Paradiso: Reader's Guide Preview

READER’S GUIDE

Also in this series:

Inferno: Book One of the Divine Comedy, by Dante Alighieri, translated by Joe Carlson

Inferno: Reader’s Guide, by Joe Carlson

Purgatorio: Book Two of the Divine Comedy, by Dante Alighieri, translated by Joe Carlson

Purgatorio: Reader’s Guide, by Joe Carlson

Paradiso: Book Three of the Divine Comedy, by Dante Alighieri, translated by Joe Carlson

Paradiso: Reader’s Guide, by Joe Carlson

First Edition

Copyright © 2023 by Joe Carlson

Published by Roman Roads Press

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Paradiso, Reader’s Guide, by Joe Carlson

Roman Roads Press / Roman Roads Classics

ISBN: 978-1-944482-74-9

Version 1.0.0 July 2023

Who is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of every creature: For by him were all things created, that are in heaven, and that are in earth, visible and invisible, whether they be thrones, or dominions, or principalities, or powers: all things were created by him, and for him: And he is before all things, and by him all things consist. And he is the head of the body, the church: who is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead; that in all things he might have the preeminence. For it pleased the Father that in him should all fulness dwell; And, having made peace through the blood of his cross, by him to reconcile all things unto himself; by him, I say, whether they be things in earth, or things in heaven.

If ye then be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God. Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth. For ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God. When Christ, who is our life, shall appear, then shall ye also appear with him in glory.

~ Colossians 1:15–20, 3:1–4

God, who at sundry times and in divers manners spake in time past unto the fathers by the prophets, Hath in these last days spoken unto us by his Son, whom he hath appointed heir of all things, by whom also he made the worlds; Who being the brightness of his glory, and the express image of his person, and upholding all things by the word of his power, when he had by himself purged our sins, sat down on the right hand of the Majesty on high; Being made so much better than the angels, as he hath by inheritance obtained a more excellent name than they.

~ Hebrews 1:1–4

And I John saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a great voice out of heaven saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God. And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away. And he that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I make all things new.

~ Revelation 21:2–5a

And he said unto Jesus, Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom. And Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto thee, Today shalt thou be with me in paradise.

~ Luke 23:42–43

Dante Alighieri (1265–1321)

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Give thanks! Give thanks!

~ Beatrice

Thank you, dear reader, whoever you are! I appreciate you allowing me to share with you those things about the Comedy that I find tremendously helpful and encouraging. I pray the time you spend here will be worth your while. Before you go further, you need to know that all the textual notes presented in this volume would not be possible without Charles S. Singleton’s magnificent commentary on the Italian text. All of the references to the works of Virgil, Ovid, Statius, and other authors, as well as the historical context of names and events, are straight from his notes. My debt to his immense scholarship is too great to enumerate. And so I state it here at the very beginning, before you have the chance to think I am smarter than I really am. The commentaries of H. F. Tozer, Durling and Martinez, and Robert Hollendar were also of great help, though I turned to their notes less often than I did to those of Singleton.

Much gratitude is due to those who helped bring this to the finish line. Many thanks to Daniel Foucachon and the team at Roman Roads Press for their support and enthusiasm.

Another special shout out to Carissa Hale for catching typos and making it all look so good, as well as to Joey Nance for the beautiful cover art. Finally, this whole project would not exist without the support and encouragement of my faithful, loving wife, Jen. Her selfless gift of space and time to read and write are the foundation on which this work rests. Her husband rises up, calls her blessed, and praises her (Proverbs 31:28).

INTRODUCTION

Into the Boat

Chances are good you are reading this introduction only because you have made it partway through the Comedy , and are completely lost. It’s okay. You are not the first; nor will you be the last. I would venture to guess that no one reading the early fourteenth-century Christian epic for the first time has a complete grasp on what is going on. I know I didn’t. I hadn’t the foggiest. What I did know was this: I was standing before an exceptional and momentous work of art, and if I put it down and walked away, content in my misjudgments and ignorance, I would in some way be the poorer for it. Sometimes you watch a movie, or read a novel, or consider a painting, and are struck by something indefinable, some deep conviction untranslatable into words. You know you have witnessed something true, something profoundly beautiful, but you cannot articulate what it is. That was my experience with Dante’s Comedy . To change the metaphor, it was the same as walking into a restaurant and being delightfully tortured with the aromas of something delicious without knowing what it was. All I knew was I had to stay and ask the waiter; I had to be patient, and trust the chef. Even when the dish came, it was a goodness I tasted before I understood. However, with

repeat visits, while the delight of the flavors has not in any way diminished, the understanding has grown.

I trust it will be the same with you. The fact that you are reading prefatory material shows that you have some interest in understanding what you are tasting, some desire to have defined and articulated what it is you are reading. While I cannot fully unpack everything for you (I’m still waiting for someone to do that for me), I believe I can at least share with you some of the big ticket items that will give you some helpful context. To crowd these opening paragraphs with yet another metaphor, I want to help give you your sea legs. Stepping out of the modern, secular era and into a medieval Christian one is akin to stepping down from a dock into the middle of a little boat. If you are not careful, and don’t keep your wits about you, it would be easy to fall into the water and become discouraged from ever trying to get back into the boat again. But giving up the boat means giving up the water, the voyage, the experience, and the beauty. I want to help you into the boat. Believe me, it will be worth your while.

To do that I want to briefly unpack a number of key topics that will help orient us as we work through the various cantos together. The guides themselves contain helpful summaries of each canto, notes on interesting or obscure words or phrases, and analyses in which I discuss a theme from each canto that interests me and that I find relevant to living as human beings today. To this I have added a handful of discussion questions which are meant to push your consideration of the canto into the corners. What I want to do for the rest of this introduction is consider a few broader points that will provide a foundation for understanding the whole. With that, let’s get into the boat.

What is Going On?

Dante finished his Comedy (it was only called the Divine Comedy after his death) in 1320. He dedicated the final volume, Paradiso , to his friend and benefactor, the “magnificent and most victorious Lord, the Lord Can Grande della Scala.” In a famous letter written to his patron, Dante acknowledges the helpfulness of introductions. He says,

If any one, therefore, is desirous of offering any sort of introduction to part of a work, it behooves him to furnish some notion of the whole of which it is a part. Wherefore I, too, being desirous of offering something by way of introduction to the above-mentioned part of the whole Comedy, thought it incumbent on me in the first place to say something concerning the work as a whole, in order that access to the part might be the easier and the more perfect.1

He goes on to describe his great poem as “polysemous,” a work with multiple meanings, or multiple layers of interpretation. These include the literal, the allegorical, the moral, and the anagogical, or eschatological. Students of medieval theology will recognize here the quadriga, the fourfold method of interpretation. In his letter, however, he only touches on the literal and the allegorical, inferring that the moral and anagogical follow from and are wrapped up in the allegorical. He says:

The subject, then, of the whole work, taken in the literal sense only, is the state of souls after death, pure and

1 Dante Alighieri, The Letters of Dante, trans. Paget Toynbee (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1966), 198.

simple. For on and about that the argument of the whole work turns. If, however, the work be regarded from the allegorical point of view, the subject is man according as by his merits or demerits in the exercise of his free will he is deserving of reward or punishment by justice.2

The structure of the poem depends on the first meaning; it is the literal sense of the afterlife that gives movement and direction to the whole work. Without the context of the three stages, the “argument of the whole” has no foundation. But the “argument of the whole” also needs to be understood allegorically if the whole is to be in any way beneficial to the reader. Put more simply, while Dante uses the afterlife to stage his drama, the deeper purpose is to demonstrate the soul’s journey, either to or away from God. Essentially, the Comedy is a travel guide, walking us through a deeper understanding and hatred of sin ( Inferno ), a practical guide to sanctification ( Purgatorio ), and the true nature and source of holiness and gratitude ( Paradiso ). Throughout, Dante offers us an imaginative landscape of human affections, both in their corrupted, self-oriented state, and as they are when rightly ordered toward God.

