Literature in the News: Dantedì

Dantedì refers to the holiday celebrating the great Italian poet, Dante Alighieri.  

From the website, ItalianTraditions. 

March 25th is celebrated throughout Italy on Dantedì, the national day dedicated to Dante Alighieri, father of the Italian language and author of the Divine Comedy. This date is not random: scholars recognize it as the day the otherworldly journey begins narrated in his masterpiece, a universal symbol of search, redemption and knowledge.

Established in 2020, Dantedì represents a precious opportunity to rediscover the current events of Dante and the value of his work. It is not just a tribute to literature, but a moment to reflect on Italian cultural identity and the power of the word as tool for thinking and transformation.

Well, that is incomplete.  In a day to reflect on the value of Dante’s Divine Comedy and on the Italy’s deep and grand culture, but also on today’s date, the traditional date assigned to the Blessed Virgin Mary assent to being the Mother of God.  So today is a confluence of the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary and the day Dante the character spent in Hell.  Of course it’s not a coincidence.  It is widely known that Dante the author starts the pilgrimage of Dante the character on Good Friday of the year 1300.  What is not as widely well known, though growing in circulation, is that Good Friday of the year 1300 happened to be March 25^th, which would make it on the same day as the Feast of the Annunciation.  So the greatest Catholic poem ever written, also the greatest Italian poem ever written—heck, the greatest poem, period, ever written—sets the start of the action on both Good Friday and the Feast of the Annunciation.

On this Feast Day primarily of the Annunciation and secondarily of Dantedì, I wish to commemorate with first let’s start with a clip from the great Zeffirelli movie, Jesus of Nazareth, the Annunciation scene.

 

Second, I want to quote from the beginning of Dante’s Inferno, the first canto where Dante the character is lost in a wood.  From the wonderful Hollander and Hollander translation which can be found at the Princeton Dante Project.

 

              1            Midway in the journey of our life

2            I came to myself in a dark wood,

3            for the straight way was lost.

4            Ah, how hard it is to tell

5            the nature of that wood, savage, dense and harsh --

6            the very thought of it renews my fear!

7            It is so bitter death is hardly more so.

              8            But to set forth the good I found

9            I will recount the other things I saw.

10         How I came there I cannot really tell,

11         I was so full of sleep

12         when I forsook the one true way.

13         But when I reached the foot of a hill,

14         there where the valley ended

15         that had pierced my heart with fear,

16         looking up, I saw its shoulders

17         arrayed in the first light of the planet

18         that leads men straight, no matter what their road.

19         Then the fear that had endured

20         in the lake of my heart, all the night

21         I spent in such distress, was calmed.

22         And as one who, with laboring breath,

23         has escaped from the deep to the shore

24         turns and looks back at the perilous waters,

25         so my mind, still in flight,

26         turned back to look once more upon the pass

27         no mortal being ever left alive.

28         After I rested my wearied flesh a while,

29         I took my way again along the desert slope,

30         my firm foot always lower than the other.

                             Inferno, Canto 1, 1-30.

Finally, hear Dante’s beautiful Italian with a recitation of Inferno’s Canto 1 by the great Italian actor, Roberto Benigni.

Blessed Mother, ever Virgin, pray for us.

Dante at 700, a Discussion

Oh what a joy to find this in my email inbox from The Sheen Center.  It’s a discussion with three wonderful experts on Dante’s Divine Comedy.  I so need to share this with you.  The Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen Center for Thought & Culture is a Catholic center here in New York City that puts out cultural events.  I’ve mentioned a few events here on my blog that I’ve attended at the Sheen Center, though I may not have attributed them properly.  But the Sheen Center is great.  You can check them out here and see any upcoming events if you plan to be in NYC.   

As you probably know since I’ve mentioned it a number of times this year, 2021 is the 700^th anniversary of Dante’s death.  I’ve had a number of posts on it, and I wanted to do more.  I still intend to post more; unfortunately they will have to wait until the new year.

So the Sheen Center put together this panel to discuss the Divine Comedy and it was a joy.  It’s a little over an hour, and if you are a Dante aficionado I promise you will enjoy it.  It’s just over an hour long and hosted by film director and film critic, David DiCerto.  The panel consists of Dr. Elizabeth Lev (Art Historian and Author), Prof. Randy Boyagoda (Professor of Literature, University of Toronto and Author), Fr. Paul Pearson (Dante Scholar and Author, Toronto Oratory).  I am familiar with Elizabeth Lev having just finished reading her wonderful How Catholic Art Saved the Faith: The Triumph of Beauty and Truth in Counter-Reformation Art.  I’ll have more on that book in the coming months here on my blog.  I am very impressed with her knowledge of art and now Dante. 

I hope you enjoyed that.  I did!

