INFERNO, Episode 18. Limbo Explained Theologically and Historically
Limbo is Dante's first donnybrook, his first beef with Christian theology in THE DIVINE COMEDY. He changes church doctrine. Because he's Dante.
Read MoreLimbo is Dante's first donnybrook, his first beef with Christian theology in THE DIVINE COMEDY. He changes church doctrine. Because he's Dante.
Read MoreVirgil leads Dante home--to Virgil's home, that is. To Limbo, the place where babies sigh. Virgil also offers a theology of Limbo. But is it believable?
Read MoreCharon's off at his job. Virgil's gotten suddenly kinder. And Dante? He's not in good shape, standing on the shore of the river that borders hell.
Read MoreThe shore of hell! Here comes Charon and his boat. Here are the damned, waiting to cross. And here are Virgil and Dante, having a spat.
Read MoreThe first bit of hell we see is the hell we've always wanted, a sadist's dream. Except what's being punished? The failure to make up your mind.
Read MoreDante and Virgil arrive at hell's gate. Virgil's response is certainly strange. A cheerful look? Stranger still, those words over the gate. Abandon hope!
Read MoreVirgil has bested Dante. He's given him purpose and hope. And Beatrice has given desire and rhetoric. He needs nothing else to set off across the cosmos.
Read MoreVirgil and Beatrice are at war! Well, not really. A war of words. Rhetoric. They have to use language to get what they want. Like Dante, both poet and pilgrim. Who’s also strangely missing from this scene in THE DIVINE COMEDY.
Curiouser and curiouser, Alice. We’re headed down the rabbit hole.
Join me, Mark Scarbrough, as I take a look at the next-to-the-last passage in Canto II of Dante’s INFERNO. Walk with us. We’re just headed across the universe.
Here’s my rough English translation of the passage for his episode:
Inferno Canto II: 76 – 114
“Lady of virtue, through whom alone
Humankind goes beyond what is contained
In the smallest circle of heaven,
Your command pleases me so much
That instant obedience would seem tardy.
You have to do no more than reveal your desire.
But tell me the reason you don’t guard yourself
When you descend to this central point
From the expansive place where you long to be?”
“’Since you have such a deep yearning to know,’
She replied, “I will briefly tell you
Why I am not afraid to come here.
“’You should fear only those things
That have the power to harm you. Other things, not so much.
Those don’t cause fear.
“’I am made by God, by his grace,
So that your pain doesn’t touch me,
Nor can I these flames hurt me.
“’In heaven, there is a gracious lady,
Moved with a great deal of pity for the one I’m sending you to—
In fact, firm decrees have been broken by her.
“’This lady summoned Lucy and said,
“’”Your faithful one now needs you,
And I turn him over to your hand.”
“Lucy, the enemy of all cruelty,
Got up and came to where I sat
With the ancient Rachel,
“’And said, ”Beatrice, truly praiseworthy of God,
Why do you not aid the one
Who left the common crowd because of his full love for you.
“’”Do you not hear his sorrowful anguish
Or see how he is beset by death
In a flood that swells larger than the sea?”
“’No one on earth was ever so fast
To gain an advantage or escape from loss
As I was when those words were spoken.
“’I came down here from my blessed throne,
Placing my trust in your noble [or virtuous] speech
Which honors you and everyone who pays attention to it.’”
Virgil is not going to put up with Dante’s alleged self-doubt! The old poet is going to change the terms of the debate. (Or how’s this? Classical literature is going to change the terms of the medieval debate—hello, the Renaissance.)
In this passage from Canto II, Virgil knocks some sense into Dante-the-pilgrim (and maybe Dante-the-poet, too). And he does so by bringing Beatrice into COMEDY for the first time.
Beatrice: the love of Dante’s life. She comes on the scene in the second canto of INFERNO. Dante’s journey isn’t just willed by God or controlled by classical poetry or justified by epic or Biblical characters. No, the journey is instigated by love, that human ideal, that human passion, that human failing, that human triumph.