If you are, like me, an evangelical protestant, the words “merits…free will…rewards” from the above quote will likely freak you out. Don’t worry. These guides will work through all the various issues that present themselves. There certainly are theological elements of the Comedy that, as a son of the Reformation, I would express differently, or flat out disagree with—I would want to shy away from prayers for the dead, for instance. But I would suggest that there are not as many problematic passages as you might suppose. Part of the ten-

sion comes from a difference between moderns and medievals in how we talk about various Biblical truths; and part comes from what I believe is a mistaking the literal meaning for the allegorical. I am convinced that Dante was more interested, for instance, in prayers offered for those being sanctified here and now in this life (the allegorical interpretation) than for those who have already died (the literal interpretation). He likely did hold to that doctrine as a Christian of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, but the specific teaching concerning praying already dead souls into Heaven is not necessary to the deeper meaning of the poem. Purgatorio was written for our benefit, for those of us who are still alive and reading the poem. Thus its lessons are meant to be translated and applied to our own journey toward God. The rehabituation that defines that canticle, therefore, is the rehabituation of sanctification, the sanctification of souls already purchased and redeemed by the blood of Christ. This, and other topics like it, will be discussed in more detail in the cantos where they come up, but hopefully you get my point. There is a deeper significance to the poem, a deeper significance Dante himself alerts us to, than the doctrines specific and local to his particular time and place—doctrines which we may or may not agree with when considered in isolation.

In short, there is much that non-medieval, evangelical protestants have to learn from this great work, if only we will submit ourselves to the poem, and show the courtesy and charity our brother in the Lord deserves. At the heart of the poem is a rich and profound understanding of who man is and what man is for. It is a poem that answers the fundamental questions of ultimate meaning and purpose, of existence itself. And it does so in a way that will rekindle a dormant, if not entirely extinguished, flame of transcendent wonder. It

offers us the opportunity to experience a re-enchantment of the world, in which the whole created world is again understood to be a window into the goodness and faithfulness of the Creator, through which the Spirit is drawing us closer to Christ.

What is a Comedy?

A number of people are confused by the term comedy . Is this a rom-com? a slap-stick? Is it supposed to make us laugh? What should you expect? Well, people have been asking that for 700 years. In that same letter to Can Grande, Dante explains why he calls it a comedy. He looks back to two classical senses of the word: 1) the reversal of fortune from bad to good, and 2) a style that is able to be understood by the uneducated. He says,

And from this it is clear that the present work is to be described as a comedy. For if we consider the subject-matter, at the beginning it is horrible and foul, as being Hell ; but at the close it is happy, desirable, and pleasing, as being Paradise . As regards the style of language, the style is unstudied and lowly, as being in the vulgar tongue, in which even women-folk hold their talk. And hence it is evident why the work is called a comedy.3

There are certainly moments of laughter, even in Hell; there are instances of sarcasm and farce, and even puns. But those are just a few of the threads that make up the larger tapestry that is Dante’s Comedy .

INTRODUCTION

Two Dantes

One of the things that becomes clear fairly soon is the difference between Dante the poet and Dante the pilgrim. This also presents confusion to the beginning reader. Dante wrote the poem, but Dante is also the main character of the poem. Dante the poet knows the whole trajectory of the poem, whereas Dante the pilgrim is walking through the story, one episode at a time. Dante the poet speaks through the various characters, achieving a polyphony of voices and postures toward God, whereas Dante the pilgrim is interacting with each on their own terms. Finally, and perhaps most confusingly, Dante the poet makes it clear that Dante the pilgrim is not always correct in his understanding. The pilgrim asks questions and reveals assumptions that his guides, and even many of the souls he encounters, have to correct. While much could be said about this, and has, I think the main reason Dante the poet does this is to identify himself with us, identify with our own misunderstandings, our own false assumptions, and our own failures to see. In this sense Dante the poet is no different than any other teacher, who meets his students where they are, and raises them to a higher (and clearer) understanding of the subject at hand. That Dante the poet does this in such a way that we often forget about the poet, walking so closely with the pilgrim, is part of his genius.

Church and State

Another element that becomes increasingly clear as one works through the whole poem is the twin emphasis on the Church and the State. As Dante argues in De Monarchia , man has two ends—one temporal, one eternal. The first consists of man’s happiness in this life only, whereas the second “consists in the enjoyment of the countenance of God, to which man’s natural powers may not attain unless aided by divine light.”4 He goes on to argue that there are different “means” of approaching these two ends. “To the former” he states,

We come by the teachings of philosophy, obeying them by acting in conformity with the moral and intellectual virtues; to the latter through spiritual teachings which transcend human reason, and which we obey by acting in conformity with the theological virtues, Faith, Hope, and Charity. Now the former end and means are made known to us by human reason, which the philosophers have wholly explained to us; and the latter by the Holy Spirit, which has revealed to us supernatural but essential truth through the Prophets and Sacred Writers, through Jesus Christ, the coeternal Son of God, and through His disciples. Nevertheless, human passion would cast all these behind, were not men, like horses astray in their brutishness, held to the road by bit and rein.5

He goes on to explain that the “bit and rein” are the twin authorities of the State (temporal) and the Church (spiritual), equally and separately authorized by God alone to per-

5 Ibid., III, xvi, 5.

4 Dante Alighieri, De Monarchia, trans. Prue Shaw, III, xvi, 4.

form their distinct and separate functions in this world: the State to aid in man’s first end, the Church to aid in his second. (In Dante’s argument, the State is an idealized form of world government based on the Roman Empire, led by a benevolent emperor, in parallel with the Church and the pope. Both heads answer to Christ, who reigns supreme over both realms.) However, since even temporal, earthly happiness is ordered toward eternal, heavenly happiness, the Church holds ultimate authority over the principles by which the state governs. Therefore, as Dante concludes his treatise, “Let Caesar therefore show that reverence towards Peter which a firstborn son should show his father, so that, illumined by the light of paternal grace, he may the more effectively light up the world, over which he has been placed by Him alone who is ruler over all things spiritual and temporal.”6

This partitioning of temporal and eternal things into two realms (not in any way to be identified with the modern dichotomy of secular and sacred) is the paradigm in which the Comedy is written. It is the difference between Virgil and Beatrice, natural law and divine law, classical sources and biblical sources. It would be easy for a modern to read that and see a divide between man and God, but that is not how Dante would see it. Both halves of Dante’s world are beneath Him “who is ruler over all things spiritual and temporal.” However, only the temporal is accessible to man apart from revelation. But that does not make the temporal any less true. Natural law, for instance, is just as much an expression of God’s nature and character as divine law, only not as comprehensive nor as articulate (see Romans 1). Dante held that unbelievers had access to the truth that the book of creation revealed.

6 Ibid, III, xvi, 9.

And, it turns out, that is quite a lot of truth. Creation cannot reveal how man is to be reconciled to God, but it does reveal that there is a God, that certain things are right, and certain things are wrong. There is much in Aristotle, to pick Dante’s favorite philosopher, that can easily be argued from Scripture. His understanding of virtue and vice, while we might tinker with it here and there, is largely true. This is an expression of the law of God that has been written on our hearts as His image bearers.

Thus Virgil, as the representative of natural reason by common grace, is able to know a great deal about vice, about virtue, and about the nature of man. He is not always right, but neither is he always wrong. His knowledge is incomplete. He can only bring Dante part way; Only Beatrice, as the representative of perfected reason, reason born again by special grace and informed by revelation, can guide Dante to his ultimate end. Here we see the difference between this medieval separation of temporal and eternal and the modern notion of secular and sacred. For the medievals (and the ancients too), everything, both temporal and eternal, was ordered toward man’s ultimate end, whether that was understood to be the Triune God or simply the Supreme Good. But for moderns, even modern Christians, things secular and things sacred have their own distinct and ultimate ends. Thus, we live in this fractured state of being where Sunday has nothing to do with Monday through Saturday; where what we do for God has little to do with what we do for ourselves. We have divided these two realities (thanks Kant!) into hermetically sealed worlds. But they are not different worlds. They are not even different realities. There is one reality, the reality that God created and sustains. It is in that one reality we live and move and receive from His hand every experience. And it is in that one reality

that we make choices, choices within a temporal world that echo throughout an eternal one. This is the holistic world of Dante’s Comedy .

To this end, the poet draws examples both from the pages of Scripture and from classical and mythological sources. His point is simple: that which is true in the world is true, whether or not it is revealed in the Bible. The Bible carries an authority that classical sources do not, but wherever truth is found, it is still God’s truth. As Augustine said, “let every good and true Christian understand that wherever truth may be found, it belongs to his Master.”7 This was a principle that Dante felt deep in his bones. He saw the vast sum of human experience, recorded in history and myth, as potential depositories of truth; not that there actually was a heavenly being named Zeus, for example, but that the legends and myths surrounding Zeus actually could communicate something true about our experiences as human beings in this world. Therefore, those legends and myths existed as helpful stories to direct the imagination, as long as that strengthening of the imagination happened under the authoritative tutelage of Scripture. As Christians, and especially as protestant Christians, we need not fear these ancient stories. They are part of a whole already governed by Christ. Using the temporal things, human stories as well as nature, to point to the things eternal, is part of Dante’s overarching project, and part of what makes the Comedy perennially relevant.

