Boethius's Sorrows

While I was thus mutely pondering within myself, and recording my sorrowful complainings with my pen, it seemed to me that there appeared above my head a woman of a countenance exceeding venerable. Her eyes were bright as fire, and of a more than human keenness; her complexion was lively, her vigour showed no trace of enfeeblement; and yet her years were right full, and she plainly seemed not of our age and time. Her stature was difficult to judge. At one moment it exceeded not the common height, at another her forehead seemed to strike the sky; and whenever she raised her head higher, she began to pierce within the very heavens, and to baffle the eyes of them that looked upon her. Her garments were of an imperishable fabric, wrought with the finest threads and of the most delicate workmanship; and these, as her own lips afterwards assured me, she had herself woven with her own hands. The beauty of this vesture had been somewhat tarnished by age and neglect, and wore that dingy look which marble contracts from exposure. On the lower-most edge was inwoven the Greek letter Π [Greek: P], on the topmost the letter θ [Greek: Th],^A and between the two were to be seen steps, like a staircase, from the lower to the upper letter. This robe, moreover, had been torn by the hands of violent persons, who had each snatched away what he could clutch.^B Her right hand held a note-book; in her left she bore a staff. And when she saw the Muses of Poesie standing by my bedside, dictating the words of my lamentations, she was moved awhile to wrath, and her eyes flashed sternly. 'Who,' said she, 'has allowed yon play-acting wantons to approach this sick man—these who, so far from giving medicine to heal his malady, even feed it with sweet poison? These it is who kill the rich crop of reason with the barren thorns of passion, who accustom men's minds to disease, instead of setting them free. Now, were it some common man whom your allurements were seducing, as is usually your way, I should be less indignant. On such a one I should not have spent my pains for naught. But this is one nurtured in the Eleatic and Academic philosophies. Nay, get ye gone, ye sirens, whose sweetness lasteth not; leave him for my muses to tend and heal!' At these words of upbraiding, the whole band, in deepened sadness, with downcast eyes, and blushes that confessed their shame, dolefully left the chamber.

As I silently pondered these things and wrote down my sorrowful complaints, a woman seemed to appear above my head. Her face was deeply venerable. Her eyes shone like fire and were sharper than human eyes. Her complexion was lively, and her strength showed no sign of weakening. Yet she was clearly very old and seemed not to belong to our time. Her height was difficult to judge. At one moment she was no taller than an ordinary person. At another, her forehead seemed to touch the sky. Whenever she raised her head higher, it seemed to pierce the heavens themselves, passing beyond the sight of those who watched her. Her clothes were made of a fabric that would never decay. They were woven from the finest threads with the most delicate skill. She later told me that she had woven them herself. Age and neglect had somewhat dimmed their beauty. They had the dingy look that marble acquires when exposed to the elements. The Greek letter Π [Greek: P] was woven into the lowest edge. At the top was the letter θ [Greek: Th],^A and between them were steps, like a staircase leading upward. Violent people had torn the robe, each snatching away whatever he could grasp.^B In her right hand she held a notebook, and in her left, a staff. Then she saw the Muses of Poetry standing beside my bed, dictating the words of my laments. For a moment she was angry, and her eyes flashed sternly. 'Who,' she said, 'has allowed those theatrical wantons near this sick man? Far from giving him medicine to heal his illness, they feed it with sweet poison. They kill the rich crop of reason with the barren thorns of passion. They make men's minds used to sickness instead of setting them free. Now, if your charms were seducing an ordinary man, as they usually do, I would be less angry. I would not have wasted my efforts on him. But this man was nurtured in the Eleatic and Academic philosophies. Go away, you sirens, whose sweetness does not last. Leave him to my muses to care for and heal!' At this rebuke, the whole group grew sadder. They lowered their eyes and blushed, showing their shame, and left the room sorrowfully.

But I, because my sight was dimmed with much weeping, and I could not tell who was this woman of authority so commanding—I was dumfoundered, and, with my gaze fastened on the earth, continued silently to await what she might do next. Then she drew near me and sat on the edge of my couch, and, looking into my face all heavy with grief and fixed in sadness on the ground, she bewailed in these words the disorder of my mind:

But my eyes were blurred from so much weeping, and I could not tell who this commanding, authoritative woman was. I was stunned. With my eyes fixed on the ground, I waited silently to see what she would do next. She came closer and sat on the edge of my bed. She looked at my face, heavy with grief, and at my eyes, fixed sadly on the ground. Then she lamented the troubled state of my mind in these words:

