John T. Slattery - Dante: The Central Man of All the World

J >> John T. Slattery >> Dante: The Central Man of All the World

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

"If the world could know the heart he had
In begging bit by bit his livelihood,
Though much it laud him, it would laud him more."
(VI, 140.)

Justinian's words as to the crucifixion of Christ suggest to Dante this
question: Why was man's redemption effected by the death of Christ upon
the Cross rather than by some other mode? Investing the argumentative
propositions of St. Thomas with poetic beauty, Dante shows that while
God might have freely pardoned man without exacting any satisfaction,
on the hypothesis that He had chosen to restore mankind to His favor and
at the same time to require full satisfaction as a condition of pardon
and deliverance, there was only one way for the accomplishment of this
reconciliation and that was by the atonement of One who was both God and
Man. For sin, inasmuch as it is an act against the Infinite Being,
requires a satisfaction of infinite value. Man being finite is incapable
of adequately making such satisfaction. But the Word was made flesh that
by His atonement on the Cross Mercy would be declared and Justice would
be satisfied.

"Your nature, when it sinned in its totality in its first seed, from
these dignities, even as from Paradise, was parted; nor might they be
recovered, if thou look right keenly, by any way save passing one or the
other of these fords: either that God, of his sole courtesy, should have
remitted; or that man should of himself have given satisfaction for his
folly. Man had not power, within his own boundaries, even to render
satisfaction, since he might not go in humbleness by after-obedience so
deep down as in disobedience he had framed to exalt himself on high; and
this is the cause why from the power to render satisfaction by himself
man was shut off. Wherefore needs must God with his own ways reinstate
man in his unmaimed life, I mean with one way or with both the two. But
because the doer's deed is the more gracious the more it doth present
us of the heart's goodness whence it issued, the divine Goodness which
doth stamp the world, deigned to proceed on all his ways to lift you up
again; nor between the last night and the first day was, nor shall be,
so lofty and august a progress made on one or on the other, for more
generous was God in giving of himself to make man able to uplift himself
again, than had he only of himself granted remission; and all other
modes fell short of justice, except the Son of God had humbled him to
become flesh." (VII, 85.)

From Mercury to Venus the ascent has been so rapid that Dante is unaware
that he has reached the third Heaven until he sees the greater
loveliness of Beatrice represented by her greater radiance. As ascent is
made heavenward it will also be found that the spirits are seen not as
human faces, as was the case in the Heaven of the Moon, but as lights
increasing in intensity and manifesting a movement of greater speed to
the accompaniment of diverse music. It is necessary to keep in mind this
plan of the poet lest thinking the lovely lights, and lovely sounds and
lovely movements are only terms descriptive of physical, though
impalpable phenomena, we lose the deep and beautiful symbolism that is
the magic secret of the seraphic poesy of the Paradiso. Of the
brilliancy and movement of the spirits of the Sphere of Venus--spirits
who in this life failed in Christian ideals because of their amours,
Dante says, and his description is that of an expert musician
distinguishing between the singing of one who sustains the main-theme
and that of other voices rising and falling in subordination to the
principal melody:

"And as within a flame a spark is seen,
And as within a voice discerned,
When one is steadfast, and one comes and goes,
Within that light beheld I other lamps
Move in a circle, speeding more and less,
Methinks in a measure of their inward vision.
From a cold cloud descended never winds,
Or visible or not, so rapidly
They would not laggard and impeded seem
To any one who had those lights divine
Seen come towards us, leaving the gyration
Begun at first in the high Seraphim.
And behind those that most in front appeared
Sounded 'Osanna!' so that never since
To hear again was I without desire.
Then unto us more nearly one approached,
And it alone began: 'We all are ready
Unto thy pleasure, that thou joy in us.

We turn around with the celestial Princes,
One gyre and one gyration and one thirst,
To whom thou in the world didst say,
"Ye who, intelligent, the third heaven are moving;"
And are so full of love, to pleasure thee
A little quiet will not be less sweet.'"
(VIII, 16.)