7 Aurelius Augustine, On Christian Doctrine, trans. Rev. S. D. Salmond (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1873), 55.

Florentines, Ghibellines, and Guelphs, O my!

A further source of confusion in the Comedy is the nature of the political rivalry between different factions within Florence specifically, and Italy in general. Far more could be said, but a basic outline of the key facts as they relate to the Comedy , are these. The Guelph/Ghibelline divide entered Italy sometime in the twelfth century, when Frederick I campaigned there over the course of his reign. Those who supported him came to be known as Ghibellines, those that opposed him Guelphs. This divide was an extrapolation of a pre-existing set of tensions having to do with the pope and the papal power. The Ghibellines supported Frederick in order to use him to keep the pope off their backs, whereas the Guelphs fought against Frederick because his overlordship promised to be more of a threat than the pope. This tension continued and developed, as all political factions do, in ways that went beyond the original issue of Frederick and his potential establishment or removal (depending) of their liberties. During the first half of the thirteenth century, Frederick II, the Frederick often named in the Inferno , took up where his grandfather left off, and continued his wars against the pope. Again, Ghibellines sided with Frederick, whereas Guelphs sided with the pope. Frederick II died in 1250, but the conflict continued. That will serve as a brief background of the parties, at least, for our purposes here. Bringing it closer to Dante, Florence, an independent city state within the region of Tuscany, was a Guelph state. Siena, also within Tuscany, was Ghibelline. In 1260 the famous battle of Montaperti was held, which involved many of the people seen within the pages of the Comedy . Florence led its host of allies against Siena, with the intent of taking control. Farinata, an exiled Florentine Ghibel-

line, led the Sienese forces, aided by troops from King Manfred of Sicily. Though the Ghibellines were outnumbered, by almost twice as many men, they pulled off an incredible defeat of the Guelphs, though not without the help of some secret Ghibellines that initially fought within the Florentine troops (see Bocca degli Abati: Inferno XXXII.106). It was a defining moment, and the Guelphs returned crushed, having lost the strength of their influence in Tuscany.

Dante was born in 1265 in Florence, in the aftermath of the battle of Montaperti. He was born into a Guelph family and, after he came of age, he continued the fight for the Guelph cause. In 1289, at the battle of Campaldino, a battle in which Dante fought, the Guelphs finally regained their dominance, and were able to completely oust Ghibelline influence from Tuscany. However, this resulted in tensions and infighting within the Guelph party. One group of Guelphs (the Blacks) continued to align with the power and political influence of the pope. The other group (the Whites), resisted that papal authority over their civic affairs, especially as it was located in the notorious Pope Boniface VIII. In 1300, the Whites had control of Florence. In June of that year Dante became one of the priors that governed the city for two months. By 1302 however, the tide began to turn. With the support of Boniface, the Blacks were able to regain power in Florence, which led to the exile of several White families, and politicians, including Dante. He never saw Florence again. During his exile, Dante grew impatient with both factions, and sought to pave a new way forward. Around 1312, he wrote De Monarchia (referenced above), in which he argued for universal monarchy; though a universal monarchy that submitted to the spiritual authority of the pope. As I see it, he was developing an early version of what Abraham Kuyper, 600 years later,

would call sphere sovereignty: lawfully ordained rulers, staying within their lawfully ordained spheres. No more popes exercising political authority, no more emperors dictating to the Church. It was an idea that got fleshed out in certain ways within the pages of the Comedy , as we will see.

Contrapasso

The last word of Canto XXVIII of Inferno is one of Dante’s own making: contrapasso . Literally it means counter (contra ) step ( passo ), but it is closely tied to the Latin contrapassum , which means retaliation. Though only appearing once in the whole Comedy , it is the notion that defines all the punishments in Hell, and, to a certain extent, all the modes of rehabituation of Purgatory. It is the punishment that fits the crime, or the counteraction that fits the bad habit. Contrapasso is the corresponding consequence in the afterlife of actions taken in this life. In Hell, contrapasso is the unveiling, or revealing of a person’s sin, in its true nature, and then endured by the damned. Thus the schismatics are themselves ripped apart, the hypocrites walk around slowly adorned with gilded lead cloaks, the lustful are blown about by a fierce wind, the fortune-tellers walk with their heads twisted behind them. The sin for which they are being punished (and it is always a specific sin, unlike in Purgatory) now defines their pain. They are wholly given over in death to what they grasped after in life. Marc Cogan, whose most helpful book will be discussed in the next section, says this, by way of describing this concept of contrapasso :

There is a powerful double sense of justice in punishing the damned by the re-enactment of their sins. First, these sins

were actions freely chosen by the souls themselves during their lives. What could be more just than to allow them to continue to practice those illusory goods (now revealed as pains) which they had preferred to the one true good… As they repeat these damnable actions, they repeatedly and justly incur the condemnation for these actions that has doomed them to their places. They become, if one can say it, more perfectly damned with every iteration of the sin that is their punishment.8

In Purgatory, the idea of contrapasso takes a slightly different form. First of all, no sins are punished in Purgatory. All punishment earned by specific sins has already been suffered on the cross by Jesus. Rather, in Purgatory, it is certain habits, divided into the categories created by the seven deadly sins, that are counter-stepped. Thus, the proud walk around with boulders tied to their backs, forcing them to humbly look to the ground; the slothful must keep sprinting around their circle; and the envious walk around blind, with their eyes sewn shut. Those being cleansed and washed in Purgatory are not suffering punishment, but rather the education of holiness. Their contrapasso defines for them the nature of their specific curriculum. The proud need to learn humility, the slothful need to learn attentiveness, and the envious need to learn contentment. This they do by means of transformative, repetitive action, unlearning the bad habits they had learned in life. There is a form of contrapasso in Paradise as well, but it has nothing to do either with punishment or boot-camp style training regimens. In one sense (to be explained more fully in the appropriate place) the saints in Heaven equally enjoy the presence of God. But in another sense, they appear to Dante

8 Marc Cogan, The Design in the Wax (Notre Dame: Notre Dame Press, 2007), 40.

in accordance with their capacity for blessing (more on this in the next and final point). There is no difference between the holiness of those in the sphere of the Moon, and those in the sphere of Saturn. They are equally made holy and blessed by the love and blood of Jesus. But, as we know from our own experience, there is a difference in giftings, not in value, but in scope, between believers. Jesus Himself draws attention to this as His beloved children bear fruit, some thirty, some sixty, some a hundredfold (see Matthew 13:23). This is the contrapasso in Paradise: as saints lived various lives of holiness, so their rewards are variously distributed in glory. In other words, their station fits their life: the intellects in the sphere of the Sun, the martyrs in the sphere of Mars, the contemplatives in the sphere of Saturn.

It is a fascinating principle to see play out in the text. And more attention will be given at various places within the summaries and analyses that follow. My advice here would be to refrain from argument with Dante until you have finished the whole work, and appreciate what he has done. Whether you agree with him concerning this schema or not, it can be a valuable literary tool that helps, at the very least, start discussions about the nature of sin, sanctification, and holy gratitude.

Angels and Appetites

I want to wrap up this introduction with a discussion of the three classical appetites, as it lies at the heart of almost everything Dante is doing in structuring and enfleshing his three realms. In what follows I am drawing heavily from Marc Cogan’s tremendous book, The Design in the Wax , where he details to what extent Dante derived his worldview from Ar-

istotle, Pseudo-Dionysius, and Aquinas, and to what extent he took their teachings and transformed them into something new, and something entirely his own.

Cogan notes that “all action originates in appetite.” 9 We desire something and that desire inclines our will toward that something. Following Aristotle and Aquinas, Dante assumed there were three basic appetites in the soul. The first two are called “sensitive,” because the objects of these appetites are only perceived by the senses. They are the concupiscible and the irascible. The concupiscible is the appetite for simple goods (or goods desirable in themselves); the irascible is the appetite for arduous goods (objects that are not desirable in themselves, usually painful and difficult, but are desirable for the sake of simple goods). However, because the senses perceive only particulars (this tree, that cat) and not universals (truth, beauty, goodness), a third appetite is necessary, the intellectual appetite, which apprehends rational goods only. The chief good of the intellect, according to Aristotle, was justice. What does this all mean in real life? Take the world of farming as an example. Food would be considered an object of the concupiscible appetite—it is a simple pleasure that provides pleasure in itself. Farming would be an object of the irascible appetite—it is difficult and painful in itself, and yet is the means by which the simple good of food is acquired. The knowledge of just and effective farming would be an object of the intellectual appetite—that understanding is not something that can be apprehended by the senses, but only through rational thought.

