[In the following essay, Bernardo explores the theme of rebirth in Dante's work, positing that it entails purification of both body and soul.]

I

In defining the basic originality of Dante's Comedy, Auerbach states: “What radically distinguishes the Comedy from all other visions of the other world is that in it the unity of man's earthly personality is preserved and fixed. … The earthly world is encompassed in the other world of the Comedy; true, its historical order and form are destroyed, but in favor of a more complete and final form in which the destroyed form is included. … It was necessary to destroy the form of the earthly world, for its potentiality, its striving for self-realization, and consequently its variability attain full term and cease in the after-life; the new form possesses everything that the former one possessed, and something more in addition, namely full actuality, immutable being.”¹ In this statement Auerbach is referring to Dante's portrayal of “the human beings who appear in the Comedy.” The idea expressed is a fine example of Auerbach's critical acumen at its best, for in a few strokes he clearly explains the paradoxical nature of the subject matter of the Comedy by showing how and why a literary work whose content is literally dealing with the state of souls after death could be classified among those masterpieces of world literature belonging to the realistic tradition.

And yet, one feels compelled to ask, perhaps facetiously, whether it is really proper to speak of human beings in the Comedy. Are they not rather human souls? The answer cannot be categorical, for in this incomparable poem we are made to behold before our very eyes the mystery of spirit made flesh and flesh made spirit.²

It is, nevertheless, beyond any doubt that there is but one real human being present throughout the poem: Dante the wayfarer. He is the only character possessing both body and soul. Can we, therefore, conclude that Auerbach's statement also applies to the poet's portrayal of himself? He is, after all, more than mere spectator or even participant. He is the protagonist. Does he then reflect a figure who also achieves “full actuality, immutable being?” The answer can only be in the affirmative if we are to view him in terms of Professor Singleton's “Whichever-man” who is graced to view his Creator face to face—even for an instant.³ As such, Dante the wayfarer does achieve superhuman proportions without losing his earthly identity. How does this happen? By the simple expedient of having this protagonist undergo a kind of mysterious rebirth as he approaches those realms of the poem's journey where corruptible matter ends and pure spirit begins.

It is through this subtle strategy that the inimitable vision of the Comedy enjoys both intellectual and aesthetic acceptance by the reader who is willing to suspend disbelief. There is little question that without it the poem's subject matter on the literal level would have produced a jarring effect on one's sensibility, especially as the poem moved from the second to the third Cantica where the presence of a live man could seriously interfere with its smooth progress. Instead, as a result of an extensive series of spiritual and physical experiences undergone by the wayfarer between the center and end of the Purgatorio, the reader is disposed to accept the entrance of a man, presumably still in possession of his body, but endowed with special grace, into the purely spiritual realms of the Paradiso. But let us trace from the beginning the development of this practically unnoticed movement in the Comedy.⁴

II

The problem of how to resolve convincingly the possibility of a journey to the world of the spirit by a man still in this life and in possession of his earthly body preoccupies Dante from the very beginning of the Comedy. It will be recalled that the introductory canto ends with Dante willingly following Virgil who had offered to help him bypass the wolf by pursuing “altro viaggio.” Just before this moment, however, Virgil had expressed surprise that Dante should be returning to Hell when he could be climbing the “dilettoso monte.” Only when Dante alludes to his difficulty with the she-wolf does Virgil apparently realize that Dante is no ordinary spirit, but still a live person who must be led along a special route.

As the second canto opens, we find Dante suddenly realizing the full import of Virgil's words and intention, and wondering whether he is worthy of such a journey while still alive, inasmuch as only twice in the history of mankind had such a thing presumably happened. In both cases subsequent events had justified the experience, for in Dante's eyes Aeneas and St. Paul had been clear instruments of Divine Providence in preparing the way for the faith. Dante, the wayfarer, therefore expresses serious doubt as to whether there is any justification for his journey, and indeed fears “che la venuta non sia folle” (II, 10-36).

In speaking of Aeneas, Dante specifically mentions that the Roman hero entered the world of the spirit while still in possession of his body. In speaking of St. Paul, he makes only vague reference to the possibility of the Saint also possessing his body during his mystical experience.⁵ As for his own condition, there is little doubt of Dante's strong awareness of the presence of his body. During the course of the first three cantos, however, there seems to be a significant change of emphasis in describing the state of his body.