September 14: The Exaltation of the Cross and the 700th Anniversary of Dante’s Death

Well, today is the convergence of two anniversaries.  One is the Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross, and the other is the anniversary of Dante’s passing, and this year being the 700^th anniversary.  Dr. R. Jared Staudt wrote in the Catholic World Report (“Our Greatest Poet: Celebrating Dante after 700 Years”): “It is fitting that Dante died on the day when we commemorate the triumph of the Holy Cross, as he narrates the drama of salvation as it plays out concretely over the course of life, showing its eternal significance.”   

We Catholics are a strange lot, it must appear to those outside the faith.  Here we are celebrating the very instrument of Christ’s torture and death.  Actually the Eastern orthodox, Anglicans, and some Lutherans also commemorate this day.  Why?  First let’s see how the feast came about.  It started with St. Helena, the Emperor Constantine’s mother, going on pilgrimage to Jerusalem to see the very places of the New Testament.  At Calvary where Christ was crucified there had been a temple built to the goddess Venus, but by the time Helena arrived there the temple had been destroyed.  From Catholic Education Resource Center, "St. Helena and the True Cross," by Fr. William Saunders:

The temple of Venus was also demolished, thereby exposing the site where Christ was crucified. The Emperor Constantine himself wrote to St. Macarius, Bishop of Jerusalem, ordering him to make a search for the cross on Mount Calvary. A learned Jew named Judas seemed to have some knowledge of the whereabouts, and was pressed into service. Just east of the site, three crosses were found in a rock-cistern as well as the titulus (the wood plaque inscribed with Jesus Nazaranus Rex Iudaeorum). (With the Church of the Holy Sepulcher is the Chapel of the Finding of the True Cross, marking the cistern.) The question then arose, "Which was the cross of Christ?"

Now that would make a great movie!  Actually Evelyn Waugh wrote an historical novel on this, Helena.  I haven’t read it, but it’s supposed to be one of his best.  The story goes on:

 

While the details provided by St. John Chrysostom, St. Ambrose, Rufinus, and Socrates (not the philosopher) are lacking and sometimes contradictory, the essence of the story follows: The three crosses and the titulus were removed from the cistern. A woman, dying from a terminal disease, was brought to the spot. She touched the crosses, one by one. After she touched the third cross, she was cured, thereby identifying the true cross. Other sources also relate the later finding of other instruments of the Passion. Most importantly, St. Ambrose preached that when St. Helena found the true cross, "she worshiped not the wood, but the King, Him who hung on the wood. She burned with an earnest desire of touching the guarantee of immortality."

So why September 14^th?  Philip Kosloski at Aleteia (“Why is the feast of the Holy Cross celebrated on September 14?”) explains:  “It is believed that Constantine built the basilica of the Holy Sepulchre after this finding of the True Cross, and the church was consecrated on September 14, 335.” 

So why have a feast day for the cross?  From Franciscan media: 

 

The cross immediately became an object of veneration. At a Good Friday celebration in Jerusalem toward the end of the fourth century, according to an eyewitness, the wood was taken out of its silver container and placed on a table together with the inscription Pilate ordered placed above Jesus’ head: Then “all the people pass through one by one; all of them bow down, touching the cross and the inscription, first with their foreheads, then with their eyes; and, after kissing the cross, they move on.”

So why venerate the cross?  Well it’s tied to the veneration of relics, and that is a lengthy subject.  Suffice it to say that through sacramental such as remains of the cross, we receive graces which strengthen our faith.  Because the cross came in contact with Christ, it has become consecrated in its material substance.  In addition, the cross as a sacramental reminds us of our commandment to carry our cross and follow Jesus.

And so, what better day for Dante Alighieri to have died!  His Divine Comedy is the ultimate creative work that captures our Christian faith and the cross on which we carry for our earthly pilgrimage. 

Art: Restored Andrea del Castagno Portrait of Dante

In this the 700^th anniversary of Dante Alighieri’s death, I’ve been trying to have some extra posts on the great Italian poet, who is so important to this blog that I have a link up in the header summarizing all my blog posts on Dante.  It seems that Italians all across Italy have been doing special things in commemoration of the anniversary, and one of them is a restoration of a famous 15^th century portrait of Dante.  The Italian Tribune, a weekly publication in the United States for Italian-Americans since 1931, published “15th Century Portrait of Dante Restored,” noting the restoration and unveiling of the painting:

The 15th century fresco of Dante Alighieri was nearly lost forever when it was whitewashed over, only to be rediscovered hundreds of years later. It was scratched and darkened with grime, but after a six-month restoration, the famous portrait of Dante has been returned to its original luster, just in time for the 700th anniversary of the poet’s death.

The newly restored portrait, which is eight feet high by five feet wide and was painted by Renaissance artist Andrea del Castagno, was unveiled last week [March 2021] at the Uffizi Galleries in Florence, Italy. It depicts the author of The Divine Comedy, considered to be the greatest work of literature, dressed in a cloak and a red cap, his gaze intent and his nose aquiline. “This is perhaps the most famous image of Dante, an icon of Italian culture,” said Eike Schmidt, the director of the art gallery. “He’s an important figure not just for Italy but for the whole world.”