For Aristotle, the habitual corruption of these appetites resulted in three kinds of vice: incontinence, or the lack of

9 Cogan, The Design in the Wax, 26

self-restraint (concupiscible); violence (irascible); and fraud (intellectual—students of the Inferno take note.) For the medieval Christian, the seven deadly sins were also related to the corruption of these appetites: lust, gluttony, avarice (concupiscible); wrath and sloth (irascible); envy and pride (intellectual—students of the Purgatorio take note). I will explain the perfected and glorified form these appetites take in Paradiso shortly.

This taxonomy of the soul reveals both the similarity and the vital difference between beasts and man. Both share the sensitive appetites; both are driven by hunger to do various things, some pleasurable (consumption), some arduous (gathering). But only man has been given the capacity for rational thought. It is the intellectual appetite that separates us from the beasts and identifies us as image-bearers of God. As is discussed regularly in the notes to the Inferno, the corruption of the intellectual appetite is more hateful, and thus deserving of greater punishment, precisely because it is this capacity for intellection and reason that identifies us with our Maker. Therefore it is more of an affront than the corruption of the other two appetites (though their corruption is equally deserving of eternal damnation). In a sense, when the sensitive appetites are corrupted and dominate the soul, a person becomes sub-human, becoming more akin to a beast. (Think of Lucy’s horrible thought experiment in Prince Caspian, when she learns that the talking bears of Narnia can grow wild, and actually lose their ability to reason. She wonders if men back in England can do the same thing. According to the Ancients and Medievals, they can.) Here is a chart putting this all together:

So what does all this have to do with angels? For the medievals, the whole of creation was a reflection of the divine nature. But this was not just a nice sentiment, captured in vague expressions. No, it was the very fabric of their reality. In fact, they created whole systems to identify just what parts of creation related to the different aspects of God’s character. As odd as it may sound, the angels were a prism which refracted the simplicity of the divine nature into the manifold diversity of creation. Within Scripture, and according to the classic formulation, the Triune God is revealed to be one in substance and three in persons: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Each of the divine persons communicate a different aspect of

the character of God in their distinct relationship to creation. But combine the different persons with one another—a triad of personal characteristics within each person of the triad— and nine orders of qualities are created. As Cogan says, “For Dante, the refraction of God’s simple nature into the diversity of creation means a distribution of God’s single substance into nine new substances, each reflecting a different aspect of God’s nature.”10 To be crystal clear, God remains three in one, not nine in one. This was a methodology to account for attributes only, not a means of expanding the Godhead.

Following Pseudo-Dionysius’s seminal work, Celestial Hierarchies , this initial refraction of qualities was seen in the nine orders of angels mentioned in Scriptures: Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones, Dominions, Virtues, Powers, Principalities, Archangels, and Angels. Cogan notes, “For Dante, the angels, spheres, and planets are all mirrors that transmit, through their own individuations, evidence of different aspects of that divine nature. So also are the souls he encounters mirrors of those different aspects.”11 As an aside, this is different from the order Gregory the Great gives, a point humorously made in Paradiso . This order of angels allowed the medievals to more clearly articulate different aspects of the Triune nature and the relationship to creation. Thus the Seraphim exhibited traits of the Father and the Spirit while the Cherubim exhibited traits of the Father and the Son (for the full line up, see the following chart). This pairing of the persons of the Trinity with each other, produced the nine-fold structure of the angelic hierarchy, which in turn gave structure to the whole universe, and so on to the capacities and faculties of mankind

10 Cogan, Design, 181.

11 Ibid., 217.

NOTE:

THIS MARKS THE END OF THE PREVIEW OF THE PREFATORY MATERIAL. THE FOLLOWING PAGES OFFER A PREVIEW OF THE HEART OF THE BOOK, THE CANTO BY CANTO GUIDE.

A SPECIAL NOTE for this Final Study Guide

If you have made it this far, well done. Purgatorio presents so many challenges and I hope my guide was a benefit to you as you walked through each one. I just wanted to say one thing here: if you thought Purgatorio was tough, buckle up. There is a reason the poet begins the second canto of Paradiso this way:

O you who have in your little dinghies, desiring to listen, followed after my own vessel that, singing, journeys on,

turn back around to see once more your shores; do not launch into the deep, for perhaps, losing me, lost you would remain behind.

~ Paradiso II.1–6

The difficulties in this final canticle increase by an order of magnitude. As a result, and as you have no doubt already noticed, this volume is quite a bit thicker than the previous ones. The textual notes are more expansive as I reference and quote Dante’s other works such as the Convivio and De Monar-

chia quite a bit, as well as a substantial amount from Aquinas’ Summa Theologiae and other medieval texts. I also bring in a few other commentators who say what needs to be said far more succinctly than I could. The analyses have likewise grown in length, as there is more to discuss in making this most esoteric part of the poem recognizably relevant to twenty-first-century Christians. Throughout this final guide, my goal has been to give you as complete a picture as needed for understanding the dense scholastic theology and medieval cosmology that define this final portion of the Comedy . There is always more that could be said, rabbit trails to be pursued, and discussions to be enjoyed. But I really did try to limit myself to what would help you understand the text itself. Dante’s masterpiece is a rich tapestry that encompasses many, many aspects of the human experience. I leave it to you to take what you learn here and push it out into the corners.

PARADISO

READER’S GUIDE

CANTO I

EARTHLY PARADISE

Characters

⸭ Dante and Beatrice

Location

⸭ Earthly Paradise, the Moon

Summary

Dante has come to the very shores of Heaven.1 Having been cleansed by the waters of Lethe and Eunoé, and with Beatrice as his guide, he is ready to rise. The poet Dante calls for divine aid in telling this final part of the journey, as he desires to rightly relate the wonders of Heaven. As the pair stand on the top of Mount Purgatory, Beatrice gazes directly into the sun. Gazing at her, the pilgrim gathers enough

1 A note on the word heaven: when it is capitalized it refers either to a specific sphere or to the Empyrean; when it is uncapitalized (and often in the plural) it refers to the whole sky as seen from Earth, or the expanse in which the spheres turn.

strength to do the same. After looking into the light and returning his gaze to his guide, he senses that he has been transformed. Like Glaucus, who Ovid tells us ate a special coastal herb and was transformed into a sea god able to dwell beneath the waves, so too Dante, having been baptized in light, is transformed into the type of being that can dwell in the spheres of Heaven. Immersed in a new experience of sound and sight, the pilgrim is bewildered. Beatrice explains: Having been purified of sin, Dante’s inclinations and affections are newly restored, and his innate desire for eternity is finally clarified and given wings through faith in Christ. Now, with the same orienting desire that draws fire up and earth down, Dante is drawn toward God. Without realizing it, he has begun his ascent through the celestial fire surrounding Earth, upward toward the sphere of the Moon. Having explained what Dante is experiencing, Beatrice turns her face back to the light of Heaven

Notes

⸭

1–3: The glory of Him Who moves everything…

This opening tercet is the central thesis statement of the entire Comedy and sets the tone for this final canticle. Almost everything that follows flows from the doctrine summed up in these lines. It means that God made the whole cosmos as a manifestation of His glory, and did so in such a way that some parts reflect that glory more clearly and more strongly than others.

⸭ 4: In that Heaven that holds more of His light

The “Heaven that holds more of His light” is the Empyrean. It is a spiritual realm, not a physical one. Strictly speaking it is not a realm at all, as we might conceive it, but the very presence of God Himself, in Whom all things have their existence. Thus the whole nine-tiered cosmos is pictured as existing within God’s presence, and not outside of Him. There is no suggestion of pantheism in this arrangement, as the Creator/creature distinction is still firmly in place. Rather, it is a representation of creation’s status as utterly and exhaustively dependent on God.

⸭ 13–36: O good Apollo, for this final work…

Apollo was the Roman god of the sun. As such he is being invoked here as a symbol of illumination and guidance. In line 28, Dante calls Apollo “Father,” hinting that the true object of his prayer is the Triune God, and not the pagan deity. For similar invocations see Inferno II.7–9 and Purgatorio I.7–12.

⸭ 19–21: Enter, therefore, within my breast and breathe…

For the story of the satyr Marsyas challenging Apollo to a musical contest, and being flayed alive by the god when he lost, see Ovid’s Metamorphoses VI.383–91. In this admittedly odd analogy, Dante is asking Apollo to inspire him with a song just as sweet and powerful as the song with which the god bested the presumptuous satyr.

⸭ 31: that the Peneian bough ought to bring forth

Peneas was the father of Daphne, whom Apollo greatly desired. The poet is thus associating his verses with the chief object of the god’s love.

