After being lectured by the great Eagle, Dante turns to Beatrice. But she is not smiling, and she explains that the higher they climb into the heavens the more beautiful she becomes. Thus, she tells Dante, were she to smile at him now he would burn to ashes! No sooner is this explanation given than they reach the sphere of Saturn. Looking around, Dante sees a great golden ladder reaching into the heavens beyond his sight. On this ladder countless luminous saints are seen coming down to greet them. One lighted spirit in particular comes toward Dante, and he is anxious to question it but he waits for Beatrice to give him permission to speak. Dante has two questions: why did this particular spirit approach him, and why is there no music here? The spirit tells Dante that there is no music for the same reason that Beatrice is not smiling. As for his approaching Dante, the spirit tells him it was simply to welcome him. But Dante still wants to know why this spirit was chosen. Happy to be questioned, the spirit tells Dante that he is asking questions even those in Heaven have no answer to. Dante settles for a third question – wanting at least to know the identity of this spirit. He identifies himself as Peter Damian, a holy monk and later a cardinal. Peter finishes by making several nasty jabs at modern Church officials. Now even more spirits come down the great ladder. They gather around Dante and let out a shout louder than thunder!
(To read a footnote, click the number in the text. To come back from a footnote, click the up arrow at the note number.)
Once again I turned to look at the face of my lovely Beatrice, and seeing her I thought of nothing else. But she was not smiling this time. “If I were to smile at you now,” she said, “you would become like Semele who, when she looked at Jupiter, she burned to ashes! As you have already witnessed, with every step of this celestial palace we climb, the power of my beauty becomes such that, if it were not tempered, it would strike you like a bolt of lightning shattering the branches of a great tree.[1]With the dialogue between the Great Eagle and Dante now concluded, the Poet turns to look at Beatrice as they rise to the next sphere. Though not smiling, she is still incredibly beautiful to look … Continue reading Look how we have risen to the seventh splendor of these heavens which moves in harmony with the stars of the great Lion whose light mingles with his power and shines down upon the earth. Keep your mind attentive now and make mirrors of your eyes to catch sight of what will soon appear to you within the mirrors of this place.”[2]While Beatrice has been warning Dante about her smile, they have been rising upward from the sphere of Jupiter to that of Saturn. Saturn marks the transition point between the lower planetary spheres … Continue reading If you knew the joy I experienced in looking at her lovely face, you would also know how happy I was to obey her command to look away when she asked me to.
Then, within this crystalline sphere of Saturn, named after that good king in whose earthly realm there was no evil, I saw a great ladder the color of brilliant gold stretching into the sky beyond my sight. And more than that, coming down along its shimmering steps I saw so many splendid lights that I thought every star in the heavens was pouring down its glorious beams![3]Although all the spheres in the Cosmos are crystalline, Dante specifically calls the planet Saturn a “crystalline sphere” because it was traditionally known as a cold planet. The reference here … Continue reading
Just as crows, following their instincts, fly together at dawn to warm their wings in the sunshine – some flying away, some returning where they started, and others just circling about – so here around that heavenly ladder there was a great sparkling movement of spirits as they settled on a particular step.[4]As we have seen throughout the Paradiso, souls of the blessèd in the Empyrean (here likened to birds) come to meet and welcome Dante at this particular stop on his way upward. The image of crows … Continue reading Then one of those luminous spirits near us began to glow even more brightly, and I said to myself: “Clearly I see the love you have for me. However, my teacher here, who instructs me when to speak and not speak, remains silent; so, though I wish to speak, I will withhold my question.”