Join me, Mark Scarbrough, for this slow walk across the cosmos, a passage-by-passage exploration of Dante’s COMEDY (or THE DIVINE COMEDY, as others are wont to call it). Canto II of INFERNO is about the important business that has to go down in this passage before we can get fully underway.
Here’s my rough English translation of the passage. If you want to get serious, get a facing page translation with the medieval Tuscan on one side and the English on the other, such as Stanley Lombardo’s excellent translation of INFERNO.
“If I fully understand your words,”
Replied that shade of that great one [Virgil],
“Your spirit is struck with cowardice,
“Which so often constrains a man
That he turns back from his honorable business,
Like an animal that shies away when darkness falls.
“To free yourself from this fear, I will tell you
Why I came and what I heard
When I first felt your sorrow.
“I was with those who are suspended
When a lady called me, so blessed and beautiful
That I begged her to command me.
“Her eyes beamed brighter than the morning star,
And when she started in with her gentle and soft words,
Like an angel’s voice, she told me:
“’O courteous Mantuan spirit,
Whose fame endures in the world,
And will endure while the world lasts,
“’My friend, not the friend of fortune,
Is so blocked on a barren slope
That he has turned back because of fear.
“’From what I hear of him in heaven
I am afraid he has so lost his way
That I have risen too late to help him.
“’Get going, and with your ornate words
And anything else you need for his deliverance,
Help him, so that I may be consoled.
“’I am Beatrice, who sends you out—
I am come from where I desire to return.
Love moved me and makes me speak.
“’When I am again before my lord,
I will often praise you to him.’
She fell silent, and then I [Virgil] started off by saying. . . .”
And we’re off . . . or we’re at a dead halt! Dante-the-pilgrim sets off only to stop himself. He’s full of self-doubt. He doesn’t know why he should walk across the universe. (And maybe behind it all, Dante-the-poet isn’t quite sure why he should write this poem.) He needs reassurance—from Virgil, a classical poet and a fellow writer, someone who’s been around the block of long-form poetry already!
Dante-the-pilgrim offers two examples of people who’ve walked into the afterlife: Aeneas and Saint Paul. Both of these appear far more “worthy.” And listen, with one finished work and a couple of uncompleted treatises under his belt, as well as a sheaf of lyric poems and longer canzoni (ballad-like poems), our poet truly isn’t at a place in his career for this journey.
Join me, Mark Scarbrough, as I explore this moment of self-doubt, expressed in the pilgrim, maybe felt by the poet. There’s more afoot here than you might realize. The pilgrim (and maybe the poet) is also engaged in rhetorical warfare with Virgil, maybe to best the old poet, or maybe to see if Dante’s up to snuff for the journey ahead.
Here’s my English translation of the opening passage from Inferno, Canto II. If you’d like to see a more scholarly translation, check out the one by Stanley Lombardo or by Robert and Jean Hollander.
INFERNO, Canto II, Lines 1 – 42:
The day was waning, and the darkening air
Was freeing the creatures who live on earth
From their labors. I alone was left
To get myself ready for the coming war—
That is, of the journey and the sorrow—
Which unerring memory will retrace.
O Muses, O high genius, help me now.
O Memory, that already wrote what I saw,
Your nobility will here become apparent.
I began like this: “Poet, my guide,
Consider if my strength is powerful enough
Before you trust me to the deep passage.
You say that Silvius’s father,
While still corrupted, went
To the immortal regions with his senses intact.
Listen: that the adversary of all evil
Showed him such favor—given who and what he was,
And even the high effect that came from him—
Seems perfectly right to a man of intellect.
For he had been chosen in the Empyrean
To be the father of mother Rome and her empire.
Both of these, to tell you the truth,
Were established to serve as the sacred location
Where Saint Peter’s successors have their throne.
