the criminal. Accusers should bring the criminal before the court with compassion and kindness, not anger. They should bring him as a sick person to a doctor, so that punishment can cut away the ulcer of his wrongdoing. This would either put an end to the work of lawyers altogether or, if people preferred to make that work useful to humanity, limit it to bringing accusations. The wicked themselves might be allowed to glimpse, through some crack or crevice, the virtue they have abandoned. They might also see that the pain of punishment would rid them of their filthy vices and give them the reward of righteousness in return. If so, they would no longer think of their suffering as painful. They would refuse the help of lawyers and give themselves entirely into the hands of their accusers and judges. So there is no room for hatred among the wise. Only the most foolish people would hate the good, and it is unreasonable to hate the bad. A tendency toward vice is like a disease of the soul, just as there is disease of the body. We do not think people with bodily illnesses deserve hatred. We think they deserve pity. So we should pity even more those whose minds are attacked by wickedness, which is more frightening than any illness.'

On this I said: 'I see how there is a happiness and misery founded on the actual deserts of the righteous and the wicked. Nevertheless, I wonder in myself whether there is not some good and evil in fortune as the vulgar understand it. Surely, no sensible man would rather be exiled, poor and disgraced, than dwell prosperously in his own country, powerful, wealthy, and high in honour. Indeed, the work of wisdom is more clear and manifest in its operation when the happiness of rulers is somehow passed on to the people around them, especially considering that the prison, the law, and the other pains of legal punishment are properly due only to mischievous citizens on whose account they were originally instituted. Accordingly, I do exceedingly marvel why all this is completely reversed—why the good are harassed with the penalties due to crime, and the bad carry off the rewards of virtue; and I long to hear from thee what reason may be found for so unjust a state of disorder. For assuredly I should wonder less if I could believe that all things are the confused result of chance. But now my belief in God's governance doth add amazement to amazement. For, seeing that He sometimes assigns fair fortune to the good and harsh fortune to the bad, and then again deals harshly with the good, and grants to the bad their hearts' desire, how does this differ from chance, unless some reason is discovered for it all?'

Then I said: 'I see that the righteous and the wicked find happiness or misery according to what they deserve. Still, I wonder whether fortune also brings good and evil, as ordinary people understand them. Surely, no sensible person would choose exile, poverty, and disgrace over living prosperously at home, powerful, wealthy, and highly honored. Indeed, wisdom's work is clearer and more evident when rulers somehow pass their happiness on to those around them. This is especially true since prison, legal action, and other legal penalties properly belong only to harmful citizens. Those penalties were originally established because of such citizens. So I am astonished that all this is completely reversed. Why are good people subjected to the penalties for crime, while bad people receive the rewards of virtue? I long to hear what reason you can find for such an unjust state of disorder. I would certainly be less surprised if I could believe that everything was the confused result of chance. But my belief that God governs the world only adds to my amazement. Sometimes he gives good fortune to the good and harsh fortune to the bad. At other times, he treats the good harshly and gives the bad their hearts' desire. Unless we can find some reason for all this, how does it differ from chance?'

'Nay; it is not wonderful,' said she, 'if all should be thought random and confused when the principle of order is not known. And though thou knowest not the causes on which this great system depends, yet forasmuch as a good ruler governs the world, doubt not for thy part that all is rightly done.'

'No, it is not surprising,' she said, 'that everything seems random and confused when the principle of order is unknown. Though you do not know the causes on which this great system depends, a good ruler governs the world. So do not doubt that all is rightly done.'

'True,' said I; 'but, since it is thy office to unfold the hidden cause of things, and explain principles veiled in darkness, inform me, I pray thee, of thine own conclusions in this matter, since the marvel of it is what more than aught else disturbs my mind.'

'True,' I said. 'But your role is to reveal the hidden causes of things and explain principles shrouded in darkness. So please tell me your own conclusions on this matter. Its mystery troubles me more than anything else.'