But then Beatrice, who saw this silence of mine in the vision of Him who sees all things, said to me softly: “Go ahead now, put your deep desire into words.”[5]What Dante speaks to himself in his thoughts he clearly knows will be “heard” by the brightly shining spirit near him (and by Beatrice, who probably smiles, but inwardly).There is a clever … Continue reading
And so I began: “I realize that I myself am not worthy to have you answer my question, but since she who is my guide gives me leave, I ask you to tell me, O blessèd spirit, resplendent in your holy joy, please let me know what made you approach me just now? And why is it that the sweet symphony of Paradise is silent here but resounds gloriously everywhere else in this realm?”[6]Note the humility in Dante’s first spoken words to the as-yet-unnamed spirit. His “I am not worthy” statement places him on the first rung of the Golden Ladder, as it were, the rung of … Continue reading
“Like your sight, your hearing is mortal,” that shining soul replied. “There is no music here for the same reason that your Beatrice does not smile. I simply came down here to welcome you with the words and light that wrap my soul in heavenly joy. It wasn’t a stronger love that urged me to come down to you, for great love and even more flames forth among those glowing souls you see up there. Each of us is assigned to his task by the depths of His charity that governs the world.”[7]The soul that came to Dante answers his second question first. There is no music at the Sphere of Saturn for the same reason that Beatrice doesn’t smile: Dante is simply not ready to hear it. Like … Continue reading
“O sacred lamp,” I replied, “it is clear to me that in this hallowed realm a love that is completely free gladly obeys the call of Providence. What I find difficult to understand, however, is why you, among such a great host of souls, were predestined to welcome me.”[8]Dante indicates here that he understands that the freely-given love shown by the souls in Paradise (this one in particular) has no other motivation, no other source, but Divine Providence. This … Continue reading
Even before I had finished speaking that wondrous light began to turn like a millstone at full speed, spinning within its own luminous self. It was that soul’s own love that spoke to me then: “The Eternal Splendor of God shines upon me and its light mingles with the light that enfolds me within itself. The power of this light fusing with my own sight raises me to such heights that I can see its Primal Source. Such sight leads me to burn with divine joy, matching the brilliance of my flame with the clarity of my vision.[9]The image of the millstone evokes not only its size and weight, but also its purpose: to grind exceedingly fine. At the same time, though these great stone wheels usually move rather slowly, this one … Continue reading Yet you must understand that not even the most exalted soul in Heaven, nor the Seraph who looks directly into the face of God, could ever answer the question you asked me. What you seek to know is so deep within the laws of this place that no creature could ever see it.[10]Commentators note that the most exalted soul in Heaven is the Virgin Mary, mother of Jesus. And the Seraphim are the highest of the nine orders of angels. Even they could never answer Dante’s … Continue reading And this is a moral you must teach the world when you return, so that no one will presume they can reach such an impossible goal. The mind that shines in this place is but a smoldering wick on earth, so how could an earthly mind hope to fathom what even we in Heaven cannot know?”[11]In the end, the ecstatic spirit gives Dante a message for the rest of us when he returns to earth: Don’t think that you can see into the mind of God. Robert Hollander puts it this way in his … Continue reading
Hearing this, I laid my question aside and satisfied myself by humbly asking him who he was. In reply, he told me: “Between Italy’s two shores rises a mountainous region called Catria, not far from your city. In that rugged place there is a monastery whose holy monks devoted themselves solely to the praise of God. The service of God was all I lived for when I was there. I ate simple foods and bore both heat and cold patiently as I spent my time in contemplation. In its day, that secluded cloister produced a great harvest of souls for these heavens. But now its barrenness will soon be made manifest to the world. My name was Peter Damian – Peter the Sinner when I lived along the Adriatic at the monastery of Our Lady.[12]At last, we learn the identity of the speaker, St. Peter Damian. Interestingly, he was never formally canonized, but has been revered as a Saint since his death in 1073. In 1828 he was named a Doctor … Continue reading
