Chapter XII — The Helm of the World

The Text

Chapter XII

Then said I: 'With all my heart I agree with Plato; indeed, this is now the second time that these things have been brought back to my mind—first I lost them through the clogging contact of the body; then after through the stress of heavy grief.'

Then she continued: 'If thou wilt reflect upon thy former admissions, it will not be long before thou dost also recollect that of which erstwhile thou didst confess thyself ignorant.'

'What is that?' said I.

'The principles of the world's government,' said she.

'Yes; I remember my confession, and, although I now anticipate what thou intendest, I have a desire to hear the argument plainly set forth.'

'Awhile ago thou deemedst it beyond all doubt that God doth govern the world.'

'I do not think it doubtful now, nor shall I ever; and by what reasons I am brought to this assurance I will briefly set forth. This world could never have taken shape as a single system out of parts so diverse and opposite were it not that there is One who joins together these so diverse things. And when it had once come together, the very diversity of natures would have dissevered it and torn it asunder in universal discord were there not One who keeps together what He has joined. Nor would the order of nature proceed so regularly, nor could its course exhibit motions so fixed in respect of position, time, range, efficacy, and character, unless there were One who, Himself abiding, disposed these various vicissitudes of change. This power, whatsoever it be, whereby they remain as they were created, and are kept in motion, I call by the name which all recognise—God.'

Then said she: 'Seeing that such is thy belief, it will cost me little trouble, I think, to enable thee to win happiness, and return in safety to thy own country. But let us give our attention to the task that we have set before ourselves. Have we not counted independence in the category of happiness, and agreed that God is absolute happiness?'

'Truly, we have.'

'Then, He will need no external assistance for the ruling of the world. Otherwise, if He stands in need of aught, He will not possess complete independence.'

'That is necessarily so,' said I.

'Then, by His own power alone He disposes all things.'

'It cannot be denied.'

'Now, God was proved to be absolute good.'

'Yes; I remember.'

'Then, He disposes all things by the agency of good, if it be true that He rules all things by His own power whom we have agreed to be good; and He is, as it were, the rudder and helm by which the world's mechanism is kept steady and in order.'

'Heartily do I agree; and, indeed, I anticipated what thou wouldst say, though it may be in feeble surmise only.'

'I well believe it,' said she; 'for, as I think, thou now bringest to the search eyes quicker in discerning truth; but what I shall say next is no less plain and easy to see.'

'What is it?' said I.

'Why,' said she, 'since God is rightly believed to govern all things with the rudder of goodness, and since all things do likewise, as I have taught, haste towards good by the very aim of nature, can it be doubted that His governance is willingly accepted, and that all submit themselves to the sway of the Disposer as conformed and attempered to His rule?'

'Necessarily so,' said I; 'no rule would seem happy if it were a yoke imposed on reluctant wills, and not the safe-keeping of obedient subjects.'

'There is nothing, then, which, while it follows nature, endeavours to resist good.'

'No; nothing.'

'But if anything should, will it have the least success against Him whom we rightly agreed to be supreme Lord of happiness?'

'It would be utterly impotent.'

'There is nothing, then, which has either the will or the power to oppose this supreme good.'

'No; I think not.'

'So, then,' said she, 'it is the supreme good which rules in strength, and graciously disposes all things.'

Then said I: 'How delighted am I at thy reasonings, and the conclusion to which thou hast brought them, but most of all at these very words which thou usest! I am now at last ashamed of the folly that so sorely vexed me.'

'Thou hast heard the story of the giants assailing heaven; but a beneficent strength disposed of them also, as they deserved. But shall we submit our arguments to the shock of mutual collision?—it may be from the impact some fair spark of truth may be struck out.'

'If it be thy good pleasure,' said I.

'No one can doubt that God is all-powerful.'

'No one at all can question it who thinks consistently.'

'Now, there is nothing which One who is all-powerful cannot do.'

'Nothing.'

'But can God do evil, then?'

'Nay; by no means.'

'Then, evil is nothing,' said she, 'since He to whom nothing is impossible is unable to do evil.'

'Art thou mocking me,' said I, 'weaving a labyrinth of tangled arguments, now seeming to begin where thou didst end, and now to end where thou didst begin, or dost thou build up some wondrous circle of Divine simplicity? For, truly, a little before thou didst begin with happiness, and say it was the supreme good, and didst declare it to be seated in the supreme Godhead. God Himself, too, thou didst affirm to be supreme good and all-complete happiness; and from this thou didst go on to add, as by the way, the proof that no one would be happy unless he were likewise God. Again, thou didst say that the very form of good was the essence both of God and of happiness, and didst teach that the absolute One was the absolute good which was sought by universal nature. Thou didst maintain, also, that God rules the universe by the governance of goodness, that all things obey Him willingly, and that evil has no existence in nature. And all this thou didst unfold without the help of assumptions from without, but by inherent and proper proofs, drawing credence one from the other.'