The restorers of the Opificio delle Pietre Dure, a long-established cultural heritage institution in Florence, restored the portrait to its original color, removing sediments and pictorial retouches that had darkened the colors. An unprecedented image emerged. Having looked melancholy and dour before the restoration, Dante’s face is once again bright and animated and more youthful.

The restoration:

Andrea del Castagno only lived about 38 years (1419-57) but was a very influential painter.  Perhaps his most well-known works are a Last Supper, an Assumption of the Virgin, a Crucifixion, a young King David with Goliath’s head, and nine frescoes of famous men and women, many of them Florentines, of which this Dante is included.  From the Itaian-Tribune article:

The detached fresco was originally located in Villa Pandolfini near Florence and was one of nine famous figures painted by del Castagno on the walls of the villa between 1447 and 1449. The paintings included three condottieri, military commanders who led bands of mercenaries during the High Middle Ages and Early Renaissance, as well as three illustrious women and the three most famous poets of the age, Dante, Petrarch and Boccaccio.

All three poets are delineated in full length wearing long gowns, with head coverings, and holding a book.  The book is an obvious emblematic attribute to their literary identity but I don’t know what the long gowns and the head coverings symbolize, if anything.  What’s interesting is in the color of the gowns and the type of head coverings.  Dante is portrayed in red with a Santa type of cap.  Boccaccio is in white and a kerchief type of bandana, which Petrarch is in an orange-brown gown with a capuchin. 

First, here is the entire fresco of Dante. 

Here are the Boccaccio and Petrarch portraits as a comparison.

 

What I find most interesting is that Dante’s facial demeanor is delineated not in an angry or perturbed manner as so many have, but rather congenial.  Here is a detail of his face.

Also interesting is the hair sticking out from under the cap is grey.  I would think it’s unlikely that is the actual face of Dante since this was painted about 130 years after his death, but it does seem like it could be him. 

Here is a lovely just over four minute video clip with no words and just overlaid music displaying the art of Andrea del Castagno. 

Boccaccio comes in at the 1:18 mark, Petrarch at the 1:29 mark.  You can see the gallery of the nine frescos as they were intended to be displayed at the 2:24 mark.  Dante first comes in at the 3:00 mark and then a detail of the face comes in at 3:20. 

I love Renaissance art.  It’s my favorite period.

Candor Lucis Aeternae by Pope Francis, Post 2

This is the second of two posts on the Apostolic Letter commemorating the 700th anniversary of Dante’s passing.  You can find Post #1 here.  

Refresher: After an introduction, the letter divides into nine sections:

 

1) The Popes of the last century and Dante Alighieri

2) The life of Dante Alighieri: a paradigm of the human condition

3) The poet's mission as a prophet of hope

4) Dante as the poet of human desire

5) The poet of God's mercy and human freedom

6) The image of man in the vision of God

7) The three women of the Comedy: Mary, Beatrice, and Lucy

8) Francis, the spouse of Lady Poverty

9) Accepting the testimony of Dante Alighieri

Under the fourth part, “Dante as the poet of human desire,” Pope Francis quotes Dante from one of his other works, the Convivio.  

 

“The ultimate desire of every being, and the first bestowed by nature, is the desire to return to its first cause. And since God is the first cause of our souls… the soul desires first and foremost to return to him. Like a pilgrim who travels an unknown road and believes every house he sees is the hostel, and upon finding that it is not, transfers this belief to the next house he sees, and the next, and the next, until at last he arrives at the hostel, so it is with our souls. As soon as it sets out on the new and untravelled road of this life, the soul incessantly seeks its supreme good; consequently, whenever it sees something apparently good, it considers that the supreme good” (IV, XII, 14-15).

Pope Francis expands on this: “Starting from his own personal situation, Dante becomes the interpreter of the universal human desire to follow the journey of life to its ultimate destination, when the fullness of truth and the answers to life’s meaning will be revealed and, in the words of Saint Augustine, our hearts find their rest and peace in God.”  Yes, this is at the heart of the Commedia, at the heart of Dante’s personal life, and, indeed, at the heart of all our lives as Christians as we make our way to our eternal home. 

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Under “poet of God’s mercy and human freedom,” the Holy Father cites two examples from the Commedia.  First is the good Roman Emperor Trajan, who as a pagan had no knowledge of Christ, and yet is the only pagan in heaven.  It is a reminder that with God, all things are possible.  The second is the King Manfred, who was a horrible human being certainly bound for hell, but in battle after receiving a deadly blow to his skull dies with contrition and the Blessed Mother on his lips.  We find King Manfred in Purgatorio.  God’s mercy can be obtained at the last seconds of breath.

The immense number of characters within the Divine Comedy, each with their lives and decisions laid before the reader, does in itself compile an insight into the human heart.  Pope Francis sees this as portraying humanity in its dignity and showcasing their human freedom.