A smile played one moment upon her lips as she replied: 'Thou callest me to the greatest of all subjects of inquiry, a task for which the most exhaustive treatment barely suffices. Such is its nature that, as fast as one doubt is cut away, innumerable others spring up like Hydra's heads, nor could we set any limit to their renewal did we not apply the mind's living fire to suppress them. For there come within its scope the questions of the essential simplicity of providence, of the order of fate, of unforeseen chance, of the Divine knowledge and predestination, and of the freedom of the will. How heavy is the weight of all this thou canst judge for thyself. But, inasmuch as to know these things also is part of the treatment of thy malady, we will try to give them some consideration, despite the restrictions of the narrow limits of our time. Moreover, thou must for a time dispense with the pleasures of music and song, if so be that thou findest any delight therein, whilst I weave together the connected train of reasons in proper order.'

A smile briefly touched her lips as she replied: 'You are asking me to examine the greatest of all subjects. Even the most thorough treatment can barely do it justice. Each doubt we cut away gives rise to countless others, like Hydra's heads. Only the living fire of the mind can keep them from growing back without end. For this subject includes questions about the essential simplicity of providence and the order of fate. It also includes unforeseen chance, divine knowledge and predestination, and free will. You can judge for yourself how much these questions involve. But understanding them is also part of the treatment for your illness. So we will try to consider them, despite the limited time we have. And if you take pleasure in music and song, you must do without them for a while. I must now weave together the connected arguments in their proper order.'

'As thou wilt,' said I.

'As you wish,' I said.

Then, as if making a new beginning, she thus discoursed: 'The coming into being of all things, the whole course of development in things that change, every sort of thing that moves in any wise, receives its due cause, order, and form from the steadfastness of the Divine mind. This mind, calm in the citadel of its own essential simplicity, has decreed that the method of its rule shall be manifold. Viewed in the very purity of the Divine intelligence, this method is called providence; but viewed in regard to those things which it moves and disposes, it is what the ancients called fate. That these two are different will easily be clear to anyone who passes in review their respective efficacies. Providence is the Divine reason itself, seated in the Supreme Being, which disposes all things; fate is the disposition inherent in all things which move, through which providence joins all things in their proper order. Providence embraces all things, however different, however infinite; fate sets in motion separately individual things, and assigns to them severally their position, form, and time.

Then, as if beginning again, she said: 'All things come into being and develop through the constancy of the Divine mind. It gives every change and every kind of movement its proper cause, order, and form. This mind rests calmly within its own essential simplicity. It has decreed that its rule will take many forms. Seen in the pure light of Divine intelligence, this rule is called providence. But seen in relation to the things it moves and orders, it is what the ancients called fate. Anyone who considers what each does can easily see the difference between them. Providence is Divine reason itself, residing in the Supreme Being and ordering all things. Fate is the order inherent in all things that move. Through fate, providence joins all things in their proper order. Providence embraces all things, however different or infinite they may be. Fate sets individual things in motion separately, giving each its position, form, and time.'

'So the unfolding of this temporal order unified into the foreview of the Divine mind is providence, while the same unity broken up and unfolded in time is fate. And although these are different, yet is there a dependence between them; for the order of destiny issues from the essential simplicity of providence. For as the artificer, forming in his mind beforehand the idea of the thing to be made, carries out his design, and develops from moment to moment what he had before seen in a single instant as a whole, so God in His providence ordains all things as parts of a single unchanging whole, but carries out these very ordinances by fate in a time of manifold unity. So whether fate is accomplished by Divine spirits as the ministers of providence, or by a soul, or by the service of all nature—whether by the celestial motion of the stars, by the efficacy of angels, or by the many-sided cunning of demons—whether by all or by some of these the destined series is woven, this, at least, is manifest: that providence is the fixed and simple form of destined events, fate their shifting series in order of time, as by the disposal of the Divine simplicity they are to take place. Whereby it is that all things which are under fate are subjected also to providence, on which fate itself is dependent; whereas certain things which are set under providence are above the chain of fate—viz., those things which by their nearness to the primal Divinity are steadfastly fixed, and lie outside the order of fate's movements. For as the innermost of several circles revolving round the same centre approaches the simplicity of the midmost point, and is, as it were, a pivot round which the exterior circles turn, while the outermost, whirled in ampler orbit, takes in a wider and wider sweep of space in proportion to its departure from the indivisible unity of the centre—while, further, whatever joins and allies itself to the centre is narrowed to a like simplicity, and no longer expands vaguely into space—even so whatsoever departs widely from primal mind is involved more deeply in the meshes of fate, and things are free from fate in proportion as they seek to come nearer to that central pivot; while if aught cleaves close to supreme mind in its absolute fixity, this, too, being free from movement, rises above fate's necessity. Therefore, as is reasoning to pure intelligence, as that which is generated to that which is, time to eternity, a circle to its centre, so is the shifting series of fate to the steadfastness and simplicity of providence.