“When I was an old man, I was called by the Pope to wear the red hat of a cardinal which, nowadays, seems more and more to be worn by men who flout the Gospel. In their day, Saints Peter and Paul walked barefooted and ate what they received from others. Today, your shameless shepherds need help on all sides to guide them and hold up their butts because they are so stuffed with food! Their capes and copes are so long they cover the entire horse they ride – two enclothed beasts appearing to move as one! Heavenly Patience – what you have to endure!”[13]Dante seems to be mistaken here about Peter being an old man when he was made a Cardinal. Though he strongly resisted the office, Pope Stephen IX elevated him to this position in 1057 when he was 50. … Continue reading
When this holy Saint finished speaking, I saw even more glorious flames coming down the great ladder. Whirling from step to step they grew more beautiful with every turn. They surrounded the light of Peter and stopped there. Then, all of a sudden that heavenly crowd let out a shout the likes of which has never been heard on earth. So thunderous was it that I could only make out a few words.[14]In righteous indignation, it would seem, countless flaming spirits whirl their way down the great Golden Ladder to join Peter Damian in a great shout of affirmation for his apostrophe against his … Continue reading
Notes & Commentary
| ↑1 | With the dialogue between the Great Eagle and Dante now concluded, the Poet turns to look at Beatrice as they rise to the next sphere. Though not smiling, she is still incredibly beautiful to look at, and Dante can think of nothing else. Immediately, though, she gives him a severe warning of an unexpected danger: if she were to smile now, Dante would be burned to ashes like Semele when she beheld Jupiter in the full glory of his godhead. The story of Semele is told in Ovid’s Metamorphoses III, 256-315. She was one of Jupiter’s lovers, and he promised to give her whatever she asked. Juno, his wife, took vengeance on Semele by assuming the form of her nurse and suggesting that she ask Jupiter to come to her in his full glory, which she did. Jupiter, realizing that such a request would kill her, warns her about the danger of what she asked. Hoping to spare her, he clothes himself with less than the full force of his power; but arrayed even this way, Semele was burned to ashes when she saw him. It’s not difficult to see here the similarity between Jupiter and Semele, on the one hand, and Beatrice and Dante on the other. In the context of their journey upward through the Cosmos, Dante has grown significantly, but he is still not strong enough to withstand the full force of celestial vision. As they move closer to the Empyrean, the abode of God, Beatrice’s smile amplifies her beauty because she, like all the Saints in Paradise, is always seeing God face to face. Dante is not yet ready withstand such glory. But, unlike the unfortunate Semele, Beatrice’s warning fully protects Dante from a fiery death. |
|---|---|
| ↑2 | While Beatrice has been warning Dante about her smile, they have been rising upward from the sphere of Jupiter to that of Saturn. Saturn marks the transition point between the lower planetary spheres and those beyond the planets. Saturn was also in conjunction with the constellation Leo in the Spring of 1300, the date during which the Poem takes place. During this time, the cold light of Saturn was thought to mingle with the warmer radiance of Leo, with its brightest star, Regulus, to cast its influence upon the earth. The image of mirrors here first calls to mind that everything and everyone in Paradise are mirrors which reflect the divine effulgence of God. Beatrice urges Dante to be attentive to everything he will see and experience here so that it can be reflected inwardly, as it were, from his eyes to his mind. John S. Carroll takes us further into this passage in his commentary here: “In plain words, Dante is conscious that even now he sees nothing ‘face to face,’ but only ‘through a glass darkly,’ to quote from St. Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians (13:12). What he has power to see is the reflection of a reflection from one mirror to another. Nay, even this is an understatement. We must remember that this sphere of Saturn is presided over by the Thrones, the third Order of Angels, and that in Par. IX: 61-63 Dante expressly calls them ‘mirrors,’ reflecting the Divine judgments to all spheres from this downward. Hence we have a succession of mirrors: the mirror of the Thrones sends an image of the Divine truth into the mirror of Saturn; the mirror of Saturn reflects it to the mirror of the Poet’s eyes; and finally, the mirror of the eyes reflects it to the mind behind the eyes.” |