 

Dante champions the dignity and freedom of each human being as the basis for decisions in life and for faith itself. Our eternal destiny – so Dante suggests by recounting the stories of so many individuals great and small – depends on our free decisions. Even our ordinary and apparently insignificant actions have a meaning that transcends time: they possess an eternal dimension. The greatest of God’s gifts is the freedom that enables us to reach our ultimate goal, as Beatrice tells us:

 

“The greatest gift that in his largess God

Creating made, and unto his own goodness

Nearest conformed, and that which he doth prize

Most highly, is the freedom of the will” (Par. V, 19-22).

I should add here that in the English translation of the Apostolic Letter, the quotes from the Divine Comedy are taken from the Longfellow translation.  It is not one of my favorite translations, even though it was the translation of the first time I read it.  It is definitely outdated in language, and frankly I find stilted.  They probably used it for copy write issues.   

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Pope Francis points out in the section of the three ladies how central the Blessed Mother is to La Commedia. 

 

In celebrating the mystery of the incarnation, the source of salvation and joy for all humanity, Dante cannot but sing the praises of Mary, the Virgin Mother who, by her fiat, her full and total acceptance of God’s plan, enabled the Word to become flesh. In Dante’s work, we find a splendid treatise of Mariology. With sublime lyricism, particularly in the prayer of Saint Bernard, the poet synthesizes theology’s reflection on the figure of Mary and her participation in the mystery of God.

The Holy Father goes on to note several of the passages where the Blessed Virgin is directly or indirectly essential either narratively or thematically to the work.  It’s a fairly standard reading of Dante’s work, so I won’t quote any more.  I will agree that the prayer by St. Bernard in the final canto is sublime, among the best poetic lines ever written. 

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Under “Francis, the spouse of Lady Poverty,” Pope Francis makes a rather audacious claim.

 

Saint Francis and Dante had much in common. Francis, with his followers, left the cloister and went out among the people, in small towns and the streets of the cities, preaching to them and visiting their homes. Dante made the choice, unusual for that age, to compose his great poem on the afterlife in the vernacular, and to populate his tale with characters both famous and obscure, yet equal in dignity to the rulers of this world. Another feature common to the two was their sensitivity to the beauty and worth of creation as the reflection and imprint of its Creator. We can hardly fail to hear in Dante’s paraphrase of the Our Father an echo of Saint Francis’s Canticle of the Sun.

At first I was hesitant to accept the claim, but in time I think he may be right.  While it seems a stretch to say Dante was in love with Lady Poverty—he wasn’t a poor man and though he had his wealth taken from him he didn’t give it up voluntarily from what I know—he did compose the Divine Comedy in the vernacular as St. Francis composed his Canticle of the Sun.  Now you could say this is just one allusion among many allusions to many other writers in the great poem, but it seems to resonate.  I was surprised to learn in my last reading of the Divine Comedy that Dante was a Franciscan Penitent, which was what they called a lay order branch of the Franciscans back then.  And I think the spirit of the poem does exude a Franciscan spirituality, a sort of embracing of creation and making the Gospel come alive.  Of course there is the learned and systemic approach of the Dominicans throughout the poem as well, and one recalls Cantos XI and XII in Paradiso where Dante has a Dominican praise St. Francis and Franciscan praise St. Dominic.  Dante is certainly a bit of both spiritualties, but I now accept he may have been more Franciscan.

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Finally Pope Francis concludes the Letter by first acknowledging the incredible scope of the Divine Comedy. 

 

At the conclusion of this brief glance at Dante Alighieri’s work, an almost inexhaustible mine of knowledge, experience and thought in every field of human research, we are invited to reflect on its significance. The wealth of characters, stories, symbols and evocative images that the poet sets before us certainly awakens our admiration, wonder and gratitude. In Dante we can almost glimpse a forerunner of our multimedia culture, in which word and image, symbol and sound, poetry and dance converge to convey a single message.

A great epic has to encompass a great scope of knowledge and vision, and of all the great epics, The Iliad, The Odyssey, The Aeneid, War and Peace, Moby Dick, none I think has as great a scope as the Divine Comedy.  The Holy Father also touches on the Commedia’s ability to transform lives.

 

If Dante tells his tale admirably, using the language of the people yet elevating it to a universal language, it is because he has an important message to convey, one meant to touch our hearts and minds, to transform and change us even now, in this present life.

Yes, I can attest to that.  The Divine Comedy was one of the means by which my conversion back to the faith occurred.  Christ came to me when I was ready, but Dante’s work was in my heart for Christ and the Church to find form.

Pope Francis ends with an exhortation to use this 700^th year of Dante’s passing to disseminate Dante’s work.

 

It is fitting, then, that the present anniversary serve as an incentive to make Dante’s work better known and appreciated, accessible and attractive, not only to students and scholars but to all those who seek answers to their deepest questions and wish to live their lives to the full, purposefully undertaking their own journey of life and faith, with gratitude for the gift and responsibility of freedom.

