The Tribulations of Philosophye A Metaphysicall Comedye wherein ’tis told of the Errours & the Paynes of Helle Discovered, translated, and annotated by Achille C. Varzi and Claudio Calosi A scholarly annotated epic poem on the pitfalls and tribulations of “good philosophying”. Divided into twenty-eight cantos (in medieval Italian hendecasyllabic terza rima, with English translation in blank verse), the poem tells of an allegorical journey through the downward spiral of the philosophers’ hell, where all sorts of thinkers are punished for their faults and mistakes, in the endeavor to reach a way out of the condition of intellectual impasse in which the narrator has found himself. The affinities with Dante Alighieri’s Inferno will be apparent. Whereas Dante’s poem is about human sins and moral felonies, this one is about philosophical errors and fallacies; whereas Virgil takes Dante through the gluttons, the wrathful, the heretics, the blasphemers and sodomites, etc., here Socrates takes our Poet through the realists, the sceptics, the dualists, the nihilists, the worshipers of language and easy myths, etc. And yet this is not just a philosophical counterpart of Dante’s masterpiece, even less a parody of sort. We can’t say exactly when, how, and why it was written, but this Metaphysicall Comedye is an authentic piece of philosophy, a poem of love, a passionate testimony of militant metaphysics. It is the inspired and inspiring journey of someone, anyone, who is truly moved by the Love for Wisdom—and by the grueling purification of the intellect that it demands. Contents Introduction Acknowledgements Note on this English edition Note on the title and the canto headings Structure of the poem Plan of Helle Synopsis Text and commentary Canto I – or, Proemium Canto II – or, on Philosophying Canto III – or, the Inducement Canto IV – or, the Vestibule of Helle & the multitude of the Pusillanimous Canto V – or, the first Circle of Helle, site o’ the Short of categories Canto VI – or, the second Circle, in the Ring o’ the Simpletons who confide in the senses Canto VII – or, agayn the second Circle, in the Ring o’ the Simpletons who confide in langage Canto VIII – or, agayn the second Circle, in the Ring o’ the Simpletons who confide in pliant mythes [incomplete] Canto IX – or, the Jungle, site o’ the Lustful [incomplete] Canto X – or, the third Circle, in the Ring o’ the Realistes tow’rds universalls Canto XI – or, agayn the third Circle, in the Ring o’ the Realistes tow’rds things abstract Canto XII – or, agayn the third Circle, in the Rings o’ the Realistes tow’rds the levells, the ossature, & the values of being Canto XIII – or, the fourth Circle, site of the Dowters Canto XIV – or, the fifth Circle, in the Zone o’ the Irrealistes hight idealistes [incomplete] Canto XV – or, agayn the fifth Circle, in the Zone o’ the Irrealistes hight relativistes [missing] Canto XVI – or, agayn the fifth Circle, in the Zone o’ the Irrealistes hight pragmatistes [missing] Canto XVII – or, the craggy Steep, site o’ the Nihilistes, & the sixth Circle, site o’ the Existentialistes [incomplete] Canto XVIII – or, the seventh Circle, in the Ring o’ the Dualistes tow’rds the mentall Canto XIX – or, agayn the seventh Circle, in the Ring o’ the Dualistes tow’rds the materiall Canto XX – or, the flowin’ River, site o’ the Fearfull of change Canto XXI – or, of the eight Circle, in the Zones o’ the Sullen hight Actualistes & Deterministes [incomplete] Canto XXII – or, agayn of the eight Circle, in the Zones o’ the Sullen hight Fatalistes & Irresponsibles [missing] Canto XXIII – or, the Pit of Dwarfes, site o’ the Haughty & the False wise [incomplete] Canto XXIV – or, the ninth Circle, in the Ditches o’ the Illiterates tow’rds history & the sciences [missing] Canto XXV – or, agayn the ninth Circle, in the Ditch o’ the Illiterates tow’rds logic [missing] Canto XXVI – or, the tenth Circle, in the Ditches o’ the Fraudulentes flatterers & plagiarstes [missing] Canto XXVII – or, agayn the tenth Circle, in the most dysmal Ditch o’ the rotten Fraudulentes [incomplete] Canto XXVIII – or, the Exit Name indices Index of characters Index of cited names Introduction We are not apprised of the origins of the poem we hereby present, nor do we know the identity of the learned Poet whose pen begot the verses that compose it. Others will tell. For our part, we can only say that the following pages contain the faithful transcription and English translation of the autograph Florentine manuscript as we received it, unsigned and with no date or place of composition, from hands themselves anonymous and unsourced. Our own annotations are merely intended to aid literary exegesis and to suggest at least some of the pondering which, we are confident, the Poet himself would have liked to inspire in his or her readers. The Tribulations of Philosophye (original: Le tribolazioni del filosofare) is without a doubt one of the grandest philosophical poems of all time. Composed entirely of hendecasyllabic tercets, it is presented as a Metaphysicall Comedye in twenty-eight cantos wherein ’tis told of the errours & paynes of Helle and is here reproduced and translated to the full extent of the portions that have survived. (Seven cantos are incomplete and, regrettably, six more are completely lost.) Its verse tells of the Poet’s journey through the dark hell of the intellect, under the guidance of Socrates, in search of a way out of the muddy “swamps” into which the Poet’s philosophical investigations appear to have led him. The hell itself, or “Helle” (Infero), is structured as a series of concentric circles leading to an ever-deeper abyss, where each circle represents a philosophical position that the Poet regards as mistaken and forms the eternal abode of those philosophers who endorsed it in the course of history. To each “error” there corresponds a “punishment” the damned have to endure in perpetuity, and the Poet describes both at great length. This explains, we submit, the use of the term “comedye” in the title, though the instrumental nature of the pedagogic element vis-à-vis the maieutic one is manifest: the journey through Helle is first and foremost a journey of critical analysis and philosophical purification, and it is that journey that the Poet reconstructs with sublime lyrical intensity. Indeed, the II Introduction manuscript we received includes also a second poem in twentyeight cantos, entitled The Beatitudes of Philosophye and presented in turn as a Metaphysicall Comedye wherein ’tis told of the vertues & rewardes of Empyrean. That poem, too, is a journey of speculative analysis and purification, though a lightful journey that unfolds through the heaven of the intellect, where the Poet is made conversant with the best and most rewarding achievements of philosophy. Unfortunately, the manuscript of The Beatitudes is severely damaged and much more incomplete than that of The Tribulations, raising considerable exegetical difficulties that prevent its publication at this time. With all this, the reader will most certainly notice a striking affinity—both stylistic and structural—between these two poems and the Comedia of Dante Alighieri. Barring the absence of an intermediate canticle corresponding to the Purgatory, it is hard not to view the work of our Poet as a sort of philosophical counterpart of Dante’s masterpiece, and this Infero specifically as a counterpart of the Inferno: there Virgil, here Socrates; there the sins, here the errors; there the gluttons, the wrathful, the heretics, the blasphemers and sodomites, here the sceptics, the dualists, the nihilists, the worshipers of language and easy myths, etc. The parallelism is especially striking in the early cantos, which present considerable analogies both structurally and in their choice of metaphors: the proemiums are nearly isomorphic, and while the second canto lacks a counterpart in Dante’s Inferno, the similarity returns rather steadily in the next three cantos. Even on the lyrical side the affinities are such as to suggest that the relationship is anything but accidental, so much so that in some cases the verses of our Poet and Dante’s coincide verbatim. We can thus safely conclude that the two authors did not work in isolation: either our Poet knew the Divine Comedy and was inspired by it for his dual philosophical composition, or else it was Dante who knew the Poet’s two Comedyes and took his inspiration from them. In fact, the second hypothesis is less audacious than it might seem, given the already long list of works that in various ways may be counted as “precursors” of Dante’s masterpiece. Apart from the obvious classics—the sixth book of Virgil’s Aeneid and the apocryphal Apocalypses of Peter and Paul (and, in some respects, the three suras of the Qurʾān that reports the isrāʾ and the Introduction III miʿrāj of Muhammad)—one could mention for instance the Irish monastic odysseys of the Immram Brain (8th cent.), the Immram Maele Dúin (10th cent.), and the Navigatio Brendani (10th cent.), authentic medieval bestsellers that circulated all over Europe in numerous translations and variants. One may also mention the visions of hell, purgatory, and paradise narrated in the Fís Adamnáin (10th–11th cent.), in the Visio Tnugdali (12th cent.), in the Visio Alberici (12th cent.), and in the Purgatorium Sancti Patricii (late 12th cent.), some of the which were certainly known to Dante, as well as the Arabic Book of Ascension, the Kitāb al-miʿrāj, translated into Latin, Spanish, and French around the time of Dante’s birth. Finally, one may mention the many texts in 13thcentury vernacular Italian that dramatized the theme of the journey in the underworld with intents that were not dissimilar— didactically if not poetically—from Dante’s own: from Uguccione da Lodi’s Libro (c. 1260), in single-rhyme laisses of hendecasyllables and alexandrines in vulgar Lombard-Venetian, to the two short poems of Giacomino da Verona, De Babilonia civitate infernali and De Ierusalem celestial (c. 1275), in single-rhyme alexandrines in vernacular Veronese, to the masterwork of Bonvesin de la Riva, the Libro de le tre scripture (c. 1276), an epic poem in assonanced alexandrines in vernacular Milanese that anticipates Dante’s Comedia also with regard to its division in three parts (the Nigra, or Black, which tells “of the twelve pains of hell, where there is great woe”; the Rugia, or Red, concerned “with the divine passion”; and the Aurea, or Golden, which speaks “of the divine Court and of the twelve glories of that excellent city”). That being said, the first hypothesis is surely more plausible, were it only for its lesser audacity and because of the complete lack of documented testimonies mentioning the Poet’s work. It is really unlikely that Dante knew of it. One might actually think that the hypothesis finds direct support in the text presented here. From the very outset, the poem is filled with thoughts, observations, bits of wisdom that seem to go well beyond medieval culture, and the Poet’s verses elicit philosophical ideas that many of us only know from modern, if not contemporary authors—from Galileo to Elisabeth of Bohemia, from Shakespeare to Ibsen, from Descartes to Hume, Kant, Hegel, Nietzsche, Wittgenstein. Even among the characters whom the Poet meets during his pilgrim- IV Introduction age, or to whom he alludes in his philosophical forays, there are many who make us think of historical figures who lived well after Dante’s times. Everything seems to suggest, then, that this Comedye is the work of a later author, and in our critical commentary we have tried to provide a thorough reconstruction of this extraordinary richness of references over and above the points of overlap with Dante’s poem. Yet inference to the best explanation is probably among the logical errors that the Poet condemns in Canto XXV, assigning it to the third Ditch of the Illiterates. The paleographic examination of the original manuscript, too, sits ill with the suggestion, and it is a fact that there is not a single passage, in the large portions of the Helle and of the Empyrean that have survived, in which the Poet refers explicitly and unequivocally to post-medieval authors. For all we know, all those passages that seem to involve references or allusions to such authors could be genuine anticipations, bearing witness to the formidable intellectual vigor of the Poet. Or the Poet could really have made the marvelous journey he talks about, happening on authors from his past and from his times as well as on many a philosopher yet to come. To this day we cannot rule out this possibility as we cannot rule out that the entire opus is the product of an extemporary poetic endeavor (though not—this much is certain—a mere exercise in genre, let alone a parody of Dante’s masterpiece). We shall thus leave it to others to sort out things and determine the exact relationship between the works of the two poets, and possibly the exact origins of the one that here sees the light for the first time. As for us, we are convinced that the richness of this extraordinary work resides entirely in the treads of its fabric, whatever their extremities, and it is in this spirit that we invite the reader to savor the verses of this Metaphysicall Comedye for what they are. May they be a sincere source of philosophical inspiration for all of us: a prelude to that intellectual purification that we all need, that most of us need, we, philosophers by birth but not in manners, in this dark age of ours. Acknowledgements. We wish to express our gratitude to Teodolinda Barolini, Guido Bonino, Walter Cavini, Mario Demattè, Massimo Mugnai, Calvin Normore, Francesco Verde, and Katja Vogt for their generous and friendly help in verifying some references in our commentary to the text. Note on this English edition The present edition follows the Italian edition published by Editori Laterza in 2014. It reproduces the entire text of the poem in the original Florentine vernacular with facing-page English translation. The editorial commentary has been translated in full, with the exception of just a few philological notes that were intended primarily for the Italian readership, and slightly expanded. As for the poem itself, it has been translated with no pretension to the sophisticated style of the Poet, let alone his rich and creative idiom, though some effort has been made to convey at least some flavor of both. Among other things, the translation is in blank verse, whereas the original is in terza rima (the interlocking threeline rhyme scheme used by Dante: ABA BCB, CDC, etc.). As John Ciardi wrote in presenting his own translation of Dante’s masterpiece, when a violin repeats what the piano has just played, it cannot make the same sounds; it can only approximate the same chords and, hopefully, make recognizably the same “music”, the same air. Occasionally, the poem features phrases or verses that are found also in Dante’s poem. For such passages—all of which are signaled in the footnotes—the English rendering relies on extant translations of the latter, including Ciardi’s (1954–1970, defective terza rima) along with those of Henry Boyd (1785–1802, rhymed six-line stanzas, the first full translation of the Divina comedia into English), Henry Francis Cary (1805–1814, blank verse), Thomas William Parsons (1843–1867, irregular rhymed quatrains), Charles Bagot Cayley (1851–1854, terza rima), John Dyman (1864, terza rima), Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1867, blank terzinas), David Johnston (1867–1868, blank terzinas), Charles Eliot Norton (1891–1892, prose), Eleanor Vinton Murray (1920, terza rima), Allen Mandelbaum (1980–1984, blank verse), Mark Musa (1967–2002, blank verse), Robert Durling (1996– 2007, prose), Robert and Jean Hollander (2000–2007, blank verse), and Clive James (2013, quatrains). These texts have also been of invaluable assistance in our attempt to produce a translation of the Comedye that preserves both the affinities and the differences of the Poet’s flair in relation to Dante’s own style as it has come to be known to the English reader. Finally, we have taken the opportunity of this new edition to correct a few minor errors to the original transcription of the poem. The revisions occur in the following lines: II 34 (Responder); VI 97 (S’appare mozzo), 105 (io questo allor negai); XI 73 (marinaro), 82 (immettra); XXVII 6 (ch’è). Note on the title and the canto headings Unlike Dante’s Divina comedia, of which no autograph survives, we have reasons to believe the manuscript of the Comedia metafisica in our hands to be original. Written on parchment sheets, for a total of 121 pages in single monochromatic columns, with no numberings or ruling, the text is in littera bastarda and shows corrections and afterthoughts on almost every sheet. However, the title of the poem on the endleaf, as well as the headings of the individual cantos in the table of contents (labeled in the manuscript only with progressive numbers), appear to be a later addition: the inks and the handwriting—in littera libraria—are clearly different, as is the spelling of certain words, e.g., “overo”, which in the poem is always written in separate form, “o vero”. Indeed, while the main title seems to be intended as a polemical hint to Boethius’ The Consolation of Philosophy, it is striking that the poem itself does not contain any direct or implicit references to the Roman philosopher, at least in the portions that have survived. In the absence of positive information about the origins of the document, we nonetheless deemed it appropriate to regard such editorial apparatus as an integral part of the work and freely relied on it in our reconstruction of the hypothetical contents of the lost parts of the manuscript. Structure of the poem CANTO PLACE DAMNED I–III Swamps Vestibule Circle I Circle II Pusillanimous Short of categories Simpletons Jungle Circle III Lustful Realists Circle IV Circle V Doubters Irrealists Craggy steep Circle VI Circle VII Nihilists Existentialists Dualists Flowing river Circle VIII Fearful of change Sullen IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI XVII XVIII XIX XX XXI XXII XXIII XXIV Pit of the dwarfs Circle IX XXV XXVI Circle X XXVII XXVIII Luminous desert Plan of Helle Ring I. Faithful to the senses Ring II. Faithful to language Ring III. Faithful to pliant myths Ring I. In universals Ring II. In abstract entities Ring III. In the levels of reality Ring IV. In the robust structure Ring V. In values Zone I. Idealists Zone II. Relativists Zone III. Pragmatists Ring I. Of the mental Ring II. Of the material Zone I. Actualists Zone II. Determinists Zone III. Fatalists Zone IV. Irresponsible Haughty and false wise Illiterates Ditch I. Of history Ditch II. Of the sciences Ditch III. Of logic Fraudulents Ditch I. Flatterers Ditch II. Plagiarists Ditch III. Rotten Synopsis Canto I – or, Proemium. The Poet is lost in a muddy swamp, signifying serious philosophical impasse. He descries a flowerful site in the vicinity and sets out to reach it, but three hostile beasts threaten him and impede his way. Socrates then appears before the Poet announcing the coming of the owl and offering to accompany him through the dark hell of the intellect find the proper way out of the swamp. — Place: Swamps and vicinities. — Characters met: Unicorn, Chimera, Leviathan, Socrates. — Characters mentioned: Owl (of Athena). Canto II – or, on Philosophying. The Poet questions the opportunity to undertake the difficult and dangerous journey announced by Socrates and begs the philosopher for an immediate answer to the dilemma that grips him. Socrates replies that confused questions admit of no answer and compares his own faculties to those of a simple midwife. The Poet remains unconvinced and tries to explain his dilemma anyway, but his attempts have no other effect than the reappearance of one of the wild beasts. After pointing out that the Poet is in fact quite confused, Socrates renews his invitation to follow him. — Place: As above. — Characters met: Unicorn. — Characters mentioned: None. Canto III – or, the Inducement. The hesitancy of the Poet prompt Socrates to tell him of his encounter with the Lady of the Heavens. He explains that the journey enjoys her blessing along with that of other celestial women. Heartened and finally reassured, the Poet sets out to follow his teacher into the darkness. — Place: As above. — Characters met: None. XII Synopsis — Characters mentioned: Aglaonike, Diotima, Héloïse, Hypatia, Thracian girl; Lady of the Heavens, Princess of the Way, Queen of the Sky and of the Fixed Stars. Canto IV – or, the Vestibule of Helle & the multitude of the Pusillanimous. The entrance to the underworld is a large cave with a frightening inscription; Socrates expounds on its meaning. In the vestibule, the two meet the multitude of those uncommitted philosophers who never made a single decision and who are therefore not even admitted into Helle proper: they are here condemned to prove undecidable theses in vain, balancing on shaky desks, while evil beasts representing truth and falsehood torment them. The Poet recognizes some of them while Socrates apprises him of the importance of philosophizing actively. Once near the banks of Acheron, they witness the cruelty of the boatman in charge of escorting the spirits of the damned. Upon seeing the two, the ferryman dumps everyone else from his boat to let them on, and as they are crossing the river it suddenly gets dark. — Place: Entrance of Helle; dry land (vestibule); river Acheron. — Damned souls: The pusillanimous, banned from Helle proper because of their worthlessness. — Error: Argued futilely throughout their lives deserving neither blame nor praise; never took stand and never made, defended, or attacked a substantial claim. — Punishment: As they never made any decision in their mortal lives, so here they are condemned forever to prove undecidable theses, on trembling desks, while two evil beasts—representing truth and falsehood—pour chilled and boiling wax in their ears whispering suggestions they cannot comprehend. — Characters met: Herds of pusillanimous unworthy of being mentioned by name; damned souls waiting to cross the Acheron; the wicked ferryman. — Characters mentioned: The Cretan liar (Epimenides). Canto V – or, the first Circle of Helle, site o’ the Short of categories. On the other side of Acheron runs a second river, the Amelete, which Socrates and the Poet cross on a stony bridge. They thus come to the first Circle of Helle, a painful place of no torment hosting different souls whose only fault is to have engaged Synopsis XIII in philosophical inquiry without the necessary conceptual tools. They are here condemned to try in vain to make sense of what they read on fleeting sheets, pages, and leaves coming from inaccessible works. The Poet sees four damned souls debating on cosmogony, and many others thereafter, and Socrates invites him to listen silently to a passionate dialogue between Parmenides and Heraclitus. As they resume their journey, the Poet notices the intense turmoil that Socrates endured throughout and the Master reveals that this is the eternal home of many of teachers, pupils, and friends of his. When one of them walk towards them, Socrates hugs him in silence. — Place: The bridge on the river Amelete; First Circle. — Damned souls: The short of categories. — Error: Engaged in philosophical speculations without having the right conceptual apparatus (not an “error proper”). — Punishment: They are condemned to try in vain and fathom the meaning of what they read on fleeting pages that come from works they find impenetrable, exactly because those works make use of conceptual categories that they lack. — Characters met: The guardian of the bridge on Amelete; Anaximenes, Cato, Crates, Cratylus, Democritus, Empedocles, Epicurus, Heraclitus, Eubulides, Philolaus (?), Hicetas (?), Hipparchia, Hippasus, Leontion, Nicarete, Parmenides, Pliny the Younger (?), Publilius Syrus (?), Sallustius, Seneca, Thales, Themista, Zeno; members of the Cynic, Cyrenaic, Megarian, and Stoic Schools; a person loved by Socrates (Alcibiades? Aristodemus?). — Characters mentioned: None. Canto VI – or, the second Circle, in the Ring o’ the Simpletons who confide in the senses. Beyond the first Circle, all damned souls are judged for their errors by Athena, who weighs their written works on a scale and decides their punishments accordingly. Socrates and the Poet pass by her to enter the second Circle, which is said to be divided into three consecutive Rings hosting those simplistic philosophers who blindly trusted the senses, the transparency of language, and pliant myths, respectively. The scene that opens in front of the two is desolate: numberless spirits are half-buried in the ground, covered in dense brushwood, with XIV Synopsis their faces hidden under a white pale mask, while a gloomy figure wanders around scattering random seeds out of a basket. The Poet stumbles upon one of the damned, who begins to tell of his errors and of the role played by the gloomy creature in the punishment of his peers. On resuming his way, the Poet—very touched—gives another pious look at the sorrow woods. — Place: Second Circle, first Ring. — Damned souls: Simpletons who trusted to the senses. — Error: Confided in the senses and their testimony, believing they are always veridical. — Punishment: Half-buried in the ground, their face hidden under a white mask, are systematically deceived by a malign demon who messes up their perception of the things and sounds that come from his basket. — Characters met: Athena; Aldobrand, Lactantius, Timagoras, Ptolemy; a deceiving demon. — Characters mentioned: None. Canto VII – or, agayn the second Circle, in the Ring o’ the Simpletons who confide in langage. At the entrance of the second Ring, three puppet-guardians endlessly repeat a captious dialogue. The Poet is confused and Socrates begins to explain the error punished in this precinct: the faith in the transparency of language, that is, the belief that the world must be structured in the image and likeness of the words we use to describe it. The two reach a somber valley filled with rusty cages, each of which detains a damned soul; Socrates identifies a few of them and explains the meaning of their punishment. Continuing around the Ring, Socrates and the Poet are drawn to a suspended cage where a tormented philosopher rants and raves her mistaken credo. After listening to some objections by the Master, she abandons herself to her memories and, repented, indulges in a lyrical farewell that moves the Poet to tears. Socrates urges him to carry on. — Place: Second Circle, second Ring. — Damned souls: Simpletons who trusted the transparency of language. — Error: Relied on the analysis of language to figure out the nature of underlying reality. Synopsis XV — Punishment: As in life they fell prisoners of their own language, believing it to provide a faithful picture of reality, so here they are entrapped, barefoot, in cages of different shapes and dimensions scattered with broken mirror glasses that return distorted images of the environment. — Characters met: Three puppet-guardians; Albert the Great, alFārābī, the Dacians (Boethius, Martin, John, Simon?), Radulphus Brito, followers of Aristotle, Thomists, Modists, Analyticians; the hanging philosopher. — Characters mentioned: None, though a few anonymous maxims are quoted in passing. Canto VIII – or, agayn the second Circle, in the Ring o’ the Simpletons who confide in pliant mythes. Socrates and the Poet venture down the third and last Ring of the Second Circle, place of punishment for those who fell prey to the seduction of reassuring myths, here condemned forever to build walls and fortresses that are constantly destroyed by the fury of the elements and by their fellow damned. [Canto received in truncated form.] — Place: Second Circle, third Ring — Damned souls: Simpletons who trusted pliant and comforting myths. — Error: Gave in to the seduction of easily-offered solutions and to the dogmatic rigidity that follows. — Punishment: As in life they surrendered to the solace of mythopoeic seductions, so here they are condemned to the pointless endeavor of fortifying their myths into trembling fortresses that they themselves are called upon to defend. — Characters met: None (except perhaps an unidentified soul) — Characters mentioned: None Canto IX – or, the Jungle, site o’ the Lustful. Beyond the second Circle are tick and dense woods populated by all sorts of mirabilia. Socrates explains that here are punished those who believed they could solve their philosophical problems by augmenting unabashedly the realm of things, rather than by cleansing the wild luxury of their own conceptual apparatus. Making their way through this lush jungle in a crescendo of marvelous scenes and apparitions, the two finally get to a clearing where the Demi- XVI Synopsis urge—guardian of the third Circle—awaits. [Incomplete Canto, missing the first part.] — Place: The Jungle between the second and third Circles. — Damned souls: The lustful. — Error: Dirtied the realm of things by reifying, shamelessly and indiscriminately, whatever can be the object of thought. — Punishment: They are transformed forever into the extravagant products of their own reifying practices. — Characters met: Unicorns, winged horses, mandrakes, striges, harpies, the manticore, the griffin, the vegetable lamb of Tartary, a golden mountain, specters and skeletons, semi-human beasts, demons; several mirabilia, possibilia, and impossibilia (four-quetras, an extravagant horseman, a self-containing ark, a paradoxical mortician); a magic sphere with it infinite contents; the Demiurge. — Characters mentioned: The Arab (al-Jāḥiẓ?). Canto X – or, the third Circle, in the Ring o’ the Realistes tow’rds universalls. The first Ring of the third Circle opens with a horrifying scene: a herd of thirsty damned beat and push each other out to drink liquid sewage from long tubes hanging from nowhere, changing their aspect at each sip. Socrates tells the Poet that such is the punishment for those who maintained that particular things obtain their characteristics from a repository of alleged universal attributes, or properties. Secluded and isolated from the rest of the damned, the two see Plato and Aristotle. The Master and the Poet—visibly excited—join them in a friendly, yet philosophically intense discussion. As the pilgrims resume their way, Socrates expounds on the many variants of the error perpetrated by the philosophers haunting this place. — Place: Third Circle, first Ring. — Damned souls: Realists in universals. — Error: Believed in the reality of the attributes (features, characteristics) of particular things, construed as universal entities that can be instantiated by a multitude of different things. — Punishment: As in life they maintained that particulars things draw their characteristics from the universals in which they participate, so here they are condemned to change their aspect Synopsis XVII all the time upon drinking that mucous liquids that drip from long hanging tubes. — Characters met: Aristotle, Plato. — Characters mentioned: Augustine, Anselm, Avicenna, Gilbert de la Porrée and other members of the School of Chartres, Guillaume de Champeaux, Odo of Cambrai, Scotus Eriugena, the Indian (Udayanācārya?), the Demiurge. Canto XI – or, agayn the third Circle, in the Ring o’ the Realistes tow’rds things abstract. With the help of Socrates, the Poet draws further nominalist conclusions from the exchanges of the previous Canto. As the Master recites out loud a touching poem by Sappho, bringing the Poet to tears, the two move on to the second Ring of the Realists, which reveals itself to be a blooming, luxuriant garden. Socrates explains that here are the souls of those philosophers who believed in the reality of abstract entities; they are now transformed into incorporeal phantoms deprived of any power to enjoy or interact with the material delights that surround them. There follows a sophisticated discussion concerning the possibility of escaping the error, especially in view of the indispensability of number talk in mathematics. At the end, the Poet witnesses the heart-breaking scene of two souls, Pythagoras and his wife Theano, who cannot even embrace each other and give expression to their mutual love. — Place: Third circle, second Ring. — Damned souls: Realists in abstract entities. — Error: Believed in the reality of abstract entities such as meanings, concepts, geometrical figures, numbers, etc. — Punishment: As in life they believed in the reality such entities, evading space and time and causally inert, so here they are transformed into immaterial ghosts incapable of interacting with each other and with the delights that surround them. — Characters met: Pythagoras, Theano. — Characters mentioned: Sappho. Canto XII – or, agayn the third Circle, in the Rings o’ the Realistes tow’rds the levells, the ossature, & the values of being. The Poet surveys the errors and punishments of the remaining Rings of the Circle of the Realists: the Ring of those who believed that XVIII Synopsis reality presents itself organized in a hierarchy of irreducible levels, here condemned to frantically climbing up and down a system of burning stairs that always bring them back to the same flat, uniform plateau; the Ring of those who ascribed an objective reality to the conceptual articulations through which we organize the contents of our experience, here condemned to endure in their own flesh the sufferings caused by the indifferent fury of sustained lacerating hailstorms; and the Ring of those who believed in the objective reality of their aesthetical and moral values, here transmuted into horrid monsters constantly dismembered and tore to pieces by beautiful-looking beasts. — Places: Third Circle, third to fifth Rings. — Damned souls: Realists in the levels of reality, in its robust structure, and in the objective nature of values. — Error: Credited the world with a rich and complex system of “natural joints” that resides instead in our organizing practices and in the conceptual resources underpinning our representation of the world and our need to represent it that way. — Punishment: They are condemned to an endless and fruitless climbing up and down of burning stairs (Ring three), to suffering the injures of uninterrupted violent hail (Ring four), and to be tore to pieces by wild, beautiful-looking beasts (Ring five). — Characters met: Plotinus; Emergentists, Vitalists, Makers of the real World; Cicero, Thomas Aquinas. — Characters mentioned: None. Canto XIII – or, the fourth Circle, site of the Dowters. Once past the guardian—the ancient fortune-teller Tiresias—Socrates and the Poet enter the fourth Circle. Surrounded by stagnant and muddy waters, here are condemned the doubters, which is to say those philosophers who sinned of excessive scepticism, each of whom is constantly endeavoring to stay afloat by clinging on to solitary rocks that crumble under their weight. The Poet recognizes some, including Pyrrho, Sextus Empiricus, al-Ghazālī, and Zhuāngzǐ. There follows a mournful chorale touching on a series of sceptical doubts concerning deism, the natural order of things, the external world, other minds, and personal identity. The last part to this choral lament comes from an elevated spirit whom the Synopsis XIX Poet is able to glance briefly as she sinks, slowly but relentlessly, into the pond of doubt. — Place: Fourth Circle. — Damned souls: The sceptics. — Error: Suspended their judgment on all philosophical questions. — Punishment: As in life they renounced the support of all truths, so here they try in vain to hang on to some rocks of sorts that quickly crumble, one after the other, under their weight. — Characters met: al-Ghazālī, Pyrrho, Sextus Empiricus, Tiresias, Zhuāngzǐ, choir of doubtful souls. — Characters mentioned: None. Canto XIV – or, the fifth Circle, in the Zone o’ the Irrealistes hight idealistes. At the entrance of the fifth Circle, the threatening voice of a guardian hidden in the fog commands Socrates and the Poet to halt. The Poet shivers. [Canto received in truncated form. We can only speculate that the lost part addressed the “idealistic” error consisting in resolving all reality into thought: while it is wrong to accredit the world with a robust structure of boundaries, laws, and values that reside only in our heads and in our organizing practices—as the Poet learned in the third Circle—it does not follow that the world itself is merely a by-product of our mind, as though all reality were reducible to the subjective content of our individual or collective consciousness.] — — — — — — Place: Fifth Circle, first Zone. Damned souls: Antirealists endorsing wholesome idealism. Error: n/a Punishment: n/a Characters met: Thousand-eyed guardian. Characters mentioned: n/a Canto XV – or, agayn the fifth Circle, in the Zone o’ the Irrealistes hight relativistes. [Canto entirely missing from the manuscript. It was probably devoted to the “relativistic” error consisting in replacing all facts with interpretations, or in making every ontological and metaphysical question depend entirely on the conceptual schemes through which we represent reality.] XX Synopsis — Place: Fifth Circle, second Zone. — Damned souls: Antirealists endorsing widespread relativism. Canto XVI – or, agayn the fifth Circle, in the Zone o’ the Irrealistes hight pragmatistes. [Canto entirely missing from the manuscript. Presumably, “pragmatists” should here be understood in connection with those organizing practices on whose importance the Poet has insisted in his objections against the realists. We may thus suppose that the Canto dealt with the errors stemming from an excessive recourse to those practices, which might lead to far more radical conclusions than the ones the Poet is willing to accept: that reality itself never speaks to us in any way; that the value of knowledge resides entirely in its instrumental success; that what is true is up to us to decide; and so on.] — Place: Fifth Circle, third Zone. — Damned souls: Antirealists endorsing unreserved pragmatism. Canto XVII – or, the craggy Steep, site o’ the Nihilistes, & the sixth Circle, site o’ the Existentialistes. Socrates and the Poet climb down the steep slippery slope leading to the Sixth Circle. Around them is a cascade of falling nihilists, representing those philosophers who could not set any limits to their sceptical and antirealist reasonings to the point of denying any reality whatsoever. Two of them pass close by the Poet, crying and shouting their torment. At the foot of the decline, Socrates and the Poet meet an old man and his infernal rooster. From their words it is learned that the new Circle, which they are set to guard, hosts the ones who turned the meaning and the very possibility of existence into a personal, intimist matter. The Poet sees that they are condemned to sit around in tears, licking each other’s burning wounds. On his way out, he is moved at the sight of a tormented soul who recognizes her/his own daughter from the taste of her blood. [Incomplete Canto, missing the first part.] — Place: Craggy steep; Sixth Circle. — Damned souls: Nihilists; Existentialists. — Error: Professed the indiscriminate denial of all things; longed for the annihilation of their own individual existence. — Punishment: As in life they fell down the slippery slope that Synopsis XXI led them to the refusal of every ontology, so here the nihilists precipitate inexorably down the craggy steep, with nothing to cling on to; and as in life the existentialists plunged into weeps of self-commiseration, so here they are condemned forever to lick each other’s wounds in tears. — Characters met: Two unidentified nihilists; an old guardian, his infernal rooster; an unidentified existentialist and her/his daughter. — Characters mentioned: None Canto XVIII – or, the seventh Circle, in the Ring o’ the Dualistes tow’rds the mentall. Socrates describes the structure of the seventh Circle and explains that the first Ring houses those philosophers who held the body and the soul to be distinct substances. Passing by a giant guardian in the shape of a living statue—a talking golem—the two enter the Ring, which looks like a vast burial ground with plenty of uncovered tombs among which, in between flocks of bats and moths, zombie-like creatures roam in daze biting each other. The Poet recognizes someone he seems to have met before, and Socrates explains that the damned of Helle can be in different places and suffer different punishments simultaneously. A question about the nature of the golem prompts an intense philosophical discussion about the relation between body and soul (mind, psyche), during which Socrates helps the Poet to shed off the dualistic intuitions that seem to drive his questions. — Place: Seventh Circle, first Ring. — Damned souls: Dualists about the mental. — Error: Regarded the body and the soul as two distinct substances. — Punishment: They are transformed in those zombie-like creatures from which they believed to be radically different, or in moths and bats, whose peculiar nature they thought to be unintelligible. — Characters met: Talking statue (golem); Gottschalk, Scotus Eriugena, Augustine. — Characters mentioned: None. Canto XIX – or, agayn the seventh Circle, in the Ring o’ the Dualistes tow’rds the materiall. The Poet listens to the deeply mov- XXII Synopsis ing lament of a damned soul who is deprived forever of his lost love; his own heart is filled with sorrow at the thought that he himself might not be able see his beloved Lady of the Heavens ever again. Entering the second Ring of the seventh Circle, Socrates reveals that here are punished those who distinguished, not the immaterial mind from its attendant material body, but any material body from the very matter that composes it. After clarifying with concrete examples that this distinction rests on a deep conceptual confusion, the two observe the terrifying punishment inflicted on the damned: mutilated and torn to pieces by violent earthquakes, they are forced to recompose themselves over and over again in random fashion, in observance to the principle according to which the whole is nothing over and above the mere sum of the parts. — Place: Seventh Circle, first and second Rings. — Damned souls: Dualists about the material. — Error: Distinguished material substances from their matter, the whole from the sum of its parts. — Punishment: Are forced to suffer the never-ending destruction of their bodies, which are reassembled in poor fashion after every earthquake forcing them to drag painfully while holding their own body parts. — Characters met: Adamans, Albéric (of Paris?), Cleanthius, Duns Scotus, Lystra, Mnesarch, Themistius, Trotula de Ruggiero. — Characters mentioned: None. Canto XX – or, the flowin’ River, site o’ the Fearfull of change. Leaving the Circle of the dualists, Socrates and the Poet come to the banks of a singing river, where a ship under the command of Theseus is ready to take them to the next Circle. During the crossing, while some sailors are busy repairing the vessel, the Poet sits with the rest of the crew who offer him bread and wine and tell him about the fears and mysteries surrounding the problem of identity through change. The Poet learns that their punishment has left them with no memories, forcing them to an eternity without history. Upon nearing their destination, on the other side of the river, the Poet promises to remember the mariners and to treasure their words. Synopsis XXIII — Place: Flowing River between the seventh and eighth Circles. — Damned souls: Fearful of change. — Error: Not specific fallacy, except perhaps for the presumption to have come to a solution of what is, in fact, a most difficult and still controversial problem. — Punishment: Deprived of their own memory and ignorant of their own identity, no one remembers them. — Characters met: Theseus; several unidentified sailors. — Characters mentioned: Heraclitus. Canto XXI – or, of the eight Circle, in the Zones o’ the Sullen hight Actualistes & Deterministes. Back on firm ground, on the way to the eighth Circle the Poet has a clever intuition concerning the ship of Theseus. Socrates is visibly pleased and takes the opportunity to stress the importance of imagination and of the sense of possibility in the practice of philosophy. [Canto received in truncated form. Based on Socrates’ words, the Sullen must comprise all those philosophers who in some way or other adopted a submissive attitude toward the world as it is, and the rest of the Canto must have been devoted to the first two errors stemming from this attitude: the “actualist” error of neglecting altogether the horizon of possibilities, and the “determinist” error of thinking that all actual facts and events are already connected to one another according to a necessary, pre-established order.] — Place: Eighth Circle, first and second Zones. — Damned souls: The sullen, spec. those lacking a sense of possibility and those endorsing the necessity of determinism. — Error: Passively accepted the contingent order of things. — Punishment: n/a — Characters met: n/a — Characters mentioned: n/a Canto XXII – or, agayn of the eight Circle, in the Zones o’ the Sullen hight Fatalistes & Irresponsibles. [Canto entirely missing from the manuscript. It was probably devoted, on the one hand, to the “fatalist” error consisting in the complete denial of free will, which leads to a total resignation towards what would happen as a matter of necessity, and on the other hand to the fallacy of “irresponsibility”, according to which, in absence of any substantive XXIV Synopsis form of free will, it would be impossible to assign any responsibility to our actions and moral conduct.] — Place: Eighth Circle, third and fourth Zones — Damned souls: The sullen, spec. the fatalists and the morally irresponsible. Canto XXIII – or, the Pit of Dwarfes, site o’ the Haughty & the False wise. [Canto received in damaged condition. The Poet finds himself in the vicinity of a large well between the eighth and ninth Circles. Inside it, down its depths, a multitude of shrinking people dangle by their wrists injuring themselves against the sharp walls. These are probably the haughty and false wise mentioned in the heading, to whom the rest of the Canto must have been devoted—philosophers of all sorts who thought too highly of themselves during their lives, and who are now reduced to petty dwarflets in accordance with the law of “contrapasso”.] — — — — Place: Pit of the dwarfs, between the eighth and ninth Circles. Damned souls: Haughty and false wise. Error: Arrogance, hauteur, intellectual dishonesty. Punishment: As in life they believed themselves to be far greater than they really were, so here they are shrunk to halfmen loosely dangling in the abyss of a sharp-walled well. — Characters met: None. — Characters mentioned: None. Canto XXIV – or, the ninth Circle, in the Ditches o’ the Illiterates tow’rds history & the sciences. [Canto entirely missing from the manuscript. Assuming it was devoted to the first two Ditches of the ninth Circle, as the title says, we can only speculate that the Poet intended to punish here those philosophers who were blatantly ignorant of the teaching of the past, including the errors made by their predecessors, and of the results of scientific research, admittedly partial and provisional and yet not dismissible.] — Place: Ninth Circle, first and second Ditches. — Damned souls: Illiterates of history and of the sciences. Canto XXV – or, agayn the ninth Circle, in the Ditch o’ the Illiterates tow’rds Logic. [Canto entirely missing from the manu- Synopsis XXV script. Probably devoted to those who, intentionally or by mere negligence, neglected the resources of logic, which is the basic and main tool any philosopher ought to use to properly draw consequences from the facts and put order in their own theories.] — Place: Ninth Circle, third Ditch — Damned souls: Illiterates of logic. Canto XXVI – or, the tenth Circle, in the Ditches o’ the Fraudulentes flatterers & plagiarstes. [Canto entirely missing from the manuscript. Two variants of intellectual fraud must have been punished here: flattery, i.e., the exaggerated praise of someone’s thought out of mere deference or low personal interest, and plagiarism, understood probably in its twofold aspect of appropriation of somebody else’s ideas and of enslavement of somebody else’s thought and will through the dishonest exercise of intellectual sway.] — Place: Tenth Circle, first and second Zones. — Damned souls: The Fraudulents, spec. the flatterers and the plagiarists. Canto XXVII – or, agayn the tenth Circle, in the most dysmal Ditch o’ the rotten Fraudulentes. At the very heart of the last Ring of the final Circle, Socrates and the Poet find themselves in front of a huge ten-headed beast standing in the middle of a boiling lake of pitch, into which devils and monsters keep throwing damned souls. After having observed and interpreted the symbolic value of each head of the beast, the two reach over one of its necks and strenuously climb down, leaving it behind. They thus come to a narrow path, at the end of which is a small hole filled with light. [Incomplete Canto. The missing part was probably devoted to the third Ditch, site of such damned souls as to deserve no more than the epithet “rotten”.] — — — — — — Place: Tenth Circle, third Ditch. Damned souls: Fraudulent of the worst sort—the rotten. Error: n/a Punishment: n/a Characters met: Ten-headed Beast. Characters mentioned: None. XXVI Synopsis Canto XXVIII – or, the Exit. The frame of the lightened hole has a solemn inscription which the Poet, still frightened, is unable to decipher; Socrates reassures him and urges him to go through the burrow. At the exit, the Poet is overwhelmed with joy and marvel upon seeing the immense bright desert that opens in front of his eyes. Socrates tells him this is the end of the line, the destination of they journey: it is the time for farewell. On his own once again, yet high in spirit and intellect, the Poet walks forth into the desert. The greatest and deepest emotion gets a hold of him as he sees the Lady of the Heavens waiting for him at a distance. The encounter with the loved one and her kiss, which fulfills the message of the inscription elevating the Poet to the ever-shining stars, is the final seal on his long redemptive journey: every truth, all beauty has its origin and dies in love. Text and commentary — Place: Bright desert, outside Helle. — Characters met: Lady of the Heavens. — Characters mentioned: None. Note. The commentary refers to the line numbers of the Italian text, indicating the relevant English translation in square brackets even when the latter does not quite occur on the corresponding line. Canto I Canto I overo Proemio or, Proemium – The Poet is lost in a muddy swamp, signifying serious philosophical impasse (1–21). He descries a promising, flowerful site in the vicinity and sets out to reach it, but three hostile beasts—the unicorn, the chimera, and the leviathan—threaten him and impede his way (22–90). Socrates then appears before the Poet announcing the coming of the owl at the end of times (91–147) and offering to accompany him through the dark hell of the intellect, where philosophers of all provenances are punished for their faults and mistakes, in the endeavor to learn from their errors and find the proper way out of the swamp (148–159). ARGUMENT 4 Canto I Proemium L’Amor è il primo mobile, il principio a penetrar le cose, la lor trama, la lor natura, il fine, il loro incipio. 1 Love is the primal mover, the principium to unravel things and penetrate their thread, their character, their origen, their purpose. Ma luce o perdizione quel che s’ama nasconde in onne cosa ch’è presente: abisso e stelle stesso foco chiama. 4 Yet light and ruin to-gether what is loved behideth in all presentaneous things: one fire call’th forth abyss and stars alike. E come accade che confusamente la strada ch’è in discesa par salita, così accadde a me: che la mia mente 7 And as it may behappen that, adrift, the road downhill appear’th as though uphill, thus it befell on me, that e’en my mind, filosofando intorno a nostra vita si sprofondasse in tal paluda dura che scorger non potea io via d’uscita. 10 philosophying on this our life of awe, enfounder’d in such firm abhorrent swamps that no egress thereforth could I foresee. Ancora ’l cor e ’l capo mi s’oscura de la paluda vischia fonda e forte che del pensier rinova la paura! 13 My head and heart still darken thesterly over the deep and stern and viscous mire that my dismay of thought resumes anew! 1. Amor [Love] – With this word, the Poet identifies at the very outset the object of the Poem with Philosophy, in its original etymological sense of love (φίλος) for wisdom (σοφία). The whole first tercet is at the same time a hymn to and a definition of such an understanding of philosophy. But the opening verse is also meant to single out love as the cornerstone of the Poem, which is entirely built on the fragile interweaving between the passionate love for wisdom and the equally ardent and unconditioned love for the woman the Poet will call “Lady of the Heavens”. In Dante, the same logic underlies the last verse of the Comedia, albeit moving from the theologal and redemptive conception of “love” that inspires the Paradiso: “The love that moves the sun and the other stars” (L’amor che move il sole e l’altre stelle, Par. XXXIII, 145). 4–6. Ma luce… [Yet light… ] – And here, along with the promise of love, the perils hidden in its practice: in our everyday commerce with the things of the world, the love for wisdom as well as the love for our dear ones are constantly called upon to choose between the way leading to light [luce] and the way to ruin [perdizione]. Thus, the same passion [foco: fire] may result in the elevation of the soul or in its decline. The tension between these two sides of love will be in the background of the entire Comedye. 8. La strada… [The road…] – The simile is reminiscent of Heraclitus’s aphorism: “The way up and the way down is one and the same” (Fr. 60, from Hippolytus, Ref. haer. IX, 10, 4). 10. Filosofando… [Philosophying…] – This verse joins the incipit of Dante’s Comedia, with a certain correspondence between the gerundive form of the verb and the metaphor of a path that is still midway of Inf. I, 1 (Nel mezzo 5 del cammin…). As was noted in the Introduction, from here on this first Canto will present close affinities with Dante’s, and the parallelism between the two poems will continue rather firmly until Canto V (the fourth of Inferno). In particular, here too “this our life” [nostra vita] is to indicate that the Poet assimilates his condition to the reader’s, as does Dante, offering his own personal experience as an instance of the sort of intellectual redemption to which we are all called. 11. Paluda dura [Firm swamps] – The swamps metaphor, probably from Psalms, 40:2, but also Plato, Rep. 533d (“when the eye of the soul is sunk in barbarous slough”), is emblematic of the condition of widespread confusion and impasse to which philosophical inquiry may lead. But the swamps are firm [dura]: the oxymoron suggests that the problem afflicting the Poet is a genuine insolubilis, although he refrains here from revealing its nature in the interest of generality. (He will come back to it in Canto II, vv. 70ff.) The opening location of Dante’s Commedia is instead the dark woods [selva oscura, Inf. I, 2] which already Virgil places at the entrance of the underworld (Aen. VI, 131) and which constitutes the symbolic locus of moral loss of much medieval literature (from Augustine’s Confessions, X, xxxv, 56, to Brunetto Latini’s Tesoretto: “Perdei il gran cammino, e tenni la traversa di una selva diversa”; II, 76– 78). See also Conv. IV, xii, 18 and xxiv, 12. 12. Via d’uscita [Egress] – The swamps are no labyrinth, yet one needs a way out, an escape route. Cf. Wittgenstein: “A philosophical problem has the form: ‘I don’t know my way around’.” (Phil. Untersuchungen, 1953, §123) 15. Del pensier… [My dismay…] – As in Dante, Inf. I, 6, but with a differ- 6 Canto I Proemium Fatal, irrisestibile, una sorte m’avviluppava mentre ch’i’ v’intrai. Il sonno di ragion pareva morte. 16 How dire, ineluctable the fate that wrapp’d me tight as I was sinking in. The slumbering of reason was like death. E come morte par non finir mai, barrancolando andavo a cieco a caso di sotto al peso di codesti agguai. 19 And e’en as death doth ne’er seem to end, so likely was I groping in the gloom, astray, aneath the fardels of such grief. Or venne che ’l timor che m’ebbe ’nvaso al balenar d’un loco assai fiorito sembrò svanir qual nebula a l’occaso. 22 Now, it so happened that my storming fright appear’d to vanish like as brume at dusk upon my seeing a site of blooming flowers. E qual colui che abbi omai finito traversamenta lunga, secca e trista, e scorge il fonte e n’è rinvigorito, 25 And like to him who, having peragrated through dry and distant desolated paths, now seeth the fount and feel’th invigurated, così ’l cor mio bevea di quella vista ch’i’ presi a camminarvi press’ a torno commisurando ’l passo quel che dista. 28 so drank my heart of such auspicial sight that I began to move my step around it, commeasuring my pacing to the distance. Il sol avea diviso a mezzo il giorno; 31 The sun had made its circle half the day; ence: there, it is in thought [nel pensier] that the narrator’s dismay resumes anew, meaning that the very memory of what happened renews a paralyzing sense of fear and distress (following Virgil, Aen. II, 3: “Infandum […] renovare dolorem”; cf. also Inf. XXXIII, 4–6: “Tu vuo’ ch’ io rinovelli disperato dolor che ’l cor mi preme già pur pensando”); here the Poet speaks of his dismay of thought [del pensier], of the “tribulations” that come with the practice of philosophy, which is no less than the subject of the whole Comedye. 18. Sonno di ragion [Slumbering of reason] – The phrase might indicate that the three beasts the Poet will meet in the remainder of the Canto (the unicorn, the chimera, the leviathan) are the product of his own delirious reasoning, with a an image that will become popular with Goya (El sueño de la razón produce monstruos, 1797), if not with Füssli (Nachtmahr, 1781). See also below, II, 81–82. This would reflect the Aristotelian conception of reason as constitutive of human nature (Eth. Nic. I, 13), which Dante himself regarded as that by which “man has a love of truth and virtue” (Conv. III, iii, 11). 20. Barrancolando [Groping] – This is the first of a long series of distorted terms (here: from brancolare) coined by the Poet for metric, phonetic, or figurative reasons, adding a very personal stylistic plasticity to his Poem while still respecting the canons of Dolce Stil Novo. 22. Or venne che [Now, it so happened that] – The key passage of the Proemium. The change of register from the didascalic tones of the first seven tercets signals that the story is now entering its core; the Comedye proper be- 7 gins here. This stylistic element occurs frequently in Italian 12th- and 13thcentury literature (e.g. in Novellino VI, 1; LXXV, 1; LXXX, 1). 23. Loco assai fiorito [Site of blooming flowers] – In contrast to the swamps into which the Poet has sunk, as per the simple loss/hope topos. That the place in question is filled with flowers (as in the garden of Boccaccio’s Amorosa visione, XXXVIII, 15) is a clear metaphor of the attraction exerted by easy and captivating—but not for that reason effective—solutions, which the Poet believed he could still achieve. The whole Poem will be devoted precisely to the progressive debunking of such delusive solutions. It will be recalled that on his way out of the woods Dante comes instead to the foot of a hill [al piè d’un colle, Inf. I, 13], which some commentators take to represent the Supreme Good of Conv. IV, xii, 15. 25–30. E qual… [And like…] – A full simile, respecting the strict division into two tercets (figure and figured) that returns repeatedly in the Poem. Dante uses the same expedient to describe his emotions at the sight of the hill (Inf. I, 22–27). This reinforces the structural parallelism between the two Proemiums mentioned in n. 10, which is further confirmed in the scene of the three wild beasts that will occupy much of the following. Here the simile is strengthened by the semantic ductility of “paths” [traversamenta], in the generic sense of routes and in the more specific sense of an intellectual pilgrimage. 31. Il sol… [The sun…] – So it is noon. Dante’s journey begins instead early in the morning, just before dawn (Inf. I, 17). 8 Canto I ma pria che tra quei fiori fossi giunto comparve a me dinanzi un gran liocorno, Proemium 9 but ere that I cou’d reach nigh to the flowers a unicorne appeared byfore mine eyes. sì ch’ïo proseguir non potea punto. Gocciavan grasso e fiamma dal suo dorso ch’intorno si facea bruciato ed unto, 34 So tall he was that I could not go further. An oil of flames was dripping down his backward and all around was burnt and greasie soil; ed era sanza freno e sanza morso. Mandava un sono forte e basso e fero che non di ben presago s’era accorso, 37 the beast was unrestrain’d and bridle-less. A feral sound was bursting from his venter so loud and deep it was of no good omen. e ’l corno aveva lordo, rosso e nero, gittante almeno due cubiti d’ombra. Lo zoccolo caprino pel sentiero 40 His horn was dirty, red and black striated, and cast a shade at least two cubits longwise. His goaty cloven hooves were calcitrating se ne scalciava sì che tutto ’ngombra e speme d’ottener le salve zolle d’un tratto nel mio cor novel s’adombra. 43 so furiously that neverwhere was clear and any hope to reach the healthy site of suddenty in my heart grew dark agayn. 33. Liocorno [Unicorne] – The first of three hostile creatures that will block the Poet’s way to the flowerful site of v. 23. Dante, too, encounters three beasts at the beginning of Inferno—a leopard, a lion, a wolf—which according to biblical exegesis, esp. Jer. 5:6, represent the three fundamental sins which hinder the path of mankind to the Good, namely, lust, pride, and avarice (and which Ugo Foscolo, in his Discorso sul testo of 1826, identified instead with the three powers condemned in the Commedia: the city of Florence, the king of France, the Roman clergy). The identification of this first beast with the unicorn would suggest that the insolubilis in which the Poet is entrapped is, at least in part, ontological. For, in philosophy unicorns are a classic example of those mythological creatures that give rise to the problem of “Plato’s beard”, as Willard Quine will call it (On What There Is, 1948, p. 23): How can we deny their existence without thereby contradicting ourselves? Are we not ascribing them some sort of reality just as soon as we start talking about them? That this is actually part of the problem is confirmed by the Poet in Canto II (vv. 70ff.)—and more extensively in Canto IX—where the symbolic reading of the beast is clarified. At the same time, the unicorn might here signify the opposite error, against which Shakespeare’s Hamlet will warn his friend Horatio: to reckon that there exist only those things that are “dreamt of by your philosophy” (Hamlet I, v, 166). The Poet will come back to this explicitly in Canto V, in the vicinity of the bridge on the Amelete river (vv. 19–24), and then again in Canto IX (vv. 41–42). Furthermore, while the unicorn is but the first of the beasts he is about to face, one might conjecture that they are not three separate creatures: for the unicorn has parts in common with the chimera (their goatlike features), the chimera with the leviathan (a serpent), and all share the ele- ment of fire, which the unicorn releases from his back (v. 35), the chimera from her nostrils (v. 55), the leviathan from his mouth (v. 67). This would imply that philosophical enquiry must come to terms with a single critical problem, of which the three beasts would embody different aspects. 39. Non di ben presago… [Of no good omen…] – Possibly a reference to those traditions according to which unicorns were animals of good fortune. For example, in the Huo-lin jie (end of 8th cent.) the neo-Confucian poet Han Yü takes that to be a “universally acknowledged” fact, albeit with the proviso that “no one knows what a unicorn looks like”. 40. Rosso e nero [Red and black] – Follows the description by Ctesias (Indica 45, apud Photios, Bibl. 74), allegedly the first testimony on the unicorn (though Ctesias talked about it as of a really existing animal, a “wild ass” living in India, identified by some with the Indian Rhinoceros, R. unicornis; cf. also Aristotle, De part. anim. III, 2, 663a20 and Hist. anim. II, I, 499b19–20). 41. Due cubiti [Two cubits] – It’s noon, so the shadow cannot be longer than the horn itself. For Ctesias, this measured only one cubit and a half (about 27 inches); the length of two cubits is from Pliny (Nat. hist. VIII, 31). 42. Zoccolo caprino [Goaty cloven hooves ] – According to Pliny (cit.) and other classical authors (e.g. Solinus, Coll. rer. mem. LII, 39–40; Aelianus, Nat. anim. XVI, 20), the unicorn had “elephant feet”. The feature of the goat’s hoof begins to spread in medieval iconography only around the 12th cent. It might also be a variant by the Poet himself meant to suggest the symbolic reading mentioned at the end of n. 33. 44. Le salve zolle [The healthy site] – The site of blooming flowers of v. 23, a metaphor of delusive salvation. 10 Canto I Proemium Il sol che dietro inonda le corolle rinfiaccolava pur l’anima intera di raddomesticar la bestia folle 46 The shining sun behind the flower-leaves was still and all inspiriting my soul to tame that undomesticated brute ma ecco che m’apparve una chimera, di non mortal fattor animo immondo, leone, capra e serpe in stessa schiera. 49 when a chimera burst upon my sight, of no mortal begetter filthy creature: a lion, goat, and serpent in one figure. Sen va frangendo i cardini del mondo che quello, quale cenere, sospeso rimansi e null’ aggrappa e tutt’ affondo. 52 She goes about destroying all wordly joints, wherefore the world itself remain’th suspended, like ashes, nothing standeth, all what falleth. Ne le sue nari il foco ha sempr’ acceso che ’l fiato rizolfando assai rintuzza ch’io mai da odor fui stato tanto offeso; 55 Her nostrils, fill’d with everlasting fire, are fueled by her sulphurating breath, of such a stench I had never smelled before. e quel non esser con la coda ’guzza trapassa i monti e rompe i muri e l’armi e fa di quel ch’è solido pagliuzza. 58 And that non-being with the pointed tail transpasseth mountains, shatter’th shields and walles, and turneth solid matter into sawdust. 47. Pur [Still and all] – Adversative. Despite the unicorn’s hostile attitude, the sun shining behind the flowers is nurturing the Poet’s soul and his hope to overcome the obstacle. 48. Raddomesticar [Tame] – The Western medieval tradition, perhaps in the footsteps of the Physiologus and Isidore’s Etymologiae (XII, ii, 12–13), believed that the unicorn could only be tamed by a virgin, symbol of purity. This archetype may be found in other traditions as well, e.g., in the seduction of Ṛṣyaśṛṅga in the Mahābhārata (c. 4th cent. BCE) and in the Rāmāyaṇa (c. 2nd cent.), if not already in the narrative of Enkidu in the Sumerian epic of Gilgameš. The Poet’s struggle to tame the animal might therefore be a sign of his impurity: this is not the first time he falls victim of a philosophical sin. 49. Chimera [Chimera] – The description of this second beast is reminiscent of Homer, Iliad VI, 180–182: “She was […] in the fore part a lion, in the hinder a serpent, and in the midst a goat”; cf. also Hesiod, Theog. 319–320; Ovid, Metam. IX, 648. Its symbolic reading is rather complex. On the one hand, besides offering another example of a mythological creature often mentioned in connection with the ontological problem of “Plato’s beard” cited in n. 33 (see Sten Ebbesen, The Chimera’s Diary, 1986), the chimera is paradigmatically a hybrid that runs afoul of all biological taxonomies, hence—metaphorically—all systems of metaphysical categories (cf. Iamblichus apud Philoponus, Cat. 9; Dexippus, In cat. 7.20–24; Ammonius, In cat. 9–10). As such, she could therefore represent the elusive nature of the Poet’s philosophical problem, but also a challenge to the idea that reality is structured in natural articulations wholly independent of our organizing activities (the wordly joints— 11 cardini—of v. 52) and that it is the task of philosophy, if not of science generally, to bring to light that structure—as in the tradition that traces back to Plato (Phaedrus 265d) and that the Poet will address extensively in the second part of Canto XII. Some evidence for this reading may be found below in vv. 52– 54 and 60. On the other hand, the chimera might also represent the monstrous theoretical hybrids that emerge from the tendency to construct philosophical systems grounded on a plurality of heterogeneous, poorly integrated concepts and principles. 52–54. Sen va… [She goes…] – By transgressing the systems of categories in which the world is supposed to be structured (v. 51), the march of the chimera infringes all natural “joints”, causing a dissolution of the entire world into groundless, “suspended” ashes [cenere]. 58. Quel non esser [That non-being] – Possibly a hint to Gorgias, whose treatise On Nature or the Non-Existent supposedly mentioned the chimera against Parmenides’s thesis that “to be thought and to be are the same thing” (Fr. 3, from Clement, Strom. II, 440, 12); cp. Sextus Empiricus, Adv. math. VII, 80. Or the Poet might simply be following the seemingly innocent practice, common in medieval logical treatises, of calling the chimera a “nonbeing” (see e.g. Matthew of Orléans’ Sophistaria, I, 149ff: “chimera est nonens”). On this see more below, II, n. 83. 58–59. Con la coda ’guzza… [With the pointed tail…] – Dante uses similar words in describing Geryon, monster of fraud, in Inf. XVII, 1–2. Note that here the chimera’s destructive power is emphasized. Not only does she run afoul of all systems of joints or categories that are regarded as “objective”, i.e., delim- 12 Canto I Proemium Io già mi paventava a vicinarmi quand’ io vidi da un pelago lontano gonfiarsi l’acqua come ad inghiottarmi. 61 Already was I fearful to get closer, when of a distant mere I saw the waters delate and grow as if to swallow me. Fu allora che levossi il leviatano, tal bestia di terror sanza mai pace che milla cubiti membr’ ha lontano. 64 ’Twas then that the leviathan arose: a monstre of transcendent peaceless terrour, with limbs that size a thousand cubits wide. In vece de la bocca avea fornace, e non già denti, ma ronconi e artiglia, e un serpo scuro avea ne la sua face. 67 A furnace was the semblance of his mouth, withouten teeth but rather fangs and claws, and wagging in his gorge a swarthy snake. Le squame del suo dorso eran conchiglia che non facea passar minemo vento, ed ogne cosa al suo andar imbriglia 70 The skales of his backbone were rows of shells so tight that even breath cou’d not pass through, and every thing is trapped in his advance ch’a tutta la natura era tormento. Avea le carni a strati e sanza suola che ’l fulmine dividerebbe a stento; 73 wherefore all parts of nature are distress’d. His flesh was an unbottomed stack of layers e’en lightning cou’d not easily dismember. ited by natural borders (i monti: the mountains); she also spurns all categories that qualify as conventional, i.e., delimited by artificial boundaries (i muri e l’armi: the walls and borders drawn with the help of weaponry, symbols of ideological disputes). 64. Leviatano [Leviathan] – Based on the detailed description of the biblical monster in Job 41, the third beast attacking the Poet symbolizes, most likely, the condition of interior conflict and peaceless terror (v. 65: terror sanza mai pace) into which philosophical turmoil may degenerate. Cf. Thomas Aquinas, who compared the devil to the leviathan living in the waves of the sea “because of the effects which he works in moving interior motions to and fro” (Super Job. XL, 20). In addition, the beast could signify the condition of universal strife that may come with philosophical controversy, as indicated below [È promotor di guerra universale, v. 133]. This would correspond to Hobbes’s image of “bellum omnium contra omnes” in De cive (Praef. §14) and Leviathan (XIII and XIV), though Hobbes’s leviathan—which the famous frontispiece by Abraham Bosse portrays as a giant clutching simultaneously a sword and a crosier, emblems of the earthly power and of the power of the Church—symbolizes the sovereign authority of the State and is, therefore, a benign monster. 66. Milla cubiti [A thousands cubits] – It is doubtful whether this magnitude is to be understood literally or hyperbolically. The former reading would be justified by the fact that, in describing the shadow of the unicorn’s horn (v. 41), the Poet used “cubits” to indicate a precise measure. The latter would find support in the medieval practice to use “thousands” for very large num- 13 bers and would be in line with similar descriptions of the leviathan as exceedingly huge. For instance, Isidore says it was “the size of a mountain” (Etym. XII, vi, 8), and the Bava Bathra of the Talmūd goes as far as saying that it would make a mouthful of a fish “three hundred miles in length” (74a). 69. Serpo scuro [Swarthy snake] – This is the element the leviathan shares with the body of the chimera (v. 51). The image will return in Nietzsche’s parable of “The Vision and the Enigma” (Also sprach Zarathustra, 1884, §46), where a heavy black serpent is hanging out of the mouth of a young shepherd, symbolizing the stultifying doctrines that suffocate our minds and that must be “bitten off” before it is too late. The Poet will in fact tell us that, at the end of times, the head of the leviathan’s snake will be cut off by an owl, the symbol of philosophical wisdom (vv. 141–145). 70–71. Le squame… [The skales…] – From Job 41:7–8: “His back is like rows of shields, sealed with a stone seal, touching each other so close that no breath could pass between”. 74. A strati e sanza suola [An unbottomed stack of layers] – Insofar as it is thus composed, the flesh of the leviathan might be intended as an instance of infinitely divisible stuff —the sort of stuff that already Anaxagoras regarded as fundamental (Fr. 3, from Simplicius, Phys. 164, 17: “Neither is there a smallest part of what is small, but there is always a smaller”) and that today goes under the rubric of “atomless gunk” (following David Lewis, Parts of Classes, 1991, p. 20). The debate over divisibilism vs. indivisibilism was center stage in medieval philosophy, especially in the early14th century, so the Poet may here be hinting at his difficulties in disentangling that controversy. 14 Canto I Proemium petroso come base de la mola, portava il cor di for da la corazza, che nulla mai lo tocca e mai li dola. 76 As solid as the granite of a millstone, he wore his heart withoutforth of his shield as nothing cou’d annoy or bring him payne. Il ventre suo parea di tanta stazza che contener poteva quell’ abisso che con le squame aggancia, rompe e spazza, 79 His chest was built of such a latitude it could embrace the abyss from whence he came; his squamous skin was grabbing, dragging, wracking; e l’occhia sanza palpebra e mai fisso incanutiva il mar e onne creatura che sguardo a lui gittava tutto ’nfisso. 82 his relentless and never-sleeping eyes would blanch the sea along with ev’ry creature upon of which he cast his steady gaze. In tale guisa mostri, in tal fattura, già mai aveva visto o maginato il mio robusto senso di natura! 85 Not ever had my sturdy sense of nature beheld the sight or but imaginated of monstres of this facture, in this guise! Così di là ond’ era io arrivato mi zoppicai di nuovo a poco a poco, m’avean le belve sì mortificato. 88 Thus, mortified by their forbidding menace, proceeding step by step I crippled back towards the marshy land whence I set out. Mentre ch’i’ rovinava in esto loco, dinanzi a li occhi mi si fu offerto chi per lungo silenzio parea fioco. 91 And while I was thus ruining from my track, byfore mine eyes the figure rose of one whose voice seem’d faint through long disuse of speech. I’ ’l vidi che tenea ’l capo coverto: 94 I saw that he was keeping his head covered. 77. Portava… [He wore…] – It is unclear why the Poet positions the heart of the leviathan outside its shield. Perhaps to emphasize the unbashed impudence of the beast. 83. Incanutiva il mar [Would blanch the sea] – This image, too, is from Job 41:32. 87. Robusto senso di natura [Sturdy sense of nature] – Read: the emphasis on real things, in contrast to the “non-existing entities” that may sometimes feature in meaningful discourse and that may be the product of the slumbering of reason (v. 18). In contemporary philosophy, Bertrand Russell will famously employ a similar phrase in criticizing the thoughtlessness of those philosophers who do not hesitate to welcome such “entities” into their fundamental ontology, as in the work of Alexius Meinong and his school: “A robust sense of reality is very necessary in framing a correct analysis of propositions about unicorns, golden mountains, round squares, and other such pseudo-objects […] nothing ‘unreal’ is to be admitted” (Introduction to Mathematical Philosophy, 1919, p. 170). 91–93. Mentre… [And while…] – The character in question is Socrates of Athens (469–399 BCE), the allegory of reason and father of Western philoso- 15 phy, whose faint [fioca] voice must allude to the utter neglect in which the teachings of the philosopher have lain for a long time. Here enters the main protagonist the entire Comedye, the master and guide who will henceforth be always by the Poet’s side. Dante uses these very same verses to introduce Virgil in Canto I of Inferno (vv. 61–63). As with the Roman poet, the identity of the Athenian philosopher is beyond doubt, although all data about him have survived in such a fragmentary and indirect way as to prevent a definite biographic and philosophical reconstruction. (Socrates left no writings of his own, as the Poet will remind us in Canto VI, 26–27.) Given the speculative nature of the poem, Socrates’s role will however be much more central in comparison to Dante’s Virgil and the Poet will not refrain from entrusting his master with the task of engaging in the philosophical questions raised along the way, even at the cost of ascribing to Socrates views that go well beyond the teachings reported in the works of his contemporaries and followers (as in XII, 53–54 and XVIII, 157–158). 