Early in Canto I we find a clear allusion to a real human body, with all its frailty, as we observe Dante resting his weary flesh following his frightening “night” (I, 19-30). When he finally confronts the wolf, he feels his “weight” so strongly that he seems to sink to the bottom-most point in his journey (I, 52-63).⁶ In Canto II he questions his worthiness for such a journey, using as his basic argument the fact that only very select individuals endowed with special grace can hope to visit the world of the spirit while still in possession of a corruptible body (II, 13-36).⁷ In Canto III Charon's powerful shout, “E tu che se’ costì, anima viva, / Partiti da cotesti che son morti!” (III, 88-89) emphasizes still more Dante's condition. But Charon's subsequent cry, “Più lieve legno convien che ti porti” (III, 93), coupled with Virgil's explanation, “Quinci non passa mai anima buona” (III, 127), implies a different view of Dante's body. It is destined to rise, not sink.

In his ensuing journey Dante seems to imply possession of a real body up to the terrestrial paradise. Thus, in Purg. XVI, 37-43, he explains to one of the penitents:

                                         … Con quella fascia
          che la morte dissolve men vo suso,
          e venni qui per l’infernale ambascia.
E se Dio m’ha in sua grazia rinchiuso,
          tanto che vuol ch’i’ veggia la sua corte
          per modo tutto fuor del moderno uso,
non mi celar chi fosti anzi la morte …

On the other hand, the poet-wayfarer does not seem quite as certain of his condition in the first canto of Paradiso. Not only is a clear metamorphosis implied in the allusion to Glaucus (v. 68) and in the use of the verb “trasumanar” (v. 70), but echoes of St. Paul's experience are unmistakable when Dante exclaims:

S’i’ era sol di me quel che creasti
          novellamente, amor che ’l ciel governi,
          tu ’l sai, che col tuo lume mi levasti.

(Vv. 73-75)

In Par. II, 37-42, he repeats once again his doubts about the nature of his condition, giving it special emphasis by the reference to Christ:

S’io era corpo, e qui non si concepe
          com’una dimensione altra patìo,
          ch’esser convien se corpo in corpo repe,
accender ne dovria più il disìo
          di veder quella essenza in che si vede
          come nostra natura e Dio s’unìo.

In short, when Dante begins his flight to paradise, he is no longer aware of the nature of his material body. He knows only that now he is “privo d’impedimento” (Par. I, 139-140). Yet, the fact that he is aware of still being a live man implies some form of body. It is the contention of this study that beginning with Purg. XVI Dante, the wayfarer, undergoes a kind of metamorphosis leading to a rebirth in both spirit and flesh which defines his condition in his subsequent journey through paradise.

III

There is today general agreement that the essential nature of Dante's journey in the Comedy is intellectual and spiritual rather than physical.⁸ It is, therefore, difficult to speak of an actual physical metamorphosis undergone by the wayfarer as he begins to leave this earth behind him. But his constant intellectual and moral growth reflects changes in his total being that, I believe, cannot be classified as merely intellectual or spiritual. Something seems to happen to his physical nature as well which also implies a new state or condition reminiscent of the “glorification” promised by the faith at the Resurrection.

There is no denying that on the allegorical level the poem basically involves a journey of the mind and heart to God, as Singleton would have it.⁹ But on the literal level, this is presumably the journey of a specific individual still in possession of his body and highly aware of it. To assume that the role of this body in the poem is simply to give substance to the spiritual world visited by the wayfarer is not going far enough—at least not in a poem written with as lofty a moral and spiritual intent and by a poet so deeply concerned with levels and dimensions of meaning. It also tells us something about man's ultimate perfection which must encompass body as well as soul.¹⁰

