Indeed,
vision and eyes are of the utmost importance in the last canto leading to the
theophany. Actually eyes and vision have
been a motif in the entire Commedia. But here in the last canto the motif seems to
reach a crescendo. Almost every other
tercet has a reference to vision or sight or eyes. If Christ, and more generally God, is light,
then how could sight not be a significant means of comprehending divinity? It is the Holy Mother’s eyes who looks on
Dante with love and then turns her eyes toward God. Dante is allowed to withstand the intense
brightness through her sight. It’s almost
as if he merges his sight with hers (43-57).
Finally
the theophoric vision is the climax of the entire journey. Dante (the character) is allowed to see what
no mortal has ever been allowed to see—the vision of the Trinity. Here’s how he describes the moment before he
witnesses the theophany.
I believe, from the
keenness of the living ray
that I endured, I would
have been undone
had I withdrawn my eyes
from it.
And I remember that, on
this account,
I grew more bold and thus
sustained my gaze
until I reached the
Goodness that is infinite.
O plenitude of grace, by
which I could presume
to fix my eyes upon
eternal Light
until my sight was spent
on it! (XXXIII. 76-84)
As
he witnesses the fullness of God, he is granted one more grace, that for a brief
instant, for a fleeting moment, he is given comprehension of the entire order
of all things.
In its depth I saw
contained,
by love into a single
volume bound,
the pages scattered
through the universe:
substances, accidents,
and the interplay between them,
as though they were
conflated in such ways
that what I tell is but a
simple light.
I believe I understood
the universal form
of this dense knot
because I feel my joy expand,
rejoicing as I speak of
it. (85-93)
And
what is this vision of God? Several
cantos prior, Dante’s first vision of God was a point of light. But now that his sight has been enlarged and
strengthened, he can now see that point of light is a full circle. Indeed, it is three circles, one for each
person of the Trinity, each overlaying on top of each other, each a different
color.
In the deep, transparent
essence of the lofty Light
there appeared to me
three circles
having three colors but
the same extent,
and each one seemed
reflected by the other
as rainbow is by rainbow,
while the third one seemed fire,
equally breathed forth by
one and by the other. (115-120)
This
is the Father and the Son, and that which proceeds from the two, the Holy
Spirit. And as he held his gaze he sees
a face within the circles.
That circling which, thus
conceived,
appeared in you as
light's reflection,
once my eyes had gazed on
it a while, seemed,
within itself and in its
very color,
to be painted with our
likeness,
so that my sight was all
absorbed in it. (127-132)
“An
image painted with our likeness.” Is
that the face of God or the face of Christ, or is that the same thing? It is our likeness, we made in the image of
God.
Overwhelmed,
perhaps even disoriented, Dante in an instant finds himself back home trying to
understand what has happened to him and understand “the Love that moves the sun
and all the other stars” (145).
And
so ends the greatest work of literature ever written.
###
Some
concluding statements. I began reading Paradiso believing it was the weakest of
the three canticas of Inferno, Pugatorio,
and Paradiso. Such a notion was implanted from what I
can only say are biased academics. Paradiso does not have the fanciful
torments of Inferno. It does not have the bodily tensions of Purgatorio. But Paradiso
is special. Perhaps it is the most
theological of the three canticas—and that is why I think that academic biased
developed. But the theology is
dramatized in imagery, proposed in beautiful similes and metaphors, all leading
to that vision of God as the Trinity. Paradiso is the most beautiful of the
three canticas. The sublimity of the
imagery is unsurpassed. One can be
horrified at the imagery of Inferno,
and feel empathy at the imagery of Purgatorio. But one longs to embrace the imagery of Pardiso.
Indeed, one longs to participate in the imagery of Paradiso.
In
the very first canto of Paradiso,
Beatrice in response to a question as to why all things move upward provides an
answer which I think is the central thesis of not just Paradiso but of the entire Devine
Comedy.
'All things created have
an order
in themselves, and this
begets the form
that lets the universe
resemble God.
'Here the higher
creatures see the imprint
of the eternal Worth, the
end
for which that pattern
was itself set forth.
'In that order, all
natures have their bent
according to their
different destinies,
whether nearer to their
source or farther from it.
'They move, therefore,
toward different harbors
upon the vastness of the
sea of being,
each imbued with instinct
that impels it on its course. (Par.I.103-114)
That
the universe has an order, that things created have an order, all of which
resembles God, who has created all forms out of reason and love, is at the
heart of this epic. The entire Commedia is shaped to reflect God’s
order. The order in Inferno, as it winds its way down to the bottom pit of hell,
reflects God’s ordering of justice. The
penitential climb up the mountain in Purgatorio
reflects the order to retrain the soul to what you were made to be. The order of Paradiso, with its impelling motion toward the city of God,
reflects the order of God’s love as He draws us into His bosom as a parent
draws their child. No other epic has
such a complete vision of humanity in its relationship to his universe, and,
indeed, to his creator.
Which
is the greatest of the three canticas?
You can’t think of it that way.
Each fulfills the other two. They
complement each other as a trinity for a unified vision. So which of the three canticas do I
prefer? Whichever I have read last,
which at the moment is Paradiso.
 |
| Robert and Jean Hollander |
The
great translators, Robert and Jean Hollander.