On this journey, which you affirm he made,
He came to know things that moved him to win
And set up things for the papal mantle.
Next, the chosen vessel went there
To bring back the confirmation of our faith,
The first thing on the way to salvation.
But I? Why should I go there? Who permits it?
I am not Aeneas. I am not Paul.
Neither I nor anyone else deigns me worthy.
And so, if I do let go of myself and come with you,
I fear the venture may turn out to be madness.
You are wise. You understand what I’m trying to say.”
And as such a one who unwills what he’s willed,
Changing his mind because of new thoughts,
So that he pulls back from what he’s begun,
Just so was I on that dark slope—
With too much thinking, I’d stopped
What I’d begun.
This episode is an interpolated one. I promised some of these from the start of this podcast. It’s a chance to see Canto I in its trajectory, strangeness, and interpretive “knottedness.”
Join me, Mark Scarbrough, as I offer a bit about the shape of the plot and the mechanics of the poetry. I want you to see how the language lies (even if we’re reading the poem in English, not in medieval Florentine). In other words, I want to get away from the passages, the fragments of the canto, and take it as one big gulp of poetry.
I also want to fill you in on some of the poetics of the COMEDY. This may seem inordinately technical to some, but it helps you understand the way the COMEDY is put together. Mostly, it helps you understand the almost epic task Dante-the-poet set for himself. He created a new poetic form, standardized a Tuscan dialect, wrote in an unbelievably complicated system of rhythm and rhyme, AND (not yet but soon) began to make up words because there were none to fit what he wanted to say. See: the greatest work to date of Western culture. Hands down.
The end is nigh! Or at least the end of the first canto of INFERNO, the first canticle of Dante’s COMEDY. Join me, Mark Scarbrough, as I explore possibly the strangest part of this already strange canto: Virgil’s prophecies of the future—not only Dante’s future, but all of Italy’s, and maybe the world’s future, too, a glimpse of the Last Judgment, right here at the start of COMEDY.
Many readers have seen the first canto of INFERNO as actually the opening canto of the entire poem. And no wonder! So much goes on: from fear to beasts, from loneliness to haunting, to a pilgrim with no past to one with a foretold future. How much can Dante-the-poet cram into this canto? As much as Dante-the-pilgrim can withstand.
And maybe there’s another point, too. Maybe the poet wants this canto chock full of material to slow his readers down, to indicate that this poem will not be an easy ride, that we have to give it time to settle.
That’s what I want to do: slow-walk through Dante’s COMEDY. I think it’s what the poet wanted. And I think the poem demands it.
Here’s my English translation of the passage from the medieval Tuscan. If you want to have a more scholarly English translation, check out that by Robert and Jean Hollander or that by Stanley Lombardo.
INFERNO, Canto 1, Lines 97 - 136:
[Virgil continues:] “Her [the she-wolf’s] nature is so violent and insane
That her greedy hunger is never satisfied.
Once fed, she’s hungrier than ever!
“Many are the animals with which she mates,
And there will be even more, until the greyhound will come
Who will put her to a pain-filled death.
“He will not feed on land or wealth
But on wisdom, love, and virtue.
His birthplace is between Feltro and Feltro.
“He will be the salving of humble Italy
For which the virgin Camilla died,
As well as Euryalus, Turnus, and Nisus.
“He will hunt the beast in every little village
Until he sends her back to hell,
That place where envy first let her loose.
“Therefore, I think it’s wise and discerning
For you to follow me and I will be your guide,
And lead you from here to an eternal place
“Where you will hear the wailing of despair
And see the ancient souls in torment
Who eternally lament their second death.
“And then you’ll see the souls who are content
In the fire, because they hope to get to come among,
Whenever it may be, the blessed people.
“If you want to ascend to these,
There will be a soul more worthy than I.
I’ll leave you with her when I depart.
“For the emperor who sits on high
Has decided that I, who was a rebel against his law,
Should not ever get to come into his city.