The speaker discloses himself to be Charles Martel, once titular King of
Hungary, who on the occasion of a nineteen days' visit to Florence,
formed an intimate friendship with the poet. For the latter's
edification the spirit expounds the problem: Why from the same parents,
children grow up different in disposition, talent and career, a problem
just as interesting to the twentieth as the thirteenth century. We
account for the difference according to the principles of variation,
heredity and environment, but to stellar influence intent upon securing
the fulfillment of the law of individuality, was the difference
attributed by the medieval mind, which regarded the stars and planets
not as soulless spheres, but as orbs palpitating with the life of
angelic intelligences and radiating their influence upon the people of
the earth.

Hence it was held that the Heavens affected the diversity of the
characters of children who otherwise would be cut out the exact pattern
of their parents. "The begotten nature would ever take a course like its
begetters, did not divine provision overrule." (VIII, 136.) The
necessity for diversity in man's life is deduced from the fact that in
society men are providentially destined for different vocations.
"Wherefore is one born Solon (a legislator), another Xerxes (a soldier),
another Melchisedech (a priest), and the man who soaring through the
welkin lost his son." (Daedalus, the typical mechanician.) But stellar
influence always controlled by man's free will is often ignored,
especially when we put into the sanctuary one who should be on the
battle field and when we gave a throne to him whose right place is in
the pulpit.

"And if the world below would fix its mind
On the foundation which is laid by nature,
Pursuing that, 't would have the people good.
But you into religion wrench aside
Him who was born to gird him with the sword,
And make a king of him who is for sermons;
Therefore your footsteps wander from the road."
(VIII, 142.)

The next four spheres being beyond the earth's shadow are for spirits
whose virtue was undimmed by human infirmity and whose place in eternal
life is consequently one of greater vision and bliss. In the first of
these higher spheres, the Sphere of the Sun, the fourth Heaven, Dante
sees the spirits of great theologians and others who loved wisdom--great
teachers of men. Around him and Beatrice, as their center, twelve of
them appear in one circle and twelve in another, while behind those
dazzling splendors of spirits are other vivid lights probably
representing authors whom the poet had not read or comprehended or
symbolizing the men of science, the lovers of wisdom, who in the future
by their discoveries would add to our knowledge of truth. As one of the
basic truths of Revelation is the mystery of the Blessed Trinity, here
in the Heaven of the Doctors the dogma is made prominent by special
frequency of reference and symbolism. The Creation, as an act of the
Three Divine Persons, is mentioned in lines of exquisite grace:

"Looking into His Son with all the Love
Which each of them eternally breathes forth
The primal and unutterable Power
Whate'er before the mind or eye revolves
With so much order made, there can be none
Who thus beholds, without enjoying it."
(X, 1.)

Not only by thought, but by dancing, is the same truth expressed: "those
burning suns round about us whirled themselves three times." (X, 76.)
Again in song they proclaim the mystery of the Holy Trinity:

"The One and Two and Three who ever liveth
And reigneth ever in Three and Two and One
Not circumscribed and all circumscribing
Three several times was chanted by each one
Among those spirits, with such melody
That for all merit it were just reward."
(XIV, 27.)

In this Heaven we hear the eulogy of St. Francis of Assisi pronounced
by a Dominican and the praises of St. Dominic sung by a
Franciscan--consummate art that is an indirect invitation to the
two orders of monks upon earth to avoid jealousy and to practice mutual
respect. It has been said that these narratives give us the essence of
what constitutes true biography, viz., a picture of the spiritual
element in man drawn in such words as ever to command the understanding
and elicit the respect of the reader of every period. The first speaker
is St. Thomas Aquinas, and his reference to the mystical marriage of St.
Francis and Lady Poverty will be the better understood if we have before
the mind's eye Giotto's painting which hangs over the tomb of the
founder of the Franciscans. The figures in the pictures are described
by Gardiner (Ten Heavens, p. 113): Christ, standing upon a rock, unites
St. Francis to his chosen bride, who is haggard and careworn, clothed in
ragged and patched garments, barefooted and girded with a cord. Roses
and lilies spring up behind her and encircle her head; she wears the
aureole and has wings, though weak; but thorns and briars are around her
feet. Hope and Love are her bridesmaids; Hope clothed in green with
uplifted hand and Love with flame-colored flowers and holding a burning
heart. A dog is barking at the Bride and boys are assaulting her with
sticks and stones, but all around are bands of angelic witnesses, their
flowing raiment and mighty wings glowing with rainbow hues. In these
days when money seems the ideal of thousands, Poverty, whose mystical
appeal is so glowingly painted, still speaks to great numbers of men and
women who give up material comforts and ease to embrace as monks and
nuns the state of voluntary poverty. Let us now hear how St. Thomas
recounts the life and work of St. Francis of Assisi:

"He was not yet much distant from his rising,
When his good influence 'gan to bless the earth.
A dame, to whom one openeth pleasure's gate
More than to death, was 'gainst his father's will,
His stripling choice; and he did make her his,
Before the spiritual court, by nuptial bonds,
And in his father's sight: from day to day,
Then loved her more devoutly. She, bereaved
Of her first husband, slighted and obscure,
Thousand and hundred years and more, remain'd
Without a single suitor, till he came.
There concord and glad looks, wonder and love,
And sweet regard gave birth to holy thoughts,
So much that venerable Bernard first
Did bare his feet, and, in pursuit of peace
So heavenly, ran, yet deem'd his footing slow.
O hidden riches! O prolific good!
Egidius bares him next, and next Sylvester,
And follow, both, the bridegroom: so the bride
Can please them. Thenceforth goes he on his way
The father and the master, with his spouse,
And with that family, whom now the cord
Girt humbly: nor did abjectness of heart
Weigh down his eyelids, for that he was son
Of Pietro Bernardone, and by men
In wondrous sort despised. But royally
His hard intention he to Innocent
Set forth; and, from him, first received the seal
On his religion. Then, when numerous flock'd
The tribe of lowly ones, that traced _his_ steps,
Whose marvelous life deservedly were sung
In heights empyreal; through Honorius' hand
A second crown, to deck their Guardian's virtues,
Was by the eternal Spirit inwreathed: and when
He had, through thirst of martyrdom, stood up
In the proud Soldan's presence, and there preach'd
Christ and his followers, but found the race
Unripen'd for conversion; back once more
He hasted (not to intermit his toil),
And reap'd Ausonian lands. On the hard rock,
'Twixt Arno and the Tiber, he from Christ
Took the last signet, which his limbs two years
Did carry. Then, the season come that he,
Who to such good had destined him, was pleased
To advance him to the meed, which he had earn'd
By his self-humbling; to his brotherhood,
As their just heritage, he gave in charge
His dearest lady: and enjoin'd their love
And faith to her; and, from her bosom, will'd
His goodly spirit should move forth, returning
To its appointed kingdom; nor would have
His body laid upon another bier."
(XI, 55.)

At the conclusion of this discourse the spirits in both circles,
arranged like the concentric circles of a double rainbow, express their
joy by a gyrating dance and song.

If St. Francis was "a sun upon the world," St. Dominic is shown by the
next speaker, St. Bonaventure, to be "a splendor of cherubic delight."
"In happy Callaroga was born the passionate lover of the Christian
faith, the holy champion, gentle to his own, and without mercy to his
enemies. As soon as his soul had been created it was so replete with
energy that, within his mother's womb, it made her a prophetess. When
the pledges for his baptism had been given at the sacred font, and he
and Faith had become one, dowering each other with salvation, the lady
who had given assent for him, beheld in her sleep the wonderful fruit
which would one day come of him, and of his heirs. He was named Dominic.
I speak of him as the husbandman whom Christ chose to assist Him with
His garden. Of a truth did he seem Christ's messenger and friend, for
the very first inclination which he manifested was to follow the first
percept which Christ gave. Not for the world, love of which at present
makes men toil, but for love of the true manna, did he, in short while,
become a mighty teacher, such that he set about pruning the vineyard of
the church, which soon runs wild if the vinedresser be negligent.

"From the Papal chair which, in former days, was more generous to the
righteous poor, not because it has grown degenerate in itself, but
because of the degeneracy of him who sits upon it, Dominic begged not to
be allowed to dispense to the poor only two or three where six was due,
nor sought the first vacant benefice, the tithes of which belong to
God's poor. He begged rather for leave to fight against the erring world
in behalf of the seed of true faith, four and twenty plants of which
encircle you. Then, armed with doctrine and firm determination, together
with the sanction of the Papacy, he issued forth like a torrent from on
high, and on heretics his onslaught smote with greatest force where was
most resistance. Afterward, from him there burst forth various streams
by which the Catholic garden is watered so that the plants in it are
becoming vigorous." (XII, 48.)