⸭ 32: happiness in the happy Delphic god Delphi, on the slopes of Mount Parnassus, was home to the famous temple to Apollo, where his oracle was found.

⸭ 36: will one pray so that Cirrha may respond

Cirrha was a town located near Delphi and closely connected with it. The name also referred to the peak of Parnassus, which was sacred to Apollo.

⸭ 39: where four circles are joined with three crosses

The four circles are the terrestrial horizon, the celestial equator, the equinoctial colure (the celestial pole), and the ecliptic (the sun’s path around the Earth). At the vernal equinox (where the sun “mounts with a better course”), these four circles intersect, making three separate crosses.

⸭ 43–44: Almost this point had made it morning there…

The spatial markers refer to Mount Purgatory (“there”) and Italy (“here”).

⸭ 67–69: As I thus gazed on her I was transformed…

For the story of Glaucus and his transformation into a seagod, see the Metamorphoses XIII.904–959.

⸭ 70: To transcend humanness cannot through words

The Italian trasumanar, rendered as “To transcend humanness,” is one of Dante’s more famous neologisms. It is a verb formed from the prefix tras (beyond) and the word uomo (man). Just as Glaucus, upon eating the grass, was transformed into something beyond human nature with the ability to live in the water,

so too the pilgrim, upon gazing into Beatrice’s eyes, is transformed into a being capable of living in the celestial realm.

⸭ 73–75: If I was only in that part of me…

See 2 Corinthians 12:2-5:

I knew a man in Christ above fourteen years ago, (whether in the body, I cannot tell; or whether out of the body, I cannot tell: God knoweth;) such an one caught up to the third heaven. And I knew such a man, (whether in the body, or out of the body, I cannot tell: God knoweth;) how that he was caught up into paradise, and heard unspeakable words, which it is not lawful for a man to utter.2

Dante seems to have regarded that final verse as irrelevant to his fictional vision.

⸭ 103–108: and began, “All things whatsoever have…

Beatrice unpacks in these verses how the principle of the opening tercet is literally fleshed out in the created world.

⸭ 109–141: In this order I speak of, all natures…

Beatrice, informed by divine revelation, begins expanding on Virgil’s teaching in Purgatorio XVII and XVIII, as he had said she would do. This theme of orienting love will crop up again throughout the Paradiso .

2 All references are from the King James Version, except when directly translating the Latin Vulgate, in which case the Douay-Rheims Bible is used.

Analysis

The sun is the probably the most important symbol in all of the Comedy , and for good reason. In his unfinished philosophical treatise, the Convivio , Dante says the following:

No object of sense in all the universe is more worthy to be made the symbol of God than the sun, which enlightens, with the light of sense, itself first, and then all the celestial and elemental bodies; and in like manner God illuminates first himself with intellectual light and then the celestial and other creatures accessible to the intellect.3

In one sense, the journey of the pilgrim throughout the three realms is a journey toward the sun, “which guides each aright along every path” ( Inferno I.18). At the beginning of the poem, the pilgrim finds himself in that darkened wood “where the sun is silent” (Inferno I.60). He must travel through that sunless realm of Hell, up Mount Purgatory, where the light of the sun comes and goes, and into the celestial realm, where its light is pure and constant. In this journey we see the progression of the soul from the willful and sinful rejection of the light of Christ, to the spiritual war of light and dark within Christ’s followers in this life, to the glorified experience of the saints in that realm where the light and glory of Christ is unmediated and without end. With the pilgrim, we have come through the first two realms and now stand on the threshold of the third.

God’s grace, personified in Beatrice, has made the pilgrim a new creation, reorienting his loves and filling him with

3 Dante, Convivio, trans. Philip Wicksteed (London: J. M. Dent and Co, 1903), 203.

faith. Rightly-ordered theology, also personified in Beatrice, now slowly equips the pilgrim’s eyes to behold the light, to see with new eyes, and thereby see all things in their proper place. The end of that journey is gazing directly on Christ Himself. But the pilgrim is not yet capable of sustaining that great sight. He must be brought along slowly. He must grow up into that maturity through signs and symbols. Gazing first on Beatrice and then on the sun are the two primary means, throughout the poem, by which the eyes of the pilgrim are made ready for the Beatific Vision. Here, before he leaves the Earthly Paradise, he gazes into the eyes of Beatrice, who is gazing fixedly on the sun. She can easily bear that sight for she has already seen Christ. Her sight has been expanded to its fullest by the vision of Christ, and he who sees the thing signified can easily bear the sign. This is not the case with Dante. He must begin with the sign and grow from there.

Grace and theology become the pilgrim’s tutor in Beatrice. Through her patient guidance, Dante is brought, literally, from one level of glory to another, able to see more and more of Christ’s majesty reflected in all creation. Here, however, he must begin by looking at the sun mirrored in her eyes; only then can he turn toward the light himself. As he does, the brightness intensifies beyond all human experience, and he is forced to look back down at Beatrice. But something critical happens in that moment:

As I thus gazed on her I was transformed within, as when Glaucus tasted the grass that made him friend to the gods of the sea.

~ Paradiso I.67–69

Glaucus, as related in Ovid’s Metamorphoses, was given the gift of godhood, enabling him to inhabit the sea. Charles Singleton summarizes the story this way:

Glaucus…sat down one day on a grassy spot where no one had ever been before, to count his catch. The fish began to move about on the grass and made their way back into the sea. Thinking it must be due to some magic property in the grass, Glaucus chewed some and immediately began to yearn for the ocean. Bidding farewell to the earth, to which he would never return, he plunged into the sea and was changed into a sea god by Oceanus and Tethys.4

Having gazed into the sun reflected in Beatrice’s eyes, and then into the face of her sun-soaked beauty, the pilgrim undergoes a similar transformation. Where Glaucus was baptized by water and is subsequently transformed into the kind of being that can thrive in water, Dante is baptized by light, and undergoes a transhumanizing (trasumanar) experience, giving him “new eyes” to see the light of the spheres. By the grace of God, mediated through the sight of Beatrice, Dante is able to abide in the heavens; he is able to see the light of Christ. Sin clouds the sun; in our sin we cannot see God. In our sin, we are as dead as the souls in Hell. But God’s grace raises us into new life, making us new creations, giving us new hearts and new eyes. Along with a growing hunger to know and see God, we are given teachers and guides to bring us into the “unity of the faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ” (Ephesians 4:13). That is what Beatrice

4 Charles S. Singleton, Paradiso: Commentary (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1982), 17.

represents to Dante. Under her tutelage, the pilgrim begins to understand both what the world is and Whom it is for. And as his understanding grows, so does his love. Gazing on the beauty of God reflected in the face of Beatrice strengthens his eyes and reorders his loves, preparing him to stand face to face with Love Himself.

Discussion Questions

1. What does it mean that the “glory of Him Who moves everything / penetrates the universe and shines forth / in one part more, while in another less”?

2. Discuss the use of pagan Apollo as a symbol of God. Is it appropriate? Why or why not?

3. Why is the story of Glaucus so significant?

4. What is love, according to lines 109–117?

5. Why would it be “a marvel” if the pilgrim remained “seated below” (see lines 139–141)?

⸭ The Moon

CANTO II

MOON Characters

Location

Summary

Dante the poet, in his longest aside to his reader, warns whoever would follow him lightly. This journey is too dangerous for those unwilling to sail such waters. The pair are borne on the wings of desire to see that final Heaven, the Empyrean—the very presence of God. Beatrice continues to look up, and the pilgrim at her. She enjoins him to give thanks to God for bringing them to the “first star,” that is, the sphere of the Moon. As Dante considers what is happening, he wonders if he is still in the flesh, for two material objects cannot coexist in the same place. Unable to answer his own question,

