Chapter VI — The Diagnosis

The Text

Chapter VI

'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?'

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

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?'

'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.'

'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?'

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

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

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

'Yes, that I know,' said I, 'and have answered that it is 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?'

'How should I not?' said I.

'Then, canst thou say what man 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.'

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

'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.'

Song VIIThe Perturbations of Passion.

Stars shed no light Through the black night, When the clouds hide; And the lashed wave, If the winds rave O'er ocean's tide,—

Though once serene As day's fair sheen,— Soon fouled and spoiled By the storm's spite, Shows to the sight Turbid and soiled.

Oft the fair rill, Down the steep hill Seaward that strays, Some tumbled block Of fallen rock Hinders and stays.

Then art thou fain Clear and most plain Truth to discern, In the right way Firmly to stay, Nor from it turn?

Joy, hope and fear Suffer not near, Drive grief away: Shackled and blind And lost is the mind Where these have sway.

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

Chapter VI

"First, then, will you let me touch upon and test the state of your mind with a few questions, so that I may understand the manner of your cure?"

"Ask," I said, "whatever you wish, and I will answer."

Then she said: "Do you think this world is driven by chance and random accidents, or do you believe there is some governance of reason in it?"

"I would never think," I said, "that things so fixed could be moved by random chance; rather I know that the Creator, God, presides over his own work, and no day will ever come that drives me from the truth of this conviction."

"So it is," she said; "for you sang this very thing a little while ago, and you lamented that men alone are excluded from the divine care; for about the rest, that they are ruled by reason, you had no doubt at all. But I am amazed indeed: why, placed in so wholesome a conviction, are you sick? Let us search more deeply; I sense that something or other is missing. But tell me, since you do not doubt that the world is ruled by God, do you observe by what governance it is ruled?"

"I hardly grasp the meaning of your question," I said, "much less can I answer what you ask."

"Did I not see rightly," she said, "that something is missing, through which, as through a breach in the wall's strength, the sickness of the disturbances has crept into your mind? But tell me, do you remember what is the end of things, and toward what the aim of all nature tends?"

"I had heard," I said, "but grief has dulled my memory."

"And yet do you know from where all things have come?"

"I know," I said, and I answered that it is God.

"And how can it be that, knowing the beginning, you do not know what the end of things is? But such is the way of these disturbances, such is their force, that they can indeed move a man from his place, but cannot pluck him up and wholly tear him out by the roots."

"But this too I would have you answer: do you remember that you are a man?"

"Why should I not remember?" I said.

"Can you tell me, then, what man is?"

"Is this what you are asking — whether I know myself to be a rational and mortal animal? I know it, and I confess that this is what I am."

And she said: "Do you know yourself to be nothing else?"

"Nothing."

"Now I know," she said, "another and the greatest cause of your sickness: you have ceased to know what you yourself are. And so I have found in full both the reason for your illness and the way to restore your health. For because you are confounded by forgetfulness of yourself, you have grieved that you are an exile and stripped of your own goods. And because you do not know what is the end of things, you reckon wicked and criminal men to be powerful and happy. And because you have forgotten by what governance the world is ruled, you suppose these turns of fortune to drift along without a guide: great causes not only of sickness but of death as well. But thanks be to the author of your safety, that nature has not yet wholly abandoned you. We have the greatest tinder for your salvation: your true conviction about the governance of the world, that you believe it to be subject not to the randomness of chance but to divine reason. So fear nothing; already from this tiniest spark the warmth of life will shine out for you.

"But since it is not yet time for the stronger remedies, and since it is the nature of minds that, whenever they have cast off true opinions, they put on false ones — from which arises the fog of disturbances that confounds that true sight — I will try for a while to thin this fog with gentle and mild applications, so that, the darkness of deceiving affections being dispersed, you may be able to recognize the splendor of the true light."

Song VIIThe Perturbations of Passion.

The stars, hidden by black clouds, can pour down no light.

If the turbid south wind, churning the sea, stirs up the swell, the wave, lately glassy and clear as cloudless days, soon, with the mud loosed up, is foul and blocks the sight.

And the river that wanders streaming down from the high mountains often is halted by the rock, a barrier of loosened stone.

You too, if you wish to see the truth by a clear light, to keep to the path by a straight road: cast off joy, cast off fear, put hope to flight, and let no grief be near.

The mind is clouded and bound in reins where these hold sway.

Reading Guide

❧ What happens

Philosophy turns physician-examiner, testing him with questions. Is the world governed by chance, or by reason? By reason, he answers — God the Creator presides; this he will never doubt. Good. But by what means does God rule? He cannot say. What is the end toward which all things tend? He has forgotten. Dost thou remember that thou art a man — and what a man is? A rational, mortal creature — but, he admits, he knows nothing else that he is.

There she stops: she has found the disease. He has ceased to know his own nature.

⚖ The three causes of his sickness

The whole examination converges on a threefold diagnosis — the agenda for the rest of the book:

① He has forgotten his own true nature (and so bewails himself as an exile, stripped of his goods).
② He knows not the end toward which all things tend (and so thinks the wicked happy and powerful).
③ He knows not by what means the world is governed (and so thinks Fortune's changes run loose, without a guiding hand).

✦ The surviving spark

The diagnosis is grave — “serious enough to cause not sickness only, but even death.” Yet there is hope. He still holds one true conviction: that the world is ruled not by random chance but by divine reason. That belief is “the divine spark from which thy recovery may be hoped” — the ember from which the vital heat can be rekindled. The cure has something to build on.

♪ Song VII · The Perturbations of Passion

The closing Song of Book I states the method going forward. Clouds hide the stars; storm-winds churn the once-clear sea to mud; a fallen rock dams the running stream. So too the mind: if you would “truth discern, in the right way firmly to stay,” you must drive out the four great passions — joy, hope, fear, and grief. “Shackled and blind and lost is the mind where these have sway.” Book I ends having located the sickness; Book II begins the cure.