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

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The eighth circle is known as Malebolge, Evil Pouches, of which there
are ten. Here are punished differently panders, seducers, flatterers,
simonists, magicians, cheats, hypocrites, thieves, evil-counsellors,
forgers.

In the ninth circle, the abode of traitors, which comprises four
divisions, named respectively after Cain (Caina), Antenor of Troy
(Antenora), Ptolemy of Jericho (Tolomea), and Judas Iscariot (Giudecca),
Dante sees in the second division, Antenora, the shade of the traitor
Ugolino imprisoned in ice with his enemy, Archbishop Ruggieri, by whom
he was betrayed. Ugolino, with his two sons and two grandsons, were
locked in the Tower of Famine at Pisa, the key of the prison was thrown
into the river and the prisoners began their term of starvation ending
in death. The story of the imprisonment and the death of the five
prisoners is one of the most tragic recitals in the domain of
literature. In the passage I quote, Ugolino is relating his feelings
when he finds himself imprisoned with his sons and grandsons in the
Tower of Famine.

"When I awoke before the morn, that day,
I heard my little sons, who shared my cell,
For bread, even in their slumber, moaning pray;
Hard art thou, if unmoved thou hearest me tell
The message that my heart had guessed too well!
If this thou feel not, what can make thee feel?
And when we all were risen, the hour befell
At which was brought to us the morning meal,
Yet each one doubted sore what might their dreams reveal.

And as the locking of the gate I heard
Beneath that terrible tower, I gazed alone
Into my children's faces, without a word.
I wept not, for within I turned to stone;
But saw that they were weeping every one;
'Twas then my darling little Anselm cried:
'You look so, father! Say, what have they done?'
Still not a tear I shed, nor word replied
That day, nor till that night in next day's dawning died.

And as there shot into this prison drear
A little sunbeam, by whose light I caught
My look upon four faces mirrored clear;
Both of my hands I bit, by grief o'erwrought.
Then suddenly they rose as if they thought
I did it hungering; 'Less our misery,'
They cried, 'Should'st thou on us feed, who are nought
But creatures vested in our flesh by thee:
Then strip away the weeds that still thine own must be.'

It calmed me to make them feel less their fate;
Two days we spent in silence all forlorn;
Earth, Earth, oh wherefore wert thou obdurate,
And would'st not open! On the following morn
Gaddo, before my face, from life was torn!
'Can you not help me, father?' first he cried,
And perished; then, I saw the younger born,
Three, one by one, fall ere the sixth day sped--
Plainly as you see me, and this accursed head.

'Already blind, I fondly grope my way
To them, and for three days their names I call
After their death; then famine found its prey
And did what sorrow could not.' This was all
He said."
(XXXIII, 35.)

And now we come with the poets to the lowest depths of Hell, where we
see imprisoned in ice Lucifer, huge and hideous. As we gaze on mankind's
enemy, an archangel fallen and punished for sin, the words of Isaias
come to mind: "How art thou fallen from Heaven, O Lucifer, who did'st
rise in the morning! How art thou fallen to the earth, that did'st wound
the nations. And thou saidst within thy heart, 'I will ascend into
Heaven, I will exalt my throne above the stars of God--I will be like
the most High. But yet thou shalt be brought down to Hell, into the very
depth of the pit." (Is., XIV, 12.)

Let us see how Dante puts Lucifer "into the very depth of the pit."

"The lamentable kingdom's emperor
Issued from out the ice with half his breast;
And with a giant more do I compare
Than with his arms do giants; therefore see
How great must be that whole which corresponds
Unto a part so fashioned. If he was
As beautiful as he is ugly now,
And raised his brows against his Maker, sure
All sorrowfulness must proceed from him.
Ah! how great marvel unto me it seemed
When I beheld three faces to his head!
The one before, and that was vermeil-hue;
Two were the others which adjoined to this,
Over the midst of either shoulder, and
They made the joining where the crown is placed.
And between white and yellow seemed the right;
The left was such an one to be beheld
As come from there wherein the Nile is sunk.
There issued under each two mighty wings,
Such as 'twas fitting for so great a bird:
I never saw the sails of shipping such.
They had not feathers, but the mode thereof
Was like a bat's; and these he fluttered so
That from him there was moved a threefold wind:
Cocytus all was frozen over hence.
With six eyes wept he, and three chins along
The weeping trickled, and a bloody foam.
At every mouth he shattered with his teeth
A sinner, in the manner of a brake,
So that he thus made woful three of them.
The biting for the foremost one was nought
Unto the scratching, for at times the spine
Remained of all the skin completely stripped.
'That soul above which has most punishment
Is,' said my lord, 'Judas Iscariot,
Who has his head within, and outside plies
His legs. O' the other two, whose head is down,
Brutus is he who from the black head hangs;
See how he writhes, and does not speak a word:
The other's Cassius, who appears, so gaunt,'"
(XXXIV, 28-67)

Now that the lesson is learned that the wages of sin is death, that sin
will find a man out and bring him to the judgment of God, the gracious
guide can release his companion from his awful contemplation.