94. Capo coverto [Head covered] – As in the Phaedrus: “I’ll cover my head while I’m speaking. In that way, as I’m going through the speech as fast as I can, I won’t get embarrassed by having to look at you” (237a). 16 Canto I “Miserere di me”, io li piangeva, “qual che tu sii, od ombra od omo certo!”. “Più d’esser omo nulla mi premeva”, el disse, “io che pure uomo fui. Io fui quei che di non saper sapeva Proemium 17 “Have mercy on me,” I cried to him aloud, “be thou bodiless shade or living man!” 97 “Than being a man naught did I value more,” he said to me, “and once a man I was. I was the one who knew he did not know, ed or tra l’ombre son sempre costui. Amor di verità, d’animo cura, i’ coltivai ed insegnai altrui 100 and now among these shades I’m so for e’er. The love for truth, the nursing of the soul I cherished and I even taught to others per che mi posse. Ebbi la premura di una fede mai male vestuta che a divina fiamma fia sicura. 103 for what I could. I took it to my heart to foster creedes forever free of garments and lewtifull to the celestial flame. Ma corruzion fu detta, e fu timuta, e fu così si volle che io moia. Tra morte e impurità scelsi cicuta. 106 But it was called corruption, and was feared, and so it was enjoin’d that I should die.” ’Tween death and life impure, I chose for hemlock. Ma tu perché ritorne a tanta noia? Come ti trova in esto loco angusto che ’ndura sanza quete e sanza gioia?”. 109 But thou, why turnest back to such annoy? How comest thou to this sinister site enduring full depriv’d of quiet and joy?” 95–96. Miserere… [Have mercy…] – These are the first words in direct discourse of the Comedye, exactly as in Dante, Inf. I, 65–66. Also Virgil’s Aeneas addressed the sibyl with a Miserere (Aen. VI, 117), but the formula goes back to the Psalms of David (6:3, 26:7, 50:3, etc.) and as such will be reprised by Dante in Par. XXXII, 12. 99. Io fui… [I was…] – The philosopher identifies himself through what is traditionally regarded as his characteristic motto, at least since Cicero: “Nihil se scire dicat nisi id ipsum […] ipse se nihil scire id unum sciat” (Acad. post. I, iv, 16; but cf. xxii, 45, where the motto is traced back to a testimony of Arcesilaus’s). Thus also Diogenes Laërtius (“He knew nothing, except just the fact of his ignorance”; Vitae philos. II, 32) and Lactantius (“He knew one thing only, namely, that he knew nothing”, Epit. inst. div. 37; De ira Dei I.6). According to Plato, however, Socrates simply said “I am aware [σύνοιδα ἐµαυτῷ] of being wise in nothing” (Apol. 21b) or “what I don’t know, I don’t even suppose [οὐδὲ οἴοµαι] that I know” (21d). 100. L’ombre [These shades] – The souls of the dead, as the following will make clear. 101. Amor di verità [The love for truth] – A first explicit reference to the notion of philosophy evoked in v. 1. 106–107. Ma corruzion fu detta… [But it was called corruption…] – Cf. the invective of Meletus, the chief accuser at the trial that led to the death of Socrates in 399 BCE: “Socrates is guilty of refusing to recognize the gods recognized by the state, and of introducing other new divinities. He is also guilty of corrupting the youth. The penalty demanded is death” (Diogenes Laërtius, Vitae philos. II, 40). Plato offers a detailed recount of the trial in the Apology. The other principal source of information is the work with the same title by Xenophon (who learned the factual details from Hermogenes, Xenophon himself being away at the time of the trial). 108. Tra morte… [’Tween death…] – This lapidary verse, exquisite by construction and rhythmic scansion, sums up all the integrity—moral as well as intellectual—of the Athenian philosopher. Hemlock is the plant that produces the highly poisonous infusion with which the tradition identifies the pharmakon that Socrates is supposed to have been forced to drink to carry out his death sentence. Strictly speaking, however, the symptoms described in the passage of the Phaedo devoted to the last moments of the philosopher’s life, after the injection (117c–118a), suggest a mixture of different substances, most likely opium, stramonium, and conium maculatum (William Ober, Did Socrates Die of Hemlock Poisoning?, 1977). 109. Ma tu… [But thou…] – Same line as Inf. I, 76. As in Dante, we read “noia” in the old sense of “annoy”, “torment” (as opposed to “boredom”, the current senses). Cf. Guido Cavalcanti, Quando di morte mi conven trar vita: “come di tanta noia lo spirito d’amor d’amar m’invita?” (vv. 3–4). 18 Canto I Proemium “Or se’ tu dunque quel Socrate ’l giusto? Ahimè, tanto saper qui dunque porta? Tanto cognoscer quindi ha questo gusto? 112 “Art thou then Socrates, art thou the just? Alas, so great a wisdom leadeth hither? So great a knowledge, then, will have this taste? Io e l’anima mia non s’hanno accorta come finimm’ a un tratto a tanto mare che niuna speme par esserne scorta. 115 My soul and I did not accomprehend how we could sudden sink in such a mere, where it doth seem that ev’ry hope is lost. I’ non più so ch’andava io a circare, che quella belva misesi costà, ed i’ ripresi tosto a rovinare”. 118 I do not know what I was seeking forth whenas my track was hamper’d by that bestial and swiftly was I ruining down again.” “Non cerca il circatore quel che sa; e se quel che non sa circare deve, com’ potesi saper che ’l fermerà?”. 121 “No one is ever seeking what is known; and if thou mustest seek what known is not, how mayst thou know whereon thou shalt arrest?” Così mi disse in tono alquanto greve che di saggezza sua i’ fece assaggio. E quandi si riprese, scuro e a breve: 124 Thus spake the sage, with grave solemnal wordes wherewith I had a savour of his wisdom. And when he then reprised, dim and brief: “A te convien tenere altro vïaggio”, 127 “Thee it behoves to take another path,” 112. Socrate ’l giusto [Socrates… the just] – Following Xenophon: “no one was more liberal, more just” (Apol. 25). Plato uses similar words in the Phaedo: “the best, and also the wisest and the most upright” (118a). The Poet is so sure of the identification that he does not even wait for Socrates’s reply before telling him about his own condition. The formula “art thou then” [se’ tu dunque] is also used by Dante in front of Virgil (possibly after Aen. I, 617), though Dante systematically prefers the spelling sè to se’, as in much Florentine literature of the 13th and early 14th centuries. 113–114. Ahimè…? Tanto…? [Alas…? So great…?] – Socrates will have something to say about the other queries and remarks of the Poet, but these last two questions will be passed on in silence. In fact, both are somewhat unfitting, if not disrespectful, given that the philosopher has just introduced himself as “the one who knew he did not know” (v. 99). 115. Io e l’anima mia [My soul and I] – A personality schism, to signify the Poet’s state of confusion. 119. Quella belva [That beastial] – The last of the three animals met by the Poet—the powerful leviathan. 121–123. Non cerca… [No one…] – A clear hint at the paradox of inquiry raised by Socrates in Plato’s Meno, according to which a man can search neither for what he knows, as “knowing it already, there is no need to search”, nor for what he does not know, as “he does not know what to look for” (80e; see also Euthid. 276a–c and Theaet. 165b). However, the Poet refrains from men- 19 tioning Plato’s proposed solution, consisting in the so-called theory of recollection, or anamnesis, which in Plato’s epistemology blends with the metaphysical doctrine of Forms that here will be fiercely condemned in the first Ring of the Circle of the Realists (Canto X). Dante, too, rejects the doctrine in Purg. XV, 85–90. 125. Saggezza [Wisdom] – With respect to both content and form (a question, in typical Socratic style). 127. Altro vïaggio [Another path] – That is, not through the flowerful site that the Poet tried to reach before running into the hostile three beasts. Thus also Dante, Inf. I, 91, possibly after Guittone d’Arezzo, Me pesa assai, v. 12: “Or pensa di tenere altro viaggio” (though the phrase is also in the Tuscan translation of the Navigatio Sancti Brendani, one of the 10th century Latin texts that may have inspired both Dante and the Poet: “ché voi avete a ffare altro viaggio e tosto compierete lo [v]ostro desiderio”, end of XXVI; cf. also Chrétien’s Roman de Perceval, vv. 3622–25, “Que iroie jou avant querre? […] Autre voie m’estuet tenir”, and Faidit’s Longa sazon ai estat vas Amor, vv. 15–16: “Et er m’aillors tener autre viatge / on restaure so que m’a faich perden”). This is the first explicit reference to the long and arduous journey of intellectual redemption to which the remainder of the Comedye is devoted: one cannot reach the truth if one does not first become acquainted with the error. In this sense, the concept goes all the way back to Homer: “You must first complete another journey, and come to the house of Hades and dread Persephone, 20 Canto I volsesi a me che lagrimar mi vide, “a te che puoi di qui far sol passaggio, Proemium 21 he turned to me, my tearful cheeks surveying, “as thou in this surround canst pass and leave, non come noi. La belva che ti stride davanti al passo falso tutt’ assale e tutto sbrana ed onne cosa uccide. 130 unlike the rest of us. The beast that block’d thy falsely step—he assaulteth ev’ry thing and ev’ry thing he killeth and devour’th. È promotor di guerra universale e par manduca il ferro come fieno e ’l bronzo legno marcio che non vale. 133 He is nourisher of universal strife, and iron means no more to him than straw, or bronze no more than worthless rotten wood. Il ventre suo di cocci aguzzi è pieno che sa trebbiar il fond’ anco del fiume. Tirannide, timor sono ’l suo seno 136 His stomach is so fill’d with pointed potsherds that he can thrash the bedrock of the river. Tyrannity and terrour are his breasts e tutte le creature a lei implume si stan di fronte e più seranno ancora. Ma nottola verrà di forti piume 139 and in the sight of him ever each creature is standing bare of plumes, as more will do. But the strong-feathered owl shall uprive volando del crepusco l’ultim’ ora; ai termini del tempo e de le cose li strapperà la serpe e le ’nteriora 142 and spread her wings athwart the shades of dusk; at the denouement of all times and things, she shall tear out his snake and his entrails, e gitteralle onde grazia ascose. 145 and throw them whither grace conceal’th itself. to seek soothsaying of the spirit of Theban Tiresias, the blind seer, whose mind abides steadfast” (Odys. X, 340). 128. Lagrimar mi vide [My tearful cheeks surveying] – Same phrase as the one used by Dante in the corresponding exchange with Virgil (Inf. I, 92). 129. A te che puoi [As thou… canst] – A sorrowful pointer to the fact that, unlike the Poet, Socrates has already come to the end of his life, as have all the souls to be met in the following. Perhaps Socrates does not yet know that, during the journey the two are about to begin, the Poet will give him plenty of opportunities to go back to active philosophizing, thus reviving all the intellectual vigor of which the Athenian master is still capable. 130. La belva [The beast] – Socrates only mentions the leviathan, since the Poet spoke of “that beastial” [quella belva, v. 119]. 131. Passo falso [Falsely step] – Not only did the Poet’s step turn out to be unsuccessful because of the three beasts; stepping towards the flowerful site would itself be doomed to failure, i.e., false, as will become manifest at the end of the Poem: the way out from the swamps will look very different from that site (XXVIII, 20–30 and 67–72). In this respect, the Comedye differs significantly from Dante’s poem, where the hill of Inf. I, 13 does represent “the original and cause of every joy” (Inf. I, 77) and the “other path” announced by Virgil will be an alternative journey towards a similar destination, albeit spiritually more elevated. 133. Guerra universale [Universal strife] – See above, n. 64. 134–135. Manduca il ferro… [Iron means…] – Another allegory from Job 41:27–28. 139. Implume [Bare of plumes] – Naked, unprotected: a metaphor for the severe lack of intellectual resources that characterizes the Poet’s own condition, exposing him to the tyranny of intellectual chaos. 141–145. Ma nottola… [But the strong-feathered owl…] – In Greek and Roman mythology, the owl was associated with Athena, or Minerva, the goddess of wisdom. In the preface to Grundlinien der Philosophie des Rechts (1820), Hegel will compare it to philosophy precisely insofar as the owl “spreads its wings and flies only with the falling of the dusk”, as philosophy begins to offer its contributions only with the falling of darkness upon reason. The owl is thus the counterpart of the greyhound [veltro] prophesied by Dante’s Virgil in Inf. I, 101–111. The Poet will come back explicitly to the myth of glaukopis Athena at the beginning of Canto VI, appointing the goddess with the task of judging the souls of the philosophers and of assigning them to the Circles of Helle where the specific errors they made are punished. 22 Canto I Così la carne sua ne l’altro ’nverno sarà cibo de’ giusti tra le rose. Proemium 23 Thus when the other winter com’th, the just shall feast upon his flesh among the roses. Ond’ io per lo tuo me’ penso e discerno che tu mi segue, e io ti sarà guida di qui al sospirato loco etterno: 148 Therefore, for thy own weal, I think and counsel thou follow me, and I shall be thy guide from hence to the besought eternal realm. sì udirai le disperate strida, vedrai li antichi spiriti dolenti per quelli errori di cui ciascun grida. 151 So shalt thou hear the shriekings of despair, thine eye shall see the souls of eld in woe for all those errours whereupon they cry. E di tra strazi e tra stridor di denti trarrotti dove ’l sol sta sempre retro, fin che li pensier tui sien trasparenti”. 154 Through anguish, paynes, and noise of gnashing teeth I shall lead thee where sun retreats for e’er, until thy thoughts shall have become translucid.” E io a lui: “Per esto loco tetro miglior mai luce fue di tua novella”. Allor si mosse, e io li tenni dietro. 157 And I to him in few: “In this bleak land no light was ever brighter than thy tale.” He made to move, and I his steps pursued. 146–147. Così… [Thus…] – Messianic allegory, inspired by the Jewish and late-Hebrew apocalyptic (see Isaiah 27:12 and Esdras 6:52, Enoch 60:24, respectively). 148–153. Ond’ io per lo tuo me’… [Therefore, for thy own weal…] – Virgil speaks similar words at the end of his greyhound prophecy in Inf. I, 112–117, though the two speeches differ in two important ways (detailed below). 150. Al sospirato loco etterno [To the besought eternal realm] – Here is the first difference. Virgil says he will guide Dante “per loco etterno”, i.e., through the eternal realm of hell, where they will see the sinful spirits tried in endless pain. Socrates says “al sospirato loco etterno”, i.e., to the eternal realm. The adjective “sospirato” may be read as “mornful”, in which case the difference is negligible: Socrates will indeed take the Poet to some sort of hell. But “sospirato” is ambiguous. It also means “besought”, “craved”, “yearned for”. And precisely this appears to be the meaning suggested by the preposition “to” (and by the purpose adverb “so” [sì] at v. 151, where Dante has “where” [ove]): Socrates intends to guide the Poet all the way to the place he is looking for, the way out of the samps, the yearned-for realm of eternal salvation. 153. Per quelli errori [For all those errours ] – This is the other important difference between Virgil’s and Socrates’ speeches. Virgil says “upon the second death” [a la seconda morte], referring to the ultimate death of the soul, the “mors secunda” of Rev. 20:14. Socrates is referring instead to the errors made by philosophers in the course of history [li antichi spiriti: the souls of eld]. This difference reflects the main contrast between the two poems, whose pedagogical aims part company right here. Of course, the Poet shares with Dante the persuasion that errors, like sins, must be punished: pace Voltaire (“Aime la vérité, mais pardonne à l’erreur”; Sept discours, 1738, II, 132), our Poet is convinced that we are fully accountable for what we think and say. It will be clear, however, that the punishments are always functional to the purpose of the journey, which is to become acquainted with the errors and with their consequences in order to learn from them (see II, 156), and throughout his pilgrimage the Poet will maintain an attitude of great respect and compassion for all the damned he will meet (see II, 69 and note). 154. Stridor di denti [Gnashing teeth] – An evangelic metaphor for the pain and distress of the damned; see Matthew 13:42, 22:13, 24:51, 25:30; Lucas 13:28. Dante uses it in Inf. III, 101–102: “quell’anime … dibattero i denti”. 156. Trasparenti [Translucid] – So it is transparency of thought, not doctrinal truth, that constitutes the way out offered by Socrates, who does not even ask about what problems led the Poet into the swamps: it is a first hint to the “maieutic” method outlined by Plato in the Theaetetus (149a–151d), on which the master will return extensively in Canto II, vv. 40–51. The strategy is explicitly formulated in the passage of the Republic mentioned in n. 11: “Only the dialectical method […] proceeds in this way to the actual first principle in order to be securely based, and when the eye of the soul is buried in a kind of barbaric filth, it quietly draws and leads it upward” (533d). 159. Allor si mosse… [He made to move…] – The first Canto of Inferno ends with the same line. Here, however, the line completes the final tercet, whereas in Dante it is a self-standing verse, as in every other Canto of the Commedia (and other major “terza rima” compositions that followed, e.g., Petrarch’s Trionfi or Boccaccio’s Ameto). The Poet will only follow such a rule occasionally: Cantos III, XI, XIII, XVII, XX, and XXVII. Canto II Canto II overo del Filosofare or, on Philosophying – The Poet questions the opportunity to undertake the difficult and dangerous journey announced by Socrates and begs his Master for an immediate answer to the philosophical dilemma that troubles him (1–15). Socrates replies that confused questions admit of no answer and compares his own faculties to those of a simple midwife (16–51). The Poet remains unconvinced and tries to explain his dilemma anyway, which concerns the possibility of giving expression to one’s own ontological credo, but his attempts have no other effect than the reappearance of one of the wild beasts (52–120). After pointing out that the Poet is in fact quite confused, Socrates renews his invitation to follow him (121–159). ARGUMENT 26 Canto II On Philosophying La madre, il padre, il principiatore di quel ch’è l’alto e ver filosofare, il più divino essemplo de l’amore: 1 The Mother, as the Father, the principit of ev’ry truest high philosophying, the most divine exaumplitude of love: ven Socrate, non altri, a sollevare. Sì come giugne il pan dopo ’l digiuno, un’altra tempra racquistar mi pare; 4 ’tis Socrates, not others, to my rescue. As bread after long fast bring’th revivescence, so too I seem to gain new temperament; e pur, qual foglia presa il vento bruno lei ch’era queta sradica da terra, sì nov’ angoscia a me, ché io, com’uno 7 and yet, as umber winds the quiet leaf exter and gripe and lift to boistous whirls, so novel anguish seized upon my mind, il cui pensier sanz’ acquestarsi s’erra, mi dubitava gir di quel passaggio dove la luce sempre si sotterra. 10 like one whose musing wander’th sans reposal, as I demured to venture on that path where light is said to be forever buried. “Perché mi fue di far codesto viaggio?”, chies’ io. “Ond’ e da chi mi si comanda? Perché nol dici tu, che se’ più saggio?”. 13 “Wherefore shall I this journey undertake?” I ask’d; “and who and whence commandeth it? Why canst thou not thy wisdom bare for me?” 1. La madre… [The Mother…] – As with the Proemium, this second Canto opens with a bold, almost solemn declamation. There, however, the topic was the theme of the whole Comedye. Here it is the main character, Socrates, who already made his appearance in narratione and is now identified symbolically with the progenitor of that “truest high philosophying ” to which the Poet is inviting us. The symmetric purpose is explicit in the third epithet, “the principit” [principiatore], which is at the same time a strengthening of the metaphorical meaning of the first two titles and a pointer to the conception of philosophy itself as “the principium to unravel things” with which the poem begins. 3. Il più… [The most…] – The greatest philosopher, given the etymology of “philosophy” as love for wisdom implied at the beginning of Canto I. 4. Socrate, non altri [Socrates, not others] – Meaning no less than Socrates, but also that Socrates more than anyone else is the best choice for the guiding role the Poet intends to assign to him, for reasons that will become clearer in the following. This disclosure has no analogue in Dante’s Commedia, where the choice of Virgil is not motivated explicitly. Certainly Virgil is the “sole archetype” (Inf. I, 86), the “immortal sage,” (Inf. I, 89) and the “ocean of all learning” (Inf. VIII, 7) as well as “our noblest muse” (Par. XV, 26), “our greater poet” (Conv. IV, xxvi, 8) and “divinus poeta noster” (Mon. II, iii, 6). But one must read between the lines to appreciate that, over and above his poetic auctoritas and his undisputed experience regarding journeys in the underworld, Virgil is the ideal guide for the “vïaggio” of the Commedia insofar as he represents the double link between the virtuous Greek civilization and its Latin counterpart (the Aeneid), and between these and the evangelical reve- 27 lation (the Fourth Eclogue of the Bucolics), which grounds the entire framework of Dante’s Christian humanism. It would otherwise be hard to explain why Virgil is better than, say, Homer, the “singing master” (Inf. IV, 88), and even than Aristotle, the “master of the sapient throng” (Inf. IV, 131), or “magister sapientum” (De vulg. el. II, x, 1), but also the “master and leader of human reason” and the “most worthy of faith and obedience”, as his doctrine “may almost be called catholic opinion” (Conv. IV, vi, 8, 6, and 16). 6. Un’altra tempra [New temperament] – In comparison to the weak and illusory sense of hope begotten at the sight of the “site of blooming flowers” near the swamps (I, 23). 7. E pur [And yet] – Marks the contrast between the sense of relief just mentioned and the doubts that still torment the Poet, which will constitute the theme of this second Canto. 9. Nov’ angoscia [Novel anguish] – Not the anguish caused by the philosophical insolubilis that drove the Poet to the swamps, but the interior conflict of someone balking at the difficult journey that leads to the way out, as the following lines make clear. 11–12. Quel passaggio dove… [That path where…] – Socrates had mentioned a place “where the sun retreats for e’er” (I, 155). 13. Perché mi fue… [Wherefore shall I…] – Here, too, the reference is to Socrates’s words in Canto I, v. 127: why did he say that the Poet must pursue “another path”? See also III, v. 22 and note. For a comparison with Dante’s hesitancy, see Inf. II, 31. 15. Perché nol dici… [Why canst thou not…] – Modesty and lack of grit 28 Canto II On Philosophying “Ché io non seppi ancor qual è domanda”, rispuose Socrate pazientamente, con voce piena calma e veneranda. 16 “By cause that I do not the question know,” my saviour made reply in patient manner, with hoary voice and calm and reverent. “Si ’l vuoi, ora dirolti brievemente”, comincia’ io con voce rotta e cruda. Ed ei: “Qual sia nol sai ’videntemente, 19 “If thou dost wish, I shall tell thee—and brief,” I recommence’d with crude and trembling speech. But he: “Thou knowest not thyself, I ween, o vero non saresti a la paluda, a mezzo a tal vischiume, tal pantame”. E rivolgendo a l’anima mia nuda: 22 or else in the morass thou wouldst not be, amid of such quagmire, such palude” Then to my naked soul he thusly spake: “Come colui per alleviar la fame si chiede bacche a la notte tardiva confusamente e per spazienti brame 25 “Such as that man who prowleth ’round the night in yearn for berries to besoothe his hunger confusely and in eager anxious cravings, e ’l ceraso confonde con l’oliva ed il veneno con nutricamento, così question che fue di luce priva 28 and laurel bays he tak’th for olive trees and venom bane for healthy nourishment, the like is questioning depriv’d of light, non altro porta ch’altro oscuramento e ancor più nebbia che nel cor si spanda che fiamma nova vedesi a stento. 31 which bringeth naught but deeper thesterness and casteth thicker fogs around the heart, wherewith no flame can ever be descried. Responder puote sol chi ben domanda”. 34 Sole he who quaerieth right can answer give.” coalesce in this request by the Poet, who would like Socrates to reveal immediately the solution to his problem in order to avoid the journey altogether. The formula is rather common in Plato’s dialogues: see e.g. Gorg. 504c; Meno 92d. 16. Ché io… [By cause that I…] – Here begins a long speech by Socrates —culminating in the aphorism at v. 34—on the necessity to provide a clear formulation of the questions one seeks to answer. 20. Rotta e cruda [Crude and trembling] – Unlike the voice of Socrates, calm and reverent (v. 18). 24. Nuda [Naked] – Naked in front of Socrates’s wisdom—a cue to the logic underlying this Canto and the poem as a whole. Socrates is not only a “guide” (I, 149) through Helle, like Dante’s Virgil, but the teacher, the patient interlocutor who, while refraining from offering any certitude, knows how to help the Poet to free himself from his prejudices in the incessant search for truth. The trope of the naked soul is from Plato, Charm. 154e. 27. Confusamente… [Confusely…] – Eager and obscure, then, are the cravings [brame] of those who seek to answer a philosophical question without first going through the hard work that is needed in order to formulate the question in a clear and focused way. 29 28–29. E ’l ceraso… [And laurel bays…] – The metaphor is meant to illustrate how an obscure question may lead to answers that are, not only vague and obscure, but also perilous. The laurel bay produces berries that look like olives, but are poisonous. Moreover, both can be black, so the difficulty in telling them apart increases in the dark: almost an anticipation of the “night in which all cows are black” evoked in the Preface of Hegel’s Phänomenologie (1807). 30–33. Così… [The like…] – If a question is severely confused, one cannot even see a new light [fiamma: flame] when it appears. 34. Responder puote sol… [Sole he who quaerieth…] – This aphorism sums up the strength and humbleness of the entire Socratic method. In our times, this conception of philosophy as a “dialectic art” will find its boldest expression in Wittgenstein’s Philosophische Untersuchungen (1953), if not already in the Tractatus (1921): “Philosophy is not a body of doctrine but an activity” (4.112). Cf. also the opening words of G. E. Moore’s Principia Ethica (1903): “The difficulties and disagreements, of which [the history of philosophy] is full, are mainly due to a very simple cause: namely to the attempt to answer questions, without first discovering precisely what question it is which you desire to answer” (p. vii). 30 Canto II “Che giova dunque questo nostr’andare, se nulla noi si sa di dove manda?”. On Philosophying 31 “Then what availeth us this our journey, if whitherto it leadeth we know not?” “Ad interrogazion sempre più chiare”, rispuose, “sì che tu dia la risposta: è questo il fine del peregrinare. 37 “To ever clearer quaeries,” he replied, “so thou shalt give the answer by thyself. ’Tis this the grail of thy peregrination. Come la vita picciola e nascosta donna omai tarda a far da genitrice vede e sa lontana o ver s’accosta, 40 E’en as a matron passed the age of childing the tiny life that hides in others fathom’th and knoweth whether distant or forthcoming, così de l’alma anch’ io son levatrice. I vo’ discerner ciò ch’al core sale per nascer, e se quel che parto dice 43 the like I am—a midwyfe to the soul. I see and judge what issueth to be born, and whether the unfolding child of thought è sol fantasma o ver cosa vitale, è luce di fiammelle o ver di stelle, e se cagion di bene o pur di male. 46 is specious phantom or with life imbewed, a frail flame or light of shining sterres, an evil seed or kernel of the good. Sì da se stesse molte cose e belle han l’anime feconde generato ed il mio cor il generar di quelle”. 49 Thus many fruitful souls have by themselves brought forth so many rich and comely harvests and my own heart their very bringing forth.” Mai orazion più alta avea ascoltato che ancor tra me pensava ’n la mia mente di quale onore quei fammisi onrato, 52 Ne’er yet had I a speech so high beheard, and I, within myself, I mused anew the honor wherewithal he honor’d me: magistro dei sapienti più sapiente, magistro invenitor de li concetta, che cura me, m’accude, me dolente. 55 the master of the wisest of the wise, the master and discoverer of concepts he cureth me, he cleanseth me, me helpless! E pur l’angoscia ancor m’artiglia stretta. 58 And natheless still the anguish claw’th me tight. 36. Se nulla noi si sa… [If whitherto it leadeth…] – Yet another attempt to elude the journey, this time by reference to Meno’s paradox (cf. I, 121–123). 38. Sì che tu… [So thou…] – The Poet himself, not the wiser Socrates, must find a solution to his philosophical problems. It is the first, concise statement of the “maieutic” method that the master is about to expound. 40–51. Come la vita… [E’en as a matron…] – The simile and the verses that follow echo very closely, if not verbatim (46, 49), the exposition of the method given by Socrates himself in Plato’s Theaetetus (149a–151d). 55. Dei sapienti più sapiente [Wisest of the wise] – The epithet alludes to the oracular pronouncement of the Pythia in response to Chaerephon’s question about who was the wisest of men (Plato, Apol. 21a). It was by pondering that response that Socrates came to the conclusion that his wisdom could only reside in his awareness of “being wise in nothing” (see I, 99 and note). 56. Invenitor de li concetta [Discoverer of concepts] – Another widespread epithet for Socrates, based on Aristotle’s account in the Metaphysics: “Socrates […] was seeking the universal and fixed thought for the first time on definitions” (I, 6, 987b1–4). Aristotle himself relied on Plato, who took Socrates’s universal “concepts” to be no less than the pure, archetypal “ideas” of the Hyperuranion. For the Poet (and for his Socrates), however, such a move constitutes a serious philosophical error, and as such it will be punished in the first Ring of the third Circle (Canto X). 58. L’angoscia [The anguish] – See supra, vv. 9ff. 32 Canto II Da le flasche del sol deboli raggi omai scoloran tutto, e tutt’ assetta, On Philosophying 33 The flasks of sun by now send forth light squibs that all is dusken’d, all is set for resting; ma io non resisteva in que’ paraggi a dimandar subìto scioglimento a le problema e affanni ch’io mi saggi. 61 but I could not in sooth resist the urging for ready dissolution of my torment and of the worriment that fill’d my mouth. “Maestro”, dissi a lui, “come m’avvento a la paluda e come mi tenaglia lascia ch’i’ ’l dica, che n’avvischia lento”. 64 “O Master,” I pronounced, “do let me tell thee however I ingulfed into the swampes which griped me firmly and slowly swallow’d me.” Ei si sedette come in su la paglia e disse: “Parla, sì ch’io mi sincero. Di volontade sua nessuno sbaglia”. 67 He sat as in the straw, and thus responded: “Speak thou, and I shall ascertain thy wordes. No one doth ever err of one’s own wille.” “Diversamente tutti hanno pensero di quali cose fanno questo mondo”, ripresi io al che facea più nero. 70 As darkness deeper grew, I then commenced. “About the things whereof this world is made, we all may entertain discordant faiths; “Ma come due che ’n questo disaccondo la disaccordia che fa lor divisi esprimere quei pote fin nel fondo?”. 73 but how can two who thereupon despute and ther’by controverse give proper voice to that dissent which cleaveth them asunder?” “Alcuni essempli portami e pricisi”, 76 “Provide me with asaumples, and precisely,” 59. Da le flasche… [The flasks of sun…] – So it is already a few hours since the start of the events, when the sun “had made its circle half the day” (I, 31). The beautiful image used by the Poet for this passing detail resonates in the opening of John Donne’s Nocturnal (1627): “The sun is spent, and now his flasks / send forth light squibs, no constant rays” (vv. 3–4). 60. Tutt’ assetta [All is set for resting] – We read the Italian verb in the singular, hence intransitively. A transitive reading is also possible (as in Dante, Par. I, 121: “La provedenza, che cotanto assetta”), in which case the verb would be in the plural and the subject would be the sun’s squibs of the previous verse, which gently come to seal (tame, sooth, subdue) all things. 61–63. Ma io… [But I…] – Here then is the source of the persisting anguish of v. 58: despite Socrates’s “high speech”, the Poet is still struggling with the urge for a prompt solution to his problems (see again v. 15) and can’t help thinking that his teacher could easily help him out. 69. Di volontade… [No one…] – As Socrates says in the Protagoras: “No intelligent man believes that anybody ever willingly errs or willingly does base and evil deeds” (345d–e). Far from representing a denial of free will (the likely topic of Canto XXII, unfortunately missing from the manuscript), the motto reflects the Socratic belief that errors—and evil more generally—derive from ignorance, or from poor knowledge of the good. The same view will eventually underpin the Poet’s own attitude toward the errors of the damned throughout Helle, over and above the humane pietas that pervades also Dante’s Inferno. 70–72. Diversamente… [As darkness…] – The Poet embarks to explain how he ended up in the swamps. It is the beginning of the first philosophical exchange between him and Socrates, a sample of what awaits the reader in the remainder of the poem, albeit confused and inconclusive enough to justify the need for the journey the Poet must undertake. 73–75. Ma come… [But how…] – Here is a first attempt to formulate the problem plaguing the Poet: How can philosophers of different opinions give voice to their disagreement? In antiquity, the topic of disagreement had been the subject of an intense philosophical debate, especially for the sceptical implications drawn by such philosophers as Aenesidemus, Agrippa, and Sextus Empiricus (Pyrrh. hypot. I, vii, 15; xiv, 90; xv, 165; II, v, 37–38; xi, 110–113; etc.; see also Diogenes Laërtius, Vitae philos. IX, 88). Here, however, the Poet is not concerned with the necessity to resolve a given disagreement, but with the possibility of expressing it properly, particularly when it pertains to matters of ontology (“about the things whereof this world is made”, v. 71). 76. Alcuni essempli [Some exaumples] – The use of concrete examples 34 Canto II rispuose Socrate. Allor io insiste: “De li animali che mi fur malvisi, On Philosophying 35 was Socrates’ reply. Whence I resumed: “The evil-natured creatures I beholded, io dico de le belve ch’ebbi viste che pria di te rifennomi arrestare: credevami di lor che non esiste, 79 I mean the beasts I saw ere thine appearing, which herebefore inhibited my passage: I had belief that they nowise existed, qual dolci frutti del farneticare. Ma come dirlo, che non son costoro? O di lor esistenza dubitare 82 like visionary fruits of raving fancy. But can I say, and how, that they’re not real? How can I e’en misdoute of their existence, se ’l dire e ’l dubbio parlano di loro? Al primo movimento de la voce non sembra contradicansi coloro 85 if these my words and dowts bespeak of them? Upon the first vibration of their voice, do they not ther’by countersay them selves che a quelle cose null’ essere assoce?”. “Ben veggio io ’l probema che ti scorni”, mi disse ’l savio al che le braccia incroce. 88 the ones who grant no being to such things?” “The quandary that pester’th thee I fathom,” responded my wise teacher, his arms folded. “Ma confusion com’ ombra par t’attorni, che ’l contradicere non so vedere”. “S’io dico, non esistono i liocorni, 91 “But yet confusion seem’th to enshadow thee, for countersaying I do not recognize.” “When I say, unicorns do not existen, così parlo di lor, di quelle fiere”, io questo intendo, questo ripropono. Ed ei: “Che non vi son liocorni, invere 94 I ther’by speak of them, those very creatures,” this minded I, this I proffer agayn. And he: “That unicorns do not existen was a recurring element of Socrates’s philosophical method (as it emerges from Plato’s dialogues). 78–80. Li animali… [The evil-natured creatures…] – The three beasts that blocked the Poet’s way before he ran into Socrates: the unicorn, the chimera, the leviathan (I, 32–84). 81–82. Credevami… [I had belief…] – Because of the Poet’s “sturdy sense of nature” (I, 85–87). On the fruits of “raving fancy” [farneticare], see also I, 18 and note. 83–88. Ma come dirlo… [But can I say…] – This is fundamentally the problem of “Plato’s beard” mentioned in I, n. 33. In denying the existence of certain things, or even in questioning it, we seem to be speaking of them after all. Isn’t there, therefore, something contradictory in the position of those philosophers who wish to resist ontological commitment to such things, something that makes it impossible for them to express their disagreement with those who are willing to commit themselves? The Poet’s way of putting comes from the Sophist, specifically the words of the visitor: “Whenever there’s speech it has to be about something” (262e), hence it’s impossible “to say something correct about that which is not, without attaching either being, one, or numerical plurality to it” (239b). Cf. also Aristotle’s discussion in Met. IV, 4, 1006b7–11, and his rejection of the inference in Soph. el. V, 167a1–2, and De int. XI, 21a25–34 (“In the case of that which is not, it is not true to say that because it is the object of opinion, it is”). In medieval times, the inference was classified by Peter of Spain as a fallacy secundum quid ad simpliciter (“Chimera est opinabilis, ergo chimera est”, Summ. log. VII, 122; cf. Syncat. I, 29; on the use of the chimera as a paradigmatic example, see Canto I, n. 49), and the fallacy was widely discussed by his contemporaries and by later authors (esp. Buridan, Summ. VII, iv, 2). At bottom, however, the problem comes from the fragment of Parmenides already cited in I, n. 58. 93–94. S’io dico… [When I say…] – Socrates just charged him with confused thinking, but the Poet has no better reply than stating the same point again, albeit with reference to a concrete case (the existence of unicorns). 96–99. Che non vi son liocorni… [That unicorns do not existen…] – This canny answer gives a first taste of the intellectual subtlety that the Poet (the narrator as well as the character) will accord to his master throughout the po- 36 non dice de’ liocorni ch’e’ non sono, ma che tra quel che l’essere battesma non una cosa v’è che sia liocono”. Canto II 97 On Philosophying sayth not, of unicorns, that they lack being; it sayth, of all the things with being infus’d, that none of them is found to be one-horned.” Ahimè, io non capiva tal sentesma. “Ma s’io la bestia che prima m’avvensi, quella ch’io vidi, la fiera medesma, 100 Alas, his speech I did not comprehend. “But the animate that I beheld byforne, the very one I saw, the beast itselve, di quella che veder forte mi pensi che pote essere frutto o la fattura de lo sregolamento de li sensi, 103 the vivid sight of which I must confess was outerly the fruit or consecution of the unt’ward intemperance of my senses, vollo negar esistere e natura”, i’ continuava a dire de l’errore, “non parlo io di lei, di tal creatura?”. 106 if I wish’d to deny his being and nature,” continued I my voice about the errour, “would I not thusly speak of him, that creature?” E quando ebbi finito, qual terrore! La belva sanza freno e sanza morso, col corno in su la nuda fronte, ancore 109 And once that I was finish’d, what a terrour! The bridle-less and unrestrain’d bestial, his horn in sight upon his naked forehead, i’ vidi che si vene noi accorso. Rabbrivido, rattremo, mi traluna, e pur non cura Socrate il suo corso: 112 shew forth again and waded toweard us. I shiver, I recoil, I’m all aquiver; and yet his coming Socrates disdaineth: em—a subtlety that finds its roots in the blending of the maieutic method with the logico-linguistic dexterity that Cicero, following the Stoics, called “ratio disserendi” (De fato I, 1), or “ars bene disserendi” (De orat. II, xxxviii, 157). Thus, far from addressing the question in the traditional terms exercised by the Poet, Socrates focuses on the illegitimacy of the inference that the Poet himself appears to draw from the words used to express his ontological credo. In short: those words are not about unicorns. A statement such as “There are no unicorns”—or even “Unicorns do not exist”—does not say of unicorns that they do not exist; rather, it says of the things that exist [quel che l’essere battesma: the things infus’d with being], that none of them is a unicorn, i.e., falls under the predicate “unicorn”, and this involves no contradiction. Semantically, this remark is reminiscent of Buridan’s Summulae, where the analysis of a similar case leads to the conclusion that “chimera” is an empty term insofar as “whatever is pointed out, it is false to say ‘This is a chimera’” (IV, i, 2). Logically, however, Socrates’s remark is also noteworthy for the emphasis on the structural ambiguity of the statement in question, which has no analogues in the medieval literature and seems to anticipate a diagnosis that will become popular with contemporary quantification theory. See Quine, On What There Is (1948); on the Poet’s anticipations in matters of quantification theory, see also the discussion of mathematical statements in Canto XI, esp. vv. 132ff and note. 37 101–108. Ma s’io… [But the animate…] – Here the Poet shifts from the problem of expressing negative views concerning matters of general existence (the existence of unicorns) to the apparent self-defeatingness of negative singular existential statements (the existence of a specific unicorn). Eventually, Socrates’s diagnosis will exploit an important analogy between the two problems. Yet the problems themselves are distinct, and the fact that the Poet does not even seem to realize it is further evidence of his state of confusion. 109. E quando… [And once…] – Unexpectedly, the wild beast whose existence the Poet is trying to deny bursts into the scene as soon as he stops speaking of it: an effective narrative twist, confirming the symbolic reading of the unicorn given in Canto I (n. 33). 110. La belva… [The bridle-less…] – Matching the description in I, 37. 111. Col corno… nuda fronte [His horn… naked forehead] – An oxymoron, probably to stress the paradoxical nature of the event that is taking place. Cf. Rilke: “This is the animal who never was. […] They nourished it, not with feed, / but merely with the conception that it might come to be. / And they bestowed such intensity upon the beast / that it impelled a horn to grow forth from its brow” (Sonette an Orpheus, 1922, II, 4). 114. Non cura… [Yet his course…] – Confirming that Socrates doesn’t think the problem is a real one. 38 Canto II On Philosophying “Di tra le cose essenti, tu nessuna dici sia fatta come veder credi. Qui non invenia contradetta alcuna”. 115 “Thou say’st that in the among of extant things, no one is shaped as it appear’d to thee. I reckon this is not a contradixion.” Sì disse, che miracolo io vedi: mansueta com’ un cane bon pastore s’accuccia quella belva a li suoi piedi. 118 And as he spake, a miracle I witness’d: as acquiescent as a shepherd’s hound, the brutal savage nestled at his feet. “Altr’ è il problema”, ei seguitò allore: “se si pò dare esistere a le cose sanza dir lor natura, lor fattore”. 121 “Elsewhere the question lieth,” he continued; “as whether we can sententiate the existence of things about whose nature we are silential.” Al che posando poco io rispuose: “Non altrimenti si pote indagare che cosa sia, qual enti sia qualcose, 124 I falter’d briefly, then I made response: “Nowise can we begin to make enquire upon what kind of things they are, theyr nature, s’io non assalda il loro sussistare”. “Perpetui tu ne la contradicenza”, ripresemi d’un fiato il gran dottore. 127 unless theyr being is fully ascertained.” “Thus perseverest thou in thy confusion,” retorted the wise doctor in one breathful. “M’è debole il comprendere e credenza”, i’ fé. “Pricisamente”, quei va avanci; “amante di filosofa sapienza 130 “My mastery,” said I, “is weak and frail.” Whence he resum’d his speech agayn: “Precisely. A lover of philosophye thou art, 115–117. Di tra… [Thou say’st…] – Socrates’s answer to the new question raised by the Poet builds on the analysis already offered in the case of general existentials: a statement of the form “Such and such a beast does not exist” does not say, of such and such a beast, that it does not exist; it says, of the existing beasts, that none of them is such and such, i.e., fits the given description. In terms of contemporary philosophy of language, the analysis is fundamentally germane to Russell’s theory of definite descriptions (On Denoting, 1905), though it is hard to find medieval precedents. (An exception is, again, Buridan, whose remarks on “primus rex Francie christianus” parallel Russell’s on “the present king of France”; see In Met. VII, 20.) Quine will extend this sort of analysis also to those cases in which the definite description is replaced by a fictional proper name, reading e.g. a statement of the form “Pegasus does not exist” as “Nothing is-Pegasus”, or “Nothing pegasizes” (On What There Is, 1948, p. 27). 119. Mansueta [Acquiescent] – Proving that the “brutal savage” can be tamed after all (at least metaphorically). Cf. I, 48 and note. 121–123. Altr’ è il problema… [Elsewhere…] – Socrates’ new question points to another problem raised in Plato’s Sophist: can one determine whether something exists without also attending to the question of what it is? Aristotle answered in the affirmative, arguing that the former question is in an important 39 sense prior to the latter (An. post. II, 1, 89b 24–25, 34–35), and in medieval times this thesis was fairly widespread. Thomas Aquinas, for instance, endorsed it explicitly in his theological writings, claiming that we must establish whether God exists (“an Deus sit”) before asking what he is (“quid Deus sit”)—a further question which, in his opinion, cannot in fact be answered (S. theol. I, q. 2, a. 2, ad 2). The same view may be found in Maimonides (Guide, I, 58). Others, however, disagreed, beginning with Duns Scotus, for whom the “an sit” and the “quid sit” questions must necessarily proceed together (Ord. I, d. 3, 11 and 17). Descartes will even claim that asking whether something exists without knowing beforehand what it is would violate “the laws of true logic” (Primæ resp. 141). 125–127. Non altrimenti… [Nowise…] – This is essentially the Aristotelian-Thomist thesis cited in the previous note, except that the Poet’s formulation betrays the same confusion that is responsible for his philosophical troubles: the priority of the “an sit” does not require that one begins by establishing, of certain thing, whether they really exist, which would lead to contradiction; it simply requires that one establishes whether there exist any such things. 131. Pricisamente [Precisely] – The Poet’s difficulties in grasping the contradiction to which he just fell prey, despite Socrates’s comments, confirm his state of confusion. Note that Socrates states his verdict with the help of an 40 Canto II On Philosophying ti vedo, che tu fondi dubbi e slanci alti ti move. Pur anco tu apprezze che le quistioni son che quivi agganci 133 I see, and moved by penetrating doutes and lofty thrusts. Thou shalt discern withal that such interrogates which thou hast raised brogliate di capriccio e sottigliezze di metafissica, logica e lingua che noi ci perde e sperde ne l’ammezze”. 136 abound in metaphysicall entrigues and subtleties of logik and of langage that leave us wilder’d, wandering astray.” “È questa la paluda che m’avvingua?”. “È sol la riva”, Socrate risponda; “là onde solo strascichi s’allingua 139 “Is this the swamp that ere seized hold of me?” “’Tis but the edge,” was Socrates’ responsal, “where dregs and traces stretch from underneath e ferma terra qui s’ammolla e affonda sotto i nostri penseri, il peso e il velo: che ben più ampla è la paluda, e fonda 142 to drench the solid soil and make it founder aneath these our thoughts, theyr veil, theyr weight. Much wider is the swamp, and ’tis so deeping che pur fin un palòmbaro di Delo no la discende. Ardua n’è l’uscita ben che simplice al fine si rivelo, 145 no Delian diver can attain its bottom. Therefore the way that leadeth out is arduous, though simple it reveal’th itself at last e si rivelo sol quand’ è finita. L’argïento e le imporporate vesta sono per la tragedia, non la vita”. 148 and solely when the distance is completed. The purple robe and silver’s shine will fit an actor’s need for tragedy, not life.” adverb whose semantic field is opposite with respect to the “confusion” he intends to underscore. 136–137. Brogliate… [Abound…] – Almost the same words with which Marx will lament the complexity of the opening topic in Das Kapital, vol. 1: “A commodity appears at first sight a trivial thing, and easily understood. Its analysis shows that it is, in reality, a very queer thing, abounding in metaphysical subtleties and theological niceties” (1867, I, i, 4). 137. Logica e lingua [Logik and langage] – We have just seen it: the metaphysical conundrum that troubles the Poet involves logical and linguistic complications of various sorts. This explains why Helle will have room for errors in those fields, especially in the second and ninth Circles, even though the poem as a whole is about metaphysics. (It may also be recalled that metaphysics was initially called “first philosophy”, following Aristotle, Met. IV, 2, 1004a3–4; the term “metaphysics” appears to have come into use only in the middle of first century BCE, as a title for those books on first philosophy that Andronicus of Rhodes, the peripatetic scholar credited with the first systematic cataloguing and editing of Aristotle’s works, placed right after the Physics: τὰ µετὰ τὰ φυσικὰ βιβλία.) 138. Noi [Us] – Very kind of Socrates to use this pronoun, thereby assimilating his condition to the Poet’s. 41 140. È sol la riva [’Tis but the edge] – It will soon emerge that the Poet’s philosophical views are in fact much more confused than the foregoing exchange might suggest. 145. Palòmbaro di Delo [Delian diver] – The metaphor is inspired by a testimony of Aristo of Ceos, according to which Socrates would have said that “it needs a Delian diver” to get to the bottom of Heraclitus’s writings (Diogenes, Vitae philos. II, 22; but see also IX, 12, where the testimony is attributed to a certain Crates). Similar metaphors may be found in other authors, e.g. Aeschilus: “We need a deep thought to save us, like a diver who goes to the bottom with his eyes open” (Supp. 407). 147–148. Ben che simplice… [Though simple…] – Such will be the message of the entire Comedye: the difficulty does not quite lie in the solution, i.e., in the philosophical position that the Poet will eventually offer (by itself an epitome of metaphysical simplicity), but in the lomg path that leads to it. See again Wittgenstein: “Although the result of philosophy is simple, its methods for arriving there cannot be so” (Phil. Bemerkungen, 1964, I, 2). 149–150. L’argïento… [The purple robe…] – Another citation from Diogenes Laërtius, who reports that Socrates “was continually repeating these iambics: The purple robe and silver’s shine more fits an actor’s need than mine” (Vitae philos. II, 25). Diogenes does not give any source, but according to Sto- 42 Canto II On Philosophying Allora da seder quei si ridesta; la belva spare, ed elli: “Veni, ora, e non t’accoda a la risposta lesta: 151 Whereat he rose upright from his assize, the beast evanished, and to me: “Come thou, and follow not the tail of volant answers: ne la questione il tribolo dimora. Sù, veni or per senteri e per navigli e prennerem l’errori e da li errora. 154 the tribulance abideth with the quaering. Come thou, so that o’er straits and trails the errours and from the errours we can learn the way. Sù, veni or di retro in questi cigli, non per che sappia io stella o salvezza, ma sol che so la strada e i suoi perigli”. 157 Come thou, amid these bourns, and follow me —not as because I knew of bliss or starres, but as I know the road and its apperils.” baeus (Flor. LVI, 15) and Clement (Paed. II, x, 108) the iambics would be the work of Philemon. If so, however, Socrates could not have recited them, since the poet of the New Comedy flourished under Alexander the Great (Suda Φ327), several decades after the death of the philosopher. 152. Veni ora [Come thou] – The vanishing of the unicorn coincides with Socrates’s final invitation to undertake the purifying journey announced in I, 148–150: “Come thou”. The invitation, repeated in anaphora at vv. 155 and 157, will be echoed by the triple “Go now” with which the master will take his leave from the Poet at the end of the journey (XXVIII, 40, 46, 52). 153. Non t’accoda… [Follow not…] – A last warning not to look for short cuts towards the solution of questions that hide serious difficulties (“metaphysicall entrigues and subtleties of logik and of langage ”, vv. 136–137). 43 154. Tribolo [Tribulance] – This is the closest the Poet comes to the language in the title of the poem. See the introductory “Note on the title…”. 156. L’ errori… [The errours…] – That is: we shall learn the errors, but also from the errors—not only because one learns by one’s mistakes, as the saying goes, but because ex vitio alius sapiens emendat suum (Publilius Syrus, Sent. E 4). 158–159. Non per che… [Not as because…] – Again, a sign of humbleness on Socrates’s part, who is no guardian of truth but knows the method— the way to get to the truth as well as the perils along the path. The Canto thus ends with a verse in which the twofold meaning of the guidance offered by Socrates (I, 149) merges into a single image, as it will soon be clear that he also knows the way through the perils of Helle in a literal sense. Canto III Canto III overo del Convincimento or, the Inducement – The hesitancy of the Poet prompt Socrates to tell him of his encounter with the Lady of the Heavens (1–58). He explains that the journey enjoys her blessing along with that of other celestial women (59–96). Heartened and finally reassured, the Poet sets out to follow his teacher into the darkness (97–106). ARGUMENT 46 Canto III The Inducement Come li cuccioli de li animali da li occhi de la madre a tacitare impara fin che pianto più l’ammali, 1 Like as the tender infant animals descry their mothers’ glance, and comprehend to be quiescent till they have no tears, sì quinci smisi io di dimandare, per che lo viso Socrate avvicina: mi fissa, tolle il guardo e prenne a andare. 4 so rested I my questioning thenceforth as Socrates his gaze belay’d upon me: he fixed my eyes, then turn’d and made to move. Ma io m’attardo di per quella china a seguitare la salvezza, il duce, quand’ ei, volte le spalle, si cammina 7 Yet, by that slope, my step was tardy and slow to follow him, my Leader, my salvation, as he, his back to me, began to walk lontano da li fiori e da la luce, per un sentero che io non distingua. E di pavor il core mi si bruce 10 away off from the light and from the flowers adown a path that I did not discern. Inside my heart I felt a burning fright che tale passo frale spema stingua di far salvo rettorno a cose amate. Che possa or esser forte la mia lingua! 13 that treading forth would shatter all frail hope to make return, and safe, to things beloved. May now my speech be strong and eloquent! O muse, o alto ingegno, or m’aiutate; o mente che scrivesti ciò ch’io vidi, 16 Oh Muses! oh high Genius! aid I pray; oh Mind! that hast recorded what I saw, 1–3. Come… [Like as…] – After the intense philosophical exchange with Socrates, which ends the previous Canto with direct speech, this third and last introductory Canto opens with a bucolic allegory, relaxed and yet severe: the Poet feels like a little cub who just learned to be silent because of its mother’s severe glance. (“Mother” is one of the epithets of Socrates himself in II, 1). 4. Quinci [Thenceforth ] – That is, from this moment on, with reference to the scene just concluded and Socrates’ explicit request to “follow not the tail of volant answers” (II, 153). 7–11. Ma… [Yet…] – The Poet knows that Socrates invited him to take “another path” (I, 127) than the one he had imagined upon seeing the “site of blooming flowers” (I, 24) beyond the swamp, but evidently it is hard for him to follow his Master when this takes the exact opposite direction, away from the flowers and from the light. 12. Pavor [Fright] – Latinism for “terror”, “panic”, probably from Job 4:14: “Pavor tenuit me et tremor, et omnia ossa mea perterrita sunt”. After the “dismay of thought” of the first Canto (I, 15) and the “anguish” of the second (II, 9), the sense of panic that now grasps the Poet is purely a sign of his human weakness: will he be able to make it safely through such a difficult, dangerous journey? 15–18. Che possa… [May now…] – With an unexpected shift in perspective, the Poet steps out of his role as a character in the story to take on for a 47 moment his role as author, invoking the strength of his own poetry to make up for the weakness of his spirit. This establishes in a definitive way the parallelism between narrated journey and journey narration that is the distinctive trait of the entire poem, as it is in Dante’s Comedy. The tercet that follows, a true invocation to the Muses, is actually found verbatim also in the Comedy, though there it occurs at the start of the second Canto, hence directly after the Proemium, so as to mark the incipit of the Inferno proper (II, 7–9, with reprises at the start of the Purgatorio, I, 7–12, and of the Paradiso, I, 13–36). 16. O muse, o alto ingegno [Oh Muses! oh high Genius!] – The double invocation to the Muses and to the Poet’s own genius, or talent, follows a formula that is present both in the classics (e.g., Ovid, Metam. I, 1) and in medieval literature (e.g., Everardus, Labor. 1–4, where the Muses and the Genius are joined by the Mind, here invoked in the next verse). As in Dante, “genius” [ingegno] does not have a univocal meaning, but it is best interpreted as opposed to “art”, confirming to traditional rhetoric (Horace, Ars. poet. 408–410; Ovid, Amor. I, xv, 14; Trist. II, 424). 17. O mente… vidi [Oh Mind!… saw] – The double invocation is followed by a third invocation to the Poet’s mind, here understood as “memory”, the faculty in charge of “writing” the book of recollections. The metaphor is perhaps inspired by Augustine (De civ. Dei XX, 14), who in turn referred to the “book of life” of Revelation (20:12). It also appears explicitly in a letter of Pier 48 Canto III qui si parrà la tua nobilitate. The Inducement 49 here thy nobility will come to proof! Io pronunciai: «Sapiente che mi guidi, di esto loco tetro, io ben crede ch’a veritate chi ’l discende affidi. 19 I spake these words: “My Sage, who leadest me, of this bleak land and those who shall descend it I faith they shall partake the truth thou learnest. ma io, saprò venirvi? e chi ’l concede? Chi veglierà su i passi miei scoscesi?». Rispuose allora ’l duca pien di fede: 22 But I, how thither come? and who concedes it? Who shall keep watch o’er my declivous steps?” Whereon my Guide responded trustfully: «Io era tra color che son sospesi 25 “I was among the ones who rest suspended, delle Vigne (“in tenaci memoriae libro perlegimus”, Epist. III, 21), though it is doubtful that the Poet was aware of it. Dante, who knew Pier and includes him sympathetically among the damned in the Woods of Suicide (Inf. XIII, 46– 108), is especially fond of the metaphor and employs it again in the Paradiso (twice: “written in thy mind thou hence shalt bear”, XVII, 91; “the book that chronicles the past”, XXIII, 54) as well as in the Rime (the “book of the mind”, LXVII, 59) and in the Vita nova (the “book of my memory”, I, 1). The present verse is important also for the use of “saw” [vidi], which is a factive verb, underscoring the truthfulness of what the Poet is about to recount. This aligns the Poet’s work, like Dante’s, with the tradition of the early medieval “Visions” mentioned in the Introuction, all of which expand on the Apocalypse of Paul (3rd cent.), widely circulated in Latin as Visio Pauli. 18. Qui… [Here…] – For Dante’s text, the standard reading of this line takes the verb “parrà” (third-person singular future of “parere”) to mean “will appear”, “will manifest itself”, “will be displayed”, etc. This is also the prevalent reading among English translators. One notable exception is Henry Cary, who reads the verb as “will be seen”, in the sense of “will come to proof”. (Charles Hindley, in his 1854 prose rendition, combines both readings: “Now will thy powers be put to test, and thy true nobility appear”.) Here we side with Cary, whose reading seems fairer the Poet’s intentions, if not Dante’s, and is indeed in accord with common usage of the verb in medieval Florentine. See, for instance, Guittone d’Arezzo, Canz. XXV, 1: “Ora parrà s’eo saverò cantare” (Now it shall be seen whether I can write poetry). 20. Esto loco tetro [This bleak land] – This is the same phrase used at the end of Canto I (v. 157). The Poet is still not speaking of “Hell” and is careful to steer away from any conventional interpretation of the land of suffering Socrates intends to show him. In fact, while its overall architecture is explicitly inspired by the archetype of the classic afterworld (beginning with its way of access through the river Acheron; see IV, 117ff), the “bleak land” of this Comedye is purely and exclusively a philosophical hell, a highly metaphorical place inhabited by exponents of various schools of thought condemned to expiate the “errors” (I, 153) in their metaphysical theorizing. That is also why the Poet never mentions any precursors, here or elsewhere in the extant parts of the poem. This marks a fundamental difference with the overall project of Dante, who immediately cites Aeneas among those who visited Hell before him (Inf. II, 13–27, after Virgil, Aen. VI) and the apostle Paul among those who preceded him in Heaven (Inf. II, 28–30, after 2 Cor. XII), and is therefore explicit in linking his own redeeming journey to the political-theological scheme of things he descries in his predecessors’ testimonies. It is precisely his reference to those two precedents (as opposed to other classic figures who had the privilege of visiting the afterworld, such as Hercules, Ulysses, Thesues, Orpheus, or the Cumaean Sibyl) that provides the best explanation for why Dante chose Virgil as his guide for the first part his journey (see above, note to II, 4). 22. Ma io… [But I…] – Cp. Inf. II, 31. Dante has “why” [perché] instead of “how” [strictly: saprò], thus attributing to the first question—and hence to his journey—a significance that goes well beyond the simple attestation of humility our Poet is offering here and the earlier, purely prgmatic requests for why-explanations he submitted at II, 13–15. Indeed, Virgil does not answer Dante’s question immediately. The answer will only come at the end of Purgatorio (XXXIII, 52ff) and, more fully, through Cacciaguida’s words in the Paradiso (XVII, 127ff). It is not by chance that Dante’s encounter with the latter, his own great-great-grandfather, is modeled after the meeting between Aeneas and his father Anchises in the Blessed Groves of Elysium (see Par. XV, 25–27 and Aen. VI, 684–686). 24. Duca [Guide] – This is the main epithet with which the Poet will refer to Socrates from now on. It is used here for the first time, anticipating the Poet’s decision to engage in the journey under Socrates’s guidance. 25. Io era… sospesi [I was… suspended] – The parallel with Dante returns, with a narrative turn that preludes to the long report with which Socrates introduces the other major character of the Comedye, the Lady of the Heavens. Virgil uses the same words in Inf. II, 52 to indicate that he was in Limbo, the dwelling place of those virtuous spirits who are “suspended” midway between the blessed and the damned because they died in original sin (see Inf. IV, 33– 42, following Bonaventura, II Sent. d. 33, a. 3, q. 2). In the present context, it is 50 Canto III quand’ è che per miracolo sentivo morzarsi quei dolori sempr’ accesi. The Inducement 51 when as if by a miracle I heard the ever-flaming sufferance aminish. E di lontano un fascio rosso vivo ed altr’ azzurro nastro vidi, e quelli parevan allacciarsi come un rivo 28 And from afar, a beam of vivid red and one azure I saw, which to my eye seem’d as though waved together, like a rivel che d’eliche contrar fa mulinelli. E nel venirmi appresso io scorgeva che quei turbinamenti erano uccelli: 31 with whirling controversal helic spirals. As nearer they became, I apperceived that those maelstreams were birds in spinning flight: per giù volaan, per su, e i’ non sapeva che nascondea l’alata aera colonna, né come rosso augel blu si faceva. 34 downwards they wing’d, and upwards, and for all I could not fathom what those braids conceiled nor how, from red, those birds azure became. Poi, come stormo a l’ordine disponna, s’aprirono per far du’ aureole chiare. Bellissima m’apparvemi una donna: 37 Then, even as a flock that follows order, they open’d out to form two bright aureales. Magnificent, a Lady appear’d to me: “Io son colei a cui s’ha da tornare, colei da’ vestimenti sempre bianchi. Amor mi mosse e che mi fa parlare”. 40 ‘I am the one to whom return is due, the one whose vestiments are always white. ’Twas love that moved me, love that speaks in me.’ more likely that Socrates is alluding to those philosophers in whose regard every judgement is suspended because they left no written work. See the formula Athena uses to judge the damned in VI, 7–15 and the exchange a few lines thereafter (26–39). 27. Morzarsi [Aminish] – By apheresis from “ammorzarsi”, a rather common verb in 13th–14th century literature (see e.g. Intelligenza CL, 4: “e ’l fuoco acceso che mai non si ammorza”), used also in XXVII, 13. The sufferance Socrates hears diminish must be that of the damned souls of Helle (the “shriekings of despair” and the “anguish, paynes, and noise of gnashing teeth” mentioned in I, 151 and 154), which presumably is becoming less intense in deference to the visit of the heavenly Lady he is about to receive. 28–39. E di lontano… [And from afar…] – Just as Virgil says he was summoned by Beatrice, a “beautiful and blessed” lady (Inf. II, 53), to assist her beloved Dante, so Socrates says he received the visit of a most beautiful lady (v. 39) who, moved by her love, turned to the Greek philosopher to help the Poet find a way out of the swamps into which he has fallen. The description of the apparition of this heavenly Lady is intensely lyrical and symbolic. Two flocks of birds, one red and one blue, are flying in helix formation around her, hiding her from sight. One flock is winging its way upward, the other in opposite direction. When they meet, the red birds turn blue and (presumably) vice versa. The two colors represent almost certainly the terrestrial and celestial natures of medieval Madonnas, and more generally the twofold nature of love —sensual and intellectual—that the Lady will evoke in the following verses. There may also be a symbolic allusion to the chariot allegory in Plato’s Phaedrus (246a–249d), where two horses pull in opposite directions, to the intelligible realm of forms or down to earth. The entire scene resonates in Fouquet’s painting Virgin and Child surrounded by Angels (c. 1450), which Johan Huizinga (Herfsttij der Middeleeuwen, 1919) interpreted as one of the most powerful pictorial representations of the medieval tension between sacred and secular love. This ambivalent nature of love will be one of the themes unfolded in the remainder of the Canto. 40–41. Io son… [I am…] – Unlike Dante’s Beatrice, who identifies herself explicitly (Inf. II, 70), the Lady of the Heavens will never reveal her name. The words she uses here, and the additional details that emerge from her speech and in the remainder of the poem, are far too elusive to suggest any identification. It is not even certain whether she is an historical figure or an ideal embodiment of the Poet’s symbolic intents (though see below, vv. 74 and 102 and notes). 42. Amor… [’Twas love…]– As in Inf. II, 72. But while it is clear that Beatrice’s love is an expression of divine love, the love that moves “the one to whom return is due” is more enigmatic and will be the subject of the long disquisition at vv. 46–55. 52 Canto III The Inducement Li uccelli le cerchiavan testa e fianchi e nulla par che loro li frantuma, ch’i’ chie’ com’ ala è qui che non si sfianchi. 43 Around her head and hips the birds were circles which seem’d as nothing could discatter them, whence I bewonder’d how, there, this could be. “Amor, non consumata, assai consuma. Così li uccelli possono in lor via passare immacolati in questa bruma. 46 ‘Love, unconsum’d, consumeth mightily. Therefore, these birds can on their way traverse immaculately across this brumal air. Amor è divozione o malattia, perché tu vede, tu cieco nel cuore, che come ciascheduna al fondo sia 49 Love either is devotion or desease, forwhy thou seest, blinded in thy heart, that either way, in what is transient allenta tutte fibre a ciò che muore”. o chiesi ancor, se stinto tutto il focoI si scema, sì non deve pur amore 52 it will in time forwear each every fybre.’ I still demanded whether, like as fire expireth after burning, so doth love, c’ha tutto consumato esser più poco. Allor fu che le dita sue sincere appose a le mie labbra e femmi fioco: 55 which everything consumeth, assuage. Whereat she plac’d her undissembling fingers upon my lips, and pallid I became: quel che non è da dir s’ha da tacere. Poi riprendette quieta a dirmi piano: “Con la mia bella corte era a sedere 58 that, which shall not be spoken, must be silence. Then, quietly, her gentle speech resumed: ‘I was asitting with my graceful Court 44–45. E nulla… [Which seem’d…] – Socrates’ initial reaction is confused, almost suspicious. His main concerns seems to be that the birds surrounding the Lady appear to be unaffected by the brumal conditions of the underworld. 46. Amor… consuma [Love… mightily] – The response of the Lady turns Socrates’ question into a general query about the nature of love, to which she refers in the feminine: love is always consuming, though it is never itself consumed [consumata]. The statement is intentionally ambiguous, wavering between the image of an inextinguishable love, which never diminishes despite its draining effects on those who are caught in it (v. 52), and the image of a sensual love which, if not consumed, consumes both flesh and soul. The whole verse echoes the lament of Virgil’s Corydon: “Me tamen urit amor: quis enim modus adsit amori?” (Buc. II, 68). 49–52. Amor… muore [Love… fybre] – The enigmatic description continues of a love that oscillates between devotion and disease, enervating those mortals who are possessed by it. The contrast carries over to a metaphorical reading, with sensual and intellectual love understood as the two sides of the love that inspires philosophical inquiries—that love for wisdom which, as we know from the opening verses of the poem, can lead to light but also to ruin, to the elevation of the soul or to its decline (I, 4–6). It is in this latter, metaphorical sense that at v. 50 the Lady says Socrates is “blinded” in his heart. 53 53–55. Io chiesi… [I still demanded…] – Socrates’ reply is still in dialectical mode, as if the Lady were a character in the Symposium; he doesn’t seem to realize that she came for a reason. So he continues his query: if loves is so allconsuming as the Lady says, then why does it remain unconsumed? Why does it not fade away, like a fire that has consumed everything there was to burn? Note that here Socrates refers to love in the masculine (poco, v. 55), following the gender of the noun in ordinary Italian. Note also the ambiguity of the Italian term “pur” at v. 54: we read it adverbially, as meaning “also”, “likewise”, but it could also be interpreted as the adjective “pure” (modifying “love”). 56–57. Allor fu… [Whereat…] – Socrates’ question receives no answer; just this tacit invitation to put an end to his questioning and to not pursue the matter any further. 58. Quel… tacere [That… silence] – This will be the final thesis of Wittgenstein’s Tractatus: “Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent”. See also the words of the “suspended philosopher” in VII, 126. 60. La mia bella corte [My graceful Court] – In Dante’s Comedy, Beatrice sits in heaven next to Rachel, a symbol of the contemplative life (Inf. II, 102; Par. XXXII, 89). Here the heavenly court where the Lady was sitting is instead composed of several distinguished women of science and philosophy. It is not entirely clear why the Poet goes into the lengthy list that follows. Per- 54 Canto III The Inducement – Aglaonìce e tutte l’astra in mano, Diotìma che fé amor filosofia, pazia, da l’infame orror lontano,I 61 – Aglaonike, holding all the asters; the Diotima of love-philosophye; Hypatia, far from rage, infame, and horror; nominatissima Eloïsa, pia, e la servetta trace di Talete – 64 the most benamed and pious Héloïse; and Thales’ adolescent Thracian servant – haps he simply wants to offer an indirect taste of the Lady’s nobility by describing the intellectual eminence and variety of her court. 61. Aglaonìce [Aglaonike] – Aglaonike, or Aganice, of Thessaly (2nd–1st cent. BCE), whose name translates as “Luminescent Victory”, mentioned by Plutarch as the first astronomer in history: “She was thoroughly acquainted with the periods of the full moon when it is subject to eclipse and knew beforehand the time when the moon was due to be overtaken by the earth’s shadow” (Conj. praec. XLVIII, 145c–d; cp. De def. orac. XIII, 417a). Unfortunately Plutarch also reports the rumor according to which Aglaonike used her talents “to trick the women and make them believe that she was drawing down the moon herself” (probably after Plato, Gorg. 513a, and Horace, Epod. V, 44– 45; cp. Schol. Apoll. Argon. IV, 59–61), contrubuting to establishing her reputation as some sort of sorceress rather than a true astronomer. This reputation continues to be widespread in our times, seeing that Aglaonike is still listed as such in several compendiums (e.g. John Daintith’s Biographical Encyclopedia of Scientists, 3rd ed. 2009), though in 2006 the International Astronomical Union actually decided to name a large crater on Venus in her honor. 62. Diotìma – The priestess of Mantinea, a central character in Plato’s Symposium, where Socrates himself describes her as his “instructress in the amatory art” (201d). There are no other direct testimonies, but it seems probable that she was a real historical figure, like most of the characters named in Plato’s dialogues. Lucian actually mentions her along with Thargelia and Aspasia of Miletus as evidence that “even women had a part in philosophy” (Eunuch. 7) and elsewhere says that “Diotima shall be copied not only in those qualities for which Socrates commended her, but in her general intelligence and power to give counsel” (Portr. 18). It is probably in this spirit that the Poet includes her in the Lady’s Court, though the verse seems to allude more specifically to the passage in Symp. 204b where Diotima connects love to wisdom, i.e. philosophy: “For wisdom has to do with the fairest things, and Love is a love directed to what is fair; so that Love must needs be a friend of wisdom”. 63. Ipazia [Hypatia] – Hypatia of Alexandria (c. 370–415 CE), one of the most prominent scientists and philosophers of the Alexandrian Neoplatonic school. According to Philostorgius, “she was so well educated by her father [the Greek mathematician Theon] that she excelled her teacher, especially in astronomy” (apud Photius, Epit. Hist. Eccl. VIII, 9), and indeed Socrates of Costantinople says that she “made such attainments in literature and science as to far surpass all the philosophers of her own time” (Hist. Eccl. VII, 15). The 55 infamity to which the Poet refers concerns her tragic death. As we know from Socrates himself and many other sources (e.g. Damascius, Vita. Is. 79, 24–25; Hesychius, Onom. s.v.; Suda, Υ166), Hypatia was lynched, torn to pieces, and burned by a mob of Christian fanatics incited by Bishop Cyril because of her association with Orestes, the prefect of Alexandria who opposed the persecution of the Jews and other non-Christians. Voltaire considered her “the heroine of philosophy” (Hist. de l’établissement du christianisme, 1777, ch. 24); Cyril was proclaimed saint and father of the Church by Pope Leo XIII (1882). 64. Eloïsa [Héloïse] – Most likely Héloïse d’Argenteuil (1100–1164), best known for her passionate and ill-fated love story with Peter Abelard—her logic teacher at Notre Dame—and a symbol of the tension between love-as-light and love-as-ruin that inspires the Comedye from the beginning (I, 4–6). We still have the poignant letters she exchanged with her lover and husband and the forty-two theological Problemata she sent him after their forced separation, when she became abbess in the Oratory of the Paraclete. The epithet “most benamed” [nominatissima] could refer to the fact that her relation with Abelard was widely gossiped about, but it is also the phrase used by Abelard himself in reporting that, when he met Héloïse for the first time, she was already renowned throughout Western Europe “by reason of her abundant knowledge of letters” (Hist. calamitatum, VI). As for “pious”, it could mean “merciful”, “charitable”, which is the sense prevalent in Dante (Inf. V, 117; XIII, 38; XXIX, 36; etc.), or it could indicate the state of peaceful bliss Héloïse finally found after the torments she had to endure throughout her life, or perhaps the innocence the Poet is granting her (see her 2nd letter to Abelard: “Though exceedingly guilty, I am, as you know, exceeding innocent. For it is not the deed but the intention that makes the crime. It is not what is done but the spirit in which it is done that equity considers.”). 