The crucial point in the wayfarer's development along these lines is reached in Purg. XVII, in mid-poem, where he is presented with a rationalization of the structure of Purgatory. Love, he learns, is the agent responsible for all good and all evil on earth. As for human imperfection, it results from the misuse of love which leads to two categories of sins: of the spirit and of the flesh. For man to achieve Paradise he must put all sin behind him and become a being not unlike Adam before the fall—a being truly “re-formed” in the image of his Creator. This implies a state beyond the human, but without total loss of human identity.¹¹ If we, therefore, assume that such a transformation or transfiguration must occur within Dante the wayfarer, inasmuch as he is privileged to behold a vision of God, it is logical to expect the poem, because it is the Comedy, to contain moments describing or implying this change of state. I believe that three of the key moments are to be found in three episodes of the Purgatorio for which critics have yet to find a clear and coherent explanation that would apply to the literal level of meaning of the poem.¹² The first is the description of the birth and nature of the human soul in Purg. XVI. The second is the description of the birth of human flesh and spirit in Purg. XXV. The last is the allegorical procession viewed by Dante at the summit of Purgatory. In these episodes Dante, the wayfarer, gains insights into the nature of the human condition from the viewpoint of eternity (Purg. XXV, 31). These insights, in turn, produce within him changes that are analogous to an actual rebirth of both flesh and spirit.

IV

It is common knowledge that Cantos XVI and XVII of Dante's second Cantica mark the physical center of the Comedy. In these cantos, the wayfarer also reaches the mid-point of the Mount of Purgatory. As Virgil explains toward the end of Canto XVII (vv. 130-133), Dante is located on the ledge of the slothful. He has now left behind the three ledges on which sins of the spirit are purged. Yet to come are the three ledges on which souls expiate sins of the flesh. At this point, it is possible to glimpse another striking example of the amazing symmetry that pervades both the form and content of the poem.¹³ As Dante emerges from the area in which sins of the spirit are atoned, he is exposed to a rather extensive description of the birth of the soul. As he enters the last ledge of the area in which sins of the flesh are purged, he is given not only a detailed explanation of the birth of the body, but of the relation of soul to body (Canto XXV). It is in this general movement that the concept which Barbi and others consider the basic inspiration of the poem receives ultimate refinement, i.e., that it is possible to reconcile the earthly and human with the celestial and divine.¹⁴ By the time the movement is over, the wayfarer has undergone a kind of purification and rebirth of flesh and spirit including St. Paul's “mortification of the members” (Col. iii, 5) and the “renewal in the spirit of the mind” (Eph. iv, 23) that are so essential in order to “Strip off the old man with his deeds and put on the new, one that is being renewed unto perfect knowledge according to the image of his Creator.” There are a number of details to be found between Canto XVI and the end of the Purgatorio which indicate the great care exerted by the poet to emphasize this new and exciting movement of a purified human being truly “re-formed” in the image of the Lord. Let us examine a few.

First of all, there is movement in time. Dante's journey up to this point has taken place in a strange dimension. It has been upward in “space” but backward in time, back to the innocent “childhood” of Eden. In learning the mysteries of the birth of soul and body, the wayfarer travels back to the opening moments of Genesis. Within the poem as we shall see, this is reflected by echoes recalling the opening moments of the very first canto where he also tried to scale a mountain. But now not only are the “beasts” gone, but their last vestiges are about to disappear. Furthermore, just as Virgil had showed him the way to bypass the beasts, now a new helper, Statius, begins to prepare him for what lies in the area beyond the beasts. Virgil can still explain the evolution of the soul from its vegetative to its sensitive and finally to its intellective form. But it is Statius who proceeds to explain the aerial body that can be assumed by the soul after death. By introducing Statius in Canto XXI, Dante clearly implies a movement in time. Virgil lived just before Christ; Statius just after. With Statius we move into the Christian era without a sharp break with the Pagan. Statius, for Dante, is but a Virgil holding the “lantern” before rather than behind him (Purg. XXII, 67-69).¹⁵

Echoes of a new start and of a return to a “beginning” are present from the very first verses of Purg. XVI which opens with a distinct recollection of the darkness of Hell:

Buio d’inferno e di notte privata
          d’ogni pianeta sotto pover cielo,
          quant’esser può di nuvol tenebrata,
non fece al viso mio sì grosso velo
          come quel fummo ch’ivi ci coperse
          nè a sentir di così aspro pelo …

(Vv. 1-7)