"Now it is time for us to go," says Virgil, "for we have seen all." By a
secret path leading to Purgatory the pilgrims make their way through the
darkness, guided by the encouraging murmur of running water. It is a
streamlet of discarded sin, flowing constantly from Purgatory, whence
wickedness is washed down to its original Satanic source.

"By that hidden way
My guide and I did enter, to return
To the fair world; and heedless of repose
We climb'd, he first, I following his steps,
Till on our view the beautiful lights of Heaven
Dawn'd through a circular opening in the cave
Thence issuing we again beheld the stars."

DANTE'S PURGATORIO

DANTE'S PURGATORIO

Purgatory, as a doctrine, is peculiar to the Catholic Church; Purgatory,
as a discipline from sin to virtue, is a practice followed by a large
portion of humanity. The latter fact explains why so many who reject the
dogma, still love and admire Dante's Purgatorio, which, while it teaches
the doctrine of the intermediate state, also serves as an allegory, the
most helpful and beautiful allegory, perhaps, in the literature of the
world. In the opinion of Dean Stanley, it is the most religious book he
ever read. It makes a peculiar appeal to the modern mind because, as
Grandgent says: "It's theme is betterment, release from sin and
preparation for Heaven" ... (and) "its atmosphere is rightly one of hope
and progress."

Dinsmore declares: "Purgatory as a place may not exist in our system of
thought, but life is a cleansing process if we take its hardships in a
proper spirit." In another place he asserts: "In pondering the way of
life by which this high priest of the Middle Ages (Dante) proclaims that
men attain perfect liberty, we cannot but remark the stress he lays
upon a principle which has well-nigh faded from the Protestant mind. It
is that of expiation--(and) expiation is no musty dogma of the
schoolmen, but a living truth.... Dante placed more emphasis on the
human side of the problem than we, and for this reason he deserves
attentive study, having portrayed most powerfully some truths which our
age, so eager to break from the narrowness of the past, has overlooked."

In agreement with this statement of the learned Congregational divine is
William T. Harris, former United States Commissioner of Education, who
observes in his "Spiritual Sense of the Divina Commedia," that if
Purgatory is absent from the Protestant creed, the thought of which
Purgatory in this life is the symbol, is not uncommon in non-Catholic
literature. His exact words are: "If Protestantism has omitted Purgatory
from its religion, certainly Protestant literature has taken it up and
absorbed it entire," and for proof he points to the moral, among other
books, of The Scarlet Letter, The Marble Faun, Adam Bede and Romola, all
showing

"That men may rise on stepping stones
Of their dead selves to higher things."

Dante, the theologian, makes his allegory grow out of the doctrine of
Purgatory. According to the teaching of the Catholic Church, temporal
punishment is connected with sin. Even when the guilt of sin is
forgiven, the justice of God in most cases calls for amends by means of
the temporal punishment of the sinner. Holy Writ gives us instances of
the operation of this law. Adam, though brought out of his disobedience
(Wisdom X, 2) was condemned "to eat bread in the sweat of his face"
(Gen. III, 19) to his dying day. Moses and Aaron were forgiven for their
sin of incredulity, but they were punished by being deprived of the
glory of entering "the Land of Promise." (Num., XX, 12.) To King David,
perfectly contrite, the prophet Nathan announces in the name of God, the
forgiveness of the guilt of adultery and murder, yet he must suffer for
his sin. "Nathan said to David: 'The Lord also hath taken away thy sin.
Thou shalt not die. Nevertheless, because thou hast given occasion to
the enemies of the Lord to blaspheme for this thing, the child shall
die,' and it came to pass on the seventh day that the child died" (II
Kings XII, 13.)

From these instances it is evident that when God forgives the guilt of
sins and the eternal punishment due to such of them as are mortal, He
does not remove the temporal punishment which must be satisfied in this
life or in the life to come. That is true, the Church teaches, even of
unrepented venial sin with its debt of temporal punishment. While
venial sin does not destroy the supernatural life of the soul and while,
therefore, it is not said to be punishable in Hell, still it is sin in
the sight of Him "whose eyes are too pure to behold evil." (Hab., I,
13.) Now the Church has ever held that into Heaven "there shall not
enter anything defiled." (Apoc., XXI, 27.) Likewise, she has taught that
Hell is the eternal punishment of souls whose grievous guilt has not
been forgiven. It follows, therefore, according to her teachings, that
there must be a middle state for the cleansing of unrepented venial sins
and for the satisfaction of sins already forgiven but not wholly
expiated.