65. La servetta trace [Thracian servant] – The young servant who, in a famous episode recounted in Plato’s Theaetetus, epithomizes the wit and wisdom that can be hidden in simple spirits, in contrast to the clumsiness of certain philosophers: “While he was studying the stars and looking upwards, Thales fell into a pit, and a neat, witty Thracian servant girl jeered at him, they say, because he was so eager to know the things in the sky that he could not see what was there before him at his very feet. The same jest applies to all who pass their lives in philosophy” (174a). There is some self-irony in the Poet’s reference to this episode, as he is almost joking about the very condition in which he found himself. Before Plato, a similar story was used by Aesop in his 56 Canto III che venne a noi la Dama de la via. The Inducement 57 when came to us the Princess of the Way. Com’ ali eran le vesti sue di sete, di quei trasformamenti e trasparenze de le vite picciole e più segrete. 67 Her silky garments were like wings unfolded, of such transparences and transmutations that clothe the little, secret forms of life. Termine vero al vol de l’ascendenze, del ciel Regina e de le stelle fisse ’avea tradotta a me tra le semenzel 70 The limit true of all ascendending flights, Queen of the Sky and of all Stars infixed, had brought her there to me, amidst the blessed, beate, però che il guardo m’affisse ond’ io soccorra quei che m’amò tanto com’ ora è tanto il dolo che l’afflisse. 73 in order that she gifted me the sight to lend succour to him, who so much lov’d me as great was the despair that he endured. Così sentii la pieta del suo pianto, la morte che ’l combatte ed il suo ’nganno 76 Thus did I hear the pity of his plaint, the death that combats him, and his deceit, fable The astronomer, famously taken up by Jean de La Fontaine in L’astrologue qui se laisse tomber dans un puits (1668). Cicero attributes a maxim with the same moral to Democritus: “No one inspects what is right in front of them; they study the expanses of the sky” (De div. II, xiii, 30). 66. Dama de la via [Princess of the Way] – After the concrete identities of the five blessed women in the Lady’s court, the abstract description of this new figure underscores her symbolic function (the “way” is almost certainly the way of truth, hence the way out of the swamps), excluding that the Poet has in mind an historical figure. We shall soon learn that it is thanks to this Princess, upon solicitation from the Queen of the Sky (v. 71), that the Lady was moved to ask for Socrates’ assistance in order to help the Poet (vv. 74–87). In Dante’s Comedy, a similar role is assigned to Saint Lucy, symbol of the enlightening grace, whom the Virgin Mary sends to Beatrice in order for her to intercede with Virgil (Inf. II, 94–108). 67–69. Com’ ali… [Her silky…] – Even the silk garments of the Princess have a symbolic valence. Changeful and transparent as the wings of insects (“the little, secret forms of life”), they most likely represent the clarity and the aptitude to continuous transformation—i.e., the absence of any form of dogmatism—to which philosophical research should aspire. 70. Termine vero… [The limit true …] – This is the third and last gracious woman watching over the Poet’s condition, the highest of all, the Queen of the Sky and of the Fixed Stars. As with the Lady of the Heavens and the Princess of the Way, the Poet does not provide any useful information for her identification; he simply introduces her as the “limit true” of the triad (an epithet that resembles the “limit fixed” of the eternal divine counsel with which Saint Bernard identifies the Virgin Mary in Par. XXXIII, 3). This closes a symbolic circle of wide breadth. Just as the three beasts of Canto I shared a common ele- ment (fire) and could thus be seen as three aspects of the same ferocious animal (viz. philosophical hazard), so the three heavenly women share the common element of air (the birds, the wings, the flights) and could be seen as three aspects of the same female figure (i.e., philosophical salvation): the Lady is identified with Love, the Princess with Clarity and lack of Dogmatism, the Queen with Truth. It is these three aspects, or conditions, that define the Poet’s project of philosophical redemption. 71. Stelle fisse [Stars infixed] – The firmament of Fixed Stars is the eight of the nine concentric heavens of Dante’s Paradiso, abode of Mary and the triumphant souls. By contrast, here the firmament has mainly a poetic value, adverting to a symbolic, indistinct celestial sphere. Indeed, Dante deemed it an error due to “the longstanding ignorance of the astrologers” (Conv. II, iii, 3) to think of the visible stellar heaven as the outermost one and postulated a ninth, crystalline heaven that “circles all” (Inf. IX, 29) and such that “all the rest about it moves” (Par. XXVII, 107), to be identified with the “first mover” of the Ptolemaic system (Almagest I–II), but the Poet seems to think that this, too, is a serious philosophical error, condemning Ptolomy among the Simpletons in the first Ring of the second Circle (Canto VI). 74. Quei che m’amò tanto [Him, who so much lov’d me] – Cp. Inf. II, 104. These words suggest that the Lady of the Heavens might represent someone the Poet really loved, as Beatrice was for Dante. However, there is no further evidence supporting this hypothesis and the possibility that the Lady is simply an ideal figure cannot be excluded. (On this, see also below, v. 102 and note). 76–77. La pieta del suo pianto / la morte che ’l combatte [The pity of his plaint / the death that combats him] – Lucy uses the same phrases in her speech to Beatrice reported in Inf. II, 106–107. As in Dante, “pity” [pieta, unaccented] stands for torment, pain (a meaning that will survive until Manzoni: “Rac- 58 Canto III su la fiumana ove ’l mar non ha vanto. The Inducement 59 upon that stream where ocean has no vaunt. Dolor mi prese al cor e tant’ affanno a udire tante e desperate grida che sùbito mi scesi dal mio scanno 79 My heart was filled with payne, with so much grieve, in listening to such and desperate cries that I forthwith descended from my seat e venni allor da te per esser guida de l’anima di lui per loco mesto, ch’ogn’ anima secura a te s’affida. 82 to come hither to thee, so that thou may’st be guide to him across the sorrow land, as ev’ry soul secure in thee confideth. Ed i’ vorrei che tu ti mova presto pria che il sonno ch’onne forza tolse l colga”. Poscia ch’ebbe detto questoi 85 And I have wish that speedily thou movest, before that he succumbeth to the slumber.’ After she thus had spoken unto me, li occhi lucenti lagrimando volse. ’ che fu’ esperto d’anime e tormentiI mai fu pena più grande che mi colse 88 she turned her eyes away, now bright with tears. In all my exercise with souls and torments, not ever had I suffer’d greater grief, che ratto traversai li lochi spenti per riguidarti a lei, a la sua luce, poi d’aver visto mille turbamenti. 91 wherefore I rathe travers’d the dreary places to lead you back to her, her luminescence, after thou hast beseen through myriad woes. Sì vedi, il tuo timor che dentro bruce vene disfatto su ne l’alto cielo onde ti si protegge e ben conduce». 94 Thus seest thou, the angst that burneth thee is dissipated in the court of Heaven, where thou enjoyest guidance and good caring.” contar le migliaja de’ morti, / e la pieta dell’arse città”, Carmagnola, act II, sc. 6, Choir). On the other hand, here “death” does not refer to the lingering demise of the soul, as in Dante, but to the obfuscated state of mind determined by the “slumbering of reason” of Canto I (v. 18, reprised here at v. 85), while “deceit” refers to the philosophical condition of the Poet. 78. Su la fiumana… [Upon that stream…] – This verse, too, has a duplicate in Lucy’s speech (Inf. II, 108) and presents the same exegetical difficulties as the latter. It may allude to the river Acheron, one of the two infernal rivers that await the Poet beyond the gates of Helle (IV, 117ff) and that the sea cannot claim as one of its tributaries. (The Poet will use the same word [fiumana: stream] to refer to Acheron in V, 4.) However, a more symbolic reading is also plausible. The stream may represent the turbid, relentless flux of the passions of the intellect, whose strength overcomes that of any sea storm (as in Boccaccio’s interpretation of Dante’s verse in Espos. II, which points to Augustine’s allegory of the “impetuous river” in De civ. Dei XXII, 14.1). 82–84. E venni… [To come…] – At last, here is the message Socrates received from the Lady of the Heavens and, with it, Socrates’ answer to the questions the Poet raised at vv. 22–23. 86. Il sonno ch’onne forza tolse [The slumber] – One more reference to the debilitating sleep of reason of Canto I. 88. Li occhi… [She turned…] – The Lady’s farewell is intensely silent, as with the gesture at vv. 56–57. This beautiful verse is also in Dante (Inf. II, 116), who was probably inspired by Venus’ tears in the corresponding mercy mission in Virgil’s Aen. I, 228 (if not by Rachel’s weeping for her lost children in Jer. 31:15) and who will return to it twice in the Purgatorio (XXVII, 137 and XXX, 139–141). As in Dante, “bright” [lucenti] is meant metaphorically; see e.g. Conv. II, xv, 4: “The eyes of this lady are her demonstrations, which when directed into the eyes of the intellect, enamor the soul that is liberated from its earthly condition”. Boccaccio also laid stress on Beatrice’s tears as a sign of her humanity (Espos. II), over and above her spiritual authority and ideal purity, and the same can be said of the Lady’s tears: she is going to be an authentic, full-scale character of the Comedye. 91. Che ratto… [I rathe…] – A proof that Socrates, a “suspended” spirit, is allowed to move freely in and out of Helle. 92–93. Per riguidarti… [To lead you back…] – This clarifies Socrates’ task as anticipated in I, 149–153, establishing a definitive tie between the abstract 60 Quali fioretti dal notturno gelo chinati e chiusi, poi che ’l sol li ’mbianca, si drizzan tutti aperti in loro stelo, Canto III 97 The Inducement Even as flow’rets, by nocturnal chill bowe’d down and closed, when whitened by the sun uplift themselves all open on their stems, così si rafforzò mia mente stanca, così si rafforzò mio cor maldestro, ché ’l ricordare lei tutto rinfranca. 100 thus was my fainting mind invigorated, thus was my unbeseeming heart restored, as sovenance of her is varsal solace. Con li occhi bassi mossesi ’l maestro, sì che ristando dietro a sua cadenza ntrai per lo cammino onde m’addestroi 103 With eyes downcast, my Master onward moved and I, behind him straight, pursued to enter the path of which I now shall undertake a la visione intera e l’esperienza. 106 to tell my thorough vision and experience. love for wisdom (the light of truth) and the human sentiment of personal love (the bright gaze of the heavenly Lady). 97–99. Quali fioretti… [Even as flow’rets…] – Another tercet that is found verbatim also in Dante (Inf. II, 127–129), possibly inspired by a stanza of the early 12th-century troubador Guilhèm de Peitieus, Ab la dolchor del temps novel (“La nostr’amor va enaissi / com la brancha de l’albespi, / qu’esta sobre l’arbr’en treman, / la nuoit, ab la ploi’ ez al gel, / tro l’endeman, que·l sols s’espan / per la feuilla vert el ramel”). The flower-heart simile, by itself a metaphor of the whole redemptive process narrated in the two comedies, has actually been a major source of inspiration, if not plagiarism, throughout medieval and early modern literature. Boccaccio appropriates Dante’s tercet almost word for word in his Filostrato (“Come fioretto, dal notturno gelo / chinato e chiuso, poi che il Sol l’imbianca, / s’apre e si leva dritto sopra il stelo …”, II, 80) and Chaucer does the same, probably taking it from Boccaccio, in the Troilus (“But right as floures, thorugh the colde of night / Iclosed, stoupen on hire stalke lowe, / redressen hem ayein the sonne bright, / and spreden on hire kynde cours by rowe, / right so…”; II, 967–970). It returns also in Boccaccio’s Teseida (IX, 28) and has been imitated, among others, Francesco Berni in his recasting of Boiardo’s Orlando innamorato (I, xii, 86), Edmund Spenser in The Faerie Queene (IV, xii, 34 and VI, ii, 35), Torquato Tasso in the Gerusalemme liberata (IV, 75), and Giovan Battista Marino in L’Adone (xvii, st. 63) and again in a sonet of Amori (XXV, 4–8). Even contemporary authors seem to be fond of it. Seamus Heaney, for instance, uses the simile in his 1984 poem 61 Station Island (VI, 37–41), where he recounts his pilgrimage to Saint Patrick’s Purgatory in Ireland. 102. Ché ’l ricordare… [As sovenance…] – As with v. 74 (and elsewhere, e.g. IX, 118, where the Poet will see and recognize the visage of his beloved in a brisk image), this verse suggests that the Poet really knew and loved the Lady of the Heavens, to the point that a simple remembrance suffices to restore him to his strength. However, a purely symbolic reading is also available. In that case it would be the Poet’s recollection of his love for philosophical research—the love that drives a philosopher’s most inspired moments—that regains his intellect the strength to overcome all difficulties and the necessary confidence to continue in the journey. 103. Li occhi bassi [With eyes downcast] – An expression of the humbleness with which the philosopher is about to engage in the task he received from the heavenly Lady, but also in anticipation of the painful torments that await in Helle. Cp. Dante, Vita nuova, XXII, 9: “You whose expressions are so meek and low, / your eyes deflected down, revealing pain”. 106. Visione / esperienza [Vision / experience] – Is the recount of the journey that we are about to hear merely the product of the Poet’s truthful imagination (“vision”) or did he take the journey for real (“experience”), as suggested by his invocation to the Muses at v. 17 (“what I saw”)? Is it both things together, as suggested by the conjunction “and”? This last line closes with a note of ambiguity a Canto in which ambivalence itself is, in many ways, a dominant ingredient. Canto VI Canto VI overo del secondo Cerchio, nel Girone de li Sprovveduti fedeli ai sensi or, the second Circle, in the Ring o’ the Simpletons who confide in the senses – Beyond the first Circle, all damned souls are judged for their errors by Athena, who weighs their written works on a scale and decides their punishments accordingly (1–21). Socrates and the Poet pass by her to enter the second Circle, which is said to be divided into three consecutive Rings of simplistic philosophers: those who blindly trusted the senses; those who relied on the transparency of language; and those who pinned their faith on pliant and comforting myths (22–51). The scene that opens in front of the two is desolate: numberless spirits are half-buried in the ground, covered in dense brashwood, with their faces hidden under a white pale mask, while a lugubrious ghastly figure wanders around scattering random seeds and sounds out of a basket (52–78). The Poet stumbles upon one of the damned, who begins to tell of his errors and of the role played by the ghastly creature in the punishment of his peers (79–135). On resuming his way, the Poet—very touched—gives a last pious look at the sorrow woods (136–141). ARGUMENT 64 Canto VI Second Circle, Ring of the Simpletons who Confide in the Senses Lasciato amor de lo cerchio primaio giù nel secondo cominciò la scesa. Oh, quanto più dolor che punge a guaio! 1 Departed from the love of the upper ring, down to the second we began descent. Oh, how much greater dole it goads to cries! È là che Atena glaucopide pesa e pone olive in coppe di metallo secondo dove vol l’anima scesa. 4 ’Tis there that glaukopis Athena weigheth, and in her metal bowls she stow’th her olives according as she wants the souls go adown. Dico che quando mente colta ’n fallo le ven dinanzi e innanzi le ristave, il tomo suo soppesa e giudicallo: 7 I say, that when the next defaultive mind com’th towards her and byfore her astandeth, she weights the tome and hence assizeth it: secondo quant’ error lo trova grave depone l’olee tra le nove coppe ed in quei cerchi van l’anime prave. 10 according as she finds the errour grave, inside of the nine bowls she lay’th the oleys and in those circles go the souls depraved. “O tu che ti nascondi ’n quelle stoppe,” Atena disse a me quando mi vide, “non veggio le tue colpe, poche o troppe. 13 “O thou, that in those fibers hydest thee,” Athena cried, when she beheld me there, “thy faults, too many or few, I do not see. 1. Amor [The love] – The friend hugged by Socrates at the end of the previous Canto and, by extension, the feeling of affectionate solidarity that permeated the visit to the first Circle (as opposed to the love for wisdom, which will continue to inspire the poem). 2. Scesa [Descent] – We know from Socrates that Helle is an abyss whose structure is that of a cone divided in ten Circles (V, 55–56). The passage from one Circle to the next is therefore downwards, as in Dante’s hell. 3. Oh, quanto… [Oh, how…] – Cf. Dante, Inf. V, 3. For “guaio” see supra, IV, n. 125. 4–6. È là… [’Tis there…] – In Greek mythology, Athena was the goddess of wisdom and her sacred symbols were the owl—hence the Homeric epithet “glaukopis”, which hints back at I, 141—and the olive tree. It is her, then, whom the Poet entrusts with the task of judging the damned souls. And we find her here, at the entrance of the second Circle, for it is here that, strictly speaking, the errors begin; the Short of Categories punished in the first Circle did not “really err” (V, 44) and their purely intellectual punishment does not reflect a specific philosophical judgment. As the Poet will now explain, Athena judges the damned souls by weighing their written “tomes” on a scale and determines their fate by placing olives in nine metal bowls, each representing one of the remaining Circles. The bowls are metallic because Athena was also the goddess of technical knowledge, first and foremost metallurgy. As for the olive tree, it is among her symbols because she supposedly defeated Poseidon in a competition to become the patron of the city of Athens—still without a name—by presenting its inhabitants with the gift of an olive tree suitable to be 65 cultivated (Herodotus, Hist. VIII, 55; Pseudo-Apollodorus, Bibl. III, xiv). In Dante’s Comedy, by contrast, the role of the infernal judge is entrusted to Minos, following Homer’s mythology (Odyss. XI, 568–671) as endorsed by Virgil (Aen. VI, 431–433) and Claudian (De raptu. II, 330–332): upon hearing the sins of the damned, Minos—which Dante transfigures into a growling monster—determines their punishment by girding himself with his serpent tail “as many times as grades he wishes they should be thrust down” (Inf. V, 11–12). 7. Dico che [I say] – Dante uses the same explicative formula in Inf. V, 7. 9. Soppesa [Weigheth] – Echoes the verb of v. 4 [pesa]: Athena weighs the tomes of the philosophers on a scale, but also ponders, assesses, evaluates the errors contained therein. 10. Grave [Grave] – Develops the felicitous ambivalence of “soppesa” in the previous verse, now building on the double meaning of the Italian word “grave” (meaning both “heavy” and “serious”, i.e., “bad”): the heavier the tome, the worse the error. 11. Le nove coppe [The nine bowls] – The Circles of Helle are ten (V, 56), but the bowls are nine because Athena does not judge the Short of Categories, who are confined to the first Circle. However, the Poet seems to forget that some damned souls occupy other districts of Helle, such as the “jungle” of Canto XI (the Lustful), the “craggy steep” of Canto XVII (the Nihilists), the “Flowing river” of Canto XX (the Fearful of change), and the “pit of dwarfes” of Canto XXIII (the Haughty and False wise). 14. Disse a me… [Cried…] – As in Dante, Inf. V, 17. 15. Non veggio… [Thy faults…] – Unable to find any works by the Poet, 66 Canto VI Second Circle, Ring of the Simpletons who Confide in the Senses Dimmi però, e al mio giudizio affide tu dov’ errasti in terra e dev’ errare qui ne l’eternità di pianto e gride.” 16 Do thou tell me, and trust my rule, wherein thou errour mad’st on earth and where herein thou mustest err in cries and yelles eternal.” “Ancor il penser suo s’ha da formare: vuolsi così colà dove si puote ciò che si vuol, e più non dimandare.” 19 “His thinking still must needs substantify. This has been willed where what is willed can be, and is not thine to question. Say no more.” Con tal parola ’l duca Atena scote che tosto quella addita un corso stretto per dove maggior pianto riga gote. 22 With these such words my Guide Athena shaketh whence she anon appointeth a strait course to where greater despairs bestreak the leers. E poscia quel ch’i’ vidi, li ebbi detto: “Perché tu non lasciasti scritti in dono? Perché non volli il tuo saper protetto?” 25 As I beheld these things, I asked of him: “Why hast thou left no scripts in benefaction? Wherefore didst thou thy wisdom leave unfended?” “Qual statüe di bronzo i tomi sono: se li domandi lor non fan favella, se li percoti fan lo stesso suono. 28 “Like unto statues made of bronze,” he answered, “are tomes: if thou dost query them, they are silent; if thou dost strike them, both sound e’en the same. Ma più che questo vo’ ch’altra novella apprenda. Noi siam quivi convenuti 31 But more than this, there is another sooth which I want thee to apprehend at once. Athena questions him. Indirectly, here we also have an explanation of why Socrates is “among the ones who rest suspended” (III, 25), with no precise collocation in Helle, since he did not leave any written works (as the Poet will remind us at vv. 26–27). 17. Errasti… errare [Errour mad’st… mustest err] – Word play on the polysemy of the verb “to err” [errare], first in the sense of “making mistakes” and then of “wandering”: tell me where you went wrong, and I will tell you where (i.e., in which Circle of Helle) you will be destined to wander. It is the first, explicit formulation of the relationship between errors and punishments that underpins the overall architecture of the Comedye; cf. also vv. 99 and 105. 20–21. Vuolsi così… [This has been willed…] – Again, these verses are also in Dante (Inf. V, 23–24), where Virgil addresses Minos with the same safe-conduct formula already used to placate to Charon (Inf. III, 95–96). The locution “where what is willed can be” [colà dove si puote ciò che si vuol] refers to the sky of the fixed stars from which Socrates received his assignment to escort the Poet through Helle (III, 82–87). 23–24. Un corso stretto… [A strait course…] – The slim path that evidently leads into the Circle, hence to the rest of the Helle, where the leers of the damned will be “bestroken” by tears that are far more bitter [maggior pianto] than those seen so far. 26–27. Perché… [Why…] – Having noted that Athena’s judgment is based 67 on weighing written works, the Poet takes the opportunity to ask Socrates why he did not leave any (as attested by Cicero, Orat. III, 16). Actually, according to Plato (Phaedo 60c–61b) and others (e.g. Dio Chrysostom, Orat. XLIII, 10; Plutarch, Quom. adol. 2; Epictetus, Disc. II, vii, 26), Socrates did write something in the last days of his life, when he was already in prison awaiting his death: a paean to Apollo and a poetic rendition of some fables by Aesop. Still, those were not philosophical works and it is not known how widely they circulated. (They were known to Diogenes Laërtius, who quotes the beginning of the paean and of a fable, though he is skeptic about the authenticity of the former; cf. Vitae philos. II, 42.) 28–30. Qual statüe… [Like unto statues…] – Socrates’ answer echoes the one he gives in the Phaedro: “Writing is unfortunately like painting. The offsprings of painting stand there as if they are alive, but if anyone asks them anything, they remain most solemnly silent. The same is true of written words. You’d think they were speaking as if they had some understanding, but if you question anything that has been said because you want to learn more, it continues to signify just that very same thing forever.” (275d–e). In the same context, see also the words with which Socrates reports King Thamus’s answer to the offer of Theuth, the Egyptian deity “inventor” of the alphabet: “You offer your pupils the appearance of wisdom, not true wisdom, for they will read many things without instruction and will therefore seem to know many things, 68 Canto VI là dove luce assempre meno stella, Second Circle, Ring of the Simpletons who Confide in the Senses 69 For here, where light is less alight, we have reach’d al cerchio grande de li sprovveduti. Ben tre sono i gironi ’n questa sede e molti qui vedrai che son perduti: 34 the circle vast and deep of simpletons. Herein the rings of punishment are three, and many thou shalt see who lost their souls: puniti son li errori di chi crede e sanza mai voltarsi sempre avanza scïolta sanza briglie e cieca fede 37 they erred by cause they put their confidence, and never turning back all wise profess’d a blind, unfastened, unrestricted faith, nei sensi e ne la lor testimonianza, ne la trasparitade de la lingua, nei miti che seduggon la speranza.” 40 in our senses and their testimony, in the transparent fabric of the speech, in easy myths which foster hopefulness.” “È fedeltà un error ch’è meglio estingua?” io domandai al duca mio rivolto; “non aver fede a più saper attingua?” 43 “Is trust an errour to be eradicated?” I asked again, pursuing my good Master; “to have no faith will greater truth attain?” “Non iscambiare vomere e raccolto,” riprese lentamente elli a parlare, “con molti arnesi ’l frutto può esser colto. 46 “Mistake thou not the cultre for the yield,” he made response, in manner kind and slow; “thou hast more tools to reap the fruit withal. Né cresce né potrebbe incominciare, 49 For neither groweth nor could e’er begin when they are for the most part ignorant and hard to get along with, since they are not wise, but only appear wise” (275a–b). 33. Là dove luce… [Where light…] – We know from Socrates’ description that the Circles of Helle get progressively darker as one proceeds downwards (V, 56). 34. Sprovveduti [Simpletons] – So this is the first genuine philosophical error punished in the Comedye: simplety, which is to say simple-mindedness, naïveté, gullibility. As Socrates will explain shortly, this amounts to that lack of critical sense that results in the endorsement of clearly fallacious or otherwise unreliable world views. In contrast, the second Circle of Dante’s hell is populated by the Lustful, i.e., those “carnal malefactors” who let “reason subjugate to appetite” (Inf. V, 37–38). This discrepancy seals the definitive end of any tight parallel between the two works, despite the fact that this Canto and the corresponding one of Inferno—the fifth—continue to exhibit significant stylistic and structural analogies. (It might be argued that there are some analogies also pertaining to content: as the Simpletons were foolish in blindly following the truthfulness of the senses, so were the Lustful in their complete abandonment to the pleasures of the senses. However, the analogy can hardly be pushed any further than this.) 35–42. Ben tre [Three] – Simplety manifest itself in various ways, so the Simpletons are divided into three distinct sectors, or Rings, corresponding to the three variants of the error listed in vv. 42–42: the first Ring is occupied by those who blindly trusted the truthfulness of the senses; the second by those who confided in the ontological transparency of language; and the third by those who embraced easy and reassuring myths (including the myths promoted by some religions). The sense in which these three forms of faithfulness constitute a philosophical error will be explained separately in each case: in the remainder of this Canto for the first Ring, and in Cantos VII and VIII (the latter of which, unfortunately, severely damaged) for the other two. It may be recalled that Dante’s Inferno does not feature any subdivision into rings until the seventh circle (the Violent, divided into the violent against the others, against themselves, and against God and nature), although the damned in Circles II–V could in a way be subsumed under a single general category (the sinners of Incontinence, divided into the Lustful, the Gluttonous, the Avaricious along with the Prodigals, and the Wrathful along with the Sullen). 46–48. Non iscambiare… [Mistake thou not…] – Read: the problem is not trust in itself, but what follows from it, and in any case there are better ways to harvest good fruits. This is the first appearance of the harvest metaphor that will be in the background of the entire Canto. 49–51. Né cresce… [Neither groweth…] – As with “wonder” in IV, 104, “wonderment” [maraviglia] hints back to Plato and Aristotle, who use similar words to indicate the origin of all philosophy (see again Theaet. 155d and Met. 70 Canto VI se fosse ’l mondo quel che noi s’aspetta, la maraviglia del filosofare.” Second Circle, Ring of the Simpletons who Confide in the Senses 71 the wonderment of true philosophying if this our world had been as we expected.” In una conca in tale nebbia stretta ci ritrovammo allor che i sensi affranti non fean questa o quella cosa netta. 52 And next in such a conch we found ourselves with layers of thick fog over-allwhere that our weary senses naught discern’d. Che dol! Oh che mestizia a me davanti! Confitti in terra come tronchi vinti fin ai lor fianchi stan quei mal pensanti, 55 O, what a dole! what grief appear’th to me! Transfixed into the ground up to their hippes as trunks defeated stand those wrongsavantes, e son vinghiati, avvilluppati avvinti di edere, sterpaglie, pruni e lacci che fino al collo stanno stretti e spinti. 58 and they’re so tightly clasped, begirt, entwined by ivy barbs and thickets, thorns, and braids that all around they are clutch’d, and to their neck. Immobilmente ei son per quelli allacci e par non possa esservi mai cinta che quella trista selva tutto abbracci. 61 By cause of that impeach they lie inert and it would seem as though there could not be a fence so wide to embrace that dismal brashwood. Una maschera bianca, sbianca e stinta han tutte l’anime a coprire il viso, a tutte iguali, a tutte sì costrinta. 64 All souls are wearing maskes, all white and pale, and very tight implanted on their faces, and all alike, which makes them look the same. Io non potea alcuno far deciso ch’allor, puntando ’l dito, il duca meo: “Tu vedi in mezzo a lor, sanza sorriso, 67 As I not even one could recognize, my good conductor pointed with his finger: “Thou here beholdest, in the midsts of these, Timagora, Lattanzio, Tolomeo, che vide terra ferma e in moto ’l sole, e ogne altro che de’ sensi è reo.” 70 Timagoras, Lactantius, Ptolemy, who saw’th the Earth at rest and Sun revolve, and all the others who yauld to the senses.” I, 2, 982b12–13). In this passage, Socrates may even be read as anticipating Lotze: “It is not what explains itself but what perplexes us that moves to enquiry. Metaphysic would never have come into being if the course of events, in that form in which it was presented by immediate perception, had not conflicted with expectations” (System der Philosophie, vol. 2, 1879, I, Intr., §2). 53–54. I sensi affranti… [Our weary senses…] – In this land where those are punished who trusted their senses blindly, even the sensory abilities of the visitors are “weary” [affranti], preventing them from seeing things distinctly. 55. Che dol… [What a dole…] – Echoes the exclamation in v. 3. But whereas there it was a sign of the generic and inevitable sense of torment caused by the descent in Helle, the pain that suddenly breaks up here, in the fog, is a concrete, stinging pain, which marks an abrupt change of atmosphere compared to the dialogue with Socrates. 56–60. Confitti… [Transfixed…] – As with the Pusillanimous and the Short of Categories, the Poet describes the punishment of the damned as it manifests itself to him, without explanation: these souls appear to be stuck into the ground up to their chests, covered by ivy and underbrushes that prevent every movement, and with their faces hidden behind identical white masks. 62–63. E par… [And it would seem…] – The vast multitude of the damned is a recurring element of Hell. The Poet will draw attention to it throughout his journey. 70. Timagora, Lattanzio, Tolomeo – Evidently, Socrates is able to identify some of the damned in spite of the fog and of the masks they are wearing. Of the three characters Socrates mentions, the first one is probably Timagoras of Rhodes (2nd cent. BCE). Little is known about this philosopher, though the example in vv. 106–108 below suggests that the Poet has in mind the naïve 72 Canto VI Second Circle, Ring of the Simpletons who Confide in the Senses E quando si finì queste parole una figura lugubre ed oscura io vidi vagolar tra l’alme sole 73 And once that he was finish’d with these wordes, a gloomy and lugubrious ghastly figure I saw meander through those lonesome souls e sparger da un panier sanza misura tal soni e forme sanza forma alcuna che trassemi e nascosi per paura. 76 and from a boundless basket dissipate such scatterings of mangled sounds and shapes that terror overmastered my good will. Sol quando si svanì ne l’aera bruna m’alzai per chiedere a la guida mia ch’i’ ruppi una radice ed una pruna. 79 Only when he had vanished in the darkness did I arise, and turning to my Guide I tore a root and ripp’d a branch of thorn. Come d’un stizzo verde ch’arso sia da l’un de’ capi, che da l’altro geme e cigola per vento che va via, 82 As from a bough that, lighted while ’tis green, at one end glow’th and from the other crieth and hisseth with the wind that seek’th escape, così sonò quell’ alma sanza speme. E volli allora chiedere a quel ligno: “Chi fosti? E ché se’ qui? Dì, se non teme.” 85 so was the sound that issued from that wood. Whereat I wish’d to ask that hopeless spirit, “Who wast thou? Fear me not. Why art thou here?” “O animal grazïoso e beningno che visitando vai per l’aere nero,” principiò quello, “qui tu vedi il signo 88 “O animal, so gracious and benign, who down the blacksome air goest visiting,” commenc’d his cry, “thou seest here the sygne di uno ch’anche fu di fama fiero. I’ fui quell’ Aldobrando ch’ebbe plausa per aver detto ogne apparire vero, 91 of one who was e’en proud of his own fame. I was the Aldobrand who gained applause for having said all semblance to be true; “Timagoras Epicureus” targeted by Cicero in his Lucullus (Acad. pr. II, xxv, 79–80). The second is probably Lucius Caecilius Lactantius (250–320), who refused to accept the notion of a spherical earth. (“Is there any one so senseless as to believe that there are men whose footsteps are higher than their heads? that the crops and trees grow downwards? that the rains, snow, and hail fall upwards to the earth?”; Div. inst. III, 24). The third character is clearly the Egyptian astronomer Claudius Ptolemy (100–175 c.), after whom is named the astronomical system that places the (spherical) earth at the center of the solar system. Dante lists him among the great spirits he sees in Limbo (Inf. IV, 142). 74. Una figura… [A gloomy…] – The identity of this figure will emerge at vv. 111ff. 75. Sole [Lonesome] – The adjective (in equivocal rhyme with the noun of v. 71, meaning “sun”) may be hinting at the solipsistic drift of these souls, whose blind trust in the senses imprisons them in the solitary world of their own perceptions. The issue returns explicitly in the next Canto, with the punishment of the Simpletons deceived by language. 73 82–84. Come d’un stizzo… [As from a bough…] – Dante uses the same tercet in Inf. XIII, 40–43 to describe the reaction of Pier delle Vigne, the suicide turned into a tree, upon the breaking of one of his branches. The scene is clearly inspired by the anecdote of Polydorus’ “bleeding bush” in Aen. III, 22– 68 (as Dante himself acknowledges at 48) and will in turn inspire the episode of Astolfo and Ruggiero in Ariosto’s Orlando furioso (VI, 28). 88–89. O animal… [O animal…] – These verses, too, may be found almost verbatim in Dante, Inf. V, 88–89. In Dante, however, “animale” is naturally read as meaning “animated being” generally (as in Inf. II, 2; Purg. XXIX, 138; Par. XIX, 85), whereas here the term suggests that the damned soul is simply committing a perceptual error. 92. Aldobrando – This is almost certainly a fictional figure. We have no evidence of a philosopher who actually held all the theses the Poet ascribes to Aldobrand at vv. 97–108, and it is doubtful that any such person ever existed. Indeed, those theses correspond to a series of perceptual illusions commonly mentioned by ancient philosophers to exemplify the fallacy of the senses, so it 74 Canto VI Second Circle, Ring of the Simpletons who Confide in the Senses e quell’ error di questo star è causa, di questo mio sentir ne le profonda questi tormenti che non hanno pausa. 94 such errour is the cause of this my being, of this my feeling truly and in my depths these torments which without a pause endure. S’appare mozzo il remo dentro l’onda, dorso del mar non premon navi infrante: io questo dissi allor, quest’ or m’affonda. 97 As fractured seem’th the oar dipt in the wave, the broken ships shall not the sea traverse: this I proclaimed, and this now mak’th me founder. Che stelle immote a l’etere distante son entro le caverne affisse e sole ne la lor inquetudine costante, 100 That of the stars immote in distant ether each one is fast affixed within the caves and lonely in its continual restlessness e che colori finti accende al sole d’onne colomba il collo che s’avanza: io questo allor negai, quest’ or mi duole. 103 and that the plumous neck of ev’ry dove enkindleth spurious colours in the sunshine: this I denied, and this now giv’th me payne. is likely that the Poet is just engaging in a convenient literary pretense. This is a natural thing to do especially insofar as the Poet seems to consider such a fallacy a sign of simplety, not an expression of an intentional philosophical attitude. (The name itself, “Aldobrando”, may be alluding to the gullible husband featured in Rustico Filippi’s popular sonnet, Oi dolce mio marito Aldobrandino.) And if it is true that there have been philosophers who upheld the veridicality of sensory experience—including some who claimed, as Aldobrand puts it, “all semblance to be true” (v. 93)—normally such philosophers also emphasized the risk of making mistakes in judging the testimony of the senses. Epicurus, for example, was adamant about the need to distinguish between sensible perception, by itself always truthful, and our “added opinions” (Ep. Hrdt. 50–52), i.e., the “application of intellect to the presentations” (Rat. sent. XXIV). So was Lucretius, for whom the senses will only deceive us “through the judgment we have added ourselves, feigning to see what by the senses are not seen at all” (De rer. nat. IV, 464). With all this, the expedient of a fictional character marks yet another departure from Dante’s fifth canto, whose main character, Francesca da Rimini, was a real person and talks about real historical events. 94–96. Questo… [This…] – The triple repetition of the demonstrative lays stress on the drama of those who realize too late the consequences of their mistakes. But note that Aldobrand always speaks in the first person, as though unaware of the countless souls who share his destiny. This is probably another hint to the solipsistic drift alluded to in v. 75. 97–98. S’appare… [As fractured…] – Here begins a list of four theses that Aldobrand uses to illustrate the fallacious beliefs upon which he built his fame. This first thesis maintains that oars partly submerged in water, which look bent, really are broken, thus preventing ships to sail the seas. That it is, in fact, a mere optical illusion is a view largely discussed by classical philosophers, 75 especially for the skeptical stance that would follow from it. See e.g. Lucretius, De rer. nat. IV, 436–444; Cicero, Acad. pr. II, xxv, 79; Philo, De ebr. 180; Seneca, Nat. quaest. I, iii, 9; Plutarch, Adv. Col. XXV, 1121a; Sextus Empiricus, Pyrrh. hypot. I, xiv, 119, and Adv. math. VII, 244/414; Tertullian, De an. XVII, 2. It is also one of Augustine’s favorite examples (Contra acad. III, xi, 26; De Trin. XV, xii, 21; De vera rel. XXXIII, 62; Prior. acad. II, vii, 19 and xxv, 79; etc.). 100–102. Che stelle… [That of the stars…] – Aldobrand’s second thesis is related to another optical illusion discussed by Lucretius, according to which the stars in the sky appear to be motionless—and were called “immote” or “fixed”, in contrast to the Greek etymology of “planet” as “errant star”—even though “all with daily constant motion roll” (De rer. nat. IV, 392–395). The Poet, however, is alluding to a twofold illusion, since the alleged movement of the stars is in turn a byproduct of the geocentric illusion already condemned at v. 70, where Ptolemy is listed among the damned. 103–104. Che colori… [That the plumous neck…] – The third thesis is about the optical illusion that makes us see the dove’s neck as variably colored when illuminated by the sun’s light. The thesis, which David the Armenian attributed already to Protagoras (cf. Schol. in Arist. 60b 18), is mentioned among others by Lucretius (De rer. nat. II, 800–802), Cicero (Acad. pr. II, xxv, 79), Philo (De ebr. 173), Seneca (Nat. quaest. I, v, 6 and vii, 2), and Sextus Empiricus (Pyrrh. hypot. I, xiv, 120) and was widely discussed by medieval philosophers, from Augustine (Contra Acad. III, xii, 27) to Pierre d’Auriole (Scriptum d. 3, q. 14), Ockham (I ord. d. 27, q. 3), and Roger Bacon (Opus major II, §4 e §11). The passage is also echoed Tasso’s Gerusalmme liberata: “The feathers so, that tender, soft, and plain, / about the dove’s smooth neck close couched been, / do in one color never long remain, / but change their hue gainst glimpse of Phoebus’ sheen” (XV, 5). Note that sole 76 Canto VI Second Circle, Ring of the Simpletons who Confide in the Senses Premendo forte li occhi ed abbastanza de le fiammelle il doppio lume ardente io feci non parvenza ma sostanza.” 106 By pressing with the hand beneath the eyes, the double burning lambency of the flamelets I made a substance real, not appearance.” “Cognosco,” dissi allora lentamente, “ma qual è il fin dei leghi e ’l mascherare?” “Che il demone non vol che noi si sente 109 “I fathom thee”, said I with quiet voice; “but whereunto those twines? those masks alike?” “The daemon wisheth not that we perceive diversamente da quello ch’appare i semi e il seminar malo e sanguigno. E questo è che la maschera ha da fare.” 112 in other ways than they appear to us those seeds and his malicious semination. The purpose of the masks is thus explained.” “Un demone,” soggiunsi, “assai maligno io vidi inver, che diedemi raggelo e che d’onne color mi fece stigno.” 115 “A daemon”, added I, “and quite malignant I did behold, who made me recongeal and caused my flesh to turn the utmost colours.” “Ei nutrica ciascuno nostro stelo che, s’anche nulla son, noi le vediamo la terra solida e ’l concavo cielo. 118 “He fodder’th ev’ry stalk whereof we are made wherefore a solid earth and hollow sky we envisage notwithstanding that they are naught. (“sun”) at v. 103 is in equivocal rhyme with v. 101, where it means “lonely”, as already at vv. 71 and 75. 106–108. Premendo… [By pressing…] – The fourth and final thesis refers to the illusion whereby pressing on the eye from below with a finger causes diplopia, the perception of double images. The phenomenon is discussed by Aristotle (De somn. III, 461b32) and addressed again by Lucretius (De rer. nat. IV, 447–452) and Sextus Empiricus (Adv. math. VII, 192). That the duplication is a matter of “substance” and not merely an “appearance” is exactly the error Cicero seems to ascribe to Timagoras, the philosopher of v. 70, though the passage from Lucullus poses some exegetical problems. 111–113. Il demone… [The daemon…] – The “gloomy and lugubrious ghastly figure” mentioned in v. 74, whose role is thus explained: he systematically deceives the damned souls by making them perceive in distorted fashion the objects and sounds that he keeps disseminating from his basket. One will note, here, a strong analogy with the demon fancied by Descartes at the outset of his Meditationes (1641): “I will suppose […] that some malignant demon, who is at once exceedingly potent and deceitful, has employed all his artifice to deceive me; I will suppose that the sky, the air, the earth, colors, figures, sounds, and all external things, are nothing better than the illusions of dreams, by means of which this being has laid snares for my credulity; I will consider myself as without hands, eyes, flesh, blood, or any of the senses, and as falsely believing that I am possessed of these” (I, §12). Descartes skeptical hypothesis has in fact some precedents in medieval philosophy with which the Poet might have been familiar, beginning with Ockham’s idea that God himself could 77 cause in us an “actum creditivum” by which we would mistakenly believe that something is present when in fact it is not (Quodl. V, q. 5). On the “semination” image in v. 113, see above, v. 46 and note. 114. E questo… [The purpose…] – This explains why the damned are wearing masks (vv. 64–66): it is through such masks that their perceptions turn out to be distorted and deceptive. Interestingly, the Poet reverses here the typical function of a mask, which is to deceive the others, not those who wear it. 115–117. Un demone… [A daemon…] – Recall that the Poet was about to ask Socrates regarding the identity of the grim figure (v. 80) but was diverted by Aldobrand’s sudden words upon ripping a branch connected to his body. 118. Ei nutrica… [He fodder’th…] – With this detail, the punisher of the Simpletons sets himself apart from the abstract “malignant demon” envisioned by Descartes and rather reminds us of the “evil scientist” imagined by contemporary philosopher Hilary Putnam—a scientist who removes brains from human bodies, places them in a vat of nutrients, and connects their nerve endings to a computer “which causes the person whose brain it is to have the illusion that everything is perfectly normal” (Reason, Truth and History, 1981, p. 6). 120. La terra solida… [A solid earth…] – Both Descartes and Putnam entertain the idea that the illusion extends to the reality of earth and skies. But here the Poet is also alluding to the words used by Socrates to introduce the guardian-escort on the river Amelete (V, 21–24): if philosophy is in danger of drawing up a bad inventory of the things in earth and heaven, those who blindly trust the senses run the greater risk of imagining an earth and a heaven that do not exist at all. 78 Canto VI Second Circle, Ring of the Simpletons who Confide in the Senses Sostanza ed illusion non distinguiamo e par d’andare a noi come li uccelli e ’n vece fissi in queste buche siamo 121 Reality and delusion we confound. To us it seem’th we fly like as the birds; in sooth inside these pits we stand infixed e radicati in quel che fece felli. Noi lo sappiam, perché per un momento sollevasi la maschera ai capelli; 124 and rooted in the source of our deceit. We know ’tis so by cause that for a moment the mask is lifted to our frontispiece; ma più che pausa è ancor maggior tormento, ché si riscende subito al passaggio del tempo, sanza freno, come il vento. 127 but more than true relief ’tis greater torment, for down it goeth rathe as time resumeth, without restrain, like breath of blowing wind. Se s’accompagna il dubbio a quel ch’assaggio, cosa riman d’ognuna e d’onne cosa che consolaro ’l mio pelegrinaggio? 130 If dowting will perfuse all that I taste, what doth remain of each and ev’ry thing that solace to my pilegrimage ensured? Che resta de l’odore de la rosa, del trillo de la rondine, del vino, de la mia bocca addosso a la mia sposa?” 133 What doth remain of th’ odour of the rose, the twitter of the swallow, the good wine, my lips unto the lips of my own spouse?” Lo spirto si fermò col capo chino, e anch’ io chinai la testa a tal dolore andando verso Socrate vicino. 136 Whereat the spirit silenced, head bowed down, and I, too, bow’d my face at his despair. Then close to Socrates I moved my step. 122–124. E par… [To us…] – Yet another detail to clarify the overall architecture of the punishment inflicted in this Circle, in a dramatic crescendo leading to the climax of vv. 130–135: the damned have the clear sensation that they can freely move and fly like birds, when in fact they are stuck in the ground, firmly held by the roots that tie them. 125–129. Noi lo sappiam… [We know ’tis so…] – This, then, is the real source of the pain suffered by these damned souls. They know they are being deceived, for every once in a while their mask is lifted up for a moment revealing how things really are, and precisely for that reason they cannot enjoy in any experience induced by the demon (even when the experience may feel pleasant, e.g. flying like a free bird). The idea that one cannot truly enjoy an experience if one knows that it is fake may be epistemologically controversial, but it is an indirect indication of the seriousness with which the Poet wants us to regard as real the sorrow that permeates Helle. Indeed, the idea itself has become rather popular in contemporary philosophy, mainly through Robert Nozick’s thought experiment of the “experience machine” (Anarchy, State, and Utopia, 1974, pp. 42–45), and has independently inspired a good deal of science fiction, beginning with G. Peyton Wertenbaker’s short story The Chamber of Life (1929). Cp. also Cypher’s bitter realization in the 1999 movie The Matrix: “I know this steak doesn’t exist. I know that when I put it in my 79 mouth, the Matrix is telling my brain that it is juicy, and delicious. After nine years, you know what I realize? Ignorance is bliss.” 130. Se s’accompagna il dubbio… [If dowting will perfuse…] – An explicit hint to the skeptical drift of those who come to realize the fallacy of the senses. The Poet will return to this more extensively in Canto XIII, entirely dedicated to the Dowters (the sceptics). 132. Pelegrinaggio [Pilegrimage] – A religious metaphor, stressing that the error punished in this Circle is a sort of faith. 133–135. Che resta… [What doth remain…] – These three verses constitute the lyrical apex of the entire Canto, connecting the purely epistemological aspect of the error to its dramatic existential consequences. It is worth noting that Aldobrand mentions an odor, a sound, and a taste as paradigmatic sensible experiences before devoting his last words to an experience that embraces them all for intensity and representativeness in the human soul. If at the epistemic level the grim punisher evokes Descartes’ malignant demon and Putnam’s evil scientist, at the personal level Aldobrand finds himself in the same position as Cervantes’ Don Quixote in front of the poor peasant whom he takes for Dulcinea: “And thou, highest perfection of excellence that can be desired, […] though the malign enchanter that persecutes me has brought clouds and cataracts on my eyes, and to them, and them only, transformed thy unpara- 80 E mentre allontanam sanza rumore mi volsi ancor a quella trista selva che di pietà sensibile m’accore. Canto VI 139 goned beauty and changed thy features into those of a poor peasant girl, if so be he has not at the same time changed mine into those of some monster to render them loathsome in thy sight, refuse not to look upon me with tenderness and love” (Don Quijote, Part 2, 1620, ch. X). Second Circle, Ring of the Simpletons who Confide in the Senses 81 And as we quiet began to drift away, I turned agayn unto those sorrow woods and sensitive compassion fill’d my heart. 140–141. Mi volsi… [I turned…] – A last glance at the “sorrow woods” [trista selva] of these Simpletons, with the Poet’s heart filled with a “sensitive compassion” that embodies the problematic relationship with sensitivity that has been the focus of the entire Canto. Canto XI Canto XI overo ancora del terzo Cerchio, nel Girone de’ Realisti ne li enti astratti or, agayn the third Circle, in the Ring o’ the Realistes tow’rds things abstract – With the help of Socrates, the Poet draws further nominalist conclusions from the exchanges of the previous Canto (1–36). As the Master recites out loud a touching poem by Sappho, bringing the Poet to tears, the two move on to the second Ring of the Realists, which reveals itself to be a blooming, luxuriant garden (37–69). Socrates explains that here are the souls of those philosophers who believed in the reality of abstract entities; they are now transformed into incorporeal phantoms deprived of any power to enjoy or interact with the material delights that surround them (68–99). There follows a sophisticated discussion concerning the possibility of escaping the error, especially in view of the indispensability of number talk in mathematics (100–147). At the end, the Poet witnesses the heart-breaking scene of two souls, Pythagoras and his wife Theano, who cannot even embrace each other and give expression to their mutual love (148–178). ARGUMENT 84 Canto XI Third Circle, Ring of the Realistes tow’rds things abstract “Se dunque di particola s’addote il mondo, e non si dà che lor incroce, li universali son parole vote 1 “If, then, the world is all particularia, and naught but their particular combinements, would universels be just emptie wordes, come conchilie, un soffio de la voce?”, i’ domandai a la mia guida sola scenneno a lo secondo giro e croce. 4 like sea-shells on the sand, a breath of voice?” demanded I my sole and lonesome Guide descending to the second ring and woe. “Dipende quel ch’intendi per parola”. “Parole e nomi sono quelle cose che noi diciamo adesso in questa suola. 7 “Contingent on what thou by word portendest,” said he. Whence I responded: “Names and wordes are these we are speaking now, in this terroir. Tra un sasso bianco e un altro non s’ascose un qual ch’a dirli tali è fondamento, ché sol sì convenimmo e si dispose. 10 Betwixt a stone in white and its affyned, no thing is found to ground their appellation; ’tis covenance, word-bargayne, nothing more. Non apprendemmo questo dal tormento?”. “È vero”, dissemi venendo a fianco. “Ma sono solo soni che io sento 13 ’Twas this, methought, we learn’d amid the torments.” “It was,” he said, and coming to my side; “but only sounds I hear and thou proferrest. e tu produce. Fors’ allor che ’l ‘bianco’ che tu dicesti e dicon le mia labbia un’unica parola son financo? 16 The ‘white’ that thou hast spoken herebefore and this which I deliver with my lippes are they perhaps one same and even worde? 1. Se dunque… [If, then…] – The opening in conditional form, together with a “then” [dunque] that admits of both a deductive and a recapitulatory interpretation, revives both contents and consequences of the main thesis of the previous Canto in view of the new topic the Poet is about to address. And we are already in direct speech: it is the conversation with Socrates that continues, not just the narrative. 2. E non si dà… [And naught but…] – Read: And there are no other entities beside those that are obtained by different combinations [incroce] of the particulars of which the entire world is constituted [s’addote]. 3–4. Li universali… [Would universels…] – Here is the corollary the Poet wants to draw from the exchange of the previous Canto: universals are simply linguistic devices, empty words that correspond to nothing real, a mere “breath of voice”. We are basically at the flatus vocis conception of Roscelin de Compiègne, the first and most radical representative of medieval nominalism (according to Otto of Freising, De gest. Frid. I, 47, though the phrase comes from Anselm, De Inc. verbi, § 1: “Illi utique dialectici, qui non nisi flatum vocis putant universalis esse substantias”). See also Rabanus Maurus (or pupil) in his earlier commentary on Porphyry: “a genus is what is predicated of a subject; but a thing cannot be predicated. […] for nothing can be uttered except for voice, nor is voice anything more than percussion of the air by the tongue” 85 (apud V. Cousin, introd. to Abelard’s Ouvrages inédits, 1836, p. LXXVIII). According to John of Salisbury, such a conception had “almost completely passed into oblivion” by the time he wrote the Metalogicon (II, 17; cf. Policraticus, VII, 12), so here the Poet is being genuinely audacious in resuscitating it. 5. Sola [Sole and lonesome] – The Italian adjective conveys both meanings: Socrates is the Poet’s only guide, but also a lonesome figure, a solitary sage in this land of sinners. 6. Secondo giro e croce [Second ring and woe] – The second Ring of the Circle of Realists, home to new torments. 7. Dipende… [Contingent…] – Socrates’ answer is concise and to the point: it is fine to say universals are just words; but what are words, exactly? 12. Ché sol… [’Tis covenance…] – See Hobbes: A name or appellation […] is the voice of a man, arbitrarily imposed, for a mark to bring to his mind some conception concerning the thing on which it is imposed” (Elements of Law, V, 2). One is reminded here of Juliet’s famous lines: “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet” (Romeo and Juliet, II, ii, 43–44). 13. Tormento [Torments] – Metonymy for the error punished in the previous Ring. 15. Solo soni [Only sounds] – That is, simple breaths of voice, as the Poet 86 Canto XI Third Circle, Ring of the Realistes tow’rds things abstract E se lo scrivo adesso ’n su la sabbia?”. E preso un sasso aguzzo com’ un cono ei scrisse fin che ‘bianco’ non compabbia 19 And if I write another in the sand?” And with a sheary stone, as sharp as cone, he wrote till ‘white’ in letters fully appear’d. (non uso la parola qui, menziono). “Li soni e scritta certo son diversi”, rispuosi, “e pur un sol vocabo sono”. 22 (The word I use not here; I evoke.) “These sounds and scrites are surely all destinct,” I made reply, “and yet one phrase they are.” “Ma allor tu vedi qui che l’universi che non più a’ sassi bianchi e scuri assegni rittornano e nascondonsi dispersi 25 “But then, thou seest, agayn those universels, which thou from stones in white and browne remov’d, return and hyde allwhere dysparsedly in tutte le parole, in tutti i segni”. Di cifre, altre lettere e figure poscia covrì la terra di disegni. 28 in every word we brandish, every sygne.” Whereat he cramm’d the dust with many a drawth of nombres, other words, and novel figures. “Diciam che petre sono bianche o scure per come stabilimmo si convene; la stessa convenzon di tue scritture 31 “We say that rocks are white or browne by cause that thus we have engag’d; the sygne that thou hast written here, this shape against the others, fa l’una ‘bianco’ e non l’altre che vene?”. 34 is consequently ‘white’ by like agreeance?” actually said (v. 4). It still remains to be explained what renders such breaths “words” and, before that, what links together all those different sounds (and inscriptions) that we tend to treat as a single word, as Socrates hastens to point out in the following lines. In medieval times, it was precisely this sort of worry that lead e.g. Abelard (who studied under Roscelin) and then philosophers such as Ockham and Pierre d’Auriole to abandon radical nominalism in favor of a “conceptual” brand of nominalism which, while attributing no external realty to universals, ascribed them with a mental reality that would at least secure the semantic capacity of the corresponding vocables, their ability of “being part of a mental proposition and of suppositing in such a proposition for the things they signify” (S. tot. log. I, 1). 20–21. Preso un sasso aguzzo… [With a sheary stone…] – An affectionate and tender tribute to the scene of the Meno (82b–84a), where Socrates, in a sustained dialogue with a young servant, helps himself to drawings in the sand. 22. Non uso la parola… [The word I use not…] – The parenthetical remark makes explicit the distinction already employed in v. 16 through the use of citation marks, showing that the Poet is well aware of the difference between using a linguistic expression to say something and mentioning the expression as that of which something is being said. Nowadays it is common to trace the precise formulation of this distinction to Frege (Über Sinn und Bedeutung, 1892, p. 28) and especially Quine (Mathematical Logic, 1940, p. 23). Its origins, however, stretch as far back as to the difference between “formal mode” 87 and “material mode” of the medieval theory of suppositio (William of Sherwood, Intr. log. V, 2; Ockham, S. tot. log. I, 64), a theory with which the Poet is surely familiar. 23–24. Li soni e scritta… [These sounds and scrites…] – The Poet’s answer to the questions in vv. 16–19 is exactly what Socrates was afraid of: although the several utterances of “white” and the “white” inscription on the sand are distinct entities, they are nonetheless one and the same word. In current terminology (from Peirce, Prolegomena to an Apology for Pragmaticism, 1906, p. 506), the Poet seems to think that a word is some sort of abstract model or type that is embodied in each and all of its concrete tokens. 25–28. Ma allor… [But then…] – Here, then, is Socrates’ diagnosis of the Poet’s error. If it were really the same word [un sol vocabo], we would have admitted universals back into our ontology—not in the form of a single attribute (e.g. white) that manifests itself in a plurality of concrete objects, but in the form of a single word (“white”) that manifests itself in a plurality of concrete linguistic tokens. Cf. Russell: “Words are universals […] the status of a word, as opposed to its instances, is the same as that of Dog as opposed to various particular dogs” (An Inquiry into Meaning and Truth, 1940, p. 36). 33–34. La stessa convenzon… […by like agreeance] – Socrates’ objection contains implicitly the seeds to the solution of the problem and the Poet is good at recognizing this quickly, applying to words the same nominalistic diagnosis he worked out in regard to universals (vv. 10–12). Just as we say that, 88 Canto XI Così proposi a quella guida mia. “Sei tu a dirlo, e adesso dici bene”, Third Circle, Ring of the Realistes tow’rds things abstract 89 Thus I proposed to hear from my conductor. “So sayest thou, and now thou sayest well,” mi fé. “Sì pure per la melodia, per l’orazione e per sentenzia alcuna e anco per li versi e la poesia. 37 responded he. “So too for all pronouncements, for orisons and tunes of melodies, and so likewise for verse and for poesis. In grembo al mar le Plejadi, la Luna nascondono ’l mio amor che non verrà; né terra negra né la notte bruna 40 In bosom of the sea the moon, the Pleiades, sequester my beloved who will not come; neither the dusky night nor raven earth cosa più bella mai poter vedrà. D’infinita beltà parte ho nessuna; mi struggo in pianto sol, sanza pietà”. 43 shall e’er descry a thing more beautiful. I have no part of this infinite beauty; alone I languish, pitiless I weep.” Oh quanto sale ’n lagrime s’aduna sentendo Socrate dir questi versi 46 Ah! how much salt forgather’th in my tears as I hear Socrates declaim the verse for instance, certain stones are white and others brown on the basis of criteria that at bottom are conventional, even if driven by objective similarities and differences among the stones themselves, so it is by conventional criteria that certain sounds or inscriptions are grouped together as “white” and others as “brown” (though here the relevant similarities and differences are even frailer, considering the variety of calligraphic and typographic forms and the purely “symbolic” link which, as already Aristotle noted in De Int. I, 16a5, connects spoken and written language). It is unclear whether this conception coincides with Roscelin’s, whose writings on the subject have been lost, and surely its thorough articulation would involve several complications that Socrates and the Poet do not address, for instance, complications stemming from the wide variety of languages one may use. Among contemporary nominalists, however, the view has been subjected to rigorous in-depth treatments: see e.g. Nelson Goodman, The Language of Art (1968), IV, 2, and especially Wilfrid Sellars, Abstract Entities (1963). There are further solutions a nominalist might consider. For example, David Kaplan (Words, 1990) puts forward a four-dimensionalist conception whereby a word is just a complex concrete entity that extends through both space and time (like any non-instantaneous event or action) and all those sounds and inscriptions that a realist would take to be tokens of that word are the concrete spatio-temporal “stages”, or “parts”, that make up the word itself. Given what the Poet will say about diachronic identity (Canto XX), such a theory might have met his approval. 37–39. Sì pure… [So too…] – The point just made about the primary linguistic entities—words—applies equally to other abstract entities that a realist tends to analyze in terms of the type/token distinction: entire sentences, prayers, literary and musical compositions, poetry. In all these cases, there is in- deed a similar problem of explaining how a variety of concrete replicas or executions can be subsumed under a common matrix. Instead of going into further details, however, Socrates will rest content with reciting a poem—a sudden change of lyrical tone that the Poet ably exploits to mark the actual entrance into the new Ring. 40–45. In grembo… [In bosom…] – The poem declaimed by Socrates is a collage based on two different compositions by Sappho (VII–VI cent. BCE): vv. 40–41 and 45 take inspiration from Fr. 168B (from Hephaestion, Ench. XI, 5, though the image of the bosom of the sea is from Homer, Iliad XVIII, 140) and vv. 42–43 from Fr. 16 (which we only know from the Oxyrhynchus Papyri X, 1231). The line in v. 44 is probably the Poet’s own, though contemporary readers will be reminded of Leopardi’s song: “Alas, the gods / and her unholy destiny denied / to miserable Sappho any part / in all this infinite beauty” (Ultimo canto di Saffo, 1822, vv. 20–23). Note that in order to have a self-contained ode—in alternate rhyming verse ABA BAB, with B a truncated hendecasyllable—v. 44 still rhymes with vv. 38, 40, and 42. Indeed, besides its functional role at this narrative juncture, Socrates’ poem contains by itself all the lyrical and symbolic elements that will underlie the remainder of the Canto, up to their full eruption in Theano’s monologue at the very end (160–177): amorous attraction, beauty, partaking, salvation. It is presumably for this reason that v. 41 involves a diversion from Sappho’s original line: it is not the moon and Pleiades that are gone, hiding in the water (Δέδυκε µὰν ἁ σελάννα καὶ Πληΐαδες); here it is the loved one [’l mio amor] whom the celestial bodies are hiding [nascondono: sequester] in the bosom of the sea. This also explains the Poet’s reference to Sappho’s suicide in v. 48 below, as she allegedly dissolved her life and fortune into the same sea in order to be reunited with her love. 90 Canto XI di chi disciolse in mar vita e fortuna! Third Circle, Ring of the Realistes tow’rds things abstract 91 of her who life and fortune drown’d at sea! E sì arrivammo a lochi assai diversi di quei ch’attraversammo in terra oscura. Qual aere che s’apressa in cieli tersi 49 Whereafter we then came upon a land, so very unlike those heretofore travers’d. And as pure aire amass’d in clear skies nel core fan che gioia si matura, sì vide vivo noi divin giardino e tutta l’abbondanza di natura. 52 inspireth to the heart delight and joyness, so saw we a living-green celestial garden and Nature’s overflowing plentitude. Un rivo a quattro rami è ’l suo confino e al fondo di quel fiume posa l’oro, e tutto l’oro ’n quella terra è fino. 55 A river in four streams design’th its bordoure; at bottom of the river lieth gold, and in this land all gold is sparkling light. La quercia e il cedro offrono ristoro a l’usignuolo e a la cinciallegra che ’n petto han tutto il vento ed onne coro. 58 Oak trees and woods of cedar give repose to tweeting nightingales and birds of song; all wind is in their chest, all ev’ry chorus. E i campi il papavero rallegra con la genziana, ’l cardo ed il gerano. Fiorisce sul ginepro bacca negra, 61 Papaver is full gaiety for the meadows, and therewithal geranium, teasel, gentian. The juniper is blossoming black berries, 48. Chi disciolse… [Her who life…] – This is how the Poet identifies the source of the verse recited by Socrates, without mentioning Sappho by name. As a matter of fact, the details of Sappho’s death are unclear. A legend going at least as far back as Menander’s Leucadia (fr. 258, from Strabo, Geog. X, ii, 9) and given currency by Ovid in the epistle dedicated to the poetess (Her. XV) reports that she did in fact commit suicide by plunging into the Ionian sea from the cliffs of Leucos (for love of Phaon, a boatman of Mitylene). The legend was popular in medieval Italy, witness Boccaccio’s entry on Sappho in De claris muljeribus, XLV, so the Poet is clearly counting on his reader’s ability to make the identification on such grounds. Many other authors will nurture the legend in the following centuries—from Gregorio Giraldi’s historical note in De poetarum historia (1545) and Anne Dacier’s biography, Vie de Sapho (1681), to Pierre Bayle’s article in the Dictionnaire (1697), Claude de Sacy’s monograph Les amours de Sapho et de Phaon (1775), Alessandro Verri’s novel Le avventure di Saffo (1782), the sonnets of Mary Robinson Sappho and Phaon (1796), Franz Grillparzer’s drama Sappho (1818), etc. Modern scholars, however, regard it as grossly unhistorical. Indeed, in his Nova historia (about 100 CE) Hephaestion had compiled a detailed list of notable men and women who took the “Leucadian leap” to cure the madness of love (Photius, Bibl. 190), and Sappho is not mentioned at all. 49–50. Assai diversi… [So very unlike…] – The scene at the entrance of the new Ring is sharply in contrast with those encountered so far: not a horrid, dark landscape but a Garden of Eden of sort, which the Poet will describe with numerous images from the Book of Genesis. The reason for this nearly blasphemous departure from the general law of Helle, according to which darkness and bleakness increase with depth (Canto V, 56–57), will emerge with Socrates’ explanation of the punishment inflicted to the souls condemned here (vv. 73–81 and 97–99). 51–52. Qual aere… [And as pure aire…] – The image will return in Milton, Paradise Lost, IV, 153–156: “And of pure now purer aire / meets his approach, and to the heart inspires / vernal delight and joy”. 53. Vivo… divin giardino [Living-green celestial garden] – As in Dante, Purg. XXVIII, 2, where the earthly paradise presents itself as a “divine foreste dense and living” [divina foresta spessa e viva]. The parallel, however, ends here, as the Poet will now indulge in a description of the place that is far more detailed than Dante’s generic talk of trembling foliage [fronde] and little birds [augelletti]. For the Poet he has no reason to tone down the individual traits of what he perceives, whereas the summit of Purgatory is so dazzling that it is difficult to penetrate the brightness engulfing each individual thing. 54. E tutta… [And Nature’s…] – See again Milton, Paradise Lost, IV, 207: “In narrow room, Nature’s whole wealth, yea more”. 55–57. Un rivo… [A river…] – The whole tercet is inspired by the description of the river that flows out of Eden to water the garden, splitting into four streams, in Genesis 2: 10–12. 92 Canto XI Third Circle, Ring of the Realistes tow’rds things abstract son carichi il ciliegio e ’l melograno, di grappoli la vigna è popolosa: onne maturazione è meridiano. 64 the cherry trees and pome granates are cremm’d, the vineyard is a populace of grapes; all ripening of verdure is meridian. E ’l miele e la resina odorosa li spande il vento e lagrimano incensi: compiuta è la beltate d’onne cosa. 67 And honey and scented resinas the wind disperseth, and the frankincense is weeping: the beauty of ev’ry thing is sheer and thorough. “Cos’è che fu questo goder de’ sensi? Perché mestizia par qui si consola?”, chies’ ïo. “Quali pene quivi prensi?”. 70 “What is this jolly playsure of the senses? Why doth here desolation seem assuaged?” requested I; “What paynes are punish’d here?” “Qual marinaro che la sete assola il mare doppiamente lo tormenta che non può ber o ’l sal lo brucia ’n gola, 73 And my good guide: “As twice the thirsty sailor is anghuish’d bycause that he can naught drink and that his throat is burned by the sea salt, forse più nulla l’anima sgomenta d’aver d’attorno tutta la bellezza e mai poter goderne, esser contenta. 76 so our soul perhaps fear’th nothing more than being circumfused with beautiness wherein she cannot leasure and rejoice. Non vedi forse tu quale tristezza questi dannati etternamente aspettra?”, ei disse, “e qual dolor sottil li spezza?”. 79 Dost thou not see the devastative sadness that cometh upon these spirits, their distress, the agony demolishing their heart?” E quando a fondo io lo guardo immettra io vidi un’intangibile miseria: che simili a le nubi e come spettra, 82 And when my sight I downward fixed agayn, so intangible a wretchedness I saw: like unto smoky clouds, unto specters asciutti di sostanza e di materia, sen va’ i dannati in lunga schiera spersa cercando a coglier frutti e fiori ’n seria, 85 deprived of matter, dried of any substance, a throng of damned in vain pursuit meander endeavoring to seize those fruit and florets; ma null’ afferran, tutto l’attraversa, 88 but nil they grab, they pass through ev’ry thing 67. Resina odorosa [Scented resinas] – Another image from Genesis 2:12. 69. Lagrimano incensi [Frankincense is weeping] – Dante has “tears of frankincense and amomum” at Inf. XXIV, 110, following Ovid, Metam. XV, 394 (“turis lacrimis et suco vivit amomi”). 69. D’onne cosa [Of ev’ry thing] – As already at v. 66, the tercet ends with a generalization: a veiled hint at the “ampliative” practice [allarghiamo, v. 142] that grounds the analysis of mathematical truths he is about to expound. 73–78. Qual marinaro… [As twice the thirsty sailor…] – The simile introduces the rationale underlying the punishment in this Ring: the torment of inhabiting a delightful place without being able to enjoy the beauties it offers. 93 (The meaning of the “contrapasso” will be made explicit at vv. 97–99, once the exact nature of the error is revealed). Additionally, from a lyrical perspective the passage restores the sea/weep association already introduced in the song by Sappho (vv. 40–45), in the image of her suicide (v. 48), and in the salty tears of the Poet at the end of Socrates’ declamation (v. 46). 83. Intangibile [Intangible] – A prelude to the characteristic feature of the pain afflicting these damned souls: as it will now be revealed, they are all transformed into ghostly, incorporeal figures, deprived of any physical substance, hence both intangible and unable to touch or grab anything. 88–93. Null[a]… nonnulla [Nil… nothing] – A total of six occurrences of 94 Canto XI ed onne vampa lor natura annulla che di quetar disïo la speme han persa. Third Circle, Ring of the Realistes tow’rds things abstract and ev’ry attempt their flimsiness anulleth, wherefore to quench their cravings they despair. Nulla sta ’n lor, di loro resta nulla: riprovano e si dannano nel pianto che nulla smove e non cambia nonnulla. 91 Nothing with them remaineth, nothing of them: they try agayn, agayn they mope in tears which naything can affect and nothing change. “Perché così son fatti e penan tanto?”, chiedetti. “In queste pene si dibatta”, fé ’l mio maestro nel venirmi accanto, 94 “Why are they fashion’d thus and thusly payned?” I asked. Whereat my Master, coming closer: “In such ordeal eternally endure “chi predicò realtade d’ent’ astratta. Fur sì dannati a prendere lor guisa che non v’è azion da lor che venga fatta”. 97 those who profess’d the life of things abstract. To take the guise of these is theyr damnation whence all theyr deeds as tantamount to nil.” “Che furo l’enti astratta ch’ei ravvisa?”. “Se non vi son, com’ esser enno soglie non posso dir. Ma chi vi crede avvisa 95 100 these terms (and derivatives) in six lines: a rhetorical expedient to stress in the lexicon itself the theme of utter privation that comes with the immateriality of the damned. 97. Chi predicò… [Those who profess’d…] – At last, Socrates reveals the identity of the damned souls along with their error: the reification of abstract entities. It will be apparent that “abstract” is to be understood in contrast to “concrete” rather than “specific”, “determined”, or “particular”, as in modern philosophy (esp. Locke: “This is called abstraction, whereby ideas taken from particular beings become general representatives of all of the same kind; and their names general names, applicable to whatever exists conformable to such abstract ideas”; Essays, II, xi, 9). In the latter sense, abstract entities tend to coincide with Platonic ideas, hence with the universals stigmatized in Canto X, whereas here the Poet will be concerned with abstracta that are not universals, such as meanings, concepts, numbers, etc. (vv. 106–111). In ancient philosophy the two notions were in fact connected, following Aristotle, for whom “the mathematician investigates abstractions, for before beginning his investigation he strips off all the sensible qualities, e.g., weight and lightness, hardness and its contrary, and also heat and cold” (Met. XI, 3, 1061a29–b3; cf. Phys. II, 193b–194a, De Coelo III, 1, 299a15–24, An. post. I, 18, 81b1–5). Contemporary philosophers, too, often run both notions together, beginning with Georg Cantor, who defined sets as “something that is akin to the Platonic εἶδος or ἰδέα” (Grundlangen einer allgemeinen Manningfaltigkeitslehre, 1883, p. 165n) and the cardinal number of a set as what is obtained “when we abstract both from the nature of its elements and from the order in which they are given” (Beitrage zur Begrundung der transfiniten Mengenlehre, 1895, p. 481). It is “What are these things abstract they countenans’d?” “As there are none, thereof I can say naught. But those malfaisants fancied that such things for this reason that anti-realism towards abstract entities and anti-realism towards universals are sometimes presented as stemming from one and the same attitude, witness the opening statement in Goodman and Quine’s nominalist manifesto: “We do not believe in abstract entities. No one supposes that abstract entities—classes, relations, properties, etc.