Do yourself a favor, if you haven’t read the Divine Comedy, take this year to read it.  If you’ve read it and don’t have the time to re-read it, take a canto from any of the three canticas, or better yet, take a canto from each of the three canticas, and read that.  Try it in both the Italian and the English.  Learn the nuances of that one canto, and tell people about it.  Spread the word.  The Divine Comedy is the greatest literary work ever composed.  It is the height of human achievement.

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My Goodreads Review:  

In commemoration of the 700^th anniversary of Dante’s death, Pope Francis published this Apostolic Letter highlighting some of the recent history of papal documents on Dante, probing the life of Dante, and journeying through Dante’s great work the Divine Comedy. This was a pleasant read, and while it certainly not ground breaking in any literary way—who would expect that from the Pope?—it really is educational for those with only a passing knowledge of Dante and his work.  If you’re a lover of the Divine Comedy, you will enjoy reading the Holy father’s Letter.  If you’re new to the work, let this be an inspiration to delve into it.

Indeed, Pope Francis ends with an exhortation to use this 700th year of Dante’s passing to make Dante’s work better known.  Do yourself a favor, if you haven’t read the Divine Comedy, take this year to read it.  If you’ve read it and don’t have the time to re-read it, take a canto from any of the three canticas, or better yet, take a canto from each of the three canticas, and read that.  Try it in both the Italian and the English.  Learn the nuances of that one canto, and tell people about it.  Spread the word.  The Divine Comedy is the greatest literary work ever composed.  It is the height of human achievement.

Candor Lucis Aeternae by Pope Francis, Post 1

This is the first of two posts on the Apostolic Letter commemorating the 700^th anniversary of Dante’s passing.

The full title of this work is ”Apostolic Letter CANDOR LUCIS AETERNAE of the Holy Father FRANCIS on the Seventh Centenary of the Death of Dante Alighieri.”  Popes have various genres of writing forms they use to communicate with their faithful and with the world at large: encyclicals, motu proprio or rescripts, constitutions, bulls, exhortations, apostolic letters, and more.  Apostolic Letters are not quite as long as an encyclical, but they are not a brief note either.  I posted back in March that Pope Francis had just released an Apostolic Letter on the seventh hundredth anniversary of Dante’s death.  I read it and I want to post my thoughts on it.  Candor Lucis Aeternae is about 18 pages long, about that of a short story, and you can read the letter on line here.   

Candor Lucis Aeternae translates into “Splendor of Light Eternal,” and refers to the day the letter was published, March 25^th, the Feast of the Annunciation.  Here is the opening paragraph:

 

SPLENDOUR OF LIGHT ETERNAL, the Word of God became flesh from the Virgin Mary when, to the message of the angel, she responded: “Behold the handmaid of the Lord” (cf. Lk 1:38). The liturgical feast that celebrates this ineffable mystery held a special place in the life and work of the supreme poet Dante Alighieri, a prophet of hope and a witness to the innate yearning for the infinite present in the human heart. On this Solemnity of the Annunciation of the Lord, I readily add my voice to the great chorus of those who honour his memory in the year marking the seventh centenary of his death.

Is there a particular reason why it’s connected to the Feast of the Annunciation?  Pope Francis identifies “the light of the Word made flesh” is part of “the loving plan that is the heart and inspiration of Dante’s most famous work.”  OK, but one could have easily picked Holy Thursday or any day of the Triduum and it could have been as fitting.  The Divine Comedy is set from Holy Thursday to Wednesday after Easter. 

After an introduction, the letter divides into nine sections:

 

1) The Popes of the last century and Dante Alighieri

2) The life of Dante Alighieri: a paradigm of the human condition

3) The poet's mission as a prophet of hope

4) Dante as the poet of human desire

5) The poet of God's mercy and human freedom

6) The image of man in the vision of God

7) The three women of the Comedy: Mary, Beatrice, and Lucy

8) Francis, the spouse of Lady Poverty

9) Accepting the testimony of Dante Alighieri

Pope Francis starts by summing up what the various Popes going back a century—to the sixth century of the poet’s death—have had to say about Dante and his great work, then showing how Dante’s life reflects the human condition.  He then provides several sections on the themes within The Divine Comedy, showing hope, human desire and freedom, and God’s mercy, and how the images of God reflect in man.  Pope Francis then highlights the three central women of the work, and Dante’s relationship with St. Francis of Assisi.  He concludes with final reasons why today people should read and appreciate Dante’s great work.

Some interesting highlights from past popes.  I found interesting Pope Benedict XV’s claim in his encyclical (In Praeclara Summorum, 30 April 1921) that Dante can only have come from Catholicism.

The fact that Alighieri is our own… Indeed, who can deny that our Dante nurtured and fanned the flame of his genius and poetic gifts by drawing inspiration from the Catholic faith, to such an extent that he celebrated the sublime mysteries of religion in a poem almost divine?”

