Chapter V — The Gentle Remedies

The Text

Chapter V

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 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.'

Song VIAll Things have their Needful Order.

He who to th' unwilling furrows Gives the generous grain, When the Crab with baleful fervours Scorches all the plain; He shall find his garner bare, Acorns for his scanty fare.

Go not forth to cull sweet violets From the purpled steep, While the furious blasts of winter Through the valleys sweep; Nor the grape o'erhasty bring To the press in days of spring.

For to each thing God hath given Its appointed time; No perplexing change permits He In His plan sublime. So who quits the order due Shall a luckless issue rue.

A new modern English rendering, made from the Latin with AI assistance — a reading aid, not a scholarly edition.

Chapter V

When I had barked out this complaint in my unbroken grief, she, with a calm face and not at all moved by my laments, said: "When I saw you sad and weeping, I knew at once that you were wretched and an exile; but how far off that exile was, I would not have known, had your own speech not betrayed it.

"But you have not been driven so far from your homeland — you have wandered from it; or, if you prefer to be thought driven out, you have driven yourself out rather than another, for no one else could ever have been allowed to do that to you. For if you recall from what homeland you spring, it is not, as Athens once was, ruled by the rule of the multitude, but there is one ruler, one king, who rejoices in a crowd of citizens, not in their banishment; to be guided by his reins and to obey his justice is freedom. Do you not know that most ancient law of your city, by which it is decreed sacred that no one has the right to be exiled who has chosen to make his seat there? For whoever is held within its rampart and defense need have no fear of deserving to be an exile. But whoever has ceased to wish to dwell in it, has likewise ceased to deserve to.

"And so it is not so much the look of this place that moves me as the look of you, and I do not so much seek the walls of your library, adorned with ivory and glass, as the seat of your mind, in which I have set, not books, but that which gives books their worth — the thoughts that once were in my books.

"And you have indeed spoken truly of your services to the common good, but, considering the multitude of your deeds, you have said little. Of the charges brought against you, whether honest or false, you have recalled what is known to all. Of the crimes and frauds of the informers, you rightly thought you should touch only briefly, since these are better and more fully recounted by the mouth of the common people, who go over everything. You have also vehemently condemned the deed of the unjust Senate; you grieved too at the charge against me; you wept also at the losses of your wounded reputation. Last of all your grief flared up against Fortune, and you complained that no rewards are weighed out in keeping with merit; at the end, in raging verse, you offered prayers that the peace which rules heaven might rule the earth as well.

"But since so great a tumult of passions has fallen upon you, and grief, anger, and sorrow pull you in different directions, in your present state of mind the stronger remedies do not yet reach you. And so we will use gentler ones for a while, so that what has hardened into a swelling through the inflowing of the disturbances may grow soft at a milder touch, ready to receive the force of a sharper medicine."

Song VIAll Things have their Needful Order.

When, with the rays of Phoebus, the sign of Cancer blazes with heat, then he who has entrusted his lavish seed to furrows that will deny it, cheated of his trust in Ceres, must go off to the oaks for his food.

Never go to the crimson grove to gather violets, when the field has bristled, shrilling with the savage north winds; nor, if you would enjoy the grapes, seek with greedy hand to strip the springtime shoots: rather it is in autumn that Bacchus has bestowed his gifts.

God marks out the seasons, fitting them to their own tasks, and does not allow the turns that he himself has bounded to be confused. So whatever forsakes its fixed order by a headlong path has no happy outcome.

Reading Guide

↑ Back to the text

❧ What happens

Philosophy answers his long outburst calmly, “in no wise disturbed.” She concedes the facts: he is genuinely wronged, an exile. But she redefines the exile. He has not been driven from his true country — he has wandered from it himself, or rather banished himself by forgetting where it lies.

She reviews his complaints one by one — the senate, her own slandered name, Fortune's unfairness, the prayer for order — and concludes that his soul is too inflamed for strong medicine yet. She will begin with gentle remedies.

⚖ Why it matters

The famous redefinition of exile: his true homeland is not Rome but a realm ruled by “one… Ruler, one King,” to obey whom “is perfect freedom.” No one can be exiled from it against his will — only by ceasing to wish to dwell there. Boethius' real loss is internal.

And the physician's method becomes explicit: she misses not his library's “walls set off with glass and ivory” but “the chamber of thy mind.” She will proceed gradually — milder treatments first, to soften the swollen passions before the sharp cures of the later books.

≣ Terms

“One is its Ruler, one its King”: A line adapted from Homer — the true country is a monarchy of the divine, not the Athenian democracy “ruled by the sovereignty of the multitude.”
The medical model: Philosophy treats the soul as a physician treats a body: diagnosis, then remedies graded from gentle to strong. Book I is gentle; the strong medicine comes later.

♪ Song VI · All Things Have Their Needful Order

An agricultural parable. Sow in summer's scorching heat and you will reap acorns, not grain; pick violets in winter's blast or press grapes in spring and you defy the season. “To each thing God hath given its appointed time.” The lesson lands on Boethius: there is a right order and a right moment for everything — including his own cure, which is why the strong remedies must wait.