—exist in space-time; but we mean more than this. We renounce them altogether” (Steps Towards a Constructive Nominalism, 1947, §1). The Poet, however, is treating the two issues separately. 98–99. Fur sì… [To take the guise…] – After the error, the punishment by contrapasso: these damned are transformed into creatures as ephemeral and causally inert—hence incapable of interacting physically with one another and with the many delights surrounding them—as those abstract entities whose reality they proclaimed. 101–102. Se non… [As there are none… ] – Fussy as it might sound, Socrates’ reply is actually a reference to Aristotle: “No one knows the nature of what does not exist” (An. post. II, 7, 92b6; see also Met. XIII, 1, 1076a25–26, where the thesis is applied to the specific case discussed below, viz. mathematical entities: “We must consider first the objects of mathematics, not qualifying them by any other characteristic—not asking, for instance, whether they are in fact Ideas or not, or whether they are the principles and substances of existing things or not, but only whether as objects of mathematics they exist or not”). This would suggest that Socrates also agrees with Aristotle—and with Thomas Aquinas, contra Duns Scotus—on the more general thesis concerning the priority of ontological questions (an sit) over metaphysical ones (quid sit). See Canto II, vv. 121–123 and note. 96 Canto XI Third Circle, Ring of the Realistes tow’rds things abstract che rete de lo spazio non l’accoglie né ordine del tempo li trattieme né trama de le caüse l’imbroglie: 103 elude the nette of Space, which is extension, evade the course of Time, which is duration, escape the frame of Cause, which is effection. non solo istanzie, m’anche tipi insieme, e i loro sensi e le significate ed i concetti e’ fan reali assieme; 106 Those felons thus realistically espoused, none only sygnes, but types of sygnes withal, and senses, too, and menyngs, and conceits; e numeri oltre a cose numerate, o le figure a cose c’hanno forma, ei disser che si stavan separate”. 109 and nombres by the side of nombred things, or figures by the things that have a shape, they said should be asunder’d altogæther.” “S’assommo uno e due, tre s’afforma, e questa verità par aver sede nei numeri che ’l matemàta informa, 112 “That one and two summated equale three: this verity, meseem’th that it appointeth the nombres which sustain all mathematick, sebbene non coi sensi lor si vede”, diss’ io. E il duca a me con grazia e posa: “Rammenta chi a la lingua tenne fede: 115 albe that our senses do not see them.” Thus I to him. And he to me, forbearing: “Remember those who put their faith in langage: non onne voce legasi a qualcosa. A dir mediana stella ha due pianeti io parlo forse d’una media cosa?”. 118 not ev’ry phrase betoken’th some thing real. I say, the median sterre hath two of planets; have I therewith a middle thing bespoken?” 103–105. Che rete… [Elude the nette…] – Despite his initial reply, Socrates offers at least a sketchy characterization of abstract entities in the negative, inspired by the views of those philosophers (unfortunately left unnamed) who recognized their existence. The characterization follows the clues anticipated above (notes to vv. 97 and 98–99): we are talking about entities that are supposed to lie outside the spatio-temporal realm and, therefore, to eschew the network of causal relations. 106–108. Non solo… [Those felons…] – Socrates illustrates the definition he has just given by first listing some examples from the philosophy of language and mind: besides linguistic types, which have already been discussed at some length, abstract entities are supposed to include their semantic counterparts—senses and meanings—as well as the concepts they express. The idea that such entities are indispensable has ancient roots (cf. again the Stoic theory of λεκτά, from Sextus Empiricus, Adv. Math. VIII, 11–12) and underlies much contemporary philosophy of language (Alonzo Church, The Need for Abstract Entities in Semantic Analysis, 1951). Socrates, however, would rather agree with Quine, for whom the very idea of “a museum in which the exhibits are meanings and the words are labels” is a myth of “uncritical semantics” (Ontological Relativity, 1968, p. 186). 109–111. E numeri… [And nombres…] – Second group of examples pro- 97 vided by Socrates: numbers and geometric figures. While the latter could be viewed as ante-rem Platonic universals, at least insofar as they amount to pure possible forms of concrete objects, the progressive detachment of the former from the things they measure and from the practice of counting (as championed by the Pythagorean school and eventually by Euclid, Eratosthenes, Nicomachus, and Diophantus) led to the development of arithmetical theories in which numbers themselves reach the status of abstract entities par excellence. In Russell’s words: “Arithmetic must be discovered in just the same sense in which Columbus discovered the West Indies, and we no more create numbers than he created the Indians” (The Principles of Mathematics, 1903, p. 451). 112–115. S’assommo… [That one and two…] – Read: is it not the numeric posits of mathematics—of which we do in fact have no sensory experience— that ground the truth of certain statements, such as 1 + 2 = 3? Here begins a second, intense philosophical exchange, which will continue until v. 144. 117–118. Rammenta… [Remember…] – Socrates reminds the Poet of something he should have learned in the Ring of the Simpletons faithful to language (Canto VII): we should not think that every word corresponds to something real. 119. Mediana stella [The median sterre] – The example used by Socrates to illustrate his point is also a favorite among contemporary linguists and phi- 98 Canto XI Third Circle, Ring of the Realistes tow’rds things abstract “Tu parli che la somma d’astri quieti ammezza quel di stelle vagabonde. Ma ancor così dei numeri tu ammeti”. 121 “Nay, thou hast said, the amountance of fixed asters precisely halveth that of stars erratik. Yet even so of nombres hast thou spoken.” “Non numeri”, rispuose, “ma al fonde sol tanto d’astri quieti e loro ancelle, ché quel c’ho detto punto corresponde 124 “Of nombres spake I none,” responded he, “but only quiet stars and their ancillas: my words said nothing more than if I voiced a dir quanti son quei rispetto a quelle. Essempio: se son nove tutte l’astre, contiamo sei pianeti e poi tre stelle”. 127 how many of those we count by side with these. Exaumple: if they’re nine in all to-gether, we count that three are quiet versus six.” “Però questo contar”, dissi, “c’incastre a dir di cifre e su di lor tuttora”. “Dicendo che son tre le stelle mastre 130 “But this innumeration,” I repris’d, “it stil must be that we resort to nombres.” And he again: “To innumerate three sterres, che v’è una stella dico, e un’altra, e ancora un’altra, e ch’esse son tutte le stelle. Del tre non dico. Anche ‘nessuno’ allora 133 I say there is a sterre and then another and then one more aga’n, and those are all. Of nombre three I do speak none. Else wise qualcun riferirebbe”. Sì favelle 136 with ‘noman’, too, we wou’d a man bename.” losophers of language. As Noam Chomsky put it: “If I say that one of the things that concerns me is the average man and his foibles […] does it follow that I believe that the actual world, or some mental model of mine, is constituted of such entities as the average man?” (Language and Nature, 1995, p. 29). With special reference to the average star, see Joseph Melia, On What There’s Not, 1995, whose account closely resembles the one put forward by Socrates at vv. 128–129. 121–123. Tu parli… [Thou hast said…] – The Poet offers a clever paraphrase of Socrates’ statement in which there is no mention of the average star; yet the paraphrase still makes reference to numbers. Here “stars erratik” [stelle vagabonde] follows the Greek etymology of “planet” as reflected in the Ptolemaic system (see VI, n. 100). Cf. Boccaccio: “Quivi le stelle erratiche ammirava…” (Teseide, XI, i, 6), reworked by Chaucer: “And ther he saugh, with ful avysement, the erratik sterres” (Troilus and Criseyde, V, 1811–12). 124–129. Non numeri… [Of nombres…] – Socrates replies with a different paraphrase. The sentence “The average star has two planets” is not about the ratio of two numbers; rather, it says how many stars there are compared to the planets. For example, if there were nine celestial bodies altogether, there would be three stars vs. six planets. 130–131. Però questo contar… [But this innumeration…] – One more doubt: we are still counting celestial bodies. Doesn’t this necessitate that there be numbers after all? Cf. Frege: “The proposition ‘Jupiter has four moons’ can 99 be converted into ‘The number of Jupiter’s moons is four’ ” (Die Grundlagen der Arithmetik, 1884, IV, § 57). 132–134. Dicendo che… [To innumerate…] – Socrates ends up having to explain the logical functioning of quantification, which by itself involves no commitment to quantities: to assert, say, “There are three stars’ is just to assert the existence of an x, a y, and a z such that (i) each of x, y, and z is a different star, and (ii) there are no other stars, i.e., every star is identical to one of x, y, or z. In their adjectival use, numerical expressions would thus be “syncategorematic” terms, with no independent meaning. Once again, the Poet should here be given credit for his analytic perspicacity, as already with Socrates’ analysis of “Unicorns do not exist” in Canto II. In fact, while the syncategorematic understanding of number determiners was common lore in medieval logic (from William of Sherwood’s Syncategoremata and Introductiones in logicam to Ockham’s Summa logicae, Buridan’s Summulae de suppositionibus, Albert of Saxony’s Sophismata, etc.), its proper treatment had to wait for the full development of contemporary quantification theory, as rooted in the work of Frege himself and in Whitehead and Russell’s Principia Mathematica (1910–1913). As of today, however, the adequacy of the account is still controversial; see e.g. Thomas Hofweber, Number Determiners, Numbers, and Arithmetic, 2005. 135–136. Anche ‘nessuno’… [‘Noman’ too…] – Yet another reference to the topics of Canto VII. If “three” (in its adjectival use) referred to something, 100 Canto XI il duca. Dissi quindi: “E che resta del fare un più due che pria t’appelle?”. Third Circle, Ring of the Realistes tow’rds things abstract 101 “Then what is now of what I ask’d before”, I said, “that one and two is equal three?” “Che se una cosa ’n questa guisa appresta accanto a due in quella guisa, abbiamo tre cose in tutto ’n quella guisa o questa. 139 “That when a thing com’th forth in proper guise to gather with two things in other guise, three things are overall’d in either sorte. Pare un’identità, ma qui allarghiamo; di che resiste sol subiam l’assedio”. Allora io: “Sì duro ragioniamo!”. 142 ’Tis not equality, ’tis ampliation; at bottom we are besieged by things resistant.” Whence I: “Ah! how fatiguing this can be!” “Più dolce è il veleno del rimedio”, mi fé; “ma a ragionar non inasprirti. Tu di guardarti a torno ti concedio”. 145 “More sweeter is the venom than the cure,” said he, “but thou shalt not hold forth thereon. Thou canst now look around and for thyself.” E fu così che vidi quelli spirti che desperatemente tendon mano ché onne fior li sfugge che s’offrirti. 148 And thus it was that I descried those spirits despairingly reach out their empty hands, as every offer’d flower shunned their grip. E tra di lor io vidi di lontano chi la vision de’ numeri a noi passa, 151 And among those, I far beheld the one who gave to us the vision of the nombres, so would “nobody”, with to the paradoxical consequences already seen in the dialogue of the three puppet-guardians (second Ring of the second Circle). 139–141. Che se… [That when…] – Urged by the Poet, Socrates finally offers his own analysis of the arithmetic truth that prompted the whole discussion (vv. 112–114): a statement of the form “1 + 2 = 3” is not about abstract numbers; it is about concrete things. It amounts to saying that, given one thing this-and-thus and two things so-and-so, we always end up with a total of three things thus-or-so (where “three” should be understood along the lines suggested earlier, vv. 132–134, and similarly for “one” and “two”). In other words, as Socrates points out in the following lines, what looks like an identity statement between abstract entities is at bottom a simple generalization or “ampliation” [qui allarghiamo], a “general truth” over concrete particulars. It is unclear what sort of generality Socrates has in mind, but in many ways the analysis suggests a conception of arithmetic as an inductive science—a conception that will eventually find full expression in John Stuart Mill’s System of Logic (1843): “Every arithmetical proposition […] affirms that a certain aggregate might have been formed by putting together certain other aggregates, or by withdrawing certain portions of some aggregate […] This truth, obvious to the senses in all cases which can be fairly referred to their decision […], must be considered an inductive truth” (III, xxiv, 5). 143. Di che resiste… [At bottom…] – Read: only those things that offer some resistance, i.e., concrete things, may set upon us, i.e., exist—a conclusive statement that reiterates the austere ontological nominalism already emerged from the dialogue with Aristotle and Plato in the previous Canto (vv. 134–135). 145. Più dolce… [More sweeter] – A metaphor for the thesis that inspires the entire Comedye (as well as Dante’s Inferno): falling into error is easier that finding a way out. 150. Che s’offrirti [Offer’d] – Word play on the homophony between s’offre (offers itself) and soffre (suffers). The latter reading is lost in the English translation. 152. Chi la vision… [Who gave to us…] – Pythagoras of Samos (570–495 BCE), the founder of the famous philosophical school in Croton who, according to the tradition, regarded numbers as “the ultimate things in the whole physical universe” (Aristotle, Met. I, 5, 985b35), “the substance of all things” (Aquinas, S. theol. I, q. 11, a. 1, ad 1). The Poet does not introduce him by name, but what follows leaves no doubt on the identification. Indeed, Pythagoras is also remembered as the one who advanced the science of numbers “separating it from the merchants’ business” (Aristoxenus, apud Stobaeus, Eclog. Phys. I, ii, 6): considering that the discussion that just ended was precisely about the ontological status of numerical entities in relation to the practice of counting, it is only natural that Pythagoras should be included in the present Ring of the Circle, though surely the Poet also means this as a tribute. After all, Diogenes Laërtius says he was “the first to use the term philosophy, and to call himself a philosopher or lover of wisdom” (Vitae philos. I, 12; confirmed 102 Canto XI e poco in là la sua sposa Teano. Third Circle, Ring of the Realistes tow’rds things abstract 103 and just aside of him his wife Theano. Vede lo sposo e ’l cuore suo sconquassa, perdutamente ’nverso lui si gitta, perdutamente loro si trapassa. 154 Upon the sight of him, her heart is shattered; forlornly toweard him she throw’th herself, forlornly they transpass beyond each other. Ma più poté ’l disio de la sconfitta ch’ad abbracciarsi ancor lor novi inizia e ancor per traversarsi l’alma afflitta: 157 Then over failure longing want prevaileth and their ambrasure still they seek anew, yet still they pass across their sorrow forms: “Per sempre solo strazi, sol supplizia dovrà portar l’anima nostra amara: l’etterno stringe noi sanza letizia, 160 “For ever solely anguish, solely grief shall our bitter souls sustain henceforward; eternity keep’th us togæther joyless, un’altra eternità più ci separa. A chi non l’ode duol veder fringuelli! 163 another alwaysness keep’th us apart. The sight of bluebirds payn’th the hearingless! by Clement, Strom. I, xiv, 61), and so does Dante in Convivio, where he says that “the lady of whom I was enamored after my first love was the most beautiful and honorable daughter of the Emperor of the universe, to whom Pythagoras gave the name of Philosophy” (II, xv, 12; cf. III, xi, 4–5). According to Plutarch, however, Pythagoras did not leave any written work (Alex. fort. I, iv, 328), exactly like Socrates, so strictly speaking it is inexplicable how Athena could judge his work and establish his destiny and punishment according the modalities described in Canto VI (vv. 7–12). As for the beautiful expression “the vision of the nombres” [la vision de’ numeri], it returns in Rimbaud, Une saison en Enfer, 1973, II (Mauvis Sang). 153. Teano [Theano] – Most likely Theano of Croton (6th century BCE), who according to some sources was as a pupil of Pythagoras and eventually his wife, and took over the direction of the Croton school upon the death of its founder (Diogenes Laërtius, Vitae philos. VIII, 42–43; Porphyry, Vita Pyth. 4; Eusebius, Praep. evan. X, xiv, 14; Suda π3120). We take the Poet to be familiar with these sources, or with Hermesianax’s elegy about Pythagoras’s captivation by the love of his pupil (Fr. 7, apud Atheneus, Deipn. XIII, 599a), though other sources report that Theano was in fact the daughter of Pythagoras (Photius, Bibl. 249, 438b), others that she was from Crete and wife to Brontinus of Metapontum (Diogenes Laërtius, cit.; Suda θ84), and others still distinguished two different Pythagoreans with the same name (Iamblichus, Vita Pyth. 265). Be that as it may, Theano of Croton is credited for the rectification, reported by Stobaeus, according to which Pythagoras “did not say that all things come to be from number; rather, in accordance with number” (Eclog. phys. I, x, 13). Stobaeus also reports a fragment of Theano that might have inspired the Poet in his decision to count on her for the intensely emotional monologue with which the Canto ends: “There are things which it is beautiful to speak about and others which it is shameful to keep secret. There are also things which it is shameful to talk about and others which it is preferable to keep secret” (Flor. XXXIV, 7). 155–156. Perdutamente [Forlornly] – It is not the first time the Poet plays with the ambiguity of the Italian word perdutamente (not reproducible in English): see IV, 146 and IX, 133. 157. Più poté… [Over failure…] – Cf. Dante, Inf. XXXIII, 75: “più che ’l dolor, poté ’l digiuno”. 160. Per sempre… [For ever…] – Thus begins Theano’s touching monologue, the poetical culmination of the Canto after Sappho’s song at vv. 40–45. The whole scene is structurally similar to that of Paolo and Francesca in the fifth canto of Dante’s Inferno (88–107; 121–138): as there it is the young woman who speaks while her lover (never mentioned by name, like Pythagoras) cries silently, so here Theano does all the talking while her husband remains in the background, returning only in the final image of his tears. The entire monologue rests on the fact that the “intangible wretchedness” [intangibile miseria, v. 83] to which the souls of this Ring are condemned prevents them, not only from enjoying the material delights that surround them (vv. 87–90), but also from interacting with one another. Thus, after introducing the theme of love and of the inexorable pain that comes with it in the two initial tercets (vv. 164–165), Theano abandons herself to the tender memories of those kisses and profusions of love that are now lost forever (vv. 166–174), concluding her lament with a heartrending tercet in which the lyrical themes developed in the Canto merge together: beauty, truth, salvation. 163. Un’altra eternità [Another alwaysness] – The eternity of the punishment in Helle. 164. A chi… [The sight…] – Another metaphor for the suffering of those 104 Canto XI Quest’ è l’alto dolor che qui s’impara. Third Circle, Ring of the Realistes tow’rds things abstract 105 ’Tis this the dyre torment here belearnt. Mai passerai le man tra i miei capelli, amore mio, i nostri baci antichi mai s’addormenteranno a li occhi belli. 166 O my beloved, ne’er shalt thou run thy hand through this my hair, those our bygone kisses will ne’ermore sleep to our beauteous eyes. I miei seni maturi come i fichi mai più tu assaggerai, mio folle amore. Dei fianchi vigorosi e mai pudichi 169 My foolish love, ne’er shalt thou taste agayn the tender figgy savour of my breasts. None evermore shall our piercing ardour lo spigolo de’ miei e del tuo ardore mai più ne sentiranno la pienezza. Aversi e non aversi: ecco ’l dolore! 172 enjoy the thoroughness of these vigorious and never pudibund impassion’d hippes, To own and not to own: that is the payne! Per sempre s’è perduta la bellezza di quella verità che si nasconde dov’ anime e un sol corpo hanno salvezza”. 175 The beauty is gone, forever, of the truth which hides itself in secret where two souls in one sole body attain eternal bliss.” Sì l’altro spirto allor in pianto affonde. 178 And thereupon the other sink’th in tears. who cannot enjoy the material delights surrounding them, as was the image of the mariner used by Socrates at vv. 73–75. 166. Mai [Ne’er] – The adverb returns insistently also at vv. 168, 170, and 173. Together with the “forever” [per sempre] of v. 175, it is yet another lyrical expedient to give full expression to the inexorability of those generalizations that, at a more abstract and theoretical level, the Poet views as constituting the strength of mathematical truths. 169–173. I miei seni… [The tender…] – From sentimental memories (the hands in the hair, the kisses on the eyes before falling asleep) to more sensual ones, and from the sweet “my beloved” [amore mio] of v. 167 to the desperate “my foolish love” [mio folle amore] at v. 170: the climax underlines the drama of the two lovers, forever condemned to an abstract love that cannot be consumed. 170. Folle [Foolish] – The adjective admits of a twofold reading: as connoting Pythagoras’ furious passion (and here the Poet does seem to be familiar with Hermesianax’s elegy cited in n. 153, which speaks literally of Phythagoras’ “madness for Theano”) or his injudicious “vision of the nombres” (which lead to his and Theano’s punishment in this corner of Helle). In connection with the latter, the Poet may also be hinting at the possibility that Theano’s ontological views were not as foolish as her lover’s. Indeed, in rectifying the widespread belief according to which Pythagoras regarded all things to have been generated from number (see above, notes 152 and 153), she reportedly explained the matter thus: “How can things that do not exist even be conceived to generate?” (Stobaeus, Eclog. phys. I, x, 13). If so, then Theano’s personal drama would be symptomatic of the much larger tension between light and ruin that the Poet associates with love in general, as announced at the beginning of Canto I, and her punishment would have to be explained differently: it is not because of her ontological views that she is being condemned; on the contrary, she is being condemned insofar as her love for truth, which was on the right path, surrendered to her love for a man. 174. Aversi… [To own…] – Concise and almost Shakespearean (Hamlet, III, 1, 56), the verse sums up all the pain suffered by the two philosophers, helplessly close to each other for eternity. 175–177. Per sempre… [The beauty…] – The passionate conclusion of Theano’s lament contributes the last, allegoric element to the entire scene. For it reveals that her and Pythagoras’ impossibility to delight in their mutual love goes far beyond the contrapassive meaning emphasized so far. It is a metaphor for the inability to enjoy the beauty of the truth that comes with love—not just the love between two persons when their souls are united “in one sole body”, but that love for wisdom which, as we know again from the beginning of Canto I, is the essence of philosophy. Only such love can lead to salvation; its loss is eternal damnation. 178. Sì l’altro… [And thereupon…] – With Pythagoras’ tears return in this final verse the images of weeping, salt, and desperation that “sink” [affonde] into the sea, thus closing the symbolic texture initiated with Sappho’s poem at vv. 40–45. Canto XII Canto XII overo ancora del terzo Cerchio, ne’ tre Gironi de’ Realisti ne’ livelli del reale, ne la sua struttura robusta, & ne’ valori or, agayn the third Circle, in the three Rings o’ the Realistes tow’rds the levells, the ossature, & the values of being – The Poet surveys the errors and punishments of the remaining three Rings of the Circle of the Realists: first the Ring of those who believed that reality presents itself organized in a hierarchy of irreducible levels, here condemned to frantically climbing up and down a system of burning stairs that always bring them back to the same flat, uniform plateau (4–36); then the Ring of those who ascribed an objective reality to the conceptual articulations through which we organize the contents of our experience, here condemned to endure in their own flesh the sufferings caused by the indifferent fury of sustained lacerating hailstorms (37–84); and finally the Ring of those who believed in the objective reality of their aesthetical and moral values, here transmuted into horrid monsters constantly dismembered and tore to pieces by beautiful-looking beasts (85–135). ARGUMENT 108 Canto XII Third Circle, Rings o’ the Realistes tow’rds the levells … De li tre giri ancora in questo cerchio dirò qui breve de la traversata ch’ancora lungo andar attende e asperchio. 1 Of the three further rings that make this circle and of my passage speak will I in brief, as long is still the journeying in await. Nel primo se ne sta gente dannata per l’attestar che li fa tanto felli per cui realtade è tutta fatta a strata. 4 In the first ring are those who were condemned by cause they injudiciously maintained that this reallity is stratiformed. Questi pensar che ’l mondo ha de’ livelli e s’anche l’uno sovra l’altro accuccia non sono incatenati questi a quelli; 7 They thought that this our world hath many a layer which even though lay rest on one another are not by any chain entach’d to-gether; o ver che l’essere digrada e sbuccia qual pesca ch’è dolcissima e rotonda ha un nocciolo, una polpa, ed una buccia, 10 1–3. De li tre giri… [Of the three further rings…] – Unlike all previous Cantos, here the Poet will jointly address philosophical errors condamned in more than one precinct (a solution that will return in Canto XVII and, based on the table of contents, in four of the missing Cantos: XXI and XXII, each devoted to two Zones of the Circle of the Sullen, and XXIV and XXVI, devoted to the first two Ditches of the Ignorants and the first two Ditches of the Fraudulents, respectively). Apart from any narratological reasons, it will be clear that the choice is justified by the fact that the three extant Rings of the Circle of the Realists concern errors that stem from a common inclination, namely, that of endowing the world with an intricate network of “bynding ways or ways forbidden” (v. 56) which the Poet would rather locate in our heads, in our organizing practices, in the complex system of concepts and categories that underlie our representation of experience and our need to represent it that way. The Poet’s positive remarks, too, share important common features in each case: each Ring involves a punishment that trades on the iconography of a world that is flatter and flatter, boneless, impoverished, but precisely for that reason metaphysically tolerant and ready to cooperate with its inhabitants. Together with the nominalist soberness already emphasized in the preceding Cantos, these traits correspond to a philosophical perspective that is beginning to emerge in its unity, and that will culminate in the splendid image of the luminous desert awaiting the Poet at the exit of Helle (Canto XXVIII). It will also be noted that this is the only Canto, among those we have received, that does not feature any dialogue or direct discourse: the Poet-character takes entirely upon himself the task of explaining the philosophical errors condemned in the three Rings, with only a few indirect references to Socrates’ teachings: a clear indication of the improved analytic skills he is beginning to master. 4. Primo [First] – The first of the extant Rings, hence third of the Circle. 5–6. Per l’attestar… [By cause they…]– Another difference with respect 109 or that the whole of being is made to unpeel such as a peach is made, which sweet and round has peel and pulp and pit ensewingly, to the previous Cantos: the Poet begins with the statement and the analysis of the error condemned in the Ring in question and only later will describe the punishment of those who incurred in it. The same pattern will apply to the other Rings as well. In this case, the error is immediately identified with the general thesis according to which reality is stratiformed [fatta a strata], a thesis whose two main variants will be further articulated in the following lines. 8–9. E s’anche… [Which even though…] – This is the stronger version of the error, corresponding to the idea that reality is organized hierarchically in several strata or “layers” [livelli] sharply separated from one another. It is unclear what schools of thought the Poet has in mind; most likely, he is referring to the most extreme developments of the post-Platonic Accademy. Aristotle, for instance, criticized Speusippus and his followers for having fragmented all being into numbers, magnitudes, sensible bodies, souls, etc., positing different principles for each layer, thereby reducing nature to a mere “series of episodes, like a bad tragedy” (Met. IX, 3, 1090b20; cf. VII, 2, 1028b 21–25 and XII, 10, 1076a1). However, it is also possible that the Poet is thinking of later theories, of a completely different sort, such as certain medieval shamanic cosmogonies, based on a reading of the Kabbalah according to which there would be at least four distinct levels of reality—physical, energetic, symbolic, spiritual—and the ability of the shaman would consist in having access to each level traveling on the axis mundi that traverses them. 10–15. O ver… [Or that…] – Second, more moderate and certainly more popular version of the error: the “layers of reality” would not be wholly disconnected. That is, the higher ranks [ranghi] would somehow depend on the lower ones—like the layers of which a peach fruit is made depend crucially on the innermost one, the pit—even though they would still be different and not reducible to a common foundation [dov’ affonda]. This conception is supposedly a common trait of the various schools of thought mentioned below at vv. 110 Canto XII Third Circle, Rings o’ the Realistes tow’rds the levells … e come quelli strati s’incirconda, sì l’alti ranghi assieme ai bassi venia sanza però ridursi dov’ affonda. 13 and as those leynes invelope one by one, likewise the higher ranks come with the ones beneath and yet do not to those reduce. Che una in vece è la realtà omogenia mi disse ’l duca ’n quelle terre stingue, e sol le descrizioni che s’invenia 16 That one instead is plain reallity I learned from my good guide in those terrains, as only the descrivings made by us han grada differenti che s’attingue a fissica, a la scienza del vitale, o a l’ecconometria e l’altre lingue. 19 have multiphary strata which obtain from phisikis, the scyence of the vival, œconymetrics, or e’en further langues. D’una regione, un piano, un fondale diverse carte fan altro confino ma quella terra resta sempre equale. 22 A region, a demesne, a territory: therof dyversing maps can be desyned, but underneath the land is one and same. Perciò vidi dannati qui Plotino e tutti l’altri ch’allestiro male: 25 Wherefore my eyes beheld therein consigned Plotinus and all foolish stratifiers: 25–28, which the Poet evokes succintly with a terminology that seems to anticipate the terms of the debate among “reductionists” and “anti-reductionists” of modern and contemporary philosophy. At v. 11, the adjective “sweet” [dolcissima] might also be intended as an anticipation of the thesis addressed in the third part of the Canto, where the Poet will deny the objectivity of values and equate them to secondary qualities, mentioning tastes as a case in point. 16–21. Che una… [That one instead…] – Here, then, is the philosophical thesis of this first part of the Canto: it is not that reality is structured in multiplicity of separate and irreducible levels; rather, it is our ways of describing it that may unfold at different levels, as when we use the language of physics as opposed to that of biology or of other disciplines. Thus, even without committing himself to the existence of a fundamental language, hence of an optimal description to which every other can be reduced (see the next note), the Poet is siding explicitly with the sort of ontological monism that will underlie the development of modern philosophia naturalis (from Galilei’s Dialogues to Newton’s Principia) and, more generally, the program of the “unity of science” of contemporary philosophy (Paul Oppenheim and Hilary Putnam, The Unity of Science as a Working Hypothesis, 1958). Metaphysically, however, the thesis in question is rooted in ancient philosophy, from the cosmologies of Thales, Hippasus, Anaximenes, and Empedocles to the reductionist atomism of Democritus, for whom “by convention are sweet and bitter, hot and cold, by convention is color; but in reality are atoms and void” (Fr. 9, from Sextus Empiricus, Adv. math. VII, 135; cf. Diogenes Laërtius, Vitae philos. IX, 72). This may also be the reason behind the Poet’s tribute to these philosophers in Canto V (vv. 62–78 and 86), despite the “poverty of categories” that penalized their work. 111 22–24. D’una regione… [A region…] – A cartographic metaphor to illustrare and clarify the thesis just outlined: we can draw maps of different kinds and at different scales, each expressing a different perspective, but the territory to which the maps refers is still one and the same. The metaphor suggests that the Poet does not regard the denial of a multiplicity of ontological levels as necessarily implying a methodological reductionism (as on the neo-positivist understanding of the “unity of science”; cf. Carnap, Die physikalische Sprache als Universalsprache der Wissenschaft, 1932): to the extent that it is not just a matter of scale, different maps—hence, out of metaphor, theories formulated in different languages—may not be reducible to one another. For the Poet, the error lies in the converse implication, i.e., in thinking that the irreducible multiplicity of the maps entails a corresponding multiplication of levels of reality. It is precisely in this spirit that today the metaphor is sometimes used to illustrate the compatibility of ontological monism with scientific pluralism; see e.g. Philip Kitcher, Science, Truth, and Democracy (2001, ch. 5) and Ronald Giere, Perspectival Pluralism (2006). 25. Plotino – Plotinus of Lycopolis (c. 203–270), the main representative of Greek neoplatonism. He believed in a supreme, transcendent One from which the multiplicity of the phenomenal cosmos emanates through levels of reality of decreasing degrees of perfection: the Intellect, the World Soul, human souls, and matter. Expounded in 54 treatises collected under the title Enneads by his pupil Porphyry, the doctrine was reinforced in Proclus’ Elementa theologica and was rather widespread in medieval philosophy, also through its developments within the Arabic-Islamic tradition (al-Fārābī and Avicenna). 26. Male – Restarts of the rhyming triplet already closed at v. 24. 112 Canto XII l’emergentisti, i vitalisti, e ’nfino Third Circle, Rings o’ the Realistes tow’rds the levells … 113 the emergentists, the vitalists, and even li costruttori del mondo reale. Son l’anime dannate tutte attesa a scennere e salir per de le scale 28 the makers of the reallitistic world. Those souls are all accursed fore’ermore to clamber up and down a mesh of ladders di funi allente fatte, sfibre e accesa. Per quanta furia loro mova immensa son sempre ad una piana a mezz’ appesa 31 built out of loose, eroded, burning cordes. All be it that they strive and fully engage, they’re always at a plain that hang’th amid che sempre è iguale ed igualmente densa: in suso in giuso vagan vanamente ché i moti de le scale i lor compensa. 34 and always is the same and samely dense: upways, downways, they roam to no avail by cause the ladders slide and compensate. Nel quarto giro son chi malamente pensar che ’l mondo e tutta la natura è instrutturata assai robustamente 37 The nextfold ring encloseth those wrongheads who thought the world and nature therewithal is firmly and robustly structurated e vene a noi con cardini e giuntura, 40 and com’th to us with jointes and commissures, 27. Emergentisti / vitalisti [Emergentists / vitalists] – We have no evidence of ancient or medieval schools with these names, though both terms will eventually enter common usage. In particular, beginning with Mill (System of Logic, 1843, III, vi, 1–2) and especially George Lewes (Problems of Life and Mind, vol. 2, 1875, §§65–74), today one speaks of “emergentism” with reference to those theories according to which reality would come in levels of greater and greater complexity (physical, biological, mental, etc.) each of which would feature properties that in some way transcend the laws of the lower levels. See e.g. John Searle: “Consciousness is a higher-level or emergent property of the brain […] But a perfect science of the brain would still not lead to an ontological reduction of consciousness in the way that our present science can reduce heat, solidity, color, or sound” (The Rediscovery of the Mind, 1992, pp. 14, 116). Already Galen, however, wondered about the existence of properties of this sort (Hipp. elem. I, iii, 426–434) and it is probably to some of his followers that the Poet is referring. As for the “vitalists”, he must have in mind some authors who asserted specifically the irreducibility of vital phenomena to processes taking place in the inanimate matter. In medieval times, this point of view was actually quite popular, especially among the Scholastics, who viewed it as a way to cash out the Aristotelian distinction between the living and the non-living (De an. II, 1, 413a20ff; cf. Aquinas, S. theol. I, q. 18, a. 2). Historically, however, the term “vitalism” makes its appearance only in the 18th century with specific reference to the physiological doctrines of Georg Stahl (Theoria Medica Vera, 1707) and Paul Barthez (Nouveaux élémens de la science de l’homme, 1778) and one must wait until the 20th century for the development of genuine philosophical theories with that name, from Hans Driesch (Der Vitalismus als Geschichte und als Lehre, 1905) to Henri Bergson (L’évolution créatrice, 1907) all the way to Michael Polanyi: “The morphology of living things transcends the laws of physics and chemistry” and is subject to “irreducible higher principles [that] are additional” to those laws (Life’s Irreducible Structure, 1968, p. 1309–1310). 28. Li costruttori… [The makers…] – Again, there is no way to identify whom the Poet has in mind. To a contemporary reader, the description is reminiscent of the title of the third volume of Nicolai Hartmann’s Ontologie (Der Aufbau der realen Welt, 1940), which puts forward a sophisticated general theory of the stratification of reality and of the laws (of recurrence, modification, specificity, and distance) that govern the variuous strata. 29–36. Son l’anime… [Those souls…] – The contrapasso of the punishment trades entirely on the architectutal trope of “levels”: the souls are condemned to a continuous climbing up and down of ladders made of burning cords, and since the ladders themselves keep rising and lowering, no one can get away from the starting point—a plain suspended mid-air, flat and unoform like the reality that they insisted on stratifying. 37. Nel quarto giro [The nextfold ring] – The fourth Ring of the Circle of the Realists, to whose description the Poet turns without further ado (see n. 1). 38–40. Pensar… [Who thought…] – As for the previous Ring, the Poet begins by stating the error: to think that reality is structured like a robust network of “jointes and commissures” [cardini e giuntura]. The description is highly metaphorical and the Poet will continue to express himself this way 114 Canto XII essendo ’n vece noi con tanti arnesi ch’a sistarmarli sì ci si premura. Third Circle, Rings o’ the Realistes tow’rds the levells … 115 whereas in sooth ’tis we, with our tools, who toil so that it be thus organized. Quest’ ossatura a l’essere ei ripresi da l’articolazion de l’animali ch’ai ganci del macello sono appesi: 43 This skeleton of being, the ossature, they borrow’d from the jointures of the oxen uphanging from the hooks in the abattoir: seguendo nervature naturali sanza lacerazione, sanza guaio dismembrano le cose quelli i quali 46 they seek that they dismember things apart by following the natural makeup, sans blemishing or splintering of parts, si foggiano ad esperto macellaio che taglia solo per il giusto verso. E tal peccato, tal severo agguaio 49 in the same manner as an expert butcher who alwise cutteth long the right divides. And such wrongdoing, such malfeasant practice – mi disse Socrate ’n quel loco perso – a lui financo li s’attribuisce che ’nver a quel pensar fu sempr’ avverso. 52 —said Socrates amidst the land depraved— is credited no less to him himself, although that he decried it all the time. Il mondo è piano e simplice e lisce. 55 The world is flat and simple, unstriated. through much of the following, though it is clear that he is targeting the idea that the world comes to us pre-organized according to laws and categories that are somehow natural, objective, independent of our theories and practices. See Canto I, v. 52, where the chimera anticipates symbolically the vulnerability of the idea in question [sen va frangendo i cardini del mondo]. 41–42. Essendo ’n vece… [Whereas in sooth…] – A first, synthetic diagnosis of the error, further developed at vv. 55–68: the structure is not in the world; it is we who impose structure upon the world by suitably arranging joints and commissures of various sorts. 44. Articolazion [Jointures] – The ball and socket joints between bones, as in Hippocrates’ treatise On the Articulations. It is such joints, as opposed to the nerve and muscle joints, that Plato himself had in mind in the passage cited in vv. 46–50 below, even though the Greek word he used, πέφυκεν, is sometimes translated into Italian as “vene” (veins) or “nervature” (nervations). The Poet’s terminology at v. 46 is to be understood accordingly. 46–50. Seguendo… [They seek…] – The entire sequence is inspired to a passage in Plato’s Phaedrus, in which the analytic aspect of dialectics is compared to the capacity “to cut up each kind according to its species along its natural joints, and to try not to splinter any parts, as a bad butcher might do” (265d–e). Cf. also the Statesman, where it is said that kinds should be divided from one another “limb by limb, like a sacrificial animal” (287c; cf. 259d e 262a–c). The same image recurs metaphorically in other writers of antiquity, and not only in the Western tradition. See for instance the third text (The Se- cret of Caring for Life) of Zhuāngzǐ’s book: “When I first began cutting up oxen, all I could see was the ox itself. […] Now I go along with the natural makeup, strike in the big hollows, guide the knife through the big openings, and following things as they are. A good cook changes his knife once a year, because he cuts. A mediocre cook changes his knife once a month, because he hacks. I’ve had this knife of mine for nineteen years and I’ve cut up thousands of oxen with it, and yet the blade is as good as though it had just come from the grindstone”. 53–54. A lui… [To him himself…] – It is indeed through the words he puts in Socrates’ mouth that Plato offers the butcher’s metaphor in the Phaedrus, just as it through Socrates’ words that the metaphor is unpacked elsewhere (e.g. in the Cratilus, 388b). As already in Canto X (see vv. 52–60 and note), the Poet is giving us a philosophical portrait of his Master that is sharply and intentionally at odds with the “official” one emerging from the Platonic dialogues. 55–60. Il mondo… [The world…] – Explicit formulation of the central thesis of this second part of the Canto, following the brief anticipation at vv. 41– 42: just as it would be a mistake to endow reality with a “stratification” in levels that pertains exclusively to the different ways in which it can be described, so it would be a mistake to endow it with a metaphysical “ossature” that on closer inspection resides exclusively in the complex system of categories and conceptual articulations introduced by our organizing activity. The ontological monism of the first part is thus supplemented by the Poet with a form of meta- 116 Canto XII Non s’obbligano né si vietan sensi e non ha giunti, venature o strisce, Third Circle, Rings o’ the Realistes tow’rds the levells … 117 There are no bynding ways or ways forbidden and it has no commissures, joints, profiles; e tutti questi segni, fondi e densi, è sol per mano nostra ch’essi appaio nel ritagliar le trame che volensi. 58 and all these sygnes, these demarcative lines, ’tis only in our hands that they appear, as we may cut the figures that we care. Con le sue mani esperte, il buon vasaio modella ’nforme argille d’onne opre; il mare piatto il bravo marinaio 61 The potter, with his dexterous pursuit, from clay amorphous fashion’th sundry wares; the mariner imprints the even sea di rotte solca e l’onde poi le copre. Forme e navigazioni non s’equale ché le si calcan noi, no le si scopre; 64 with sailing routes the waves delete forthwith. No shapes or trails are thereby unveil’d by cause we trace them, nor are they revealed; physical constructivism—an anti-realist stance that may remind us of Protagoras (“Man is the measure of all things”; Fr. 1, from Plato, Theaet. 152a), but which is in fact a natural development of the nominalistic perpective put forward in the two preceding Cantos. As Goodman will put it, “the ‘natural’ kinds are simply those we are in the habit of picking out for and by labeling […] and labels of all sorts are tools of organization” (Languages of Art, 1968, p. 32). It is no surprise, then, that at v. 56 the Poet distances himself from any sort of structural realism: not only the stark realism epitomized by the Phaedrus, according to which there is but one way of dividing up things according to their nature, but also any moderate variant that comes with the acknowledgment of some objective limits to the leaway with which we can “dismember” and organize the content of experience; not only the sort of realism according to which we must carve reality at its joints, but any sort of realism that upholds the existence of objective constraints on the ways in which we can carve reality. It is mainly in the latter, moderate version that structural realism has survived until our days, and it is telling that, for instance, Umberto Eco formulates it in a language that comes very close to the Poet’s: “Being may not be comparable to a one-way street, perhaps not even to a network of one-way streets; but it certainly involves a number no-entries and dead-ends” (Kant e l’ornitorinco, 1997, p. 39; the Italian original for “street” is “sense”, on which see the next note). For the Poet, Being involves no streets at all, whether obligatory or forbidden. 56. Sensi [Ways] – The verse trades on the fact that the Italian word “sensi” means both “senses” (meanings) and “ways” (directions). In this context, the latter reading is in the foreground, as just noted, but no doubt the Poet is also alluding to the fact that these metaphysical matters are crucial when it comes to big questions about the meaning of life. 61. Il buon vasaio [The potter] – It’s the alternative to the “expert butcher” of v. 49: the dexterous potter is free to fashion the clay into whatever shape he likes. The image, probably from Jer. 18:2–6, stresses both the liberty of our undertakings and the arbitrariety of the structures that we thereby impose upon external reality. In the same spirit, contemporary philosophers have sometimes used the image of the sculpturer who freely fashions out her statue from the block of marble (“Other sculptors, other statues from the same stone! Other minds, other worlds from the same monotonous and inexpressive chaos!”; William James, The Principles of Psychology, 1890, p. 288), or that of the baker who carves out her biscuits from the dough by pressing the cookie-cutter at her leisure (“The things independent of all conceptual choices are the dough; our conceptual contribution is the shape of the cookie cutter”; Hilary Putnam, The Many Faces of Realism, 1987, p. 19, though Putnam introduces the metaphor only to reject it). Of course, these images have a realist counterpart as well, beginning with Michelangelo’s famous sonnet: “The best of artists hath no thought to show, / which the rough stone in its superfluous shell, / doth not include: to break the marble spell, / is all the hand that serves the brain can do” (Rime CLI, 1–4). 63. Il bravo marinaio [The mariner] – Supplements the image of the potter of v. 61, this time to stress the precariety of the wordly articulations determined by our endeavors. 66. No le si scopre [Nor are they revealed] – This is the obvious epistemic consequence of the Poet’s metaphysical anti-realism: to the extent that the external world is “flat and simple” and “unstriated” and all structure comes from us, no inquiry will reveal anything interesting about the world itself; rather, inquiry will deliver greater awareness of the mechanisms underlying our organizing activities and conventional taxonomies. Again, this is a pretty radical view for someone writing in the vicinity of Dante, who at the end of the Comedia claims to see no less than “the universal fashion of the knot” that keeps together “what through the universe in leaves is scattered” (see Par. XXXIII, 85–93). Indeed, it is a radical view also in relation to modern and contempo- 118 Canto XII Third Circle, Rings o’ the Realistes tow’rds the levells … così l’orditi che son bene o male su noi ricade sopportarne ’l peso. Qual pena dunque qui i dannati assale! 67 whereof we goodly or badly drow the lines, thereof the yield and burden weigh on us. So what a torture for the damned heron! Un uniforme piano ch’è disteso sanza riparo alcuno, sanz’ alcova, si corrono con fiato quasi arreso. 70 Across a uniformal plain spread out without alcoves or shelters whatsoever they scurry with their breath all most consum’d. Ed incessante sferzali una piova eterna, maledetta, fredda e greve: regola e qualità mai non l’è nova. 73 Incessantly they are batter’d by a rain eternal, maledict, and cold, and heavy; its quality and law are never new. Grandine grossa e spigolosa neve per l’aere tenebrosa si riversa e lacera le membra che ’l riceve. 76 Tremendous hail and cuspidated snow athwart the darksome air pour down amain and lacerate the limbs whereon they fall. Frusta la pluvia ognun di lor diversa, lascia ferite e solchi indifferenti benché a pararsi a terra e’ si riversa, 79 Each one the rain dissimilarly lasheth, for all that they attempt to take refuge, and leaving scars and grooves indifferent a le striature, a li attaccamenti, sì che righi di sangue li colori que’ corpi rei diversi inclinamenti. 82 to all their junctions, all their striatures, wherefore those sinful bodies irrigate with rilles of blood that streak them randomly. Ne l’ultimo giron stan peccatori ch’appendon propria solida realtade al giusto, al bono, al bello, a li valori. 85 In the last ring are found those miscreantes who with austere reallity endue the right, the good, the beateous—ev’ry value. rary philosophy, though it will eventually find its supporters. The turning point is Vico: “Human truth is what man puts together and makes in the act of knowing it. Thus, science is knowledge of the genus or mode by which a thing is made” (De antiquissima, 1710, I, i). 67–68. Così l’orditi… [Whereof we…] – Two beautiful lines to conclude the philosophical treatment of the error with an important clarification: although all ways of articulating reality are ultimately arbitrary, it does not follow that they are all equally reasonable, or that “anything goes” (in the words of Paul Feyerabend, Against Method, 1972); more simply, it follows that it is up to us to draw the articulations that we think would work best and to remove those that fail to measure up to our expectations. The weight of these decisions—and the responsibility for their consequences, whether good or bad—is entitrely upon us. 69. Dannati [Damned] – The poet will keep to generalities, omitting all information that might lead to identifying any of the damned. 70. Un uniforme piano… [Across a uniformal plain…] – The contrapasso 119 of the punishment is manifest: those very people who thought that the world is “robustly structurated” and should be dismembered “sans blemishing or splintering of parts” are now condemned to suffer the “indifferent” wounds inflicted by a rain of hailstones (a natural phenomenon) that hits them incessantly, with no chance for them to find shelter in a land that is flat, uniform, and with no place to hide. The punishment is of biblical origin (Wisd. 16:16). 73–77. Una piova… [Incessantly…] – Dante uses essentially the same verses in describing the circle of the gluttons (Inf. VI, 7–11). 83–84. Sì che… [Wherefore…] – Even the blood running down the faces of the damned is indifferent to their individual distinguishing features, pushing the contrapasso to the extreme. 85. Ne l’ultimo giron [In the last ring] – The fifth and last Ring of the Circle of the Realists. 86–87. Ch’appendon… [Who with austere…] – Again, the error punished in the Ring is announced right away: to think that moral and aesthetic attributes—and values generally—have an objective reality of their own. 120 Canto XII Third Circle, Rings o’ the Realistes tow’rds the levells … Mi disse Socrate che ’n veritade codesti non son che de l’accidenti che specchiano la nostra umanitade, 88 In truth my master said to me that these are nothing more than merely accidents reflexing our human inclinations, come dividam l’essere, li eventi, e come poi li raccogliamo ancora. Ché li valori son come i pigmenti: 91 the carvings that we make of all affairs and our ways of sorting them to-gether. For values, sooth to say, are like as pigments: per sua natura nulla si colora, scambievolmente sol l’occhio e la luce fan sì che s’abbrunisca o che s’indora. 94 no thing is coloured by its very nature; ’tis rather our eyes that with the light liaise to prompt that things are browne or gold. E ciò che val per quello che s’alluce vale per onne qualità seconde che sono sol come sperienza induce: 97 And what is thusly said of colourings to all the second quallities pertaineth, in view that they’re commensurate to experience: 88–92. Mi disse… [In truth…] – The Poet’s diagnosis of the error can be divided into two parts. In these first lines, it is basically an application of the thesis already expounded in regard to any robust realism about the structure of the world and, more generally, about universals: for the Poet, values just reflect our ways of seeing and classifying things, i.e., of “carving” out all affairs (a term that reiterates the verbs “organize” at v. 42, “cut” at v. 60, and “trace” at v. 66). This is the kernel of a conventionalism à la Hobbes, as stated in Leviathan: “Whatsoever is the object of any man’s appetite or desire, that is it which he for his part calleth ‘good’; and the object of his hate and aversion, ‘evill’; and of his contempt ‘vile’ and ‘inconsiderable’. For these words of good, evill, and contemptible, are ever used with relation to the person that useth them, there being nothing simply and absolutely so; nor any common rule of good and evill, to be taken from the nature of the objects themselves” (I, 6). In this sense, the teaching the Poet attributes to his Master is once again at odds with Plato’s Socrates, who in the Euthyphro says that “the pious (τὸ ὅσιον) is loved because it is pious, it is not pious because it is loved” (10e). Indeed, even though in that context Socrates acknowledges that his stance does not yet explain why the pious is pious, the mature Plato will entrust him with the solution consisting in treating values as akin to universals ante rem, hence as entities that would exist independently of any subject (see e.g. Rep. 505d ff). The Poet’s perspective is at odds with Dante’s, too, who in Paradiso cites the words of God to Moses: “I shall thee make all goodliness [valore] behold” (XXVI, 42, from Exod. 33:19). Cf. also Conv. IV, ii, 11: “Here ‘worth’ [valore] is taken to be a natural capacity, or better, a goodness conferred by nature”. 93–96. Ché li valori… [For values…] – Second parte of the diagnosis: values are like colors [pigmenti]. We know from Canto XI that for the Poet colors, as universals, are just a Roscelinian flatus vocis (v. 4), and obviously that holds of values just as well. However, here the claim is stronger. For the ar- 121 guments of Canto X might suggest that the Poet believes that things are intrinsically colored, i.e., that it is an objective fact—albeit “brute” (v. 131)—that certain things are white and others brown. If so, the analogy with colors would actually play out in favor of the value realist. By contrast, building on an intuition to be found already in Lucretius (De rer. nat. II, 730-798) and in Philo (De ebr. 189) and that will eventually lead to Newton’s optical theory (Opticks, 1704) and to Goethe’s phenomenological variant (Zur Farbenlehre, 1810), the Poet hastens to clarify that strictly speaking colors are not intrinsic features of things; they are qualities of the visual sensations of the subject who observes things under the effect of light. It is on this point, then, that the analogy rests: granted that values do not depend on light, for the Poet they are nonetheless like colors insofar as they are not among the intrinsic characteristics of things, but depend on our interaction with them and may vary according to the conditions of observation. 98. Qualità seconde [Second quallities] – Or “secondary qualities”, such as odors and tastes, so called because they depend on a sensing subject (in contrast to such “primary qualities” as shape, bulk, or mass). In antiquity they were called “sensible qualities” and this language was still standard lore among the scholastics (see e.g. Albert the Great: “Primae qualitates tangibilium causae sunt omnium aliarum sensibilium qualitatum”; In Gen. et cor. II, i, 1). The Poet’s terminology is usually thought to have been coined only in the 17th century by Boyle (“There are simpler and more primitive affections of matter on which these secondary qualities, if I may so call them, depend”; Origin, 1666, II, vi) and is standardly associated with Locke (“Such qualities which in truth are nothing in the objects themselves, but power to produce various sensations in us by their primary qualities, […] I call secondary qualities”; Essay, 1690, II, viii, 10). In fact, however, it was already in use much earlier (in Latin) and may be found e.g. in Pietro Pomponazzi (“Odores et sapores sint quali- 122 Canto XII Third Circle, Rings o’ the Realistes tow’rds the levells … son giusto nomi i suoni e i gusti ’n fonde tolte l’orecchie e tolta questa lingua, e nulla la titillazion nasconde 100 naught more than names are sounds and tastes alike with these mine ears and this my tongue removed, and naught would titillation e’er betoken quando la pelle al naso a noi s’estingua. Quindi la rosa è rossa e sì profuma ma al cor del fior non è che quest’ attingua 103 if absent were the skin of nose and assels. Therefore the rose is red and hath its scent, but these are naught within the flower’s heart se niuno mira e niuno la consuma. Orbene, sì son anche il bello e il male. Chi altro dice, chi altrimenti assuma, 106 if no one look’th and nobody inhaleth. Now, such are also beautiness and evil. Whoe’er gainsayeth, whoe’er sayth otherwise 109 a legge inclinamento personale tates secundae, qualitates vero tangibiles sunt qualitates primae”; In de An. q. 8), in Nicole Oresme (“Illae qualitates, […] quae non sunt primae et quae seil, immediate sequuntur ad actionem primarum, dicuntur secundae”; Quodl. 22), and even in medieval classics such as Buridan (“Ex actione et passione primarum qualitatum […] proveniunt diversae qualitates secundae, ut diversi colores, vel sapores, etc.”, Summ. VI, v, 11). 100–103. Son giusto… [Naught more…] – Explanation of the similarity between colors and secondary qualities. The whole passage echoes almost verbatim in Galileo’s Saggiatore (1623), §48, which in many ways anticipates the classic treatments of Descartes, Boyle, Newton, and the other natural philosophers of the modern era. But cf. also Democritus’ fragment cited in n. 16 above, which some doxographers report by glossing the expression “by convention” as meaning “relative to us, not according to the nature of things themselves” (Galen, El. Hippoc. I, 2; cf. Aëtius, Plac., IV, ix, 8). The Megarians, too, held a similar view, at least according to Aristotle: “Nothing will be either cold or hot or sweet or perceptible at all if people are not pervceiving it” (Met. IX, 3, 1047a4–5). On the claim that such secondary qualities are “naught more than names” [giusto nomi], see above, n. 93. 104–106. Quindi… [Therefore…] – A concrete example to illustrate the thesis that colors and odors are only secondary qualities. Cf. X, 52–58. 107. Orbene… [Now…] – This is the crucial claim of this part of the Canto, completing the analogy introduced at v. 93 vis-à-vis the error announced at vv. 85–87: what has just been said about colors and secondary qualities applies also to aesthetic and moral values [bello: beautiness; male: evil]. Concerning the former, the Poet’s anti-realism may come as no big news. After all, it reflects the common-sense motto according to which “beauty is in the eye of the beholder”, which already inspired Aesop’s fable of Jupiter and the Monkey and Shakespeare’s made famous in Love’s Labours Lost (II, i, 15). See also Hume’s formulation, which is especially germane to the Poet’s view because of its emphasis, not just the eye of the beholder, but the whole cognitive appa- 123 appoint theyr own proclivities as law, ratus: “Beauty is no quality in things themselves: it exists merely in the mind which contemplates them” (Of the Standard of Taste, 1757, §7). Still, in medieval times the realist position was everything but impopular, especially among philosophers, so the Poet’s thesis is by no means trivial. For instance, revisiting the Euthyphro dilemma in aesthetic terms, Augustine asked whether things are beautiful because they please or rather please because they are beautiful, opting decisively for the second horn (De vera rel. XXXII, 59). Much more controversial, however, is the Poet’s position concerning moral values, whose putative objectivity constitutes a cornerstone of many philosophical, juridical, and theological traditions since antiquity, from Plato to Dante (see n. 88). It is true that with respect to the specific dilemma of the Euthyphro, medieval voluntarists reversed Plato’s virdict in favor of the view that, as Anselm put it, “the only thing that is just is what You will” (Prosl. XI). Ochkam even went as far as saying that God could command us “not to love him” (Quodl. III, xiv, 2.3), or even «to hate him» (Rep. IV, 16). But these are not so much ways of denying the objectivity of moral values as statements of their divine foundation. Obviously that is not what the Poet has in mind and it is not until Hobbes that we find a full-fledged formulation of the view in question (see again n. 88). Indeed, the specific accout developed here will again have to wait until Hume: “Vice and virtue may be compared to sounds, colours, heat and cold, which, according to modern philosophy, are not qualities in objects, but perceptions in the mind: And this discovery in morals, like that other in physics, is to be regarded as a considerable advancement of the speculative sciences” (Treatise, 1738, III, i, 1). Even today, the view is highly controversial. Perhaps the closest supporter is John Mackie (Ethics: Inventing Right and Wrong, 1977), though it should be noted that the analogy between values and secondary qualities has also been exploited in realist terms, e.g. by John McDowell (Values and Secondary Qualities, 1985). 108–114. Chi altro dice… [Whoe’er gainsayeth…] – This is the Poet’s severe accusation to the realists condemned in this Ring: by electing their own 124 Canto XII elegge. E occulta, ahimè, nefande varie chi questo od altro amor fa naturale: Third Circle, Rings o’ the Realistes tow’rds the levells … 125 and whoever sayth that love is ruled by nature, alas, behideth infamy and disgrace. a cancellare odiose anime amarie s’impastano la bocca di purezza e ’l cor sucido e lordo di barbarie. 112 To camouflage theyr hideous bitter souls, they fill theyr mouths with purity unblemished; theyr filty indecent hearts are fill’d with wrath. A quei dannati questa pena attrezza: che in mostra orrende vengonsi cambiati mentre da fiere di gentil bellezza 115 These reprobates are doom’d to endure this pain: transfigur’d into monstres horrifying they are tore to pieces unremittingly continuamente loro son sbranati. Nulla quïeta mai quel loro affanno; e monchi, gobbi, storpi e risciancati 118 by beasts of feign’d benignant beautiness. Nothing whatever quietens theyr torment; and crippled, mungled, lame, disfigurated furiosamente e di lussuria vanno a offrir il petto e le difformi membra ai morsi, ai denti aguzzi, al loro azzanno. 121 they furiously and luxuriously proceed to offer theyr own chests and butchered limbs to feral bitings, gnawings, pointed teeth. Ei si desperan se no li dismembra le belle belvi folli e sanguinarie; sol l’esser manducati lor rammembra 124 And if they are not dismembered by those beasts bloodthirsty and barbarous, they disespeyre; for solely being devour’d reminisceth di quel buono piacer ne le malarie. Sì vengo sfigurati a fondo, a caso, che i loro volti non si distinguarie 127 of the malarial pleasure that they felt. Theyr figures are so marred, haphazardly, that I could not theyr faces recognize for che, i’ creda, Cicero e Tomaso. 130 aside, methinks, from Cicero and Aquinas. personal preferences to lex naturae, they camouflage nefarious and barbarian acts behind a veil of justice. No examples are given. But the “alas” [ahimè] of v. 110 conveys a sense of dejection that says a lot, revealing a side of the Poet’s human and historical awareness that the abstract philosophical arguments to which he accustomed us might obfuscate. Note, at vv. 109–110, the internal rhyme on legge. 115–118. A quei dannati… [These reprobates…] – The punishment is again by contrast: the damned are transmuted into horrid monsters constantly tore to pieces by beautiful-looking beasts. Besides exploiting the relativist implications of the anti-realist thesis asserted by the Poet (the likely subject of the entire Canto XV, unfortunally missing), the scene builds on the remark of the previous lines, evoking with drammatic visual plasticity the barbarities that may be perpetrated in the name of values flaunted as pure and beautiful. 124–127. Ei si disperan… [And if they…] – Strengthening of the contrapasso: the damned feel pleasure in being devoured and are driven to despair when the monsters leave them alone. Note that “dismembered” at v. 124 is the same verb used earlier to describe the action of the expert butcher (v. 48), though in this case there is plenty of blemishing and splintering of parts. 128. A caso [Haphazardly] – To emphasize the complete absence of objective criteria. 130. Cicero e Tomaso [Cicero and Aquinas] – The great Roman orator Marcus Tullius Cicero (106–43 BCE) and the father of scholastic philosophy, Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274). Cicero is probably mentioned because of his seminal contributions to the doctrine of natural law, based on the idea that “law is highest reason, implanted in nature, which orders those things that ought to be done and prohibits the opposite” (De leg. I, 18) and that “to replace it with a contrary law is a sacrilege” (De rep. III, xxii, 33). He was also very influential in his criticisms of the view that right and wrong are based on opinion, which he stigmatized as mad: “There would be a right to rob, a right to commit adultery, a right to substitute false wills, if those things were approved 126 Canto XII E come li animai li lascian stare, ed un dolor atroce ha loro invaso, sì li lasciammo noi che demmo andare al quarto cerchio, dove son costretti chi su tutto sospende ’l dire e ’l fare. Third Circle, Rings o’ the Realistes tow’rds the levells … 127 And such as when the demons pass them over and leave them crammed with excruciating grief, 133 by the votes or resolutions of a multitude […] Why don’t they establish that bad and ruinous things should be held to be good and salutary things? […] To think that these things have been based on opinion, not on nature, is for a madman” (De legibus, I, 45) As for Aquinas, he is credited for combining natural and divine law, based on a principle to the effect that the first “is nothing other than the light of the intellect planted in us by God, by which we know what should be done and what should be avoided” (Dec. praec. I; cf. S. theol. II/1, q. 90 ff). With regard to aesthetic values, Aquinas actually wrote that “beautiful things are those which please when seen”, but he hastened to add what the Poet must consider a terrible inference: “hence beauty consists in due proportion; for the senses delight in things duly proportioned” (S. theol. I, q. 5, a. 4, ad 1). It is worth recalling that both Cicero and Aquinas were important such was it as we left them to continue to the fourth circle, where are castigated the ones who dowt all saying and ev’ry doing. figures for Dante. Of the first, who appears among the great spirits in Limbo (Inf. IV, 141), Dante cites the De amicitia next to Boethius’ Consolatio as one of the two books that invited him “into the pursuit of this most gentle lady Philosophy” (Conv. II, xv, 1). As for the Doctor Angelicus, his influence on Dante’s thought is apparent from the central role he plays in the Paradiso, in the Sphere of the Sun (cantos X–XIII), where Aquinas leads the circle of the souls who based their wisdom on human reason. Aquinas is also extensively cited in the Convivio, esp. with reference to the thesis of the primacy of moral philosophy: “for Moral Philosophy, as Thomas says in commenting on the second book of the Ethics, disposes us properly to the other sciences” (II, xiv, 14). 135. Chi… [The ones…] – The Dowters or Sceptics of the fourth Circle, to whom the entire next Canto is devoted. Canto XIII Canto XIII overo del quarto Cerchio, luogo de li Scettici or, the fourth Circle, site of the Dowters – Once past the guardian—the ancient fortune-teller Tiresias—Socrates and the Poet enter the fourth Circle (1–31). Surrounded by stagnant and muddy waters, here are condemned the doubters, which is to say those philosophers who sinned of excessive skepticism, each of whom is constantly endeavoring to stay afloat by clinging on to solitary rocks that crumble under their weight (32–54). The Poet recognizes some, including Pyrrho, Sextus Empiricus, al-Ghazālī, and Zhuāngzǐ (55–90). There follows a mournful chorale touching on a series of skeptical doubts concerning deism, the natural order of things, the external world, other minds, and personal identity (91–189). The last part to this choral lament comes from an elevated spirit whom the Poet is able to glance briefly as she sinks, slowly but relentlessly, into the pond of doubt (190–205). ARGUMENT 130 Canto XIII Fourth Circle, site of the Dowters Andavo dunque inver’ lo cerchio quarto e sempre Socrate veniva meco così ch’era fra noi sol poco scarto. 1 So going was I, onward to circle four, with Socrates by me always beside wherefore between us little space remain’d. Vedemmo ivi un vecchio bianco e cieco con le mammelle ignude ed avvizzite arretto ad un bastone scurvo e sbieco. 4 A velyard, hoary and blind, we there confronted with naked breasts and wrinkled on his chest and holding unto a curved miscrooked cane. “Tu vedi qui, pulsante tra due vite”, mi disse Socrate nel farsi avante, “chi meglio vide con pupìe ferite. 7 “Thou here beholdest, throbbing ’tween two lives,” said Socrates to me, while moving forward, “the one who better saw with wounded eyes. Dico Tiresia, che mutò sembiante quando di femmina maschio divenne cangiandosi le membra tutte quante”. 10 1. Dunque [So] – As anticipated at the end of the previous Canto. 4–5. Un vecchio… [A velyard…] – The elder will be soon identified as Ti- resias, the blind soothsayer of Greek mithology. His association with the underworld goes back to Homer’s Odyssey, where Ulysses visits him in Hades to seek advice about the means to return home (XI, 90–137). The episode came into prominence with Horace, who made it the subject of one of his Satires (II, 5). But the Poet’s decision to place Tiresias at the entrance of the fourth circle, as a guardian of the Dowters (the Sceptics), may also have been inspired by Lucian’s parody in Necyomantia, which is about a similar encounter between the Theban seer and the Cynic philosopher Menippus: after having visited Heaven to discover the truth about the nature of the universe (as described in Lucian’s parallel parody, Icaromenippus), Menippus descends into Hades to learn what is the best way to live; Tiresias answers his question by urging him to “cease from the folly of metaphysical speculation and inquiry into first causes and final ends, spit your scorn at those clever syllogisms, and, counting all that sort of thing nonsense, make it always your sole object to put the present to good use and to hasten on your way with ever a smile and never a passion” (§21). Tiresias appears also in Dante’s Inferno, but only as one of the diviners, astrologers, and magicians punished in the fourth pouch of the Malebolge (Inf. XX, 40–45). 7. Pulsante tra due vite [Throbbing ’tween two lives] – As in Eliot’s “Fire Sermon”, which also echoes the description at vv. 4–5: “I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives, / old man with wrinkled female breasts” (The Waste Land, III, 218–219). The allusion is to the legend told by Hesiod: “One day Tiresias beheld snakes copulating on Mount Cyllene and, having wounded them, was turned from a man to a woman; on observing the same snakes copulating again, he was changed back to man” (Fr. 275, from PseudoApollodorus, Bibl. III, vi, 7). The legend is also reported by Hyginus (Fab. 131 I mean Tiresias, alter’d in his mien when from a female he a male became transmuting ev’ry membre that she wore.” 75), Ovid (Metam. III, 316–338), and Phlegon (Mirab. 4) and was still popular in the middle ages, witness Dante’s own recount in Inf. 43–45. Presumably, the Poet regards Tiresias’ throbbing between the two sexes as allegorical of the sceptical “suspension of judgement” punished in the Circle he is guarding (see below, v. 24). According to some variants of the myth, attributed to Ptolemy Hephaestion (apud Photius, Bibl. 190, 5b) and to Sostratus of Phanagoria (apud Eustathius, Ad Odyss. X, 494), Tiresias actually changed sex no less than seven times. 9. Chi meglio… [The one who better…] – That is, someone who could even foresee things despite being blind. There are conflicting stories about Tiresias’ blindness. According to the classical myth of Hesiod, Hyginus, Ovid, and Phlegon (cit.), taken up by many later authors (Antoninus Liberalis, Metam. XVII, 5; Lactantius, In Statii Theb. II, 95; Fulgentius, Myth. II, 5), Tiresias was blinded by Hera, irritated by his response concerning an argument she was having with Zeus over whether men or women experience greater sexual pleasure. An alternate story says that he was blinded by Athena for having seen her naked in the fountain of Hippocrene (Pherecydes, apud PseudoApollodorus, Bibl. III, vi, 7; Callimachus, Hymn. IV, 75–82; Propertius, Eleg. IV, 9, 57–58). In both cases, after the episode Tiresias was rewarded with foreseeing abilities for having suffered a punishment deemed too severe. Still another story (also from Pseudo-Apollodorus) says that Tiresias was blinded by the gods simply because he revealed their secrets to mankind. Regardless of the details, it is evident that the epistemic import of the blindness/foresight contraposition is another allegorical element in Tiresias’ profile as guardian of the Sceptics, over and above his “throbbing” body. This theme will resurface many times throughout the Canto. 10–12. Dico… [I mean…] – The tercet corresponds to Dante, Inf. XX, 40– 42, but with Tiresias’ sex change in reverse order. The discrepancy is puzzling. 132 Canto XIII Fourth Circle, site of the Dowters Appena ’l vecchio vide che noi venne, fè: “Impenetrabile l’oscurità del mondo è, de l’alma e le sue penne: 13 As soon as he, the elder figure, saw us, “Inscrutable,” he said, “is the obscure about the world, the soul and its afflictions; ma le spelonche de la cecità fur più profonde e in loro si conduce di tra sanguigna mostrosa realtà 16 but deeper were the subterranes of blindness, and therewithin, in mids of sanguinary and monsterous reality, the semblance la timida parvenza de la luce. Ecco che guardio lor che sono scesi qua giù, e che qua giù loro l’adduce, 19 of light conducteth timidly itself. So now I watch the ones who hither down descend, and whom it fitteth to be here per che non ebber li occhi mai raccesi d’una più forte o l’altra di faville così che lor giudizi fur sospesi. 