This state or place is called Purgatory, the belief in the existence of
which is confirmed by the practice of praying for the dead, a practice
based on the teachings of the Old and of the New Testament. In the
second book of Maccabees (XII, 43, 46) we read that Judas, the general
of the Hebrew army, "sent twelve thousand drachms of silver to Jerusalem
for sacrifice to be offered for the sins of the dead, thinking well and
religiously concerning the resurrection. (For if he had not hoped that
they that were slain should rise again, it would have seemed superfluous
and vain to pray for the dead.) And because he considered that they who
had fallen asleep with godliness had great grace laid up for them. It
is, therefore, a holy and wholesome thought to pray for the dead that
they may be loosed from sins."

This doctrine presupposes that the dead for whom prayer is profitable
are neither in Heaven, the abode of the elect, nor in Hell, from which
release is not possible, but in a state of purification, lasting for a
time. The New Testament alludes to that state. Christ declares: "And
whosoever shall speak a word against the Son of Man, it shall be
forgiven him; but he that shall speak against the Holy Ghost, it shall
not be forgiven him, neither in this world nor in the world to come."
(Matt., XII, 32.) These words imply that there is a future state in
which some sins are purged away, while there is another state (Hell) in
which the punishment is eternal. The words of St. Paul: "If any man's
work burn, he shall suffer loss; but he himself shall be saved, yet so
as by fire" (1 Cor., III, 15), are interpreted to mean the existence of
a middle state in which unforgiven venial sins and the temporal
punishment due to sin will be burnt away and the soul thus purified will
attain eternal life.

To state the doctrine of the Church briefly, let it be said that the
Church has defined that there is a Purgatory and that the souls in
Purgatory are helped by the suffrages of the faithful.

Out of facts so general, Dante the poet, has created a Purgatory wholly
unique in the realms of literature, and amazingly definite as to place,
form, atmosphere, inhabitants and their activities. In the southern
hemisphere, at the very antipodes of Jerusalem, out of an ocean on which
there is no other land (according to Dante's system of cosmography)
springs the island of Purgatory, redolent with flowers, lovely with
music, peace keeping pace with penance over all the region. Not a flat,
unbroken plain is this island, but a mountain whose shores are washed by
the ocean, from which the earth forced from the interior by Lucifer's
fall, rises in a truncated conical structure. While its coast and the
land below the terraces are within the zone of air, its heights extend
into the sphere of fire and its crown is the Garden of Eden. The lowest
part of the mountain called Ante-Purgatorio is the abode of the
procrastinators and the excommunicated who put off their repentance to
the end and now must suffer a proportionate delay before they are
permitted to begin their ascent, their work of purification.

Purification begins only after the soul passes into Purgatory proper. At
the entrance is St. Peter's gate, guarded by an angel, who, with his
sword inscribes on the brow of the penitent seven times the letter P,
the first letter of the word Peccatum, signifying sin. These seven P's,
outward signs of inward evil, represent the seven capital sins, the P's
of which are removed in succession by an angel as penance is done for
each sin on its corresponding terrace. The seven terraces which run
around the mountain, rise in succession with lessening circuit as ascent
is made, their width being about seventeen or eighteen feet. Connecting
each terrace and cut out of solid rock is a narrow stairway, guarded by
an angel. The steps of each successive stairway become less steep as
each terrace is attained. Crowning the mountain is the Garden of Eden,
lonely and deserted since Adam and Eve, after six hours of occupancy,
were forced from its confines. Its herbage is still luxuriant, its
flowers endless and fragrant, its trees, melodious with birds, rustle
with the balmy wind, its waters serve to irrigate the garden as well as
to help the soul. These waters, the rivers Lethe and Eunoe, are produced
from heavenly sources and have miraculous powers. The former removes the
memory of sin; the latter restores the recollection of virtuous deeds, a
poetical way of expressing the Catholic dogma, that with the revival of
grace in the heart of the converted sinner comes back the merit that had
been acquired by moral acts.

The problem which Dante sets out to solve in his Purgatory is this:
Assuming that the sinner has been baptized, how can he break his
shackles and attain to the liberty of the children of God? The literal
narrative of Dante's Purgatory presupposing that the soul at the hour of
death is in the state of grace, now shows us that soul working towards
perfection by way of expiation for unforgiven venial sin and for the
temporal punishment due to sin. It is the only way by which it can again
attain its pristine dignity. "And to his dignity he never returns," says
Dante, "unless where sin makes void, he fill up for evil pleasures just
penalties."