⸭ Dante and Beatrice

the physics problem leads Dante to long to see Jesus, in whose single person two natures do exist. Having given thanks, he asks Beatrice a common question: What are the dark markings on the surface of the moon? Beatrice smiles and asks him what he himself believes them to be. He has always thought it was a matter of density, with some parts thin, or “rare,” and other parts more “dense.” Beatrice makes quick work of this faulty opinion. If that were so, she explains, then during a solar eclipse the sun’s rays would pass through the “rare” portions, where there is no matter. Since the sun is completely and equally darkened by such an eclipse, the moon cannot be made of more and less matter. Nor is it the case that some parts are simply less dense, and therefore reflect the light less brightly, from far beneath the surface of the moon. Beatrice dispels this theory as well, with the experiment she describes. Imagine three mirrors in front of you, two at an equal distance, though set apart from each other, and one further on, able to be seen between the other two. Now place a light behind you, positioned in such a way that it can be seen by you in each of the three mirrors. The first thing you will notice is that even though the reflection of the light in the furthest mirror is smaller (due to the distance) it shines just as brightly as the other two. This proves that distance does not account for a difference in intensity, which is what the second theory assumed. Instead, the answer lies in the different powers, or virtues, inherent in the angelic Intelligences that govern the nine spheres of heaven. These Intelligences, or “blessèd movers,” are united to their spheres and give them form, just as the soul of man is united and gives form to his body of dust. The ninth sphere, the Primum Mobile , nearest to the love of God, and the first object of His creative motion, is blessed with the formative

power that gives all things their movement, and thus their life. That power is then given to the eighth sphere, the sphere of the fixed stars, which diversifies that power of motion into a plethora of forms (the stars and successive planets), each moved by the eighth sphere and contained by it, but also remaining different from it. These are the “organs of the cosmos” which proceed downward, “by gentle degrees” through the remaining seven heavens, culminating in the sphere of the Moon. It is in the starry sphere that the One becomes Many; going up, through the Primum Mobile and toward the Empyrean, the Many resolves back into One. The Intelligences are secondary instruments through which the power and manifold glory of God fills and moves the entire cosmos. As the poet said at the beginning of the previous canto, “The glory of Him who moves everything penetrates the universe and shines forth in one part more, while in another less” (I.1–3). Thus the Intelligences are created each with different designs, given different responsibilities by God for different ends, each spreading “its goodness” within its own sphere of influence. Thus some shine forth more, while others shine less, according to the glory apportioned them. In this way, there are different formal principles given to each Intelligence which demand that each sphere is governed toward a different end, though all join together in a polyphony of love and praise. This is the cause of the differences that are seen, for instance, in the surface of the moon. Difference, in other words, is a created good, reflecting the Triune nature of God, and not just an optical illusion.

Notes

⸭ 8–9: Minerva inspires, Apollo conducts…

Minerva was the god of wisdom, Apollo the god of poetry, and the Muses were the nine goddesses of the arts. Traditionally they are listed as Calliope (epic poetry), Clio (history), Euterpe (flute playing and lyric poetry), Terpsichore (choral dancing and song), Erato (lyre playing and lyric poetry), Melpomene (tragedy), Thalia (comedy and light verse), Polyhymnia (hymns), and Urania (astronomy). In the metaphor, Minerva inspires Dante with wisdom and understanding, Apollo conducts his way through the story, and the nine Muses reveal the breadth of the heavens, here represented by the Bears (i.e. the Big and Little Dippers).

⸭ 14: across the deep salt, keeping to my wake

“Salt” is a metonym for the ocean.

⸭ 16: Those glorious ones who crossed to Colchis

Colchis was the country Jason and his Argonauts journeyed to to find the golden fleece.

⸭ 18: when they saw Jason become a plowman

For the story of his men finding Jason plowing with fire-breathing oxen, see the Metamorphoses VII.100–158.

⸭ 38–39: how an expanse can hold more than one thing…

The physics problem Dante is contemplating is the fact that two material bodies cannot occupy one physical space at the same time. Thus, the pilgrim’s physical body joining the body (or “expanse”) of the moon is problematic for those with

merely terrestrial understanding. This highlights the fact that Dante’s understanding of the material nature of the moon (and the other planets) was far different than our own.

⸭ 106: Now, as the subject of snow remains stripped

The “subject” (suggetto ) of snow is that which “lies under” snow, that which it is made of: water. Water remains when snow is deprived of its “color” (white) and temperature (“cold”) by the “sun’s warming rays.”

⸭ 112–114: Within that Heaven of the divine peace…

The Primum Mobile .

⸭ 115–117: The next Heaven, which has so many sights…

The Starry Sphere.

Analysis

Compared with that of the Florentine poet, our modern imaginations are deeply impoverished. We do not know how to see what we are looking at. When we look at the moon, we see a bare rock illuminated by the sun, beaten and cratered by debris that has floated through a vast ocean of nothingness we call space. When Dante looked at the moon, he saw an “everlasting pearl” dancing her round, joining her voice to the music of the spheres. The poet brings that understanding of an animated realm into his poem, seeing here that everlasting pearl gathering two souls into itself, as “water gathers in / a ray of light, while still remaining whole” (lines 35–36). His rich imagination, confronted with the physics conundrum

created by this joining together of two different bodies into one “expanse,” drives the poet to meditate on the two natures of Christ, how He is both fully God and fully Man in one Person (lines 41-42). But his imagination doesn’t stop there. The problem set by his “enfleshed” pilgrim joining the Moon fills him with a desire to see Christ in both His natures. And he expects us to have the same reaction (lines 37–42):

If I was enfleshed—though here we see not how an expanse can hold more than one thing, which must be when body joins a body—

desire ought all the more enkindle us to see that Essence in Whom one can see how our nature and God are unified.

And still, he goes on. This engenders in the poet a longing to be there, where what “we hold by faith will be seen” (line 43). No longer will faith be necessary; no longer will we only believe: “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known” (1 Corinthians 13:12). We will not know something because it has been logically “demonstrated” that it is true; we will know it because the thing itself will be present to our experience, “known of itself / like the primary truth that man believes” (lines 44-45). This can only be achieved in the direct presence of God Himself, as the pilgrim briefly experiences at the end of the poem.

I don’t know about you, but that is not what I think of when I look at the moon. That is not how the faculty of my imagination translates the image of the white disc in the night sky. To be brutally honest, and to my shame, I barely notice that the moon changes from full to new and back again. I do

not know how to see what I am looking at. Passages like this reveal a difference between seeing the external form of an object, and seeing it along with its deeper significance. Our problem is that the modern mind assumes there is no deeper significance to the physical objects of the world. The moon is only a bit of space rock to us and nothing more. Even if we confess that God created that rock several thousand years ago on the fourth day of creation, we still only see it as a rock. Dante, along with the medieval world, saw more. He saw both an animated “star” and what that star signified at the same time. This final canticle opened with the assertion that all creation is a manifestation of the penetrating glory of God. Later on, Beatrice will describe creation as the majesty of God given being. That means when we see a portion of it, we are seeing, truly seeing, a portion of the majesty of Christ. That is what the moon is: not a gateway to inner, spiritual reflection, but an actual, tangible, graspable manifestation of the beauty of God. If that is not what I see when I look in the night sky, the problem is not with the moon, but with my eyes.

For by him were all things created, that are in heaven, and that are in earth, visible and invisible, whether they be thrones, or dominions, or principalities, or powers: all things were created by him, and for him: And he is before all things, and by him all things consist (Colossians 1:16–17).

Discussion Questions

1. Dante discourages his readers from continuing, lest they lose their bearings along the way. Only a few (line 10) will be able to follow. What is he saying here?

2. Beatrice calls on the pilgrim to give thanks to God for joining them to “this first star” (lines 29–30). Discuss all the reasons why.

3. Why is “rarity” of matter not the reason for the spots on the Moon? What is?

4. Try to perform the experiment outlined in lines 94–105. What do you see? Why is this a proof of Beatrice’s argument?

5. According to this canto, what is the role of the Primum Mobile ? The Starry Sphere?

CANTO III

MOON Characters

⸭ Dante and Beatrice

⸭ Piccarda

⸭ Constance, the Vow-Breakers Location

⸭ The Moon

Summary

After Beatrice has corrected Dante’s understanding of why there are dark spots on the moon’s surface, the pilgrim meets the souls who inhabit this sphere. At first sight, he is bewildered, as they seem to him to be mere reflections. After again being corrected, he approaches one of the bright and shining souls, who in particular seems eager to talk with him. It is the soul of Piccarda Donati, sister to Corso and Forese

(see Purgatorio XXIV), appearing to them in the sphere of the Moon on account of her broken vows. Finally recognizing her through the dazzling brightness, Dante asks if she is content to be here in the lowest and slowest sphere of heaven. Piccarda smiles at such a question, going on to explain that it is according to God’s will that the saints are arranged as they are. To will otherwise would be to flatly contradict the will of the King, which makes no sense. It is the “essence of this blessèd state” to be conformed to the will of God, and to find in it the perfect expression of His love. To exist in the will of God is, in fact, their peace, a peace that flows from the perfect unity of their wills. According to Piccarda, this is what it means to be perfect and blessed: to will whatever God wills. With wills conformed to the divine will, and affections governed only by the “pleasure of the Holy Spirit,” the saints in Paradise truly partake in the divine nature (see 2 Peter 1:3–4). Piccarda then tells Dante her story. She was a nun in the order of Santa Clara, a follower of St Francis of Assisi. Evil men (her brother and his friends) abducted her from the convent and forced her into a marriage of political convenience. She remained married until her death. Piccarda next introduces her companion, Queen Constance, wife of Henry VI and mother of Frederick II, the final two Holy Roman Emperors according to Dante. Her story is similar to Piccarda’s: she too was forced to leave a convent in order to marry against her will. (Why these women are here in the sphere of broken vows when they were forced to marry against their will is explained in the following canto.) After Piccarda finishes her story, Dante looks back at Beatrice. Because she dwells higher up in the spheres, her brightness far exceeds the brightness of the other two saints. Thus when the pilgrim returns his gaze to his guide, her brilliance “fiercely” flashes on his eyes, momentarily blinding him.