'But the time,' said she, 'calls rather for healing than for lamentation.' Then, with her eyes bent full upon me, 'Art thou that man,' she cries, 'who, erstwhile fed with the milk and reared upon the nourishment which is mine to give, had grown up to the full vigour of a manly spirit? And yet I had bestowed such armour on thee as would have proved an invincible defence, hadst thou not first cast it away. Dost thou know me? Why art thou silent? Is it shame or amazement that hath struck thee dumb? Would it were shame; but, as I see, a stupor hath seized upon thee.' Then, when she saw me not only answering nothing, but mute and utterly incapable of speech, she gently touched my breast with her hand, and said: 'There is no danger; these are the symptoms of lethargy, the usual sickness of deluded minds. For awhile he has forgotten himself; he will easily recover his memory, if only he first recognises me. And that he may do so, let me now wipe his eyes that are clouded with a mist of mortal things.' Thereat, with a fold of her robe, she dried my eyes all swimming with tears.

'But now is the time for healing rather than mourning,' she said. Then she looked directly at me and cried, 'Are you the man I once fed with my milk and raised on my nourishment? Did you grow up to have the full strength of a manly spirit? I had given you armor that would have been an invincible defense, if you had not first thrown it away. Do you know me? Why are you silent? Has shame or amazement left you speechless? I wish it were shame, but I see that a stupor has seized you.' When she saw that I was not only silent but utterly unable to speak, she gently touched my chest. 'There is no danger,' she said. 'These are the symptoms of lethargy, the usual sickness of deluded minds. For a while, he has forgotten himself. He will easily recover his memory, if only he first recognizes me. To help him recognize me, let me wipe his eyes. A mist of mortal things has clouded them.' Then she dried my tear-filled eyes with a fold of her robe.

Even so the clouds of my melancholy were broken up. I saw the clear sky, and regained the power to recognise the face of my physician. Accordingly, when I had lifted my eyes and fixed my gaze upon her, I beheld my nurse, Philosophy, whose halls I had frequented from my youth up.

Just then, the clouds of my sadness cleared. I saw the clear sky and could recognize my physician’s face again. So I lifted my eyes and looked at her. I saw my nurse, Philosophy, whose halls I had visited since my youth.

'Ah! why,' I cried, 'mistress of all excellence, hast thou come down from on high, and entered the solitude of this my exile? Is it that thou, too, even as I, mayst be persecuted with false accusations?'

'Ah, mistress of all excellence,' I cried, 'why have you come down from on high to the solitude of my exile? Have you come so that you too may be persecuted with false accusations, just as I have been?'

'Could I desert thee, child,' said she, 'and not lighten the burden which thou hast taken upon thee through the hatred of my name, by sharing this trouble? Even forgetting that it were not lawful for Philosophy to leave companionless the way of the innocent, should I, thinkest thou, fear to incur reproach, or shrink from it, as though some strange new thing had befallen? Thinkest thou that now, for the first time in an evil age, Wisdom hath been assailed by peril? Did I not often in days of old, before my servant Plato lived, wage stern warfare with the rashness of folly? In his lifetime, too, Socrates, his master, won with my aid the victory of an unjust death. And when, one after the other, the Epicurean herd, the Stoic, and the rest, each of them as far as in them lay, went about to seize the heritage he left, and were dragging me off protesting and resisting, as their booty, they tore in pieces the garment which I had woven with my own hands, and, clutching the torn pieces, went off, believing that the whole of me had passed into their possession. And some of them, because some traces of my vesture were seen upon them, were destroyed through the mistake of the lewd multitude, who falsely deemed them to be my disciples. It may be thou knowest not of the banishment of Anaxagoras, of the poison draught of Socrates, nor of Zeno's torturing, because these things happened in a distant country; yet mightest thou have learnt the fate of Arrius, of Seneca, of Soranus, whose stories are neither old nor unknown to fame. These men were brought to destruction for no other reason than that, settled as they were in my principles, their lives were a manifest contrast to the ways of the wicked. So there is nothing thou shouldst wonder at, if on the seas of this life we are tossed by storm-blasts, seeing that we have made it our chiefest aim to refuse compliance with evil-doers. And though, maybe, the host of the wicked is many in number, yet is it contemptible, since it is under no leadership, but is hurried hither and thither at the blind driving of mad error. And if at times and seasons they set in array against us, and fall on in overwhelming strength, our leader draws off her forces into the citadel while they are busy plundering the useless baggage. But we from our vantage ground, safe from all this wild work, laugh to see them making prize of the most valueless of things, protected by a bulwark which aggressive folly may not aspire to reach.'