The rule holds good, also, for salvation in this world. The thin veil of
allegory enables us to penetrate Dante's teaching that this life also is
a Purgatory, and here, too, we may cast off the defilement of sin by
means of repentance and expiation. But first the soul must be girt with
the rush of humility, and have perfect contrition represented by its
being washed with the dew, the moisture that descends from Heaven. To
Virgil (Reason guided by Heaven) says Cato (the symbol of Liberty), "Go,
then, and see that thou gird this man with a smooth rush and that thou
wash his face (with dew) so that thou efface from it all foulness, for
it would not be fitting to go into the presence of the first Minister,
who is of those of Paradise, with eyes dimmed by any mist." (1, 95.)

But even if the soul, by perfect contrition, is freed from its guilt of
mortal sin, it must according to the mind of Christ, who instituted the
sacrament of Penance for the remission of sin, submit to the power of
the keys committed to the priesthood and that will be the more necessary
if its contrition is imperfect. While perfect contrition without the
sacrament of Penance may remit sin, if the supernatural motive of sorrow
is not the love of God, but a motive less worthy, _e.g._, fear of
punishment, forgiveness is to be obtained only by the worthy reception
of Penance. In other words, the penitent must confess his sin to a duly
authorized priest, express his contrition, accept the penance enjoined
by the confessor for the satisfaction of sin and be absolved by virtue
of the words of Christ: "Whose sins you shall forgive they are forgiven
and whose sins you shall retain, they are retained."

All this is most beautifully expressed by Dante in his description of
the Gate of St. Peter and its angelic keeper:

"The lowest stair was marble white, so smooth
And polish'd that therein my mirror'd form
Distinct I saw. The next of hue more dark
Than sablest grain, a rough and singed block,
Cracked lengthwise and across. The third, that lay
Massy above, seemed prophyry, that flam'd
Red as the life-blood spouting from a vein.
On this God's angel either foot sustain'd,
Upon the threshold seated, which appear'd
A rock of diamond. Up the trinal steps
My leader cheerly drew me. 'Ask,' said he,
'With humble heart, that he unbar the bolt.'
Piously at his holy feet devolv'd
I cast me, praying him for pity's sake
That he would open to me: but first fell
Thrice on my bosom prostrate. Seven times
The letter, that denotes the inward stain,
He on my forehead with the blunted point
Of the drawn sword inscrib'd. And 'Look,' he cried,
'When enter'd, that thou wash these scars away.'
Ashes, or earth ta'en dry out of the ground,
Were of one colour with the robe he wore.
From underneath that vestment forth he drew
Two keys of metal twain: the one was gold,
Its fellow silver. With the pallid first,
And next the burnish'd, he so ply'd the gate,
As to content me well. 'Whenever one
Faileth of these, that in the keyhole straight
It turn not, to this alley then expect
Access in vain.' Such were the words he spake,
'One is more precious; but the other needs
Skill and sagacity, large share of each,
Ere its good task to disengage the knot
Be worthily perform'd. From Peter these
I hold, of him instructed, that I err
Rather in opening than in keeping fast,
So but the suppliant at my feet implore.'
Then of that hallow'd gate he thrust the door,
Exclaiming, 'Enter, but this warning hear:
He forth again departs who looks behind.'"
(IX, 75.)

The allegory back of these words is put forth in clear language by Maria
F. Rossetti. "We need hardly to be told" she writes in her Shadow of
Dante (pp. 112-13) "that the Gate of St. Peter is the Tribunal of
Penance. The triple stair stands revealed as candid Confession mirroring
the whole man, mournful Contrition breaking the hard heart of the gazer
on the Cross, Love all aflame offering up in Satisfaction the lifeblood
of body, soul, and spirit:--the adamantine threshold-seat as the
priceless merits of Christ the Door, Christ the Rock, Christ the sure
Foundation and the precious Corner-Stone. In the Angel of the Gate, as
in the Gospel Angel of Bethesda, is discerned the Confessor; in the
dazzling radiance of his countenance, the exceeding glory of the
ministration of righteousness; in the penitential robe, the sympathetic
meekness whereby, restoring one overtaken in a fault, he considers
himself lest he also be tempted; in the sword, the wholesome severity of
his discipline; in the golden key, his divine authority; in the silver,
the discernment of spirits whereby he denies absolution to the
impenitent, the learning and discretion whereby he directs the
penitent."