Only by leaning on Virgil can the “blind” Dante proceed through the “aere amaro e sozzo” (v. 13). In this thick mist can be heard voices humbly praying to the Lamb of God (vv. 19-20). The rime aspre (cozzo, sozzo, mozzo), the smoke, the theme of humility, are all reminiscent of the opening cantos of the poem.¹⁶

As the dialogue starts between Dante and Marco Lombardo, the words used sound the themes of Creation, expiation, purification and resurrection:

                     … O creatura, che ti mondi
per tornar bella a colui che ti fece …

In explaining the presence of his body, Dante next seems to use quite casually a word which implies a child's body. He refers to it as a fascia, a swaddling band.¹⁷ As Marco proceeds with his explanation of why virtue has fled the world, he reminds Dante of Man's origin:

Lo cielo i vostri movimenti inizia …
Esce di mano a lui che la vagheggia …
L’anima semplicetta …

(Vv. 73, 85, 88)

There is also movement from darkness to light which similarly reflects both the Creation and the experiences of Inferno I. There too Dante moved from darkness toward the light before being stopped by the beasts. But it was Springtime and Eastertide, and the heavens were arranged in the same position as at the moment of Creation (Inf. I, 37-40). The theme of rebirth was clearly present, but it remained indistinct, for the pilgrim was too weighed down by earthly slough. In Purg. XVI, on the other hand, once the wayfarer grasps the relationship between free will and divine providence, the “buio d’inferno” begins to clear. His sight, however, is momentarily like the lowly mole's whose eye is covered by a membrane. The sun can once again be seen, but very faintly. In fact, as he moves out of the cloud of “smoke” he discovers that evening is about to fall. The sun's rays are “morti già ne’ bassi lidi” (v. 12). Thus opens Canto XVII of the Purgatorio. The earthly mists are lifting, but divine enlightenment must come slowly. This significant interplay between light and darkness continues in the subsequent movement from the third to the fourth and middle ledge of the Mount when a “Nova luce … / Maggior assai che quel ch’è in nostro uso” (vv. 41, 45) momentarily blinds the wayfarer. The brilliant light of the angel who removes the third P from Dante's forehead is, however, short lived. Having led the wayfarer to the fourth ledge of sloth, the angel departs, leaving Dante in the falling night with “la possa de le gambe posta in triegue” (v. 75). There follows Virgil's explanation of the structure of Purgatory.

The theme of rebirth continues to be inferred as we move into Canto XVIII. In this canto Virgil's definition of love seems to recall Marco's description of the birth of the soul (XVI, 85-90). Because of their difficulty, Virgil's words do not seem to satisfy our Christian pilgrim's thirst, and we find him almost dozing off when he is suddenly awakened by the rushing penitents representing antidotes to sloth. Fergusson has discussed the manner in which this scene contains echoes of the frenetic and erotic tone reminiscent of the childhood of the race.¹⁸ Virgil's explanation of love as a force indeed parallels the very experience being undergone by Dante as a soul. Not only is this soul about to evolve from its vegetative and sensitive state, but it has reached the stage of pure “moto spiritale.” The “nova luce” of Canto XVII, which almost overcame the pilgrim, seems now to become the “novo pensiero” of Canto XVIII which is so overwhelming that the exhausted soul falls into a deep sleep and dreams a dream that mysteriously resolves the doubts that Dante continued having after Virgil's discussion of love.¹⁹ As Virgil explains in Canto XIX:

Vedesti … quell’antica strega,
          che sola sovra noi omai si piagne;
          vedesti come l’uom da lei si slega.

(Vv. 58-60)

In short, the soul at this point is capable already of seeing how to free itself of the sins of the flesh which are now the only weights preventing its “rebirth.” As De’ Negri has pointed out, from Canto XIX, 52 to XXI, 6 we have the beginnings of the triumph of pure love.²⁰

The “freeing” of Statius in Canto XX accompanied by the joy that resounds throughout the Mount stands in sharp contrast to the orgiastic rites recalled in simile in describing the antidote for sloth (XVIII, 91-96). This mysterious event represents, indeed, a different kind of love. It recalls, in fact, the greatest act of love in all of Creation, the very moment when God Himself put on human flesh. As the entire Mountain rings out with “Gloria in excelsis Deo!” the poem very vividly reminds us of the most wondrous of all births:

Noi stavamo immobili e sospesi,
          come i pastor che prima udir quel canto …

(Vv. 139-140)

Even the iconography changes at this point. By placing Statius, a sanctified soul, together with souls whose sanctification is still in potential, the poem suggests the proximity of Paradise.²¹

Associations with Christ's life and resurrection continue to echo in the opening lines of Canto XXI (vv. 2-3, 7-9) until the wayfarers are greeted by Statius with Christ's very words, “Dio vi dea pace.” Having described the role played by free will and love in his “resurrection,” Statius concludes his opening remarks, and the poet once again interjects, quite obliquely this time, two references to Christ. In alluding to the manner in which Statius' words had satisfied his thirst for information (vv. 73-75), Dante invites the reader to recall Christ's quenching of the thirst of the Samaritan woman as referred to back in vv. 2-3 of this same canto. Similarly, when Statius begins to explain why he had remained so long on the present ledge, he makes reference to Christ's crucifixion and death (vv. 82-84). But the most significant reference to the birth of Christ appears, of course, in Canto XXII when Statius ascribes his conversion to the reading of Virgil's fourth Eclogue (vv. 70-72). An allusion to Christ's crucifixion and its role in Mankind's “liberation” appears again in Canto XXIII, 74-75.²² As this canto draws to an end, attention is sharply focused not only on Dante's body, but on the role played by Virgil in freeing Dante from the “crooked” life of the world and leading him to the “straight” life of the spirit (vv. 117-126).

Canto XXIV, with its two fruit trees of prohibition, brings to mind the tree of Eden and the drama of the Fall, as well as the Cross (vv. 74-75, 100-120). As Fergusson has shown, the use of trees in this canto also serves to reinforce the idea of “nourishment” for both flesh and spirit.²³ There is also something peculiar about the appearance of the angel toward the end of this canto. For the first time the light that engulfs one of the heavenly emissaries is compared to the red radiance of molten glass or metal. It is an image that the poet will use again in describing the sensation felt by his body as it entered the purifying flames of Canto XXVII, 49-51. Furthermore, the light movements of this angel are like the gentle breezes of springtime whose perfumed gusts announce the impending dawn (vv. 145-147). The subtle allusions to Charity, purification and rebirth are unmistakable. Dante thus sheds his sixth P. There is but one left, the lightest of all, but sufficiently heavy to prevent flight.

V

As Dante reaches the seventh ledge on which carnal excess is expiated he is eager to ask a question which must doubtless have occurred to him previously but which seems most appropriate at this point. First he significantly likens his state to that of a baby stork that extends its wings to fly, but dares not leave the nest (XXV, 10-12). Prodded by Virgil, he finally reveals what is on his mind. He wishes to know how a bodiless soul can grow thin from hunger, as was the case among the souls of the gluttonous. The question, seemingly simple on the surface, turns out to be considerably involved, for it of necessity touches upon the relationship not only of body to soul, but of flesh to spirit, of life to death, and of Creator to creature. It encompasses, in short, all the mysteries connected with the phenomena of birth and existence as viewed from eternity (v. 31). Indeed, the answer is so involved that Virgil yields to Statius, the classical poet who, unlike Virgil, was privileged to enjoy a full second life because he lived about as many years after Christ as Virgil had lived before, and had, therefore, at least in Dante's view, been graced with the true faith.

As Sapegno has pointed out, the ensuing explanation of Statius goes far beyond the scope of Dante's question and becomes a “vera e propria lezione sull’origine dell’anima umana.”²⁴ The thoroughness with which the processes of conception and generation are exposed according to medieval science might appear unduly prolonged and unnecessary. Yet, if one follows the exposition closely, one senses the mystery and marvel inherent in the fusion of body and soul, flesh and spirit, human and divine. In the Convivium (IV, xxi, 6) a similar exposition leads Dante to conclude: “Non si meravigli alcuno, s’io parlo sì che par forte ad intendere; chè a me medesimo pare maraviglia come cotale produzione si può conchiudere e con lo intelletto vedere.” What makes Statius' explanation especially appropriate at this time is the fact that it affords Dante, who is about to understand the evil inherent in carnal excess, deep insight into the beauty and sanctity of the human body as a truly divine artifact which is ultimately indestructible and, indeed, capable of intensifying not only the joys of salvation but even the pure beatitude of the final vision.²⁵ Furthermore, the description of what happens to the soul after death provides additional proof of the transitoriness of the human faculties (vegetative and sensitive) as compared to the eternity of the divine one (intellective). In traveling back to Eden the soul has passed through the moment of creation of the body and soul and, obliquely, through the moment of rebellion and divine retribution (XXV, 85-88).