'Providence is the unfolding order of time seen as a whole in the divine mind. Fate is that same whole divided and unfolded in time. Although providence and fate are different, they are connected. The order of destiny comes from the essential simplicity of providence. A craftsperson first forms an idea of what to make, then carries out the design. What was first seen as a whole in a single instant is developed moment by moment. In the same way, God in his providence ordains all things as parts of a single, unchanging whole. But he carries out these same ordinances through fate, in the complex unity of time. Fate may be carried out by divine spirits serving providence, by a soul, or by all of nature. It may work through the heavenly motion of the stars, the power of angels, or the many kinds of cunning of demons. Whether all or only some of these weave the destined sequence, one thing is clear. Providence is the fixed and simple form of destined events. Fate is their changing sequence in time, as divine simplicity has arranged for them to occur. Therefore, all things under fate are also subject to providence, on which fate itself depends. But certain things under providence are above the chain of fate. Because they are close to the primal Divinity, they are fixed and steadfast, outside the order of fate's movements. Consider several circles revolving around the same center. The innermost circle comes closest to the simplicity of the central point. It is like a pivot around which the outer circles turn. The outermost circle, moving in a larger orbit, sweeps through more and more space. It does so because it is farther from the indivisible unity of the center. But whatever joins itself to the center is drawn into a similar simplicity. It no longer spreads out aimlessly into space. In the same way, whatever moves far from the primal mind becomes more deeply entangled in the web of fate. Things are free from fate to the extent that they seek to come closer to that central pivot. But if anything remains close to the supreme mind in its absolute fixity, it too is free from movement. It therefore rises above the necessity of fate. So the changing sequence of fate stands in relation to the steadfastness and simplicity of providence as reasoning does to pure intelligence, what comes into being to what is, time to eternity, and a circle to its center.

'It is this causal series which moves heaven and the stars, attempers the elements to mutual accord, and again in turn transforms them into new combinations; this which renews the series of all things that are born and die through like successions of germ and birth; it is its operation which binds the destinies of men by an indissoluble nexus of causality, and, since it issues in the beginning from unalterable providence, these destinies also must of necessity be immutable. Accordingly, the world is ruled for the best if this unity abiding in the Divine mind puts forth an inflexible order of causes. And this order, by its intrinsic immutability, restricts things mutable which otherwise would ebb and flow at random. And so it happens that, although to you, who are not altogether capable of understanding this order, all things seem confused and disordered, nevertheless there is everywhere an appointed limit which guides all things to good. Verily, nothing can be done for the sake of evil even by the wicked themselves; for, as we abundantly proved, they seek good, but are drawn out of the way by perverse error; far less can this order which sets out from the supreme centre of good turn aside anywhither from the way in which it began.