Transported into the Heaven of Mars Dante is made aware of his ascent
thither only by the glow of the ruddy planet, so different from the
white sheen of the sun. At once he beholds a spectacle far more
marvelous than the circles of dancing lights he has just seen. It fills
him with such wonder and bliss that he falls into an ecstasy and only
after that does he look into the eyes of Beatrice, now more lovely than
ever. What is the new marvel? A starry cross traversing the sphere--a
cross, the arms and body of which, each like a Milky Way, are made up of
dazzling lights of the souls of those who laid down their lives for the
Faith. On the Cross is flashed the blood red image of the Crucified,
likewise formed by glowing stars, the souls of Christian warriors. Not
stationary do the splendors remain, but through the glittering mass they
dart to and fro like motes in a sunbeam that finds its way through a
shutter or screen. With eyes amazed the poet now hears such a wondrous
melody that he says: "I was so much enamoured therewith that up to this
point there had not been anything which bound me with fetters of such
delight." (XIV, 128.)

The names of some of the spirits forming the Stellar Cross are made
known to the poet--Joshua and Judas Maccabaeus, the intrepid heroes of
the Old Testament, the Christian Knights, Charlemagne and Orlando the
Paladin, William of Aquitaine and Rainouart, Godfrey de Bouillon,
conqueror of Jerusalem, Robert Guiscard, military executor of Pope
Hildebrande.

Darting along the arm of the Stellar Cross and coming to its foot is a
splendor who greets Dante with warm affection. This is the spirit of his
great-great-grandfather, Cacciaguida, who sings the glory of ancient
Florence the better to describe the deterioration of the city in Dante's
day and to censure its people for their civil feuds, corruption and
opposition to the Imperial Eagle. Then at Dante's request the crusader
spirit interprets for his descendant the various predictions made to the
latter during his passage through Hell and Purgatory. Evil days will
come upon him (it must be remembered that this prophecy by Cacciaguida
is supposed to occur a year or two before Dante's exile), he will be
exiled from Florence and will become a homeless wanderer.

Let him, however, write his poem and declare his vision, no matter if
offense will be taken by the high ones of the earth. He, having a
prophet's work to do, must speak with all the boldness of a prophet
without fear or dissimulation. The words, while assuring the poet of the
sweetness of everlasting fame, bring to his mind, also, the bitterness
of the injustice of his exile and suffering, and apparently he harbors
the thought of vengeance upon his enemies. Beatrice, however, checks his
resentment, assuring him that she, so near to God, will assist him--a
most beautiful passage showing the relations between her and the poet,
whether the words are taken literally as exhibiting her as his
intercessor before the throne of the Most High, or allegorically
considered as declaring that Revealed Truth takes from man the desire of
vengeance and places his case in the hands of Him who has said:
"Vengeance is mine, I will repay." For Dante's spiritual perfection his
lovely guide bids him not simply look into her her eyes (allegorically
meaning not merely to contemplate theological truth) but follow the
example of men sturdy of faith and valiant of deed. The passage here
follows:

"Now was alone rejoicing in its word
That soul beatified, and I was tasting
My own, the bitter tempering with the sweet,
And the Lady who to God was leading me
Said: 'Change thy thought; consider that I am
Near unto Him who every wrong disburdens.'
Unto the loving accents of my comfort
I turned me round, and then what love I saw
Within those holy eyes I here relinquish
Not only that my language I distrust,
But that my mind cannot return so far
Above itself, unless another guide it.
Thus much upon that point can I repeat.
That, her again beholding, my affection
From every other longing was released.
While the eternal pleasure, which direct
Rayed upon Beatrice, from her fair face
Contented me with its reflected aspect,
Conquering me with the radiance of a smile
She said to me, 'Turn thee about and listen;
Not in mine eyes alone is Paradise.
Here are blessed spirits that below, ere yet
They came to Heaven, were of such great renown
That every Muse therewith would affluent be
Therefore look thou upon the cross' horns.'"
(XVIII, 4.)