‘Could I abandon you, child?’ she said. ‘You have taken on this burden because people hate my name. Should I not share your trouble and lighten the burden? Philosophy must not leave the innocent to walk alone. But even if I forgot that duty, do you think I would fear or shrink from reproach, as if something strange and new had happened? Do you think Wisdom has been attacked and endangered now for the first time in a wicked age? ‘Long ago, before my servant Plato lived, I often fought hard against reckless folly. In Plato’s lifetime, too, his master Socrates won victory through an unjust death, with my help. Afterward, the Epicurean herd, the Stoics, and the others each tried in turn to claim the inheritance Socrates left. Each did as much as they could. They dragged me away as their prize, though I protested and resisted. In doing so, they tore apart the garment I had woven with my own hands. Each group went off clutching pieces, believing it possessed the whole of me. Some of them had traces of my clothing on them. Because of this, the ignorant crowd mistook them for my disciples, and they were destroyed. ‘Perhaps you do not know of the exile of Anaxagoras, the cup of poison given to Socrates, or the torture of Zeno. These things happened in a distant country. Yet you could have learned the fate of Arrius, Seneca, and Soranus. Their stories are neither old nor obscure. They were destroyed for one reason only. They were firm in my principles, and their lives plainly contrasted with the ways of the wicked. ‘So you should not be surprised that storms toss us about on the seas of life. After all, our chief aim has been to refuse to go along with evildoers. Though the wicked may be many, they are contemptible. They have no leader, but are driven blindly back and forth by mad error. Sometimes they line up against us and attack with overwhelming force. When they do, our leader withdraws her forces into the citadel while they are busy plundering useless baggage. From our vantage point, safe from all their wild activity, we laugh as they seize the most worthless things. For we are protected by a fortress wall that attacking folly cannot hope to reach.’

'Dost thou understand?' she asks. Do my words sink into thy mind? Or art thou dull "as the ass to the sound of the lyre"? Why dost thou weep? Why do tears stream from thy eyes?

'Do you understand?' she asks. Are my words sinking in? Or are you unresponsive "as a donkey to the sound of a lyre"? Why are you crying? Why are tears streaming from your eyes?

If thou lookest for the physician's help, thou must needs disclose thy wound.'

If you want the doctor’s help, you must show your wound.'

Then I, gathering together what strength I could, began: 'Is there still need of telling? Is not the cruelty of fortune against me plain enough? Doth not the very aspect of this place move thee? Is this the library, the room which thou hadst chosen as thy constant resort in my home, the place where we so often sat together and held discourse of all things in heaven and earth? Was my garb and mien like this when I explored with thee nature's hid secrets, and thou didst trace for me with thy wand the courses of the stars, moulding the while my character and the whole conduct of my life after the pattern of the celestial order? Is this the recompense of my obedience? Yet thou hast enjoined by Plato's mouth the maxim, "that states would be happy, either if philosophers ruled them, or if it should so befall that their rulers would turn philosophers." By his mouth likewise thou didst point out this imperative reason why philosophers should enter public life, to wit, lest, if the reins of government be left to unprincipled and profligate citizens, trouble and destruction should come upon the good. Following these precepts, I have tried to apply in the business of public administration the principles which I learnt from thee in leisured seclusion. Thou art my witness and that divinity who hath implanted thee in the hearts of the wise, that I brought to my duties no aim but zeal for the public good. For this cause I have become involved in bitter and irreconcilable feuds, and, as happens inevitably, if a man holds fast to the independence of conscience, I have had to think nothing of giving offence to the powerful in the cause of justice. How often have I encountered and balked Conigastus in his assaults on the fortunes of the weak? How often have I thwarted Trigguilla, steward of the king's household, even when his villainous schemes were as good as accomplished? How often have I risked my position and influence to protect poor wretches from the false charges innumerable with which they were for ever being harassed by the greed and license of the barbarians? No one has ever drawn me aside from justice to oppression. When ruin was overtaking the fortunes of the provincials through the combined pressure of private rapine and public taxation, I grieved no less than the sufferers. When at a season of grievous scarcity a forced sale, disastrous as it was unjustifiable, was proclaimed, and threatened to overwhelm Campania with starvation, I embarked on a struggle with the prætorian prefect in the public interest, I fought the case at the king's judgment-seat, and succeeded in preventing the enforcement of the sale. I rescued the consular Paulinus from the gaping jaws of the court bloodhounds, who in their covetous hopes had already made short work of his wealth. To save Albinus, who was of the same exalted rank, from the penalties of a prejudged charge, I exposed myself to the hatred of Cyprian, the informer.

