The Anatomy of Melancholy

If we may believe our papal writers, they tell us of many strange and extraordinary punishments of this kind inflicted by their saints. They tell how Clovis, once king of France, the son of Dagobert, lost his reason for uncovering the body of Saint Denis; and how a sacrilegious Frenchman who tried to steal a silver image of Saint John at Birgburg suddenly went mad, raging and savaging his own flesh;

of a lord of Radnor who, returning late at night from hunting, put his dogs in Saint Avan’s church, which they called Llan Avan, and, rising early the next morning as hunters do, found all his dogs mad and himself suddenly struck blind; and of Tiridates, an Armenian king, who was similarly punished with the loss of his reason for violating some holy nuns.

But poets and papists may be classed together as tellers of fables; let them put their own credit at risk. Whatever stories they invent about their Nemesis and their saints, or however the devil may deceive them, we find it true that “God the avenger follows close behind.” “He is God the avenger,” as David calls him; and it is our flagrant sins that bring this and many other diseases down upon our own heads.

Through his angels, who are his servants, he can strike and heal whomever he chooses, says Dionysius. He can afflict us through his creations—the sun, moon and stars—which he uses as tools, as a farmer uses a hatchet, says Zanchi; through hail, snow, winds and so on:

And the winds, sworn allies, answer the battle trumpets:

as in Joshua’s time, as in Pharaoh’s reign in Egypt. They are simply so many agents carrying out his justice. He can humble the proudest spirits and make them cry out with Julian the Apostate, “You have conquered, Galilean!” or with Apollo’s priest in Chrysostom, “O heaven! O earth! Where has this enemy come from?” What an enemy is this!

And make them pray with David, acknowledging his power: “I am weak and utterly broken; I cry aloud from the anguish of my heart; my heart pounds,” and so on, Psalm 38:8. “O Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger or punish me in your wrath,” Psalm 38:1. “Let me hear joy and gladness, so that the bones you have broken may rejoice,” Psalm 51:8; and verse 12, “Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and sustain me with your generous spirit.”

For these reasons, presumably, Hippocrates would have a physician pay particular attention to whether a disease comes from a divine, supernatural cause or follows the course of nature. How this passage in Hippocrates should be understood is discussed further by Francisco Vallés in chapter 8 of his Sacred Philosophy, by Fernel and by Giovanni Cesare Claudini; I refer you to them.

Paracelsus believes that such spiritual diseases—for so he calls them—must be cured by spiritual means, and by no others. Ordinary means will do no good in such cases: “There must be no struggling against God.” When the monster-taming Hercules defeated everyone at the Olympic games, Jupiter finally wrestled with him in an unfamiliar shape. The outcome was uncertain until Jupiter at last revealed himself, and Hercules yielded. There is no contending with supreme powers.

It is no use promising Craterus enormous mountains of wealth,