Then answered she: 'Far is it from me to mock thee; nay, by the blessing of God, whom we lately addressed in prayer, we have achieved the most important of all objects. For such is the form of the Divine essence, that neither can it pass into things external, nor take up anything external into itself; but, as Parmenides says of it,

'"In body like to a sphere on all sides perfectly rounded,"

it rolls the restless orb of the universe, keeping itself motionless the while. And if I have also employed reasonings not drawn from without, but lying within the compass of our subject, there is no cause for thee to marvel, since thou hast learnt on Plato's authority that words ought to be akin to the matter of which they treat.'

Song XIIOrpheus and Eurydice.

Blest he whose feet have stood Beside the fount of good; Blest he whose will could break Earth's chains for wisdom's sake!

The Thracian bard, 'tis said, Mourned his dear consort dead; To hear the plaintive strain The woods moved in his train, And the stream ceased to flow, Held by so soft a woe; The deer without dismay Beside the lion lay; The hound, by song subdued, No more the hare pursued, But the pang unassuaged In his own bosom raged. The music that could calm All else brought him no balm. Chiding the powers immortal, He came unto Hell's portal; There breathed all tender things Upon his sounding strings, Each rhapsody high-wrought His goddess-mother taught— All he from grief could borrow And love redoubling sorrow, Till, as the echoes waken, All Tænarus is shaken; Whilst he to ruth persuades The monarch of the shades With dulcet prayer. Spell-bound, The triple-headed hound At sounds so strangely sweet Falls crouching at his feet. The dread Avengers, too, That guilty minds pursue With ever-haunting fears, Are all dissolved in tears. Ixion, on his wheel, A respite brief doth feel; For, lo! the wheel stands still. And, while those sad notes thrill, Thirst-maddened Tantalus Listens, oblivious Of the stream's mockery And his long agony. The vulture, too, doth spare Some little while to tear At Tityus' rent side, Sated and pacified.

At length the shadowy king, His sorrows pitying, 'He hath prevailèd!' cried; 'We give him back his bride! To him she shall belong, As guerdon of his song. One sole condition yet Upon the boon is set: Let him not turn his eyes To view his hard-won prize, Till they securely pass The gates of Hell.' Alas! What law can lovers move? A higher law is love! For Orpheus—woe is me!— On his Eurydice— Day's threshold all but won— Looked, lost, and was undone!

Ye who the light pursue, This story is for you, Who seek to find a way Unto the clearer day. If on the darkness past One backward look ye cast, Your weak and wandering eyes Have lost the matchless prize.

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

Chapter XII

Then I said: "I agree with Plato most strongly, for this is now the second time you have reminded me of these things: first, because I lost my memory through the contagion of the body, and then because I lost it, pressed down by the weight of grief."

Then she said: "If you look back at the things granted before, it will not be far off that you recall what a little while ago you confessed you did not know."

"What?" I said.

"By what helm," she said, "the world is ruled."

"I remember," I said, "that I confessed my ignorance; but although I now foresee what you will bring forward, I still desire to hear it more plainly from you."

"A little while ago," she said, "you thought it must not be doubted at all that this world is ruled by God."

"And now I think so," I said, "and I will never think it must be doubted; and I will briefly explain the reasons by which I come to this. This world could in no way have come together into one form out of such different and contrary parts, unless there were one who joined together such different things. And the very diversity of natures, once joined, being mutually discordant, would dissociate and tear them apart, unless there were one who held together what he had bound. Nor would so certain an order of nature proceed, nor unfold such well-arranged motions in their places, times, effects, intervals, and qualities, unless there were one who, himself remaining, arranged these varieties of changes. This, whatever it is, by which created things remain and are set in motion, I name God, by the word common to all."

Then she said: "Since you feel these things to be so, I think little work remains for me, so that, in possession of happiness, you may return safe to your homeland. But let us look at the things we proposed. Did we not count self-sufficiency among the parts of happiness, and agree that God is happiness itself?"

"Indeed so."

"So for ruling the world," she said, "he will need no supports from outside; otherwise, if he needed anything, he would not have full self-sufficiency."

"That is necessarily so," I said.

"So he arranges all things by himself alone?"

"It cannot be denied," I said.

"But God has been shown to be the good itself."

"I remember," I said.

"So he arranges all things through the good, since he rules all things by himself, whom we agreed to be the good; and this is, as it were, a certain helm and rudder by which the machine of the world is kept stable and uncorrupted."

"I strongly agree," I said, "and I foresaw, though with a slight suspicion, that this was what you would say a little while ago."

"I believe it," she said; "for now, I think, you turn your eyes more watchfully to discerning the truth. But what I shall say is no less plain to behold."

"What?" I said.

"Since God," she said, "is rightly believed to govern all things by the helm of goodness, and all these same things, as I taught, hurry toward the good by natural inclination, can it be doubted that they are governed voluntarily, and turn themselves of their own accord to the nod of the one who arranges them, as fitting and attuned to their ruler?"