Then, gathering what strength I could, I began: 'Must I still tell you? Is fortune's cruelty toward me not plain enough? Does the sight of this place not move you? Is this the library, the room in my home where you chose to spend your time? Is this where we so often sat together and discussed everything in heaven and earth? Did I dress and look like this when I explored nature's hidden secrets with you? As we explored, you traced the courses of the stars for me with your wand. You also shaped my character and my whole way of life after the pattern of the celestial order. Is this my reward for obeying you? 'Yet, through Plato, you taught that "states would be happy if philosophers ruled them, or if their rulers became philosophers." Through him, you also gave a compelling reason why philosophers should enter public life. If the reins of government were left to unprincipled and corrupt citizens, trouble and destruction would come upon good people. Following these teachings, I tried to apply what I had learned from you in quiet seclusion to public administration. You are my witness, as is the divine power that placed you in the hearts of the wise. My only aim in carrying out my duties was to serve the public good. 'For this reason, I became involved in bitter feuds that could not be settled. I had to disregard the offense I gave powerful people when I stood up for justice. That happens inevitably when a person remains true to an independent conscience. How often did I confront Conigastus and stop him from attacking the property of the weak? How often did I thwart Trigguilla, steward of the king's household, even when his wicked schemes were almost complete? How often did I risk my position and influence to protect poor people from countless false charges? The greed and lawlessness of the barbarians constantly exposed them to such charges. No one has ever drawn me away from justice and into oppression. 'The wealth of the provincials was being ruined by both private plunder and public taxation. I grieved no less than those who suffered. Once, during a time of severe scarcity, a forced sale was announced. It was disastrous and unjustifiable, and it threatened to bring starvation to Campania. In the public interest, I took up the struggle against the praetorian prefect. I argued the case before the king's court and succeeded in preventing the sale from being enforced. I rescued the consular Paulinus from the gaping jaws of the court's bloodhounds. In their greed, they had already counted his wealth as theirs. To save Albinus, who held the same high rank, from punishment on a charge already decided against him, I exposed myself to the hatred of Cyprian, the informer.

'Thinkest thou I had laid up for myself store of enmities enough? Well, with the rest of my countrymen, at any rate, my safety should have been assured, since my love of justice had left me no hope of security at court. Yet who was it brought the charges by which I have been struck down? Why, one of my accusers is Basil, who, after being dismissed from the king's household, was driven by his debts to lodge an information against my name. There is Opilio, there is Gaudentius, men who for many and various offences the king's sentence had condemned to banishment; and when they declined to obey, and sought to save themselves by taking sanctuary, the king, as soon as he heard of it, decreed that, if they did not depart from the city of Ravenna within a prescribed time, they should be branded on the forehead and expelled. What would exceed the rigour of this severity? And yet on that same day these very men lodged an information against me, and the information was admitted. Just Heaven! had I deserved this by my way of life? Did it make them fit accusers that my condemnation was a foregone conclusion? Has fortune no shame—if not at the accusation of the innocent, at least for the vileness of the accusers? Perhaps thou wonderest what is the sum of the charges laid against me? I wished, they say, to save the senate. But how? I am accused of hindering an informer from producing evidence to prove the senate guilty of treason. Tell me, then, what is thy counsel, O my mistress. Shall I deny the charge, lest I bring shame on thee? But I did wish it, and I shall never cease to wish it. Shall I admit it? Then the work of thwarting the informer will come to an end. Shall I call the wish for the preservation of that illustrious house a crime? Of a truth the senate, by its decrees concerning me, has made it such! But blind folly, though it deceive itself with false names, cannot alter the true merits of things, and, mindful of the precept of Socrates, I do not think it right either to keep the truth concealed or allow falsehood to pass. But this, however it may be, I leave to thy judgment and to the verdict of the discerning. Moreover, lest the course of events and the true facts should be hidden from posterity, I have myself committed to writing an account of the transaction.

'Do you think I had made enough enemies for myself? Well, at least my fellow citizens should have kept me safe, since my love of justice left me no hope of safety at court. Yet who brought the charges that have brought me down? One of my accusers is Basil. After being dismissed from the king's household, he was driven by his debts to make an accusation against me. Then there are Opilio and Gaudentius. For many different offenses, the king had sentenced them to exile. When they refused to obey and sought safety in sanctuary, the king heard of it. He decreed that they must leave Ravenna within a set time. If they did not, they would be branded on the forehead and expelled. What could be more severe? Yet on that same day, these very men made an accusation against me, and it was accepted. Just Heaven! Had my way of life made me deserve this? Did the fact that my conviction was a foregone conclusion make them fit accusers? Has fortune no shame? If not for accusing an innocent man, at least for the vileness of his accusers? Perhaps you wonder what the charges against me amount to. They say I wanted to save the senate. But how? I am accused of preventing an informer from producing evidence that the senate was guilty of treason. Tell me, then, my mistress, what do you advise? Should I deny the charge, so that I do not bring shame on you? But I did want to save the senate, and I shall never stop wanting to. Should I admit it? Then my work of thwarting the informer will come to an end. Should I call the wish to preserve that illustrious body a crime? The senate has indeed made it a crime by its decrees concerning me! But blind folly cannot change the true nature of things, though it deceives itself with false names. Mindful of Socrates' teaching, I do not think it right to hide the truth or let falsehood pass. But whatever the case, I leave it to your judgment and to the verdict of those who can discern the truth. And so that the course of events and the true facts will not be hidden from future generations, I have written an account of what happened myself.'