“In every part he reigns and also rules.
There is his city and his high seat.
Happy is the one who he chooses to be there!”
And I to him, “Poet, I beg you,
By this God who you do not know,
In orde that I can get out of his evil and even worse,
“Lead me to the place you’ve described
So that I may see Saint Peter’s Gate,
And the ones you say are filled with sorrow.”
Then he started off, and I went behind him.
Dante is saved! (Or at least, momentarily saved.) And by none other than the great Roman poet Virgil, author of THE AENEID, the old poet Dante calls “my master.”
Catch up with Dante on his journey, a walk that almost ended just as it got underway, but that has to be redirected by, well, classical poetry—and by a classical poet, Dante’s “author,” Virgil.
Join me, Mark Scarbrough, as Virgil arrives on the scene, not as the allegory of human reason (as he’s often seen), but Virgil with all his Virgil-ness in tow. He may not be all he’s cracked up to be. Or maybe he’s more than how he’s usually portrayed. He’s often seen as the allegory of reason. But what if Virgil is more than that? What if he’s a human—damned, yes, but human, fallible, a little insecure, a little preening, a great poet, and a bit of a windbag.
If you’re new to this podcast, go back to episode 1, down this blog. You can start on the walk and come along with us. It is one giant story, after all. Best to start at the beginning.
Otherwise, drop in here.
Here’s my rough English translation that I used on this episode (INFERNO, Canto 1, Lines 67 - 96):
“Not a man,” he replied, “though I once was a man,
And my parents were Lombards,
Both with Mantua as their homeland.
“I was born sub Julio, although it was late,
And I lived in Rome under good Augustus
In the period of the false and lying gods.
I was a poet, and sang of that just
Son of Anchises who came from Troy
After proud Ilium was burned up.
“But you, why are you going back to all that sorrow?
Why aren’t you climbing this delightful mountain,
Which is the source and cause of every joy?”
“Wait, are you Virgil, the great fount
That opens out into a big expanse of language?”
I bowed my head in shame when I answered him.
“O glory and light of all the other poets,
Let my long studies and great love pay off,
All that I’ve done ever since I searched inside your volume.
“You are my master, you are my author.
I got the beautiful style from you
That has won me such honor.
“Look at the beast that made me turn back.
Save me from her, famous sage,
For she makes my veins and pulse quiver.”
“You must commit to another road,”
He answered when he saw me start to cry,
“If you want to get out of this savage place.
“The beast that makes you to wail
Doesn’t let anyone get by that way.
She will set upon you until she kills you.”
Dante, our pilgrim, is underway! Except not really. As we’ve established, he sets out to go the way he already knows. It’s naturally the way he’d choose. It looks right. It’s lit up by the sun.
But he’s limping. Oh, and there are three beasts in the way. A lion, a leopard, and a she-wolf! They block his way and send him falling back to the scary place, the dark wood.
And then it gets weirder yet, as a shade, a ghost, a presence, something wild materializes in front of our pilgrim.
Join me, Mark Scarbrough, as we start to climb a hill with our pilgrim, as we find our first complex allegory in the poet’s poem, and as we discover the beginnings of the beautiful poetry that makes COMEDY so compelling.
If you’re tuning in for the first time, it’s best to find the first episode (scroll or page down) and start there. You gotta walk with the pilgrim. And you gotta get going in the wrong direction with him. All before you can head in the right direction with him. In other words, down to hell.
Here’s my rough English translation from the medieval Tuscan. Look for more scholarly translations if you’re interested, particularly those from the Hollanders or from Stanley Lombardo.
After I rested my tired body a little,
I continued my way along the deserted slope,
So that my firmer foot was always the lower one.
Then look out! Near the beginning of the climb
A leopard, light and very fast,
Covered with a spotted coat,
Refused to get out of my face
But so blocked my way at every turn,
That again and again I had to go back.