That was written obviously in a time when ecumenicalism was not a priority.  But it is true.  Dante could only have written his work through his Catholic worldview.  It is a deeply Catholic work.  Still to claim Dante as “our own” may have dissuaded others from seeing the great beauty and universal themes in his poem.  This is exactly the point Pope Saint Paul VI makes in his Apostolic Letter of 1965, Altissimi Cantus.

“Dante is ours, we may well insist, but we say this not to treat him as a trophy for our own glorification, but to be reminded of our duty, in honouring him, to explore the inestimable treasures of Christian thought and sentiment present in his work. For we are convinced that only by better appreciating the religious spirit of the sovereign poet can we come to understand and savour more fully its marvellous spiritual riches”.

He goes on to say, “Dante’s poem is universal: in its immense scope, it embraces heaven and earth, eternity and time, divine mysteries and human events, sacred doctrine and teachings drawn from the light of reason, the fruits of personal experience and the annals of history”.  Pope Francis captures the full scope of Dante’s genius from another quote from Paul VI’s Letter:

 

“In Dante all human values – intellectual, moral, emotional, cultural and civic – are acknowledged and exalted. It should be noted, however, that this appreciation and esteem were the fruit of his deepening experience of the divine, as his contemplation was gradually purified of earthly elements”.

Yes, this is what makes Dante’s Commedia the single greatest work in all of literature: it captures all elements of humanity, captures all elements of divinity, expresses it beautifully in craft that can only be described as sublime, and creates an aesthetic structure that reflects all those elements artistically. 

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Perhaps the most original thought—at least one I had not come across before—in Candor Lucis Aeternae is the relationship Pope Francis draws from Dante’s life exile to the human condition and how it shaped his great work.

 

Dante, pondering his life of exile, radical uncertainty, fragility, and constant moving from place to place, sublimated and transformed his personal experience, making it a paradigm of the human condition, viewed as a journey – spiritual and physical – that continues until it reaches its goal. Here two fundamental themes of Dante’s entire work come to the fore, namely, that every existential journey begins with an innate desire in the human heart and that this desire attains fulfilment in the happiness bestowed by the vision of the Love who is God.

 

For all the tragic, sorrowful and distressing events he experienced, the great poet never surrendered or succumbed. He refused to repress his heart’s yearning for fulfilment and happiness or to resign himself to injustice, hypocrisy, the arrogance of the powerful or the selfishness that turns our world into “the threshing-floor that maketh us so proud” (Par. XXII, 151).

So the constant moving from city to city after his exile becomes sublimated into the journey of toward the beatific vision.  From his personal struggles to earn a living and find a stable home, Pope Francis identifies what caused Dante to create his poem:

 

Reviewing the events of his life above all in the light of faith, Dante discovered his personal vocation and mission. From this, paradoxically, he emerged no longer an apparent failure, a sinner, disillusioned and demoralized, but a prophet of hope. In the Letter to Cangrande della Scala, he described with remarkable clarity the aim of his life’s work, no longer pursued through political or military activity, but by poetry, the art of the word which, by speaking to all, has the power to change the life of each. “We must say briefly that the purpose of our whole work and its individual parts is to remove from their state of misery those who live this life and to lead them to a state of happiness” (XIII, 39 [15]). In this sense, it was meant to inspire a journey of liberation from every form of misery and human depravity (the “forest dark”), while at the same time pointing toward the ultimate goal of that journey: happiness, understood both as the fullness of life in time and history, and as eternal beatitude in God.

Just as the Resurrection is a sign of hope for our eternal life, so too does the Holy Father see the movement from dark forest to the beatific vision as an expression of hope that permeates the Divine Comedy.  I think “prophet of hope” is a fair moniker for Dante.

Dante’s Inferno, Canto VIII

A friend of mine, Mary Sue, is doing a term paper using Dante’s Canto VIII from his Inferno as part of a larger main point which ties into T.S. Eliot’s great poem, Ash Wednesday. So Mary Sue intrigued me enough to go back and read Canto VIII, which then planted a seed of interest in me that compelled me to think about it for days.  I realize this can happen on any one of Dante’s one hundred cantos from his Commedia.  So let me provide the fruits of my thoughts and perhaps it may help my friend.

When I posted on the entire Divine Comedy back in 2018 to 2019, other than summarizing that canto, I did not find the time to write on it.  (You can find links to all my Dante blog posts above in the Header Bar with the hyperlink, “Dante Links.”)  I had wished I could comment on every canto, but that was impossible at the time.  Perhaps slowly in time as a need arises I can fill in the cantos that I missed.

So in Canto VII, to back up a little, Dante and Virgil are walking through the fifth circle of hell, that of anger and sullenness, down the bank to the river Styx.  At the river there is a bog in which the souls of the fifth circle wade in the mud and filthy water.  Here the wrathful fight and tear at each other in everlasting anger.

Which brings us to Canto VIII.  At the bank Virgil and Dante observe a tower at the other side of the river flashing two lights of fire and further back another flashing light responded in a returning signal.  This causes Dante to ask Virgil for its meaning.