| ↑3 | Although all the spheres in the Cosmos are crystalline, Dante specifically calls the planet Saturn a “crystalline sphere” because it was traditionally known as a cold planet. The reference here is also to the god Saturn as the father of the gods and king of Crete during the mythical Golden Age, marked by peace and justice. The entire spectacular scene that now unfolds is based directly on the story of Jacob’s Ladder in the Book of Genesis (28:10-17): “Jacob departed from Beer-sheba and proceeded toward Haran. When he came upon a certain place, he stopped there for the night, since the sun had already set. Taking one of the stones at the place, he put it under his head and lay down in that place. Then he had a dream: a stairway rested on the ground, with its top reaching to the heavens; and God’s angels were going up and down on it. And there was the Lord standing beside him and saying: ‘I am the Lord, the God of Abraham your father and the God of Isaac; the land on which you are lying I will give to you and your descendants….I will never leave you until I have done what I promised you.’ When Jacob awoke from his sleep, he said, ‘Truly, the Lord is in this place and I did not know it!’ He was afraid and said: ‘How awesome this place is! This is nothing else but the house of God, the gateway to heaven!’” Jacob’s closing acclamation is appropriate here at Saturn because, as noted earlier, this is the transition place between the planetary spheres and the higher realms of Paradise and, as such, a “gateway to heaven.” That the ladder is “the color of brilliant gold” amplifies it’s heavenly nature. In icons and other religious art, the gold background always represents Heaven. At Mars, Dante was greeted by the great Cross of Spirits. At Jupiter, he was greeted by the Great Eagle. And here at Saturn, it is the Golden Ladder. Unlike the Cross and the Eagle, though, the Ladder is not made up of blessèd spirits. Rather, as we shall soon discover, Saturn is quiet, a place of meditation and contemplation, and the spirits who pour down the Ladder from the Empyrean are contemplatives. The Ladder, then, is an appropriate symbol for the contemplatives who strive, throughout their lives of prayer and virtue, to reach the goal of contemplation – union with God. One might say that Saturn is a kind of heavenly monastery. In various monastic Rules, the virtue of humility is likened to the rungs on this heavenly Ladder. In Chapter 7 of the Rule of the great St. Benedict, founder of western monasticism, we read: “Brothers, Divine Scripture calls to us saying: ‘Whoever exalts himself shall be humbled, and whoever humbles himself shall be exalted’ (Luke 14:11). In saying this, therefore, it shows us that every exaltation is a kind of pride, which the Prophet indicates he has shunned, saying: ‘Lord, my heart is not proud; nor are my eyes haughty. I do not busy myself with great matters, with things too sublime for me’ (Ps. 131:1). Accordingly, brothers, if we want to reach the highest summit of humility, if we desire to attain speedily that exaltation in heaven to which we climb by the humility of this present life, then by our ascending actions we must set up that ladder on which Jacob in a dream saw angels descending and ascending (Gen. 28: 12). Without doubt, this descent and ascent can signify only that we descend by pride and ascend by humility. Now the ladder erected is our life on earth, and if we humble our hearts the Lord will raise it to heaven. We may call our body and soul the sides of this ladder, into which our divine vocation has fitted the various steps of humility and discipline as we ascend. The first step of humility, then, is that a man keeps reverence for God always before his eyes and never forgets it.” |
| ↑4 | As we have seen throughout the Paradiso, souls of the blessèd in the Empyrean (here likened to birds) come to meet and welcome Dante at this particular stop on his way upward. The image of crows here is somewhat humorous, because they tend to be very noisy in groups. As he’s described the scene, there’s a kind of wild, joyous, fluttering down-rush of spirits coming to meet him. Mark Musa adds two insights in his commentary here: “Note the energy of the metaphor: contemplatives are not static beings; they are active in their desire for God. The color of the crow suggests the garb of the monks or contemplatives on earth.” |