The time was early morning,
And the sun was rising with those stars
That shone with it when divine love
First set in motion all those gorgeous things.
Because of the hour of the day and the sweet season,
I still held on to hope,
Despite the beast with the gaudy pelt.
But then I was struck with fear
At the sight of a lion that appeared.
He looked as if he was coming right at me,
His head held high with insane hunger
So that the air seemed to tremble at him.
What’s more, a she-wolf, so emaciated
That she seemed stricken with every kind of craving
That had made many to live in wretchedness,
Threw such a heavy weight of terror over me,
Terror that overwhelmed me at the sight of her,
That I lost all hope of getting up that hill.
And like someone who eagerly counts his gains
But weeps and gets sad
When the time comes for him to lose,
So did that restless beast make me feel—
Coming against me, little by little,
Driving me back to where the sun was silent.
While I was falling down the slope toward a low spot,
A figure presented itself before my eyes,
Someone who seemed barely perceptible in that long silence.
When I saw him in that vast wilderness,
I cried out to him “Miserere on me,
No matter what you are, either shade or true man!”
And we’re moving on to the first steps in our journey across the universe with the pilgrim (who’s got the same name as the poet, Dante). Problem is, we’re all headed in the wrong direction!
What happens when you set out to walk out of what’the hell in your life? If you’re not careful, you just repeat what you know. You just go the way you understand. You don’t headed anywhere new. In other words, you’re moving and stuck, all at once.
Join me, Mark Scarbrough, as we take the first steps with Dante, our pilgrim. We’re headed to the predictable, not to the gorgeous, wide universe that is all before us.
Here’s my English translation of these lines of INFERNO, Canto 1, lines 10 - 27:
I cannot rightly say how I got there,
I was so full of sleep at the moment
When I abandoned the true way.
But when I got to the foot of a hill
Where the valley ended
That had pierced my heart with fear,
I looked high up and saw its shoulders
Bathed in the rays of that planet
That leads all of us straight along every path.
Then the fear in the lake of my heart was calmed,
The fear that had lasted all the night
That I had spent in distress.
And as someone with belabored breath
Who has gotten out of the deep and to the shore
Then looks back at the perilous water
So my mind, still fleeing,
Turned back to look once more at the pass
No one has ever left alive.
In this episode of the podcast WALKING WITH DANTE, join me, Mark Scarbrough, as I delve into the life of the man who imagined and wrote this incredible walk across the known universe known now as “The Divine Comedy” (although he only called it “Comedy”).
We won’t cover any lines from the poem in this episode. Rather, we’ll touch on the historical context of the poem. We’ll go back to the early 1200s, to the struggles among the Holy Roman Empire, the Papal See, and the French crown for control of not only Florence but a big swath of the Italian peninsula. And we’ll bring that story up to our poet and through his death in 1321.
I’ll offer a rough chronology of Dante’s life. I hope you’ll come to see that nothing could have prepared us for the fact that this poet could, would, and did write the greatest work (to date!) of Western culture.
And we’re off. The opening lines of, well, the greatest work of Western literature (to date, if you must).
Here’s how it starts: a dark wood, a man alone, and a mid-life crisis—except not his, but ours.
Join me, Mark Scarbrough, as we take the first steps on the podcast WALKING WITH DANTE and discover that the journey starts in a place that seems unimaginable but that really has roots in literary traditions all the way back to Genesis in the Bible.
Here’s my rough English translation of the opening lines:
In the middle of the journey of our life
I found myself in a dark wood
For the straight way was lost.
Ah, how hard it is to say what
That wood was, so savage and gnarled and hard
That such a thought brings back my fear.
It is so bitter that death is hardly more so—
But to discuss the good I found there
I will tell the other things I saw.
Join me for this short, introductory episode for the podcast WALKING WITH DANTE. I’ll give you the lay of the land and ways to map the journey ahead. It’s only a stroll across the known universe. Bring a walking stick.