“But the category of friends, which is truly the most holy of desirable things—this is not assigned to Fortune’s list but to Virtue’s.”
Boethius, Consolation of Philosophy
One of our greatest fears is of bad things that happen to our friends and loved ones. In a great classic of Western Civilization, Boethius learns (and teaches) that in true friendship there is ultimately nothing to fear.
This piece of wisdom is at once bracing and deeply consoling. There are many things—some of them genuinely important in life—that are subject to fortune or fate; in short, they can be taken away from us. The loss for instance of our job, our home, our bodily health, or peace in society (all subject to fortune or fate) causes real suffering.
Friendship (and all relationships of true love), as experience makes clear, makes us even more vulnerable, opening us to a unique suffering in the suffering of our friends. How often might we find ourselves wishing that some misfortune had befallen us, rather than them! Why then does Boethius suggest that the category of friends is not assigned to Fortune’s list but rather to Virtue’s?
Herein is a bedrock insight about human life and happiness. The most important thing in life is good character (which can be called virtue) and all that goes along with it. And this is fundamentally a matter of our own will, our own choices, and so it is not in itself subject to the whims of fate.
The implications are profound. One of these is that true friendship, itself necessarily a fruit of the good character of two people, is likewise not subject to the whims of fate. Good fortune is received by friends as a gift. And ‘bad fortune’ too, while a real source of suffering, is occasion to strengthen friendship. The more virtuous we are, the more we see and the more we experience that even bad fortune is a gift.
Or is this just a pious platitude of philosophers? The answer to this question makes all the difference. Indeed, in the end our ability to live in true friendship hinges on it.
Yet perhaps fate can have the ultimate say if our loved one is taken from us in death. Perhaps this extreme case gives the lie to putting friendship on the list of virtue and not fortune.
Rather, this extreme case is the ultimate proof. Yes, my friend can be taken from me in a very real sense. But our friendship, as the things from which it springs and toward which it tends, can never be taken from us. Always, what is most important is most enduring.
So, we find again that our deepest longings are not in vain or destined for disappointment. Nay, that which we so crave is in reality being offered to us, if we but choose to receive it and enact it. Especially in true friendship.
Related reading:
- Out Standing on the Earth
- Having No Real Friends
- Discussing Virtue Daily
- Perfect Friendship
- Our Pressing Need for Friendship
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this is really good: topic, argument, writing.
thank you.
For the benefit of your fellow readers, I was lucky to hear your thoughts last week on Boethius’ sense that there is ultimate fortune in misfortune and conversely those we view as being fortunate are so often in an unfortunate state of mind and being. I heartily agree that with true friendship, or more precisely the gift such a friendship gives, that gift stays even after the death of the friend. I also put generational family members into such a category. For example, I loved my grandfather who was so much a mentor to me, but when he died, as much as I lamented and grieved that occurrence, we are born to expect such passings. But there is one friendship death that doesn’t neatly fit into such a perspective, at least when it happens when it is not supposed to. That is the death of one’s spouse at an early age. I would argue that in spousal deaths, one loses part of oneself which is different from whatever tie or closeness one had with a non-spousal friend’s or relative’s death. This is perhaps not easy to explain, but there is almost a sharing of metabolisms that occurs in a spousal friendship. At older ages we may be conditioned to expect death of one spouse to happen before the other, but it will not make the separation easier except the recognition that not much time will pass before the surviving spouse joins the other in death. But at a younger age, one faces the prospect of living a longer period of time with a metabolism that has now been compromised. (I have purposely left out the entirely different the wholly tragic experience of a parent losing a child – that is in a class of sadness all its own that can’t be anything but unbearable. But those relationships are not the same as friendships being discussed here).
I don’t deny and in fact absolutely agree that the misfortune of losing a spouse can be something that awakens eyes when before they were closed or couldn’t see as clearly. But I would argue that the price is very different than what occurs when one loses a good and close friend. Boethius may have come to an enlightenment as to how to view his faith and thanked God for such a gift. But his wife lost her lover and presumably her best friend and had to sort out her life without him. Yes even from that misfortune God would have helped her, but there is something unsettling about that dynamic. Coming full circle though, I totally agree with you in that friendship including that which exists between spouses is in the category of virtue and cannot ever be taken away by fate.
Bob, This is a profound reflection. I agree that the spousal relationship is in a class of its own. The loss is at a different level. I find myself thinking–and I hope this does not sound insensitive to the profundity of the loss–that though the loss is at a different level, the same fundamental principles are at work, especially two. Namely, that first, the friendship survives in a very important way (and is thus beyond ‘fortune’), and second, the suffering of the ‘misfortune’ of the separation remains a true gift. I think you agree with both of these points (you explicitly state the first point). The second point is of course the most difficult, and it throws us back on the fundamental issue in Boethius: can misfortune–even at that level of magnitude–be a gift. I will simply offer the thought that I think the most ultimate answer will be in how it can deeper our relationship with Our Lord. And as St. Aelred says, this relationship is the beginning and end of all our other relationships. Much to ponder. Thanks for the comment.
I totally agree with what you write. It perfectly describes the gift that is granted in loss which I am sensing could not be granted otherwise.