'What need to speak of the forged letters by which an attempt is made to prove that I hoped for the freedom of Rome? Their falsity would have been manifest, if I had been allowed to use the confession of the informers themselves, evidence which has in all matters the most convincing force. Why, what hope of freedom is left to us? Would there were any! I should have answered with the epigram of Canius when Caligula declared him to have been cognisant of a conspiracy against him. "If I had known," said he, "thou shouldst never have known." Grief hath not so blunted my perceptions in this matter that I should complain because impious wretches contrive their villainies against the virtuous, but at their achievement of their hopes I do exceedingly marvel. For evil purposes are, perchance, due to the imperfection of human nature; that it should be possible for scoundrels to carry out their worst schemes against the innocent, while God beholdeth, is verily monstrous. For this cause, not without reason, one of thy disciples asked, "If God exists, whence comes evil? Yet whence comes good, if He exists not?" However, it might well be that wretches who seek the blood of all honest men and of the whole senate should wish to destroy me also, whom they saw to be a bulwark of the senate and all honest men. But did I deserve such a fate from the Fathers also? Thou rememberest, methinks—since thou didst ever stand by my side to direct what I should do or say—thou rememberest, I say, how at Verona, when the king, eager for the general destruction, was bent on implicating the whole senatorial order in the charge of treason brought against Albinus, with what indifference to my own peril I maintained the innocence of its members, one and all. Thou knowest that what I say is the truth, and that I have never boasted of my good deeds in a spirit of self-praise. For whenever a man by proclaiming his good deeds receives the recompense of fame, he diminishes in a measure the secret reward of a good conscience. What issues have overtaken my innocency thou seest. Instead of reaping the rewards of true virtue, I undergo the penalties of a guilt falsely laid to my charge—nay, more than this; never did an open confession of guilt cause such unanimous severity among the assessors, but that some consideration, either of the mere frailty of human nature, or of fortune's universal instability, availed to soften the verdict of some few. Had I been accused of a design to fire the temples, to slaughter the priests with impious sword, of plotting the massacre of all honest men, I should yet have been produced in court, and only punished on due confession or conviction. Now for my too great zeal towards the senate I have been condemned to outlawry and death, unheard and undefended, at a distance of near five hundred miles away.^C Oh, my judges, well do ye deserve that no one should hereafter be convicted of a fault like mine!

‘Why speak of the forged letters used to suggest that I hoped for Rome’s freedom? Their falsity would have been clear if I had been allowed to use the informers’ own confessions. Such evidence is the most convincing in any case. What hope of freedom do we have left? If only there were any! I would have answered as Canius did when Caligula accused him of knowing about a conspiracy against him. "If I had known," he said, "you would never have known." Grief has not so dulled my understanding that I complain because wicked people plot against the virtuous. But I am astonished that they succeed. Evil intentions may arise from the flaws in human nature. But it is truly monstrous that scoundrels can carry out their worst schemes against the innocent while God watches. So one of your disciples had good reason to ask, "If God exists, where does evil come from? Yet where does good come from if he does not exist?" Still, it is understandable that those who seek the blood of all honest men and the whole senate should also want to destroy me. They saw me as a defender of the senate and all honest men. But did I deserve such treatment from the Fathers as well? You were always at my side, guiding what I should do or say. So I think you remember what happened at Verona. The king was eager to destroy everyone and wanted to implicate the whole senatorial order in the treason charge against Albinus. You remember how I defended the innocence of every senator, without concern for my own danger. You know that I am telling the truth and that I have never boasted of my good deeds to praise myself. For whenever someone gains the reward of fame by announcing his good deeds, he reduces the private reward of a good conscience. You can see what my innocence has brought me. Instead of receiving the rewards of true virtue, I suffer the penalties for guilt falsely attributed to me. More than that, even an open confession of guilt has never made the assessors so unanimously harsh. A few have always softened their verdict, considering either human frailty or the instability of everyone’s fortunes. Suppose I had been accused of planning to burn the temples, slaughter the priests with a sacrilegious sword, and massacre all honest men. Even then, I would have been brought before a court. I would have been punished only after a proper confession or conviction. Instead, for my excessive devotion to the senate, I have been sentenced to outlawry and death. I was neither heard nor defended, and I was nearly five hundred miles away.^C Oh, my judges, you surely deserve to see no one ever again convicted of a fault like mine!’