22 because their eyes have never been relighted by any sparkles, strong or glimmer frail, whence all their judgments came to be suspended. Sì quel passar non puote, che scintille ancor ha nei suoi occhi”. Il duca allora: “Riposati le membra e le tansille, 25 Therefore his pass forbid I, for why glitter still shineth in his eyes.” Whereat my Leader: “Appease thy membres, quieten thy tonsells, ché altissimo è il comando che ’l rincora ed accompagna sempre nel cammino traverso mille notti a nova aurora”. 28 for heavenly is the ordinance that hearten’th and guideth him e’er forth on this wayfaring traverse a thousand nights to new sunrise.” It is possible that the two poets are simply referring to different stages of the change process. However, since the femmina/maschio inversion occurs midline, with no impact on the metrics and rhyme scheme, it is more likely that the divergence is substantive. One possibility is that the poets disagree on the correct version of the myth: Dante is clearly following Hesiod (see Inf. XX, 43– 46), whereas the Poet might prefer Sostratus’ more elaborate variant, on which Tiresias was originally born female and was only turned into a boy at age seven (by Apollo). Alternatively, the Poet may intentionally be reversing Hesiod’s classical version for symbolic or ideological reasons, e.g., to distance himself from the idea that being or turning into a woman is a sort of divine curse. This is not uncommon in contemporary recounts, as in Apollinaire’s drama Les mamelles de Tirésias (1917), also adapted into an opera by Francis Poulenc (1947), where the classical myth is reversed with feminist elements. 14–19. Impenetrabile… [Inscrutable…] – The entire passage is echoed in Tiresias’ discourse at the end of Durenmatt’s “The Dying of the Pythia” (Der Mitmacher, 1976, p. 272). At v. 15, the reference to the obscurity of the world and of the soul foreshadows two of the themes addressed by the chorus of the doubters in the second part of the Canto (vv. 154ff and 172ff). 22. Mai riaccesi [Never… relighted] – Unlike Tiresias himself (see v. 9 and note). 133 23. Faville [Sparkles] – Echoes the “light” [luce] of v. 19. 24. Così… [Whence…] – This is how Tiresias identifies the philosophical error punished in the Circle he is guarding: as the indiscriminate suspension of every judgment. A central notion in sceptic philosophy, Sextus Empiricus defined suspension of judgment, or ἐποχή, as “a standstill of the intellect owing to which we neither reject nor posit anything” (Pyrrh. hypot. I, iv, 10) ultimately aimed at obtaining ἀταραξία, a “tranquillity in matters of opinion and moderation of feeling in matters forced upon us” (I, xii, 25). The term “scepticism” itself derives from the Greek work “σκέψις”, i.e., “inquiry”, but in antiquity the members of this school were also called “zetetics” (from “ζητείν”, to seek), “ephectics” (from “ἐπέχειν”, to hold back, hence to suspend or be suspended), or “aporetics” (from “ἀπορία”, i.e., difficulty, uncertainty, literally “impassable path”); see Diogenes Laërtius, Vitae philos. IX, 70. 25–26. Sì quel… [Therefore his…] – Read: he (the Poet) is not allowed to enter the Circle of the Dowters, for he is still able to see. 27–28. Riposati… [Appease…] – As already with the Demiurge (IX, 146– 148), Socrates silences the guardian by appealing directly to the superior will that disposed for the Poet’s journey. 30. Nova aurora [New sunrise] – A newly enlightened intellect is the goal of the Poet’s journey through the darkness of Helle. Here, however, the image 134 Canto XIII Fourth Circle, site of the Dowters Queste parole fero il veglio chino, e poi che passa ’l duca, i’ l’accompagno. Lasciato sì ch’avemmo lo ’ndovino 31 Upon these words, the elder bow’d his face. My Guide moved on, I following his steps; and having thus the Seer left behind us venimmo noi ad un melmoso stagno. Si stanno ’n mezzo mille scoglia scuri a morta gora ’n quel sucido bagno, 34 we came unto a stagnant boggy quagmire. There, in the mids, a thousand somber rocks out of the dead morass, that filthy bain, e quegli scogli mai rinsaldi e duri si sfaglian, s’assottigliano, s’accrina e cade le frammenta ai fanghi oscuri. 37 emerge; but none of them is hard or solid, wherefore they crack, thin out, and flake apart dissolving piece and piece into the muds. Sul dorso d’este rocce, ’n su la china, malfermo e solitario un sol dannato s’aggrappa a tutto quello che rovina. 40 Atop those rocks, on each depascent stone a lonely wretch, unsteady and solitary, is holding onto ev’ry ruinous part. Poscia che detto scoglio s’è franato, si cade ’l reo agitando membra scalma; arrancola po’ a stento, ed insozzato 43 And after that the stone is all consumed down goeth flittering the peccant soul; he struggleth sore, then swimmeth he begrimed ei nota fin che esce da la malma a nova petra che ven prest’ erosa. Traversa l’acquitrinio ’n lunga spalma 46 until out of the mire he last remergeth to another rock, which soon shall be eroded. Above the marshland I beheld suspended una pedana istretta e vacillosa che porta da la prima proda a fori e circonnata è d’acqua limanciosa. 49 a long and narrow vacillating footbridge which from the entry rivage leadeth out and is compass’d all round by slimy water. “Per esta trave usciamo da ’sti gori”, mi fece ’l duca. “E tu, nel passar, guata l’esercito de li dubitatori”. 52 “Straight on that board we walk out of these swamps,” explain’d my Leader. “And as thou goest forth, look thou upon the legion of the dowters.” is also hinting at a classic sceptical topic, the rising of the sun after every night, to which the Poet will return below (v. 151). 34. Melmoso stagno [Stagnant boggy quagmire] – It will soon be clear that the quagmire is emblematic of the condition of intellectual stagnancy that the Poet associates with all forms of radical scepticism. 36. Morta gora [Dead morass] – Dante uses the same expression for the Styx (Inf. VIII, 31). 41. Malfermo e solitario [Unsteady and solitary] – Contrapasso by analogy. Pace the alleged tranquillity prefigured by Sextus Empiricus, the intellectual “suspense” of the sceptic is transformed into the physical instability of someone lacking any steady support (the rocks in the quagmire are flaking apart). Moreover, each damned soul is on a solitary stone, struggling on her own to 135 stay afloat: a dreary incarnation of the theoretical solipsism which, as Schopenhauer will say, constitutes “the last stronghold of scepticism” (Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung, 1819, I, §19). 43–47. Poscia… [And after that…] – Consummation of the contrapasso: as every truth under a sceptic attack sinks into the pond of doubt, so these rocks crumble one after the other under the weight of the damned, letting them sink again and again into the dirty swamps. 49. Una pedana… [A long and narrow…] – An allegory for the narrow and difficult rational path we are called to follow under the pressure of the sceptic’s challenges. 53. Nel passar, guata [As thou goest forth, look thou] – Instead of offering an abstract diagnosis of the sceptical error, Socrates simply asks the Poet to 136 Canto XIII Fourth Circle, site of the Dowters Sì fu che ravvisai l’ombra dannata di Pirro dire: “Oh, anima mia, fa che tu sia d’onne patir mondata 55 ’Twas thus that I descried the shade accursed of Pyrrho speak these words: “O soul of mine, do so that thou be cleansed of ev’ry payne, né baratro né can tremar ti fia!”. A destra d’esto loco sì funesto io vidi poscia l’alma ancora ria 58 and steeps or hounds shall never make thee quiver!” Upon the right of this funestal site, I then beheld the yet unhealthy soul di chi fu ’n vita l’empirico Sesto. Sì dice, e tra le mani ei ha una spugna: “Come lo pingitore che s’appresto 61 of him who was in life the empiric Sextus. He had a sponge with him, and made this speech: “Such as that painter who was undertaking a pigner al cavallo in su la grugna la schiuma, e ’l non riuscir li dà tormento, furiosamente allor la tela aspugna 64 to pict the lather on the horse’s jaws, and was tormented that he cou’d not do it, in fury flung a sponge against the canvas e vede l’animal schiumar dal mento, così colui ch’onne suo dir sospende si trova l’alma sanza turbamento 67 and saw the beast was frothing at the mouth, so too the one who ev’ry say suspendeth shall happen on a soul without disturbance, watch closely the scene that opens in front of his eyes (as in XI, 146–147). This will result in an extensive overview of sceptical doctrines based entirely on the laments of the damned, four of whom are identified by name. 56. Pirro – Pyrrho of Elis (360–275 BCE), father of the first major tradition of sceptical thought in ancient Greece (the other being based in Plato’s Academy during the Hellenistic period, beginning with Arcesilaus and Carneades). Not only was he determined in promoting complete suspension of judgement, given that “no single thing is in itself any more this than that” (Diogenes Laërtius, Vitae philos. IX, 61); according to his pupil Timon of Phlius, he literally held that all things are by nature ἀστάθµητα, which is to say “unstable” (see Eusebius, Praep. evan. XIV, xviii, 2–5, citing a testimony by Aristocles of Messene). Thus, the contrapasso of the punishment described above seems to be inspired directly by his doctrine. It should also be noted, however, that Pyrrho himself did not leave any writings, probably because he deemed nothing fit to be immortalized by ink (ibid.). Strictly speaking, his inclusion in a Circle of Helle is therefore incompatible with the modalities followed by Athena in determining the punishment of the damned by weighting their “tomes” (VI, 9), exactly as with Pythagoras (XI, 152 and note). 57–58. Fa che… [Do so that…] – Pyrrho’s lament is inspired by Diogenes’ remarks: “He led a life consistent with this doctrine, going out of his way for nothing, taking no precaution, but facing all risks as they came, whether carts, precipices, dogs, or what not” (Vitae philos. IX, 62). Diogenes also says that one day “a cur rushed at him and terrified him, and he answered his critic that it was no easy entirely to strip oneself of human weakeness” (IX, 66). 137 61. L’empirico Sesto – Sextus Empiricus (c. 160–219), another major representative of Greek scepticism. His Pyrrhoneae hypotyposes, in three volumes, constitutes an authentic summa of the line of thought promoted by Pyrrho and further developed by Timon and by Aenesidemus of Knossos. The epithet “Empiricus” reflects his association with the “empiric school” of medicine founded by Serapion of Alexandria and Philinus of Cos, which professed to derive all relevant knowledge from experiences. In fact, Sextus himself wrote a (lost) work on empirical medicine (cf. Adv. math. I, 61) and repeatedly praised empirical forms of the arts: from grammar (ibid. I, 49–53, 61) to astronomy, navigation, and farming (ibid. V, 1–2). It is not surprising that Galen went as far as saying that “the empiricist’s attitude towards medical matters is like the sceptic’s attitude towards the whole of life” (Subf. emp. XI, 82). Elsewhere, however, Sextus’ was quite critical about the identification and rather expressed sympathy for the views of a competing medical sect, the “methodic school” founded by the students of Asclepiades: “You must realize that if Empiricism makes affirmations about the inapprehensibility of unclear matters, then it is not the same as Scepticism, nor would it be appropriate for Sceptics to take up with that school. They might rather adopt, as it seems to me, what is called the Method; for this alone of the medical schools […] follows what is apparent, taking thence, in line with the Sceptical practice, what seems to be expedient” (Pyrrh. hypot. I, xxxiv, 236–237). 63–70. Come lo pingitore… [Such as that painter…] – The monologue recounts the proverbial story about Apelles with which Sextus illustrated the idea that suspension of judgment is followed by the tranquillity of the soul “as 138 Canto XIII Fourth Circle, site of the Dowters che segue come al corpo l’ombra appende”. E vidi ancora in questo tristo loco quell’ alma di Algazel che tutt’ accende: 70 like unto a shadow following its body.” Then in this place of grief I also saw that incendiary soul of Algazel: “Come noi si può dir che sia lo foco il sol motor ch’onne bruciare ha sorto? Qualunque stoppa al suo toccar s’infoco, 73 “How can we even postulate that fire alonely is the breeder of all burning? Each every wick it toucheth goth ablaze, ma questo dice solo del consorto non che le fiamme causi bruciamento. Il foco è solamente un corpo morto”. 76 but this only betokeneth a wedlock and not a causal nexus ’tween the two. The fire is nothing more than one dead body.” Girando li occhi in esto circo spento ancora un’alma vidi colta in falla 79 I turn’d mine eyes about that site unlighted and one more faulty spirit I behelded it were fortuitously, as a shadow follows a body” (see Pyrrh. hypot. I, xii, 28– 29). The analogy with the shadow is mentioned also by Diogenes and seems to go back to Timon and Aenesidemus (Vitae philos. IX, 107). 72. Algazel – The Persian philosopher Abū Ḥāmid Muḥammad ibn Muḥammad al-Ghazālī (1058–1111), better known in medieval Europe as Algazel. A prominent member of the school of theology started by al-Ashʿari (10th cent.), his attacks on the Aristotelian-Neoplatonist metaphysics of al-Fārābī and Avicenna, and more generally on rationalist philosophy as opposed to faith, marked a major turning point in Islamic thought. As will be clear from the next few verses, his inclusion in this Circle is due specifically to the skeptical arguments contained in his most popular work, The Incoherence of the Philosophers (Tahāfut al-Falāsifaʰ, 1095), which led him to embrace an occasionalist metaphysics to the effect that all causation is the product of divine intervention. Dante himself mentions al-Ghazālī twice in the Convivio (II, xiii, 5; IV, xxi, 2), though only briefly and in connection with the origin and nobility of the soul (and probably second-hand from Albert the Great, Somn. et vigil. III, i, 6). 73–78. Come noi si può… [How can we…] – The Poet is quoting from an argument in The Incoherence: “Fire is a dead body which has no action, and what is the proof that it is the agent? Indeed, the philosophers have no other proof than the observation of the occurrence of the burning, when there is contact with fire, but observation proves only a simultaneity, not a causation, and, in reality, there is no other cause but God” (II, xvii, 5). The argument, which epitomizes a way of thinking characteristic of the Ashʿarites (and has a precedent in al-Kindī’s epistle on the “Real Agent”, al-Fāʿil al-ḥaqq al-awwal altāmm, 9th cent.), had a complex history. On the one hand, its skeptical denial of natural causation was originally met with hostility, beginning with Averroes’ harsh criticisms in his polemical follow-up book, The Incoherence of the Incoherence (Tahāfut al-Tahāfut, 1180, §§528–542). Similar attacks may be found in Maimonides (Guide I, lxxiii) as well as in Aquinas and the Scholas- 139 tics (S. contra Gent. III, 69; De pot. q. 3, a. 7, res.). On the other hand, alGhazālī’s occasionalism was eventually embraced by a number of European philosophers, from Ockham and Nicholas d’Autrécourt (moderarely) to Pierre d’Ailly and Gabriel Biel (more forcefully) to Nicholas Malebranche, the champion of early modern occasionalism, who mentions Suarez’s discussion of Averroes’ views (hence, implicitly, al-Ghazālī’s) as his main source of inspiration (Recherche, éclairc. XVII). Obviously, the Poet agrees with neither attitude. From his perspective, the occasionalist diagnosis offered at the end of al-Ghazālī’s argument must be unacceptable. But given the Poet’s mistrust in any objective “ossature” of reality, as presented in the previous Canto, the purely skeptical part of the argument must find his approval: causal “laws” can only be a cognitive illusion, a byproduct of our organizing activity. Thus, even though the Poet is only quoting that part, the whole passage should be understood as condemning the use of such reasoning (to support a bad metaphysics), not its skeptical character per se. Indeed, bereft of the occasionalist diagnosis, the skeptical analysis of natural causation will become a cornerstone of modern empiricism, beginning with David Hume, who in the Enquiry illustrates it with the very same example used by the Persian philosopher: “We know that, in fact, heat is a constant attendant of flame; but what is the connexion between them, we have no room so much as to conjecture or imagine” (VII, i). The Poet would certainly have applauded such developments. 80. Ancora un’alma [One more faulty spirit] – The Chinese philosopher Zhuāngzǐ, or Zhuang Zhou (c. 369–286 BCE), fourth and last of the characters identified by the Poet in this Canto. We know from the biography included in Sīmǎ Qiān’s Shǐjì (ch. 63) that he was a follower of Lao-Tze’s Daoism, to the point that “of the more than ten myriads of characters contained in his published writings, the greater part are occupied with metaphorical illustrations of Lao’s doctrines”. Unfortunately, the only writings by Zhuāngzǐ that survive are some anecdotes and parables included in the book bearing his name, in thirthy- 140 Canto XIII Fourth Circle, site of the Dowters 141 surrounded by a cloudage of papilios: che tutt’ attorno son papilie al vento: “Zuanghì sognò che era una farfalla; gioiosa tra li fiori batte l’ale. Quando la notte al giorno s’accavalla 82 “Zhuang Zhou had dream he was a butter-fly, and flutter’d happily amids the flowers. Whenso the night surrender’d to the daylight sì resvegliò sanza dolor né male. Ma ecco al suo risveglio si nascose se fu Zuanghì a sognar quell’animale 85 he wakened without suffering or payne; but then, awake, he could not penetrate if he, Zhou, had been dreaming of the fly o se fu lui sognato tra le rose. Questa nostr’ ignoranza noi si chiama la trasformazïone de le cose”. 88 or was now being dreamed amid the roses. This our inability to answer we call the metamorphosing of things.” Così sentia parlar quell’ alma grama. E mentr’ andava tra chi nulla crede pensava che chi troppo dubbio affama, 91 These words I heard him speak, that wretched soul. And walking through them all who naught believ’d I thought that those who hunger too much doubtance, così come chi nutre troppa fede, facile falla a giudicar le cose e un lento suicidio a lor si riede. 94 like as the ones who nurture too much faith, are easily at fault in judging things and cultivate a slowsome suicide. E ancor sentia per l’aere tenebrose 97 Yet still athwart the darkness I was hearing, three chapters, of which only the first seven are believed to be authentic. The book was edited around 300 CE by a scholar named Guo Xiang, who reports compressing a prior cluster of fifty-two chapters to emphasize Zhuāngzǐ’s philosophy of “spontaneity”. Our Poet, however, seems more concerned with the skeptic stance that emerges from the book, which deals mostly with the transformation of the opposites and the tension between the finitude of human life and the unlimited knowledge to be gained from experience (pace the butcher story cited in the previous Canto, n. 46). 81. Papilie [Papilios] – Latinism for “butterflies”. 82–90. Zuanghì sognò… [Zhuang Zhou had dream…] – Once again, the Poet draws his inspiration directly from the writings of his character, quoting almost verbatim the conclusion of the second chapter of the Zhuāngzǐ (“The Adjustment of Controversies”). In Chinese culture, the parable has become a locus classicus on the topic of the unknowable and impermanent nature of things, witness the tribute it received by such major poets as Li Po (Ancient song, 8th cent.: “Zhuang Zhou dreams he’s a butterfly […] boundless occurrence goes on and on”) and Matsuo Bashō (Dreams, 1690: “You are the butterfly / and I the dreaming heart / of Zhuang Zhou”). But the puzzle it raises — the challenge of disentangling dreams and reality—is a skeptic classic also in Western philosophy. Already mentioned by Plato (Theaetetus, 158b–d) and Aristotle (Met. IV, 6, 1011a6), it is explicitly listed by Sextus Empiricus among the modes used by the Pyrrhonists to counter knowledge claims (Pyrrh. hypot. I, xiv, 104) and will be addressed again and again in the course of history, from Augustine (De trin. XV, xii, 21) to Duns Scotus (Ord. I, d. 3) to Descartes (Meditations I, §5) to Wittgenstein (Über Gewißheit, §648 and §676). In Part B of his essay Nueva refutación del tiempo (1946), Borges will come back explicitly to Zhuāngzǐ’s story, adding a further twist: “Let us imagine that […] one dreams that he is a butterfly and then dreams that he is Zhuang Zhou. Let us imagine that, by a not impossible stroke of chance, this dream reproduces point for point the master’s. Once this identity is postulated, it is fitting to ask: Are not these moments which coincide one and the same? Is not one repeated term sufficient to break down and confuse the history of the world, to denounce that there is no such history?” (Otras inquisiciones, 1952, pp. 217–218). 93–95. Chi troppo… [Those who…] – As if the “hungering” doubt of the Skeptics and the “nourishing” faith of the Simpletons who trust the senses (Canto VI) were two sides of the same coin. The observation will return in Robert Henlein’s aphorism: “You can go wrong by being too skeptical as readily as by being too trusting” (Time Enough for Love, 1973, p. 370). 96. Un lento suicidio [A slowsome suicide] – Cf. Ralph Waldo Emerson: “Skepticism is slow suicide” (Letters and Social Aims, 1875, p. 134). 142 Canto XIII Fourth Circle, site of the Dowters 143 out of those stones, like altars of the error, the chorus of those dubitating souls. da quelle scoglia, altari de lo sbaglio, il coro di quell’ anime dubbiose. “Io vidi e penetrai con lo scandaglio”, diceva una, “il faticare al sole. Il nostr’ affanno è oscuro e sanz’ abbaglio. 100 “The labor we undertake under the sun,” said one, “I saw and prodded fathoms deep. Our toiling is obscure and unillumed. Nulla sappiamo e nulla ci console. Il mar, tutta la terra ed onne vento de la natura i’ vidi come suole 103 Naught knowen we and naught consoleth us. The sea, the utter earth, and ev’ry wind of nature: I have seen how they are wont abbondar di miseria e di lamento e come a l’animo sensibilmente ad onne gioia annoda gran tormento. 106 to overbound with misery and lamenting and how in our spirit manifestly all joyance is intangled with great torment. Di forza e dote tutte cose han stente che poco mancamento le distrugge: e tutte si dimena ’n le scontente. 109 Of powers and endowments ev’ry creature is wanting and destroy’d by any dearth whereof it flaileth ’round unhappily. Cossì non dico che per l’omo assugge la forza ch’è del toro o del leone, la gamba con cui lesto ’l cervo fugge, 112 Whence I say not that man necessitateth a force seeming the lion or the bull, the legges of the swift escaping stag, o l’armatura del rinocerone, o ancora intelligenza angelicata: 115 or the armature of the rhinocerontes, or overmore intelligence angelic; 99. Il coro [The chorus] – Here begins a long choral lament that will continue until the end of the Canto. The chorus will touch upon several topics, but the focus will always be the destabilizing force of skeptical doubt (in increasing degree of strength). It is structured in successive voices, as in popular ballads, with different souls telling their stories from their solitary rocks and the Poet intervening just to mark the sequence. This is a format that has no analogue in Dante’s Comedy. 100. Io vidi… [The labor…] – First voice and first theme: the presence of evil in the world and its apparent incompatibility with the existence of an omnipotent, benevolent God. The incipit echoes a famous passage in the Qoheleth: “What do people gain from all their labors at which they toil under the sun?” (1:3). On the whole, however, the lament of this first soul resembles the arguments and examples of Philo’s last discourse in Hume’s Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion (1779), which in turn refers back to Epicurus: “God either wants to eliminate bad things and cannot, or can but does not want to, or neither wishes to nor can, or both wants to and can. If he wants to and cannot, then he is weak and this does not apply to god. If he can but does not want to, then he is spiteful which is equally foreign to god’s nature. If he neither wants to nor can, he is both weak and spiteful, and so not a god. If he wants to and can, which is the only thing fitting for a god, where then do bad things come from? Or why does he not eliminate them?” (Fr. 374, from Lactantius, De ira Dei XIII, 20–22). Cf. also Sextus Empiricus: “Those who positively affirm God’s existence are probably compelled to be guilty of impiety; for if they say that he forethinks all things, they will be declaring that God is the cause of what is evil, while if they say that he forethinks some things or nothing, they will be forced to say that God is either malignant or weak” (Pyrrh. hypot. III, iii, 12). 109–118. Di forza… [Of powers…] – Cf. Hume: “Nature seems to have formed an exact calculation of the necessities of her creatures; and, like a rigid master, has afforded them little more powers or endowments than what are strictly sufficient to supply those necessities. […] In order to cure most of the ills of human life, I require not that man should have the wings of the eagle, the swiftness of the stag, the force of the ox, the arms of the lion, the scales of the crocodile or rhinoceros; much less do I demand the sagacity of an angel or cherubim. I am contented to take an increase in one single power or faculty of his soul” (Dialogues, XI, pp. 210–212). 144 Canto XIII Fourth Circle, site of the Dowters 145 but if one power sole, one he possesseth, ma s’anco un sol poter ch’a lui dispone s’aumenti a la sua anima malata, forse che bono artefice e divino non subito l’avrebbe sì curata?”. 118 augmented in his languescent complexion, wou’d not the good artificer divine have fortified him thuswise, and forthwithal?” “E quei princìpi”, dice un altro, “fino de l’universo infrangono ’l sistema. Non si contegon mai ne lo confino 121 “And furthermore those principles infringe,” another said, “the system universal. For never do they stay within the bounds de l’esser bene, ma s’accresce o scema e corron via sanza rimedio e lesta inverso l’altro o l’un de’ loro estrema. 124 of what is good, but wax or wane away and run withouten remedy, apace toward the one extreme or to the other. Così venti deventano tempesta, la pioggia siccità, poi alluviona, a divorarsi onne bestia appresta. 127 Thus it befalls that winds become to tempest, or rain to drought, and then to pouring deluge, and the animals go prey on one another. La lenta procession de le stagiona non salva che raggelo o ver affoca: natura non ripara e non perdona. 130 The lingering procession of the seasons retaineth only bitter cold or heat: this Nature showeth shelter none or mercy. Da questo noi può dir ben cosa poca, che siamo creature tanto cieche per valutar se l’abbisogno invoca 133 Wherefore so very little we can say, by cause that we are creatures lacking sight to reckon whether it must needs behoove tale macchinazione che non reche benevole disegno alcuno e fisso. In quest’ oscurità ignoranza acceche; 136 such secretive contrivance to require no fixed design benevolent whatever. In this obscure we’re blind in our nescience; noi siam abbandonati in quest’ abisso”. 139 we are and stand abandon’d in the abyss.” 119–120. Forse… [Wou’d not…] – A clear allusion to Epicurus’ dilemma (see n. 100). It is unfortunate that only a short fragment of Canto VIII survived, for it is exactly this question that so-called “theodicies” have tried to answer, from the Book of Job to Irenaeus (Adversus haereses) and Augustine (De civitate Dei, De natura boni) all the way to to Leibniz (Théodicée, written explicitly in response to Bayle’s skeptical arguments in his Dictionnaire historique et critique), and it is likely that the Poet himself addressed it in his discussion of “pliant mythes”. 121–129. E quei princìpi… [And furthermore…] – The second voice expands on the theme raised by the first one. Cf. again Hume: “None of these parts or principles, however useful, are so accurately adjusted, as to keep precisely within those bounds, in which their utility consists; but they are, all of them, apt, on every occasion, to run into the one extreme or the other. […] Thus, the winds are requisite to convey the vapours along the surface of the globe, and to assist men in navigation: but how oft, rising up to tempests and hurricanes, do they become pernicious? Rains are necessary to nourish all the plants and animals of the earth: but how often are they defective? how often excessive?” (Dialogues, XI, pp. 215–216). 133–139. Da questo… [Wherefore…] – This is exactly the skeptical conclusion reached by Hume (XI, p. 210), and by Bayle before him: “No faith is better established on reason than that which is established on the ruins of reason” (Réponse aux questions d’un provincial, 1705, II, §161). At v. 137, “design benevolent” [benevole disegno] is from Paul’s Epistle to the Philippians (2:13). 146 Canto XIII Fourth Circle, site of the Dowters 147 “Perhaps at least an ordering, a threadlet,” a third one said, “is keeping tight to-gether “Forse ch’almeno un ordine, un legame”, aggiugne un terzo, “tutto stringe affisso ch’è condiviso al natural reame, sì che rincuor trovare questa legge tra la nostra miseria e povertame 142 all that is art and part in Nature’s realm, so that it shall be solace to disclose this law within our misery and wretchdome che nostra solitudine corregge. Ma nel guardar le cose non consola una necessità che loro arregge: 145 and our loneliness shall be corrected. But as we survey things, we find therein no trace of any necessary-ness: un susseguir da l’una a l’altra sola noi percipiamo e il lor ripeter vuole. Tutte le solitudini son sola, 148 the following of one after another is all we see and their recurrence willeth. All solitudes are given solitaneous, è una promessa vota il novo sole. Ma la lor solitudine resiste di quelle cose che dubbiar non pole”. 151 the rise of a new sun is empty promise. And their own very solitude withstandeth as one of the few things we cannot doubt.” Un quarto: “Quante volte d’aver viste credea le stelle, il fuoco, il vino, il fiore che poi dopo l’abbaglio non esiste? 154 A fourth one: “How so oftentimes methought that I saw stars, or flames, or wine, or flowers which after the mirage existed not? Se dimone malvagio e ingannatore un’illusion costante m’apparecchia d’onne sapor, d’onne vista e romore? 157 What if a daemon fallace and malignant concocted a perdurable delusion of ev’ry taste and ev’ry sight and noise? 140–142. Forse… [Perhaps…] – Third voice and new topic: from a skeptical stance towards the existence of an omnipotent benevolent God to skepticism about the existence of a natural order grounded on cause-effect relations (on which see above, n. 73). Also in this case, the lament touches upon themes that will be characteristic of Hume’s philosophy. 146–149. Ma nel guardar… [But as we survey…] – The words of this soul echo and generalize al-Ghazālī’s reasoning at vv. 73–78. Hume makes the same point in the Treatise (I, iii, 14) and in the Enquiry (V, 1), concluding that “this connexion which we feel in the mind, this customary transition of the imagination from one object to its usual attendant, is the sentiment or impression from which we form the idea of power or necessary connexion” (VII, 2). 150. Tutte le solitudini [All solitudes] – The solitude of each soul on her solitary rock (see v. 41 and note), but also the solitude with which each particular event manifests itself. 151. È una promessa… [The rise…] – Another reference to the Qoheleth (“The sun rises and the sun sets, and hurries back to where it rises again”; 1:5), but with an emphasis on the possibility that the sun might not, in fact, rise again, signifying skepticism about the regularity of nature and the reliability of inductive reasoning. The example of the sun’s rising occurs repeatedly also in Hume (e.g. Treatise I, iii, 11; Enquiry IV, 1) and was already used by ancient philosophers, e.g. Lucian: “Timocles: The sun running his regular course, the moon the same, the circling seasons […] and all the rest of it; these seem to me to be works of providence. Damis: You are just begging the question […] Your description of nature I accept; it does not follow that there is definite design in it” (Jup. trag. 38). 154–156. Un quarto… [A fourth one…] – The fourth voice introduces the theme of the mistrust of sensory experience, which played a prominent role in ancient and medieval skepticism (see VI, 97ff and note). The wine and the flower of v. 155 echo the last words of Aldobrand in the first Ring of the Simpletons (VI, 133–134), which already foreshadowed the skeptical drift that may come with the awareness of the fallacy of the senses. We are thus confirmed in the suggestion mentioned above at vv. 93–95, to the effect that unmitigated faith and indiscriminate doubt are two faces of one and the same coin 157–159. Se dimone… [What if a daemon…] – Cf. the “gloomy and lugu- 148 Canto XIII Fourth Circle, site of the Dowters Com’ io posso saper se nulla specchia tutto questo sentir le cose attorno? E si sfrantuma la mia fede vecchia, 160 How can I know if anything subtendeth all this my apperceiving things around me? Thus doth my olden faith disintegrate; come solidità di tutt’ intorno tra le mie mani sciogliesi e si sfalda. Era sol tanto favola ch’addorno, 163 like unto this solidity circumdant it melteth through my hands and into dust. These islands we denominate as creatures— per allentar lor solitudo salda, quest’ isole che chiamiansi creature? Un’altra comunione ci rinsalda: 166 were they no more than fancy I create to mitigate their solid loneliness? Diverse is the commune wherein we thrive: sol tanto di dolori, di paure, di tutti i nostri vani desideri”. Così piangea quell’ ombre insicure. 169 alonely of sufferance, of fearfulness, of futile aspirations and desires.” Thus were they crying out, those doubtous shades. E pure: “Posso dir tormenti veri quei che codesto altro afferra ancore, torcendolo nel petto, e lo disperi? 172 And still: “May I bename authentic torments those which are suffered by this other man, contorting all his chest and grieving him? Altr’ anima è dietro altro dolore? O è piangere e lutto sanza dolo? 175 Is there a soul behind the payne of others? Or is it weep and wailing without dole? brious ghastly figure” of Canto VI, vv. 74–78 and 111–129, which reminded us of Descartes’ malignant demon (Medit. I, §12). 160–161. Com’ io posso… [How can I…] – Yet another reference to Aldobrand’s doubts (VI, 130). 167. Quest’ isole… [These islands…] – As in Matthew Arnold’s poem: “In the sea of life enisled, / with echoing straits between us thrown, / dotting the shoreless watery wild, / we mortal millions live alone” (To Marguerite: Continued, 1852, vv. 1–4). Arnold is replying the John Donne’s sermon: “No man is an island, / entire of itself, / every man is a piece of the continent, / a part of the main” (Devotions upon Emergent Occasions, 1624, Med. XVII). Here, however, the metaphor of the island is to be understood with reference to the solipsism that comes with a thorough skeptical attitude (see above, v. 41 and note, and below, v. 180). 171. Così piangea [Thus were they crying out] – A first hint to the theme of the next lament. 172–174. E pure… [And still…] – Fifth voice of the choir, about the socalled “other minds” problem, i.e., the problem of ascertaining the existence of minds associated with the bodies we see around us. Its classic formulation will come with Descartes: “If I look out of the window and see men crossing the square, as I have just done, I say that I see the men themselves […]; yet do I see any more than hats and coats that could conceal automata?” (Medit. II, 149 §13; cf. also Disc. de la méth. V). The lament of this soul, however, focuses on a specific aspect of the problem, namely the attribution to others of experiences and mental states similar to those that we attribute to ourselves by introspection. This problem has been debated especially in modern and contemporary philosophy, from Reid (An Inquiry into the Human Mind, 1764, ch. 2) and Mill (An Examination of Sir William Hamilton’s Philosophy, 1865, ch. 12) to Wittgenstein (Philosophische Untersuchungen, 1953), but there are traces already in Aristippus and the Cyrenaics: “Everyone in common calls something white or sweet, but they do not have something white or sweet in common. Each human being grasps his own private affection, but one cannot say whether this affection occurs in oneself and in one’s neighbor from a white object, since one cannot grasp the affection of the neighbor […] And since no affection is common to us all, it is hasty to declare that what appears to me a certain way also appears that way to my neighbor” (apud Sextus Empiricus, Adv. math. VII, 196–197). The Poet himself may know of this problem through Augustine: “It is not said to the mind: ‘Know thyself’ […] as it is said: ‘Know the will of that man!’ For it is utterly impossible for us either to perceive or to understand his will unless he makes it known by some corporeal signs, and even then we would believe rather than understand” (De Trin. X, ix, 12; cf. also VIII, vi, 9). 176. Piangere e lutto [Weep and wailing] – We find the same dittology in 150 Canto XIII Fourth Circle, site of the Dowters 151 Or is it my own payne, felt in their hart? O sento il dolor mio, io, nel suo cuore? Opaco de l’altr’ anime è lo stolo e sol l’anima mia m’è trasparente. Me misero, io sol, sol io son solo”. 178 Opaque is the display of other souls and only this my soul to me transpareth. Me mis’rable, alone, sole I am lone.” “Ma è l’anima pulita e differente, come sottile augel che ci conduce, da quello che sopporta, quel che sente? 181 “But is the soul pristine and different from all that it endureth, all it feeleth, like as a lissome bird that carrieth us? Ché caldo o freddo, tenebra o luce, amore, odio, dol sempre s’incontra. Mai l’anima spogliata a noi s’adduce 184 For heat and cold, or tenebres and light, or love, or hate, or dole one always standeth. Not ever doth the naked soul show forth e sempre un patimento si riscontra. Non v’è saper ch’a noi conforto rechi, noi nulla possiam dir così o contra”. 187 and always some affliction we encounter. There is no knowing that will bring us solace, nothing that we can say one way or other.” Dante, Inf. VIII, 37, though obviously without the skeptical doubt that such weep and wailing may be a mere appearance. 177. O sento… [Or is it…] – Cf. Wittgenstein: “If one has to imagine someone else’s pain on the model of one’s own, this is none too easy a thing to do. […] For I am not to imagine that I feel pain in some region of his body” (Phil. Untersuchungen, §302). 179. E sol… [And only…] – This may be read as a deference to the Delphic motto “know thyself”, as in Augustine’s passage mentioned in n. 172. The motto itself, which Diogenes Laërtius attributes to Thales, if not to Apollo’s first priestess Phemonoë (Vitae phil. I, 40), was one of Socrates’ favorites (see Xenophon, Memor. IV, ii, 24–26 and the many references in Plato’s dialogues: Phaedr. 229e–230a, Protag. 343b, Phil. 48c, Alc. 124a, 129a, 132c, etc.). Here, however, the emphasis is on the initial “only” [sol], hence on the epistemic inaccessibility of what lies beyond our own boundaries: as in Augustine’s text, the verse is stressing the “opacity” of other minds, not the “transparency” of one’s own mental states (which will actually be questioned by the next voice of the chorus). 180. Me misero… [Me mis’rable…] – The solipsistic conclusion of this spirit, which develops the island image of the previous voice (v. 167), confirms the logic of the contrapasso by analogy: the Dowters are forced to endure their punishment in isolation (see v. 41 and note). 181–183. Ma è… [But is…] – Sixth voice, which the Poet introduces without pausing and which addresses the last skeptical theme of the Canto: the elusive nature of personal identity. The opening “but” is directly in response to the claim at v. 179, suggesting a skeptical stance that does not even stop at the alleged transparency of our own feelings and mental states (pace Descartes, who precisely on that sort of self-knowledge will erect his anti-skeptical program in the second Meditation). More generally, the issue is now the very existence of an individual self over and above the incessant flux of sensations that we experience, the existence of something “pristine” that, like a “lissome bird”, carries us through the physical and psychological changes we seem to undergo all the time. This is well beyond the classical forms of ancient and medieval skepticism. We are at the sort of doubt that will eventually inspire modern empiricism and that will once again find its fullest expression with Hume: the traditional idea of a substance “is nothing but a collection of simple ideas that are united by the imagination” (Treatise, I, i, 6) and we are “nothing but a bundle or collection of different perceptions, which succeed each other with an inconceivable rapidity, and are in a perpetual flux and movement” (I, iv, 6). The Poet will come back to this issue, and more generally to the problem of identity through change, in Canto XX. 186. L’anima spogliata [The naked soul] – Another term for the pristine soul of v. 181 [anima pulita], but with a language that takes us back to the image used by Socrates in describing the metaphysics of the realist about universals (cf. X, 35 and note). There one speaks of a bare particular that always comes “clothed” in some properties or others; here the target is the notion of a bare soul that is never “naked” of some sensations or others (and whose identity is nonetheless supposed to be prior to, and independent of, those everchanging sensations). Locke will characterize it as a “something I know not what” (Essay II, xxiii, 2); Hume will reject it altogether as a mere “fiction” (Treatise, I, i, 6). 188–189. Non v’è saper… [There is no knowing…] – This is the most radical claim emerging from the chorus. It conjoins Pyrrhonian skepticism, to the 152 Canto XIII Fourth Circle, site of the Dowters E mentre quei s’annaspan soli e ciechi, gemeva ancora un’ombra fra que’ dogli: “Qual senso allora a tutto questo arrechi?”, 190 And while each one was struggling, lonely and blind, another shade was moaning ’mid the sorrow. “What purport, then, attaineth all of this?” diceva. “Foss’ i’ uomo tra li scogli che in secca si ripara al naufragare con la mia barca squassa e i remi spogli! 193 was saying he. “Ah, would I were a sailor who, ran aground on shoals, eluded shipwreck with my decrepit barque and barren oars! Potessi essere ancora e sempre in mare di tra i disastri che dovunque infurie, tra i pelaghi e i perigli, a navigare!”. 196 Would I again were always in the sea amidst the hazards raging ev’rywhere, amidst the waves, the perils, navigating!” Ma appena si sfinisce in quelle curie anche ’l suo scoglio a rovinar finisce ed ei prepicita ne l’acque scurie. 199 But just as he was breaking out in wailing the rock on which he is holding crumbleth down and to the dirty water he submergeth. Poi, mentre io lo guardo che sparisce e attendo di veder dove risorga, il duca mi riprende e m’ammonisce: 202 Whereat, as I behold him disappear and stand in wait to see whence he will rise, my Leader reprehendeth me in earnest: è tempo di varcar la quinta gorga. 205 ’tis time to cross the line of rundle five. effect that we must suspend judmenent on everything [nulla possiam dir], with the skepticism of New Academics, to the effect that nothing can be known [non v’è saper]. Of course, this latter claim would be self-refuting unless one hasten to add, as Arcesilaus did (apud Cicero, Acad. Post. I, xii, 45), that we cannot even know its truth. The point can be traced back to Metrodorus of Chios, whose book On Nature begins with these words: “None of us knows anything, not even this, whether we know or we do not know” (apud Cicero, Acad. Pr. II, xxiii, 73; cf. Sextus Empiricus, Adv. math. VII, 87–88; Eusebius, Praep. evang. XIV, xix, 9). 192–198. Qual senso… [What purport…] – Seventh and last voice of the choir. In this case we really seem to hear an ancestor of Hume—not the negative skeptic empiricist, vulnerable to his own doubts and to their consequences, but the passionate, tenacious, ever-active philosopher, tirelessly committed to the hard Socratic mission of challenging every form of dogmatism: “Methinks I am like a man, who having struck on many shoals, and having narrowly escaped shipwreck in passing a small frith, has yet the temerity to put out to sea 153 in the same leaky weather-beaten vessel, and even carries his ambition so far as to think of compassing the globe under these disadvantageous circumstances” (Treatise, I, iv, 7). The Canto is about to end without a precise diagnosis of the incriminated error. But this last message collected by the Poet on the narrow footbridge is, for all its regretful sadness, a positive message nevertheless: an encouragement to keep going, a desperate invitation not to surrender under the overwhelming lack of certitudes that is, after all, the very origin of all philosophical tribulations. 200. Suo scoglio [The rock] – The isolated and crumbling rock on which the spirit was struggling to stay afloat while talking, quite different from the symbolic shoals evoked in his speech. 203. Dove risorga [Whence he will rise] – The poor soul will indeed reemerge, but only to climb on to a new rock that will slowly crumble away under his weight, like the previous one, in a never-ending repetition of the pattern described at vv. 43–47. 205. Gorga [Rundle] – Another word for Circle. Canto XIV Canto XIV overo del quinto Cerchio, ne la Zona de l’Irrealisti che sono idealisti or, the fifth Circle, in the Zone o’ the Irrealistes hight idealistes – At the entrance of the fifth Circle, the threatening voice of a guardian hidden in the fog commands Socrates and the Poet to halt. The Poet shivers (1–16). ARGUMENT [Canto received in truncated form. We can only speculate that the lost part, devoted to the first of the three Zones of the Circle of the Irrealists, addressed the “idealistic” error consisting in resolving all reality into thought. While it is wrong to accredit the world with a robust structure of boundaries, laws, and values that reside only in our heads and in our organizing practices—as the Poet learned in the various Rings of the third Circle—it does not follow that the world itself is merely a by-product of our mind, as though all reality were reducible to the subjective content of our individual or collective consciousness.] 156 Canto XIV Fifth Circle, in the Zone o’ the Irrealistes hight idealistes “Guai a voi, anime malvenute! Ristate ferme al vostro andare folle! Tornate donde voi sete venute! 1 “Woe unto you, ye illcome erring souls! Remain ye still and stint your foolish step! Return ye thither back from whence ye came! Non è concesso a voi calcar le zolle di questa mala sacca che io veglio. Nessuno qui pò intrare s’io nol volle! 4 Ye are not permised to stride over the soil of this nefarious strath that I surveil. No one shall enter here that I wish not! Ho mille occhia e uno è sempre sveglio; chi male avanza l’anima io trebbia. Questo voi dico, questo ora voi sceglio.” 7 Of these my thousand eyes one always guardeth; of those who wickly advance, I thrash the souls. Such are my words and such the choice ye have.” Codesta voce udii squarciar la nebbia che come coltre avvolge onne confina e par salir da tutto e tutt’ accrebbia. 10 1. Guai a voi [Woe unto you] – The Canto begins abruptly with these hostile and threatening words, which are reminiscent of the malevolent speech of Dante’s Charon in Inf. III, 84. We shall soon be informed (v. 5) that this is the guardian of the new Circle the Poet is about to enter, the fifth, as announced at the end of the previous Canto (XIII, 205). The sudden change of tone and atmosphere is accentuated by the insistent rhythm of the following verses, the guardian using solely brief, direct, peremptory sentences. 2. Andare folle [Foolish step] – Far from foolish, in fact, except in the positive sense of “audacious”. It is the same mistake made by the guardians of the citadel of Dis, unaware of the divine design, in warding off Dante in Inf: VIII, 91: “Let him return alone by his mad road”. (Dante himself uses the adjective “folle” with a more positive connotation in Inf. II, 35, when Virgil invites him to undertake the journey). 4. Non è concesso [Ye are not permised] – Like the Demiurge (IX, 143– 144) and Tiresias (XIII, 25–26), the guardian realizes immediately that Socrates and the Poet are not two ordinary souls arrived in this Circle to undergo their just punishment. 5. Mala sacca [Nefarious strath] – Hellish circle. 7. Mille occhia… [Thousand eyes…] – These are the only descriptive elements included in the fragment, and unfortunately they are not enough to identify the guardian. It could be one of the monsters “covered with eyes” of the sacred scriptures (Ez. 1:18, 20–12; Rev. 4:6–8), or it could be one of the “thousand-eyed” deities of the Indian tradition, such as Rudra (Yajur Veda, II, 27; Taittirīya-Saṃhitā IV, 5, 1) or Váruṇa (Ṛgveda VII, 34, 10). A third possibility would be to identify the guardian with Argus, the primordial giant of Greek mythology whom Hera set to watch over the heifer-nymph Io precisely because he had so many eyes that only a few would sleep at a time: according to certain versions his eyes were exactly a thousand (Aeschilus, Prometh. 566; Statius, 157 This speech I heard pierce through a fog so murky that like a curtain ev’ry shape enshroudeth. It seem’d to ensue from ev’ry thing allwhere. Silvae, V, 4, 1), though other versions say they were only a hundred (Ovid, Metam. I, 625; Am. III, 4; Phaedrus, Fab. II, 8) or even just four (Hesiod/ Cercops, Aeg. 5). Indeed, the myth of Argus “Panoptes” was rather popular in the middle ages, witness its pungent mention in the Roman de la rose (“Nus ne puet metre en fame garde, / s’ele-méisme ne se garde: / se c’iert Argus qui la gardast, / qui de ses cent yex l’esgardast”, vv. 14983–86). Dante himself refers to it twice in Purgatorio (XXIV, 95 and XXXII, 64–69) and the image will recur in Petrarca (Buc. carmen II: “Argus”), in Boccaccio (Geneal. deorum VII, xxii), and repeatedly in Chaucer (in Troilus and Criseyde IV, 1459 as well as in The Knight’s Tale I, 1390, The Merchant’s Tale IV, 2111, and The Wife of Bath’s Tale III, 358). In the present context the identification of the guardian with Argus is especially tempting insofar as the first Zone of this new Circle is supposed to host philosophers of idealistic persuasion, for the myth will return in a famous passage by Hegel: “Art makes every one of its productions into a thousand-eyed Argus, whereby the inner soul and spirit is seen at every point” (Ästhetik, 1853, I, 3, A.1). All of this, however, is just speculation and the textual elements do not warrant a more sustained conjecture. 8. Trebbia [Thrash] – May be read figuratively as “grind”, or “shatter”, but a more literal reading (English: “thresh”) seems more faithful to its plausible symbolic value, as in Matthew 3:12: “His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor, gathering his wheat into the barn and burning up the chaff with unquenchable fire”. 10–12. La nebbia… [A fog…] – This is the only clue we have concerning the overall atmosphere of this new part of Helle. It might suggest a nexus of continuity between idealism and the foggy skepticism punished in the previous Canto, a skepticism that could be its driving force (as in Berkeley’s Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous, 1713, or as in the troubled path leading from Hume to Kant and then to Fichte and Hegel). 158 Canto XIV Fifth Circle, in the Zone o’ the Irrealistes hight idealistes Da suso in giuso, a destra o la mancina, io non sapeva dir dove veniva ma l’alma mia rabbrivida e s’accrina. 13 Aright or left, above or underneath, I could not fathom whence the voice deriv’d; my soul began to shiver and abreak. E parvemi di scorger su la riva […] 16 And then methought I saw upon the shore […] 13–14. Da suso… [Aright…] – Possibly a hint to the problem that will threaten Berkeleyan idealism: if esse est percipi (Dialogues, III; Principles, §6), what is the source of the perception themselves (here: the guardian’s voice)? It is nonetheless unclear why the Poet thinks it is the fog that prevents him from determining the provenance of the voice. 16. E parvemi… [And then methought…] – The written text we have ends here. We do not know what banks the Poet is seeing and, more importantly, we have no information on how the Canto continues except for the details included in the title. Since Plato’s world of pure forms and the neo-platonic emanatism of Proclus and Plotinus were included among the “crooked realisms” (IX, 142) of the third Circle, it is unlikely that the “idealist” error punished here amounts to the view that everything is grounded in some ideal reality. Rather, it must consist in the view that reality as a whole is an ideal artifact, a product of our own mind, as per Wolff’s definition: “Idealistae dicuntur, qui nonnisi idealem corporum in animabus nostris existentiam concedunt: adeoque realem mundi et corporum existentiam negant” (Psychologia rationalis, I, i, 36). Why does this count as an error, given the Poet’s insistence on the thesis that the metaphysical structure we usually attribute to the world is, on closer look, a structure that resides in our conceptual apparatus and organizing practices (Canto XII, fourth Ring of the Realists)? Presumably because that thesis 159 does not entail that reality itself is our own making. That is, the Poet’s antirealism is still based on the conviction that our organizing activity rests on and is directed towards an underlying objective reality—a “flat and simple” world from which we carve out the patterns we wish, an amorphous amount of clay that the potter fashons into different forms, a plane sea on which the mariners mark their short-lived sailing routes (see XII, 55–64). That this underlying reality is itself an mental construction is a different, much stronger thesis, and it is probably because of this non sequitur that the “Irrealistes hight idealistes” are punished. If this is correct, then the Poet’s anti-realism is indeed to be contrasted with that form of idealism that Nelson Goodman will actually label “Irrealism”. For Goodman, the underlying world, bereft of all the versions we can provide of it, is “on the whole a world well lost” (Words, Works, Worlds, 1975, p. 59, citing Richard Rorty, The World Well Lost, 1972); for to the Poet the world is frail, impoverished, deprived of any “bynding ways or ways forbidden” (XII, 56), but it is there, it remains there and no ne can take it away from us. For the irrealist a world-version need not be a version of the world, just as a Pegasus-picture need not be a picture of Pegasus (Goodman, Languages of Art, 1968, p. 21); for the Poet all the maps we draw, conventional as they may be, are still maps of the one reality in which we are immersed (XII, 22–24). Canto XV Canto XV overo ancora del quinto Cerchio, ne la Zona de l’Irrealisti che son relativisti or, agayn the fifth Circle, in the Zone o’ the Irrealistes hight relativistes [Canto entirely missing from the manuscript. Given the overall structure of the poem, we may conjecture that it was devoted to the “relativistic” error consisting in replacing all facts with interpretations, or in making every ontological and metaphysical question depend entirely on the conceptual schemes through which we represent reality. Thus, granted that the world is but an amorphous whole that can be divided up at will along the demarcations we find most suitable, as the Poet maintains, it still does not follow that the notion of existence loses its univocal sense: we single out those parts of the whole that we find most interesting by tracing certain boundaries rather than others, but the parts themselves are what they are and their identity conditions do not depend on our choices. More generally, granted that different subjects can get to different, even incompatible world-views, each corresponding to a different way of drawing up the relevant boundaries, it is likely that here the Poet wanted to insist on the fact that we nonetheless inhabit just one world and we all sail the same sea. For if it is true that the considerations developed so far deliver a philosophical picture that may be characterized as “irrealist” with respect to specific issues—the status of universals, the nature of abstract entities, the structure and stratification of reality—it is also true that the picture is explicitly realist and monistic when it comes to the existence of the external world. Finally, it is also possible that the Poet wanted to address here some relativistic consequences that might be associated with his theses concerning the non-objectivity of values, which in his view do not reside in the things themselves but rather in our interactions with them—like colors—and may therefore vary depending on the observation conditions.] Canto XVI Canto XVI overo ancora del quinto Cerchio, ne la Zona de l’Irrealisti che son prammatisti or, agayn the fifth Circle, in the Zone o’ the Irrealistes hight pragmatistes [Canto entirely missing from the manuscript. Given the context, “pragmatism” should presumably be understood in connection with those organizing practices on whose importance the Poet has insisted in his objections against the realists. We may thus suppose that the Canto dealt with the errors stemming from an excessive recourse to those practices, which might lead to far more radical conclusions than the ones the Poet is willing to accept: that reality itself never speaks to us in any way; that the value of knowledge resides entirely in its instrumental success; that what is true is up to us to decide; and so on. We do not, however, have any independent evidence that these were in fact the topics covered in the Canto, as we cannot exclude that the Poet’s target were a different kind of pragmatists, such as those who, by subordinating thought to action, proclaim the absolute primacy of practical reason over metaphysical speculation tout court. It is also possible that the Poet meant to address and clarify questions already broached in the preceding Cantos. For example, given his view to the effect that it is we who impose upon the world the complex structure of obligatory and forbidden senses that seem to govern it, and that this is done in ways that are fundamentally arbitrary, it remains to be determined whether any such system of senses is equally acceptable and whether the criteria of acceptability are based entirely on practical considerations.] Canto XIX Canto XIX overo ancora del settimo Cerchio, nel Girone de’ Dualisti del materiale or, agayn the seventh Circle, in the Ring o’ the Dualistes tow’rds the materiall – The Poet listens to the deeply moving lament of a damned soul who is deprived forever of his lost love. The Poet’s own heart is filled with sorrow at the thought that he himself might not be able see his beloved Lady of the Heavens ever again (1–38). Socrates comforts him and encourages him to continue (39–61). Entering the second Ring of the seventh Circle, the Master reveals that here are punished those who differentiated, not the immaterial mind from its attendant material body, but any material body from the very matter that composes it (62–81). After clarifying with concrete examples that this distinction rests on a deep conceptual confusion (82–146), the two observe the terrifying punishment inflicted on the damned: mutilated and torn to pieces by violent earthquakes, they are forced to recompose themselves over and over again in random fashion, in observance to the principle according to which the whole is nothing over and above the mere sum of the parts (147–189). ARGUMENT 166 Canto XIX Seventh Circle, Ring o’ the Dualistes tow’rds the materiall Camminavamo in mezzo a quei dolenti che non conosce morte o vita intera quand’ io ne vidi un che fra i tormenti 1 We were awalking forth among those dolents who cognizance no thorough death or life when sight I caught of one who, mid the torments, più forte geme, piange, si dispera. Allor ch’i’ chiesi al duca chi elli fosse, rispuosemi: “Da solo ti sincera”. 4 more sorely waileth, crieth, and despaireth. Upon my asking who he was, my Leader responded: “Ascertain thou by thyself.” Perciò io più vicino mi s’ammosse a chier chi fue e qual dolor l’ottembra. “Son Adamante”, disse; e non si mosse. 7 Wherefore I headed nearer to that sorry to ask of him and what affliction payned him. “I’m Adamans,” he said, and made no move. “Oh dolce e doloroso il cuor rimembra! 10 1. Camminavamo… [We were awalking…] – The opening line resumes the narrative thread of the previous Canto. We are still in the same infernal precint, the first Ring of the seventh Circle. 2. Che non conosce… [Who cognizance no…] – Cp. the description of the damned in XVIII, 56: “come se fosser mezzi vivi o morti”. 4. Geme, piange, si dispera [Waileth, crieth, and despaireth] – The insistence on the physical manifestation of the pain exploits the metaphor of emotions as a “fever” of the body (XVIII, 196). Lyrically, however, the crescendo expressed by the asyndeton marks a dramatic break from the bleak image of the dolents wandering around languidly. 8. Qual dolor [What affliction] – The Poet already knows what pains afflict the damned of this Ring; he wants to know why this one is crying “more sorely” (v. 4). After the long and rather abstract philosophical exchange with Socrates in the second part of the previous Canto, the monologue that follows will take us back to the full drama of Hell. 9. Adamante [Adamans] – There are no philosophers with exactly this name, so the identity of this character is dubious. A reasonable guess would be the early Christian theologian Origen of Alexandria (c. 184–253), also known as Adamantius because of his “adamant” endurance (Jerome, Ep. ad Paulam, §3) and the “adamantine” force of his arguments (Photius, Bibl. 118). His doctrine of the pre-existence of the soul, to the effect that disembodied souls are created by God and literally exist prior to conception (De Principiis I, vii, 3– 5), would certainly account for his inclusion in the seventh Circle. But Origen is also known to have lived a life of rigid asceticism, up to the point of castrating himself in literal compliance with Matthew 19:12 (Eusebius, Hist. Eccl. VI, viii, 1), so his actual biography appears to be incompatible with the events described by Adamans in his speech. Another possibility would be Addas Adimantus (3rd cent.), one of the first disciples of Mānī’s dualist cosmology, described by Faustus of Mileve as no less than “the only teacher deserving of our attention since the sainted Manichæus” (apud Augustine, Contra Faustum, 167 “Oh, how asweet, how sore this heart remember’th! I, 2). However, Manichaean dualism was mainly about the conflict between good and evil, and Adimantus himself was mainly known for a book of Disputationes in which he tried to prove the inconsistency of the Old Testament with the Evangelical and Apostolic scriptures (see Augustine, Contra Adimantum), so, again, it is unlikely that the Poet was thinking of him in this context. Still other options would include the Greek iatrosophist Adamantius of Alexandria (4th–5th cent.), author of a Polemonian Physiognomonica based on the idea that the eyes are “the gateway to the soul” (I, 4), or Plato’s eldest brother, Adeimantus of Collytus (5th–4th cent. BCE), who in the Republic goes as far to say that “of all those who turn to philosophy […] the majority become cranks, not to say completely vicious, while those who seem decent are rendered useless to society by the pursuit which you [Socrates] recommend” (VI, 487d). Also in these cases, however, the identification with the present character would seem to be a stretch. All things considered, it is more likely that this Adamans is a minor figure, possibly a personal acquaintance of the Poet, or even a fictional character altogether. The name itself would seem to be a poetic artifice obtained by merging “Adamo” (Adam) and “amante” (lover), condensing in a single figure the emblem of the primordial golem (XVIII, n. 50) and the archetype of that emotional and sentimental dimension that allegedly runs afoul of any materialistic conception of human nature. “Adamante” appears also in Dante, Par. II, 33, but simply as a common noun meaning “diamond” (though even there some commentators have read a contraction of “Adamo” and “Dante”, along with a semantic hint to “ad amante”—to the lover; see e.g. Roger Dragonetti, Dante pèlerin de la Sainte Face, 1968, pp. 287ff). 10. Oh, dolce… [Oh, how asweet…] – Motionless, the damned spirit begins to reminisce through his heart (a part of the body, see XVIII, n. 47) poignant scenes of his love life. The conjunction of “sweet” [dolce] and “sore” [doloroso] immediately foreshadows the trajectory of the entire monologue, which will elicit similar emotions in the Poet at the thought of his beloved Lady of the Heavens (vv. 33–37). 168 Canto XIX Mai non aveva io mai visto il mare. Mi festi tu saggiar su le tue membra Seventh Circle, Ring o’ the Dualistes tow’rds the materiall 169 Not ever fore had I beheld the sea. ’Twas thou who mad’st me savor on thy limbs il sale ed il suo giubilo d’amare. La torre del tuo collo si piegava perché la pioggia si potesse stare 13 the taste of salt, its am’rous jubilee. Thy tow’ring neck was gently bent adown in order that the rain might find repose raccolta ne le scapole tue cava, sì levigate e fonde, sì brunite, e le mie labbra, che d’amor tremava, 16 congathering between thy shoulder blades, so levigate and hollow, so imbrown’d, and these my lips, so shivering with love, veninno a ber qual cerbie spavurite. Quando le nudità de la tua schiena contavano sfogliando le mie dite, 19 like unto fearful deer came for water. These fingers, one by one, innumerated the nudities athwart over thy back, e l’arpa del tuo corpo ’l sono appena, e le tue vertebre erano un rosario, la carne santa de la mia preghiena. 22 the strings of thy melodius body-harp; thy vertebral relief was my rosario, the holy flesh of my observing prayer. L’amor c’ha sete, amore incendario che tutto lega e che tutto sfibra e d’onne resistenza fa contrario, 25 The thirst of love, that love incendiary which ev’ry thing enjoineth and unravel’th and is adversary to all resistance, mi penetrava ’l corpo in onne fibra. Or m’abbandona, ora m’assottiglia; in altri venti si disperde e libra 28 was flowing through my heart in ev’ry fiber. Now love is failing me, it extenuates me; in other winds it soars and spreads its wings e lascia voto me come conchiglia”. 31 and I am left devoid, like empty sea shell.” 11. Il mare [The sea] – The marine landscape presents significant analogies with the memories of the “suspended philosopher” at the end of Canto VII (memories that were in turn “deposited in blood”, v. 150). This suggests that the two passages may draw on common elements from the Poet’s personal experience. 12. Le tue membra [Thy limbs] – This is the first of a long series of material images (salt, tower, rain, shoulder blades, back, vertebrae, flesh) that condense all the tension accumulated in the previous Canto. Note that Adamans uses the second person pronoun to address his lover, even though his words come in answer to the Poet’s questions. 13. La torre del tuo collo [Thy tow’ring neck] – From the Song of Songs: “As the tower of David is thy neck” (4:4), “Thy neck is an ivory tower” (7:4). 22. E l’arpa… [The strings…] – The image will return, with the roles inverted, in Joyce’s Araby: “My body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires” (Dubliners, 1914, ch. 3, p. 35). 23. Le tue vertebre… [Thy vertebral relief…] – Another felicitous image, widely used in contemporary poetry (e.g. Rimbaud: “craftily telling with long broken fingers, / a rosary of love on their pale vertebrae”, Le bal des pendus, 1871). The image is also present, with graphic awkwardness, in the first volume of Proust’s Recherche: “She would hold out for me to kiss her sad brow, pale and lifeless, on which at this early hour she would not yet have arranged the false hair and through which [sic] the bones shone like the points of a crown of thorns—or the beads of a rosary” (Du côté de chez Swann, 1913, I, cap. 2). 24. Carne santa [Holy flesh] – A final seal on the soul–body identity thesis endorsed in the previous Canto. 25. C’ha sete… incendario [Thirst… incendiary] – One more hint at the twofold nature of love on which the Poet has been insisting, metaphorically as well as literally, since the opening lines of the Comedye (I, 4–6). 31. Voto… conchiglia [Devoid… shell] – This is not the first time the Poet exploits the association between void and sea shells; see e.g. XI, 3–4. 170 Canto XIX Così parlò; fin che ’l covrì ’l dolore. Ed un dolore allora mi spariglia Seventh Circle, Ring o’ the Dualistes tow’rds the materiall 171 Thus spake he, till despair prevail’d of him. Whereat I, too, was struck by such distress che pare sì che quel mi piangua ’n core. S’allaga sì che io naufràgo via, ché io non so se lei, lei vedrò ancore, 34 methought it seem’d his grieve was in my heart. So overflow’d was I, I naufragated, as I knew not if that I would see her, her, stella e meriggio de l’anima mia. È nel silenzio a volte la pietade. Prennendomi la mano, il duca avvia 37 star and meridien of my soul, agayn. Ofttimes there is no piety but in silence. My Guide then seiz’d my hand as we set forth a proseguir per altre fosche strade. Io non so più se ’l core mi si spezza, che per quantunque e dovunque vade, 40 to carry on through other sombre paths. I scarce could say if whether my heart bursted, for that, regardlessly of how and where talor l’anima mia non vol salvezza. “Forse che stanche sono le tue membra? E stanco ’l cuor di tutta la tristezza? 43 I went, my soul desired no salvation. “Perhaps thy limbs are weary with fatigue?”, my Leader said, among those ruptured bodies. Di tutt’ un giro a capo tornar sembra la terra”, il duca fé tra i corpi mozzi, “da quando ti trova’ io ne la tembra, 46 “Thine heart—is it exhausted from the sadness? Seems as the Earth completed one full orbit since when I first saw thee adrift in darkness, 34. Che pare… core [methought… heart] – This beautiful verse, in a wide and scanned rhythm, encapsulates the philosophical lesson of this first Ring of the Circle, particularly the “pairing problem” (XVIII, n. 133): if body and soul were two different substances, what would prevent the Poet’s tears to be really caused by Adamans’ pain? 35. S’allaga… naufràgo [Overflow’d… naufragated] – The marine image breaks out, dramatizing the intimate continuity, lyrically as well as autobiographically, between Adamans’ memories and the emotional involvement of the Poet. 36. Lei, lei [Her, her] – The Lady of the Heavens, who thus returns to the foreground after the brief appearance in the scene of the aleph (IX, 116–118). The anadiplosis of the pronoun increases the sense of dismay that overcomes the Poet at the thought that he, too, might not be able to ever see his love again. 37. L’anima mia [My soul] – After so much insistence on purely bodily vocabulary, the Poet cannot help coming back to the more familiar poetic tones he finds congenial. So also at v. 43. 38. È nel silenzio… pietade [Ofttimes… silence] – The verse echoes the Wittgensteinian theme already introduced by the Poet, through Socrates’ inducement speech, in reference to the Lady of the Heavens: “that, which shall not be spoken, must be silence” (III, 58). 41–43. Io non so… salvezza [I scarce… salvation] – Perhaps a moment of human weakness following the distressing scene the Poet has just witnessed, or simply a confession that the pursuit of salvation is something one must actively strive for; but also a last, personal rivisitation of the general metaphysical thesis underlying the entire discussion of mind–body dualism conducted in the previous Canto: how can the soul be saved, if the heart is broken? 44–45. Forse… tristezza? [Perhaps… sadness] – Socrates notices that the Poet is disheartened and tries to comfort him by blaming the physical (“limbs”) and emotional (“heart”) exhaustion caused by the hardship of the journey. The Poet will react with vigor, though he will conceal the real reason of his sudden clouding (v. 63). 46–47. Di tutt’ un… terra [Seems as… full orbit] – That is: a whole day has passed. In Dante’s Comedy, this is the duration of the entire journey through Hell, as emerges from Inf. II, 1–3 and XXXIV, 68–69. Note that, despite the cautionary “seems as”, Socrates’ description is in line with the heliocentric conception, in keeping with the inclusion of Ptolemy’s geocentrism in the first Ring of the second Circle, the Simpletons (VI, 70). 47. Mozzi [Ruptured] – Because eaten out by the other zombies. But the adjective also announces the kind of punishment inflicted to the dualists of the second Ring, reinforcing the structural unity of the two Cantos. 48. Quando… [When…] – The moment when Socrates found the Poet wandering aimlessly near the swamp (I, 91ff). 172 Canto XIX Seventh Circle, Ring o’ the Dualistes tow’rds the materiall che porta al primo de li due equinozzi. Resisti ancor, che al termine una barca attende a trarci for da’ lochi sozzi 49 proceeding to the first of the æquinoctials. Be thou perseverant, as at the edge a vessel is at wait that shall withdraw us di questo cerchio. Allora, ben che parca, potrai far posa”. Sì chiesi al dottore: “Un giorno solo è andato da l’imbarca?”. 52 away from this abhorrent circle. Thou may’st then repose a little.” Whence I asked: “One day alone has passed since we commenc’d?” “Diversamente ’l tempo affolla il cuore e, come del raccolto la stagione, la semprepersa corsa de le ore 55 “In our heart, time gather’th sunderly and, e’en as all along the harvest season, the ever-lost onrushing of the hours si conta i tocchi di nostr’ affezione”. Sì Socrate parlommi. “Tutto questo peregrinar più lungo tu suppone 58 accounteth every beat of our affections.” Thus Socrates explain’d. “This peregrinage is longer in thy fancy by the cause perché sì tanto ti s’è manifesto”. “Di questo mio cammino non dispera”, risposi, nasconnendo cupo e mesto 61 that much hath been made manifest to thee.” “Of this my journey I do not despayre,” responded I, my heavy heart conceiling. il cor. “Ne l’altro giro or noi s’intrera?”. 64 “Are we to enter now the other ring?” 49. Primo de li due equinozzi [The first of the æquinoctials] – The vernal equinox, i.e., the first of the two balancing days in the year when night and day have approximately equal length everywhere on Earth. This verse provides us with a precise indication for the dating of the journey, at least as concerns the time of the year when it took place. Under the hypothesis that Socrates is observing medieval conventions, the date would be 21st of March, which was the day allocated to the vernal equinox by the first Council of Nicaea (325). However, the Council relied on the Julian calendar, which was based on a measuring of the civil year that slightly exceeded the tropic year (a surplus of 0.03124 of a day every leap year). Thus, around the end of the 13th century the date of the spring equinox should really be moved back to March 12–13. (The error will be corrected only with the Gregorian calendar established in 1582). It is worth recalling that Dante’s journey, too, takes place around the spring equinox, assuming Dante endorsed the traditional thesis according to which the creation of the world cited in Inf. I, 37–40 occurred on that day (Macrobius, In somn. Scip. I, xxi, 23–24; Beda, De temp. rat. LXVI, 9; Brunetto Latini, Tresor I, 6, 3). In Dante’s case we also know that the year of his journey was 1300, as can be determined from Inf. I, 1 and Purg. II, 98–99 (and, indirectly, from various other chronological references scattered throughout the Comedia: Inf. VI, 67–69; X, 79–81; Par. XVII, 80–81, etc.). The explicit indication in Inf. XXI, 112–114 allows us to date the crossing of Hell in the 24 hours between the sunset of Holy Friday and that of Saturday, corresponding to April 173 8–9 or to March 25–26 (the first date is more likely if we consider the explicit reference to the full moon before Easter in Inf. XX, 127 vis-à-vis the actual celebration of Easter in 1300; the second, if we calculate and adjust the historical date). 50–52. Una barca… cerchio [A vessel… circle] – The ship of Theseus, on which Socrates and the Poet will cross the “flowing river” between the seventh Circle and the eighth (Canto XX). 54. Da l’imbarca [Since we commenc’d] – Since the beginning of the journey. The Poet is understandably surprised that only one day has passed, considering how long they have walked and how much he has already seen. This, however, is subjective perception, as Socrates is about to explain. 55. Il cuore [Our heart] – Socrates continue to express himself in a strictly materialistic language. 61. Tanto… manifesto [much… manifest] – The many scenes witnessed to far, but also the philosophical lessons and insights that emerged in conversation with Socrates, much richer in number and content than what may be expected from a single day of work. 63–64. Nasconnendo… il cor [My heavy heart conceiling] – Hiding from Socrates the real reasons behind the Poet’s dejected mood, which the reader knows from vv. 35–37. 64. Ne l’altro giro [The other ring] – The second Ring of the seventh Circle (see XVIII, 5). 174 Canto XIX “Sì”, disse. “Chi non l’anima distinse ma cosa material da sua matera Seventh Circle, Ring o’ the Dualistes tow’rds the materiall 175 “We are,” said he. “All those, who set asunder, not souls, but things materiall from their matter, questo giron dannato tutt’ incinse e quivi pagan onne loro colpa”. “Tu ’ntendi ’l corpo stesso e quel ch’attinse? 