And turning to that sea of wisdom, I asked:

'What does this mean? And that other fire,

what does it answer? And who are they who made it?'

 

And he to me: 'Over the filthy waves

you may already glimpse what is to come,

if the marsh-fumes do not hide it from you.' (7-12)

I am using the wonderful Robert and Jean Hollander (husband and wife team) translation.  As I’ve said before in my Dante posts, this is my preferred translation.

So Dante asks some rather obvious questions, and Virgil doesn’t really answer them, only perhaps to imply he will find out shortly.  What captures my curiosity is the epithet Dante uses for Virgil in verse seven: “the sea of wisdom.”  (The use of an epithet for a proper in name in rhetoric is called antonomasia.)  Here Virgil is associated with wisdom but couched in a metaphor of the sea.  The metaphor is not a function of the translation.  It’s there in the Italian: “al mar di tutto 'l senno.”

Anthony Esolen in his translation annotates that Virgil is punning with mar on Virgil’s last name of “Maro.”  That is possible but I do think it goes beyond that.  Certainly Virgil is associated with wisdom, but “sea” brings in the naval term that runs throughout the Divine Comedy.  In fact we will see a boat speed to them in the very next set of triplets from where I quoted.  In addition to the naval metaphor, I think the “sea of wisdom” is a contrasting epithet to the Ulysses character we will see in Canto XXVI.  There we will hear of Ulysses’ tale of taking his crew on a voyage of exploration that leads to their destruction.  He who had the reputation of wisdom—Ulysses—was unwise in his pride.    

What comes next is the arrival of the bark that will take them across the river, but Dante (the author—I will need to distinguish between Dante the author and Dante the character) frames it in a fascinating simile.

 

Never did a bowstring loose an arrow

that whipped away more swiftly through the air

than, even as I watched, a skiff came skimming

 

straight toward us on the water,

under the guidance of a single helmsman,

crying: 'Now you are caught, damned spirit!'  (13-18)

The boat, racing in, is compared to a flying arrow.  One envisions a speed boat here, and I find that remarkable in itself given there is no such speed boat or any speedy vehicle in Dante’s time.  That’s a remarkable image when you realize that it would be outside of Dante’s experience to envision such speed.  That conceit to archery will appear repeatedly in the Divine Comedy (see Inf XII, XXXI, Pur XXV, XXXI, Par I, VII and elsewhere).  Ships and boats also appear often throughout the Commedia.  They emphasize the pilgrimage as the central objective of our lives, the pilgrimage to God.  Charon’s ferry in Inferno Canto III is one example.  The speed of Phlegyas’ boat in VIII recalls the swift speed of the ship in Purgatorio Canto II that ferries the souls to the Purgatory island.  Even the opening lines of Purgatorio are framed in a ferry conceit: “To run its course through smoother water/the small bark of my wit now hoists its sail,/leaving that cruel sea behind” (Pur I, 1-3).  Both naval and archery imagery are part of the overall web of imagery that underlies the themes of La Commedia.

So Phlegyas thinks he has caught two escaping souls as he comes upon Dante and Virgil, but Virgil sets him straight.

 

Phlegyas, Phlegyas, this time you shout in vain,'

replied my lord. 'You'll not have us any longer

than it takes to cross this bog.'

 

Like one who learns of a deceitful plot

that has been hatched against him and begins to fret,

such was Phlegyas in his stifled wrath. (19-24)

Phlegyas is frustrated in his expecting thrill, but I find the metaphor describing his reaction with deeper resonance.  Phlegyas is in wrath as one who learns of a deceit against him.  Well, Dante and Virgil are leaving the circle of anger and crossing over to the city of Dis, where all the various sins of deceit are placed.  Phlegyas in anger is echoing his surroundings, and his “fretting” foreshadows Dante’s fretting when he and Virgil later in the canto are locked out from entering the gates of Dis once they are ferried across.   

The two get in the boat, encounter the soul of Felippo Argenti in the mire of the river, who tries to grasp Dante but is pushed into the filthy water by Virgil, and subsequently torn and beaten by the other damned in the river.  Dante in fighting off the soul of Argenti, curses him.  Virgil for this praises Dante.

 

Then my master put his arms around my neck,

kissed my face and said: 'Indignant soul,

blessed is she that bore you in her womb! (43-45)

Why does Virgil praise Dante (the character) so here?  Most annotations will explain that Dante (the author) sees it as proper to take satisfaction in the justice done to damned souls—and being in hell the characters know that the soul is truly damned while we on earth can never know for certain.  But I find it fascinating that Virgil quotes Luke 11:27, “Blessed is the womb that bore you” as a woman cries out to Christ in praise.  I haven’t found any good annotation as to why Dante (the author) uses that quote here.  Certainly Dante (the character) is not deserving of the Christ allusion.  The only speculation I could propose—and this is me speculating, I have not found this commentary elsewhere—is that in referencing Mary’s womb, Dante (the author) is alluding to the ark of the covenant, furthering the naval imagery.  Certainly Dante (the character) is in a sort of ark on board Phlegyas’ boat. 