Notes

⸭ 18: to that which fired love between man and fount

The man in view here is Narcissus, who fell in love with his reflection in the water. Singleton notes the irony that where “Narcissus took his reflection in the fountain to be a real person…Dante takes these real beings to be reflections.” 5 For the story of Narcissus see the Metamorphoses III.337–434.

⸭ 30: relegated here for their empty vows

Dante is using the inconstancy of the Moon in its appearance as a background metaphor for the inconstancy of the souls who are connected with this sphere. However, as we will see later on, the attachment of souls with the various spheres has nothing to do with that soul’s deeds or misdeeds, but rather with their created capacity to see God. It is emphatically not the case that being relegated to the Moon is some sort of punishment for “empty vows,” though the line could be read that way. Instead, the inconstancy itself was a sinful outworking of the particular capacity and disposition with which these souls were created. This principle will be discussed in greater detail later in the poem.

⸭

49:

but you will see that I am Piccarda

Piccarda Donati had entered a convent but was abducted by her brother Corso and forced into a marriage for political reasons. Corso is condemned to Hell by their brother Forese in Purgatorio XXIV.

5 Singleton, Paradiso, 65.

⸭ 98: a lady higher,” she said, “by whose rule”

St. Clara founded (with Francis’s help) a Franciscan order for women, the Clarisse, in 1212. They were known for their extreme asceticism.

⸭ 118: This is the light of the royal Constance

Constance was the daughter of Roger II of Napes, the wife of Emperor Henry VI (“the second blast of Swabia”), and the mother of Emperor Frederick the II (the “third and final power”). Regarding her identification as a nun, Singleton says, “It is now generally thought by historians that Constance was never a nun, as the poet would have it. Dante has simply followed a current legend. It is interesting to note…that Piccarda took the name Costanza when she entered the order.”6

⸭ 122: ‘Ave Maria,’ and singing, vanished

In translation the Ave Maria reads:

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

Analysis

In line 39, the pilgrim states a truth that we often struggle to remember: the sweetness of God is never understood unless it is tasted first. We can know that there is a God, we can know something of His power and divine nature (see Romans 1:20). But we cannot understand His sweetness ( dolcezza ) without first tasting it. To put it another way, those who have not tasted the sweetness of God cannot fathom why it would be sweet. Our arguments, explanations, and defenses fall on deaf ears, because the sweetness of God cannot be rationally apprehended. It must be experienced in order to be understood. So what is the sweetness of God? Given how Piccarda answers Dante’s questions, the sweetness of God can be defined as His will becoming our own. In short, it is the sweetness of submission and sacrifice. The unregenerate heart refuses to submit to God, and therefore can never (on its own) understand the sweetness of sacrificing one’s will to the will of God. But for those who with Piccarda have said, “in the will of the King is our peace” (line 85), the sweetness is delectable. Hear how she describes it (lines 70–75):

Brother, our will is quieted by love: the virtue of charity makes us will only what we have and thirst for naught else.

Should we desire to be more exalted, our desires would be at odds with the will of Him Who arranges us in this place;

Hear the tenderness, acceptance, and deep appreciation with which she describes the process of her own will being quieted by the love of God and brought into union with His. This is

her experience of God’s transformative grace; indeed, it is the experience of every soul in the celestial kingdom. This is not something she could know or understand apart from the work of the Spirit in her soul. She goes on in lines 79–84, explaining the universal nature of this willing disposition:

It is the essence of this blessèd state, indeed, to dwell within the will divine, whereby our own wills are themselves made one; thus, as we are, station upon station throughout this realm, the realm entire is pleased, as is the King, Who makes His will our own.

To be a Christian is to will what God wills. And since God’s will does not cease willing what is good and right, it is our own will that must be brought into conformity with His. For we constantly will and desire that which is neither good nor right. Left to ourselves, we will, we desire, we actively choose destruction disguised as pleasures. These are the “false images of the good” ( Purgatorio XXX.131) that led Dante astray, that lead all of us astray when we are unrestrained by the grace of God. And to willingly sacrifice these vain and fleeting pleasures for what looks, from the outside, like death, is not something our fallen minds can comprehend. As Jesus said, “it is easier for a camel to go through a needle’s eye, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God” (Luke 18:25). A grasping attachment to the things of this world blinds us to the eternal consequences. Apart from a new heart and renewed mind, we cannot see the death our empty pleasures are driving us toward. Neither can we understand the sweetness of letting go, until we do. But, as Jesus also said,

Whosoever will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me. For whosoever will save his life shall lose it; but whosoever shall lose his life for my sake and the gospel’s, the same shall save it. For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? (Mark 8:34b–36)

The souls in Paradise have died to the world and all its secondariness. Instead, they have been willing to let it all go, and have saved their soul in the process. They have sacrificed their wills and found their peace only in the will of the King, “Who wills that all His court be like Himself” (line 45). This is what the Spirit does to us and for us when we lay down our lives at the foot of the cross. What looks like bitterness and death to the dead man turns out to be the only source of life and rest. It is a sweetness that cannot be understood until it is tasted.

Discussion Questions

1. Why do you think Dante mistakes the souls for reflections? Why does Beatrice attribute this mistake to “childish thinking”?

2. How are the souls able to rejoice, having been assigned “this station that appears furthest down”? Why do they not “desire a more exalted place”?

3. Why is every station in the heavens equally Paradise?

4. Discuss the reasons why the pilgrim’s sight might be overcome at the end of the canto.

5. How do the souls in the sphere of the Moon manifest a perfected concupiscible appetite?

(See the section “Angels and Appetites” in the Introduction for a refresher on the three appetites of the soul, and their structural importance to the Comedy .)

⸭ The Moon

CANTO IV

MOON Characters

Location

Summary

The conversation with Piccarda in the previous canto left Dante with two weighty questions, and he cannot decide which to ask first. Beatrice, however, knows already the doubts that have arisen in his mind, states his questions for him, and proceeds to answer them. The first question has to do with what Piccarda said concerning Constance, that “the veil of her heart was never removed.” Dante wonders then why fault is found with her: if she never consented in her heart to the violence of being drawn away from her vows into marriage, why is she still held responsible for breaking them? Beatrice

⸭ Dante and Beatrice

answers by bringing up the scholastic difference between absolute will and conditional will. The absolute will is best described as relating to a person’s deepest inclination. If throwing a rock into the air can be considered a form of violence to that rock’s inclination to remain on the ground, then the absolute will of the rock will draw it back to the ground. In fact, this is the only kind of will non-rational objects have. Human beings, according to scholastic thought, have a second kind: the conditional. This will responds to a hierarchy of conditions. The first is named in the text, while the second is only described. If the absolute will of Constance had prevailed, had she followed the inclination of her heart, she would have found a way to return to the convent, as sure as a rock will find a way back to the earth after being thrown. However, her conditional will considered the danger of running away from her husband greater than the danger of breaking her vows. Therefore, even though her absolute will maintained the desire or inclination to remain a nun, her conditional will (based on the condition created by the violence enacted upon her) kept her in her marriage. Therefore, Beatrice explains, when Piccarda speaks of Constance’s undying commitment to her veil, she is speaking of the absolute will. But when fault is found with her actions, which corresponds to her appearance in this sphere, it is the conditional will that is being spoken of. Put simply, Constance could have found a way to return to the convent, even if it meant dying in the attempt. But she chose security over complete faithfulness to the vow. As harsh as that sounds, it does answer Dante’s question concerning the responsibility of a soul to its vow when violence is done to it. The second question, which Beatrice answers first because it is more poisonous, concerns the residence of the souls in the various spheres of Heaven. Based on a Latin paraphrase

of Plato’s Timaeus , Dante understood Plato to be saying a soul originates from a particular planet and then returns there after death. This is problematic for the Christian who understands each soul to be a unique creation of God. However, the question arises upon seeing souls in the sphere of the Moon as if that is where they belong or even reside. Beatrice answers this doubt by assuring the pilgrim that every soul, from Piccarda and Constance to the highest Seraphim, and every redeemed soul and angelic being in between, dwells and participates in the same Heaven and “beautifies the primal wheel,” each in full possession of the glorified state of eternal life. However, just as the glory of God shines throughout the universe to different degrees, so too those beings created by God are created with different capacities. Just as He has made vessels of mercy to be recipients of His overflowing and inexhaustible grace, He has made those vessels in varying shapes and sizes, able to experience different capacities of blessedness. This is why the various spheres of Heaven do not imply a meritocracy but rather are a further display of the variegated nature of God’s gracious overflow. The interaction with the souls in each sphere is a condescension for the sake of Dante’s senses (in the way Scripture speaks of God having hands and feet); otherwise, he would not understand what he is experiencing. Those “celestial spirits who least ascend” are thus not being punished for anything, nor have they merited a lesser station. Rather, they are experiencing God to the utmost of their created capacity, which is different from those souls who will show themselves to the pilgrim in the sphere of Saturn. Furthermore, this is why Piccarda, in the previous canto, so easily eschews Dante’s implicit suggestion of envy. To wish to be higher calls into question not only God’s justice but also the very purposes of His creation. To love God, to be at peace in