'This chain of causes moves heaven and the stars. It brings the elements into harmony and transforms them into new combinations. It renews the cycle of everything born and dying through successive generations of seeds and births. Its workings bind human destinies together in an unbreakable chain of causes. This chain begins in unchanging providence, so human destinies too must necessarily be unchanging. Accordingly, the world is ruled for the best if this unity in the Divine mind produces a fixed order of causes. By its very permanence, this order restrains changeable things that would otherwise shift at random. So, although everything seems confused and disordered to you, because you cannot fully understand this order, there is a set limit everywhere that guides all things toward good. Indeed, even the wicked themselves can do nothing for the sake of evil. As we have amply proved, they seek good, but twisted error leads them astray. Still less can this order, which begins at the supreme center of good, turn aside from its original path.'

'"Yet what confusion," thou wilt say, "can be more unrighteous than that prosperity and adversity should indifferently befall the good, what they like and what they loathe come alternately to the bad!" Yes; but have men in real life such soundness of mind that their judgments of righteousness and wickedness must necessarily correspond with facts? Why, on this very point their verdicts conflict, and those whom some deem worthy of reward, others deem worthy of punishment. Yet granted there were one who could rightly distinguish the good and bad, yet would he be able to look into the soul's inmost constitution, as it were, if we may borrow an expression used of the body? The marvel here is not unlike that which astonishes one who does not know why in health sweet things suit some constitutions, and bitter others, or why some sick men are best alleviated by mild remedies, others by severe. But the physician who distinguishes the precise conditions and characteristics of health and sickness does not marvel. Now, the health of the soul is nothing but righteousness, and vice is its sickness. God, the guide and physician of the mind, it is who preserves the good and banishes the bad. And He looks forth from the lofty watch-tower of His providence, perceives what is suited to each, and assigns what He knows to be suitable.

'"Yet what could be more unjust," you will say, "than the disorder in which good people suffer both prosperity and adversity, while bad people experience both what they like and what they hate in turn!" Yes, but are people really so sound in their judgment that what they call right and wrong must match the facts? On this very question, their judgments conflict. Some think a person deserves a reward, while others think the same person deserves punishment. But suppose someone could rightly distinguish good people from bad. Could that person also look into the soul's innermost makeup, to borrow a term used for the body? The puzzle is much like one that astonishes someone who does not know why sweet things suit some healthy bodies and bitter things suit others. Or why some sick people are best helped by mild remedies and others by strong ones. But a physician who recognizes the exact conditions and characteristics of health and sickness is not astonished. Now, the health of the soul is simply righteousness, and vice is its sickness. God, the mind's guide and physician, preserves what is good and banishes what is bad. From the high watchtower of his providence, he sees what suits each person and gives each what he knows to be suitable.

'This, then, is what that extraordinary mystery of the order of destiny comes to—that something is done by one who knows, whereat the ignorant are astonished. But let us consider a few instances whereby appears what is the competency of human reason to fathom the Divine unsearchableness. Here is one whom thou deemest the perfection of justice and scrupulous integrity; to all-knowing Providence it seems far otherwise. We all know our Lucan's admonition that it was the winning cause that found favour with the gods, the beaten cause with Cato. So, shouldst thou see anything in this world happening differently from thy expectation, doubt not but events are rightly ordered; it is in thy judgment that there is perverse confusion.

'So this is what the extraordinary mystery of the order of destiny comes to: someone who knows acts, and those who do not know are astonished. But let us consider a few examples that show how far human reason can fathom the unfathomable nature of the Divine. You may think someone perfectly just and scrupulously honest. Yet all-knowing Providence sees that person very differently. We all know Lucan's reminder: the winning cause found favor with the gods, the defeated cause with Cato. So, if you see anything in this world happen differently from what you expected, do not doubt that events are rightly ordered. It is your judgment that is badly confused.'