| ↑5 | What Dante speaks to himself in his thoughts he clearly knows will be “heard” by the brightly shining spirit near him (and by Beatrice, who probably smiles, but inwardly). There is a clever dynamic at work here. First, Beatrice has not told Dante that he cannot speak. Knowing that both the soul near him and Beatrice will “hear” his unspoken desire, however, Dante seems to get Beatrice to relent and approve what she actually never verbally disapproved. In a sense, he gets her to save face. |
| ↑6 | Note the humility in Dante’s first spoken words to the as-yet-unnamed spirit. His “I am not worthy” statement places him on the first rung of the Golden Ladder, as it were, the rung of humility. In addition to this, one might expect that Dante’s first question would be about the spirit’s identity. Instead, he simply wants to know what drew the spirit to him. This harkens back to the earlier conversation about predestination. And then, by means of his next question, he tells us something about the Sphere of Saturn that we haven’t known until now: it’s completely silent – although there seemed to be quite a noisy commotion with the downward rush of spirits who came to greet him. Everywhere else in Paradise, there has been music and singing. |
| ↑7 | The soul that came to Dante answers his second question first. There is no music at the Sphere of Saturn for the same reason that Beatrice doesn’t smile: Dante is simply not ready to hear it. Like Beatrice’s smile, the music would destroy him because the power of its beauty is far beyond his mortal ability to handle at this point in his journey. In answer to Dante’s first question, the spirit tells him he simply came to welcome him “with the words and light that wrap my soul in heavenly joy.” Dante may have been expecting a more “personal” answer, more in tune with earthly love, like “Because you’re special,” or “Because you’ve been singled out for this special privilege.” But, no, the soul tells him, “I simply wanted to embrace you with the same eternal light and joy that embrace me. It wasn’t because I have a greater love for you than the others here, some of whom are brighter and filled with even more love than I.” Here, again, is an example of the modesty and humility that are the foundation of contemplation. The soul concludes by telling Dante that Divine Love assigns each soul a task, and we’re left to believe that greeting Dante was this soul’s loving task. The rest is left in mystery. Nevertheless, it’s a wonderful answer. John Ciardi’s commentary here rounds out nicely the end of this bit of dialogue: “[This is] Dante’s way of introducing the theme of predestination, which will be discussed later. If the language is difficult, the difficulty lies not in the language itself but in the fact that the concept is unusual and necessarily abstruse. [This particular soul] explains that he descended farther than the other souls because he was predestined to by the will of God. In so saying, he makes clear that every action of all these souls, as each goes up and down the ladder, is similarly predestined. Every heavenly soul, in the grace of love that is granted to it, is a glad servant of the Divine will that assigns the destiny of each. And here, certainly, is the extension of what Virgil foresaw dimly in Purgatorio 27 by telling Dante he was free to follow his own inner impulse. ‘Here,’ Virgil says, ‘your will is upright, free, and whole.’ At the Paradisal level, however, glorified by revelation, Dante makes it clear that it is not a matter of the individual will but of joyous identification with the service for which God has predestined each soul (recall the words of Piccarda in Canto 3: ‘In His will is our peace: He is that sea to which all things are drawn…’).” |
| ↑8 | Dante indicates here that he understands that the freely-given love shown by the souls in Paradise (this one in particular) has no other motivation, no other source, but Divine Providence. This Providence is often described as God’s loving and active care for us and for all His creation. In other words, God is directly involved with us. But Dante really wants to know why this particular soul, out of all the others, was predestined to greet him so lovingly. The theme of predestination has been touched on at Mars, at Jupiter, and now here at Saturn. Dante, having been told earlier that it is impossible to fully grasp the mystery of this concept, even for those in Heaven, seems unable to let it go. In his commentary, John Carroll offers these helpful remarks about Providence and Predestination: “Predestination is part of the universal providence of God which orders everything to its proper end. The goal of the elect is eternal life, which consists in the Divine vision; and since this is an end beyond the power of human nature, it is necessary