67 in that tormentous ringle pass theyr sentence and therewithin do penance for theyr faultes.” “Mean’st thou the body itself and what repletes it? Che carne e l’ossa, o vero sangue e polpa, da quello son distinti ché diversi, se pur lo fanno assieme e lo rimpolpa?”, 70 That flesh and bone, or blood and muscle tissue, are other than the body, seeing they differ albe they constitute and sustentate it?” io chiesi allor in questi lochi persi. “O anche il gòlemo da quella creta che lo compone e che noi pria vedersi”, 73 demanded I in those deserted lands. “Or equally the golem ere we saw in contrast with the clay that it compryseth,” aggiunse Socrate con voce queta. “Che son du’ enti, questo lor sentenza; ché qualità diversa e segreta 76 he added further, in his placid accent. “That those are two is what they sententiated; for hidden and disparail attributions fa lor distinti ne la loro essenza, 79 wou’d signify disparity in their essence, 65–66. Chi… matera [All those… matter] – This is the official description of the error punished here: not the dualism stemming from the separation of the immaterial soul from its attendant material body, but the dualist thesis according to which every material object is in turn distinct from the matter that constitutes it. This thesis has ancient origins and finds its most influent formulation in the Aristotelean doctrine of substances as hylomorphic compounds of form and matter. It was widely spread in the middle ages, especially through Aquinas’ Commentaries, and even today it is regarded as the “received view” (Michael Burke, Copper Statues and Pieces of Copper, 1992) and endorsed by philosophers of different persuasions, from Saul Kripke (Identity and Necessity, 1971) and David Wiggins (Sameness and Substance, 1980) to Jonathan Lowe (Coinciding Objects, 1995), Judith Thomson (The Statue and the Clay, 1998), Kit Fine (The Non-Identity of a Material Thing and Its Matter, 2003), and Amie Thomasson (Ordinary Objects, 2007). 69. Quel ch’attinse [What repletes it] – The nutritional substances that nourished the body (and of which the body is now composed). 71. Distinti ché diversi [Are other… differ] – The Poet is here alluding to the principle according to which numerical identity entails qualitative sameness. Today this principle is known as the “indiscernibility of identicals” (from Quine, Notes on Existence and Necessity, 1943, p. 113) and is usually associated with the necessity direction of Leibniz’s law (“Eadem sunt quorum unum in alterius locum substitui potest, salva veritate”, Specimen calculi universalis, §8). However, it can be traced back as far as Aristotle (Top. VII, 1, 152b25–29; Soph. el. 24, 179a37) and was common lore among medieval philosophers (see e.g. Aquinas, S. theol. I, q. 40, a. 1:3, and Ockham, Ord. I, d.1, qq. 1 e 11, and d. 2, q. 4). Since the principle states that identical things must be indiscernible, its contrapositive says that things exhibiting different qualities must be nonidentical, and it is precisely in this form that the principle is invoked here: the body and the mere amount of flesh and bones would be distinct (“other”) because they are discernible (“differ”). 74. Il gòlemo [The golem] – The gigantic statue that guards the Circle; see XVIII, 50 and note. Apart from stressing further the symbolic function of such a guardian, the example chosen by Socrates makes it clear that the error in question does not only concern the material constitution of living organisms, as in the case suggested by the Poet; it extends to all material objects. The case of a stone statue was one of Abelard’s favorite examples (e.g. Log. ingr. I, 79, 5–17; Log. nostr. 522, 22–25) and was widely used in medieval commentaries on book VII of the Metaphysics. Aristotle himself wrote about a statue made of bronze, or of other materials (Met. VII, 3, 1029a3–5 and 7, 1033a17–18; VIII, 6, 1045a26–29), as well as other artifacts such as houses (VII, 7, 1033a19; 17, 1041a26) or books, urns, etc. (VIII, 2, 1042b17ff). 77–79. Che son… essenza [That those… essence] – A more explicit formulation of the indiscernibility principle used by the Poet at v. 71. As will soon be clear, Socrates does deny the validity of the principle; he denies the legitimacy of its application in establishing non-identity claims of the sort under consideration. 176 Canto XIX come ne l’omo e ’l corpo tu vedesti diverse condizioni d’esistenza”. Seventh Circle, Ring o’ the Dualistes tow’rds the materiall 177 e’en as in man and human body thou saw’st differing conditions of existence.” “Ma quella statua e creta che dicesti: che cosa l’addistingue e li separa? Non è che con l’essemplo tu m’attesti?”. 82 “But of that statue and of the clay thou say’st, what is it, that wou’d make them two and divers? Can’st thou inlighten me by way of sample?” “Torniamo addietro a le sepulcra amara”, ei dì, portando me, tra i fochi e i lumi, fin a una scura statua funerara. 85 “Let us return to those sepulchres grievous,” said Socrates. Whereon, through flares and flames, he took me where a feral statue standed. E preso un sasso a terra di tra i grumi o scaglia verso quella d’agil scatto:l non resta de la statua che frantumi. 88 He seizeth from the clumps aground a stone and of a sudden throweth it againstly: the statue shattereth to rubble ruins! “Cos’è avvenuto?”, domandommi ratto. Rispuosi ne la focolar riarsa: “Maestro, tu la statua hai or disfatto”. 91 “What hast thou witness’d here and now?” he ask’d me. Whence I, amid those fires, straight replied: “My Master, thou anientedest the statue.” “E dimmi de la creta: è discomparsa?”, continüò. E poi ch’ebbi pensato: “La creta è ancor tra noi, quantunque sparsa”. 94 “And tell me thou—the clay, is it evanish’d?” continued he. And I in answer thus: “The clay is still byfore us, albe scatter’d.” “Ed è così che questi ebber peccato. Ne la disgregazion de la matera l limitar del nulla è valicato?”. i 97 “Such was the misconception of those fools. In scattering the clay, have we travers’d the limites of nothingness withal?” “La statua non è più che prima era”, 100 80–81. Come… d’esistenza [E’en as… existence] – Socrates is referring to the argument put forward by the Poet in the previous Canto (vv. 152–156), to the effect that human persons and their bodies would be non-identical in virtue of their having different conditions of existence. 84. Non è… m’attesti? [Can’st thou… sample?] – The Poet is not satisfied with the analogy; he wants a concrete example of the sort of quality one might invoke to differentiate a material body from the very matter that composes it. 85. Sepulcra amara [Sepulchres grievous] – The uncovered tombs of the first Ring. 89–90. Lo scaglia… frantumi [Of a sudden… ruins] – This is Socrates’ response to the Poet’s request: a dramatic gesture, preluding to a follow-up explanation in typical maieutic style. 93–96. Maestro… sparsa [My Master… scatter’d] – The Poet reacts just as Socrates expected, asserting that now the statue is gone whereas the clay, though scattered all over the ground, is still present. The scene is probably in- “The statue, which once was, now is no more,” spired by a passage from Aquinas’ commentary on Peter Lombard’s Sentences: “Insofar as the statue belongs to the genus of artifacts by virtue of its form, which is a certain accident, the statue goes away as soon as you destroy it” (In Sent. IV, d. 44, q. 1, a. 1, qc. 2, ad 4). It would follow that before the accident, when the statue was still present, there were two (coinciding) objects, not one. This is precisely how the Poet had reasoned in the argument for soul-body dualism recalled at vv. 80–81, and it is this same line of reasoning that objectmatter dualists tend to use in conjunction with the indiscernibility principle (including the contemporary authors mentioned in note 65). 98–99. Ne la disgregazion… [In scattering…] – Read: when the statue was shattered, did something really cease to exist? There is perhaps a playful intent, here, in Socrates’ choice of words, which describe the passage from being to non-being with metaphor that has a distinct existentialist flavor (“the limites of nothingness”). 100. La statua… [The statue…] – The Poet’s affirmative answer confirms 178 Canto XIX i’ li risposi. Ed elli a me: “Ragiona. Se il console rimette ’l dicastera, Seventh Circle, Ring o’ the Dualistes tow’rds the materiall 179 responded I. And Socrates: “Consider. The day the consul abdicateth office, che cosa accade?”. “Tolta la corona non v’è più alcun legato consolare, se pur del consol resti la persona”. 103 what sayest thou?” “I say that, once decrown’d, the consular official is estinguish’d although the consul’s person will live on.” “E se non puote ’l console contare, forse una cosa manca a l’esistenza?”, riprese ’l duca mio a dimandare. 106 “And if we can no longer count the official, is something now amissing from the existents?” resum’d my Leader’s speech and questioning. “Chi avea la corona ora è senza, ma immutato è il conto de le cose; sol tanto, una di lor cangia parvenza”. 109 “The one who had a crown is now without, but equal is the number count of things; all only, one thereof transmuted semblance.” Ed ei: “Quando ’n frammenti si scompose la statua per il lancio de la peta, il dir la stessa cosa non s’impose? 112 And he: “When, by the inducement of my stone, the statue byfore us disintegrated, believest not the same should be profess’d? Era una statua e non l’è più, la creta. Ma non aumenta ’l conto né riduce de l’esistenza; solo cambia inqueta. 115 The clay ere was a statue, now is not. But all the same, existence groweth not and lessen’th not in number; it transmuteth. the misguided intuition that Socrates intends to eradicate, initiating a constructive explanation that will extend from the next verse (“Consider”) to v. 131. 102–111. Se il console… [The day…] – This first exchange is to establish an idea that will be crucial for the rest of the analysis: when a public office, such as a consul, resigns, we do not say that something ceases to exist; we say that someone ceases to exercise a certain function, to be in a certain way (parverza: semblance). In current terminology (from Wiggins, Identity and Spatiotemporal Continuity, 1967, pp. 7ff), this means that “consul” is a phase sortal, i.e., a predicate that an individual may satisfy temporarily, for a limited time of his or her existence; it is not a substance sortal, which by contrast would say something about a thing’s nature, an essential feature without which that thing cannot exist. For a realist philosopher, the distinction is germane to that between accidental and essential properties, respectively, as introduced and developed by Aristotle (Top. I, 5, 101b38–102b26; An. post. I, 4, 73a34–39; etc.). 112–117. Quando… [When…] – Here, then, is Socrates’ analysis, in line with the anti-essentialist nominalism developed in Cantos X–XI: like “consul”, the term “statue” is a phase sortal. Just as a person can cease to be a consul without this having any impact on the total “number count of things” (v. 110), so an amount of clay can cease to be a statue without this having any significant ontological consequences: it’s just that the geometrical shape of the clay has changed. The verbs “was” and “is” at v. 115 are just copulas of predica- tion; they do not stand for the relation of material constitution (as Wiggins would have it along with many others, e.g. Mark Johnston, Constitution Is Not Identity, 1992, and Lynne Baker, Why Constitution Is Not Identity, 1997) as they do not stand for a relation of contingent or occasional identity (as suggested by other contemporary philosophers, e.g. Allan Gibbard, Contingent Identity, 1975, and André Gallois, Occasions if Identity, 1998). Note that if we were to apply the same terminology to the soul-body problem, the monist analysis of the previous Canto would entail that even “person” is a mere phase sortal, like “student” or “caterpillar”. It is in this sense that “il corpo vivo accende ira o dolcezza, / non smove ’l corpo morto amor né dolo” and “l’anima è parola, e segna parte / di quel corpo che sei, l’albero e il frutto” (XVIII, 164–165 and 206–207). In medieval times, one philosopher who actually came close to holding this radical view was Gilbert de la Porrée: in Canto X, v. 163, the Poet lists him among the realists on universals punished in the third Circle; however, Gilbert’s criticism of Boethius’s doctrines led him to suggest that personhood is just an accident that gets “affixed” to the constitution of human beings (De Trin. I, v, 42), so in this regard the Poet should find Gilbert’s doctrine congenial. In contemporary philosophy, the view in question is somewhat more popular; it is endorsed, for instance, by William Carter (Do Zygotes Become People?, 1982), Paul Snowdon (Persons, Animals, and Ourselves, 1990), Eric Olson (The Human Animal, 1997), and Peter Hacker (Human Nature, 2007). 180 Canto XIX Seventh Circle, Ring o’ the Dualistes tow’rds the materiall Nulla vien a le spiagge de la luce, nulla giugne a la foce de la notte; etternamente tutto si conduce 118 For nothing com’th anent the shores of light and nothing to the estuary of night; eterminably everything endureth, e l’argini de l’esser mai son rotte”. “Non quel che v’è mai cambia; solo ’l modo?”, i’ fé. Ed ei: “Parole ben addotte 121 the verge of being is ne’er no wise infring’d.” “Not ever what there is, sole how it is, may change?” I said. And Socrates again: son queste tue che quivi prima odo. È che distinguer s’ha cose e concetta, ché lor confonder fa commercio frodo. 124 “Last, these thy words I hear are well proffer’d. Us it behoves to part conceits and things, as their confounding breedeth fraudfulness. Chi doppiamente intende poi s’affretta a dir ch’anco due cose sempre v’era: perciò l’argilla e la statua eretta, 127 For they who reckon twicely have propension to duplify the things of their conceivements; ther’fore the clay afrom the statue upright, 118. Spiagge de la luce [The shores of light] – The phrase comes from Ennius’ Annales (apud Cicero, De rep. I, xli, 64: “luminis oras”) and is often used by Lucretius to indicate the birth of a new life (De rer. nat. I, 23–24; I, 170; V, 224 and 779). The same use is found in Virgil (Georg. II, 47; Aen. VII, 660). The entire verse, together with the next one, is reminiscent of Anaxagoras’ motto: “Nothing comes into being or is destroyed; but all is an aggregation or secretion of pre-existent things” (Fr. 17, from Simplicius, Phys. 163, 18). Cf. also Empedocles: “There is no growth of any of all mortal things, nor any end in destructive death, but only mixture and interchange of what is mixed exists, and growth is the name given to them by men” (Fr. 8, from Plutarch, Adv. Col. X, 1111f–1112a; cp. Aristotle, Met. V, 4, 1014b35–1015a3; Aëtius, Plac. I, xxx, 1). 120–121. Etternamente… rotte [Eterminably… infring’d] – See again Empedocles: “These are all, and, as they course along through one another, now this, now that is born—and so forever down Eternity” (Fr. 17, from Simplicius, Phys. 157, 25). The thesis also recurs in Democritus (Diogenes Laertius, Vitae philos. VI, 44), Epicurus (Ep. Her. 38–39), and Lucretius (De rer. nat. I, 248– 264) and informs the law of mass conservation of modern science: “In all the operations of art and nature, nothing is created; an equal quantity of matter exists both before and after the experiment; the quality and quantity of the elements remain precisely the same; and nothing takes place beyond changes and modifications in the combination of these elements” (Lavoisier, Traité élémentaire de chimie, 1789, I, ch. 13). 122. Non quel… modo? [Not ever… change?] – The Poet’s question sums up nicely the conclusion of the discussion so far. However, his wording hides a serious problem: how can the same things continue to exist, if their qualities— how they are—may change? Socrates does not comment, but this will be the very focus of the next Canto. 181 125. Cose e concetta [Conceits and things] – The ontological importance of this distinction was already the core philosophical lesson of the Lustful in Canto IX. But whereas in that context the problem stemmed from the mistaken belief that every concept corresponds to some object, here the error lies in the inclination to think that distinct concepts must correspond to distinct objects, as Socrates will now clarify. 126. Fa commercio frodo [Breedeth fraudfulness] – Becauses it passes something off as something else. 127–128. Chi doppiamente… [They who reckon…] – Here is the source of the error: it is the easiness with which we conclude that terms such as “statue” and “clay” must perforce connote distinct entities just because they express different concepts. If the concepts are different, then it is reasonable to suppose the things that fall under one may not fall under the other; but that is not to say that what does in fact fall under a concept may not in fact fall under the other concept as well. A lump of clay need not be a statue, just as a statue need not be made of clay; but this clay may very well be a statue, this statue may very well be nothing over and above a lump of clay. So the indiscernibility principle of vv. 71 and 77 is perfectly fine, as is its contrapositive: things that are qualitatively different must be numerically distinct. (Thus, for instance, Juvenal is right when he concludes that a statue is not the same as the person it portrays, for “its head is stone, yours lives”; Sat. VIII, 55.) But because qualitative difference concerns the characteristics of things, not of the concepts we use to represent those things, to apply the principle in order to draw ontological discriminations from conceptual distinctions is to incur in a fallacy. In the medieval terminology due to Abelard (Logica ‘ingredientibus’, part III, Sup. Per.), this is the fallacy of confusing distinctions de sunsu and distinctions de rebus. In the parallel terminology used by Aquinas (De propositionibus modalibus), it is the fallacy of confusing possibility de dicto and possibility de re. 182 Canto XIX Seventh Circle, Ring o’ the Dualistes tow’rds the materiall qual astro del mattino e de la sera, fa sette. E tu ancor non ingannarti”, diceva ne l’andar per l’aere nera, 130 like aster seen at dawn and seen at dusk, they sever. Alikewise thou shalt not err,” continu’d he, amid that sable air, “con quei che cose vol moltiplicarti però che ha più concetta: chi distinge il tutto da la somma de le parti 133 “like unto him, who things multiplicateth because he avoweth multiple conceits: those, who discouple whole and part assemblage, di questa stessa colpa si dipinge. E presto tu vedrai di quali teme è punizion che quivi li costringe. 136 succumb to this one same misappreciation. Thou well shalt see, and soon, how terrifying the paynes they ’re doomed to suffer in this land. Il grano in mucchio è altro d’ogne seme e il tutto non è mai parte ciascuna; ma ’l mucchio enno i semi presi assieme. 139 The grains that make a heap are each diverse, and never shall a part amount the whole; nath’less, the heap is but the grains to-gether. Se quelli conti ben sanza lacuna, 142 In counting every each of them, in sooth 130. Qual astro… sera [Like aster… dusk] – Deceived by the morning and evening appearances of Venus, ancient observers believed they were seeing two distinct celestial bodies (Tioumoutiri and Ouâiti for the Egyptians, Phosphorus and Hesperus for the Greeks). According to Diogenes Laertius, the first to recognize their identity was Pythagoras, or perhaps Parmenides (Vitae philos. VIII, 14; IX, 23; cp. Aëtius, Plac. II , xv, 4), though the tablet of Ammi-Saduq clearly indicates that the Babylonians had already reached the same conclusion many centuries before, identifying Venus with the personification of the goddess of love, Ištar. What is clear is that in this case the different conditions of applicability of the two concepts, “star visible in the morning” and “star visible in the evening”, did not in th end prevent us from realizing that both concepts can actually apply to one and the same object (a planet, as it turns out). In contemporary philosophy, the example will become paradigmatic with Gottlob Frege, who used it to illustrate that two expressions with different sense can have the same reference (Über Sinn und Bedeutung, 1892). 131. Sette [Sever(ed)] – Separated, distinct; literally: cut, from the Latin verb “secare”. This is the same term used by the Poet in XVIII, 121 (and by Dante in Purg. XVIII, 49) to indicate the separation between matter and substantial form. 134–136. Chi… dipinge [Those… misappreciation] – Now that the dualist error of distinguishing an object from its matter as been identified, Socrates applies the same diagnosis to the related dualist thesis according to which a whole is distinct from the sum of its parts. This thesis, extensively discussed by Plato in the Theaetetus (202d ff), occupies a prominent position in Aristotle’s metaphysics (Top. VI, 13, 150a15–20; Met. VII, 17, 1041b11–18; VIII, 6, 1045a8–10) and circulated widely in the middle ages, both through the Aristo- 183 telian commentators (e.g. Aquinas, In Met. VII, 17, 1673) and through the writings of openly anti-nominalist philosophers such as Duns Scotus and Alberich of Paris (about whom see below, vv. 161–163 and notes). Also in this case, the thesis continues to be widely endorsed by contemporary philosophers, from Peter Simons (Parts, 1987) and Jonathan Lowe (Kinds of Being, 1989) to Ariel Meirav (Wholes, Sums and Unities, 2003), Lynne Baker (The Metaphysics of Everyday Life, 2007), and Kathrin Koslicki (The Structure of Objects, 2008), among others. Socrates already criticized such a thesis implicitly in the previous Canto, when he appealed to the nominalist intuition according to which there is no distinction of entities without distinction of content (XVIII, 104–105). 139–141. Il grano… assieme [The grains… to-gether] – The example of the heap is also discussed in the Convivio, where Dante says the grains have “a true and primary essence in themselves”, whereas the heap has only a “secondary essence” (IV, xxix, 8). Here, however, the thesis that the Poet ascribes to Socrates is more radical: granted that the heap is distinct from the individual grains, it is not a further thing; the heap just is the grains taken collectively. This is exactly how Hobbes will put it: “The whole and all the parts taken together are the same thing” (De corpore, II, vii, 8). It is also how the view is often stated in contemporary philosophy, following Donald Baxter: “The whole is simply the many parts with their distinctness from each other not mattering” (Identity in the Loose and Popular Sense, 1988, p. 579). David Lewis labels this view “composition as identity”: “The ‘are’ of composition is, so to speak, the plural form of the ‘is’ of identity” (Parts of Classes, 1991, p. 82). 142–144. Se quelli… [In counting…] – The verb “count” is understood here in a strict ontological sense, as already at v. 110 (“the number count of 184 Canto XIX anch’ esso tu hai contato ’n veritade; se conti ’l mucchio, quei non cont’ alcuna: Seventh Circle, Ring o’ the Dualistes tow’rds the materiall 185 thou hast the heap accounted thoroughly; in counting the one heap, thou hast therewith la stessa porzïon de la realtade, l’istessa quantità sono e ricopre”. Allor fu ch’elli accenna ’n vari grade, 145 accounted for the grains. It is bothwise the same apportion of reality.” ’Twas then that he made gesture forthwardly. e questo è quel ch’io vede e mi discopre: l’orrore. Ché l’istoria è un mattatoio, il macellar motora le sue opre. 148 And thereupon mine eyes were fed by this: the horror. History is an abattoir; a butcher executeth its performents. Sì onne sangue che m’assorbe e ingoio e mai nasconde del su’ olor la terra, onne smembrar di lebbra che si moio, 151 Thus ev’ry blood that I ingest and seethe and knoweth no concealment for its stench, ev’ry dismemberment of leprous death, onne mutilazion che fa ogne guerra, onne ferita e piaga che dilugia s’impremono su quei che qui s’atterra. 154 ev’ry dislaught’rage in the wake of warfare, ev’ry disfigurement and ev’ry plague beset the maledicts that met my sight. Vidi un ch’a bocca squassa fa pertugia, uno che in mano ammozze ten le cosce, tra le gambe pendevan le minugia 157 I saw one, whose dishiver’d mouth broke windes, and one, whose sever’d thighs were in his hands; another, ’tween the legs his entrails hung. d’un altro ancor. In mezzo a quell’ angosce vidi ’l dottor sottile ed il suo avanzio, 160 Amidst that martyrement, I then beheld the Subtle Doctor, carrying his remainants, things”). Thus: if we count all the grains, we have thereby counted the heap; and if we count the heap, there is no point in counting also the grains that make it up. Compare again Baxter: “The whole is the many parts counted as one thing. [It] is just the parts counted loosely” (pp. 579–580). 145. La stessa porzïon de la realtade [The same apportion of reality] – Lewis uses this very exact phrase to characterize the composition-as-identity thesis: “Take them together or take them separately, the [grains] are the same portion of Reality either way” (cit., p. 81, substituing “grains” for “cats”). David Armstrong calls this “the doctrine of the ontological free lunch” (A World of States of Affairs, 1997, p. 13). 147. Allor fu [’Twas then] – An abrupt change of style, to mark the return from the abstract philosophical discussion to the reality of the punishment afflicting the damned of the second Ring of the Cicle, which Socrates and the Poet are finally entering. 149. L’orrore [The horror] – One single noun to describe the terrifying scene that unfolds in front of the Poet, as in is the last words Joseph Conrad puts into mouth of the enigmatic Kurtz: “He had summed up—he had judged. ‘The horror!’ ” (The Heart of Darkness, 1899, III, p. 650). 149–150. Mattatoio [Abattoir] – The image will return vividly in the introduction to Hegel’s Philosophie der Gesschichte (1840), where history is compared to “a slaughter-bench at which the happiness of peoples, the wisdom of States, and the virtue of individuals have been victimised”; III, ii, 2). Also Dante, who condemns the Sowers of Discord of the ninth Bolgia to a similar punishment, introduces the scene with reminiscences of the “blood pourings” and the “piles of bones” that accumulate in war times (Inf. XXVIII, 9 and 15). 152. Olor [Stench] – A latinism, as in Fiore (XXI, 1). 157. The proper description of the scene begins here. The ruthless mutilations that the damned must undergo by contrapasso—stomping forward in the mud, dragging their own limbs and carrying chunks of their own fragmented bodies—parallels the materialist description of the human body at v. 70. 159. Tra… minugia [’tween… hung] – Dante uses the same verse in Inf. XXVIII, 25. The image is usually traced back to Lucan (“Dissiluit stringens uterum membrana, fluuntque viscera”; Phars. IX, 773–774). 161. Dottor sottile [Subtle Doctor] – The Scottish philosopher and theologian John Duns Scotus (1265–1308), one of the most influential schoolmen of the high middle ages, renamed “Doctor Subtilis” by his contemporaries for his 186 Canto XIX e Trottula e Mnesarco, e i’ riconosce Seventh Circle, Ring o’ the Dualistes tow’rds the materiall 187 and Trotula and Mnesarchus; I descried Alberico e Temistio di Bisanzio e Listra, ch’onne cosa in quel che pote a sdoppia, ed infine anco Cleanzio:l 163 Alberich and Themistius of Byzantium, and Lystra, who made two of every thing she could, and finally withal Cleanthes: tutt’ eran mezzi e mozzi in quelle mote. 166 all mutilate, all wane and drench’d in mire. subtle and nuanced mastery of argumentation (or his nitpicking style, according to detractors). He was a staunch defender of the supremacy of the whole with respect to the parts, holding that “totum sit ens eliud ab omnibus partibus coinctum et divisim” (Ord. III, d. 2, q. 2, n. 7; see also Rep. paris. III, d. 2, q. 1, n. 9). In the Italian text, the verse involves a wordplay on “avanzio”, which is ambiguous between Scotus’ proceeding and the remaining of his own body. 162. Trottula e Mnesarco [Trotula and Mnesarchus] – Trotula de Ruggiero (11th–12th cent.), a renown physician of the medical school of Salerno, and Mnesarch of Athens (c. 160–185 BCE), whom Cicero lists among the main exponent of Stoicism (Acad. pr. II, xxii, 69). Concerning the latter, the Poet is certainly relying on the following passage: “Things which are the same should have the same properties. If, for the sake of argument, someone were to mould a horse, squash it, then make a dog, it would be reasonable for us on seeing this to say that this previously did not exist but now does exist. So what is said when it comes to the qualified thing is different. So too in general when it comes to substance, to hold that we are the same as our substances seems unconvincing; for […] after Socrates’ destruction the substance remains although he no longer exists” (from Stobaeus, Eclog. Phys. I, xx, 7). Note that here Mnesarch is explicitly appealing to the contrapositive of the identity of indiscernibles (see above, n. 71). On the other hand, it is unclear why the Poet includes the Salernitan mulier sapiens, whom Rutebeuf called “the wisest woman in the four parts of the world” (Diz de l’erberie, c. 1260), among the damned of this Ring. Presumably, Trotula expressed dualist opinions in her teachings on the human body. However, the writings that have survived (a hefty treatise on obstetrics and gynecology, a minor treatise on cosmetics, and a Practam secundum Trotam) do not contain any specific remarks supporting this conjecture and justifying the indictment. 163. Alberico e Temistio di Bisanzio [Albéric and Themistius of Byzantium] – The first name is of dubious interpretation. It could refer to Albéric of Reims (c. 1085–1141), who studied theology under Anselm of Laon and dialectic under Guillame de Champeaux (one of the realists punished by the Poet in the third Circle) and who served as a major instigator of the proceedings against Abelard at the Council of Soissons in 1121 (Historia calamitatum, ch. 9). Or it could refer to Master Albéric of Paris, a prominent teacher of logic in the school of Mont Sainte-Geneviève at around the same time, whom John of Salisbury describes as “a most bitter opponent of the Nominalist sect” (Meta- log. II, 10). There is no way to determine which Albéric the Poet has in mind, but the latter identification seems more likely: while Albéric of Reims’s animosity toward Abelard was personal, John says that Master Albéric’s was genuinely philosophical, and we know from the Introductiones Montane minores (c. 1130) that in the course of his fierce disputes with the nominalists he openly endorsed dualist positions concerning both material constitution (the statue and the clay) and mereological composition (the whole and its parts). As for Themistius of Byzantium (317–388), he is best known for his career as a statesman and rhetorician, but Photius tells us that he was also a prolific commentator and epitomist of Aristotle and, more generally, “a lover and eager student of philosophy” (Bibl. 74, 52a). His inclusion in this precinct of Helle is probably due to the fact that his paraphrase of De Anima (III, 4, 429b10–11) insisted on the applicability of the hylomorphic theory not only to substances, but also to artifacts: things such as statues and houses would be what they are in virtue of a “particular combination” of the matter that constitutes them and of the parts that compose them. 164. Listra [Lystra] – There are no records of philosophers with this name. It must have been a minor figure whose writings have gone missing, though well known to the Poet for her (or his) attitude to duplicate all things. It is also possible that the Poet is just playing with a fictional name, personalyzing the lost city of Lystra mentioned a few times in the New Testament (Acts 14:6, 8, 21; 16:1; 2 Timothy 3:11). We have no information on the etymology, but in Greek “Lystra” is evocative of the verb λυω, which expresses the unbinding or dispersing of what was previously unified, as with the dismantling/disintegration of ships (Acts 27:41), temples (John 2:19), or the whole world (2 Peter 3:10–12). As a name for a fictional representative of these poor sinners, it would certainly be most appropriate. 165. Cleanzio [Cleanthes] – Again, the identification of this character is dubious. The name may suggest Cleanthes of Assos (c. 330–232 BCE), second scholarch of the Stoic school in Athens after Zeno and teacher of Chrysippus, but nothing in the doctrines of this philosopher would justify his inclusion in the present Ring (except, perhaps, his putative sympathies towards the practice of cannibalism; see Theophilus, Ad Autol. III, 5, 119c; Diogenes Laërtius, Vitae philos. VII, 121). It is more probable that the character in question is yet another minor figure of whom we have no record. 166. Mote [Mire] – The muddiness of the environment underscores the 188 Canto XIX E mentre noi stavamo in quei costoni, sentii la terra trema e tutto scote Seventh Circle, Ring o’ the Dualistes tow’rds the materiall 189 Then, while we were descending down the steep, I sudden heard the earth aquake: all trembl’d e fa moncheri, cancheri e tronconi ciascuno, che riman sol spargliolìo di arti, ossa, nerve ed interioni 169 and every one discrash’d, disrupt and scattered, whence all that was beleft was an amass of limbs and bones and nerves and viscera, sì ch’è un carnaio immenso ’l loco rio. E pendula appendici, e li brandelli si movon, si rattaccan, eziandio 172 a gigantean carnage altogæther. But now, lo! the appendages are quiv’ring, those shreds of flesh begin to toss, they move, rifanno ’n più mostrose mucchia i felli. E un che pien di pustole ha l’addome ven spaventoso a me tra tutti quelli: 175 they unify to recreate those wretched with e’en more monstrousness. A pustulent and fearful one advanceth toward me: il capo tronco tene per le chiome pesol, con mano, a guisa di lanterna; e proprio in quel che l’occhia sgrana indome 178 he carrieth in his hand his own lopt head as ’twere a lantern, dangling by the hair; and as his eyes grow round to look at me, un altro terramoto lo squinterna da capo, e schicca sassi e roccia dura, e sbriciolassi la matteria etterna. 181 another quake dismember’th him apart again, and rocks and stones fly everywhither, and the everlasting matter pulverizeth. Fragilità: è questa la natura? 184 Fragility: is this the ultime nature? analogy between the case of the inanimate objects, such as a clay statue, and that of the human body, which was the Poet’s initial example. The analogy is further strengthened by the destructive power of the earthquakes described in the following verses, which turn the damned into a “carnage” (v. 172). 167–175. E mentre… [Then, while…] – The earthquake—which will soon strike again and is thus a recurring feature of this infernal place—contributes an important symbolic component to the dynamics of the punishment. The violent shaking causes the damned to collapse and fall apart, exactly like the statue struck by Socrates’ stone at vv. 88–90; and as soon as they manage to recompose themselves, hastily and “with e’en more monstrousness”, they crumble again under the impact of a new quake. This is a ruthless application of the law of contrappasso for those who believed that their bodies were other—and more—than the mere sum of their parts. 176. E un che… [A pustulent…] – An unidentified character, which the Poet entrusts with the Canto’s finale. 178–179. Il capo… lanterna [He carrieth… hair] – Dante uses the same words, with just different punctuation, to describe the decapitaded Bertran de Born pacing among the schismatics of the ninth Bolgia (Inf. XXVIII, 121– 122). It is in fact Bertran who, in explaining his punishment, reveals the logic of contrapasso followed by Dante throughout Inferno: “Because I parted persons so united, / parted do I now bear my brain, alas! / from its beginning, which is in this trunk. / Thus is observed in me the counterpoise” (139–142). 180. L’occhia sgrana indome [His eyes grow round] – Because surprised at the sight of Socrates and the Poet. Evidently, the poor damned can still see through his severed head, exactly as Dante’s Bertran can still speak, since “they were two in one, and one in two” (Inf. XXVIII, 125). 181. Un altro terramoto [Another quake] – This confirms that the earthquake mentioned at v. 168 was not an isolated event. But the Poet uses this detail to introduce one last philosophical reflection, and with it the theme of the next Canto: the persistence of things through the many changes, some of which quite extraordinary, that come into their lives. 182. Da capo [Again] – The Italian phrase has a semantic twist that gets lost in the English translation, since “capo” is also a word for “head”: a pungent equivocation on the dreadful condition of this character. 183. Sbriciolassi [Pulverizeth] – As with the golem, but with renewed emphasis on the fact that matter lasts forever even when turned to dust. 184. Fragilità… natura? [Fragility… nature?] – The question summarizes the entire philosophical picture that unfolded throughout the Canto: the only 190 Canto XIX È in questa sua fattura che resiste, rinnovellando il tutto che frattura? Paura e comprensione insieme miste, ancor tremando, volgo ’l guardo al duca. “Andiamo. Seguitiamo. Non t’attriste”. Seventh Circle, Ring o’ the Dualistes tow’rds the materiall 191 Is this the charact, wherby it resisteth, renoveling the allness that it shatters? 187 nature of things lies in their fragility, and those changes that we tend to conceptualize as births and deaths, or creation and destruction, are just transformations in the continuous flux of existence. This is perhaps the most explicit tribute to Lucretius after the suggestive hints at vv. 118–121, definitely sealed with the implicit citation in v. 186 below. 186. Rinnovellando il tutto [Renoveling the allness] – “For in such wise primordials of things, / many in many modes, astir by blows / from immemorial aeons, in motion too / by their own weights, have evermore been wont / to be so borne along and in all modes / to meet together and to try all sorts / which, Fear and discernment mingling thus within, still shivering, I turn to my wise Guide. “Come now. Let us go forth. Be not attristed.” by combining one with other, they / are powerful to create, […] whereby / this sum of things is carried on to-day / by fixed renewal” (De rer. nat. V, 188– 195). 187. Paura… miste [Fear… within] – As in Dante (Purg. XXXI, 13), but with “comprensione” (discernment) in place of “confusione” (confusion). 189. Andiamo… [Come now… ] – These are Socrates’ words: not an answer to the questions he reads in the Poet’s eyes, but the encouragement the Poet needs, along with a paternal plea to proceed in the strenuous path of intellectual redemption they embarked together. Their journey is still long. Canto XX Canto XX overo del Rivo cangiante, luogo de’ Timorosi del mutamento or, the flowin’ River, site o’ the Fearfull of change – Leaving the Circle of the dualists, Socrates and the Poet come to the banks of a singing river, where a ship under the command of Theseus is ready to take them to the next Circle (1– 48). During the crossing, while some sailors are busy repairing the vassel, the Poet sits with the rest of the crew who offer him bread and wine (49–69) and tell him about the fears and mysteries surrounding the problem of identity through change (70–194). The Poet learns that their punishment has left them with no memories, forcing them to an eternity without history. Upon nearing their destination, on the other side of the river, the Poet promises to remember the mariners and to treasure their words (195–229). ARGUMENT 194 Canto XX The flowin’ River, site o’ the Fearfull of change “Sorelle onde, sù venite, andiamo! Noi siam vergini scure e spose chiare. Il crisantemo secco, il verde ramo, 1 “Ho! sister waves, come on, on our way! We, darksome virgins! We, refulgent brides! The dry chrysanthemum, the verdant twig, le vigne dolci, le ginepre amare nei nostri ventri e letti nascondiamo. Sempre diverse in questo nostr’ andare, 4 the dulceous grapes, the bitter junipers in our wombs we hide, in our beds. Forever different in this parade, laviamo l’osso e il sasso levighiamo. Noi goccioliamo l’anima nel mare. Sorelle onde, sù venite, andiamo!” 7 we wash the bone and wear the stone away. Into the sea we melten our souls. Ho! sister waves, come on, on our way!” Tale canzone parvemi ascoltare, sì che mi volsi a Socrate, mio lume, onde saver che cosa è quel cantare. 10 This song I seem’d to hear discernibly whence to my light, to Socrates, I turned to learn about its source and what it was. “Quel che tu senti è ’l gorgogliar del fiume, quel fiume che etternamente scorre e cangia l’acqua e cangia sempre schiume”, 13 “Thou hearest in this place the river’s gurgle, that river which for everlasting floweth with ever-newer water, newer foams,” mi disse mentre vïa noi si corre da dove onne dualista ven punito. Ond’ io tale dimanda venni a porre: 16 he said to me as we were taking leave of where every those dualists are payned. Whereon to him this further question put I: “È questo come il rivo d’Eraclito, che nulla vi s’ammerge mai due volte 19 “Is this like to the stream of Heraclitus, whereinto naything twice can e’er immerse, 1. Sorelle onde… [Ho! sister waves…] – The incipit in medias res, with the song rising from the river, is the narrative response to Socrates’ last words, which invited the Poet to put all sadness aside and continue the journey. The lines follow each other in alternate rhyme (ABA BAB ABA) to make the song self-contained, as already with Sappho’s poem declaimed by Socrates in XI, 40–45. 6. Sempre diverse… [Forever different…] – This will be the central topic of the Canto: the identity of things through the uninterrupted changes in their qualities and parts. 7. Il sasso levighiamo [Wear the stone away] – Classic metaphor (from Job, 14:19) for the power of time to work gradual alterations even in the more resistant things. 14. Quel fiume [That river] – Ambiguous. It may refer back to the anticipation in XIX, 50, or it may be a reference to the river mentioned by Heraclitus in V, 127, of which these gurgling waves would be a symbolic incarnation. In any case, this is the fourth river we meet in Helle, after the Acheron and the Amelete separating the Vestibule from the first Circle and the river “in four 195 streams” of the third Circle cited in XI, 55 (to which we may add the “acqua poca” of V, 102, near which Heraclitus himself was sitting with Parmenides in the first Circle, and, perhaps, a river in the first Zone of the fifth Circle hinted at in XIV, 16). In Dante’s infernal landscape, there are overall six water courses: the Acheron (Inf. III, 78ff), the small river encircling the castle in Limbo (IV, 108), the Styx (VII, 106ff), the Phlegethon (XII, 46ff), the Cocytus (XXXII, 22ff), and the “small rivulet” of the dungeon natural (XXXIV, 127ff). 17. Da dove… [Of where…] – From the seventh Circle, site of the dualists. 19. Il rivo d’Eraclito [The stream of Heraclitus] – Cf. V, 128–130 and note. 20. Che nulla… [Whereinto naything…] – In the fifth Canto, Heraclitus’ words echoed his Fr. 91: “It is not possible to step twice into the same river, nor is it possible to touch a mortal substance twice in so far as its state is concerned” (from Plutarch, De Ei, 18, 392b; see also Nat. Quaest. 2, 912a; De Sera 15, 539c; Plato, Crat. 402a; Aristotle, Met. III, 5, 1010a13). We may also recall Fr. 12: “On those who enter the same rivers, ever different waters flow” (from Arius Didymus, apud Eusebius, Praep. evang. XV, xx; cf. Sextus Empiricus, Pyrrh. hypot. III, xvii, 115). This second formulation is weaker, for it 196 Canto XX e mai comincia e non è mai finito?”. The flowin’ River, site o’ the Fearfull of change 197 and which hath no commence and never endeth?” “Quest’ è quistione iscura tra le molte pel fiume e onne altra cosa ammessa: che qualitade differenti ha colte 22 “This matter, like so others, is obscure about the stream and ev’ry thing admitted: each one attaineth quallities diverse e pur rimane assempre lei la stessa. Era al riparo ed ora è nudo ’l seme, la cortica d’abete annera e ispessa, 25 and yet abideth everly the same. The seed which lay in safe is now exposed; the fir-tree barque awortheth dark and thick; e tu che t’affatichi pien di speme affranto e sazio eri a la paluda: maturazione le pareti preme 28 and thou, who art now striving full of hope, thou wast replete and wretchful in the swamps: maturement presseth hard upon the walls ad onne frutta ch’era acerba e cruda”. Sì dissemi. E a quei flutti corali che segnan ove ’l setto cerchio chiuda 31 of every fruit that was unripe and crude.” Thus he replied. And to those choral waves which signate where the seventh circle endeth e dov’ ottavo affonda i suo’ unghiali si venne noi. E veggio l’acqua carca, quell’onde sempiterne mai equali, 34 and where the eighth beginn’th to sink its claws we came. And there I sighted that the water, that sempiternal stream never alike, di quella ch’era una giganta barca. Son mille anime al ponte che io veo, son mille anime stinte che le ’mbarca. 37 was laden with a giant river vessel. I saw a thousand souls standing on deck, a thousand pallid souls cramming aboard. suggests that the river could retain its identity despite its ever-changing waters. There is also a third fragment: “Into the same rivers we step and do not step, we are and we are not” (Fr. 49a, from Heraclitus alleg., Hom. 24). This is the most radical formulation of the allegory of the πάντα ῥεῖ, but also the most dubious one. Hegel will read into it no less than the foundation of the dialectical thesis according to which “Being and non-being are the same” (Vorlesungen über die Gesch. der Philos, 1832 posth., I, i, 1.D.1), violating the Aristotelian principle of non-contradiction (Met. III, 2, 996b30; IV, 2, 1005b24). Parmenides, too, sums up Heraclitus’ position along the same lines: “Undiscerning crowds, in whose eyes the same thing and not the same is and is not” (Fr. 6, from Simplicius, Phys. 117, 2). 21. E mai… [And which…] – Here the Poet is combining Heraclitus’ “everything flows” with Anaxagoras’ and Empedocles’ “nothing is ever born, nothing ever dies”, a leitmotiv of the previous Canto (esp. vv. 118–121). 22. Iscura [Obscure] – In the first Circle, the Poet referred to Heraclitus himself using the Aristotelian epithet “the obscure” (V, 109). 23. Onne altra cosa ammessa [Ev’ry thing admitted] – All material particulars, as per the austere nominalist ontology developed throughout the journey. 24–25. Che qualitade… [Each one…] – An explicit formulation of the problem of identity through time: how can something persist numerically identical, if every change it undergoes makes it qualitatively different? Cf. Parmenides: “Therefore must it either exist entirely or be not at all” (Fr. 8, from Simplicius, Phys. 145, 1). The question relates to the Poet’s observation in XIX, 122 and will be in the background of the entire Canto. 26. Era al riparo… [The seed…] – Socrates’ examples echo Heraclitus’: cf. V, 110–111 and note. 28. E tu… [And thou…] – This last example trades on the monistic theses of Cantos XVIII and XIX, according to which living organisms, too, are just material bodies. 29. A la paluda [In the swamps] – That is, before starting the journey. 30–31. Maturazione… [Maturement] – A veiled hint to the fact that the Poet himself is still undergoing a process of philosophical maturation. 37. Barca [Vessel] – The ship Socrates announced in XIX, 50. 38. Mille anime [A thousand souls] – After the bodily crudeness of the language and scenes of the two anti-dualist Cantos, the Poet returns to speaking generically of “souls”. 198 Canto XX The flowin’ River, site o’ the Fearfull of change Poi veggio una più grande d’ogni reo che scende inverso noi fin su la riva. “Colui che ven di qui, quelli è Teseo, 40 Then one of them, and bigger, I descry descending tow’rds us unto the shore. “The one who is drawing nigh—that one is Theseus. e quella la sua barca. In quella stiva raggiugneremo noi destinazione ch’a loco ancor più scuro mena e arriva”. 43 The ship is his; and in its hold ere long another destination we shall reach which leadeth to an ever darker place.” Di sovra noi le mani assorte impone quell’ anima sì grande, che d’un filo guidò l’amore fuor di perdizione. 46 That august soul, whom with a single thread out of perdition love had pulled away, layeth his earnest hands upon our heads. La scala a corda a la parete ’nfilo e meco ’l duca, che m’era vicino, salendo su la nave filo affilo. 49 Thereat I, with my Guide always by me, obtain to the rope ladder on the side and climb into the boat ensuingly. E quando noi sul ponte fummo infino m’assisi tra de l’anime malconde che subito m’offriron pane e vino. 52 And once that we had reach’d the deck, alast I sat amidst of certain doleful souls who offer’d me forthwith some bread and wine. Frattanto altri al canto di quell’ onde il loro mescolaro andando a’ remi, sì che lasciò la barca quelle sponde. 55 Immediately some others, joining chorus with those melodious waves, went at the oars, wherefore the ship departed from those shores. E tosto che si mosse, alcun si fremi a lavorar di lena mai sopita al marcio ventre di quella triremi, 58 And as it made to move, some more commenc’d to work energically without a pause in the decaying bowels of that trireme 42. Teseo [Theseus] – The legendary king of Athens of Greek mythology. According to the version of the myth mentioned in Homer (Odyss. XI, 631), and to which Hesiod dedicated a whole poem (Pausanias, Graec. descr. IX, xxxi, 5), he was among the ones who came back alive from the world of afterlife (with the help of Hercules). Dante, too, mentions him briefly as one of the few who preceded him in the underworld (Inf. IX, 54). He appears here because of the paradigmatic role played by his ship in the philosophical discussion on persistence through time, concerning which see infra, vv. 62–67 and 122–124. 45. Loco ancor più scuro [An ever darker place] – The eight Circle, which is darker than the previous ones, in accordance with the general rule of Helle described in V, 56–57. 47–48. Che d’un filo… [With a single thread…] – The reference here is to the episode of Ariadne’s thread. On Theseus’s arrival in Crete, the daughter of King Minos fell in love with him and escorted him to the Labyrinth of Knossos, which Theseus was to enter to find and kill the Minotaur; there, on the ad- 199 vice of Daedalus, she gave him a ball of thread so he could keep track of his path in the Labyrinth and find the way out. The episode is narrated by PseudoApollodorus (Epit. I, 8–9) and Diododrus Siculus (Bibl. hist. IV, lxi, 4) and then recounted in various ways by Virgil (Aen. VI, 32–35), Ovid (Metam. VIII, 169–176; Her. IV, 59–61), Propertius (Eleg. IV, 4), Plutarch (Vita Thes. XIX, 1) and many others. Dante implicitly refers to it in Inf. XII, 20. In the present context, there is an obvious hint to the redeeming journey the Poet is going through, as he himself is looking for a way out of the swamps under the guide of “love” (l’amore, in subject position in v. 48): the love for wisdom, but also the love of the Lady of the Heavens. 54. Che subito… [Who offer’d me…] – An unexpected humane gesture that has no counterpart in Dante’s Inferno. Indeed, Dante never says a word about eating or drinking anything during his journey through hell. 59–60. A lavorar… [To work…] – The symbolic significance of this scene, and of the sailors’ explanation in the verses that follow, will be made explicit later (vv. 122–114). 200 Canto XX The flowin’ River, site o’ the Fearfull of change ch’i’ chiesi che facea quell’ accolita. “Si premon questa barca d’aggiustare, ch’è sempre più vetusta e diperita: 61 which made me yern to ask about their deeds. “They labour to repair this battered vessel, which ever older grow’th and more impair’d: l’assi di legno guasto e pien di tare ei scambiano con altri più robusti, e al fiume a fine che li sperda ’n mare 64 the rotten wooden planks and full of cracks they supersede with others, more robustious, and throwing the old ones into the river ei gettan quell’ acciacchi e crepi fusti”. Sì dissemi un tra quelli che sedemmo. Io: “Voi che fé, che favvi così frusti?”. 67 in order that they be dispersed at sea.” Thus said a voice amid those sedent souls. And I : “What did ye doe, whereof you grieve?” “Sapessimo chi siam, qui non saremmo!”, rispuose un altro di tra quella folla. Mentre passava ’l pane, vidi accremmo 70 “If who we are we knew, here we nould be,” amidst that crowd another made response. As bread was passing ’round, I saw we grew. ed un prende a sfogliare una cipolla e a litanare queste verba grame: “La prima pelle lacera si scolla: 73 Then one betook himself to peel an onion and to recite this letany despondent: “There goes the first, the outer tattered skin: son io, che mi naufràgo s’un rottame. Per ogni foglia e velo che si spicce m’attende polpa, succo, o ver la fame? 76 ’Tis I, while cast adrift the wreck I was in. For ev’ry skin and layer which cometh off what is in wait—the pulp, the juice, or hunger? Vedi quest’ altra pelle che s’appicce e che di lagrimar più m’addolora? Son io, il cacciatore di pellicce. 79 Do ye behold this other curling skin which bringeth to mine eyes a greater pain? ’Tis I, the free pelt hunter. And this one, 62–67. Si premon… [They labour…] – Cf. Plutarch’s description: “The ship on which Theseus sailed with the youths and returned in safety had thirty oars, and was preserved by the Athenians down even to the time of Demetrius Phalereus, for they took away the old planks as they decayed, putting in new and sound timber in their places” (Vita Thes. XXIII, 1). 70. Sapessimo… [If who we are…] – A first hint to the painful curse afflicting these sailors: they are deprived of their own personal identity. This explains why the Poet will refrain from providing any information that might lead to their identification with actual historical figures. Some of them will nonetheless take turns and try say who they are and why they are here. 72. Accremmo [We grew] – Read: grew in number. But the language is also alluding to the “growing paradox” discussed below (vv. 103–104): the group is expanding; is it the same group? 73–74. Ed un… [Then one…] – The entire speech of this mariner, up to v. 96, is echoed very closely in the “onion monologue” of Ibsen’s Peer Gynt (1867, act V, sc. 5), where it is precisely in the layers of an onion that the main 201 character of the play revisits the many identities he took on in his troubled life. The metaphor will be exploited by many other contemporary authors, beginning with James Huneker (“Life is like an onion. You may peel off layer after layer until you reach the core—and then there is nothing”; Steeplejack, vol. 2, 1920, p. 306), Hermann Hesse (“Man is an onion made up of a hundred integuments”; Der Steppenwolf, 1927, p. 26), and Carl Sandburg (“Life is an onion—you peel it year by year and sometimes cry”; Remembrance Rock, 1948, p. 421), and will be central in the work of Jacques Lacan, who will use it to describe the “successive identifications” that constitute the subject (Séminaire I, 1975, May 1954, p. 194). Gunter Grass will go as far as using it in the title of his autobiography (Beim Häuten der Zwiebel, 2006). 76. Son io [’Tis I] – The construction will return at vv. 81, 82, 85, and 88, marking the rhythm of each identification. 80. Lagrimar [To mine eyes] – The burning sensation in the eyes caused by the onion tears, which merge and confound with the emotional tears stemming from the internal turmoil of the spirit. Thus also at v. 86. 202 Canto XX The flowin’ River, site o’ the Fearfull of change Son io, sono il cercatore d’ora quest’ altra buccia che parea segreta. E questa, dura e ruvida tuttora, 82 this other layer hidden underneath, ’tis I again, the gold prospector self. The next is crude and coarse and still rough-hewn: son io, fresco e giovane profeta, che lagrimando nulla pò vedere; e questa che s’incurva come seta 85 ’tis I, the prophet, innocent and youthful, deprived of sight by blinding weeping tears. And this, which is incurv’d like unto silk, son io, che molle vive nel piacere. Ad onne novo vel, mio novo effigio appare che non pote rimanere. 88 ’tis I, living in ease and soaked in pleasure. With ev’ry novel skin, a new effigies of me appeareth, hopeless to endure. Come cipolla ’nvecchia, io m’ingrigio; le sue ferite son tutto il mio doglio. Di sì tante pellicole il prodigio! 91 Such as an onion eldeth, so I grey; its lacerations gather all my dole. So many pellicules—what mighty prodige! Almanaccar è inutile, e lo sfoglio di strate solo ad altre strate porta: un nocciolo non v’è, io mai son spoglio”. 94 All musing now is useless; peeling off a layer other layers will undress. No kernel to be found, I’m never nude.” Poi fa cader nel fiume che le sporta quell’ assottiglie in strascico, e par lungo velo nuziale o pur di foglia morta; 97 Whereon into the river he disperseth that foliature of skins, so much alike to a bridal veil, to a trail of autumn leaves, sì tanto di dolor tutto mi pungo. Ed un ch’era nel cerchio di più fore disse bevendo ’l vino che l’allungo: 100 that I am assailed with thoroughpiercing grief. And one who was in the outer circule seated, partaking of the wine that I had passed him: “Non volli io pagar mio creditore, ché altro fu chi ’l debito incatena. 103 “Myself, to pay my creditor I nayed as someone else, not me, incurred the debt; 89–90. Ad onne novo vel… [With ev’ry novel skin…] – Out of metaphor: each phase, each identity assumed during one’s life is followed by a new one, yet none of them appears to be more truthful or long-lasting than the others. 94. Almanaccar [Al musing…] – The Italian verb is probably a neologism. It will enter the lexicon with Federigo Nomi’s Catorcio di Anghiari (1685): “E almanaccando di scemar l’onore…” (I, 77). 95. Di strate… [A layer…] – Almost a reply to Goethe: “It’s yourself you should scrutinize to see / whether you’re center or periphery” (Allerdings: Dem Physiker, 1820, vv. 16–17). 96. Un nocciolo… [No kernel…] – This is the same bitter conclusion reached by Peer Gynt: “To the very interior—the same old skins, only thin and inferior”. The “I” consumes itself entirely in the progressive unfolding of life, layer after layer, and there is no kernel holding the whole together. In Peirce’s 203 words, there is no “onion an sich” (letter to Francis Russell, 7/3/1905; see also the quote from Huneker in n. 73 above). The Poet knows well that things would be different if one could count on a soul separate from the body, immutable and unifying (XVIII, 142–143), or on a “naked” substratum that remains the same while the attributes with which it comes clothed keep changing (X, 35–46). But in the radically monist and materialist perspective he has been developing there is no room for such things. The drama of the weeping sailor is thus the expressions of a philosophical problem that at this point manifests itself in all its gravity. 101. Cerchio [Circule] – In a purely descriptive sense, with no reference to the structure of Helle: the Poet and the sailors are sitting in concentric circles. 103–104. Non volli… [Myself, to pay…] – This new character is reminiscent of the Heraclitean debtor parodied by Epicharmus, who “being asked to 204 Canto XX Ma fu prima condanna in terra, ed ore The flowin’ River, site o’ the Fearfull of change 205 but first I was convicted there on earth mi tocca di soffrir d’un’altra pena”. Io non capiva come ragioniamo che ’l chiesi. Ma per lui altro sostena: 106 and now another payne I must endure.” I cou’d not comprehend that syllogism wherefore I made demand. And someone else: “Ammucchi di particole noi siamo: sì che né perdita né aggiuntamento a quest’ amalgamarsi resistiamo. 109 “Like unto heaps of particules we are: neither depletion nor modification of this amalgamizing we can bear. Da chi ’l debito accese è forse spento?”. 112 The kindler of the debt, can he aquench it?” pay his creditor, denied that he was the same person who contracted the debt, because he had lost some parts and acquired new ones” (Anon., In Plat. Theaet. 71, 26; cf. Plutarch, De sera num. vind. 559a–b). The idea appears also in Aristophanes’ Clouds, with reference to payments due on the new moon (vv. 729– 755 and 1178–1195), and underpins the so-called “growing argument” to which Chrysippus devoted a whole book (Diogenes Laërtius, Vitae philos. VII, 197; Philo, De aet. mundi, XLVIII, 2) and which runs through much ancient and medieval philosophy: from Plato (Symp. 207d) and Aristotle (De gen. et corr. I, 5, 321a1–321b11) to Simplicius (In De an. 217.36–218.2) all the way to Abelard (Log. ingr. II, 299, 19–30; Dial. III, 2, “De motu quantitatis”). The problem will resurface again in the modern era with the grammarians of Port-Royal (Logique, 1662, II, 12) and then with Locke (Essay, 1689, II, xxvii, 3–4), Leibniz (Nouveaux essais, 1765, II, xxvii, 11), Hume (Treatise, 1738, I, iv, 6), and Joseph Butler (Analogy of Religion, 1736, diss. I), and will make its way into contemporary philosophy mainly thanks to Roderick Chisholm (Person and Object, 1976, App. B, §6). It should be noted that, strictly speaking, at v. 103 the Poet is making a mistake in having the mariner say “my creditor” [mio creditore], since the whole point of the story, from the mariner’s perspective, is that he is not the debtor. 105. Ma fu… [But first…] – According to the report in the anonymous commentary to the Theaetetus (where Plato mentions Epicharmus next to Heraclitus at 152d), “the creditor, exasperated, struck [the debtor] and, when indicted for battery, argued that the man who struck and the man before the court were not the same”. We are not told exactly how it ended, and the other testimonies that survived do not add any details, but evidently the closing argument of the creditor convinced the judges. 108. Altro sostena [Someone else] – Confirming the paradox: the answer cannot come from the same person, since the one who just spoke was drinking wine (v. 102) and has therefore changed, just like the debtor and the creditor. 109. Ammucchi di particole [Heaps of particules] – As in the classic atomistic picture of Leucippus, Democritus, and Epicurus, merging here with the monistic materialism endorsed by the Poet: everything, ourselves included, is nothing but an aggregate resulting from the temporary “being put together and becoming intertwined” of elementary particles (apud Aristotle, De gen. et corr. I, VIII, 325a34). This was also the gist of Lucretius’ image of the whole that emerges from a multitude of primordials which are continuously “borne along and in all modes” (see XIX, 186 and note). It is worth recalling that this doctrine did not meet with much support in the middle ages, not least because its consequences were deemed theologically unacceptable (and, as such, had already been condemned by Lactantius in his De ira Dei). Even those who contributed to the renaissance of the atomistic worldview in the 12th century were recalcitrant to endorse its materialistic implications, trying to reconcile it with metaphysics of different sorts, e.g. Platonistic (as in Adelard of Bath, De eodem et diverso, c. 1106) or theistic (as in Guillame de Conches, Dragmaticon philosophie, c. 1148). The debate over atomism was nonetheless rich and autonomous in the Arabic world, mainly due to the work of authors such as alHudhayl (c. 750–841), al-Naẓẓām (c. 782–846), and al-Ashʿarī (874–936). 110–111. Sì che… [Neither depletion…] – Cf. the argument offered by Epicharmus himself: “Say you took an odd number of pebbles, or if you like an even number, and chose to add or subtract a pebble: do you think it would still be the same number? […] Well now, think of men in the same way. One man is growing, another is diminishing, and all are constantly in the process of change. But what by its nature changes and never stays put must already be different from what it has changed from. You and I are different today from who we were yesterday, and by the same argument we will be different again and never the same in the future” (Diogenes, Vitae philos. III, 11). The thesis on which the argument rests—that every mereological variation destroys the identity of a composite object—is, strictly speaking, independent from the issue of atomism. As such it is treated by Abelard in the texts mentioned in n. 103 as well as by other medieval authors such as Buridan (In Phys. I, q. 10) and Albert of Saxony (In Phys. I, q. 8). Also Locke, Leibniz, Hume, and Butler endorse it in the works cited above, though the former restricts its scope to inanimate bodies. In contemporary literature, the thesis is known as “mereological essentialism” (from Chisholm, Parts as Essential to Their Wholes, 1973). 206 Canto XX E pria ch’io risponda, altro mi chiama: “Tu pensa a lei che ’n questo o quel momento The flowin’ River, site o’ the Fearfull of change 207 Before I cou’d respond, another urged me: “Think thou of her who ev’ry now and then cambia al coltello ’l manico e la lama”. E poscia un altro ancora lesto ammise: “O vero a la tua mente ti richiama 115 reneweth blade and handle to her knife.” And yet another swiftly recontinued: “In likely wise bring thou unto thy mind quello ch’accade ai santuari d’Ise, che son disfatti e poi rifatti accanto iguali e novi. Dimmi, tu ravvise 118 what falleth to the sanctuaries of Ise: the old ones are dismantled and new ones exactly alike are built adjacently. sempre ’l medesmo stesso tempio santo? E questa nave che noi tutt’asserva, ch’in grado e lentamente cambiò tanto 121 Tell me, are those the selfsame holy fanes? And this our boat whereto we all subserve, which gradually by piecemeal chang’d as forth che più primisca parte omai conserva? Pò identica nel numero restare ciò che opposte qualitade innerva?”. 124 that no primordiate parcel was preserved? Can that persist the same and one in nombre, which quallities contrarying manifesteth?” 114–115. Tu pensa… [Think thou…] – The proverbial knife of Janot in Dorvigny’s Les battus paient l’amende (1779) will be exactly like this, though the garçon will have no doubts about its identity: “It has already used two handles and three blades, but it is always the same!” (scene 5). The English equivalent is the apocryphal tale of George Washington’s axe, on display in a museum despite having had both its handle and its head replaced several times since it was used to chop down the cherry tree. The origins of the tale are unknown, though a detailed version may now be found in Gary Peterson’s short play, Washington’s Axe (2012). Other variants are mentioned in a number of popular novels, from Robert Graves’ The Golden Fleece (“This is my grandfather’s axe: my father fitted it with a new stock, and I have fitted it with a new head”, 1945, p. 445) to Terry Pratchett’s The Fifth Elephant (“We have owned it for almost nine hundred years. Of course, sometimes it needed a new blade. And sometimes it has required a new handle”, 1999, p. 324) and David Wong’s John Dies at the End (“a brand-new handle for your ax… a brand-new head for your ax…”, 2007, p. 2). Another recent variant is Trigger’s broom, in a 1996 episode of BBC sitcom Only Fools and Horses, “Heroes and Villains”, which holds the record of “seventeen new heads and fourteen new handles”. 118. Santuari d’Ise [The sanctuaries of Ise] – The complex of Shinto shrines dedicated to Amaterasu-ō-mi-kami, goddess of the sun, in the city of Ise (Japan). According to the Nihon Shoki (8th cent.), it was established some 2000 years ago by Yamatohime-no-mikoto, daughter of the emperor Suinin. Our learned Poet evidently knows its history and the peculiarity for which it is well known even today: every twenty years, the buildings of two main shrines, Naikū and Gekū, are taken apart and rebuilt “exactly alike” on an adjacent site, pursuant to the Shinto beliefs concerning the death and renewal of Nature and the impermanence of all things (the Wabi-Sabi). 122–124. E questa… [And this our boat…] – Cf. supra, vv. 62–67. And here is Plutarch’s comment in the remainder of the passage already cited: “This vessel became a standing illustration, among the philosophers, for the mooted question of growth, one side holding that the ship remained the same, the other contending that it was not the same” (Vita Thes. XXIII, 1). Indeed, philosophers continued to debate the matter throughout history, often in conjunction with the growing argument (see n. 110), as they continue to do today, with both traditional parties actively represented (e.g. by those who side with David Wiggins, Identity and Spatio-temporal Continuity, 1967, or with Roderick Chisholm, Identity through Time, 1970, respectively). The ship of Theseus has also inspired applications in other fields of contemporary philosophy, for instance the philosophy of mind, where the thought experiment of gradually replacing a brain’s neurons with artificial isomorphs has been used to challenge naturalistic theories of consciousness (Zenon Pylyshyn, The “Causal Power” of Machines, 1980). Likewise, it is again Theseus’s ship that lurks in the background of many popular literary concoctions, beginning with the Tin Woodman in Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (1900), the rusting wretch obtained from woodsman Nick Chopper by gradually replacing his limbs and other bodily parts with prostheses made of tin. These modern versions, however, differ from the original case insofar as they involve replacements of materially heterogeneous parts, which gives rise to further philosophical worries. 125–126. Po’ identica… [Can that persist…] – A statement of the problem in its full generality, echoing Socrates’ words at vv. 24–25. 208 Canto XX The flowin’ River, site o’ the Fearfull of change Allora anch’ io ripresi a dimandare: “Non son io chi salì per quelle scale?”. “Noi siam particole, e particolare 127 Then I myself my questioning resumed: “Am I not he, who climb’d upon the ladder?” “We’re particules; particular likewise è l’esser nostro. Tu l’universale ch’identico sarebbe in varo loco ben rifuggisti; or a che ti vale 130 is our being. Aright hast thou averted all universels, which would be selfsame in many a place; wher’fore wouldst thou be in onne instante che di tempo è poco trovarti uguale, che ti può giovare?”. Così parlava uno ch’era sfioco. 133 identicall in each hand-while of time? What would avail it thee, what benefice?” Thus spake a feeble one and languishing. “Stravolgerci a seguir la nostra carne: questo facciam, quest’ è la nostra arte. E carne vole altre d’affamarne. 136 “Distorting ourselves to suit our flesh,” another said; “in this we all engage, this is our art. And flesh more flesh demandeth. Ma tutto ciò che vole e sente è parte, sol tanto parte; il tutto è il suo mistero che ripetentemente noi discarte. 139 But everything we sense through it is part, ’tis only a part; the whole is its mysterium which time and time agayn we disregard. Però ’l piacer s’assiede ne l’intero. Sì noi restiam per sempre affamati, che tutte parti assiem mai esistero 142 And yet it is the whole that giveth joyance. Thus we remain forever hungering, by cause that all the parts it encompasseth in un sol tempo”, fè un tra i dannati. “Ma lo poteno esser?”, presi a dire. 145 are never in one gathering befound.” “But cou’d they be so found?” I question made. 128. Quelle scale [The ladder] – The rope ladder of v. 49. 129. Particole / particolare [Particules / particular] – This is probably a wordplay, since the argument that follows does not depend on the atomistic thesis advanced by the fifth sailor (v. 109). 130–132. Tu l’universale… [Aright hast thou…] – The reference is to the first Ring of the third Circle (Canto X), where the Poet was exposed to the punishments awaiting those who endorse a realist stance towards universals. 132–134. A che ti vale… [Wher’fore wouldst thou be…] – Read: you have already renounced so-called universals, construed as repeatable entities that can be identically present at different places, and that was the right thing to do; so what is the point now of maintaining that you—a particular—can be identically present at different times? The observation rests on an analogy between space and time that will be further developed in the following verses, anticipating a worry about diachronic identity that today is usually credited to David Lewis (On the Plurality of Worlds, 1986, p. 202). 136–145. Stravolgerci… [Distorting ourselves…] – This whole speech is inspired by a passage from Augustine’s Confessions: “Why then be perverted 209 and follow thy flesh? […] Whatever by her thou hast sense of, is in part; and the whole, whereof these are parts, thou knowest not; and yet they delight thee. But had the sense of thy flesh a capacity for comprehending the whole […] the whole might better please thee […] And so ever, when any one thing is made up of many, all of which do not exist together, all collectively would please more than they do severally, could all be perceived collectively” (IV, xi, 17). As a matter of fact, Augustine subscribed to a presentist metaphysics, according to which “there are neither times future nor times past” (XI, xx, 26), so his passage should be read accordingly. This sailor uses it instead to rebut the idea that something can be wholly present at distinct moments of its existence. As will become clearer in the following two speeches (vv. 147–158 and 159–163), this is meant to suggest a departure from the strictly Heraclitean attitude of the fourth and fifth sailors (the debtor) in favor of a metaphysical picture that is essentially four-dimensionalist, i.e., is based on the idea that things extend across the temporal dimension just as they extend across the spatial dimensions, hence on an eternalist conception of time. 146. Ma… [But…] – The growing involvement of the Poet and his keen 210 Canto XX “L’ispazio e il tempo sono condannati”, The flowin’ River, site o’ the Fearfull of change 211 “Both space and time are fated to evanish rispuosermi, “qual ombre a disvanire; è il loro sposalizio il fondamento ch’asserba l’individuo che voi dire. 148 like unto fading shadows,” he responded. “Their marriage is the only underpinning supporting the individual thou betellest. Noi siamo solo un lento accadimento, noioso e queto; è solamente un palco il mondo pieno d’onne suo tormento. 151 We’re only a slow-paced advenement, tiresome and quiet; all the world with all of its fatigues is but a stage. È sol perché io l’assi sue calco che cangio e cangiar posso, come scena del tuo viaggio. Il tutto mai s’accalco, 154 ’Tis only insofar as on its platform I stand that I can change, and changed I have, like to a scene in this thy journey. Never ch’ad onne istante in parte si ripiena e tanta parte ’n vece l’è nascosa”. 157 doth the whole-ware convene: at any time some parts compear and many others hide.” interest in the sailors’ answers are, from a methodological perspective, the distinctive feature of this Canto. For here, unlike all previous Cantos, the observations of the damned souls do not reflect the philosophical errors for which they are punished but, rather, the profound truths they have discovered in this place of reflection. This also explains why Socrates is keeping out of the conversation, letting the sailors themselves be in charge of the maieutic process. 147–150. L’ispazio… [Both space…] – Here is an explicit endorsement of the eternalist conception of time, and more precisely of the view that space and time form an inseparable manifold that makes it impossible to speak of the simultaneous existence of an object’s parts. The sailor’s words foreshadows no less than the words with which Hermann Minkowski, at the beginning of his memorable speech at Naturforscher-Versammlung in Köln, will announced the death of the notions of absolute space and time and the birth of relativistic spacetime: “Henceforth space by itself, and time by itself, are doomed to fade away into mere shadows, and only a kind of union of the two will preserve an independent reality” (Raum und Zeit, 1909, p. 75). The incompatibility of Special Relativity with presentism, and more generally with any commonsense notion of diachronic identity, is in fact at the center of the contemporary debate on persistence. The locus classicus is J. J. C. Smart, Space, Time and Individuals (1972), but the thesis has now been articulated more fully, especially by Theodore Sider (Four-dimensionalism, 2001, §4.4) and Yuri Balashov (Persistence and Spacetime, 2010). Obviously, none of this could be part of medieval culture, so the words the Poet attributes to the sailor can only astonish us for their foresight. 151–152. Noi siamo solo… [We’re only…] – With a unified conception of space and time in the background, here comes the explicit statement of a fourdimensionalist metaphysics in which the traditional distinction between objects and events vanishes altogether: the former—persons included—are no more than “slow-paced”, “tiresome”, “quiet” occurrences. These three adjectives are often found also in contemporary literature, along with the idea that objects are just events that are “long” (Broad, Scientific Thought, 1923, p. 393), “monotonous” (Goodman, The Structure of Appearance, 1951, p. 286), or more “firm and coherent internally” than others (Quine, Philosophy of Logic, 1970, p. 30). 152–153. Solamente… [All the world…] – The image echoes in Shakespeare: “All the world’s a stage, / and all the men and women merely players; / they have their exits and their entrances, / and one man in his time plays many parts” (As You Like It, II, vii, 139–142). Shakespeare’s initial verse is also used by Theodore Sider in the title of an influential article defending a variant of four-dimensionalism knows as “stage theory” (All the World’s a Stage, 1996). 154–156. È sol… [’Tis only…] – A journey is a typical event that extends across time: it unfolds step after step and each phase may me different. If objects and persons are events, as this sailor claims, then the same applies to them: they change insofar as their successive parts on the world’s “stage” may differ. It is a pity that the idea is not applied explicitly also to the case that set the whole Canto in motion, Heraclitus’ ever-changing river, for obviously this conception entails a simple solution to the puzzle. As Quine will put it, “You can bathe in the same river twice, but not in the same river-stages. You can bathe in two river-stages which are stages of the same river” (Identity, Ostension, and Hypostasis, 1950, p. 621). 