Now rising to Jupiter, where appear the spirits of those who upon earth
in a signal manner loved and rightly administered justice, Dante is
again made aware of his uplifting by the increased beauty of Beatrice,
by the new light different from that of ruddy Mars, which envelopes him
and by the perception of his own increase of virtue and power. Here the
poet has recourse to a most ingenious system of symbols to give variety
to his descriptions and doctrine, and so to sustain the interest of the
reader. Many hundreds of the souls of the just appear as golden lights
and so group themselves as to spell against the glowing white background
of the light of the planet, the maxim from the Book of Wisdom:
"_Diligite justitiam qui judicatis terram_" (Love justice ye who judge
the earth.) Then fade away all the letters except the last one, the M of
terram, M, symbol of Monarchy, and that M stands out in general outline
somewhat like the Florentine lily, the armorial sign of Florence. And
now other golden lights come from the Empyrean and transform the M into
the figure of an eagle, the bird of Jove, with outstretched wings. But
the marvel is only partly revealed, for soon the Eagle speaks and its
voice, though made up of a thousand voices of the Just, comes forth a
single sound, like a single heat that comes from many brands or the one
odor that is exhaled from many flowers.

What a startling spectacle it must have been to the mind of the
thirteenth century, used to candles as the ordinary means of
illumination, to have visualized before it the blessed spirits in the
light of Heaven, dancing, whirling, circling in perfect harmony and
making more formal designs to express their bliss by the rapidity of
their rhythmical movements! Even though exquisitely quaint as the
picture may appear to us, it has been executed so reverently that
criticism has rarely if ever attacked this conception of our poet. With
light as his principal material to make known to us the joys of Heaven,
he has to paint everything in high light, using no shadows and he solves
his artistic problem by the variety of his "splendors" and by the deep
symbolism of their action. His nine Heavens are not meant to be a
picture true to reality of what the Souls in Heaven are doing. These
nine Heavens, as we said before, are only myths to which from the
Empyrean come forth the Elect in condescension to Dante's sense-bound
faculties, in order to symbolize certain truths. So in this sixth sphere
the poet would teach us that the Heaven of Jupiter represents justice on
earth and on the screen of this sphere he would put forth by means of
the Imperial Eagle the arguments he has already advanced in his
Monarchia that the Roman Empire is divine in its origin--that only from
such an institution can human justice proceed from civil government. He
represents unity coming from the Roman Empire by his showing to us the
unison with which all the splendors of the Eagle speak in a voice
blended as one sound--clearly also an allegory for the Guelf forces to
become an integral part of the Universal Monarchy.

Justice is the quality which this Heaven symbolizes and the Eagle reads
in Dante's mind a doubt against the operation of justice and proceeds to
dispel it.

"For saidst thou: 'Born a man is on the shore
Of Indus, and is none who there can speak
Of Christ, nor who can read, nor who can write;
And all his inclinations and his actions
Are good, so far as human reason sees,
Without a sin in life or in discourse:
He dieth unbaptized and without faith;
Where is this justice that condemneth him?
Where is his fault, if he do not believe?'"
(XIX, 70.)

The question is answered both directly and indirectly. The exclusion of
the virtuous pagan from Heaven is assumed to be an act of injustice "but
who art thou who wouldst set upon the seat to judge at a thousand miles
away with the short sight that carries but a span?" (XIX, 79.) As our
very idea of justice comes from God all just and all wise, that thought
ought to assure us that not even the virtuous heathen will be excluded
from Heaven. Faith indeed is required for salvation, but many having
faith will be condemned, while many seemingly without it will be
admitted into Heaven.

"But look thou, many crying are, 'Christ, Christ'!
Who at the judgment will be far less near
To him than some shall be who knew not Christ.
Such Christians shall the Ethiop condemn
When the two companies shall be divided,
The one forever rich, the other poor."
(XIX, 106.)

The indirect answer to Dante's objection as to the exclusion of the
virtuous heathen from Heaven is given by the poet speaking through the
beak of the Eagle and showing in this Heaven as one of the lights of the
Eagle itself, the soul of Rhipeus mentioned by AEneas "as above all
others the most just among the Trojans and the strictest observer of
right." "So now," says Benvenuto, the fourteenth century lecturer on
Dante, "our author fitly introduces a pagan infidel in the person of
Rhipeus, of whose salvation there would seem the very slightest chance
of all; by reason of the time, so many centuries before the advent of
Christ; by reason of the place, for he was of Troy where exceeding pride
was then paramount; by reason of the sect, for he was a pagan and
gentile, not a Jew. Briefly then our author wishes us to gather from
this fiction--this conclusion,--that even such a pagan of whose
salvation no one hoped, is capable of salvation."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14