I have mentioned elsewhere how Dante usually structures his cantos in the Divine Comedy in three parts.  He does so here in Canto VII.  The first part (l. 1-27) is the opening scene leading to getting on board Phlegyas’ boat; the second (l. 28-63) is the scene with Filippo Argenti; the third (l. 64-130) is the landing on Dis and being locked out.

The city of Dis is of iron walls, separated by a moat, and heavily guarded by thousands of demons, suggesting an iron and a closed off heart.  It is the contrasting image of the “New Jerusalem,” from the Books of Ezekiel (OT) and Revelation (NT). The towers inside the ramparts appear to Dante (the pilgrim) as “mosques,” which Esolen points out are probably minarets, and glow red from an “eternal fire.”  Where Dante (the author) would have seen mosques and minarets is a mystery to me.  As far as I know his travels were limited to Italy and France. 

Upon being kicked out of the boat by Phlegyas (no one is kind in hell), a small drama ensues.  The angry demons refuse to let a living being into the city.  Virgil signals for Dante to hold back so he can arbitrate the situation, but the demons are immovable.  They will allow Virgil to pass, but they will not yield concerning Dante.

 

Then they reined in their great disdain

enough to say: 'You come -- alone. Let him be gone,

who has so boldly made his way into this kingdom.

 

'Let him retrace his reckless path alone --

let him see if he can, for you shall stay,

you who have led him through this gloomy realm.' (88-93)

This is where Dante frets and momentarily loses hope.  He begs Virgil to not leave him, and Virgil reassures him.

 

But the mentor who had brought me there replied:

'Have no fear. None can prevent our passage,

so great a power granted it to us.

 

'Wait for me here. Comfort your weary spirit

and feed it with good hope.

I will not forsake you in the nether world.' (103-108)

Two important points can be gleaned from Virgil’s response.  First, God has granted Dante’s passage, so the will of God cannot be resisted.  Second, Dante should not lose hope.  Hope is one of the theological virtues, and a virtue requires strengthening, almost like an exercise.  We see Dante (the character) here in these early cantos as spiritually immature.  He has not built up his virtue.

Finally Virgil leaves Dante while he walks over to the demons to mull the issue.  Dante sees them speaking but is out of hearing distance.  Suddenly the demons slam the gates shut against Virgil, who sullenly returns to Dante.  The remainder of the canto is worth quoting in its entirety.

 

He had his eyes upon the ground, his brows

shorn of all confidence. Sighing, he muttered:

'Who dares deny me access to the realm of pain?'

 

To me he said: 'Be not dismayed

at my vexation. In this contest I'll prevail,

whatever they contrive to keep us out.

 

'This insolence of theirs is nothing new:

they showed it once before, at another gate.

It still stands open without lock or bolt.

 

'Over it you saw the deadly writing.

Even now, making his unescorted way

down through the circles, one descends

by whom the city shall be opened.' (118-130)

We see Virgil’s virtue in contrast to Dante.  While he assesses the situation as serious, he does not give up hope.  He has hope in divine intervention.

We see the demons then are just being spiteful.  There is no reason why Dante cannot pass.  Their “insolence” is merely a resistance to the Divine Will.  If the Divine Will did not want Dante to enter, the demons would have lured him in.  Anything to be adversarial to God.

We will see in the next canto how a divinely sent angel arrives and with a touch of a wand, the gates opened up.  The Divine Will cannot be overcome.

What are we to make of Canto VIII?  We see the pilgrimage progress, the development of the naval and archery imagery, the justice of hell, the contrast of wrath with reason, the iron heart of Dis, and the testing of the theological virtue of hope.  Canto VIII is rich, but one can say that about all the cantos.

So how does Canto VIII relate to Eliot’s Ash Wednesday?  Well, the opening stanzas of Eliot’s poem are these:

 

Because I do not hope to turn again

Because I do not hope

Because I do not hope to turn

Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope

I no longer strive to strive towards such things

(Why should the agèd eagle stretch its wings?)

Why should I mourn

The vanished power of the usual reign?

 

Because I do not hope to know

The infirm glory of the positive hour

Because I do not think

Because I know I shall not know

The one veritable transitory power

Because I cannot drink

There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again  (1-15)

And further down we get these closing stanzas of the poem’s part 1:

 

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly

But merely vans to beat the air

The air which is now thoroughly small and dry

Smaller and dryer than the will

Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still.

 

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death

Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.  (34-40)

Wings that are “merely vans to beat the air”—ha!  That’s a reference Inferno’s Canto XXXIV where satan is a winged creature half stuck in ice beating his wings hopelessly in trying to fly.  How did I miss that in the past?  Ash Wednesday is about hope and hopelessness.  I’ve completely misread this poem.  I used to think Eliot was referring to Purgatorio.  The allusion is to Inferno.  Mary Sue is onto something!  I can’t wait to see what she writes.  ;)