As Statius concludes, Dante can already feel the flames of purification that mark the last ledge. The hymn that reaches his ear at this point is one sung on Saturday, praying for purification by fire and cleanness of heart and body²⁶; while the words that he hears the penitents shout bring to mind both divine and human chastity (vv. 172-132). All the building blocks, starting with Marco's discussion of the soul and free will and going through Virgil's discussion of love and the human soul down to Statius' explanation of the union of body and soul are now in place. Though still in possession of his body, Dante, the wayfarer, is ready to depart from the material universe (as defined in the geography of the Comedy) and to enter the universe of pure spirit. He can now do this for he is able to grasp the relationship between spirit and flesh from a divine rather than from a human angle of vision.

Just as Canto XXV ends on a note of chastity, so does Canto XXVI focus our attention on Dante's body surrounded by the purifying flames. Not only does the shadow of his body cause the flames to appear hotter (vv. 7-8), but the penitents who are engulfed in the flames take special care not to emerge. When, furthermore, in Canto XXVII the angel proclaims that further progress can be made only by entering the fire, Dante's first reaction is the recollection of

Umani corpi già veduti accesi.

(V. 18)

In addition, the theme of a return to childhood innocence also emerges strongly. When Dante offers obstinate resistence to Virgil's prodding urging him to enter the fire and is reminded that Beatrice is on the other side, he becomes like a “fanciul … ch’è vinto al pome.” Fergusson's analysis of this moment would appear appropriate here:

We are to take it that the Pilgrim, faced by such painful mysteries as his own infidelity to Beatrice's love (a sign of human infidelity in general) must in some sense become a child again. But as though to remind us that his obedience is not literally the innocence of childhood but innocence regained, his experience is associated with the ambiguous dying and ambiguous revivification of the mythic Pyramus, as his blood, shed in faithlessness and error, stains the mulberry red. And that blood reminds us, though faintly, of the mystic blood of Christ of line 2.²⁷

As Dante and his companions emerge from the fire in Canto XXVII, 57, they are greeted by a voice that welcomes the trio to Eden. Ordinarily, this would have marked the moment for the removal of the last P from Dante's forehead. Commentators have been puzzled by the fact that no reference is made to such a removal.²⁸ To assume that this is an oversight on the part of the poet is inconceivable. What we have here is evidence that the wayfarer's physical purification at this point is almost complete, for he is no longer able to experience direct bodily sensation. He is, however, still aware of his body and, therefore, of his humanity, but in the form of a shadow:

                                         … io toglea i raggi
dinanzi a me del sol ch’era già basso.

(Vv. 65-66)

As evening falls, Dante and his two guides lie down to rest. Once again the pilgrim undergoes an experience reminiscent of childhood as he feels safely tucked away, like a she-goat watched over by two shepherds (vv. 76-87). Just before falling asleep he notes how much clearer and greater the stars over Purgatory appear.²⁹ In the pleasant dream that follows, Lia and Rachel symbolize in depth the beauty inherent in the proper fusion of spirit and flesh. Virgil's words to him upon awaking also recall, by association, images of childhood and innocence (vv. 115-117). It is at this point that the “worm” who has become a “butterfly” begins to sprout wings:

Al volo mi sentia crescer le penne.

(V. 123)

With Virgil's fade-out we once again see a fecund spring landscape and hear echoes, though indistinct, of the conversations held with Marco Lombardo back in Canto XVI (vv. 133-142).

