19. Virgil's (Mis)Understanding Of The Harrowing Of Hell: INFERNO, Canto IV, Lines 46 - 84
Our pilgrim and Virgil begin to walk across Limbo, surely the largest surface in hell because it’s the uppermost ring. In fact, at first it's like a plain or maybe a large campo in an Italian town.
Dante has got questions. And Virgil has got answers. Sometimes, the two match. And sometimes, the answers raise more questions than they solve.
Mostly because Virgil has no clue about Christian theology. He’s the strangest guide in this most Christian of poems.
Maybe we can also hear a bit of elegy in Virgil's voice. Maybe he's stuck in a place he never thought he'd be.
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The segments of this episode of WALKING WITH DANTE:
[01:06] My English translation of this passage from INFERNO, Canto IV, lines 46 - 84. If you’d like to read along, find a more intense study guide, or continue the conversation with me through a comment, please scroll down this page.
[03:59] The pilgrim wants to be firm in his faith. But why does this Christian figure need a classical poet to make him firm in his faith?
[08:06] Virgil recounts Jesus' descent into hell. An intriguing passage: a bit of Christian doctrine as seen through the eyes (the eye-witness eyes!) of a classical poet.
[13:06] A light that overcomes the hell's darkness? How's that possible?
[16:32] The ambivalence goes off the rails: honored people, grace from and in heaven, the highest poet--yet all this among the damned.
My English translation of INFERNO, Canto IV, 46 – 84:
“Tell me, my master, tell me, sir,”
I began because I wanted to be certain
Of the faith that conquers all error,
“Did anyone, either by their own merit
Or someone else’s, ever get out of here to be made blessed?”
He fully understood the true meaning of what I said.
So he replied, “I was new to this state of being
When I saw a powerful entity come down here
Crowned with the symbols of victory.
“He pulled out the shade of our first parent,
Also the shade of Abel and that of Noah,
As well as that of Moses, the law-giver and obedient one,
“And the patriarch Abraham and King David,
Israel with his father and sons,
And Rachel, for whom he did everything,
And lots of others—he made all these blessed.
Before these, I want you to know,
No human soul was ever saved.”
We didn’t stop walking while he spoke
But went through all of the forest—
A forest, I mean, of gathered souls.
We had not gone on our way very long
From where I’d slept, when I saw a fire
Rising triumphant over the hemisphere of darkness.
We were still a little ways off
But close enough that I could partly discern
The worthy people who possessed this place.
“O you who honor knowledge and art,
Who are these whose honor is so great
That is sets them apart from the rest?”
And he to me, “Their honored fame,
That sounds around you in your life up above,
Wins them grace in heaven, which then puts them forward here.”
As he finished I heard a voice saying,
“Honor the highest poet,
His shade left and has come back.”
After the voice had finished and fallen silent,
I saw four great shades coming toward us
With an appearance neither sad nor happy.
FOR MORE STUDY
Two translation issues:
Let’s look at how Virgil sees Jesus when the latter descends into hell. Beginning at line 52, Virgil says, “Io era nuovo in questo stato/ quando ci vidi venire un possente . . . “ (literally, “I was new in this state/ when here I see come a power”). First off, even before we get to any translation issues, look at that opening line. It’s practically in modern Italian! Could you say the same for any line from Chaucer in modern English? Okay, so on to the first problem: “un possente.” If you know Romance languages, you can probably see the verbal for “can” or “is able to” lurking in this noun. Virgil saw someone who can do what he will do, who has all the ability to do as he likes. In fact, that might be a better translation: “I saw the embodiment of possibility come.” And how does this guy look? “Con segno di vittoria coronato” (literally, “with signs of victory crowned”). What signs would Jesus have? Not a crown. He hasn’t been resurrected yet. Would Virgil understand the crown of thorns as a symbol of Jesus’s “victory”? It’s doubtful. And the word “segno” is quite open-ended. Signs must be interpreted. In fact, “signs” have to be interpreted before they can even be considered “signs.” So what exactly does Virgil see?