'Grant, however, there be somewhere found one of so happy a character that God and man alike agree in their judgments about him; yet is he somewhat infirm in strength of mind. It may be, if he fall into adversity, he will cease to practise that innocency which has failed to secure his fortune. Therefore, God's wise dispensation spares him whom adversity might make worse, will not let him suffer who is ill fitted for endurance. Another there is perfect in all virtue, so holy and nigh to God that providence judges it unlawful that aught untoward should befall him; nay, doth not even permit him to be afflicted with bodily disease. As one more excellent than I^N hath said:

'Suppose, however, that someone is found whose character is so good that God and man judge him alike. Yet he is somewhat weak in spirit. If adversity strikes him, he may stop practicing the innocence that failed to protect his fortunes. Therefore, God's wise providence spares him because adversity might make him worse. It will not let him suffer because he is poorly suited to endure suffering. Another person is perfect in every virtue, so holy and close to God that providence judges it wrong for anything bad to happen to him. Indeed, providence does not even allow him to suffer from physical illness. As someone greater than I^N has said:

Often it happens that the governance is given to the good that a restraint may be put upon superfluity of wickedness. To others providence assigns some mixed lot suited to their spiritual nature; some it will plague lest they grow rank through long prosperity; others it will suffer to be vexed with sore afflictions to confirm their virtues by the exercise and practice of patience. Some fear overmuch what they have strength to bear; others despise overmuch that to which their strength is unequal. All these it brings to the test of their true self through misfortune. Some also have bought a name revered to future ages at the price of a glorious death; some by invincible constancy under their sufferings have afforded an example to others that virtue cannot be overcome by calamity—all which things, without doubt, come to pass rightly and in due order, and to the benefit of those to whom they are seen to happen.

Often, good people are given power so that they can restrain excessive wickedness. Providence gives others a mixture of good and bad fortune suited to their spiritual nature. It troubles some so that they will not become corrupt through long prosperity. It allows others to suffer severe hardships to strengthen their virtues through the practice of patience. Some fear too much what they have the strength to bear. Others are too dismissive of what they lack the strength to bear. Providence tests all of them through misfortune, revealing their true selves. Some have earned a name revered by future generations at the price of a glorious death. Others have shown by their unshakable endurance that calamity cannot defeat virtue. All these things, without doubt, happen rightly and in due order, for the benefit of those who experience them.

'As to the other side of the marvel, that the bad now meet with affliction, now get their hearts' desire, this, too, springs from the same causes. As to the afflictions, of course no one marvels, because all hold the wicked to be ill deserving. The truth is, their punishments both frighten others from crime, and amend those on whom they are inflicted; while their prosperity is a powerful sermon to the good, what judgments they ought to pass on good fortune of this kind, which often attends the wicked so assiduously.

'The other puzzling thing is that the wicked sometimes suffer and sometimes get what they want. This, too, comes from the same causes. Of course, no one is surprised when the wicked suffer, because everyone believes they deserve it. Their punishments both deter others from crime and improve those who are punished. Meanwhile, the prosperity of the wicked teaches the good a powerful lesson. It shows them how to judge the kind of good fortune that so often follows the wicked.'

'There is another object which may, I believe, be attained in such cases: there is one, perhaps, whose nature is so reckless and violent that poverty would drive him more desperately into crime. His disorder providence relieves by allowing him to amass money. Such a one, in the uneasiness of a conscience stained with guilt, while he contrasts his character with his fortune, perchance grows alarmed lest he should come to mourn the loss of that whose possession is so pleasant to him. He will, then, reform his ways, and through the fear of losing his fortune he forsakes his iniquity. Some, through a prosperity unworthily borne, have been hurled headlong to ruin; to some the power of the sword has been committed, to the end that the good may be tried by discipline, and the bad punished. For while there can be no peace between the righteous and the wicked, neither can the wicked agree among themselves. How should they, when each is at variance with himself, because his vices rend his conscience, and ofttimes they do things which, when they are done, they judge ought not to have been done. Hence it is that this supreme providence brings to pass this notable marvel—that the bad make the bad good. For some, when they see the injustice which they themselves suffer at the hands of evil-doers, are inflamed with detestation of the offenders, and, in the endeavour to be unlike those whom they hate, return to the ways of virtue. It is the Divine power alone to which things evil are also good, in that, by putting them to suitable use, it bringeth them in the end to some good issue. For order in some way or other embraceth all things, so that even that which has departed from the appointed laws of the order, nevertheless falleth within an order, though another order, that nothing in the realm of providence may be left to haphazard. But