Canto XXVIII opens with verses that clearly suggest a kind of rebirth. The “selva oscura” of Hell has become a “divina foresta spessa e viva,” and we are introduced to a “novo giorno.” The air is fragrant, the breeze is from the East, and the sweet songs of birds greet the “ore prime.” Before the wayfarer is aware of it, he has proceeded a considerable distance into what he now calls “la selva antica” (v. 23). His progress is now impeded by a stream containing waters of incredible purity. Suddenly, across the stream he sees a lovely maiden bathed in sunlight and sweetly singing as she plucks pretty flowers. When this personification of pristine innocence speaks, she refers to the forest as a “luogo eletto a l’umana natura per suo nido” (vv. 77-78). In mysterious terms she implies that she represents, among other things, a fusion of the spirit and flesh, the active and contemplative, the divine and human (vv. 76-81). Furthermore, the surrounding “campagna santa” contains the seeds of all that grows on earth (vv. 118-120). As for the stream, it too comes from a mysterious fount whose miraculous waters eradicate the last vestiges of the slough of earthly life and restore the goodness with which Man was originally endowed as he emerged from the hand of God. The fecund sources of all life in this garden, as explained by the maiden, reflect a fertility and generative powers unknown on earth (vv. 118-126). The wayfarer has thus truly returned to the state of Eden, back to the very origin of the race:

Qui fu innocente l’umana radice;
          qui primavera sempre, ed ogni frutto …

(Vv. 142-143)

VI

However, just as a form of trial was necessary to achieve purification of the flesh, the same holds true for restoring the original innocence of the spirit. Dante's intellectual and “physical” experiences on the last three ledges of Purgatory were all directed toward the ultimate realization of the beauty and mystery of the human body. This was followed by the symbolic purification by fire. Similarly, beginning with Canto XXIX Dante's intellect is exposed to a series of experiences designed to restore original innocence to the spirit. What Dante views basically is the birth and growth of the church and society as willed by God and as vilified by Man. The central focus of the entire pageant is deeply involved with birth, death, and rebirth as we witness the vicissitudes undergone by Revelation as a result of Man's blindness and inability to reconcile human and divine, flesh and spirit, earthly beatitude and heavenly beatitude.³⁰

In order to participate correctly in the procession, it is necessary for Man to recognize his true nature and to confess freely that he has indeed resisted God's will. As is stated in 2 Chronicles: “If my people … shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.”³¹ As Dante faces Beatrice in Canto XXX, 76-81, we find him first taking one final look at his true self and then assuming the posture of a child. The sight of himself in the clear stream fills him with a shame that brings to mind a young child being scolded by a loving mother. Speaking of these verses, Miss Sayers has remarked, “… there may still be a profound symbolism in that sudden terrible humiliation when he sees himself glassed in the clear water after the regaining of Paradise and the reversal of the Fall. It would mean that for the first time it was possible for him to see sin in its full horror, as it is seen by one who is wholly innocent …”³² As Beatrice concludes her berating of Dante, reference is again made to the image of a child:

Quali i fanciulli vergognando muti,
          con li occhi a terra, stannosi ascoltando
          e sè riconoscendo e ripentuti,
          tal mi stav’io …