'Yet even my very accusers saw how honourable was the charge they brought against me, and, in order to overlay it with some shadow of guilt, they falsely asserted that in the pursuit of my ambition I had stained my conscience with sacrilegious acts. And yet thy spirit, indwelling in me, had driven from the chamber of my soul all lust of earthly success, and with thine eye ever upon me, there could be no place left for sacrilege. For thou didst daily repeat in my ear and instil into my mind the Pythagorean maxim, "Follow after God." It was not likely, then, that I should covet the assistance of the vilest spirits, when thou wert moulding me to such an excellence as should conform me to the likeness of God. Again, the innocency of the inner sanctuary of my home, the company of friends of the highest probity, a father-in-law revered at once for his pure character and his active beneficence, shield me from the very suspicion of sacrilege. Yet—atrocious as it is—they even draw credence for this charge from thee; I am like to be thought implicated in wickedness on this very account, that I am imbued with thy teachings and stablished in thy ways. So it is not enough that my devotion to thee should profit me nothing, but thou also must be assailed by reason of the odium which I have incurred. Verily this is the very crown of my misfortunes, that men's opinions for the most part look not to real merit, but to the event; and only recognise foresight where Fortune has crowned the issue with her approval. Whereby it comes to pass that reputation is the first of all things to abandon the unfortunate. I remember with chagrin how perverse is popular report, how various and discordant men's judgments. This only will I say, that the most crushing of misfortune's burdens is, that as soon as a charge is fastened upon the unhappy, they are believed to have deserved their sufferings. I, for my part, who have been banished from all life's blessings, stripped of my honours, stained in repute, am punished for well-doing.

'Yet even my accusers saw how honorable the charge against me was. To give it some appearance of guilt, they falsely claimed that I had committed sacrilege in pursuit of my ambitions. Yet your spirit lived in me and had driven every desire for earthly success from my soul. With your eye always upon me, there could be no room for sacrilege. For you repeated the Pythagorean maxim in my ear every day and impressed it on my mind: "Follow after God." You were shaping me to become so excellent that I would resemble God. So it was unlikely that I would seek help from the vilest spirits. The innocence of my home also shields me from even the suspicion of sacrilege. So does the company of friends of the highest integrity. So does my father-in-law, who is revered for both his pure character and his active kindness. Yet, atrocious as it is, my accusers even use you to make the charge believable. I am likely to be thought guilty of wrongdoing precisely because I am steeped in your teachings and firmly established in your ways. So it is not enough that my devotion to you should bring me no benefit. You too must be attacked because of the hatred I have incurred. The crowning blow of my misfortunes is that people mostly judge by the outcome, not by real merit. They recognize foresight only when Fortune has approved the outcome. As a result, reputation is the first thing to abandon the unfortunate. I remember with dismay how distorted popular reports can be, and how varied and conflicting people's judgments are. I will say only this: the heaviest burden of misfortune is that, once an unhappy person is accused, people believe that person deserved to suffer. As for me, I have been banished from all life's blessings, stripped of my honors, and had my reputation stained. I am being punished for doing good.

'And now methinks I see the villainous dens of the wicked surging with joy and gladness, all the most recklessly unscrupulous threatening a new crop of lying informations, the good prostrate with terror at my danger, every ruffian incited by impunity to new daring and to success by the profits of audacity, the guiltless not only robbed of their peace of mind, but even of all means of defence. Wherefore I would fain cry out:

'And now I think I see the wicked rejoicing in their villainous dens. All the most reckless and unscrupulous among them threaten a new wave of false accusations. The good are overcome with fear for my safety. Every ruffian is encouraged by impunity to commit new acts of daring, and the profits of boldness bring them success. The innocent are robbed not only of their peace of mind, but even of every means of defending themselves. So I long to cry out:

When I had poured out my griefs in this long and unbroken strain of lamentation, she, with calm countenance, and in no wise disturbed at my complainings, thus spake:

When I had finished pouring out my grief in a long, unbroken lament, she remained calm. Undisturbed by my complaints, she spoke:

'When I saw thee sorrowful, in tears, I straightway knew thee wretched and an exile. But how far distant that exile I should not know, had not thine own speech revealed it. Yet how far indeed from thy country hast thou, not been banished, but rather hast strayed; or, if thou wilt have it banishment, hast banished thyself! For no one else could ever lawfully have had this power over thee. Now, if thou wilt call to mind from what country thou art sprung, it is not ruled, as once was the Athenian polity, by the sovereignty of the multitude, but "one is its Ruler, one its King," who takes delight in the number of His citizens, not in their banishment; to submit to whose governance and to obey whose ordinances is perfect freedom. Art thou ignorant of that most ancient law of this thy country, whereby it is decreed that no one whatsoever, who hath chosen to fix there his dwelling, may be sent into exile? For truly there is no fear that one who is encompassed by its ramparts and defences should deserve to be exiled. But he who has ceased to wish to dwell therein, he likewise ceases to deserve to do so. And so it is not so much the aspect of this place which moves me, as thy aspect; not so much the library walls set off with glass and ivory which I miss, as the chamber of thy mind, wherein I once placed, not books, but that which gives books their value, the doctrines which my books contain. Now, what thou hast said of thy services to the commonweal is true, only too little compared with the greatness of thy deservings. The things laid to thy charge whereof thou hast spoken, whether such as redound to thy credit, or mere false accusations, are publicly known. As for the crimes and deceits of the informers, thou hast rightly deemed it fitting to pass them over lightly, because the popular voice hath better and more fully pronounced upon them. Thou hast bitterly complained of the injustice of the senate. Thou hast grieved over my calumniation, and likewise hast lamented the damage to my good name. Finally, thine indignation blazed forth against fortune; thou hast complained of the unfairness with which thy merits have been recompensed. Last of all thy frantic muse framed a prayer that the peace which reigns in heaven might rule earth also. But since a throng of tumultuous passions hath assailed thy soul, since thou art distraught with anger, pain, and grief, strong remedies are not proper for thee in this thy present mood. And so for a time I will use milder methods, that the tumours which have grown hard through the influx of disturbing passion may be softened by gentle treatment, till they can bear the force of sharper remedies.'

'When I saw you sorrowful and in tears, I knew at once that you were miserable and in exile. But I would not have known how far your exile had taken you if your own words had not revealed it. How far you have wandered from your country! You have not been banished from it. Or, if you insist on calling it banishment, you have banished yourself. For no one else could ever lawfully have had the power to banish you. Now recall the country you came from. It is not ruled by the people, as Athens once was. Rather, "one is its Ruler, one its King," and he delights in the number of his citizens, not in sending them into exile. Perfect freedom means submitting to his rule and obeying his laws. Do you not know the ancient law of your country? It decrees that no one who has chosen to make a home there may be sent into exile. There is truly no fear that anyone sheltered by its walls and defenses could deserve exile. But anyone who no longer wishes to live there also ceases to deserve to live there. So it is not the appearance of this place that troubles me so much as your appearance. I do not miss the library walls adorned with glass and ivory so much as the chamber of your mind. There I once placed not books, but what gives books their value: the teachings my books contain. What you have said of your service to the common good is true, but it falls far short of all you deserve. The charges you have mentioned are publicly known, whether they reflect credit on you or are simply false accusations. You were right to pass lightly over the crimes and deceits of the informers. Public opinion has judged them better and more fully. You have complained bitterly of the senate's injustice. You have grieved that I have been slandered and have mourned the harm done to my good name. Finally, your anger blazed against fortune, and you complained that your merits had been unfairly rewarded. Last of all, your frenzied muse composed a prayer that the peace reigning in heaven might also rule on earth. But a crowd of turbulent passions has assailed your soul. You are distraught with anger, pain, and grief, so strong remedies are not right for you in your present state. For a time, then, I will use gentler methods. Gentle treatment may soften the swellings that have hardened under the rush of disturbing passions. Then they will be able to bear stronger remedies.'

'First, then, wilt thou suffer me by a few questions to make some attempt to test the state of thy mind, that I may learn in what way to set about thy cure?'

'First, will you let me ask a few questions to assess your state of mind? That will help me learn how to begin your cure.'

'Ask what thou wilt,' said I, 'for I will answer whatever questions thou choosest to put.'

'Ask whatever you like,' I said, 'for I will answer any questions you choose to ask.'

Then said she: 'This world of ours—thinkest thou it is governed haphazard and fortuitously, or believest thou that there is in it any rational guidance?'

Then she said: 'Do you think our world is governed by chance, or do you believe it is guided by reason?'

'Nay,' said I, 'in no wise may I deem that such fixed motions can be determined by random hazard, but I know that God, the Creator, presideth over His work, nor will the day ever come that shall drive me from holding fast the truth of this belief.'

'No,' I said, 'I cannot believe that such regular motions are determined by chance. But I know that God, the Creator, governs his work. The day will never come when I abandon this belief.'

'Yes,' said she; 'thou didst even but now affirm it in song, lamenting that men alone had no portion in the divine care. As to the rest, thou wert unshaken in the belief that they were ruled by reason. Yet I marvel exceedingly how, in spite of thy firm hold on this opinion, thou art fallen into sickness. But let us probe more deeply: something or other is missing, I think. Now, tell me, since thou doubtest not that God governs the world, dost thou perceive by what means He rules it?'