that God should direct us to it, as an archer sends an arrow to the mark. For this, two things are needed – grace in the present and glory in the future; and of both Predestination is the cause. The ratio or ground of this Predestination is absolutely unknown to us: it must be referred simply to the will of God, and God of necessity wills His own goodness. Hence Predestination is defined by Aquinas as ‘Divine Providence leading rational creatures to their supernatural end, the Beatific Vision,’ the entire process, from beginning to end, having its reason in the Divine will alone. It is not dependent on the foreseen merits of the elect; and the prayers of saints are only part of the second causes by means of which the decree of Predestination is worked out.” A way out of this difficulty may be that Dante is actually more interested in the foreknowledge of God than predestination (though he does use the word in his text). They’re really different concepts. The foreknowledge of God has to do with His knowledge of all things – past, present, and future. And while He knows what choices we will make, He doesn’t interfere with them. Predestination, on the other hand, implies that God has a predetermined plan and actively puts it into effect. Let us see how this spirit will deal with the problem. |
| ↑9 | The image of the millstone evokes not only its size and weight, but also its purpose: to grind exceedingly fine. At the same time, though these great stone wheels usually move rather slowly, this one is spinning at great speed, manifesting the love and joy within this soul which is not only a direct reflection of “the Eternal Splendor of God,” but a rapturous co-mingling with it. Not only this, but filled with this divine effulgence, this soul is raised to such heights of ecstacy and exaltation that he can actually see the “Primal Source” of God’s own eternal beauty! Earlier I spoke of the Sphere of Saturn as a place of contemplation, and that the goal of contemplation is to be so filled with the presence of God that we become one with God, united. This is happening before Dante’s eyes. This is the eternal destiny of each soul in Paradise and, in a very direct way, this leads to the answer to his question. In their commentary here, Bosco and Reggio restate what the soul is saying to Dante: “The light of Grace descends upon me penetrating through the light that surrounds me, in whose womb I am enclosed, and its virtue, united with my intellect, raises me so far above myself, that I can see the supreme essence, God, from whom this light is milked. From seeing this comes the joy for which I flame: because the splendor of my light is equal to the clarity of my vision of God.” This is quite an amazing statement. And notice the words the soul actually uses in Dante’s text, “in whose womb I am enclosed.” Other translators use words like enwomb, womb, bowel, embosom, luminous womb, embellied. Here is the intimacy of contemplation, wherein the union with God is literally “milked” from His essence! Mark Musa notes here: “As he sometimes does in this canticle, Dante invents a word for the concept of being enclosed; in this case it is m’inventro, which I interpret as “enwombing me.” God’s light descends in him – inseminating him, as it were – and then nurturing him with the milk of His essence” |
| ↑10 | Commentators note that the most exalted soul in Heaven is the Virgin Mary, mother of Jesus. And the Seraphim are the highest of the nine orders of angels. Even they could never answer Dante’s question. In the end, the answer to his question, and contrary to its expected complexity, is not at all complex: what he wants to know simply cannot be known. |
| ↑11 | In the end, the ecstatic spirit gives Dante a message for the rest of us when he returns to earth: Don’t think that you can see into the mind of God. Robert Hollander puts it this way in his commentary here: “All those in the Empyrean can know, in God, all relations among all things, in heaven and on earth, but not the eventual reasons that might explain their causes. The urgency of the soul’s explanation to Dante is clearly aimed past him, to us on earth, who so enjoy imagining that we understand the root causes of events even though our normal sinful disability should probably deprive us of such baseless optimism in this regard. But we are little more mature than babies, forever asking ‘Why?’” |