'I believe there may be another purpose in such cases. Perhaps someone is so reckless and violent that poverty would drive him to even worse crimes. Providence relieves his disorder by allowing him to gather wealth. His guilty conscience troubles him, and he compares his character with his good fortune. Perhaps he grows afraid that he will one day lose the wealth he enjoys so much. He then changes his ways and gives up his wrongdoing for fear of losing his fortune. Some have been driven headlong to ruin by prosperity they were unworthy of. Others have been given the power of the sword, so that the good may be tested through hardship and the wicked punished. For just as there can be no peace between the righteous and the wicked, the wicked cannot agree among themselves. How could they, when each is at odds with himself because his vices tear at his conscience? They often do things they later judge they should not have done. This is how supreme providence brings about a remarkable wonder: the wicked make the wicked good. Some suffer injustice at the hands of evildoers and come to hate them for it. In trying to be unlike those they hate, they return to the ways of virtue. Only divine power can make even evil things serve a good purpose. It puts them to suitable use and brings some good out of them in the end. For order somehow embraces all things. So even what has departed from the appointed laws of order still falls within an order, though another order. Thus nothing in the realm of providence is left to chance. But

Nor, truly, is it lawful for man to compass in thought all the mechanism of the Divine work, or set it forth in speech. Let us be content to have apprehended this only—that God, the creator of universal nature, likewise disposeth all things, and guides them to good; and while He studies to preserve in likeness to Himself all that He has created, He banishes all evil from the borders of His commonweal through the links of fatal necessity. Whereby it comes to pass that, if thou look to disposing providence, thou wilt nowhere find the evils which are believed so to abound on earth.

Indeed, human beings cannot grasp the whole working of God’s creation in thought or express it in words. Let us be content to understand this alone: God, the creator of all nature, also orders all things and guides them toward good. He seeks to keep everything he has created in his own likeness. In doing so, he banishes all evil from his realm through the chain of necessity ordained by fate. As a result, if you look to providence and its ordering of things, you will find none of the evils believed to be so widespread on earth.

'But I see thou hast long been burdened with the weight of the subject, and fatigued with the prolixity of the argument, and now lookest for some refreshment of sweet poesy. Listen, then, and may the draught so restore thee that thou wilt bend thy mind more resolutely to what remains.'

'But I see that the subject has weighed on you for a long time. The long argument has tired you, and you now look forward to the refreshment of sweet poetry. Listen, then. May this drink restore you so that you can turn your mind more resolutely to what remains.'

'Dost thou, then, see the consequence of all that we have said?'

'Then do you see what follows from all we have said?'

'Nay; what consequence?'

'No, what follows from that?'

'That absolutely every fortune is good fortune.'

'All fortune is good fortune, without exception.'

'And how can that be?' said I.

'And how can that be?' I said.

'Attend,' said she. 'Since every fortune, welcome and unwelcome alike, has for its object the reward or trial of the good, and the punishing or amending of the bad, every fortune must be good, since it is either just or useful.'

'Listen,' she said. 'Every turn of fortune, welcome or unwelcome, is meant to reward or test good people, or to punish or reform bad people. Therefore, every turn of fortune must be good, because it is either just or useful.'

'The reasoning is exceeding true,' said I, 'the conclusion, so long as I reflect upon the providence and fate of which thou hast taught me, based on a strong foundation. Yet, with thy leave, we will count it among those which just now thou didst set down as paradoxical.'

'Your reasoning is entirely true,' I said. 'As long as I reflect on what you have taught me about providence and fate, the conclusion rests on a strong foundation. Yet, if you allow, we will count the conclusion among those you just called paradoxical.'

'And why so?' said she.

'Why is that?' she asked.

'Because ordinary speech is apt to assert, and that frequently, that some men's fortune is bad.'

'Because people often say that some men have bad fortune.'