His will, means to be at rest in who we are in Him, according to how He has created us, no matter the differences that exist between each of us.

The pilgrim is pleased with this explanation, and is encouraged to ask a further question: can a soul make amends in the courts of Heaven for their broken vows by means of good works? Beatrice flashes such a brilliant look at Dante, so full of love for God, that he is overwhelmed, and has to look away. He must wait for the following canto to receive the answer.

Notes

⸭ 13–15: Beatrice behaved just as Daniel did…

For the story of Daniel revealing Nebuchadnezzar’s dream and thus saving the lives of all the Chaldean wisemen and magicians, see Daniel 2.

⸭ 24: following the conclusion of Plato

Concerning Plato’s teaching in the Timaeus that souls originate in different stars, Dante says in the Convivio : “Plato and others would have it that they proceeded from the stars and were noble, more or less, according to the nobleness of the star.”7

⸭ 27: deal with that which has the greater poison

Plato’s doctrine is “the greater poison” because it leads to fatalism and determinism, eliminating free will.

⸭ 83: like that which held Lorenzo on the grate St. Lawrence, a third-century deacon in the church of Rome, was martyred in 258 by Emperor Valerian. Singleton relates the story of his death:

The tradition is that, being commanded by the prefect of Rome to deliver up the treasures of the Church, which had been entrusted to his charge by Pope Sixtus II, he replied that in three days he would produce them. On the expiration of the appointed time he presented to the prefect all the sick and poor to whom he had given alms, with the words “Behold the treasures of Christ’s Church.” The prefect thereupon directed St. Lawrence to be tortured, in order to make him reveal where the treasures were hidden. But, torture proving ineffectual, he was stretched on an iron frame with bars, like a gridiron, beneath which a fire was kindled so that his body was gradually consumed. In the midst of his agony he is said to have remained steadfast, and to have mocked his executioners, bidding them to turn his body that it might be equally roasted on both sides.8

⸭ 84: and made Mucius severe to his own hand

Gaius Mucius “Scaevola” (the “left handed”) saved the city of Rome from further attacks by King Porsena of Clusium by unflinchingly enduring the burning off of his right hand in a fire prepared for his execution. His bravery impressed Porsena so much that he pardoned Mucius for his crime (which was the attempted assassination of the king himself!) and ceased his war against Rome. The story is found in Livy’s History of Rome II.12.1–13.5.

8 Singleton, Paradiso, 88.

⸭ 103: as Alcmaeon made himself impious For the story of Alcmæon killing his mother after she was bribed with a necklace (“the unfortunate adornment” which thus became too “dear” or costly) to reveal the location of her husband, which led to her husband’s death, see the Thebaid II.265–305 and IV.187–213.

Analysis

We have already noted how Dante the poet thinks of creation as the majesty of God given being. In a world of false gods and false religions, it becomes imperative to clarify that when Dante asserts this truth, he is speaking of none other than the Triune God of Scripture. This is important to understand because the one, true God revealed in the Bible is the source of the unity and diversity in all that we see. The Trinity is both the fundamental principle of unity, giving cohesion to everything, and the principle of individuality, granting genuine particularity to each thing. God is both one God and three Persons; one substance and also Father, Son, and Spirit. Because this is true, neither the distinctions we find between things nor the universal meaning binding all things together are a myth. There is a genuine difference between the Seraphim, Moses, Samuel, John, Mary, and the Vow-Breakers the pilgrim meets here in the sphere of the Moon. Each is given a different story, a different capacity for understanding and love, a different role and purpose in God’s creation. The poet captures this in his cosmological schema, with the nine nested spheres. God did not create a world of identical twins. He wanted a diversity of beings, of personalities, of gifts, and of

intellectual endowments. The Seraphim, according to Dante, see God more clearly than Angels, just as the Contemplatives experience God differently than the Vow-Breakers. As Jesus said, when the seed is scattered on the good soil, all bring forth fruit, “some an hundredfold, some sixtyfold, some thirtyfold” (Matthew 13:8). Just as the Father is not the Son and the Son is not the Father, and neither are the Spirit, so too among all intellectual beings, there is a diversity of persons, resulting in a diversity of experiences and fruitfulness. To be blunt, Dante was not an egalitarian. When comparing people with people, it is clear that all are not created equal. And Dante would have us recognize the goodness of this difference. But the Trinity is also reflected in the unity of all creation. We may be different when compared with each other, but when compared with God, we are all equally on one side of a hard line, with the Creator on the other. This canto suggests that Dante, along with his contemporaries, might have struggled with the photo negative error that we struggle with today. We live in an hyper-egalitarian age in which we claim that any difference is necessarily a result of injustice, and therefore must be eradicated. Not only is this misguided and illogical, it is impossible. It is simply not how God created the world. However, unlike us, the pilgrim simply takes for granted that a hierarchy of natures and capacities is embedded within creation. What he perhaps struggles to remember is that there is deep unity as well. Having met with the Vow-Breakers in the previous canto, the doubt springs to mind that maybe Plato is right, maybe there is nothing but difference between creatures, as each soul upon death returns to a different place of origin (lines 22–24). This reading of Plato (which was based on a faulty translation), leads to the conclusion that there is no ultimate unity at all, that each soul originates from a different

star, and to that star must return. But Beatrice puts that doubt to rest by reminding the pilgrim that a deep equality does exist between all intellectual creatures, from the highest seraph to the lowliest vow-breaker: all dwell equally in the presence of God. Each soul “beautifies the primal wheel,” each soul brings glory to God, each soul is loved and sustained by its Maker. True, they beautify and glorify “in their own way,” and the “sweet life” is experienced in different ways; but their indelible difference is surrounded and upheld by an everlasting unity that cannot be undone. For, contrary to Dante’s Plato, each soul is directly created by God, and therefore finds its meaning and its life in Him alone.

Discussion Questions

1. How is the story of Daniel appeasing Nebuchadnezzar relevant to what Beatrice does in line 13 and following?

2. How does Plato’s theory of the souls’ connection with the stars lead to fatalism (see lines 49–54)?

3. Why is the pilgrim’s first question less treacherous?

4. How does the justice of Heaven seeming unjust in the eyes of mortals work as an argument for faith?

5. Discuss the difference between the absolute will and the conditional will. Is this a valid distinction? Why or why not?

Also available from Roman Roads Press:

Inferno: Book One of the Divine Comedy, Dante Alighieri, a blank verse translation by Joe Carlson

Purgatorio: Book Two of the Divine Comedy, Dante Alighieri, a blank verse translation by Joe Carlson

Paradiso: Book Three of the Divine Comedy, Dante Alighieri, a blank verse translation by Joe Carlson

Praise for the Inferno: Reader’s Guide

“To accompany his smooth and literate translation of Dante’s Divine Comedy, Joe Carlson has put together a series of excellent Reader’s Guides that provide the necessary historical, literary, philosophical, and theological background. More than that, he provides incisive analysis that draws out the deeper Christian meanings and carefully-worded discussion questions that will challenge students and teachers alike to explore the full dimensions of Dante’s great epic. A great resource for homeschooling parents and classical Christian teachers.”

—Louis Markos, Professor in English and Scholar in Residence, Houston Baptist University; author of The Myth Made Fact: Reading Greek and Roman Mythology through Christian Eyes

Inferno: Reader’s Guide

Purgatorio: Reader’s Guide

The Iliad and The Odyssey of Homer, a new prose rendering by Wesley

Callihan