'Yes,' she said, 'you just said so in your song, lamenting that humans alone had no share in God's care. You firmly believed that everything else was governed by reason. Yet I am astonished that you have fallen ill despite holding so firmly to this belief. But let us look more deeply. I think something is missing. Now, tell me, since you do not doubt that God governs the world, do you know how he rules it?'

'I scarcely understand what thou meanest,' I said, 'much less can I answer thy question.'

'I hardly understand what you mean,' I said, 'much less can I answer your question.'

'Did I not say truly that something is missing, whereby, as through a breach in the ramparts, disease hath crept in to disturb thy mind? But, tell me, dost thou remember the universal end towards which the aim of all nature is directed?'

'Was I not right to say that something is missing? Through this gap, disease has crept in and disturbed your mind, as if through a breach in the walls. But tell me, do you remember the ultimate goal toward which all nature is directed?'

'I once heard,' said I, 'but sorrow hath dulled my recollection.'

'I once heard it,' I said, 'but sorrow has dulled my memory.'

'And yet thou knowest whence all things have proceeded.'

'And yet you know where all things came from.'

'Yes, that I know,' said I, 'and have answered that it is from God.'

'Yes, I know that,' I said, 'and I have answered that it comes from God.'

'Yet how is it possible that thou knowest not what is the end of existence, when thou dost understand its source and origin? However, these disturbances of mind have force to shake a man's position, but cannot pluck him up and root him altogether out of himself. But answer this also, I pray thee: rememberest thou that thou art a man?'

'Yet how can you know where existence comes from but not what its purpose is? Still, these disturbances of mind can shake a man, but they cannot uproot him and completely separate him from himself. But please answer this too: do you remember that you are a man?'

'How should I not?' said I.

'How could I not?' I said.

'Then, canst thou say what man is?'

'Then, can you say what a human being is?'

'Is this thy question: Whether I know myself for a being endowed with reason and subject to death? Surely I do acknowledge myself such.'

'Are you asking whether I know that I am a rational being who must die? I certainly do.'

Then she: 'Dost know nothing else that thou art?'

Then she asked: 'Do you know nothing else about what you are?'

'Nothing.'

'Nothing.'

'Now,' said she, 'I know another cause of thy disease, one, too, of grave moment. Thou hast ceased to know thy own nature. So, then, I have made full discovery both of the causes of thy sickness and the means of restoring thy health. It is because forgetfulness of thyself hath bewildered thy mind that thou hast bewailed thee as an exile, as one stripped of the blessings that were his; it is because thou knowest not the end of existence that thou deemest abominable and wicked men to be happy and powerful; while, because thou hast forgotten by what means the earth is governed, thou deemest that fortune's changes ebb and flow without the restraint of a guiding hand. These are serious enough to cause not sickness only, but even death; but, thanks be to the Author of our health, the light of nature hath not yet left thee utterly. In thy true judgment concerning the world's government, in that thou believest it subject, not to the random drift of chance, but to divine reason, we have the divine spark from which thy recovery may be hoped. Have, then, no fear; from these weak embers the vital heat shall once more be kindled within thee. But seeing that it is not yet time for strong remedies, and that the mind is manifestly so constituted that when it casts off true opinions it straightway puts on false, wherefrom arises a cloud of confusion that disturbs its true vision, I will now try and disperse these mists by mild and soothing application, that so the darkness of misleading passion may be scattered, and thou mayst come to discern the splendour of the true light.'

'Now,' she said, 'I know another cause of your illness, and a very serious one. You no longer know your own nature. So I have discovered both the causes of your illness and the means of restoring your health. You have forgotten yourself, and that has confused your mind. That is why you have mourned like an exile, stripped of the blessings that were yours. Because you do not know the purpose of existence, you think wicked and detestable people are happy and powerful. And because you have forgotten how the earth is governed, you think fortune rises and falls without a guiding hand. These are serious enough to cause not only illness, but even death. But thanks be to the Author of our health, the light of nature has not yet left you completely. You judge rightly that the world is governed not by random chance, but by divine reason. In that judgment, we have the divine spark from which we may hope for your recovery. So do not be afraid. From these weak embers, the heat of life will be kindled within you once more. But it is not yet time for strong remedies. Clearly, when the mind casts off true beliefs, it immediately takes on false ones. From these false beliefs comes a cloud of confusion that obscures its true vision. So I will now try to disperse these mists with a mild and soothing remedy. Then the darkness of misleading passions may be scattered, and you may come to see the splendor of true light.'