'Shall we, then, for awhile approach more nearly to the language of the vulgar, that we may not seem to have departed too far from the usages of men?'

'Shall we, then, speak more like ordinary people for a while, so we do not seem too far removed from everyday ways?'

'At thy good pleasure,' said I.

'As you wish,' I said.

'That which advantageth thou callest good, dost thou not?'

'You call what benefits you good, don't you?'

'Certainly.'

'Certainly.'

'And that which either tries or amends advantageth?'

'And does whatever tests or corrects do good?'

'Granted.'

'Agreed.'

'Is good, then?'

'Is good, then?'

'Of course.'

'Of course.'

'Well, this is their case who have attained virtue and wage war with adversity, or turn from vice and lay hold on the path of virtue.'

'Well, this is their situation: they have become virtuous and struggle against hardship, or they turn from vice and follow the path of virtue.'

'I cannot deny it.'

'I can't deny it.'

'What of the good fortune which is given as reward of the good—do the vulgar adjudge it bad?'

'What about the good fortune given as a reward to good people? Do ordinary people consider it bad?'

'Anything but that; they deem it to be the best, as indeed it is.'

'Not at all. They believe it is the best, and it is.'

'What, then, of that which remains, which, though it is harsh, puts the restraint of just punishment on the bad—does popular opinion deem it good?'

'What about what remains? Though harsh, it restrains the wicked through just punishment. Do people consider it good?'

'Nay; of all that can be imagined, it is accounted the most miserable.'

'No, of all things imaginable, it is considered the most miserable.'

'Observe, then, if, in following popular opinion, we have not ended in a conclusion quite paradoxical.'

'Now see whether following popular opinion has led us to a quite paradoxical conclusion.'

'How so?' said I.

'How so?' I asked.

'Why, it results from our admissions that of all who have attained, or are advancing in, or are aiming at virtue, the fortune is in every case good, while for those who remain in their wickedness fortune is always utterly bad.'

'Why, what we have agreed shows that fortune is always good for everyone who has attained virtue, is making progress toward it, or is aiming for it. But for those who remain wicked, fortune is always utterly bad.'

'It is true,' said I; 'yet no one dare acknowledge it.'

'That's true,' I said, 'but no one dares to admit it.'

'Wherefore,' said she, 'the wise man ought not to take it ill, if ever he is involved in one of fortune's conflicts, any more than it becomes a brave soldier to be offended when at any time the trumpet sounds for battle. The time of trial is the express opportunity for the one to win glory, for the other to perfect his wisdom. Hence, indeed, virtue gets its name, because, relying on its own efficacy, it yieldeth not to adversity. And ye who have taken your stand on virtue's steep ascent, it is not for you to be dissolved in delights or enfeebled by pleasure; ye close in conflict—yea, in conflict most sharp—with all fortune's vicissitudes, lest ye suffer foul fortune to overwhelm or fair fortune to corrupt you. Hold the mean with all your strength. Whatever falls short of this, or goes beyond, is fraught with scorn of happiness, and misses the reward of toil. It rests with you to make your fortune what you will. Verily, every harsh-seeming fortune, unless it either disciplines or amends, is punishment.'

‘Therefore,’ she said, ‘a wise person should not resent being drawn into one of fortune’s battles. A brave soldier should no more resent hearing the trumpet sound for battle. A trial gives the soldier the chance to win glory and the wise person the chance to perfect wisdom. Indeed, virtue gets its name because it relies on its own strength and does not yield to adversity. ‘You who have taken your stand on virtue’s steep ascent must not lose yourselves in delights or let pleasure weaken you. You are locked in a fierce struggle with all the changes of fortune. You must not let bad fortune overwhelm you or good fortune corrupt you. Hold to the middle path with all your strength. Anything short of that path, or beyond it, brings contempt for happiness and loses the reward of your efforts. It is up to you to make your fortune what you will. In truth, every fortune that seems harsh is punishment, unless it either disciplines or improves you.’