At the end of Book One of the Consolation of Philosophy Lady Philosophy gives her preliminary
diagnosis of what's wrong with Boethius.
She gives her initial description of what she thinks is the source of his spiritual
sickness and outlines her course of treatment which will then begin in Book Two and beyond.
Let's take a look at a couple of passages from the last few pages of this part of the
book to see what's going on here.
On page 20 in section 5, in the prose part of section 5, Boethius finishes his poem,
then he says “I had come to the end of my loud lamentation but Philosophy appeared to
be entirely unmoved.”
So she is businesslike in response to this sorrow that he's expressing, his lamenting
the evil that's been done to him.
And then she says, “Unless you had mentioned it I would have not supposed how far away
you have been sent.”
She says his banishment is not merely a geographical banishment, being sent from Rome to a far-off
prison, rather it's a banishment from himself, it's an internal psychological or spiritual banishment.
And she says, “You are the instrument of your own torments in a sense, for no one else
could have done this to you.”
We're plainly dealing here with internal goods of the type we've looked at with Socrates
and Plato and Aristotle.
She says, “You seem to have forgotten what your native country is,” and pay attention
to this idea of the native country because it's quite important.
“It is not a democracy like Athens,” remember the Athens that executed Socrates, “but
as Homer says, ‘There is one rule and one king,’ and he is a friend to his subjects
and never sends them into exile.”
We might think here reason or of God. We'll find out more about both later.
“To obey his justice is the only freedom.
The basic law of your country,” this is the native country of Boethius, “is that
any man who has chosen to live there cannot be banished from within its strong walls and
deep moat, but if anyone no longer wants to live there then he no longer deserves to do so.”
So here we have another image, another allegorical image, the native country of Boethius.
What is it?
Well, we're told that it's a place where there's a single ruler who cares for his subjects.
We're told that any man who has chosen to live there cannot be sent away, but anyone
who chooses to leave is no longer worthy of being there.
And it should be obvious here that we're getting an allegorical picture of the practice of
philosophy and the possession of philosophical wisdom.
If you have it, no one can take it away from you, and if you voluntarily give it up, you
have somehow fallen short of being worthy of actually possessing the good that it is.
So the mention of Boethius’ native country is an important detail to note at the end of Book 1.
She speaks then a bitabout Boethius’ sorrow and his public and private conduct.
She says at the end of section 5 on page 22, “But to tell you the truth you are confused.
You are torn by grief and anger and self-pity, and each of these pulls you in a different direction.
You are not yet ready for strong medicines.”
Boethius’ case is quite a bad one, he's really down in this cesspit of self-pity and
it's going to take a good deal of effort and time for Lady Philosophy to condition him
to understand his true condition, his true situation.
So looking ahead now into section 6 at the end of Book One, Lady Philosophy begins, after
the poem, a Socratic course of questioning.
She says, “Let me ask you some questions to discover just what your true situation
is, your diagnosis.”
She asks him whether he believes the end of the world is governed by chance and he says,
“no, there is an order to the world, the world is governed by God.”
She goes on over the next page or two to inquire again about exactly what Boethius believes
about the universe and the world and the way that it is governed.
We’re finally going to get to the question of “What is man, what are you, Boethius?”
Are you a rational animal?” He says, well, yes.
And she says, “Well, is there any more? Do you remember anything more about yourself?”
And he says, “No, I don't think so.” This is at the bottom of page 24.
After a brief pause she says, “I see.
And now I understand the cause of your sickness: you have forgotten what you are.
I now see how and why you are ill and I can also see the way to cure you.
It is what you cannot remember that causes you to feel lost and to grieve about your
exile and the loss of your property.
If you cannot remember the goal of all things, then you suppose that wicked men
have power and luck.
And because you have forgotten how the world is ordered, you imagine that there is nothing
but the vicissitudes of fortune.
This is enough to cause serious illness and even death but the Author of all health has
not abandoned you, and you have not totally lost your true nature.
The best cure there is for such a disease as the one afflicting you is a correct understanding
of the governance of the world, which is not merely a string of random events, but the
result of Divine Reason.”
So here we have both the diagnosis and a preliminary course of treatment, the cure.
The diagnosis, she says, is: you've forgotten something, you've forgotten most importantly
what you are, what it means to be a human being, especially a rational human being
and a philosopher.
And more generally you've forgotten the goal of all things and the way in which
the universe is ordered.
And as for the cure, she says, “Once you correctly understand and get your mind again
oriented toward the way the universe is actually ordered by God, by divine reason, you will
no longer lament, you will no longer be miserable.
You will have the consolation that you seek.
Take heart,” she says, and then she sings the final poem of this book.
And we look forward in Book Two to finding out more about how she is going to treat the
spiritual sickness that she's identified in Boethius.
That's the end of my commentary for today. Thanks for watching; goodbye.