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"If things then which are doing under our eye... are under no present necessity of happening; it must be admitted that these same things, before they befel, were under no necessity of taking place. It is plain, therefore, that some things... [are] unconstrained by necessity. For I do not think any person will say that such things as are at present done, were not to happen before they were done. Why therefore may not things be foreseen, and not necessitated in their events? As the knowledge then of what is present imposes no necessity on things now done; so neither does the foreknowledge of what is to happen in future, necessitate the things which are to take place. But you may say, you hesitate with regard to this point; whether there can be any certain foreknowledge of things, of which the event is not necessitated? For here there seems to he an evident contradiction. If things are, foreseen, you may contend they are under a necessity of happening; but if their event is not necessary, they cannot possibly be foreseen, because prescience can foresee nothing but what is absolutely certain: and if things uncertain in their events are foreseen as certain, this prescience, you may maintain, is nothing more than a false opinion: for when we comprehend things differently from what they really are, we have but imperfect ideas of them, very remote from the truth of science. To this I would answer, that the cause of this mistake is, that men imagine that their knowledge is derived entirely from the nature of the things known; whereas it is quite the reverse; since things are not known from properties inherent in the object of knowledge, but by faculties residing in the perceiver."

- Boethius's Consolation of Philosophy

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"That God doth all events foresee— That every human aft is free— Are truths, when sep'rate, plain and clear; But join'd,—perplex'd and dark appear. Declare then, what discordant cause Puzzles and clouds perspicuous laws? Can things indisputably true Involve an inconsistence too? Who can the unloose, And this deep mystery disclose? The Heav'n-born mind, perhaps, you'll say, Encumber'd with this load of clay, Cannot perceive the secret ties Of things, and nice dependencies.— Why does she then with ardour glow, Matters beyond her reach to know? Knows she the secret she would gain? Then Sure—She would not toil in vain. If, weak and blind, she knows it not, Why gropes she for she knows not what? None wish for what they never knew, Nor matters wholly hid pursue.— But grant,—that after search profound She finds it;—can she say 'tis found? Each mark unknown of what she sought, Dares she assert—the prize is got? The soul at first, then, shall we say, Illum'd with a celestial ray, From Wisdom's beaming source that springs, Knew all the secret chains of things:— But sent from Heav'n's pure light to dwell In this corporeal sluggish cell; Tho' clouds the intellectual bright O'ercast, and dim her native light. Clear marks of her celestial strain, And Heav'n-taught knowledge, still remain; Truth's outlines fair are still imprest Distinctly on the human breast; Tho' individuals are forgot, The sum of things unknown is not. In Science, then, who strive to grow, Studious reflect on what they know, And calm investigate again The truths their minds did once retain. Hence learn they to philosophize, And open Nature's mysteries."

- Boethius's Consolation of Philosophy

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"à§³ Whilst I vented my grief in these melancholy strains, and, with tears streaming from my eyes, was committing them to paper, I was struck with the appearance of a woman, whose countenance was altogether august and venerable. Her eyes sparkled with fire, and her look was far more piercing than that of any mortal. Her complexion was comely and healthful, and she seemed to possess all the vigour of youth; nevertheless her appearance was such as denoted her to have lived many years, and that her existence began long before the present age. The height of her stature could not be determined, as she varied it at pleasure; now, she seemed to contrast herself to the ordinary size of men; anon, she appeared to reach the skies with her head; nay, she would at times elevate herself still higher, and penetrate so far into the heavens, as to surmount the reach of the most acute and discerning eye. The stuff of which her robe was composed was indissoluble; it was of the finest thread, woven with wonderful art, and was the work of her own hands... But as smoke and dust obscures ancient pictures, so neglect and the rust of antiquity had rendered the beauty of this stuff scarcely to be discerned. On the lower part of her garment was embroidered in a large and strong character the letter P, on the upper G; the former denoting Philosophy; the latter, God; and betwixt these two letters a flight of stairs was delineated, signifying that the ascent to God was by philosophy."

- Boethius's Consolation of Philosophy

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"à§³ IN flower of youth, with love of learning blest, My verse was wont in cheerful strains to flow; But now, by Fortune's cruel rage-opprest, I mourn in numbers suited to my woe.The sacred Nine, companions of my grief. Their soften'd features wet with many a tear. Try all their pleasing art to give relief, And whisper verse mellifluous in my ear,They, faithful friends, still trace my woful ways, Regardless of the haughty tyrant's rage, Whilom, the glory of my youthful days. Now, the chief solace of my drooping age.Silver'd my hairs, and furrow'd deep my brow. Unbrac'd each nerve, tho' scarce beyond my prime. With rapid haste borne on the wings of wo. Old age advances, not on wings of time.Happy the man, with health and affluence blest, Into whose halcyon days intrudes not death; From ceaseless wo, still happier who finds rest. And yields to fate, long-wish'd, his willing breath.Death, kind deliv'rer from all grief and pain. Why stays thy hand my weeping eyes to close? Thy aid, ah cruel! I implore in vain; Deaf to my cries, thou wilt not give repose.With gladd'ning beams, while treach'rous fortune, shone, Disease had almost snatch'd my bliss away, With every joy, since now the wanton's flown, Why does slow time still lengthen out my day?Why did you boast of my exalted state? Mistaken friends, were ye not much to blame? Learn this great truth, from my disastrous fate, All human bliss is but an empty name."

- Boethius's Consolation of Philosophy

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"Ah! hapless state of human race! How quick do all their pleasures pass! And too, too weak their minds to bear Life's varied scenes of woe and care. When grief's sharp thorn the heart assails. Of wisdom's sons the purpose fails; Their boasted vigour soon gives way, Dark melancholy clouds their day; The helm no longer reason steers, But lawless passion domineers. Too sad a proof of this, alas! Ah, wretched mortal, is your case! Whilst undisgrac'd and unconfin'd, How firm and vigorous was your mind! Still ranging with unwearied view Creation's ample circuit thro'. The sun, refulgent source of day, You trac'd o'er all his radiant way; The moon that shines with borrowed light, And cheers with radiance mild the night, The silver moon's mysterious round Was by your magic numbers bound; The planets too that wand'ring go. And seem no settled course to know, Their periods, various and perplex'd, Were, by your art victorious, fix'd; Your tow'ring genius could resolve, What makes the heaven's vast frame revolve, Whilst all the lights that gild the skies, In order, daily set and rise; You too could tell, where nature forms Her mighty magazines of storms, Which with impetuous fury roll, And shake the earth from pole to pole; Why Spring awakes the genial hours, And decks th' enamell'd field with flow'rs, You knew;—and why kind Autumn's hand Diffuses plenty o'er the land: Thro' all her mazes you pursued Coy Nature, and her secrets viewed. But ah! sad change! that soaring mind Is now disconsolate and blind; To earth-born cares a wretched prey. And all the man is sunk away. Relentless fate has fix'd those eyes To earth, that whilom pierc'd the skies."

- Boethius's Consolation of Philosophy

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