"It must be so," I said; "nor would the rule seem a blessed one, if it were the yoke of those who resist, and not the well-being of those who obey."

"So there is nothing that, keeping its nature, tries to go against God?"

"Nothing," I said.

"But if it should try," she said, "would it in the end accomplish anything against the one whom we granted to be most powerful by right of happiness?"

"Utterly nothing would it avail," I said.

"So there is nothing that would wish, or be able, to resist this highest good?"

"I think not," I said.

"So the highest good is that which rules all things mightily and arranges them sweetly."

Then I said: "How I am delighted, not only by the sum of reasonings that has been concluded, but much more by these very words you use, so that at last the folly that tears so greatly at itself feels ashamed of itself!"

"You have heard," she said, "in the fables, of the Giants assailing heaven; but them too, as was fitting, a kindly strength set in order. But would you like us to clash the reasonings themselves against each other? Perhaps from a collision of this kind some beautiful spark of truth may leap out."

"As you please," I said.

"That God is all-powerful," she said, "no one would doubt."

"No one of sound mind," I said, "would at all be uncertain of it."

"But one who is all-powerful," she said, "there is nothing he cannot do."

"Nothing," I said.

"Can God then do evil?"

"By no means," I said.

"So evil is nothing," she said, "since he cannot do it who can do anything."

"Are you playing with me," I said, "weaving an inextricable labyrinth of reasonings, by which now you enter where you came out, now you come out where you entered—or are you folding together some marvelous circle of divine simplicity? For a little while ago, beginning with happiness, you said it was the highest good, which you said was set in the highest God. You argued that God himself too is the highest good and full happiness, from which you gave as a little gift that no one would be blessed unless he were likewise a god. Again, you said that the very form of the good is the substance of God and of happiness, and you taught that the One itself is that very good which is sought by the whole nature of things. You disputed that God too rules the universe by the helm of goodness, and that all things obey willingly, and that there is no nature of evil. And these things you unfolded with no supports taken from outside, but with inborn and homely proofs, each drawing belief from the other."

Then she said: "We are by no means playing, and we have accomplished the greatest of all things by the gift of God, whom a little while ago we entreated. For such is the form of the divine substance that it neither slips away into things external, nor takes anything external into itself; but, as Parmenides says of it, like the mass of a well-rounded sphere on every side, it turns the moving circle of things, while it keeps itself unmoved. And if we have set in motion reasonings sought not from outside, but placed within the compass of the matter we were treating, there is nothing for you to wonder at, since you have learned, on Plato's authority, that words ought to be akin to the things of which they speak."

Song XIIOrpheus and Eurydice.

Happy the one who could behold the clear fountain of the good, happy the one who could loose the chains of the heavy earth.

Once, mourning the death of his wife, the Thracian bard, after he had with tearful measures forced the woods to run, the moving rivers to stand still, and made the hind join her fearless side to the savage lions, and the hare no longer feared the dog, calmed now by his song— when a fiercer fire burned deep in his breast, and the measures that had subdued all things could not soothe their master, complaining of the unkind gods above, he went down to the houses of the underworld.

There, tuning soothing songs to the sounding strings, whatever he had drawn from the chief fountains of the goddess his mother— whatever his helpless grief gave him, whatever love, doubling that grief— he weeps, and stirs Taenarus, and with sweet prayer begs pardon of the lords of the shades.

The three-headed gatekeeper stands amazed, caught by the strange song. The goddesses who drive the guilty with fear, avengers of crimes, now grow sad, wet with tears. The swift wheel no longer hurls round the head of Ixion, and Tantalus, ruined by long thirst, scorns the rivers. The vulture, sated with the music, does not tear at Tityus' liver.

At last the judge of the shades, taking pity, said: "We are conquered. We grant the man his companion, a wife bought by his song. But let this law restrain the gift: that, until he has left Tartarus, it shall not be right to turn his eyes back."

Who can give a law to lovers? Love is a greater law unto itself. Alas, near the very borders of night Orpheus saw his Eurydice, lost her, and slew her.

This tale looks toward you, whoever you are who seek to lead your mind into the day above. For whoever, conquered, turns his eyes back to the Tartarean cave, whatever excellence he draws with him he loses, while he looks on the underworld.

Reading Guide

❧ What happens

Philosophy shows that the same Good is the helmsman steering all things — they obey willingly, and nothing can resist the highest Good. Boethius is delighted, confessing he is only recollecting what he once knew; he repents his earlier folly. But then the old wound reopens: if God is the all-good ruler, whence comes evil — and why does it go unpunished? The question drives straight into Book IV.

✦ A doubt resolved — and a new one opened

This answers the third Book-I question: the means by which the world is governed. But it sets up the central problem of Book IV.

Song XII · Orpheus and Eurydice: Orpheus charms hell itself and wins his wife back — on the one condition that he not look back. At the very threshold of light he turns, and loses her forever. The warning: whoever would rise to the Good must not turn his gaze back to the things of earth.