156–158. Il tutto… [Never…] – An elaboration of the thesis just mentioned in light of the Augustinean picture of vv. 136–145: the whole is never present except through the successive “compearing” of its temporal parts. It is unclear whether the sailor takes this thesis to rest on the atomistic principle stated earlier (v. 109). If so, then a radically reductionist metaphysical picture 212 Canto XX “La barca ha ’l ventre molle e asciutta schiena; The flowin’ River, site o’ the Fearfull of change 213 “This boat: the bow is wet, the deck is dry,” lo stesso accade a ciascheduna cosa”, aggiunse un altro, “quando si tramuta: ad una parte d’un modo s’apposa 160 continued one more soul; “the same is true of ev’ry sundry thing when it transmuteth: one part which is distinctively somewise un’altra d’altro modo posseduta”. Così parloro a me in quel paraggio, ed io parea capir. Oh, s’abbia avuta 163 is followed by another otherwise.” Such was their speech to me in that environ, and it meseemed that now I was intending. la forza ’n me di compier questo viaggio e questa opra al fin ch’i’ mi prometto de l’omini di dir qual vedo e ’ssaggio: 166 Ah! may I have the strengtht to ultimate this journey and this my work, and I behight to tell of humankind as I now see it: minuti qual veronica o ’l mughetto in angoli piccioli si restringe; 169 as tine as the veronica or the lily we strain each ourselves into tight corners; would emerge, according to which material objects are mere aggregates of punctiform spatio-temporal particles. We are not aware of any medieval philosophers who went as far as to hold such a view. Deprived of its atomistic component, the four-dimensional conception has a certain precedent in Bonaventure, for whom “every creature has in its being [esse] both its having been [fuisse] and its going to be [fore]: therefore its has a succession in its duration” (In Sent. II, d. 2, p. 1, a. 1, q. 3, fund. 1). However, the theses of the Doctor Seraphicus were sharply criticized by most scholastics, including Aquinas (S. theol. I, q. 10, a. 5 c), Duns Scotus (Ord. II, d. 2, p. 1, q. 1 n. 34), and especially Hendrik van Gent: “If the existence of a thing is a continuous successive process (fieri), this cannot be understood unless both the thing itself and the nature subject to existence either always remain the same, or are always different. If the latter, then nothing would be numerically identical in two moments […] Aristotle argued against this opinion, and disproved it in Metaphysics IV” (Quod. V, 11). 159–163. La barca… [This boat…] – Here, finally, is how the account of change implied by the previous sailor (vv. 154–156) gets translated explicitly into the language of a four-dimensional mereology: just as we may say that the ship changes in space insofar as it has different spatial parts, e.g., a part that is wet (the bow) and another that is dry (the deck), likewise we can say that an object changes in time insofar as it has different temporal parts, i.e., a part that is one way [d’un modo: somewise] and a later part that is another way [d’altro modo: otherwise]. This is exactly the sort of explanation offered by contemporary four-dimensionalists. In Lewis’s words: “We perdure; we are made up of temporal parts, and our temporary intrinsics are properties of those parts, wherein they differ one from another (On the Plurality of Worlds, p. 204). It should be noted that although this conception has an excellent philosophical pedigree among the classics of 20th-century philosophy—beginning with Russell (The Analysis of Matter, 1927), Carnap (Der logische Aufbau der Welt, 1928), and Whitehead (Process and Reality, 1929)—its prima facie abstrusity has led some to describe four-dimensionalism as a “metaphysical quagmire” (Peter Hacker, Events and Objects in Space and Time, 1982, p. 4), if not a piece of “crazy metaphysics” (Judith Thomson, Parthood and Identity Across Time, 1983, p. 210). Still, today four-dimensionalism has many supporters and our sailor would be in good company: beside the authors already cited, one may mention Harold Noonan (The Four-Dimensional World, 1976), David Armstrong (Identity Through Time, 1980), Mark Heller (The Ontology of Physical Objects, 1990), Robin Le Poidevin (Change, Cause and Contradiction, 1991), and Hud Hudson (The Metaphysics of Hyperspace, 2005) inter alia. 165–168. Oh, s’abbia… [Ah! may I have…] – This is the first time, after the invocation to the Muses in III, 15–18 that the Poet interrupts his narrative to mull over the nature and the scope of its project. In the text that survived there is only one more instance, in the penultimate canto (XXVII, 7), where the Poet addresses the reader with a direct apostrophe. Dante uses this expedient far more often in each of the three canticles of the Comedy (seven times in Inferno: VIII, 94–96; IX, 61–63; XVI, 127–132; XX, 19–24; XXII, 118; XXV, 46–48; XXXIV, 22–27). 166. Compier [Ultimate] – Meaning “complete”, as in Dante, Purg. XX, 38. 169. Veronica / mughetto [Veronica / lily] – The reference to these two flowers is open to various symbolic interpretations. For example, the Greek etymology of “veronica” (from φέρω and νίκη) points to “she who brings victory” and its Latin counterpart to “truthful and unique”. As for the lily, we know from Apuleius (Herb. XXIII, 1) that in Greek mythology it was Apollo’s gift to his son Aesclepius, a god of healing capable of bringing people back 214 Canto XX ma come quercia al cielo tocca ’l tetto The flowin’ River, site o’ the Fearfull of change 215 but such as the oak tree toucheth the sky e le radici ai fond’ abissi intinge, giganti immersi lor ne le stagioni a dismisura allungansi e li spinge 172 and deepeth master roots into the abyss, so we, giants immerse into the seasons, protract unmeasuredly, and into time nel tempo il tempo, e l’umane azioni, qual processione lenta e disgomenta, s’accumulano e son deposizioni. 175 by time we are impress’d, and human actions, like to a slow bewildering procession, accumulate and keep on sedimenting. M’ancora di capir non m’accontenta, sì che consuma un’altra communione e chiede a tutta l’anima pazienta: 178 Yet my desire to learn is still unsated; hence I partake again of the communion and those forbearing souls I interpel: “L’identità nel tempo è sol finzione? De la matera di ch’è fatto il sogno è solo ’l frutto, o nostra tentazione 181 “Selfameness over time is but a figment? Is it the fancy produce of the matter whereon our dreams are made, our propension di fissi cardini, d’uman bisogno?”. “L’identità”, riprese uno fra tutti “è fra i concetta ch’arbitrar appogno 184 for steady jointures, our human needs?” “Identity”, said one among the many, “is but a concept midst the ones I use a le flugenti parti come i flutti. 187 to regulate these flowing waves of parts. from the dead (Xenophon, Cyn. I, 6; Pseudo-Apollodorus, Bibl. III, 121). However, it is more likely that the Poet does not intend to endow these flowers with any symbolic significance other than their minute size, indicative of the narrow spot that we are occupy in space compared to the unmeasuredly long stretch (represented at vv. 171–172 by the oak tree touching the sky and reaching the abyss) that we occupy in time. 173. Giganti… [Giants…] – This splendid image appears also in the closing paragraph of Proust’s Recherche (Le temps retrouvé, 1927, p. 261), where other echoes of the foregoing reflections may be found. 175. Il tempo [By time] – In the Italian text, this is the subject of the verb “spinge” at v. 174 (translated here in passive form: we are impressed— literally: pushed—into time by time itself). It remains unclear in what sense the Poet attributes such casual power to time. 177. S’accumulano… [Accumulate…] – This is probably meant to capture a double process: our actions amass one after the other; and insofar as they are events extended in time, each one of them unfolds and piles up phase after phase, as everything else. 178. M’ancora… [Yet…] – Cf. supra, n. 146. 179. Un’altra communione [Again of the communion] – More bread and wine shared with the mariners, by figurative extension of the religious meaning of the locution, which in the catholic cult indicates the sacrament of the Eucharist instituted by Jesus Christ at his last supper with the twelve apostles (Matthew 26:26–29; Mark 14:22–25; Luke 22:15–20, 1 Cor. 11: 23–25). 181. L’identità… [Selfsameness…] – The worry concerns the relation of identity that we tend to institute among the different temporal parts of which everything is allegedly composed. That it is just a “figment” or “fiction” [finzione] will be Hume’s thesis: “We have a propensity to feign the continu’d existence of all sensible objects; and as this propensity arises from some lively impressions of the memory, it bestows a vivacity on that fiction; or in other words, makes us believe the continu’d existence of body” (Treatise, I, iv, 2). 182. La matera… [The matter…] – Another felicitous image that returns in Shakespeare: “We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep” (Tempest, IV, i, 156–157). 183–184. Nostra tentazione… [Our propension…] – As with other traits of that “robust structure” that our need for stability makes us to attribute to reality, as seen in Canto XII. The term “jointures” [cardini] refers explicitly to the error punished in the fourth Ring of the third Circle (XII, 37–42), and even before to the chimera threatening the Poet near the swamps (I, 52). 185–187. L’identità… [Identity…] – The answer, sharp and precise, follows of the terminology used by Socrates in the previous Canto (“Us it behoves to part conceits and things, as their confounding breedeth fraudfulness”, XIX, 131–132). But whereas Socrates was referring to our tendency to think that 216 Canto XX Se gagnano o se perdono elementa, gradatamente, fin che son asciutti, The flowin’ River, site o’ the Fearfull of change 217 If novel elements they gayn or lose by gradual process till they are desiccated, un sol oggetto a noi par si presenta, ma onne alterazion tutto disface. Che con un sol battesmo noi si menta 190 we feign we are contemplating one sole unit, in sooth ev’ry alteration ruineth all. If we go by the lie of one baptizement è che diverso stato ed onne face non potemo segnar con altro nome”. E ancor io chiedo, come chi non tace: 193 ’tis only by cause we cannot afford a diff’rent name for ev’ry state and face.” Then I, again, like one know’th no silence: “E vale questo pur per le persome? Anche per me che qui vi parlo ancore?”. “Per tutto vale”, disser; e io: “Come 196 “And this applieth even-wise to humans? Eke to myself, who still am speaking you?” “To every thing,” they said. And I: “How ever e chi de l’impressioni è ’l legatore? Non ho io da persistere, s’almeno d’illudermi e d’unir io fui l’attore?”. 199 and who is the collator of th’ impressions? Must I not persevere, at any rate so that I be deluded and unite?” “Di questo con i mei compagni peno; 202 “Thereon I ’nsuffer with these my companions; different concepts must pick out different objects, here the problem is the opposite: we tend to treat distinct things as numerically identical in virtue of the easiness with which we apply the concept of identity itself. It is precisely in this spirit that Hume will denounce the confusion between a “strict” and a “fictional” use of this concept, and it is in the same spirit that Joseph Butler will urge us to distinguish between identity “in a strict and philosophical sense” and identity “in a loose and popular sense” (Analogy, diss. I). Also the Port-Royal grammarians emphasized the difference between a genuine, “metaphysical” notion of identity and that “ordinary” notion to which we resort whenever we treat different things as though they were one and the same (Logique, II, 12). 188–191. Se gagnano… [If novel…] – Cf. again Hume: “Supposing some very small or inconsiderable part to be added to the mass, or subtracted from it; tho’ this absolutely destroys the identity of the whole, strictly speaking […] the passage of the thought from the object before the change to the object after it, is so smooth and easy, that we scarce perceive the transition, and are apt to imagine, that ’tis nothing but a continu’d survey of the same object” (I, iv, 6). 192–194. Che con un sol… [If we go by…] – Also this linguistic remark may be found in Hume (and in Butler), though its clearest formulation will come with Thomas Reid: “When such alterations are gradual, because language could not afford a different name for every different state of such a changeable being, it retains the same name, and is considered as the same thing” (Essays on the Intellectual Powers, 1785, III, iii, 2). 196–197. E vale… [And this applieth…] – The Poet wants to make sure he did not misunderstand the scope of the theses he has just heard and wants to know whether they also apply to the special case of personal identity (a topic already broached by the choir of the sceptics in XIII, 181–189). Hume would have no doubts: “The identity that we ascribe to the mind of man is fictitious; it is like the identity we ascribe to plants and animals”, which in turn do not differ, in this regard, from “ships, houses, and other productions of art or of nature” (Treatise, I, iv, 6). Others would obviously disagree, beginning with Locke (Essay, II, xxvii, 4–7). 198–201. Come e chi… [How ever and who…] – Here the Poet shows a philosophical perspicuity of which his master would certainly be proud. For this new question identifies a critical weakness in the “Humean” position he has just been offered, with a remark that essentially anticipates no less than the starting point of the transcendental deduction of the categories of intellect in Kant’s first Kritik: if the diachronic identity of the things we perceive is but a fiction due to the unifying action of our intellect, doesn’t it follow that at least we must persist in the strict sense in order to effect the unification? In Kant’s words: “It must be possible for the ‘I think’ to accompany all my representations; for otherwise something would be represented in me which could not be thought at all, and that is equivalent to saying that the representation would be impossible, or at least would be nothing to me” (B131–132, §16: The Original Synthetic Unity of Apperception). 202. Di questo… [Thereon…] – As with the Lustful in the Jungle (Canto IX) and the Nihilists of the craggy Steep (Canto XVII), the punishment of the- 218 Canto XX la nostra ven punita vanagloria”, diss’ un ch’i’ non potea veder nemmeno. The flowin’ River, site o’ the Fearfull of change 219 we are punished here by reason of vainglory,” said one whom I cou’d not even behold. “Noi persa abbiam per sempre la memoria; chi non ricordi il vivere lo scorni, perché non vive quel ch’è sanza storia. 205 “Our memory we have forever lost; Renounce their living those who have forgot it, for those live not who have no historying. Un vegeto deposito dei giorni è la lumaca. Anche l’insetto conta come consumi il mondo e non ritorni. 208 The slug is a live sediment of days. The insect, too, accounteth how the world weareth away and doth not come again. A noi pur questo è tolto; noi si sconta non aver mai nemmen minusca vita. Nulla serbiamo e nulla serba ’mpronta 211 Ourselves so much as that are interdicted: we endure not having e’en a tiny life. Nothing we keep and nothing keepeth trace di noi; scivola il fiume tra le dita. Noi sanza torcia non viviam neppure. Questo noi siam e mai sarà finita: 214 of us; the river floweth thro’ our fingers. Withouten torch we do not live at all. So this we are and this will be e’ermore: se souls appears to be in contrast with the workings of Athena in determining the destiny of the damned (cf. Canto VI, n. 11). 203. Vanagloria [Vainglory] – This, then, is the wrong punished here: not a specific philosophical error, as in the Circles that define the main structure of Helle, but the presumptuousness of having solved a problem that is truly difficult and, in many ways, still open. 204. Non potea veder [I cou’d not even behold] – Perhaps because the group has grown again in number; cf. v. 72. 205. Noi persa… [Our memory…] – The punishment, which relates to the observation at v. 70, trades on the moral that seems to emerge from the whole discussion so far: personal identity remains a problem. That identity is grounded in memory will actually be Locke’s thesis (“as far as this consciousness can be extended backwards to any past action or thought, so far reaches the identity of that person”; Essay, II, xxvii, 9). In this context, however, the link appears to be purely instrumental to the logic of the punishment, which brings together the Kantian doubts just raised by the Poet and the Epicharmus puzzle that started the discussion (vv. 103ff). Besides, we know that the Poet regards memory—and mental states generally—as fully reducible to the physical texture of the human body (XVIII, 205), which is in turn nothing over and above the sum of its parts (XIX, 135), which in turn are now to be construed spatiotemporally. Thus the contrapasso can only be read in this light: while our parts are usually such as to possess the “memory” of their predecessors, these souls are constituted by parts that are mnemonically inert, completely devoid of any trace except for the memory of their philosophical errors, hence incapable even to engage in the “fiction” of their own persistence through time. 206. Scorni [Renounce] – Probably from “corno”, i.e., “horn”. The Poet already used this verb in II, 89, where it clearly means “pester”, “trouble”, and Dante uses “scorno” as a noun in Purg. X, 33, in the figurative sense of “dishonor”, “shame” (cf. also Rime dubbie, XXX, 18). Here the word occurs again as a verb, in third-person imperative form, but the meaning is opaque. Our translation is mainly based on the context of the sentence. 208–210. Un vegeto… [The slug…] – The whole tercet is echoed in the final lines of Dylan Thomas’s Here in This Spring (1936): “A worm tells summer better than the clock, / the slug’s a living calendar of days; / what shall it tell me if a timeless insect / says the world wears away?” 212. Non aver… [We endure…] – In response to v. 207: the duration of our lives is measured by memory; without it, it is as though we start anew at each instant. 213. Nulla serba ’mpronta [Nothing keepeth trace] – So it is not just that these damned souls have virtually no memory; their punishment is worsened by the fact that nobody remembers them. The final part of the Canto will be built entirely on this. 214. Scivola il fiume [The river floweth] – Yet another tribute to Heraclitus. 215. Torcia [Torch] – This must be the torch of life, which in normal circumstances our temporal parts would pass one to the other as runners, following Lucretius’ beautiful metaphor: “Thus the sum of things / forever is replenished, and mortals live among themselves in succession. / Some nations wax, some nations wane away; / in a brief space the generations pass, / and like to runners hand the torch of life one unto other” (De rer. nat. II, 75–79, probably after Plato, Leg. VI, 776b). 220 Canto XX The flowin’ River, site o’ the Fearfull of change una lunga teoria de le fessure”. Sì disse; e ’l suo dolor nel fiume annega. Poi, al sonar d’un corno, l’alme dure: 217 a long-continued theoria of fissures.” Thus spake he; then the river took his dole. And then a sound, a horn, whereat those souls: “Per questa communione che ci lega, deh, tu che ricordasti a noi del mondo, di noi rammenta al mondo, sì ti ’l priega”. 220 “For this commune wherein we are united, ah, thou who of the world reminded us we prey thee, do remind the world of us!” Fu allor che quella barca attracca a un fondo e ’l duca invita a ripoggiar le sole per proseguir ne l’infero più fondo. 223 ’Twas then that the embarkation docked a shore and my Conductor urged me to disboard in order to go deeper into helle. Ma pria che scenda, i’ salutar li vole e abbracciali uno a uno che s’avanza: “Mai dimenticherò vostre parole”. 226 And yet, before descending, I attame to take congee and hug them one by one: “Never shall I forget your words to me.” Più d’onne tenebra è dimenticanza? 229 Obliviance: is there darker thesterness? 217. Teoria [Theoria] – Not in the usual sense of the word, but in the literary sense relating to the ancient Hellenic practice of sending a legation of sacred deputies, or theors (θεωροὶ), “to carry the customary sacrifices to Delphi and Olympia in the name of the Grecian states” (Plutarch, Vita Demetr. XI, 1). Thus, by figurative extension, and pushing Lucretius’ metaphor, a human being may be described as a theoria of temporal parts. And in the case of these oblivious souls, the parts are reduced to extensionless “fissures” that at each moment separate, rather than connect, the past and the future. 219. Al sonar d’un corno [And then a sound] – Announcing that the ship is about to dock. 220. Questa communione [This commune] – Cf. supra, v. 179 and note. 221–222. Deh, tu… [Ah, thou…] – These two verses, with their soft and musical rhythm, convey all the drama, the gratitude, and the hope of these souls upon the Poet’s visit, which was as welcome and unexpected as it is destined to be soon forgotten. Dante has a similar passage in the Purgatory, when he meets Pia de’ Tolomei, though the young noblewoman remembers perfectly 221 well her identity and her life: “Ah, when thou hast returned unto the world […] do thou remember me who am the Pia; Siena made me, unmade me Maremma” (V, 130–133). 227. Abbracciali uno a uno… [Hug them one by one…] – One can only feel moved by this gesture of the Poet, which testifies to his humanity as well as to his sincere thankfulness for the nourishment and the philosophical companionship he received from these souls. And the gesture is all the more generous insofar as it is completely gratuitous, since the Poet knows that they will not remember it. Note also that he hugs them “one by one”, as if they were successive parts of a single, perduring character. 228. Mai… [Never…] – A bittersweet promise, for it underscores the unbridgeable difference between the Poet and the mariners. 229. Più d’onne… [Obliviance…] – Ending the Canto with a question is the final seal on its philosophical peculiarity. This is the longest Canto, but also the most open, entirely conducted without the guide and the wisdom of the Master. Canto XXI Canto XXI overo de l’ottavo Cerchio, ne le due Zone de li Accidiosi che son Attualisti & Deterministi or, of the eight Circle, in the Zones o’ the Sullen hight Actualistes & Deterministes – Back on firm ground, on the way to the eighth Circle the Poet has a clever intuition concerning the ship of Theseus (1– 18). Socrates is visibly pleased and takes the opportunity to stress the importance of imagination and of the sense of possibility in the practice of philosophy (19–47). ARGUMENT [Incomplete Canto. Based on Socrates’ words, the Sullen must comprise all those philosophers who in some way or other adopted a submissive attitude toward the world as it is, and the rest of the Canto must have been devoted to the first two errors stemming from this attitude: the “actualist” error, amounting to the blind neglect of the horizon of possibilities, and the “determinist” error, which presumably consists in the downright denial of all unrealized possibilities along with the thought that all actual facts and events are already connected to one another according to a necessary, pre-established order.] 224 Canto XXI Eight Circle, in the Zones o’ the Sullen hight Actualistes & Deterministes 225 E come il vento è predator leggero, e come il fiume è il gran cancellatore, sì anche il tempo, che nel suo sentiero 1 And as the wind is yet a lightsome preyer, and as the river the ultimate eraser, so too is also time, which in its path disporta via e dimentica ne l’ore corrispondenze d’amorosi sensi e onne cognizione del dolore. 4 across the hours draggeth and forgetteth concordancies of loving sentiments and any all accointenance with grief. Ma io rammento ancor, ed or ripensi, mentre scendiam al fondo de la notte, a quel ch’a nostre spalle ancor s’ostensi. 7 But still I reminisce, and still I ponder, descending t’ward the bottom of the night, upon the scene we left in sight behind us. “Se raccogliessi io quell’assi rotte che dal vascello si facean divisa da’ marinai, ch’al fiume poi l’addotte, 10 “If I were to collect those rott’n woods, which from the boat the mariners removed and made disperse into the flowin’ river, e riformassi lor in tale guisa che fa timone e stiva, chiglia e cima, ed onne parte altra che s’affisa, 13 and if I then assembled them to-gether to fashion hold and helm, and keel and deck, and everych other part as is befitting, la barca non s’avrebbe stessa e prima? Or tutto questo a me possibil pare”. Sì dissi al duca in la valle solima. 16 would not the vassel, same and forme, return? To me this seemeth possible all wise.” So spake I to my Guide in the empty vale. 1–3. E come… [And as…] – The two opening similes return to the theme of the time that flows, now in its psichological and emotional dimension after the stricyly metaphysical analysis that dominated the preceding Canto. The image of the wind as a preyer [predatore] is of biblical origins (Hos. 13:3; Job 15:30), as is that of the river as an eraser [cancellatore], which refers back to the song of the waves in XX, 7 (“we wash the bone and wear the stone away”). 4. Ne l’ore [Across the hours] – As the hours recede into the past. 5–6. Corrispondenze… [Concordancies…] – The nice things of life along with the sad ones, with two lyrical images that will return in Foscolo’s Sepolcri (1807, v. 30: “Celestial is this correspondence of loving feelings”) and in the title of Carlo Emilio Gadda’s masterwork (La cognizione del dolore, 1963). 8. Al fondo de la notte [The bottom of the night] – The new Circle, the eighth, still darker and deeper than the previous ones. 9. Quel… [The scene…] – Theseus’ ship, which they have just left behind. 10–16. Se raccogliessi… [If I were to collect…] – Again a felicitous intuition by the Poet, after the “Kantian” remark at the end of the previous Canto (XX, 198–201). The idea is that, in the event that the successive reparations of the vessel resulted in a complete replacement of all the original pieces (cf. XX, 62–67), putting those pieces back together according to the original configuration should result in a vessel which is like the initial one in every respect, in- cluding its material constitution. What prevents us from identifying this new vessel with Theseus’ original (as opposed to, or in addition to, the one that “survives” the gradual restauration process)? There seems to be no trace of this puzzle in the ancient or medieval literature devoted to the topic, but it is precisely in these terms that Hobbes will put it in De corpore (II, xi, 7), where it serves as a reductio of the thesis according to which the principle of individuation is given by the unity of form. In contemporary philosophy, Chisholm will press the puzzle even further: if the two ships collided at sea, where would the duty of the loyal captain lie—with the repaired ship or with the reassembled ship? (Identity through Time, 1970, p. 164). 17. Or tutto… [To me…] – This is a first hint to the subject of possibility, which Socrates will pick up in the following and which in all probability constitutes the leitmotiv of the four Zones in which the eighth Circle is divided. Here the Poet does not elaborate, but his statement is clearly adverting to a conception of philosophy according to which one must always consider all possible scenarios over and above the actual facts, as in Wolff’s definition: philosophy is “the science of the possibles insofar as they can be” and the philosopher is “someone who can give the reason of those things that are or could be” (Discursus præliminaris, 1728, II, §29 e §46). 18. Solima [Empty] – Term of dubious meaning. There is a certain asso- 226 Canto XXI Eight Circle, in the Zones o’ the Sullen hight Actualistes & Deterministes 227 “Avanti andasti nel filosofare di tra questi maravigliosi segni! Allor non posso io che dimandare: 19 And he: “Farforth hath thy philosophying advanc’d amid these wonder-mazing sygnes! And thereupon I can but question thee: son quei che tu raccogli stessi legni?”. E pria che di risposta i’ lo seconda ei fé: “L’anime belle e i bell’ingegni 22 the woods that thou collect’st—are those the same?” And then, byfore that I could answer give: “The beauteous souls and all the beauteous minds han imaginazione ch’è feconda; di possibilitade manca il senso a quei che quella manca o n’asseconda. 25 possede of foisonous imagination; those who estrange from it, or lack therein, all sense of possibility forsake. D’imaginar però tu par propenso che la vista de’ legni smessi a l’onde ha nova imago in te subito accenso; 28 But thou, I ween, to imagining art prone forwhy those woods dispers’d into the waves immediately new image roused in thee; nance with the old Italian verb “solimare”, which means “sublimate”, or with the early name of Jerusalem, which some Italian translations of Genesis 14:18 and Psalm 76:2 render as “Solima”. Neither of these reaadings seem appropriate here. We simply understand the word as a variant spelling of the adjective “solinga”, meaning “solitary”, empty”. 19. Avanti… [Farforth…] – The Poet is obviously making some progress. Socrates takes this opportunity to congratulate and encourage him, even though he is about to reply with a quick question that seems detrimental to the Poet’s whole reasoning. 22. Son quei… [The woods…] – In other words: the Poet’s intuition, according to which the ship obtained by re-assembling the old pieces would be identical to Theseus’ original ship, rests on the presupposition that both vessels are constituted by the same pieces; but what ensures that the pieces are indeed the same, i.e., that they preserved their identity through time? 24. L’anime belle [The beauteous souls] – This is a Platonic phrase (from Symposium). Together with the next [bell’ingegni: beateous minds] it delivers the profile of the good philosopher in Socrates’ conception. 25. Immaginazione feconda [Foisonous imagination] – That a good philosopher should have a developed sense of imagination, so as to attain a picture of the world that does not suffer from the interference of prejudicial “certainties”, is a thesis on which Socrates has been insisting since the beginning of the journey. Cf. his words near the Amelete river (V, 21–22), reworked in the middle of the Jungle (IX, 41–42), which reminded us of Hamlet’s warning to Horatio. In fact, neither Socrates nor the Poet says much about what imagination amounts to, though this example suggests that they have in mind something very close to what contemporary philosophers tend to classify under the rubric of conceivability: the ability to represent “scenarios that purport to involve actual or non-actual things in actual or non-actual configurations” (Tamar Szabó Gendler and John Hawthorne, Conceivability and Possibility, 2002, p. 1). 26–27. Di possibilitade… [Those who…] – Here is why a good sense of imagination is important: because it grounds our sense of possibility, hence of our ability to do metaphysics tout court. This is not to suggest that we should be able to imagine whatever is possible, a thesis that no one would seriously hold. Nor is it meant to suggest that we should regard as possible whatever can be imagined “quocumque intellectu concipiente”, as Duns Scotus put it (Ord. I, d. 36, 60), or even “whatever the mind clearly conceives”, as Hume will say (Treatise I, ii, 2): while Hume presented this as “an establish’d maxim in metaphysics”, and surely many philosophers relied on it in their metaphysical speculations (Descartes in primis), this thesis is highly controversial and the Poet himself might have greater sympathy for Mill’s misgivings: “Our capacity or incapacity of conceiving a thing has very little to do with the possibility of the thing in itself, but […] depends on the past history and habits of our own minds” (System of Logic, II, v, 6). Indeed, the thesis has fostered a lively debate also among contemporary philosophers, from Saul Kripke’s Naming and Necessity (1970) through Stephen Yablo’s Is Conceivability a Guide to Possibility? (1993) to the contributions in Szabó Gendler and John Hawthorne’s volume cited in the previous note. Rather, what the Poet must mean is simply this: that without a good imaginative capacity, without a keen ability to conceive of scenarios that go beyond the contingent configuration of things, our sense of possibility and the scope of our philosophical theses will be seriously limited and narrow-minded. 28. D’imaginar… [But thou…] – More compliments, reiterated at v. 33. 29. De’ legni… [Those woods…] – That is, the “rotten wooden planks” that the mariners on Theseus’ ship replaced with “others, more robustious”, throwing the former into the river (cf. XX, 64–65). 228 Canto XXI Eight Circle, in the Zones o’ the Sullen hight Actualistes & Deterministes 229 sì poi svelare quel che si nasconde ne le trame de l’essere, e scovare tu puote, e nel poter tu n’hai ben donde. 31 whence thou canst lay to sight and come to see what is concealed amidst the threads of being, for thou the needful power dost possess. Chi non sa imaginar dove pò andare in solitudo, immobile al confino, rimansi. Tutto ’l nostro adoperare, 34 Alone shall those remain, and at the barrier, who can not ’magine whither they can go. All our deeds, all our undertakements, tutto ’l sudar di quei che fa un giardino da una steppa riarsa, assai depende da imaginar al mondo altro cammino, 37 all labouring of those who rear a garden out of a barren soil, all this dependeth on ’magining the world on other pathways di come è, è stato e si distende in altri corsi e sempre nove strade: è ben che tutti l’omi quest’apprende. 40 than how it is and hath been heretofore, thro’ other routes and ever-newer ways. ’Tis well all mankind this shou’d apprehend. Fonda maestra è possibilitade e sua lezion è quella che qui sconta chi fue prigiono de l’attualitade: 43 For possibility is a master teacher and her ensignment expiate herein the prisouners of actuality: 31. Le trame de l’essere [The threads of being] – The Italian word is the same as the one already used in Canto XII, v. 60, with reference to the “joints of reality” acknowledged by the realists of the forth Ring (and dismissed by the Poet as mere byproducts our own organizing practices). Obviously, here it is used in a different sense, namely as a derivative of the verb “tramare”, meaning “conspire”, “intrigue”, “maneuver”, probably by extension of the classical myth of life as a thread which is spun and cut off by the Moirai (Homer, Il. XXIV, 209–210). In this sense, it clearly points to the modal dimension of reality: everything there is, everything that happens contains within it the germs of what might be and what might happen. 34–36. Chi non sa… [Alone…] – One is reminded here of Gandhi’s words: “Man often becomes what he believes himself to be. If I keep on saying to myself that I cannot do a certain thing, it is possible that I may end by really becoming incapable of doing it. On the contrary, if I have the belief that I can do it, I shall surely acquire the capacity to do it even if I may not have it at the beginning” (Harijan, 1 sett. 1940). 36–39. Tutto… [All…] – Again: the successfulness of our efforts to provide for a better world is a function of our capacity to imagine a different world, a different way our world could be. 40. Di come… [Than how…] – Cf. Musil: “If there is a sense of reality, and no one will doubt that it has its justifications for existing, then there must also be something we can call a sense of possibility. Whoever has it does not say, for instance: Here this or that has happened, will happen, must happen; but he invents: Here this or that might, could, or ought to happen. If he is told that something is the way it is, he will think: Well, it could probably just as well be otherwise” (Der Mann ohne Eigenschaften, I, 1930, cap. 4). 43–45. Fonda maestra… [For possibility…] – These are the only explicit indications, in the fragment that survived, on the general nature of the errors punished in the eighth Circle (the next Canto is entirely missing). Based on what has been said so far, we can safely conjecture that they are all errors deriving from the lack of a seemly sense of possibility, hence from an excessively submissive attitude toward the world as it is. It is difficult, however, to be more specific. The Canto headings listed in the table of contents suggest that the first Zone is reserved to those philosophers who simply failed or refused (in the context of their theories, but perhaps also in their daily lives) to consider any possible alternative to the actual course of things; those would be the “actualists”. The second Zone would instead be home to the “determinists”, who presumably made the futher error of turning such dismissive attitude into a downright denial of all unrealized possibilities, thinking that all actual facts and events are already interconnected according to a necessary and pre-established order (causal or teleological). The other two Zones, to be covered in Canto XXII, would then be home to the “fatalists” and the “irresponsibles” and would correspond to even more radical ways of being “prisoners of actuality” [prigiono de l’attualitade, v. 45]. If this reconstruction is correct, then the epithet “sullen” [accidiosi] which is supposed to apply to all the damned of the eighth Circle may be understood as meaning “passive”, “remissive”, perhaps also “modally crass”. At any rate, it seems clear that the term does not have the same meaning it has for Dante, for whom sullenness, or sloth, is rather “our 230 de l’esser il non esser non men conta ché ciò che non si dà potrebbe darsi, […] Canto XXI 46 excessive patience with regard to evils that confront us” (Conv. IV, xvii, 5) and as such is punished in the swampy waters of the Styx together with the opposite sin, wrath (Inf. VII, 121–124). That is why Dante’s sullen describe themselves as “cheerless” [tristi], a word that points directly to the scholastic identification of the “passio tristitiae” with that laziness that grows in the wrathful who cannot take revenge (see Aquinas, S. theol. II/2, q. 158, a. 6, ad 1). Similar uses can be found e.g. in Brunetto Latini (“In anger is born and rests / inactive sloth [accidia]”; Tesoretto, XXI, 145–146) and Jacopone da Todi (“When Anger can no longer be sated, / she languishes, / and Sloth [accidia] is born”; Laude, XXX, 37–40). Still different is the meaning of the term as it was used in the Christian tradition, which strictly identified sullenness with the fourth of the seven capital vices, namely, the existential apathy and lukewarmness in well-doing that results in the rejection of the divine grace (following Gregory the Great, Moralia XXXI, 45). Eight Circle, in the Zones o’ the Sullen hight Actualistes & Deterministes 231 no less than being weigheth being not, as what is not the case cou’d yet still be, […] 46. De l’esser… [No less…] – Cf. again Musil: “So the sense of possibility could be defined outright as the ability to conceive of everything there might be just as well, and to attach no more importance to what is than to what is not” (loc. cit.). This thesis should not be confused with Hegel’s, whose reading of Heraclitus results in the claim that what is not is no more than what is, hence that “being and non-being are the same” (cf. XX, n. 20). 47. Ché ciò… [As what…] – The manuscript breaks off here, with this beginning of an explanation of why non-being matters no less than being. We do not know how the explanation continues, as we have no information on the punishments awaiting those who incurred the error denounced by Socrates or on the identities of the philosophers the Poet will meet in the four Zones of this Circle or in the six Ditches of the next two Circles. The text in our possession will not pick up again until the end of Canto XXVII, with the only exception of a small fragment from Canto XXIII. Canto XXII Canto XXII overo ancora de l’ottavo Cerchio, ne le Zone de li Accidiosi che son Fatalisti & Irresponsabili or, agayn in the eighth Circle, in the Zones o’ the Sullen hight Fatalistes & Irresponsibles [Canto entirely missing from the manuscript. The available material does not permit any concrete hypothesis concerning its contents, besides what can be gathered from the heading and from the overall structure of the poem. The “Fatalistes” are presumably those Sullen who inferred a complete rebuttal of free will from the denial of any possibility to modify the course of events, thus abandoning themselves to an attitude of complete and unconditioned resignation. They would thus differ from the “Deterministes” of the previous Zone, for whom—we may conjecture—the metaphysical thesis that everything happens according to a predetermined order only entails that we are not in a position to freely form our desires and beliefs, not that we are prevented from translating those desires and beliefs into voluntary actions. As for the “Irresponibles”, it is likely that the Poet intended to address those philosophers who believed that the denial of free will leads to the conclusion that we are not accountable for our own behavior and moral conduct, presumably because an agent is responsible for the consequences of her actions only insofar as she could have acted otherwise.] Canto XXIII Canto XXIII overo del Pozzo de’ Nani, luogo de’ Superbi & Falsi sapienti or, the Pit of Dwarfes, site o’ the Haughty & the False wise – The Poet finds himself in the vicinity of a large well between the eighth and ninth Circles; inside it, down its depths, a multitude of shrinking people dangle by their wrists injuring themselves against the sharp splinters projecting from the walls (1–23). ARGUMENT [Canto received in damaged condition. The people in the well are probably the haughty and false wise mentioned in the heading, to whom the rest of the Canto must have been devoted: philosophers of various times and schools who thought too highly of themselves during their lives, sinning in arrogance and intellectual dishonesty, and who are now reduced to petty dwarflets in accordance with the law of “contrapasso”.] 236 Canto XXIII […] ch’accresce il saper, aumenta ’l dolo? 1 Pit of Dwarfes, site o’ the Haughty & the False wise […] which addeth knowledge and augmenteh grief? Così s’udìa, mentre in loco sozzo sanza sermon s’andava, e a passo lento, ch’avanti a noi i’ vidi un grande pozzo. 2 Thus it was heard, while in that filthy land we step by step went onward without speech till when a spacious well ahead I saw. Di là parea salir alto lamento che di saver ch’è dentro ebbi premura: fa tanto buio che si vede a stento. 5 Therefrom methought a high lament ensued that I befelt the urge to look inside. So dark it is, one scarcely can see; Ma poi, forando l’aura grossa e scura, di più e più appressando ver’ la sponda, fuggiemi ardore e cresciemi paura 8 but piercing through the dense and darksome aire, as near and nearer still the verge we creep’d, mine ardour waned in waxing of my fear però ch’io vidi ’n quella marcia gronda la smisurata torma de’ dannati ch’affolla il vòto fino che s’affonda. 11 when I beheld in that putrescent hole the countless multitude of maledictes who thronged the void adown toward the abysm. Pe’ polsi pendon tutti quei legati sì ch’a pareti schegge batto ’l petto. 14 They are hanging by theyr wrists, those fasten’d souls, wherefore theyr chests collide the witter’d walls. 1. Ch’accresce… [Which addeth…] – The fragment begins with this incomplete verse. The following tercets leave no doubt concerning its belongingness to this Canto, but we do not know how far we are from the beginning. It is likely that the loss is mainly from the part that followed, since the fragment focuses on the description of the place with no reference to the philosophical error punished therein, which must have been addressed later, possibly along with the encounter with some damned souls. The verse itself is almost a literal quotation from the Qoheleth, “qui addit scientiam addat et laborem” (1:18), though “grief” [dolo] suggests that the Poet is here citing from the version used also by Augustine and Aquinas: “qui apponit scientiam, apponit dolorem” (cf. De spir. et litt. XIV, 26, and S. theol. II/1, q. 38, a. 4, 1, respectively). The same version occurs also in much modern and contemporary philosophy, from Spinoza (Ethica, 1677, IV, §17, Note) to Schopenhauer (Die Welt als Wille und Vorst., 1819, I, §56) to Nietzsche’s reformulation: “Spirit is life which itself cutteth into life: by its own torture doth it increase its own knowledge” (Also sprach Zarathustra, II, 1884, §30). 3. Sanza sermon [Without speech] – Cf. Dante, Inf. XXIX, 70. 4. Grande pozzo [Spacious well] – Dante, too, runs into a large well between the eighth and ninth Circles, in the middle of Malebolge. It is guarded by classical and Biblical giants—among whom Nimrod, Ephialtes, and Antaeus—standing in the well “from navel downward” (Inf. XXXI, 33), and they are punished for the pride that made them elevate in order to usurp a divine power 237 that was not theirs (like Virgil’s Titans, Aen. VI, 580–584). While Dante’s well leads directly to the bottom of the hellish funnel “which swallows up Judas with Lucifer” (Inf. XXXI, 142–143), here it is more likely that it is just an autonomous site of punishment, as explained in the following lines. It is also possible, however, that it constitutes a mandatory passage for the descent into the next Circle. 7. Fa tanto buio [So dark it is] – The deeper in Helle, the darker; see again V, 55–57. 8–10. Ma… [But…] – The whole tercet (with few variants) is also in Dante, Inf. XXXI, 37–39, just a few lines after the appearance of the giants. Instead of “ardour” [ardore] Dante has “error” [errore], hinting at the fact that he initially thought the giants were “lofty towers” (XXXI, 20), whereas here the Poet is referring to the urge of v. 6. The description of the atmosphere as “dense and darksome” appears also in Inf. XVI, 130. 13. Il vòto [The void] – The empty space inside the well. 14–15. Pe’ polsi… [They’re…] – A fast, almost cursory report on the punishment of these damned, who are hanging by their wrists and keep injure themselves against the sharp splinters on the walls of the pit. The few lines that follow contain no information on their identity, or on their misdeeds, but it is very likely that these are the “haughty” and “false wise” mentioned in the title, and we may suppose that they sinned in arrogance and intellectual dishonesty. In this sense, symbolically the main element of the punishment is the one 238 Canto XXIII Come mezz’ omi accorci e restringati, Pit of Dwarfes, site o’ the Haughty & the False wise 239 Such as half men enshortened and beshrunken, con quel più grande più vicino al tetto, di tanto la profondità li stringe fin che non han misura che d’insetto. 17 the bigger ones more nearer to the top, they are encompress’d in that profundity until they measure like an insectile. D’un eco di dolor tutto si tinge e le pareti al pozzo sì rimbomba che ’n core mio dilaga e assai mi pinge. 20 An echo of payne perfuseth ev’ry thing, and those abysmal walls resound so loud that theyr reverberation filleth my heart. Dolcezza ch’è sparire ne la tomba […] 23 The sweetiness to evanish in the grave […] emerging in the next verse, together with the image of the well which, as in Dante, is reminiscent of the “shaft of the abyss” of Rev. 9:1–2. Actually, “false wise” is the epithet with which ancient philosophers stigmatized the sophists, guilty of making money from “an apparent but unreal wisdom” (Aristotle, Soph. el. II, 1, 165a22). Socrates even called them “prostitutes of wisdom” (apud Xenophon, Memor. I, vi, 13) and Plato “wholesalers of learning about the soul” (Soph. 231d). In all likelihood, however, here the Poet is thinking of a much broader category, inclusive of philosophers of various times and schools who in some way or other distinguished themselves for their baseness. 16–19. Come mezz’ omi… [Such as half men…] – So the damned are reduced to half-size beings. It is precisely this detail that warrants the hypothesis that they are the haughty and false wise of the title, transformed into little dwarflets by the law of contrapasso (reversed with respect to Dante’s giants). The image of the shrinking, which adds a grotesque trait to what is otherwise a terrible punishment, echoes by contrast the image of growth of the initial verse (revisited metaphorically at v. 10), and the abyss into which the damned are sinking commutes with the high lament of v. 5. Probably, this is also the key to the initial quotation from the Qoheleth: the greater the (false) wisdom, the greater the pain and, by contrapasso, the shrinking of the soul. It is worth recalling that Dante regards pride as one of the three ways in which the love of good “turns to ill” (Purg. XVII, 100), along with envy and anger, and in the first terrace of purgatory the pride are condemned to walk bent over by the weight of huge stones on their backs (Purg. X–XII). By contrast, in hell pride is not punished in a specific place, though Ciacco mentions it as one of the capital vices (Inf. VI, 74) and the lion “with head uplifted” encountered near the dark forest (Inf. I, 45–48) is naturally taken to symbolize this vice. The only explicit representatives of the vice are the well giants (and, of course, Lucifer, who “lifted up his brow against his Maker”; Inf. XXXIV, 35). 23. Dolcezza… [Sweetiness…] – The fragment ends here, with this enigmatic verse. The text in our hands resumes only towards the end of Canto XXVII, where the Poet tells us about the “beast of error” at the bottom of Helle. Thus, this was the last description of a specific site of punishment, and we are missing all material concerning the Ignorants (ninth Circle) and of the Fraudulents (tenth Circle). Canto XXIV Canto XXIV overo del nono Cerchio, ne le due Bolge de li Ignoranti de la storia & de le scienze or, the ninth Circle, in the Ditches o’ the Illiterates tow’rds history & the sciences [Canto entirely missing from the manuscript. Given the title, it must have been devoted to the first two sectors of the ninth Circle, probably called “Ditches” in a metaphorical sense, though we cannot rule out a more literal understanding (in which case the three ditches might form a descending funnel-shaped structure of concentric trenches). We have no information about the contents. We can only speculate that the Poet intended to punish here those philosophers who were blatantly ignorant of the teaching of the past, including the errors made by their predecessors, and of the results of scientific research, which is admittedly partial and provisional and yet not dismissible. The concept of ignorance is itself open to a variety of possible interpretations. Surely it is not to be understood in contraposition with a rigid and absolute notion of knowledge of the sort stigmatized on the door at the entrance of Helle. Nonetheless, we may surmise that the Poet does not have much sympathy for those who feel authorized to ignore historical and scientific findings solely on the basis of their fallibility. And he must have no sympathy whatsoever for those illiterates who do not even see what is a stake.] Canto XXV Canto XXV overo ancora del nono Cerchio, ne la Bolgia de li Ignoranti de la logica or, agayn the ninth Circle, in the Ditch o’ the Illiterates tow’rds Logic [Canto entirely missing from the manuscript. Logic is the basic and main tool that any philosopher ought to use to properly draw consequences from the facts and put order in the theories. Those who do not use logic, either intentionally or by mere negligence, do not know the difference between opinion and belief and cannot even appreciate the range of their own views: where they lead to, what presuppositions they depend on, what difficulties might affect them, what developments they may benefit from, how they can be protected against the objections of those who view things differently, and so on. Most likely, it is to such philosophers that this Canto was devoted, possibly along with some considerations concerning that sense of possibility that logic, well before metaphysics, aims to address in a systematic and dispassionate way.] Canto XXVI Canto XXVI overo del decimo Cerchio, ne le due Bolge de’ Fraudolenti adulatori & plagiatori or, the tenth Circle, in the Ditches o’ the Fraudulentes flatterers & plagiarstes [Canto entirely missing from the manuscript. The tenth Circle corresponds to the deepest precinct of Helle and we may suppose that the Poet reserved it for the most blameworthy subjects. Indeed, the term “Fraudulentes” suggests he does not even consider them bona fide philosophers, so much so that the three Ditches in which the Circle is divided are not named after specific philosophical errors, but rather correspond to certain attitudes that the Poet condemns most severely. In particular, two variants of intellectual fraud are supposedly punished in these first two Ditches: flattery, i.e., the exaggerated praise of someone’s thought out of mere deference or low personal interest, and plagiarism, understood probably in its twofold aspect of appropriation of somebody else’s ideas and of enslavement of somebody else’s thought and will through the dishonest exercise of intellectual sway. Unfortunately we have no information about any of the individual souls punished here, as we know nothing about the pains— undoubtedly very harsh—that await them.] Canto XXVII Canto XXVII overo ancora del decimo Cerchio, ne la Bolgia infima de’ Fraudolenti cialtroni or, agayn the tenth Circle, in the most dysmal Ditch o’ the rotten Fraudulentes – At the very heart of the last Ring of the final Circle, Socrates and the Poet find themselves in front of a huge tenheaded beast standing in the middle of a boiling lake of pitch, into which devils and monsters keep throwing damned souls (1– 27). After having observed and interpreted the symbolic value of each head of the beast (28–51), the two reach over one of its necks and strenuously climb down, leaving it behind (52–63). They thus come to a narrow path, at the end of which is a small hole filled with light (64–73). ARGUMENT [Incomplete Canto. The missing part was probably devoted to the third Ditch, site of such damned souls as to deserve no more than the epithet “rotten”.] 248 Canto XXVII […] Tenth Circle, in the most dysmal Ditch o’ the rotten Fraudulentes 249 […] Così finisce quella gente amara. «Il cor or tu a tremare e non tremare con ogne forza assèttate e prepara. 1 Such is the fate of those embittered people. “Prepare thou now with all the might thou hast as shiver and unquiver will thy heart. Venuto è ’l tempo che s’ha da contrare», fé Socrate prennendomi le mani, «la bestia ch’è a la fine de l’errare». 4 The time hath come that thou and I shall face,” said Socrates while holding both my hands, “the beast that at the end of erring lieth.” O voi ch’avete li ’ntelletti sani, mirate la dottrina che s’asconde sotto ’l velame de li versi strani. 7 O ye, who sound intelligence possess, admire the doctrine which conceal’th itself beneath the veil of my strange lines of verse! Io vidi la bestia. La bestia immonde, che nutrica quest’ infero e rafforza, ne la tenace pece qui s’affonde. 10 I sough the beast. The filthy sordid beast which nourisheth and fortifieth this Helle is here engulfed in deep tenacious pitch. Letana oscura qui già mai s’ammorza. 13 Here never will dark letanyes aminish! 1. Così finisce… [Such is the fate…] – The text in our possession resumes here, after the long gap since the fragment of Canto XXIII. The first part of this Canto, dedicated to the third Ditch of the tenth and last Circle, is missing; all we know is that it must have been devoted to Fraudulents of the worst kind, whom the Poet dubs “Rotten”, and we are now entering the finale. It is hard to say whether “embittered people” refers back to the damned souls just met in the Ditch or, more generally, to all the damned of Helle. The first interpretation seems more plausible, in contrast with the people mentioned below, vv. 21ff, who in all likelihood are not associated with any specific error but rather represent symbolically all those philosophers who have erred in some way or other. 4. Venuto è ’l tempo [The time hath come] – Socrates may have anticipated the coming of this moment in one of the missing parts of the text. 6. La fine de l’errare [The end of erring] – Again a verse that builds on the ambiguity of the verb “to err” (meaning both “to make a mistake” and “to wander”) already exploited by Athena (VI, 17) and then by Socrates himself in his words to the Demiurge (IX, 149). We are coming to the end of the journey and, with it, of the scrutiny of the philosophical errors that punctuated the itinerary. But it will not be a smooth ending, and Socrates rightly admonishes the Poet that they still have to face “the beast”. 7–9. O voi… [O ye…] – Dante apostrophizes the reader with the same words in Inf. IX, 61–63; cf. also Purg. VIII, 19–21. The switch to a direct appeal—the only example in the text we have—signals a decisive turning point in the narration and invites us to unravel the deep meaning beneath the “veil” of the lines that follow (velame: a term that Giovanni Pascoli will use for the title of his 1900 Dante study, and that brings to mind the “cloak” of fables mentioned by Dante himself in Conv. II, i, 3). As to the “strange” nature of the lines hinted at in v. 9, it can be understood both in a comparative sense (strange, i.e., different from the rest) and in the sense of “arcane”, “enigmatic” (precisely insofar as the lines in question are deeply allegorical). 10. Io vidi la bestia [I sough the beast] – As in Rev. 19:19. The whole description that follows is in typical apocalyptic style, with the beast representing the many faces of an error that here, in the heart of Helle, is transformed from the reason of punishing to its very essence. 12. Ne la tenace… [In deep tenacious…] – First allegorical element: the beast is partly sunken into a lake of pitch. Thus the error entraps, and it entraps in darkness, for “whoever touches pitch will be defiled” (Sir. 13:1). The scene is visually reminiscent of the image of Lucifer at the bottom of Dante’s hell, although Lucifer is stuck into the frozen waters of the Cocytus (Inf. XXXIV, 29), and evokes the image of the devil “cast into the lake of fire and brimstone” of Rev. 20:10. Dante uses boiling pitch (calling it, as here, “tenacious”) in the fifth ditch of the eight circle, abode of the “barrators” and corrupted politicians (Inf. XXI, 8ff). 13. Letana oscura… [Here never…] – Probably litanies voiced by the damned souls of v. 21. They are “dark”, hence difficult to understand and to put down in words, yet they continue nonstop and form an integral part of the scene, scanning its rhythm. For the word “letanye” [letana], see VII, n. 62; for “aminish” [s’ammorza], see III, n. 27. 250 Canto XXVII Come rinocero che null’ assale, non ha alcun manto ma corazza e scorza. Tenth Circle, in the most dysmal Ditch o’ the rotten Fraudulentes 251 Like a rynocheros that naught assaileth, it hath no mantle but cuirasse and crust. A mezzo tronco stanno du’ grand’ ale che di varo piumaggio fanno mostra e sfioran le pareti d’este cale. 16 Amid its trunk are two innormous winges which make display of plummage multiphary and brush agaynst the walls of this spelunk. Ai lati stanno diabolame e mostra e con longhi forconi quei roncaglia corpi dannati, e lor roncola e rostra 19 Along all sides are devilment and monsters with grappling prongs wherewith they persecute the bodies of the damned and hurl them down; e come novo foco attizza paglia rintuzzan ei la pece che si sbolle e ’l corpo malo spare, arranca, arraglia. 22 and as dried stalks enkindle novel fire, so they foment the boiling pitch below wherefore those bodies vanish, struggle, sink. E par quinci salir da nere bolle di cenere un lenzolo che riveste onn’ angolo di quest’ angolo folle. 25 And from those pitchy blisters underneath a blanket made of ashes seem’d to rise which ev’ry corner of this corner cover’d. Io vidi che la bestia ha dieci teste. Le portan colla lunghi ad ogne loca e d’azzannarsi son l’un l’altra preste. 28 I saw the beast is warnish’d with ten heads. They are carried by long necks in ev’ry place and eager e’en to tear at one another. ‘ A turno ne la pece sputan foca 31 Each one in turn spits fire into the pitch 14–15. Come rinocero… [Like a rynocheros…] – The symbolism continues. The error does not have a mantle but a cuirass, like a rhinoceros. It is, therefore, impenetrable, resistant, hard to scratch. The analogy may be inspired to the fact that in the Middle Ages the rhinoceros escaped ordinary taxonomic categories, so much so that Marco Polo, upon seeing some in the island of Java, mistook them for unicorns (Milione 162). See also Solinus, who wrote that the rhinoceros, or unicorn, “is never caught alive: killed he may be, but taken he cannot be” (Coll. rer. mem. LII, 40). 16–18. A mezzo… [Amid its trunk…] – Presumably, the two huge wings of the error-beast represent the promises of high destinations, as in the myth of Pegasus (Pindar, Olymp. XIII, 60ff), and their “multiphary” plumage may symbolize the variety of such promises. They are, however, delusive promises: the excessive width of the wings causes them to brush against the walls, making it impossible for the beast to take flight. 19–24. Ai lati… [Along all sides…] – All around the beast, devils and other monstrous creatures foster the boiling pitch with fresh bodies, indicating that the error is always hungry. At v. 19, “devilment” [diabolame] is best read as a mass term, suggesting that the devils form an amorphous horde. The whole scene is partly echoed in Dante, Inf. XXI, 43ff. 26–27. Un lenzolo… [A blanket…] – Symbolism unclear. The blanket of ashes may signify the grey opacity that inevitably accompanies every error; or perhaps, more simply, the ashes may represent what remains after an alldevouring fire. 28. Io vidi… [I saw…] – Here begins, following the typical format of apocalyptic visions, the detailed description of the beast, with its highly allegorical structure. The number of heads matches the number of Circles of Helle, hence the ten fundamental forms of philosophical error encountered through the journey, though it will be apparent that they rather represent ten different aspects of erring. The scene has a certain parallel in Dante, Purg. XXXII, 142ff, with the chariot of the Church that is transformed in the seven-headed ten-horned beast of the book of Reveletion (13.1; 17: 9–18), symbol of the Antichrist. The ten-headed beast has a precedent in Rāvaṇa, the demoniac king of Lanka of Hindu mythology described in the Rāmāyaṇa of Vālmikī (2nd cent. BCE). 29–30. Le portan… [They are carried…] – The different aspects of error extend in all directions, eager [preste] to tear one another to pieces. 31–33. A turno… [Each one…] – Like the leviathan (I, 67), each of the heads spits fire, thus fostering the boiling pitch out of which grows the beast. 252 Canto XXVII che tutto par un rogo ed una pena che lumina ma chiaritade affioca. Tenth Circle, in the most dysmal Ditch o’ the rotten Fraudulentes 253 that ev’ry thing is like to blaze and payne which luminate and yet enlighten naught. La prima testa ha foggia di sirena che qui a venir seduce in questo lago. Un’altra è lonza ch’a lussuria mena. 34 One head, I see, hath guise such as a siren which hereto cometh to lure, in this lagoon. Another is a leopard bearing lust. E quella testa ch’è seme del drago tra fero agnello ed agnolo è siduta e fanno i tre terribile presago. 37 A third one, like the kernel of a drake, betwixt ferocious lamb and ængel face is seated, being the three of ferly auspice. E v’è una testa ch’è sempre morsuta ma che ricresce carne ad ogne foro. Un camaleo che tinta e forma muta 40 There is a head which always is devour’d and always grow’th its flesh anew aga’n. Then a chamaeleon changing tint and shape s’unisce a quel sinistro destro coro, sì che paion legat’ assieme stretti. Un’altra testa affuria come un toro 43 adjoineth that sinister right chorale such that they seem togæther tightly tied. Another head affrighteth like a taur e un’altra ancor s’abbrulica d’insetti che si scavallan e accavalcan spesso. E de l’ultima testa ch’io vedetti 46 and yet another swarm’th with insectiles that cumulate, amass, and congeriate. And lastly, the tenth head that I beheld mi parve contener un sol reflesso, 49 appeared as though it contain’d a mere reflection, Yet these are fires that, like every error, produce a light that illuminates without shedding any clarity. 34. Sirena [Siren] – A symbol of the seductive force of error, building on the Homeric myth of the Sirens who beguile “with their limpid song” whomever listens to their voice (Odyss. XII, 39–45). Dante appeals to the same myth in Purg. XIX, 19–21 and XXXI, 45. 36. Lonza [Leopard] – Symbolizes the pleasure and cupidity of error, like Virgil’s “lynx” in Aen. I, 323. The symbolism coincides with coincides with Dante’s, who includes the leopard among the three hostile beasts that block his way in the dark woods at the beginning of Inferno (I, 31–36). 37–39. E quella… [A third one…] – These three heads seem to form a special group and are once again inspired to the Book of Revelation, where the beast wants to kill the lamb but is defeated by the angel (19:11–21). Note, however, that here the lamb is ferocious [fero], suggesting that the error is never as innocent as it might seem. 40–41. E v’è… [There is…] – Sixth head, symbolizing the capacity of the error to grow anew after every attack. 42. Camaleo [Chamaeleon] – The chameleon symbolizes the mimetic nature of error, which changes its shape and colors depending on the context. The allegorical use of this animal’s mimetic abilities goes back to antiquity. It is exploited e.g. by Aristotle (Eth. Nic. I, 10, 1100b6), Ausonius (Ep. 17), and especially Plutarch, who is explicit in comparing Alcibiades’ talent for adapting himself to any circumstance to the changefulness of a chameleon, adding that the latter “can make himself like to any color except white”, the symbol of innocence (Vita Alcib. XXIII, 4; cf. Quom. adul. am. 9). According to Pliny (Nat. hist. VIII, 51), red would be another exception, though it is difficult to associate a precise symbolic value to this further detail. 43. Sinistro destro [Sinister right] – Word play based on the fact that in Italian, as in literary English, “sinister” can mean “menacing” (the sense intended here) as well as “left” (as opposed to “right”, here in the spatial sense). 45. Toro [Taur] – Eight head, symbol of the strength of the error. 46–47. E un’altra… [And yet another…] – Symbolism of dubious interpretation. It may suggest that a philosophical error may stem from or be constituted by several different, almost indistinguishable smaller mistakes, each overriding the others. 48–51. L’ultima testa… [The tenth head…] – The tenth and last head does not have a definite form: it resembles the face of those who look at it, indicating that we all make mistakes and that our errors tend to model themselves af- 254 Canto XXVII mi parve pinta de la nostra effigie e che ’l mio viso in lei tutto era messo. Tenth Circle, in the most dysmal Ditch o’ the rotten Fraudulentes 255 as though it was depicted in our semblance and my whole look on it was all bestowed. «Or si conven che tu per l’aere grigie», mi disse Socrate che mi s’accoste, «conduca noi lontan da l’acque stigie». 52 “Now it behoveth thee through this grey aire to lead us both away the stygial waters,” said Socrates. He drew nigh to my side. Ond’ io presi di tempo e loco poste e appena quella testa è a noi vicino avvinghio lu’ con me a le squame coste. 55 Whence I the vantage seized of time and place, and when that head mov’th forward near to us, I throw myself with him upon its ribs. Per tali scale e per cotal declino scennemmo lungo ’l collo de la besta al fondo, al cor dove vedemmo ’nfino 58 Along such squamous ladder, such decline we clambered down the cannel of the beast unto the heart, the bottom, where we saw che due furo le peci che s’appesta in cui s’affondan non cosce, radici, e che stretta tra lor sta cava cresta. 61 that two were the mephitic sloughs of pitch wherein, not thighs, but roots were firmly infixed and that atwixt them lay a narrow trail. Noi la ’mboccammo allor tra sacrafici e traversammo alfin le terre nere, ed arrivammo tra le tamerici. 64 We entered it with labour and fatigue and walked afine across the blacksome lands, and we arrived among the tamariskes. ter us. It is precisely by jumping on this head that the Poet and Socrates will find their way out. Lines 50–51 are also in Dante (Par. XXXIII, 131–132, with modifications), though he uses them to describe the last, culminating vision of the Holy Trinity. 52–54. Or si conven… [Now it behoveth…] – We are at the most delicate and dangerous moment of the entire journey, and Socrates asks the Poet to take everything into his own hands. It is a great testimony of confidence and trust in the Poet’s capacities, the greatest Socrates can—and at this point must—offer, but also the most decisive, impervious test. 55–57. Ond’io… [Whence I…] – The Poet understands immediately what he has to do: he prepares himself and waits for the right moment, and when the tenth head [quella, i.e., the last head mentioned in the foregoing] comes close to them, he embraces his Master and lays fast hold upon the squamous skin of its neck. The scene is highly dramatic and has a close textual parallel in Dante (Inf. XXXIV, 71–73), though there it is Virgil who takes the lead, climbing down Lucifer’s neck with Dante holding on to him. 60. Al fondo, al cor [The heart, the bottom] – Literally and symbolically: we are at the heart of Helle, at the “root” (v. 62) of every error. 61–63. Che due… [That two…] – The boiling pitch forms two distinct, separate puddles, with the beast plunging its roots (not its thighs, as it may have seemed from a distance, and as is actually the case with Lucifer in Inf. XXXIV, 76) into both. The Poet notices that between these two puddles there is a narrow path leading to an escape. 66. Ed arrivammo… [And we arrived…] – This is the verse that marks the culminating point of the Canto’s finale, if not of the entire journey through Helle—rapid and simple, but capable of expressing in one breath the immense sense of relief and liberation after the nightmare the Poet has gone through. The reader knows well that, with the last effort, the Poet has left behind not just the ten-headed beast and the boiling pitch of the tenth Circle, but all the torments of Helle. The symbolism is nonetheless challenging because of the rich and complex net of senses related to the image chosen by the Poet. On the one hand, tamarisks are exceptionally resistant plants, capable of adapting to the most unfertile soils, and this has made them into a symbol of eternal life. It is a tamarisk, for example, that Abraham plants in Beersheba “to call there on the name of the Lord, the God who lives forever” (Gen. 21:33). On the other hand, precisely their capacity to live in desertic terrains made them a symbol of foolishness, as in Jeremiah: “He will be like tamarisk in the desert, and shall not see when something good comes” (17:6). In medieval times, it was this latter, pejorative reading that prevailed, occasionally augmented with the image of hypocrisy associated with the “amphibious” nature of the plant (Basilius, Hex. V, 9, 5; Ambrose, Exam. III, 5, 69). The classical texts present both readings, and if the tamarisk is sometimes mentioned in connection with pastoral 256 Canto XXVII Tenth Circle, in the most dysmal Ditch o’ the rotten Fraudulentes Io levai li occhi e credetti vedere la bestia come io l’avea lasciata, e vidile radici ’n su tenere. 67 I raised mine eyes and thought that I should meet the beast in the same way as I had left it; instead, I saw it with its roots reversed. Poi gira ’l guardo e vidi che spiegata si sta secura via davante al duce e ch’al suo fondo pare incoronata 70 Then I turned round and, fronting my good guide, a way secure and open I beholded which at the end was crown’d as with an aureole, da un picciol tondo da cui ven la luce. 73 a little round whence came a shining light. life (Homer, Il. VI, 39; X 465–468; XXI, 350; Virgil, Buc. IV, 2; VI, 10; VIII, 54; X, 13), it is also a metaphor for wickedness (Diodorus Sic. Bibl. hist. XII, xii, 2), and its being a fruitless plant made it into a symbol of unhappiness (Pliny, Nat. hist. XIII, 116; XVI, 108) and of death (Lucan, Phars. IX, 917). Here the most natural interpretation corresponds to the first, positive reading, but the symbolic intent appears to be more modest and functional to the conclusive developments of the poem: tamarisks are plants that live in the desert, and it is exactly a “desert luminous” that is awaiting the Poet in the final Canto, just outside of Helle. Their presence on the way out would thus anticipate the existence of the desert as a land of life and eternal salvation, in contrast with the stereotypical image of the desert as an ugly, hostile, inhospitable land. 257 67–69. Io levai… [I raised…] – Cf. Dante, Inf. XXXIV, 88–90. As with Dante’s Lucifer, the beast at the end of Helle appears upside-down, with his roots sticking up in the air, as soon as Socrates and the Poet have passed through the center of the earth. Apart from any topographic details, it is the symbolic value of this detail that is important: the perspective of the Poet is completely overturned compared to how he was at the beginning and during the journey. 71–73. Si sta… [A way secure…] – It is the long-awaited “way out”, narrow but “secure”. However, the Poet does not know it yet: to him, the pathway looks safe simply in comparison with the difficult and risky descent down the beast’s neck. He does not yet know the nature or source of the light that is coming from the “little round” he sees at the end of the path. Canto XXVIII Canto XXVIII overo de l’Uscita or, the Exit – The frame of the lightened hole has a solemn inscription which the Poet, still frightened, is unable to decipher; Socrates reassures him and urges him to go through the burrow (1–19). At the exit, the Poet is overwhelmed with joy and marvel upon seeing the immense bright desert that opens in front of his eyes. Socrates tells him this is the end of the line, the destination of they journey: it is the time for farewell (20–69). On his own once again, yet high in spirit and intellect, the Poet walks forth into the desert. The greatest and deepest emotion gets a hold of him as he sees the figure of the Lady of the Heavens waiting for him at a distance (70–84). The encounter with the loved one and her kiss, which fulfills the message of the inscription elevating the Poet to the ever-shining stars, is the final seal on his long redemptive journey: every truth, all beauty has its origin and dies in love (85–111). ARGUMENT 260 Canto XXVIII The Exit VOI RAMMENTATE LA VOSTRA SEMENZA: FATTI NON FOSTE A VIVER COME BRUTI, MA PER SEGUIRE BENE E CANOSCENZA. 1 REMEMBER YE THE SEED FROM WHICH YE SPRANG: YE WERE NOT FRAM’D TO LIVE LIKE UNTO BRUTES, BUT GOODNESS TO PURSUE AND CONUSANCE. VOI RAMMENTATE QUEL CHE V’HA PERDUTI: SEMPRE DISSEPPELLIR CHE SI NASCOSE SOLO V’ETTERNA, SOL VI FA VIRTUTI. 4 REMEMBER YE THE FAULTS WHICH LED YOU ASTRAY: UNHEARTING WHAT CONCEAL’TH ITSELF PROFOUND ALONE SHALL ÆTERNIZE YOU AND MAKE YOU WORTH. L’ANIME VOSTRE SIEN SEMPRE SMANIOSE, 7 HIGH WISDOM MAY YOUR SOULS ALWISE DESIRE 1. Voi rammentate… [Remember ye…] – The final chapter of this Comedye, dedicated entirely to the exit out of Helle, begins with the same solemn change of scene that marked the beginning of the journey at the start of Canto IV. The sign now facing the Poet now echoes the one found there at the entrance, creating a symmetrical tie between the two ends of the itinerary, with a message that reminds the pilgrims who reached this point of the significance and the very purpose of their voyage. This pattern has no analogue in Dante, for whom the exit out of hell deserves only a few lines at the end of the last canto of Inferno, otherwise devoted to the last zone of the ninth circle and to the vision of Lucifer. This difference reflects a profound discrepancy between the two poems: upon leaving hell, Dante’s pilgrimage will continue through the purgatory and in paradise, forming the subjects of the other two canticles of his Comedia; for the Poet the passage through Helle constitutes a complete and self-contained episode that ends here, and the visit to the Empyrean in the second Metaphysicall Comedye will be a new journey altogether. Furthermore, Dante’s hell is surely not a place one can just visit and walk through: although allegorical of the universal experience of mankind, Dante’s travel is an exceptional event, as were those of Aeneas and of the vas electionis (see III, n. 20). By contrast, the present inscription suggests that the Poet’s Helle is structured in such a way as to expect other pilgrims to undertake the same redeeming journey (cf. below, n. 22 and v. 53) and actually sounds like an invitation to follow in the Poet’s footsteps. Despite these important differences, it is noteworthy that the first tercet of the inscription corresponds almost verbatim to a passage in Dante’s poem, specifically in the “orazion picciola” that Ulysses—a symbol of the anxiety of research—delivers to his crew in the eight ditch (Inf. XXVI, 118–120). In this first line, the only variation occurs in the opening imperative, “remember ye” (vs. Ulysses’ “consider ye”), whose exhortatory tone is in sharp contrast with the last line of the inscription at the entrance (qualunque certità van dispogliate, IV, 9). 2. Bruti [Brutes] – Animals that lack reason, literally and metaphorically, following a tradition made popular by Isidore’s Etymologiae: “Brutus […] quia sensu caret. Est enim sine ratione” (X, 28). Dante endorses it explicitly in Conv. IV, vii, 11: “Just as what is left by removing the last side of a pentagon is a quadrangle, and no longer a pentagon, so when we remove the last faculty 261 of the soul, that is reason, what is left is no longer a man but something possessing only a sensitive soul, which is to say, a brute”. 