| ↑12 | At last, we learn the identity of the speaker, St. Peter Damian. Interestingly, he was never formally canonized, but has been revered as a Saint since his death in 1073. In 1828 he was named a Doctor of the Church. In keeping with the humble and modest bearing of Saturn, his self-introduction is very brief and focuses only on his life as a monk at the Benedictine monastery of Fonte Avellana on Monte Catria in the Apennines about 75 miles west of Ancona. Born in Ravenna in 1007 of a noble but poor family, he seems to have been all but abandoned after the death of his parents when he was young. He was left to tend the pigs by an elder brother, but another brother, named Damian, who was an archdeacon in Ravenna, seeing how badly he was treated, took Peter in and saw to his education. Grateful for this, Peter added his brother’s name to his name and was henceforth known as Peter Damian. In spite of his humble biography here, Peter was quite famous in his day. He was a brilliant student of theology and canon law in both Ravenna and then at the University of Parma, becoming one of its more famous professors when he was only 25. In 1035, Peter gave up his post at the university and entered the Benedictine monastery at Fonte Avellana. Dante is said to have been a guest of the monks there in 1318. Though Peter was noted for his piety, he also became noted for the extremes of his penitential practices, which eventually affected his health. As a monk he continued to teach, not only in his own monastery, but in several others as well. And his talent for organization led to his being made Prior (superior) of the monastery. He was, one might call him, a monk’s monk. This was an era of scandalous behavior among many members of the church hierarchy (including Popes). This led Peter to actively pursue reforms among monks, clergy, and hierarchy that would see them better educated, more faithful to their respective callings, and examples of virtue and following the life of the Gospel. In his many writings, some quite controversial, he avidly supported the papacy and efforts at church reform. Over his objections, Pope Stephen IX made Peter a Cardinal in 1057 along with its many responsibilities. Both before and after his elevation as a Cardinal, Peter wrote extensively and traveled widely in service to the Church and at least 7 Popes. He died at Faenza on February 22, 1072. Peter highlights the ascetical nature of the monastic life: prayer and contemplation, simple foods, no heating or cooling, etc. Like many monasteries throughout the ages, Fonte Avellana produced its share of famous monks, many of them canonized Saints. Now, however, he tells Dante that the monastery has fallen upon hard times. What this is about, we don’t really know. It might have been a scandal, or it might have been that less monks were joining. A small digression on his eating “simple foods.” Dante writes in the Italian, “…che pur con cibi di liquor d’ulivi…,” which translates roughly as eating food with olive oil. There is a homey touch to this, and to a modern reader this might sound rather rich for a monastic diet. However, in a country where olive oil was plentiful and much less expensive than other cooking fats, Peter’s comment makes sense. As for Peter’s identifying himself with Peter the Sinner, there has been much debate about this over the centuries. Commentators (even Dante’s son, Pietro) have expressed confusion over the syntax of this particular tercet in the poem, the punctuation, and even the identity (existence) of Peter the Sinner and his monastery. It is quite possible that Dante, who lived the last years of his life in Ravenna (1317-1321), conflated the two men into a single person. Add to this the fact that Peter Damian often signed his letters as “Petrus Peccator,” Peter the Sinner. Mark Musa summarizes the identity issue thus: “The basic problem with this tercet is the identification of the speaker: is Peter Damian presenting himself to the Pilgrim with two different names (are the two Peters the same person?) by which he was known in two different places, or is Peter Damian one person and Peter the Sinner, a certain Pietro degli Onesti who died 1119 and was buried in the church of Santa Maria in Porto along the Adriatic and upon whose tombstone are inscribed the words Petrus Peccans [Peter the Sinner]? …. Perhaps Peter Damian is saying that while he lived in the monastery of Fonte Avellana he was known as Peter Damian and when he moved to the monastery of Santa Maria in Porto in Ravenna he was known as Peter the Sinner. What I feel he is not saying is ‘I am the Peter Damian who lived in one place, not to be confused with Peter the Sinner who lived in another.’ … Dante having seen the words Petrus Peccator on Pietro degli Onesti’s tombstone in Ravenna may well have thought that Peter Damian was buried there.” Additionally, it was actually Peter the Sinner who founded the church of Santa Maria in Porto and is buried there, not Peter Damian. Then there is the monastery of Pomposa (about 30 miles north of Ravenna) where Peter Damian lived for a time. Confused? |