Dante's plan of Purgatorial punishment makes no distinction between the
punishment put forth for unforgiven venial sin and that due in
satisfaction for the violation of the moral order by one whose guilt has
been remitted. Both partake of the same penalty. Is that because the
poet thinks that if forgiveness is finally won by sorrow and suffering,
expiation for the offence is still to be made? Or does he hold that the
seven capital sins entailing temporal punishment either operate
effectively in every soul, or exist at least radically according to the
principle voiced by Hamilton Wright Mabie: "The man who slowly builds
Heaven with him, has constantly the terrible knowledge that he has only
to put his hand forth in another direction in order to build Hell?"

In any event Dante, who shows in Hell how men are made sin eternally, in
Purgatory exhibits the sinful disposition more or less under the control
of the will, yet of such a nature that only the grace of God held the
soul back from the Abyss. It must be purged of all tendency to evil so
as to be made "pure and ready to mount to the stars." (XXXIII, 140.) The
purgation is seen in process in a threefold manner according to Dante. A
material punishment is inflicted to mortify the evil passion and to
incite the soul to virtue; the soul meditates upon the capital sin and
its opposite virtue, moved to abhorrence of the evil and to admiration
of the good by examples drawn from sacred and profane history; vocal
prayer is addressed to God and it brings forth grace to purify and
strengthen the soul. Hard in the beginning is this work of repentance,
but it becomes easy as the habit of virtue is formed.

"The mountain is such, that ever
At the beginning down below, 'tis tiresome
And aye the more one climbs, the less it hurts."
(IV, 90.)

As purification from each capital sin is effected, the soul experiences
the removal of a heavy burden and the consequent enjoyment of new
liberty, Dante, purified from pride, asks Virgil: "Master, say what
heavy thing has been lifted from me, that scarce any toil is perceived
by me in journeying." He answered "When the P's which have remained
still nearly extinguished on thy face, shall like the one be wholly
rased out, thy feet shall be so vanquished by goodwill, that not only
will they feel it no toil, but it shall be a delight to them to be urged
upward." (XII, 118).

Mention was made of the material punishment of the souls in Purgatory.
Unlike the retributive penalties inflicted in Hell, this punishment is
reformative, confirming the penitent in good habits of thought and deed.
The proud here realize the irrevocable sentence "everyone who exalteth
himself shall be humbled." They creep round with huge burdens of stone
bowing them down to the very dust and so abased their hearts are turned
to humility.

The envious sing the praises of generosity while their eyes, the seat of
their sins, are tortured by sutures of wire shutting out the light.

The slothful cannot be restrained in their hurry forward, the leaders,
shouting with tears, examples of diligence, a pair in the rear crying
out instances of sloth.

Penitents expiating the sins of avarice and prodigality lie prostrate
and motionless bound hand and foot, with their faces to the ground,
murmuring the words of the psalmist: "My soul hath cleaved to the
pavement" (Ps., 118, 25.) During the day they eulogize the liberal;
during the night they denounce instances of avarice.

The gluttonous suffer so much from hunger and thirst that they are
reduced to a state of pitiable emaciation. All the while hungering for
righteousness, they glory in crucifying the old Adam in them.

The unchaste purify their passion in hot flames while other penitents
sing the loveliness of chastity and proclaim many examples of that
virtue.

Through this purification by suffering, the spirits not only submit
willingly but they exhibit real contentment if not actual love of the
chastisement imposed upon them. The unchaste not only heedfully keep
within the flames but gladly endure the fire because they are convinced
"with such treatment and with such diet must the last wound be healed"
(XXV, 136). And most beautiful and enlightening of all, one of the souls
tells Dante that the same impulse which brought Christ gladly to the
agony of the Cross throws them upon their sufferings. Forese, speaking
for the gluttonous, says that the mood in which they accept the
penitential pains is one of submission as well as of solace. "And not
only once, while circling this road, is our pain renewed. I say pain and
ought to say solace, for that desire leads us to the tree which led glad
Christ to say, 'Eli,' when He made us free with his blood." (XXIII, 71).
The avaricious confess "so long as it shall be the pleasure of the just
Lord, so long shall we lie here motionless and outstretched" (XIX, 125).
Among the envious, Guida del Duca prays Dante to continue his journey
instead of stopping to interrogate him, for he himself "delights far
more to weep than to talk" (XIV, 125). The slothful in their eagerness
not to interrupt their diligence in penance, by their conversing with
Virgil, entreat him not to ascribe this attitude to discourtesy, "We
are so filled with desire to speed on" they tell the poets "that stay we
cannot, therefore forgive if thou hold our penance for rudeness."
(XVIII, 115).

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