3. Ma per seguire… [But goodness…] – That this is the core of our human “seed” is the starting point of Aristotle’s Metaphysics “All humans by nature desire to know” (I, I, 980a21). Actually, the Poet couples knowledge with goodness [bene], probably following Boethius of Dacia’s paraphrase (Modi sign. q. 5, 73), whereas Dante’s Ulysses has “virtue” [virtude], as in Horace’s Epistle (I, ii, 17), but the substance does not change. Dante himself quotes Aristotle at the commencement of his Convivio: “As the Philosopher says at the beginning of the First Philosophy, all men by nature desire to know. The reason for this can be and is that each thing, impelled by a force provided by its own nature, inclines towards its own perfection. Since knowledge is the ultimate perfection of our soul, in which resides our ultimate happiness, we are all therefore by nature subject to a desire for it. Many are, however, deprived of this most noble perfection by various causes within and outside of man which remove him from the habit of knowledge” (I, i, 1). See also Purg. XXI, 1, where the innate desire to know becomes “the natural thirst, that ne’er is satisfied” (and “we enjoy / as much in drinking as the thirst is great”, 73–74). 4. Voi rammentate… [Remember ye…] – A one-line injunction that summarizes the aim of the whole Comedye: to learn from one’s own mistakes— and from the large variety of philosophical errors painfully showcased in the Circles of Helle. Cf. Socrates’ words at the end of Canto II: “o’er straits and trails the errours and from the errours we can learn the way” (156). 5. Che si nascose [What conceal’th itself] – The truth that hides beneath the surface. 6. V’etterna [Shall æternize you] – By contrast with “led you astray” [v’ha perduti] at v. 4: errors can be corrected, knowledge is for eternity. The transitive use of the verb was not uncommon in early Italian. See e.g. Boccaccio, Filoc. IV, 130: “lo stato di nostro matrimonio, il quale noi pregavamo gl’Iddii, che ’l dovessero etternare”. Dante uses the verb reflexively in Inf. XV, 85. 7. L’anime vostre sien… [High wisdom may…] – In the Clouds, Aristophanes has the Chorus welcome Socrates with the words “O man, who justly desirest high wisdom” (v. 412). They are meant to be words of scorn, but Diogenes Laërtius takes them to be indicative of the fact that the comic playwrights 262 Canto XXVIII CH’ESERCIZIO D’AMORE È LA SAPIENZA: LE COSE ACCENDON SÌ LUMI A LE COSE. The Exit 263 AS KNOWLEDGING IS EXERCISE OF LOVE: THUS THINGS FOR THINGS SHALL KINDLE TORCHES NEW. Codesta scritta ’n fina trasparenza io vidi dove sopra luce s’entra. Spaurimmi ché fuggia mia intelligenza 10 This script, in fine transparence, I descried beneath of where the light transpierceth through. I shudder’d, as my intellect could not il senso lor e dove metton dentra. Io chiede al duca, ed ei sì mi rispondo: “Or più non dimandare e sol t’addentra 13 its notion fathom, whither it doth lead. I aske my Guide, and thus he answer’th me: “Now farther question not; just enter thou traverso quel pertugio sì rotondo che una fiammante volta rassomiglia.” Per primo vado, ed el segue secondo. 16 that aperture ahead and so rotund that even of a flammeous vault hath guise.” I climb the first, he following my steps. La soglia de la luce non m’impiglia. 19 The threshold of the light entraps me none. do not realize that “in the act of ridiculing him, they give him high praise” (Vitae Philos. II, 27). No doubt the Poet is thinking along the same lines, though here the inscription is addressing everyone, not just Socrates. 8. Esercizio d’amore [Exercise of love] – As already on the inscription at the entrance of Helle (IV, 6), the phrase builds on the etymology of “philosophy” as love for knowledge that sets the entire Comedye in motion (Canto I, v. 1 and note). 9. Le cose… [Thus things…] – The final verse of the inscription echoes the closing line of the first book of Lucretius’ De rerum natura (“ita res accendent lumina rebus”, v. 1110). It is the last, definitive tribute to Lucretius. But the verse is also the key to the entire Canto, characterized by the contrast between the apparent simplicity of the poetic architecture and the complex symbolic structure that underlies it, with light serving as a metaphor of the intimate relationship between clarity, love, wisdom, and beauty. In particular, the adverb “thus” [sì] refers to the “exercise of love” of the previous line, establishing a first explicit nexus: it is through such exercise that things acquire clarity, in contrast with the fires generated by error, which “luminate and yet enlighten naught” (XXVII, 33). This will be followed by three highly symbolic moments: first at line 19, with the passage under the bright threshold; then at line 58, with Socrates’ fraternal kiss on the Poet’s forehead; and finally at line 105, with the kiss of the Lady of the Heavens on the Poet’s lips, her hands holding dearly his face. 10. Trasparenza [Transparence] – Perhaps an allusion to the clarity of thought promised by Socrates (“I shall lead thee […] until thy thoughts shall have become translucid”, I, 155–156) and symbolically represented by the Princess of the Way (III, 68). As an actual description of the epigraph, however, it is hard to imagine how it could form a transparent display. 11. Dove luce s’entra [Where the light transpierceth through] – The tiny orifice [picciol tondo] descried at the end of the previous Canto, under which the sign is located. 12. Spaurimmi [I shudder’d] – Recall that the Poet does not know yet that he is about to exit Helle, nor he does know the source of the light that he sees through the hole (though presumably he has not forgotten Socrates’ schematic rundown in V, 55–57, and remembers that the tenth Ring is the last one). Here, too, the Poet differs from Dante, who is explicitly informed by Virgil that the descent down Lucifer's side is the last effort before the way out, “for we have seen the whole” (Inf. XXXIV, 69). 14. Io chiede… [I aske…] – This is the only passage in the entire Canto where the Poet reports his own words, and it is in indirect discourse. 15. Or più non dimandare [Now farther question not] – The injunction is reminiscent of Socrates’ words to Athena (VI, 21) and then again to the golem (XVIII, 43), though obviously with reference to a different sort of questioning altogether. 18. Per primo vado… [I climb the first…] – Contrast Dante, who leaves Hell after his Guide (“We mounted up, he first and I the second,”; Inf. XXXIV, 136) exactly as he entered it (“He made to move, and I his steps pursued.”; Inf. I, 136; cf. also also here at I, 158). The difference reflects the fact that Dante’s redemptive journey must continue, whereas the Poet’s has come to an end and his Guide trusts him completely, as already seen in the test with the Beast of the Error (XXVII, 55–57). 19. La soglia… [The threshold…] – This is the first moment of the symbolic sequence mentioned in n. 9. The bright threshold does not entrap [impiglia] the Poet, indicating that he has achieved a philosophical expertise that truly clears things up. 264 Canto XXVIII E oltre quel confin, oh, qual intorno! Com’ empie li occhi e il cuor la maraviglia! The Exit 265 And pass’d beyond the verge, oh, what a land! Oh, what a wonder fill’th my eyes and heart! Qui lucono le stelle in pieno giorno, l’amorevol natura de le cose deposita la polva tutt’ attorno 22 Here shine the skyey stars in full daylight; the loving-hearted character of things allwhither, wide and far, layeth the dust, e piano, in ampie foglie e silenziose. Sotto le povertà d’un solo fiato nascondonsi abbondanze polverose. 25 and slow and in silential leaves enlarged. Beneath the povertyes of one sole breath pulverulous aboundances behyde. È tutto quiete e soffio dislungato, una simplicità fatta purezza. È il fine, è il diserto illuminato. 28 Aywhere is quietude, a longsome breeze, simplicity into purity becom’d. The end is this—the desert luminous. Ed onne cosa di quella grandezza anch’ io d’esserne parte mi sentiva che sciolti i nodi fur de la tristezza. 31 And of the things that form’d such ev’ry whit, a part I feel’d I was, I too with them, and suddenly the knots of sorrow loosen’d. Io mi voltava a quei che mi seguiva 34 I turned to him who follow’d me behind 20–21. E oltre… [And pass’d…] – If the sight of the tamarisks (XXVII, 66) marked the final turn of the journey through Helle, with a change in rhythm that alone carried all the weight of the sense of relief that came with it, here the Poet does not hesitate to rely on a double exclamation to express the burst of joy that signals the true exit, the jubilant realization that Helle’s darkness is truly behind him. And the Poet knows well which word to entrust with the weight of the revelation: after so many terrifying declinations throughout his journey, the irresistible “maraviglia” which floods his eyes and heart is the same, original sense of wonder that he knows to be at the origin of every authentic philosophy (see VI, 49–51 and note) 22. Qui [Here] – The adverb anchors the interior joy of the Poet to the location of the exit, whose description will occupy the next few lines. But note the change in perspective: through that aperture (v. 16) one gets here, an adverb that unites speaker (writer) and listener (reader) in a shared place. The Poet is inviting us to join him, exactly as he encouraged us to follow him at the outset, tying his own destiny and tribulations to those of the entire humanity with a first-person plural (“philosophizing on this our life of awe”; I, 10). 23–30. L’amorevol… [The loving-hearted…] – Not a lush and verdant land; not a “site of blooming flowers”, like the one in the vicinity of the swamp (I, 23); even less a jungle or a hyperuranian garden of Eden: the end of the long and arduous journey, the here where the stars “shine in full daylight” and where the Poet invites us to join him, is a land of “simplicity into purity becom’d”, where everything is “quietude” and “the loving-hearted character of things” deposits dust allwhither. The land of salvation is a luminous desert [diserto illuminato]. Indeed, it is the luminous desert. The definite description may advert to an image introduced in an earlier, missing part of the text, but at this point there is no room for ambiguity: the desert can only represent that flat world—ontologically spare, metaphysically humble, and open to every possibility—which gradually emerged from the careful and detailed philosophical analysis of the errors punished in Helle. It is a risky image, for it runs against the mythological image of the desert as the land that separates us from the Promised Land, and even before as a “dreadful land of burning serpents and scorpions” (Deut. 8:15), a “dry and parched land” (Psalm. 62:2) abode of “burning drought” (Hos. 13:5) and “deep darkness” (Jer. 2:6). Nevertheless it is an image that sums up with extraordinary emblematic force the nominalistconstructivist conception that the Poet has been developing under the guidance of his master, together with the idea that in such a world a solution to many a philosophical problem resides first and foremost in our ability to tidy up our heads, our needs, our organizing practices. One can’t really say that the Poet’s invitation has been met with much enthusiasm in the centuries that followed. Yet that is the philosophical message of the whole poem. And it is in this spirit that the image of the desert will eventually acquire the traits of an authentic Weltanschauung, up until its strenuous re-birth in contemporary philosophy (most notably thanks to Quine’s On What There Is, 1948: 23). 34. Quei che mi seguiva [Him who follow’d me] – Socrates, who had let the Poet go first [per primo, v.18]. 266 Canto XXVIII ed ei le spalle forte assai m’afferra e fé con voce che ’l pianto copriva: The Exit 267 and he, my shoulders seizing in his grip, with broken voice, and tearful, spake these wordes: “Lunga ed impervia è via che dissotterra e che snoda da l’infero a la luce traverso li travagli d’onne guerra. 37 “So longful is the way and hard the labour which leadeth out of Hell up to the light, traverse ev’ry travail of ev’ry strife. Vai or, e vita libera conduce ché libera è la via di conoscenza: chi più n’acquista più disio n’adduce. 40 Go now, and lead thou liberate a life, as liberated is the path of truth: greater learning call’th forth greater thirst. Per questo è sempr’ avvolta la sapienza d’amore vero, e indissolubilmente, ché l’una non è mai de l’altro senza. 43 ’Tis therefore that wisdom com’th enshrouded in love authentic, indissolvably, whence one is never found absent the other. Vai or, e non sol sovra ’n ciel le sente ma cupola il tuo cuore a lor le fenno, a queste stelle che non son mai spente. 46 Go now, and feel thou not alone the sterres up high, but may thy heart be a vault for them, these stars that never fade, never expire. Non aspettar mio dir più né mio cenno, per ch’io te sovra te mitrio e corono; libero, dritto e sano sia ’l tuo senno. 49 Expect from me no further speech or sygne, whence o’er thyself I crown and mitre thee; and may thy will be sound, upright, and free. 35–36. Ed ei… [And he…] – Inevitably, with the exit out of Helle comes the time of farewell. And Socrates is about to pronounce his last, moving words holding the Poet by his shoulders—a fatherly and brotherly gesture at once. 37–39. Lunga… [So longful…] – Cf. Virgil, Aen. IV, 128: “The gates of hell are open night and day; smooth the descent, and easy is the way: but to return, and view the cheerful skies, in this the task and mighty labor lies”. Thus also Milton, with words that match the Poet’s very closely: “Long is the way / and hard, that out of Hell leads up to light. / Our prison strong, this huge convex of fire” (Paradise Lost, II, 432–434). Here the light is, naturally, the brightness of the desert, but see below, n. 52 and vv. 91ff. 40. Vai or [Go now] – All of Socrates’ speech is built around this key invocation, reprised with poignant regularity every two tercets (vv. 46 and 52). The phrase echoes the threefold “Come thou” [Veni or] at the end of Canto II. 41. Libera [Liberated] – Free insofar as the desert features no “bynding ways or ways forbidden” (XII, 56), hence the Poet can now pursue his inquiry without the burden of false certainties (IV, 24). As Carlo Michelstaedter will put it, “the philosopher does not rest, he does not live this life quoque modo according to the decrees of ceremony […] but wants his own life free—the life of knowledge” (Περί σοφίας και εὐδαιµονίας, 1909, in Opere, 1958, p. 777). 42. Chi più… [Greater…] – The verse is patterned after the line from Qoheleth cited in XXIII, 1 (“increasing knowledge only increases grief”), but turning it onto its head to yield a positive message. Cf. Lawrence Sterne’s motto: “The desire of knowledge, like the thirst of riches, increases ever with the acquisition of it” (Tristram Shandy, II, 1760, ch. 3, building on Juvenal, Sat. XIV, 139: “Crescit amor nummi quantum ipsa pecunia crescit”). 43–45. Per questo… [’Tis therefore…] – Yet another hint to philosophy as love of wisdom, here with reference to line 8 of the inscription by the exit door. The inseparability of the nexus between wisdom and love will reach its peak with Paracelsus: “Qui nihil cognuit, nihil amat […] qui intellegit, amat” (Lab. med. err. IV). Dante himself underscores it in Convivio: “Philosophy has wisdom as her material subject, love as her form” (III, xiv, 1). 46–48. E non sol… [And feel thou…] – This is Socrates’ last warning: the stars that “never fade, never expire” will guide one’s path from the sky, but that is not enough. In order for things to be truly enlightened one must climb up to the stars and internalize their light. Nietzsche will come to a similar conclusion: “The sage as astronomer. – So long as you still feel the stars as something ‘above you,’ you still lack the eye of the man of knowledge” (Jenseits von Gut und Böse, 1886, IV, §71). This may also explain the reference to Thales’ Thracian servant in the speech by the Lady of the Heavens in Canto III (v. 65 and note). 49–51. Non aspettar… [Expect from me…] – Dante’s Virgil uses similar words in his solemn farewell speech on the thresholds of the Earthly Paradise 268 Canto XXVIII The Exit Vai or, che qui finisce quel che sono; altre preghiere mi farann’ appello: sempre finisce chi coglie ’l perdono. 52 Go now, for what I was is here dispended; other petitions shall to me appeal: redeem of ev’ry pardon com’th to an end. Tra l’uomini tu torna, al mondo bello, ché tu appartieni a lor, a la lor fonte, tu, figlio mio, mio simil, mio fratello.” 55 Thou mustest now return to thy fine world, to those whom thou befittest, to thy spring —thou son of mine, my similar, my brother.” E detto questo mi baciò la fronte. Qual mar che pare calmo e move a stenti e non dimostra di tumulti ’mpronte 58 And thereupon he kiss’d my bashful forehead. Such as the sea that quiet seemeth and stirreth and doth no sygnes of turbulence reveal ma poco sotto infurian le correnti, così io mi capiva qual travaglio nel cuore del mio duca s’alimenti. 61 but underneath conceal’th tumultuous streams, such saw I what unbearable distress was mounting in the heart of my good Master. E ei che del mio cuor fu tal sondaglio 64 And he, who my own heart had thither peased, (Purg. XXVII, 139–142). The first line coincides verbatim, announcing in both cases that the master has accomplished his mission of spiritual guidance. In the second verse (Virgil’s fourth), “crown and mitre” follows the formula of the medieval protocol for the Emperor’s coronation, when the Pope would first place the mitria clericalis and then the diadema imperii on the head of the chosen one (Ordo Romanus, XIV, 105), possibly pursuant to Aaron’s consecration cerimony as described in the Book of Sirach (“Corona auream super mitram eius”, 45:12). In Dante’s case, the symbolic reading of the passage is controversial, but here it is clear that Socrates’ words amount to an investiture of intellectual autonomy: “I hereby proclaim thee master and lord of thy own thoughts”. Finally, the third verse corresponds to Virgil’s middle verses (“libero, dritto e sano è tuo arbitrio, / e fallo fora non fare a suo senno”) and gives expression to Socrates’ threefold blessing to his pupil: that his judgment be free from false certainties, upright in aiming at truth, immune to the seductions of error (in Dante: free from the slavery of passions, upright in aiming at the good, immune to the temptations of sin). 52. Qui finisce quel che sono [What I was is here dispended] – Read: the task Socrates undertook at the beginning of the journey (“I shall be thy guide from hence to the beseech’d eternal realm”, 149–150) has come to an end. Indeed, recall that Socrates’ ultimate assignment was to bring the Poet back to the Lady of the Heavens (“back to her, her luminescence”: III, 92), so this verse may also be hinting at what is about to happen, though the Poet (the character) does not seem to notice. 53. Altre preghiere [Other petitions] – Evidently Socrates knows that he will embark in other journeys through Helle, as others will find themselves in the same sort of intellectual despair the Poet fell into. See above, n. 1. 269 54. Sempre… [Redeem…] – A line of difficult construction and interpretation. It might be a reference to the fact that every mission of spiritual guidance comes to an end. Or it might be meant to suggest that those who, like the Poet, embrace the invitation of a forgiving love—here represented by the Lady of the Heavens—will always be rewarded in their endeavors. 56. Ché tu… [To those…] – A sorrowful reminder of the one difference that still remains between Socrates and the Poet, as already in I, 129: “thou in this surround canst pass and leave”. 57. Tu… [Thou…] – These are Socrates’ last words. And if the first and third epithets consecrate the nature of his affection, fatherly and brotherly at once, for his younger companion, it is the central designation that conveys the highest value of their partnership, now and forever: the Teacher recognizes the Poet as a “similar”. The Poet has become a philosopher. As it turns out, this verse, of great lyric effect, will also find its way into modern poetry, though with different resonances altogether. See e.g. the concluding line of Baudelaire’s Au lecteur in Le fleurs du mal (1855), re-used by Eliot in the equally provocative conclusion of the first part of The Waste Land (1922): “You! hypocrite lecteur, – mon semblable, – mon frère!”. 58. E detto… [And thereupon…] – The kiss seals the second moment of the symbolic sequence mentioned in n. 9. 59–63. Qual mar… [Such as the sea…] – As in the moving scene of the encounter with Plato and Aristotle in the third Circle (X, 76–81), the Poet helps himself with an allegory to describe the internal turmoil of his master. It is a sign of respect, but also a precise poetic choice encoding the “Wittgensteinian” thesis of the ineffability of feelings—a thesis introduced by the Lady of the Heavens in her speech to Socrates (II, 58), and endorsed by the Poet 270 Canto XXVIII sanza dir altro volse d’altro lato e torna verso dove è meno abbaglio. The Exit 271 without more speech he turned otherwards and to where brightness wither’th back return’d. Saper che io da solo ho camminato: sol questo rende grazia che l’onori. Sì lagrimando avanti sono andato 67 To know that by myself I walked the way: to him there is no higher recompense. Thus, in the midst of tears, I stepped forth di qui diversamente da li fiori, lontan da la paluda e la disgrazia, dove misericordia allarga i cuori. 70 into this land so very unlike the flowers, away from my disgrace, my viscous mire, a land of heartening mysericorde. Io me n’andava in quell’ immense spazia e lucentissime e benedicate che l’alma mia già mai non era sazia. 73 My steps were carrying me across the stretch of spaces vast and bright and beatified that never yet my soul cou’d feel satiated. E come nei bei giorni de l’estate dal tremolar de l’aere a l’orizzonte e dal disio le imago son formate 76 And as in sunlit summer days, afar, from trembling heated aire by thorisonte and from desire the images are form’d, che sieno care e mai non fieno conte, sì lungi vidi non so che ’l ciel crei. E quando le pupille mie fur pronte, 79 and dear they seem and never can be told, thus saugh I far a skyey I know not what. And when my eyes were ready to bihowe, fu allor che io la vidi, io vidi lei: m’apparve lei, è lei, mi benedice, è lei, fulgor di tutti i sensi miei. 82 ’twas then that her I saw; aye, I saw her, she appeared to me, ’tis she, she is blessing me, ’tis she her self, effulgence of my senses. himself during his crisis at the beginning of Canto XIX, v. 38: “Ofttimes there is no piety but in silence”. 65–66. Sanza dir altro… [Without more speech…] – So the parting is immediate, with Socrates turning around and walking back into the darkness and the Poet who cannot even add a word of gratitude. The parting of Dante and Virgil, by contrast, comes well after the farewell speech in Purg. XXVII: the master continues to walk next to his pupil, silent, until the appearance of Beatrice three cantos later, when suddenly he is gone (XXX, 49–54). 67–68. Saper… [To know…] – This is in line with the Socratic conception of the philosopher as a simple “midwife” of the soul (II, 37 and note). Cf. also Kant’s introductory Nachricht to his lectures of 1765–1766: “Students should not learn thoughts, but rather to think; they should not be carried, but guided, if it is desirable that they should be skillful in the future at thinking for themselves”. 70. Li fiori [The flowers] – The “site of blooming flowers” glimpsed by the Poet at the very beginning, near the swamps (I, 23), a metaphor of the attraction exercised by easy and captivating solutions. Cf. supra, n. 23–30. 71. La paluda [My viscous mire] – One last allusion to the condition of complete impasse, now well far away, in which the Poet found himself before meeting Socrates. 73. Io me n’andava… [My steps…] – The incipit in first person, with the verb in the singular, marks a sharp cut from the first part of the Canto, and with it the definitive cut with respect to the long narrative of the infernal journey under Socrates’s guidance. We are at the final scene of the Comedye. The Poet is alone again, the atmosphere is peaceful, his state of mind profoundly different from the “groping in the gloom” of the initial scene (I, 20). Yet he is not capable of being fully truthful to the words on the exit door and to Socrates’ warning (vv. 46–48). Stars and light are still above him.. 78. Imago [Images] – Mirages. 80. Non so che ’l ciel crei [A skyey I know not what] – Vague and blurry description for a heavenly creature the Poet is still unable to identify, but whom the reader will immediately recognize the Lady of the Heavens. 82–84. Fu allor… [’Twas then…] – Excited, almost feverish the construction of these three verses, with insistent reiterations to accompany the sense 272 Canto XXVIII The Exit E sanza che tra noi nulla si dice, in quella communione di silenzi è ’l segno d’ogni cosa ch’è beatrice. 85 And with no word proferr’d by her or me, in that commune of sylences com’th forth the sygne of ev’ry beatifying thing. In man il viso mio prende ’n licenzi come vin puro in calice distilla e piangon li occhi suoi che sono incenzi. 88 Whereat into her hands my face she taketh like worthy wine in chalice cup distill’d, and her incensial eyes begin to cry. Le lacrime son prismi ove s’inmilla e si risplendono tutte le stelle, che d’alluvione d’or si fa scintilla. 91 Her tears are crystal prismes: thousandwise all stars are mirror’d therein and leam and glitter from an overflow of gold. In ciascheduna di quelle fiammelle, in tutti quei frammenti de la luce, rispecchiasi il suo viso, in quelle ancelle. 94 In everych of those sparkling little flamelets, in each and ev’ry one of those light fragments, her face in those foretokens is reflexed. Tutta natura infiamma e si traluce, la luce a me tutte le cose accende e tràsfigura, tràsmigra, traduce. 97 All nature is aflame and shining through; upon all things light kindleth torches new and transfigureth, transmigrates, translateth. E tutto questo allor mi si dispende, questa dolcezza che serba l’amaro, quest’ ascension ch’a me s’inchina e scende, 100 surprise and irresistible marvel felt by the Poet upon recognizing, beyond the mirage, his love. To our knowledge there are no analogues in the Dolce Stil Novo tradition, though the motif will eventually have some fortune in subsequent literature. For instance, there is a tercet in William Congreve’s The Mourning Bride (1679) that in English sounds just the same: “’Tis Life! ’tis warm! ’tis she! ’tis she her self! Nor dead, nor shade, but breathing and alive! It is Almeria! ’tis, it is my wife!” (II, vi). 85. E sanza… [And with no…] – Silence again, the only truthful language for a moment of this intensity. 87. Beatrice [Beatifying] – In the Italian text, the perfect consonance of this adjective with the name of Dante’s beloved muse is striking, especially at this juncture. There is no way to determine any intentional link, but it may be recalled that in revealing Beatrice’s name at the beginning of Vita nuova II, 1, Dante himself draws attention to its semantic connotation: “the glorious lady of my mind first appeared before my eyes—she whom many called Beatrice without even knowing what it meant to call her this” (Beatrice is identified with beatitude at II, 6). This is in line with Dante’s later remark to the effect that “names follow from the things they name” (XIII, 4), probably after Justinian (Inst. II, vii, 3). 88. Il viso [My face] – Socrates held the Poet by his shoulders (v. 35). 273 And this ascent which byfore me aboweth, this sweeteness that bitterness retaineth, all this enlighten’th me whence I discern 90. Piangon [Begin to cry] – After the Poet’s lonesome tears following his parting with Socrates (v. 69)—quite different from the many tears of compassion shed in the presence of the damned souls—the liberating cry of the woman who watched over the journey has yet another meaning, around which the epilogue of the Canto will develop in a crescendo of vibrant allegories. 91–96. Le lacrime… [Her tears…] – With one of the most beautiful lyrical and symbolical inventions of the entire Comedye, the stars are mirrored and multiplied (s’inmilla: a neologism also found in Dante, Par. XXVIII, 93) in the Lady’s tears. The Poet sees the stars in her tears, and in each star in turn he sees her face. 97–99. Tutta natura… [All nature…] – Here, finally, is the fulfillment of the Lucretian message on the exit door (v. 9). Nature is on fire. The light transfigures all things (thus revealing their true nature), transmigrates (into the heart of the Poet), and translates (the language of things, making it understandable). Note the dynamis activated by the forced stress on the second syllable, vortically relaunched by the stress on the sixth, and eventually relieved by the regularity of the stress on the tenth. 102. Quest’ ascension… [This ascent…] – The final ascent to the celestial vault, which proceeds from the descent of the stars themselves into the Lady’s face. 274 Canto XXVIII The Exit che quel suo viso più di tutto è caro, più d’onne cosa è cara la sua pelle. Baciandomi la bocca mi portaro 103 that dearer is her visage than aught all, more dearer she is to me than any thing. As she layeth her kiss onto my mouth, tutte tremanti le sue labbra belle da questa polva fino a quell’ altezza, dove d’assempre lucono le stelle. 106 her trembling beauteous lips transported me from this pulveral floor up to those heights where all the skyey stars forever lume. La luce che sta ne la piccolezza, che scioglie ne le stelle il suo biancore, che abbaglia tra la cecità e salvezza, 109 The light, which hath abode in littleness and claritude desolv’th into the sterres and dazzleth all ’tween cecity and salvation, la luce si raccolse nel mio cuore. Sì onne verità, onne bellezza ha il suo principio e muore ne l’amore. 112 the light gather’d togæther in my heart. Thus ev’ry truth, thus all and ev’ry beauty hath principle and com’th to end in love. 103–104. Che quel… [That dearer…] – The love for the Lady of the Heavens coalesces into the love for wisdom. The “effulgence of the senses” of v. 84 joins the “primal mover” of I, 1, which is to say the “principium to unravel things”, in a perfect unity than which nothing is more precious. 105–108. Baciandomi… [As she layeth…] – The third and closing moment of the symbolic sequence mentioned in n. 9. The kiss of the Lady elevates of the Poet to the height of the stars. Socrates’ last warning is thus fulfilled: the stars are not “above” the Poet; now he is with them and can carry their light inside his heart, forever. 109. Ne la piccolezza [In littleness] – That is, in the simplicity of things, small and humble like grains of sands, and yet filled with the sole, true, marvelous reality that is fully illuminated in the desert. 275 111. Che abbaglia… [And dazzleth] – A last reference to the doublebarreled nature of love as “light” and “perdition”—as that fire that “call’th forth abyss and stars alike”—which inspires the entire Comedye from the beginning (I, 4–6). The Poet has seen every shape of the abyss. Now he is among the stars. 112. La luce… [The light…] – Precisely as Socrates had wished (vv. 46– 48) and as the Lady of the Heavens wanted (III, 92), establishing the definitive link between the two main themes of the Comedye: love for wisdom (the light of truth) and personal love (the lucent gaze of the Lady). 113–114. Amore [Love] – The Comedye ends with the very same word that shines at the beginning. It is the poetic seal to the philosophical conclusion of the journey: each truth, each beauty has its principle and its end in love. Name indices Index of characters This index records all the notable characters—historical or fictional, individual or collective—that figure in the Poem. Each character mentioned explicitly by name or definite description is listed in the original Italian form used by the Poet (in italics) as well as in the form used in the English translation (either next to the original or separately, depending on alphabetic considerations). Where the Poet’s form or spelling is significantly different from the customary one, the latter is also listed separately. Dubious identifications are indicated by a question mark. Abū ʿAlī al-Ḥusayn ibn ʿAbd Allāh ibn Sīnā – see Avicenna Abū Ḥāmid Muḥammad ibn Muḥammad al-Ghazālī – see Algazel Abū Naṣr Muḥammad ibn Muḥammad al-Fārābī – see Fàrabo Actualists – XXI (incomplete) Adamante | Adamans – XIX 9 Aglaonìce | Aglaonike – III 61 agnello vegetal de la Tartaria | vegetative lamb of Tartary – IX 25 Agostino | Augustine [of Hippo] – X 160; XVIII 94 al-Fārābī – see Fàrabo al-Ghazālī – see Algazel Alberico | Albéric [of Paris? Reims?] – XIX 163 Alberto di Colonia | Albert the Great – VII 99 Alcibiades? – V 162 Aldobrando | Aldobrand – VI 92 Algazel | Algazel [al-Ghazālī] – XIII 72 analisti | analistes – VII 96 Anassimene | Anaximenes [of Miletus] – V 67 Anselmo | Anselm [of Aosta/Canterbury] – X 164 Aquinas, Thomas – see Tomaso arbusti da l’uman radice | shrubs of human figure [mandrakes] – IX 24 arca ch’al suo dentro… | casket that within itself… – IX 71 Argus – see thousand-eyed guardian Aristodemus of Cydathenaeum? – V 162 Aristotile | Aristotle – X 66 Aristotle’s ensuers – see seguaci d’Aristotile arpie | harpies – IX 64 Atena | Athena – VI 4 Augustine [of Hippo] – see Agostino Avicenna | Avicenna – X 164 azzombi | zombies – XVIII 67 bats – see vispistrelli becchino ch’iscava fosse… | mortician digging graves… – IX 73 bestia a la fine… | beast at the end… [ten-headed beast] – XXVII 10 bird-human monstre – see mostro mezz’augello mezz’umanno Boethius of Dacia? – see Daci 280 bridge guardian – V 26 Brito | Brito [Ralph the Breton] – VII 95 buratti | puppets – VII 5 candida rosa che n’albeggia | candid rose that white is not – IX 29 casket which within itself… – see arca ch’al suo dentro… Catone | Cato [Marcus Porcius, the Younger] – V 88 cavalero che trassesi… | horseman who pulled himself… – IX 68 cavalle con le ali | horses with wings – IX 6 cavalle con li corni | horses with hornes – see liocorno Charon? – see traghettatore chimera | chimera – I 49 Cicerone | Cicero [Marcus Tullius] – XII 130 cinici | cynics – V 83 cirenaici | Cyrenaics – V 81 Cleanzio | Cleanthes – XIX 165 costruttori del mondo reale | makers of the reallitistic world – XII 28 Cratete | Crates [of Thebes] – V 83 Cratilo | Cratylus [of Athens] – V 87 Daci | Dacians [Boethius? John? Martin? Simon?] – VII 94 Dama de la via | Princess of the Way – III 66 debtor [Epicharmus’] – XX 103 Demiurgo | Demiurge – IX 137 Democrito | Democritus [of Abdera] – V 86 determinists – XXI (incomplete) Diotìma | Diotima [of Mantinea] – III 62 Donna del cielo | Lady of the Heavens – III 39 and passim dottor sottile | Subtle Doctor [John Duns Scotus] – XIX 161 dowters [sceptics] – XIII passim dualists – XVIII–XIX passim Duns Scotus, John – see dottor sottile Index of characters Eloïsa | Héloïse [d’Argenteuil] – III 64 emergentisti | emergentists – XII 27 Empedocle | Empedocles [of Agrigentum] – V 70 Epicuro | Epicurus [of Samos] – V 90 Eraclito | Heraclitus [of Ephesus] – V 104 Eriugena, Johannes Scotus – see Scoto Eubulides of Miletus – V 82 evil genius – see figura lugubre existentialists – XVII 73 and 149ff fatalists – XXII (missing) falene | moths – XVIII 187 false wise – XXIII (incomplete) Fàrabo | Fàrabus [al-Fārābī] – VII 95 fearful of change – XX passim ferryman of souls – see traghettatore fierce elder – see vecchio grifagno figura lugubre ed oscura | gloomy and lugubrious figure – VI 74 filosafa suspesa | philosopher suspended – VII 115 flatterers – XXVI (missing) fraudulents – XXVI–XXVII (missing) gallo infernale | fiendish cock – XVII 85 Gilberto | Gilbert [de la Porrée] – X 163 gloomy figure – see figura lugubre golem – see petrosa statua Gotescalco | Godescalc [Gottschalk of Orbais] – XVIII 76 grifo | gryphon – IX 7 Guglielmo | William [Guillaume de Champeaux] – X 161 harpies – see arpie haughty – XXIII (incomplete) helmsman – see traghettatore Héloïse [d’Argenteuil] – see Eloïsa Heraclitus [of Ephesus] – see Eraclito Hicetas of Syracuse? – V 92 Index of characters Hipparchia [of Maroneia] – see Ipparchia Hippasus [of Metapontum] – see Ippaso horseman who pulled himself… – see cavalero che trassesi… Ibn Sīnā – see Avicenna idealists – XIV (incomplete) illiterates – XXIV–XXV (missing) impossibilia – IX passim l’indiano | the Indian [Udayanācārya?] – X 164 Ipazia | Hypatia [of Alexandria] – III 63 Ipparchia | Hipparchia [of Maroneia] – V 83 Ippaso | Hippasus [of Metapontum] – V 62 irrealists – XIV–XVI (missing) irresponsible – XXII (missing) John of Dacia? – see Daci Kyrenaics – see cirenaici Lady of the Heavens – see Donna del cielo Lattanzio | Lactantius [Lucius Caecilius Firmianus] – VI 70 Leontina | Leontion – V 85 leviatano | leviathan – I 64 liocorno | unicorn – I 33; II 110; IX 6 Listra | Lystra – XIX 164 lugubrious figure – see figura lugubre lustful – IX passim Lystra – see Listra malignant demon – see figura lugubre man with truncated head – see uomo col capo tronco mandrakes – see arbusti da l’uman radice manticora | manticore – IX 7 Martin of Dacia? – see Daci megarici | Megarians – V 81 Minerva – see Atena mirabilia – IX passim Mnesarco | Mnesarchus [of Athens] – XIX 162 281 modisti | modists – VII 94 monte d’oro | golden mount – IX 76 mortician digging graves… – see becchino ch’iscava fosse… mostro mezz’augello mezz’umanno | bird-human monstre – IX 84 moths – see falene Nicarete | Nicarete [of Megara] – V 85 nihilists – XVII passim nottola | owl – I 141 Oddone | Odo [of Tournai/Cambrai] – X 160 onion peeler – XX 73 owl – see nottola Parmenide | Parmenides [of Elea] – V 104 Pegasus – see cavalla con le ali petrosa statua | stony statue – XVII 30 Philolaus of Croton/Tarentum? – V 92 philosopher suspended – see filosafa suspesa Pirro | Pyrrho [of Elis] – XIII 56 plagiarists – XXVI (missing) Platone | Plato – X 66 Pliny the Younger? – V 94 Plotino | Plotinus [of Lycopolis] – XII 25 possibilia – IX passim pragmatists – XV (missing) Princess of the Way – see Dama de la via Ptolemy [Claudius] – see Tolomeo Publilius Syrus? – V 95 puppet-guardians – see buratti pusillanimous – IV 60ff Pyrrho of Elis – see Pirro Pythagoras of Samos – XI 152 quatretri | quatretra – IX 34 Queen of the Sky – see Regina del cielo Ralph the Breton, or Radulphus Brito – see Brito 282 realists – X–XII passim Regina del cielo | Queen of the Sky – III 71 relativists – XV (missing) rose that white is not – see candida rosa che n’albeggia rotten – XXVII passim (incomplete) Sappho – XI 48 Scoto | Scotus [Johannes Eriugena] – X 160; XVIII 79 seguaci d’Aristotile | Aristotle’s ensuers – VII 92 Seneca | Seneca [Lucius Annaeus] – V 88 sepulchre guardian – see petrosa statua servetta trace | Thracian servant – III 65 Sesto | Sextus [Empiricus] – XIII 61 sfera il cui centro è dappertutto | sphere whose center is allwhere – IX 93 short of categories – V passim shrubs of human figure – see arbusti da l’uman radice Simon of Dacia? – see Daci simpletons – VI–VIII passim sceptics – see dowters Socrate | Socrates – I 93 and passim sphere whose center is allwhere – see sfera … il cui centro è dappertutto statue [talking] – see petrosa statua stoici | Stoics – V 81 strigate | striges – IX 7 Subtle Doctor – see dottor sottile sullen – XXI–XXII passim suspended philosopher – see filosofa suspesa Talete | Thales [of Miletus] – IV 63 talking statue – see petrosa statua Teano | Theano [of Croton] – XI 153 Temista | Themista [of Lampsacus] – V 85 Temistio di Bisanzio | Themistius of Byzantium – XIX 163 Index of characters ten-headed beast – see bestia a la fine… Teseo | Theseus – XX 42 Theano [of Croton] – see Teano Themista [of Lampsacus] – see Temista Themistius [of Byzantium] see Temistio Theseus – see Teseo Thomas Aquinas – see Tomaso Thomists – see tomisti thousand-eyed guardian [Argus?] – XIV 1 Thracian servant – see servetta trace Timagora | Timagoras [of Rhodes] – VI 70 Tiresia | Tiresias – XIII 10 Tolomeo | Ptolemy [Claudius] – VI 70 Tomaso | Aquinas [Thomas] – XII 130 tomisti | thomistes – VII 92 traghettatore | ferryman [of souls] – IV 142 Trottula | Trotula [de Ruggiero] – XIX 162 Udayanācārya – see indiano unicorn – see liocorno uomo col capo tronco | man bearing his own lopt head – XIX 178 vecchio grifagno | gerfalcon elder – XVII 80 vegetable lamb of Tartary – see agnello vegetal… vispistrelli | vespertilios [bats] – XVIII 187 vitalisti | vitalists – XII 27 winged horses – see cavalle con le ali Xanthippe? – V 162 Zenone | Zeno [of Elea] – V 84 zombies – see azzombi Zuanghì | Zhuang Zhou [Zhuāngzǐ] – XIII 80 Index of cited names This index records all personal names cited in the introduction and in our annotations to the text, including those of the historical figures who seem to correspond to the characters of the Poem. The index also covers literary figures (e.g. Hercules) and philosophical schools that come with a precise denomination (e.g. the Stoics) as well as the titles of all cited sacred and anonymous secular texts (e.g. the Physiologus). When an annotation refers to a passage spanning multiple lines, the line number indicated in the entry corresponds to that of the first verse; for those works that are cited without mentioning the names of their authors (e.g. Plato’s Phaedrus), the index includes the latter as well. Aaron – XXVIII 49 Abbagnano, Nicola – XVII 108 Abélard, Pierre – III 64; VII 37; X 52, 161; XI 3, 15; XIX 74, 127, 163; XX 103, 110 Abraham – XXVII 66 Abū Ayyūb Sulaymān ibn Yaḥyā ibn Jabīrūl – see Avicebron Abū al-Ḥasan ʿAlī ibn Ismāʿīl ibn Isḥāq al-Ashʿarī – see al-Ashʿarī Abū al-Hudhayl al-ʿAllāf – see alHudhayl Abū ʿAlī al-Ḥusayn ibn ʿAbd Allāh ibn Sīnā – see Avicenna Abū al-Qāsim Muḥammad ibn ʿAbd Allāh ibn ʿAbd al-Muṭṭalib ibn Hāshim – see Muhammad Abū Ḥāmid Muḥammad ibn Muḥammad al-Ghazālī – see al-Ghazālī Abū ʿImrān Mūsā bin Maimūn bin ʿUbaidallāh al-Qurtabī – see Maimonides Abū Isḥāq Ibrāhīm ibn Sayyār ibn Hānī al-Naẓẓām – see al-Naẓẓām Abū l-Walīd Muḥammad bin ʾAḥmad bin Rušd – see Averroës Abū Naṣr Muḥammad ibn Muḥammad al-Fārābī – see al-Fārābī Abū ʿUthmān ʿAmr ibn Bahr al-Kinānī al-Fuqaymī al-Basrī – see alJāḥiẓ Abū Yūsuf Yaʿqūb ibn Isḥāq al-Kindī – see al-Kindī Acts (Book of) – XIX 164 actualists – XXI 43 Adam – X 160; XVIII 50; XIX 9 Adam of Balsham – IV 68 Adamante | Adamans [unidentified character] – XIX 9, 12, 34, 35 Adamantius of Alexandria – XIX 9 Adamnán’s Vision – see Fís Adamnáin Addas Adimantus – XIX 9 Adeimantus of Collytus – XIX 9 Adelard of Bath – XX 109 Ādi Śaṅkarācārya – see Shankara 284 Adimantus – see Addas Adimantus Aelian (Claudius Aelianus) – I 42; IX 7; X 98; XVIII 86 Aeneas [Virgil] – I, 95; III 20, 22; IV 179; XXVIII 1 Aenesidemus of Knossos – II 73; XIII 61, 63 Aeschylus – II 145; XIV 7 Aesop – III 65; VI 26; XII 107 Aëtius of Antioch – IV 181; V 62, 70; XII 100; XIX 118, 130 Aglaonike (Aganice) of Thessaly – III 61 Agrippa – II 73 Aḥimaʿaz ben Paltiel – XVIII 50 Alain de Lille – IX 120 al-Ashʿarī – XIII 72, 73; XX 109 Albéric de Paris – XIX 134, 163 Albéric de Reims – XIX 163 Alberico da Settefrati – see Visio Alberici Albert of Cologne (the Great, Magnus) – IV 68; VII 99; X 165; XII 98; XIII 72; XVIII 64 Albert of Saxony – XI 132; XX 110 Alcibiades – V 162; XXVII 42 Alcmaeon of Croton – XVII 26; XVIII 181 Aldobrando | Aldobrand [unidentified character] – VI 82, 94, 100, 115, 133; VII 1, 169; XIII 154, 160 Aleph [Borges] – IX 94, 95, 116 Alexander of Aphrodisias – IV 68; X 123 Alexander the Great – II 149; XIII 56 Alexinus of Elis – V 81 Alexander (of) Neckam – IV 68 al-Fārābī – VII 95; XII 25; XIII 72 al-Ghazālī (Algazel) – XIII 72, 73, 146 al-Hudhayl – XX 109 Alice [Carroll] – VII 6 Alighieri, Dante – passim al-Jāḥiẓ – VIII 5 al-Kindī – XIII 73 Index of cited names Allaire, Edwin – X 35 al-Naẓẓām – XX 109 Amaterasu-ō-mi-kami – XX 118 Ambrose (Aurelius Ambrosius) – XXVII 66 Ammianus Marcellinus – IV 151 Ammi-Saduqa – XIX 130 Ammonius of Alexandria – I 49; X 83 analists – VII 92 Anaxagoras of Clazomenae – I 74; IV 181; V 158; XVII 26; XIX 118; XX 21 Anaximenes of Miletus – V 67; XII 16 Anchises [Virgil] – III 22 Angelerio, Pietro – see Celestine V Anniceris of Cyrene – V 81 Andronicus of Rhodes – II 137 Anselm of Aosta (of Canterbury) – X 165; XI 3; XII 107; XVIII 64 Anselm of Laon – XIX 163 Antaeus [Dante] – XXIII 4 Antichrist – XXVII 28 Antiphanes of Macedon – IV 151 Antisthenes of Athens – V 83, 158; X 98 Antologia Palatina – IV 151; V 83 Antoninus Liberalis – IX 7; XIII 9 Apelles of Kos – XIII 63 Apocalypse of John – see Revelation (Book of) Apocalypse of Paul – Intr.; III 17; IV 60 Apocalypse of Peter – Intr. Apollinaire, Guillaume – XIII 10 Apollo – V 34; VI 26; XIII 10, 179; XX 169 Apollonius Cronus – V 81 Apollonius of Rhodes – III 61 Apollonius Paradoxographus – XVIII 86 aporetics – see sceptics Appius, Claudius Caecus – V 89 Apuleius, Lucius Madaurensis – IV 151; XVIII 13; XX 169 Index of cited names Aquinas, Thomas – I 64; II 121, 125; IV 14, 67, 68; V 86; VII 49, 92, 99; IX 28, 110, 120; X 165; XI 101, 152; XII 27, 130; XIII 73; XVII 74; XVIII 64, 86, 121, 127; XIX 65, 71, 93, 127, 134; XX 156; XXI 43; XXIII 1 Archambault, Louis-François – see Dorvigny Archelaus of Athens – V 158 Archias of Antioch – IV 151 Arete of Cyrene – V 81 Argenti, Filippo [Dante] – IV 173 Argus – XIV 7 Ariadne – XX 47 Arcesilaus of Pitane – I 99; XIII 56, 188 Arius Didymus – XX 20 Ariosto, Ludovico – VI 82 Aristeas of Proconnesus – IX 7 Aristippus of Cyrene – V 81, 158, 162; XIII 172 Aristippus (the Younger) – V 81 Aristocles of Messene – XIII 56 Aristodemus of Cydathenaeum – V 162 Aristophanes – IV 151; XX 103; XXVIII 7 Aristo of Ceos – II 145 Aristoxenus of Tarentum – XI 152 Aristotle – I 18, 40; II 4, 56, 83, 121, 125, 137; IV 14, 60, 68, 70, 104, 181; V 62, 63, 67, 70, 84, 85, 86, 87, 104, 109, 115, 128; VI 49, 106; VII 40, 92, 95; IX 7; X 35, 66, 69, 75, 76, 83, 86, 93, 103, 123, 141, 147, 156, 158 163; XI 33, 97, 100, 143, 152; XII 8, 27, 100; XIII 72, 82; XVII 74; XVIII 64, 86, 121, 127; XIX 65, 71, 74, 102, 118, 134, 163; XX 20, 22, 103, 109, 156; XXIII 14; XXVII 42; XXVIII 3, 59 Armstrong, David Malet – VII 49; X 83; XIX 145; XX 159 285 Arnauld, Antoine – see Port-Royal Arnold, Matthew – XIII 167 Arouet, François-Marie – see Voltaire Ascension (Book of) – see Kitāb almiʿrāj Asclepiades of Bithynia – XIII 61 Asclepius – XX 169 Aspasia of Miletus – III 62; V 158 Astolfo [Ariosto] – VI 82 Athena – I 141; VI 4; XIII 9; XVIII 13 Athena [character] – 1 141; III 25; VI 4, 9, 11, 15, 26; IX 47, 149; X 161; XI 152; XIII 56; XVII 4; XVIII 42, 90; XX 202; XXVII 6; XXVIII 15 Athenagoras of Athens – XVIII 127 Athenaeus of Naucratis – V 85; XI 153 Atropos – XVIII 64 Aubry de Reims – see Albéric de Reims Augustine of Hippo – I 11; III 17, 78; IV 68; VI 97, 103; VII 37; X 160, 165; XII 107; XIII 82, 119, 172, 179; XVIII 7, 9, 15, 85, 94, 127, 133, 162, 169; XIX 9; XX 136, 156; XXIII 1 Aurelius – see Marcus Aurelius Auriol, Pierre – VI 103; XI 15 Ausonius, Decimus Magnus – XXVII 42 Averroës – VII 94; XIII 73 Avicebron – XVIII 50 Avicenna – IV 70; X 69, 165; XII 25; XIII 72 Bacon, Roger – VI 103; XVIII 64 Baker, Lynne Rudder – XVIII 152; XIX 112, 134 Balashov, Yuri – XX 147 Balzac, Honoré de – XVII 177 Bartezzaghi, Stefano – IX 120 Barthez, Paul Joseph – XII 27 Basil of Caesarea – XXVII 66 Baudelaire, Charles – XXVIII 57 286 Baum, Lyman Frank – XX 122 Bauer, Bruno – VIII 33 Bava Bathra – I 66 Baxter, Donald – XIX 139, 142 Bayle, Pierre – XI 48; XIII 119, 133 Bazarov, Evgenji [Turgenev] – XVII 49 Beatrice [Dante] – III 28, 40, 42, 60, 66, 74, 76; XXVIII 65, 87 Beatriz [Borges] – IX 94 Bede (the Venerable) – XIX 49 Beltrami, Eugenio – IV 72 Bergmann, Gustav – X 35 Bergson, Henri-Louis – XII 27 Berkeley, George – IX 26; XIV 10, 13 Bernardo di Chiaravalle [Dante] – III 70 Berni, Francesco – III 97 Bertati, Giovanni – XVIII 36 Bertran de Born – see dal Bormio, Bertram Biel, Gabriel – X 113; XIII 73 Blake, William – IX 137 Boccaccio, Giovanni – I 23, 158; III 78, 88, 97; XI 48, 121; XIV 7; XVII 87; XVIII 22; XXVIII 6 Boethius, Anicius Manlius Severinus – X 83, 163; XII 130; XIX 112 Boethius of Dacia – VII 94; XXVIII 3 Boiardo, Matteo Maria – III 97 Boios – IX 7 Bolyai, János – IV 72 Bonaventure of Bagnoregio (Giovanni Fidanza) – III 25; IX 120; XVIII 64; XX 156 Bonvesin de la Riva – Intr. Book of the Ascension – see Kitāb almiʿrāj Borges, Jorge Luis – IX 94, 95, 116, 120; XIII 82 Bosch, Hieronymus – VIII 83 Bosse, Abraham – I 64 Bostichi, Stoppa de’ – V 54 Boyle, Robert – XII 98, 100 Index of cited names Bradley, Francis Herbert – X 113, 129 Bradwardine, Thomas – IV 68 Bran’s Voyage – see Immram Brain Brel, Jacques – XVII 163 Brendan of Clonfert – see Navigatio Sancti Brendani Brito, Radulphus – see Ralph the Breton Broad, Charlie Dunbar – V 23; XX 151 Brontinus of Metapontum – XI 153 Bruno, Giordano (Filippo) – IX 120 Bryson of Heraclea – V 104 Buonarroti, Michelangelo – XII 61; XVIII 31 Bürger, Gottfried August – IX 69 Buridan, Jean – II 83, 96, 115; IV 23, 68; XI 132; XII 98; XX 110 Burke, Michael – XIX 65 Butler, Joseph – XX 103, 110, 185, 192 Buxtorf, Johannes – XVII 110 Cacciaguida degli Elisei [Dante] – III 22 Caesar, Gaius Julius – XVII 80 Callimachus of Cyrene – XIII 9 Camus, Albert – XVII 108 Canticle of canticles – see Song of songs Cantor, Georg – X 97 Carneades of Cyrene – XIII 56 Carnap, Rudolf – VII 106; XII 22; XX 159 Carroll, Lewis (Charles Lutwidge Dodgson) – VII 6 Carter, William – XIX 112 Cary, Henry Francis – III 18 Cato, Marcus Porcius [the Younger] – V 81, 88 Cavalcanti, Cavalcante dei [Dante] – XVII 164 Cavalcanti, Guido – I 109 Cavalcanti, Guido [Dante] – XVII 164 Celestine V (pope) – IV 109 Index of cited names Cerberus – VII 5 Cercops of Miletus – XIV 7 Cervantes, Miguel de – VI 133 Chaerephon of Athens – II 55 Chalmers, David John – XVIII 67, 176 Charon – IV 136, 145, 151, 177, 179; VI 20; XIV 1 Chartres School – see School of Chartres Chaucer, Geoffrey – III 97; XI 121; XIV 7 Chisholm, Roderick Milton – XX 103, 110, 122; XXI 10 Chomsky, Noam Avram – XI 119 Chrétien de Troyes – I 127 Chrysippus of Soli – IV 68; V 81; XIX 165; XX 103 Chrysostom, John (of Antioch) – IV 68 Chuang-tzu – see Zhuāngzǐ Church, Alonzo – XI 106 Ciacco [Dante] – XXIII 16 Cicero, Marcus Tullius – I 99; II 96; III 65; IV 68; V 63, 85, 86, 90, 92; VI 26, 70, 97, 103, 106; VIII 34; XII 130; XIII 188; XVII 118; XVIII 121; XIX 118, 162 Cicognini, Giacinto – XVIII 36 Cioran, Emil Mihai – IX 137 Clarenbald d’Arras – X 163 Claude de Sacy – XI 48 Claudian (Claudius Claudianus) – VI 4 Cleanthes of Assos – V 81; XIX 165 Cleanzio | Cleanthes [unidentified character] – XIX 165 Clement of Alexandria (Titus Flavius) – I 58; II 149; IV 68; V 138, 141; XI 152 Clinomachus of Thurii – V 81 Colombo, Cristoforo – XI 109 Columella, Lucius Junius Moderatus – IX 24 Congreve, William – XXVIII 82 287 Conrad, Joseph (Józef Konrad Korzeniowski) – XIX 149 Copernicus, Nicolaus – V 92 Corinthians (1st Epistle to) – XX 179 Cornutus, Lucius Annaeus – V 81 Corydon [Virgil] – III 46 Cousin, Victor – XI 3 Crates – II 145 Crates of Thebes – V 83 Cratylus of Athens – V 87, 158 Ctesias of Cnidus – I 40, 41; IX 7 Cumaean Sibyl – III 20; V 34 cynics – V 83, 158 Cypher [The Matrix] VI 125 Cyrenaics – V 81, 158; XIII 172 Cyril of Alexandria – III 63 Da Ponte, Lorenzo – XVIII 36 Dacier, Anne Le Fèvre – XI 48 Daedalus – XX 47 d’Ailly, Pierre – XIII 73 Daintith, John – III 61 dal Bornio, Bertram [Dante] – XVIII 178, 180 Dallapiccola, Luigi – VII 160 Dama de la Via – III 66, 67, 70; VIII 29; XXVIII 10 Damascius – III 63 Damon of Athens – V 158 Danaids – X 24 Danieri [Borges] – IX 94 David (of Israel)– I 95 David the Armenian – VI 103 Davidson, Donald – IV 104; VII 47, 52 De Benedictis, Jacopo – see Jacopone da Todi de Born, Bertran – see dal Bormio, Bertram de La Rose, Claude – see Rosimond de’ Medici, Lorenzo – XVIII 31 de Ruggiero, Trotula – XIX 162 Delphic Oracle – II 55; XIII 179 Demetrius of Phalerum – XX 62 Demiurge – IX 137; X 52; XIII 27; XIV 4; XXVII 6 288 Democritus of Abdera – III 65; V 86; XII 16, 100; XIX 119; XX 109 Derrida, Jacques – VII 108 Descartes, René – II 121; VI 111, 118, 120, 133; IX 6; XII 100; XIII 82, 157, 172, 181; XVII 88; XVIII 7, 130, 134, 152; XXI 26 determinists – XXI 43 Deuteronomy (Book of) – IV 67; XXVIII 23 Dexippus – I 49 Dharmakīrti – X 113 Diderot, Denis – IX 25 Dio Chrysostom – VI 26 Diodorus Cronus – V 81 Diodorus Siculus – XX 47; XXVII 66 Diogenes Laërtius – I 99, 108; II 73, 145, 149; IV 68; V 63, 67, 82, 83, 92, 158, 162; VI 26; X 75, 98; XI 152, 153; XII 16; XIII 24, 56, 57, 63, 179; XVIII 16; XIX 119, 130, 165; XX 103, 110; XXVIII 7 Diogenes of Sinope – V 83; X 98 Diognetus – see Epistle to Diognetus Diophantus of Alexandria – XI 109 Dioscorides – VIII 33; IX 24 Diotima of Mantinea – III 62; V 158 Djehuti – see Theuth Dodgson, Charles Lutwidge – see Carroll, Lewis Don Giovanni [Mozart] – XVIII 36 Don Quixote [Cervates] – VI 133 Donatus, Aelius – VII 93 Donne, John – II 59; XIII 167; XVIII 113 Dorvigny (Louis-François Archambault) – XX 114 Dostoyevsky, Fyodor Mikhailovich – X 135; XVII 52, 58 Dowters – see sceptics Dragonetti, Roger – XIX 9 Driesch, Hans Adolf Eduard – XII 27 dualists – XVIII 5, 7 Dulcinea [Cervantes] – 133 Duns Scotus, John – II 121; IV 68; Index of cited names VII 93; X 160; XI 101; XIII 82; XVIII 79, 86; XIX 134, 161; XX 156; XXI 26 Dürrenmatt, Friedrich – XIII 14 Ebers Papyrus – VIII 33 Ebbesen, Sten – I 49 Ecclesiastes – see Qoheleth Ecclesiasticus – see Sirach Eckhart, Johannes von Hochheim – see Meister Eckhart Eco, Umberto – XII 55 Ecphantus of Syracuse – V 92 Edda – see Poetic Edda Eleazar of Worms (Elʿ āzar ben Yĕhūdāh) – XVIII 50 Eliot, Thomas Stearns – IV 122; X 10; XIII 7; XXVIII 57 Élisabeth de Bohême (princesse Palatine) – Intr.; XVIII 134 emergentists – XII 25 Emerson, Ralph Waldo – XIII 96 Empedocles of Agrigentum – V 70; XII 16; XVII 26; XVIII 171; XIX 118, 119; XX 21 Enkidu [Gilgameš] – I 48 Ennius, Quintus – XIX 118 Enoch (Book of) – I 146 Enuma Anu Enlil (tablets) – XIX 130 Epaminondas of Thebes – V 85 ephectics – see sceptics Ephialtes [Dante] – XXIII 4 Epicharmus of Kos – XX 103, 105, 110, 205 Epictetus of Hierapolis – V 81; VI 26 Epicurus of Samos – V 85, 90; VI 70, 92; XIII 100, 119; XVIII 121; XIX 119; XX 109 Epimenides of Knossos – IV 68 Epistle to Diognetus – XVIII 7 Eratosthenes of Cyrene – XI 109 Eriugena – see Scotus Eriugena, Johannes Escher, Maurits Cornelis – IX 1 Eubulides of Miletus – IV 68; V 81, 82; XVII 33 Index of cited names Euclid of Alexandria – IV 72; V 104; XI 109 Euclid of Megara – V 81, 158 Eusebius of Caesarea – XI 153; XIII 56, 188; XIX 9; XX 20 Eustathius of Thessalonica – XIII 7 Eustratius of Nicaea – X 165 Everardus Alemannus – III 16 existentialists – XVII 76, 108, 158; XVIII 1 Exodus (Book of) – IV 67; XII 88 Ezekiel (Book of) – X 10; XIV 7 Ezra (Second Book of) – I 146 Faidit, Gaucelm – I 127 fatalists – XXI 43 Faust [Goethe] – IV 142; IX 76 Faustus of Mileve – XIX 9 Feyerabend, Paul Karl – XII 68 Feynman, Richard Phillips – XVIII 86 Fichte, Johann Gottlieb – XIV 10; XVII 49 Ficino, Marsilio – IX 120 Fidanza, Giovanni – see Bonaventure of Bagnoregio Filippi, Rustico – VI 92 Fine, Kit – XIX 65 Fís Adamnáin – Intr. Foscolo, Ugo (Niccolò) – I 33; XXI 5 Fouquet, Jean – III 28 Francesca da Rimini [Dante] – VI 92; XI 160 Frederick II (Emperor) – VIII 27 Frege, Gottlob – VII 37, 40; IX 71; XI 22, 130, 132; XIX 130 Fridugisus of Tours – VII 106; XVII 26 Fulgentius, Fabius Planciades – XIII 9 Füssli, Johann Heinrich – I 18 Gadda, Carlo Emilio – XXI 5 Galen of Pergamon – VII 40; XII 10, 27; XIII 61 Galilei, Galileo – Intr.; XII 16, 100 Gallois, André – XIX 112 289 Gandhi, Mohandas Karamchand – XXI 34 Gazzaniga, Giuseppe – XVIII 36 Gellius, Aulus – IV 68 Genesis (Book of) – IV 79; VIII 16; XI 49, 55, 67; XXI 18; XXVII 66 Gertrude [Shakespeare] – V 20 Giacomino da Verona – Intr. giants [Dante] – XXIII 4, 8, 16 Gibbard, Allan – XIX 112 Giere, Ronald – XII 22 Gilbert de la Porrée (of Poitiers) – X 163; XIX 112 Gilgameš – I 48; XVIII 67 Gilmore, Cody – XVIII 86 Giovanni di Fidanza – see Bonaventure of Bagnoregio Giraldi, Giglio Gregorio – XI 48 Giuda Iscariota [Dante] – see Judas Iscariot Gödel, Kurt – IV 70 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von – IV 142, 160, 165; IX 76; XII 93; XX 95 golem – XVIII 36, 50, 55; XIX 9; XXVIII 15 Goodman, Nelson – IX 41; XI 33, 97; XII 55; XIV 16; XVIII 104; XX 151 Gorgias of Leontini – I 58; XVII 22, 26 Gottschalk of Orbais – XVIII 76, 79 Goya, Francisco José de – I 18 Grass, Günter Wilhelm – XX 73 Graves, Robert – XX 114 Gregory I (pope) – see Gregory the Great Gregory XIV (pope) – XIX 49 Gregory the Great – XXI 43 Grillparzer, Franz – XI 48 Guido di Montefeltro [Dante] – XVIII 121 Guilhèm de Peitieus – III 97 Guillaume de Champeaux – X 161; XIX 163 290 Guillaume de Conches – VII 93; X 164; XX 109 Guillaume de Lorris – XIV 7 Guittone d’Arezzo – I 127; III 18 Guo Xiang – XIII 80 Gynt, Peer [Ibsen] – XX 73, 96 Hacker, Peter Michael Stephan – XIX 112; XX 159 Hades – I 127 Hamlet [Shakespeare] – I 33; V 20, 21, 30; IX 41; XXI 25 Hammurabi (code of) – IV 67 Han Yü – I 33 Hanson, Norwood Russell – XVIII 86 Hardenberg, Georg Friedrich Philipp Freiherr von – see Novalis Hartmann, Nicolai – XII 28 Hawthorne, John – XXI 25, 26 Heaney, Seamus Justin – III 97 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich – Intr.; I 141; II 28; XIV 7, 10; XVII 74; XIX 149; XX 20; XXI 46 Hegesias of Cyrene – V 81 Heidegger, Martin – VII 93, 106; XVII 108 Heine, Christian Johann Heinrich – VIII 33 Heinlein, Robert Anson – XIII 93 Helen of Troy [Homer] – VIII 33 Helias, Petrus – VII 93 Heller, Mark – XX 159 Héloïse d’Argenteuil – III 64 Hemingway, Ernest – XVIII 113 Hendrik van Gent – XX 156 Henry of Saltrey – see Purgatorium Sancti Patricii Hephaestion of Alexandria – XI 40, 48 Hera – XIII 9; XIV 7 Heraclides Ponticus – V 92 Heraclitus of Ephesus – I 8; II 145; V 62, 87, 104, 109, 110, 115, 127, 128, 139, 141; XX 14, 19, 20, 21, 22, 25, 103, 105, 136, 154, 214; XXI 46 Index of cited names Heraclitus the commentator – XX 20 Hercules – III 20; XX 42 Hermes Trismegistus – IX 120 Hermesianax of Colophon – XI 153, 170 Hermogenes – I 106 Herodotus of Halicarnassus – VI 4; IX 7, 25 Hesiod – I 49; IX 6, 62; XIII 7, 9, 10; XIV 7; XVII 118; XVIII 64; XX 42 Heß, Moses – VIII 33 Hesse, Hermann Karl – XX 73 Hesychius of Miletus – III 63; V 63 Heytesbury, William – IV 68 Hicetas of Syracuse – V 92 Hieronymus, Eusebius Sophronius – see Jerome Hindley, Charles – III 18 Hipparchia of Maroneia – V 83 Hippasus of Metapontum – V 62; XII 16 Hippocrates of Kos – XII 44; XVII 159 Hippolytus of Rome – I 8; V 67 Hobbes, Thomas – I 64; X 52; XI 12; XII 88, 107; XIX 139; XXI 10 Hofweber, Thomas – XI 132 Hohenheim, Philippus Aureolus Theophrastus Bombastus von – see Paracelsus Homer – I 49, 127; II 4; IV 115; V 9; VI 4; VII 6; VIII 33; IX 62; X 141; XI 40; XIII 4; XVII 118; XVIII 9, 64; XX 42; XXI 31; XXVII 34, 66 Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus) – III 16, 61; IX 7, 146; X 141; XIII 4; XXVIII 3 Horatio [Shakespeare] – I 33; V 20, 21, 23, 30; XXI 25 Hosea (Book of) – XXI 1; XXVIII 23 Hrabanus – see Rabanus, Maurus Magnentius Hudson, Hud – XX 159 Index of cited names Huizinga, Johan – III 28 Hume, David – Intr.; IX 26; XII 107; XIII 73, 100, 109, 121, 133, 140, 146, 151, 181, 186, 192; XIV 10; XX 103, 110, 181, 185, 188, 192, 196, 198; XXI 26 Huneker, James Gibbons – XX 73, 96 Husserl, Edmund – IX 26 Hyginus, Gaius Julius – XIII 7, 9 Hypatia of Alexandria – III 63 Iamblichus Chalcidensis – I 49; XI 153 Ibn Gĕbīrōl – see Avicebron Ibn Rushd – see Averroës Ibn Sīnā – see Avicenna Ibsen, Henrik Johan – XX 73, 96 Ichthyas – V 81 Immram Brain – Intr. Immram Maele Dúin – Intr. Intelligenza – III 27 Io (priestess of Hera) – XIV 7 Ion of Chios – XVII 26 Irenaeus of Smyrna (of Lyon) – IX 137; XIII 119 irresponsible – XXI 43 Isaiah (Book of) – I 146 Ishmael [Melville] – XVIII 107 Isidore of Seville – I 48, 66; IX 7; XVIII 76; XXVIII 2 Isocrates of Athens – XVII 26 Ištar [Gilgameš] – XVIII 67; XIX 130 Iuvenalis, Decimus Iunius – see Juvenal Jacobi, Friedrich Heinrich – XVII 49 Jacopone da Todi (De Benedictis) – XXI 43 James, William – XII 61 Janot [Dorvigny] – XX 114 Jaspers, Karl Theodor – XVII 108 Jean de Meun – XIV 7 Jeremiah (Book of) – I 33; III 88; XII 61; XVII 142; XXVII 66; XXVIII 23 Jerome (Eusebius Sophronius Hieronymus) – IV 68; XIX 9 291 Jesus Christ – IX 7; XVIII 76, 86, 162; XX 179 Job (Book of) – I 64, 70, 83, 134; III 12; IV 59; XIII 119; XVII 142; XX 7; XXI 1 John (Gospel) – XIX 164 John of Dacia – VII 94 John of Salisbury – X 163; XI 3; XIX 163 John XXI (pope) – see Peter of Spain Johnston, Mark – XIX 112 Joyce, James Augustine – IX 105; XIX 22 Judas Iscariot [Dante] – IX 83; XXIII 4 Juliet [Shakespeare] – XI 12 Julius Caesar – see Caesar, Gaius Julius Juno – see Hera Jupiter – see Zeus Justinian I – XXVIII 87 Juvenal (Decimus Iunius Iuvenalis) – IV 151; XVIII 201; XIX 127; XXVIII 42 Kabbalah – XII 8 Kafka, Franz – XVIII 133 Kant, Immanuel – Intr.; VII 78, 174; VIII 33; XIV 10; XVII 49; XX 198, 205; XXI 10; XXVIII 67 Kaplan, David Benjamin – XI 33 Kierkegaard, Søren Aabye – XVII 108 Kitāb al-miʿrāj – Intr. Kitcher, Philip Stuart – XII 22 Kim, Jaegwon – XVIII 133 Kneale, William Calvert – VIII 1 Koheleth – see Qoheleth Koran – see Qurʾān Korzeniowski, Józef Teodor Nałęcz Konrad – see Conrad, Joseph Koslicki, Kathrin XIX 134 Kripke, Saul Aaron – XIX 65; XXI 26 Kurtz [Conrad] – XIX 149 Kyrenaics – see Cyrenaics La Fontaine, Jean de – III 65 292 Lacan, Jacques Marie Émile – XX 73 Lactantius, Lucius Caecilius Firmianus – I 99; VI 70; XIII 9, 100; XX 109 Lady of the Heavens – I 1; III 25, 27, 28, 40, 42, 44, 46, 49, 53, 60, 62, 66, 70, 74, 82, 88, 92, 102, 103; IV 147; VII 145; IX 116; XIX 10, 36, 38; XX 47; XXVIII 9, 43, 59, 67, 69, 90, 91, 102, 103, 105, 112 Laertes [Shakespeare] – V 20 Landino, Cristoforo – V 7 Lao-Tzu (Laozi) – XIII 80 Latini, Brunetto – I 11; IX 7; XIX 49; XXI 43 Lavoisier, Antoine-Laurent de – XIX 119 Le Poidevin, Robin – XX 159 Leabhar Cheanannais – IX 34 Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm von – IX 94; X 113, 129; XIII 119; XIX 71; XX 103, 110 Leo XIII (pope) – III 63 Leonidas of Tarentum – IV 151 Leontion – V 85 Leopardi, Giacomo – Intr.; XI 40; XVII 25, 38, 74, 110, 115, 118, 121, 133, 138, 144 Leucippus of Miletus – XX 109 Lévinas, Emmanuel – XVII 76 Leviticus (Book of) – IV 67; XVIII 64 Lewes, George Henry – XII 27 Lewis, David Kellogg – I 74; XVIII 104; XIX 239, 145; XX 132, 159 Li Po (Li Bai) – XIII 82 Lichtenberg, Georg Christoph – V 23; IX 41 Linnaeus, Carl Nilsson – XVIII 64 Listra | Lystra [unidentified character] – XIX 164 Lobachevsky, Nikolai Ivanovich – IV 72 Locke, John – IX 35; XI 97; XII 98; XIII 186; XVIII 174; XX 103, 110, 196, 205 Index of cited names Lotze, Rudolf Hermann – VI 49 Loux, Michael – X 83 Lowe, Jonathan Edward – X 83; XVIII 152; XIX 65, 134 Lucan (Marcus Annaeus Lucanus) – X 141; XIX 159; XXVII 66 Lucian of Samosata – III 62; IV 151; X 24; XIII 4, 151 Lucifer [Dante] – IV 7; XXIII 4, 16; XXVII 12, 61, 67; XXVIII 1, 12 Lucilius, Gaius Ennius – IV 151 Lucretius, Titus Carus – IV 79; VI 92, 97, 100, 103, 106; X 24; XII 93; XIX 118, 119, 184, 186; XX 109, 215, 217; XXVIII 9, 97 Lucy of Syracuse [Dante] – III 66, 76, 78 Luke (Gospel) – I 154; XVII 154; XX 179 Luther, Martin – XVII 67 Lystra – see Listra Mackie, John Leslie – XII 107 Macrobius, Ambrosius Theodosius – XIX 49 Máel Dúin – see Immram Maele Dúin Mahābhārata – I 48 Maimonides, Moses – II 121; XIII 73 Malatesta, Paolo [Dante] – XI 160 Malcolm, Norman – VII 145, 166 Malebranche, Nicholas – XIII 73 Mānī (Manichaeus) – XIX 9 Manzoni, Alessandro – III 76 Marcel, Gabriel Honoré – XVII 108 Marcus Aurelius – V 81, 115 Margarete [Goethe] – IX 76 Marino, Giovan Battista – III 97 Mark (Gospel) – IV 46; XX 179 Marlowe, Christopher – IV 142 Martin of Dacia – VII 94 Marx, Karl Heinrich – II 136; VIII 33 Mary (mother of Jesus) – III 70, 71 Matrix, The (movie) – VI 125 Matsuo Bashō – XIII 82 Matthew (Gospel) – I 154; IV 1; XIV 8; XIX 9; XX 179 Index of cited names Matthieu d’Orléans – I 58 McDowell, John Henry – XII 107 Megarians – V 81, 158; XII 100 Meinong, Alexius von – I 87; IX 1, 28 Meirav, Ariel – XIX 134 Meister Eckhart (von Hochheim) – IX 120 Meletus of Athens – I 106 Melia, Joseph – XI 119 Melissus of Samos – V 104; XVII 26 Melville, Herman – XVIII 107 Menander of Kephisia – XI 48 Menippus of Gadara – XIII 4 Merleau-Ponty, Maurice – XVII 108 Messenger [Carroll] – VII 7 Metrodorus of Chios – XIII 188 Michelangelo – see Buonarroti, Michelangelo Michelstaedter, Carlo – XXVIII 41 Mill, John Stuart – XI 139; XII 27; XIII 172; XXI 26 Miltiades (the Younger) – V 85 Milton, John – XI 51, 54; XXVIII 37 Minerva – see Athena Minkowski, Hermann – XX 147 Minos – VI 4, 20; XX 47 Minotaur – XX 47 Mnesarch of Athens – XIX 162 modists – VII 92 Moirai – XVIII 64; XXI 31 Montale, Eugenio – VII 163 Moore, George Edward – II 34 Moreland, James Porter – X 129 Moses – XII 88 Moses [Schönberg]– VII 160 Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus – XVIII 36 Muhammad – Intr. Münchhausen, Karl Friedrich von – IX 69 Musil, Robert – V 12; XXI 40, 46 Nagel, Thomas – XVIII 191 Navigatio Sancti Brendani – Intr.; I 127 293 Newton, Isaac – XII 16, 93, 100 Nicarete of Megara – V 85 Nicholas of Autrécourt – XIII 73 Nicholas of Cusa – IX 120 Nick Chopper [Baum] – XX 122 Nicole, Pierre – see Port-Royal Nicomachus of Gerasa – XI 109 Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm – Intr.; I 69; XVI 25, 67, 123; XVIII 205; XXIII 1; XXVIII 46 nihilists – XVII 20, 25, 49 Nihon Shoki – XX 118 Nimrod [Dante] – XXIII 4 Nomi, Federigo – XX 94 Noonan, Harold – XX 159 Novalis (Georg von Hardenberg) – VIII 33; IX 21 Novellino, Il – I 22 Nozick, Robert – VI 125 Nyāya-Vaiśeṣika – X 165 Ober, William – I 108 Occam – see William of Ockham Odo of Tournai (of Cambrai) – X 160 Odoric of Pordenone – IX 25 Odysseus – see Ulysses Olson, Eric – XIX 112 Only Fools and Horses (sitcom) – XX 114 Oppenheim, Paul – XII 16 Ordo Romanus – XXVIII 49 Oresme, Nicole – XII 98 Orestes of Alexandria – III 63 Origen of Alexandria – XVIII 79; XIX 9 Orpheus – III 20 Otto of Freising – XI 3 Ovid (Publius Ovidius Naso) – I 49; III 16; VII 5; IX 7; X 141; XI 48; XIII 7, 9; XIV 7; XVII 118; XVIII 64; XX 47 Oxyrhynchus Papyri – XI 40 Panaetius of Rhodes – V 81; XX 47 Paolo Malatesta [Dante] – XI 160 Papias vocabulista – XVIII 64 294 Paracelsus (Philippus Theophrastus von Hohenheim) – XXVIII 43 Parmenides of Elea – I 58; II 83; V 104, 106, 112, 118, 136, 138; XVII 26; XIX 130; XX 20, 24 Parrhasius of Ephesus – VII 80 Pascal, Blaise – IX 120 Pascoli, Giovanni – XXVII 7 Paul (apostle) – Intr.; III 17, 20; IV 60, 63, 68; XII 133; XXVIII 1 Pausanias – IX 7; XX 42 Pecci, Vincenzo Gioacchino – see Leo XIII Pedanius Dioscorides – see Dioscorides Peer Gynt [Ibsen] – XX 73, 96 Pegasus – IX 6; XIV 16; XXVII 16 Peirce, Charles Sanders – XI 23; XX 96 Penrose, Lionel – IX 34 Penrose, Roger – IX 34 Persephone – I 127; XVII 85 Peter (apostle) – Intr. Peter (2nd Epistle) – XIX 164 Peter Lombard – XIX 93 Peter of Spain (Pedro Julião) – II 83 Peterson, Gary – XX 114 Petrarca, Francesco – I 158; XIV 7; XVIII 111 Petronius, Gaius Arbiter – IX 7 Petrus Aureolus – see Auriol, Pierre Phaedrus, Gaius Iulius – X 24; XIV 7 Phaon – XI 48 Phemonoë – XIII 179 Pherecydes of Athens – XIII 9 Philemon of Syracuse (of Soli) – II 149 Philinus of Cos – XIII 61 Philo [Hume] – XIII 100 Philo of Alexandria – VI 97, 103; XII 93; XX 103 Philolaus of Croton (of Tarentum) – V 92 Philoponus, John – I 49 Philostorgius of Borissus – III 63 Index of cited names Philostratus, Lucius Flavius – IX 7 Phlegon of Tralles – XIII 7, 9 Photius of Constantinople – I 40; III 63; IX 7; XI 48, 153; XIII 7; XIX 9, 163 Physiologus – I 48 Pier (Pietro) delle Vigne – III 17 Pier delle Vigne [Dante] – VI 82 Pindar – IX 6; XXVII 16 Placidus (glossographer) – XVII 123 Plato – I 11, 33, 49, 94, 99, 106, 108, 112 121, 156; II 15, 24, 36, 40, 55, 56, 69, 76; III 28, 53, 61, 62, 65; IV 4, 11, 18, 23, 121, 83, 85, 115; V 8, 70, 87, 127, 158, 162; VI 26, 28, 49; VII 52, 80; VIII 10; IX 137; X 35, 47, 52, 66, 69, 75, 76, 83, 88, 90, 93, 98, 103, 113, 123, 141, 147, 156, 158, 160, 163, 164, 165; XI 20, 97, 143; XII 8, 25, 44, 46, 53, 55, 88, 107; XIII 56, 72, 82, 179; XIV 16; XVII 160; XVIII 7, 15, 106, 111, 142, 144, 148, 157, 171; XIX 9, 134; XX 20, 103, 105, 109, 215; XXI 24; XXIII 14; XXVIII 59 Plautus, Titus Maccius – IX 7 Playfair, John – IV 72 Pliny, Gaius Caecilius (the Younger) – V 94 Pliny, Gaius Secundus (the Elder) – I 41, 42; V 81, 85; VII 80; VIII 33; IX 7; XVIII 64; XXVII 42, 66 Plotinus of Lycopolis – XII 25; XIV 16; XVIII 16 Plutarch of Chaeronea – III 61; V 92, 128; VI 26, 97; XI 152; XIX 118; XX 20, 47, 59, 103, 122, 217; XXVII 42 Pluto – see Hades Pluto [Dante] – VII 107; IX 146 Poetic Edda – XVII 85 Polanyi, Michael – XII 27 Polemon of Laodicea – XIX 9 Polo, Marco – XXVII 14 Index of cited names Polydorus [Virgil] – VI 82 Polyhymnia – XVIII 31 Polyphemus [Homer] – VII 6 Polyxenus of Megara – X 123 Pomponazzi, Pietro – XII 98 Porphyry of Tyre – X 52, 83; XI 3, 153; XII 25; XVII 85; XVIII 86, 127 Port-Royal, grmmarians of – XX 103, 185 Portinari, Beatrice – see Beatrice Poseidon – VI 4 Posidonius of Apamea – V 81 Poulenc, Francis Jean Marcel – XIII 10 Pratchett, Terence (Terry) – XX 114 Princess of the Way – see Dama de la via Priscian (Priscianus Caesariensis) – VII 93 Proclus Lycaeus – IV 72; V 106; XII 25; XIV 16 Prometheus – XVIII 13 Propertius, Sextus – IV 151; XIII 9 Protagoras of Abdera – VI 103; XII 55 Proust, Marcel – XIX 23; XX 173 Psalms (Book of) – I 11, 95; XVII 110; XVIII 50; XXI 18; XXVIII 23 Pseudo-Apollodorus – VI 4; XIII 7, 9; XX 47, 169 Pseudo-Aristotle – XVII 22 Pseudo-Eckhart – IX 110 Pseudo-Justin – XVIII 127 Pseudo-Scotus – IV 70 Ptolemy, Claudius – III 71; VI 70, 100; XI 121; XIX 46 Ptolemy Hephaestion (or Chennus) – XIII 7 Publilius Syrus – II 156; V 95; XVIII 141 Purgatorium Sancti Patricii – Intr. Putnam, Hilary Whitehall – VI 118, 120, 133; XII 16, 61 295 Pylyshyn, Zenon Walter – XX 122 Pyrrho of Elis – XIII 56, 57, 61, 82, 188 Pythagoras of Samos – XI 152, 153, 160, 170, 175, 178; XVIII 86; XIII 56; XIX 130 Pythagoreans – XI 109, 152; XVIII 16, 171 Pythia – see Delphic Oracle Qoheleth (Book of) – XIII 100, 151; XVII 22, 25; XXIII 1, 16; XXVIII 42 Quine, Willard Van Orman – I 33; II 96, 115; X 52; XI 22, 97, 106; XIX 71; XX 151, 154; XXVIII 23 Qurʾān – Intr. Rabanus, Maurus Magnentius – XI 3 Rabelais, François – IX 120 Rachel [Dante] – III 60, 88 Ralph de Beauvais – VII 93 Ralph the Breton (Radulphus Brito) – VII 95 Rāmāyaṇa – I 48; XXVII 28 Raspe, Rudolf Erich – IX 69 Rāvaṇa [Vālmikī] – XXVII 28 Reid, Thomas – XIII 172; XX 192 Revelation (Book of) – I 153; III 17; IV 1; XIV 7; XXIII 14; XXVII 10, 12, 28, 37 Ṛgveda – XIV 7 Richards, Grant – IX 105 Rilke, Rainer Maria – II 111 Rimbaud, Jean Nicolas Arthur – XI 152; XIX 23 Ristoro d’Arezzo – IV 181 Robinson, Mary – XI 48 Rodin, François Auguste René – XVIII 31 Roquetin, Antoine [Sartre] – XVII 88, 108 Rorty, Richard McKay – XIV 16 Roscelin de Compiègne – XI 3, 15, 33; XII 93 Rosenberg, Jay Frank – XVIII 160 296 Rosimond (Claude de La Rose) – XVIII 36 Ṛṣyaśṛṅga [Rāmāyaṇa/Mahābhārata] – I 48 Rudra – XIV 7 Ruggieri degli Ubaldini [Dante] – XVIII 69, 77 Ruggiero [Ariosto] – VI 82 Russell, Bertrand – I 87; II 115; IX 1, 72, 73; X 83; XI 25, 109, 132; XX 159 Russell, Francis – XX 96 Rutebeuf – XIX 162 Saint Brendan’s Voyage – Navigatio Sancti Brendani Sallust (Gaius Sallustius Crispus) – V 89 Sāmaveda – IX 94 Sandburg, Carl – XX 73 Sanhedrin (Talmūd) – XVIII 50 Sapir, Edward – VII 82 Sappho – XI 40, 73, 160, 178; XX 1 Sartre, Jean-Paul – XVII 74, 78, 88, 100, 108 Saul of Tarsus – see Paul (apostle) Saʿ īd ibn Yūsuf al-Fayyūmī – see Saʿadya Saʿadya ben Yōssef Gaʾon Sūra – XVIII 50 Schönberg, Arnold – VII 160 School of Chartres – X 163, 164 Schopenhauer, Arthur – XIII 41; XVII 67, 123; XXIII 1 Scotus – see Duns Scotus, John Scotus Eriugena, Johannes – X 160; XVIII 79 Searle, John Rogers – XII 27 Sefer Yeẓirah – XVIII 50 Sefer Yuḥasin – XVIII 50 Sellars, Wilfrid Stalker – XI 33 Seneca, Lucius Annaeus (the Younger) – IV 181; V 81, 88; VI 97, 103 Seneca, Marcus Lucius Annaeus (the Elder) – VII 80 Serapion of Alexandria – XIII 61 Index of cited names Sextus Empiricus – I 58; II 73; V 136; VI 97, 103, 106; XI 106; XII 16; XIII 24, 41, 61, 63, 82, 172, 188; XVII 22; XX 20 Sfondrato, Niccolò – see Gregory XIV Shakespeare, William – I 23; IV 79; V 20, 21, 30; IX 41, 62; XI 12, 174; XII 107; XX 152, 182; XXI 25 shamanism – XII 8 Shankara (Ādi Śaṅkarācārya) – X 113, 165 Shĕlōmōh ben Yĕhūdāh ibn Gĕbīrōl – see Avicebron Šîvihaššîrîm – see Song of songs Sider, Theodore – XX 147, 152 Sīmǎ Qiān – XIII 80 Simon of Dacia – VII 94 Simons, Peter – XIX 134 Simplicius of Cilicia – I 74; V 62, 63, 67, 86, 106, 112, 118, 127; VII 92; X 98; XIX 118, 119; XX 20, 24, 103 Sirach (Book of) – IV 103; XXVII 12; XXVIII 49 sceptics – XII 135; XIII 24; XX 196 Smart, John Jamieson Carswell – XX 147 Snowdon, Paul – XIX 112 Socrates [character] – I 91 and passim Socrates of Athens – I 91, 94, 106, 108, 112, 125, 156; II 1, 4, 40, 55, 56, 69, 76, 145, 149; III 62; IV 9, 31, 85; V 81, 127, 158, 161, 162; VI 15, 26, 28; VII 80; VIII 10; X 47, 75, 76, 98, 141; XI 20, 152; XII 53, 88; XIII 179, 192; XVII 160; XVIII 148, 157; XIX 9; XXI 24; XXIII 14; XXVIII 7 Socrates of Constantinople – III 63 Solinus, Gaius Julius – I 42; XXVII 14 Solomon (Book of) – see Wisdom (Book of) Index of cited names Song of songs (of Solomon) – XIX 13 sophists – XVII 26; XXIII 14 Sostratus of Phanagoria – XIII 7, 10 Spenser, Edmund – III 97 Speusippus of Athens – XII 8 Spinoza, Baruch (Benedict) – XVIII 130; XXIII 1 Sraffa, Piero – VII 145 St Patrick’s Purgatory – see Purgatorium Sancti Patricii Stahl, Georg Ernst – XII 27 Statius, Publius Papinius – IV 115; XIV 7 Stéphane d’Orléans – see Tempier, Étienne Sterne, Laurence – XXVIII 42 Stilpo of Megara – V 81 Stobaeus, Joannes – II 149; XI 152, 153, 170; XIX 162 stoics – V 81; VII 40; XI 106; XIX 162, 165 stone guest [Mozart] – XVIII 36 Strabo of Amaseia – XI 48 Strawson, Peter Frederick – VII 76, 78; X 129 Suárez, Francisco – XIII 73 Suda – II 149; III 63; V 62; XI 153 Suinin (emperor) – XX 118 Sybil – see Cumaean Sibyl Szabó Gendler, Tamar – XXI 25, 26 Taittirīya-Saṃhitā – XIV 7 Talmūd – I 66; XVIII 50 Targum – XVII 110 Tasso, Torquato – III 97; VI 103; IX 146 Telemachus [Homer] – VIII 33 Téllez, Gabriele – see Tirso de Molina Tempier, Étienne (Stéphane d’Orléans) – VII 94 Tertullian (Quintus Septimius Florens Tertullianus) – VI 97 Thales of Miletus – III 65; V 63, 67, 70; XII 16; XIII 179; XXVIII 46 Thamus – VI 28 297 Thargelia of Miletus – III 62 Theano of Crete – XI 40, 153 Theano of Croton – XI 40, 153, 160, 170, 175 Themista of Lampsacus – V 85 Themistius of Byzantium – XIX 163 Themistocles – V 85 Theodorus of Cyrene – V 81 Theon of Alexandria – III 63 Theophilus of Antioch – XIX 165 Theophrastus of Eresos – V 85; VIII 33; XVIII 181 Theseus – III 20; XIX 50; XX 42, 47, 59, 122; XI 9, 10, 22, 29 Theuth – VI 28 Thierry de Chartres – X 164 Thomas of Erfurt – VII 93 Thomas, Dylan Marlais – XX 208 Thomists – VII 92 Thomasson, Amie – XIX 65 Thomson, Judith Jarvis – XIX 65; XX 159 Thracian servant – III 65; XXVIII 46 Tibullus, Albius – X 24 Timagoras Epicureus – VI 70, 106 Timon of Phlius – XIII 56, 61, 63 Timothy (2nd Epistle to) – XIX 164 Tin Woodman [Baum] – XX 122 Tiresias – I 127; XIII 4, 7, 9, 10, 14, 22, 24; XIV 4 Tirso de Molina (Gabriele Téllez) – XVIII 36 Titans [Virgil] – XXIII 4 Tolomei, Pia de’ [Dante] – XVII 164; XX 221 Tractatus de Purgatorio Sancti Patricii – see Purgatorium Sancti Patricii Trismegistus, Hermes – see Hermes Trismegistus Trottula – see de Ruggiero, Trotula Turgenev, Ivan Sergeyevich – XVII 49, 52 Tzetzes, John – V 110 Udayana (or Udayanācārya) – X 165 298 Ugolino della Gherardesca [Dante] – XVIII 69, 77 Uguccione da Lodi – Intr. Ulysses – III 20; VII 6, 160; XIII 4 Ulysses [Dante] – IV 173; XXVIII 1, 3 Unamuno, Miguel de – XVII 108 Unger, Peter – XVII 33 Upaniṣad (Chāndogya) – IX 94 Urizen [Blake] – IX 137 Vālmikī – XXVII 28 Váruṇa – XIV 7 Venus [Virgil] – III 88 Verkhovensky, Pyotr [Dostoyevsky] – XVII 52 Verri, Alessandro – XI 48 Vico, Giambattista – XII 66 Virgil [Dante] – Intr.; I 91, 112, 128, 131, 141, 148, 150, 153; II 4, 24; III 20, 22, 25, 28, 66; V 41, 151; VI 20; IX 146; X 73, 141; XIV 2; XVIII 42, 121; XXIII 4; XXVII 55; XXVIII 12, 18, 49, 65 Virgil (Publius Vergilius Maro) – I 11, 15, 91, 95, 112; II 4; III 20, 22, 46, 88; IV 1, 43, 115, 136, 179; V 8, 34; VI 4, 82; VII 5; IX 62; X 141; XIX 118; XX 47; XXVII 36, 66; XXVIII 37 Visio Alberici – Intr. Visio Pauli – see Apocalypse of Paul Visio Petri – see Apocalypse of Peter Visio Tnugdali – Intr.; IV 67 Vision of Adamnán – see Fís Adamnáin vitalists – XII 25; XVIII 169 Voltaire (François-Marie Arouet) – II 153; III 63 Voyage of Bran, The – see Immram Brain Voyage of Máel Dúin, The – see Immram Maele Dúin Voyage of Saint Brendan, The – see Navigatio Sancti Brendani Wagner, Wilhelm Richard – XVII 67 Index of cited names Washington, George – XX 114 Watson, Richard – XVIII 130 Wertenbaker, Green Peyton – VI 125 Wheeler, John Archibald – XVIII 86 White King [Carroll] – VII 7 Whitehead, Alfred North – XI 132; XX 159 Whorf, Benjamin Lee – VII 80, 82 Wiggins, David – XIX 65, 102, 112; XX 122 William IX of Aquitaine – see Guilhèm de Peitieus William of Champeaux – see Guillaume de Champeaux William of Conches – see Guillaume de Conches William of Lorris – see Guillaume de Lorris William of Sherwood – XI 22, 132 Wisdom (Book of) – XII 70 Wittgenstein, Ludwig – Intr.; I 12; II 34, 147; III 58; VII 69, 80, 115, 118, 130, 136, 145, 166; X 129; XIII 82, 172, 177; XIX 38; XXVIII 59 Wolff, Christian – XIV 16; XXI 17 Wong, David – XX 114 Wotan [Wagner] – XVII 67 Xanthippe – V 162 Xenophon of Athens – I 106, 112; V 158; VII 80; XIII 179; XX 169; XXIII 14 Yablo, Stephen – XXI 26 Yajur Veda – XIV 7 Yamatohime-no-mikoto – XX 118 Young, Thomas – XVIII 86 Zeno of Citium – V 81, 84; XIX 165 Zeno of Elea – V 84, 158 zetetics – see sceptics Zeus – XIII 9 Zeuxis of Heraclea – VII 80 Zhuāngzǐ (or Zhuang Zhou, Chuangtzu) – XII 46; XIII 80, 82 zombies – XVIII 67, 176 Zosima [Dostoyevsky] – X 135