The lines about the poets approaching Virgil and the pilgrim are loaded. Virgil starts out by claiming they have “l’ornata nominanza” (“honor named” or “honor attributed,” line 76). He then goes onto see that “lor suona” (“their sounds”—notice the emphasis on the auditory) are known “sù nel la tua vita” (“above in your life”). It’s intriguing that Virgil personalizes it. Your life, Dante, not just anyone’s life. And what does this attributed honor do? It gains them “graziä . . . in ciel” (“grace in heaven”) that “sì li avanza” (“advances them in such a way”). It’s that word “grace.” Here’s the problem. Modern Christians of almost any stripe now define grace based on Calvin, Luther, and the Protestant Reformation: grace = “unmerited favor.” But the word doesn’t necessarily carry that “unmerited” idea in and of itself. Instead, it’s more connected with favor . . . as in courtly favors. Think about it in English in terms of calling royalty “your grace.” That’s closer to Dante’s reference for the word. Heaven advances them by the behest of its court’s wishes. And yet they’re damned? You can see that this passage is tough to render into English in the complexity Dante leaves it.
Two interpretive issues:
When the four classical sages approach our pilgrim, they’re called “grand’ ombre” (“great shades”—line 83). That wording already sounds like a contradiction. A mere shade is no great shakes, yet “grand” is quite an adjective for it. I suppose the real question behind this curious contradiction is whether you can have some damned better off than others? The answer is partially “yes,” given that you can certainly have some damned worse off than others. In other words, there’s a sliding scale of bad and we’re nowhere near its bottom in Limbo. But in truth, we’re not talking about “better” or “worse” as a function of their punishment or even their deeds. We’re talking about “better” and “worse” as moral concepts . . . and does that make any sense in hell? If you go back to lines 72 - 80, you’ll see five variations on the word “honor” close together (“orrevol” at line 72, “onori” at line 73, “onranza” at line 74, “onrata” at line 76, and “onorate” at line 80). Some commentators have even seen a heightening of the word over these lines: from the colloquial “orrevol” to the Latinate “onorate.” Also, Dante is using a Latin-root word that connects directly to integrity (as opposed to other Latin words that have similar meanings like “dignitas” or “virtus”). So yes, “honorable” as in “morally superior.” But again, does that make any sense in hell? Is this an instance of the poet’s struggle to maintain his reverence for the classical world? Or does the poet gloss over the contradictions I think I see lying right on top of the text in favor of what we might call “awe”?
The pilgrim has a question to begin this ambivalent passage (or ambivalent at least in my interpretation of it). And he asks this question to correct a possible “errore” (“error”—line 48). Not just a doubt or a quibble; something outright false. The pilgrim then phrases the question in a strange way: “uscicci mai alcuna, o per suo merto or per altrui . . .” (literally, “exit then anyone, whether through their merit or another’s . . .”). Whose merit could get you out of hell? And could you ever climb out of hell by your own merit? And not just climb out but finally “fosse beato” (“be made blessed”—line 50). There are several interpretive knots here. Is the pilgrim so backward in his theology that he really doesn’t know that once you’re in hell, you’re in it forever? Is he merely expressing a faint hope in this first circle of hell, holding on to the idea that maybe things aren’t so bad here? (If so, the poet Dante is giving us a nice glimpse into the pilgrim’s complex emotional interiority.) Or is the poet in the background actually wondering this very thing? And is the poet then offering us a glimpse of Virgil “beato”? (I mean, no, Virgil isn’t among the blessed, but just by bringing it up we can sort of see how it might. . . .) As I said in the episode, I used to find the pilgrim’s question ham-handed because it’s so confusing. Is the pilgrim really that dim? But the more I look at and think about this passage, the more I think it reflects back on itself in incredible complexity. (Or does it?)
One journaling prompt:
Even if you don’t hold to Christian theology, who would you hate to see damned? I don’t mean this as a general question about your level of compassion for humanity. I mean it specifically. Who have you met, read, or heard, in this or any other period of history, who you couldn’t bear to see lost for eternity?