| ↑13 | Dante seems to be mistaken here about Peter being an old man when he was made a Cardinal. Though he strongly resisted the office, Pope Stephen IX elevated him to this position in 1057 when he was 50. He died in 1072 at the age of 65. The “red hat” Peter refers to here has a long tradition associated with the office of Cardinal (they are sometimes referred to as “Princes of the Church”). The office of Cardinal dates back to the fourth century and cardinals gradually came to be associated with the papacy as major advisors and administrators of the Church. In the early Middle Ages the College of Cardinals was created, the group responsible for electing a Pope. The official robes of a Cardinal are red or scarlet, and when a priest or bishop is elevated to this office he is, at least since the Middle Ages, given a large, red, wide-brimmed hat called a galero with two long braided and tasseled cords hanging down on either side. While these hats are no longer worn in modern times, they are traditional symbols of the office of Cardinal. One’s elevation to the office is often referred to as being “given the red hat.” Robert Hollander cites the fact that this hat began to be worn by Cardinals during the papacy of Innocent IV (1243-54), almost two hundred years after Peter Damian died. Dante, of course, would have seen the hat worn by cardinals in his day. Peter’s strong (and comical) criticism of the luxurious lives lived by some of his fellow bishops and cardinals highlights his frequent focus on clerical reform in the Church, a theme that Dante has (and will) highlighted throughout his Commedia. Mark Musa gives us additional details about this scene in his commentary here: “Every important official of the Church had a large retinue of lackeys. Those needed ‘to lead’ were probably the portantini, who carried his chair; those needed ‘to prop’ were the bracciere, who supported him while he was on his horse. Those employed to ‘hold up their behinds’ are either those lackeys who held up the long train of the prelate’s rich and elegant gown to keep it from dragging on the ground (caudatari) or those who assisted him onto his horse (staffieri). In light of the fact that Dante makes fun of the size of these prelates, saying that they are so full of food, I prefer to take them as the staffieri, struggling to get some fat cardinal’s opulent rear end onto the horse! Peter Damian may have been stern and blunt, but here he reveals a fine sense of irony.” Finally, in his Dictionary, Toynbee writes: “Dante represents Peter Damian as inveighing against the luxury of the prelates in his day, and the commentators quote in illustration a passage from a letter of his to his brother cardinals, in which he reminds them that the dignity of a prelate ‘…does not consist in wearing rare and costly furs and fine robes, nor in being escorted by troops of armed adherents, nor in riding on neighing and mettlesome steeds, but in the practice of morality and the exercise of the saintly virtues.’” |
| ↑14 | In righteous indignation, it would seem, countless flaming spirits whirl their way down the great Golden Ladder to join Peter Damian in a great shout of affirmation for his apostrophe against his opulent brethren. Dante had never heard such a shout and remembers only a few words. Once again, he is not fully ready to comprehend the force of Heaven’s response. A final note from Ronald Martinez’s commentary about the Golden Ladder and its great significance in the monastic spirituality in the west adds to what I have noted earlier: “In his Rule, Saint Benedict of Nursia (ca. 480–ca. 547), founder of the great monastery of Monte Cassino and of Western cenobitic monasticism in general (we will meet him in Canto 22), made Jacob’s ladder the fundamental metaphor for monastic life; based solidly on earth in its practicality, his ideal of the practice of humility and devotion formed a ladder of twelve steps (including fear of God, humility, silence, and obedience) that led upward to God. This formulation, like the Rule itself, dominated monastic conceptions and life well into the twelfth century, when Saint Bernard of Clairvaux became the leading influence in the Cistercian movement that rivaled the Benedictines. Bernard’s Steps of Pride and Humility became enormously influential; they were based on the twelve steps of Saint Benedict’s metaphor, defining the upward steps of humility with greater emphasis on the goal of mystical experience in this life, and adding shrewd psychological analyses of the corresponding downward steps of pride.” |