(XXXI, 64-67)³³

With the completion of his confession, Dante is ready to undergo a preliminary purification by water which, by analogy with Christian baptism, restores original innocence. Only at this point can a soul in grace, on a special journey back to God, begin to see as God sees. First of all, it is able to see all the beauty and mystery of Revelation (XXXI, 137-145). And then it can see fully the terrible implications of Man's pride and Fall (Cantos XXXII-XXXIII). The appropriateness of Dante's experience at this point was indicated by Auerbach when he wrote: “… only in the place of the first, uncorrupted earthly order and of man's fall from it could the second order and the second fall from it—and this was Dante's view of the world's history since the coming of Christ—be appropriately represented.”³⁴ But even the Earthly Paradise was for Dante still a part of this world. “As the scene of earthly bliss it could only be situated at the summit of completed purification, still a part of the earth but already freed from the natural conditions pertaining on earth and directly subject to the effects of the celestial motion.”³⁵ One step still remained to achieve complete rebirth: the conscious retention by the soul of the memory of the good that is its due. Whence the second immersion, in the stream, Eunoè. Now indeed is the soul thoroughly cleansed and renewed. Now indeed can Dante participate fully in that “love which surpasses knowledge … and be filled unto all the fulness of God” (Eph. iii, 19). In fact, in Eunoè Dante is already drinking unknowingly of the river of light encountered later in Paradiso XXX, 76 ff. from which he, interestingly, is to “drink” more eagerly than a hungry suckling child.³⁶ A man in such a state does resemble a newborn, pure in spirit and flesh, but possessing a distinct personality.³⁷ He has “put off the old man, which is being corrupted through the deceptive lusts,” and, having been “renewed in the spirit of his mind,” has “put on the new man, which has been created according to God in justice and holiness of truth” (Eph. iv, 22-24). He has also learned the meaning of St. Paul's remark that “our citizenship is in heaven from which also we eagerly await a Savior … who will refashion the body of our lowliness, conforming it to the body of his glory by exerting the power by which he is also able to subject all things to himself” (Philip. iii, 17-21).³⁸ The final verses of the Cantica, with their emphasis on the prefix ri- and on the word novello, remind us of all this in terms recalling the rebirth of Nature in the Spring:

Io ritornai da la santissima onda
          rifatto sì come piante novelle
          rinovellate di novella fronda,
puro e disposto a salire a le stelle.(39)

(XXXIII, 142-145)

Notes

1. E. Auerbach, Dante, Poet of the Secular World, tr. R. Manheim (Chicago, 1961), p. 90.

2. See C. S. Singleton, Commedia, Elements of Structure, Dante Studies 1 (Cambridge, 1954), pp. 12-13.

3. Singleton, Journey to Beatrice, Dante Studies 2 (Cambridge, 1958), p. 5.

4. See, e.g., Singleton, Commedia, pp. 12-13, 73-76; Auerbach, Dante, Poet of the Secular World, p. 142; C. Calcaterra, Nella selva del Petrarca (Bologna, 1942), pp. 260-274.

5. This is, of course, in keeping with St. Paul's own assertion that he could not recall whether his journey was “in the body … or out of the body,” a statement he repeats twice in 2 Cor. xii, 2-4. See the parallel drawn by Calcaterra (Nella selva, pp. 260-265) between the experience of St. Paul as analyzed by St. Thomas and St. Augustine in terms of types of spiritual vision, and Dante's handling of his own condition upon entering paradise.

6. See my “The Three Beasts and Perspective in the Divine Comedy,” PMLA, LXXVIII (1963), 15-24.

7. Furthermore, if the encounter with the wolf represents involvement with incontinence and therefore excesses of the flesh (See my “Three Beasts …,” 16, 23-24), the Virgin's intervention in behalf of Dante was prompted precisely by an attempt to get rid of this particular “impedimento” (v. 95). It is interesting to note that in Par. I, 139-140, the phrase “privo d’impedimento” is used to explain why Dante can now rise despite his body.

8. Singleton, Journey, Chap. I.

9. Ibid. Also Singleton, Commedia, pp. 1-16.

10. Scattered throughout the Comedy are many allusions to the concept that not until the souls of the dead are reunited with their bodies will they achieve true perfection. See, e.g., Inf. VI, 103-108; Purg. XXX, 13-15; Par. XIV, 43-51. Calcaterra, in his Nella selva, pp. 270-274, traces this doctrine as used by Dante to St. Augustine even more than to St. Thomas. See City of God, Bk. XIII, Chap. 17-18, 22-23; XXII, 4-5 and especially 19-21. In the Summa contra gentiles, see Bk. IV, Chap. 83-88. See also Grandgent's edition of the Comedy (Boston, 1933), p. 64, n. 106, and E. Gilson, The Christian Philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas, tr. L. K. Shook (New York, 1956), p. 356.

    It is, after all, also true that the greatest of all mysteries grasped by Dante in his final vision is the relation of the human to the divine, including both spirit and flesh (Par. XXXIII, 130-132). A similar moment occurs at the summit of Purgatory where the pilgrim sees a revelation of the two natures of Christ (Purg. XXXI, 79-81, 121-123). In this connection, see Singleton, Journey, p. 31.

11. Singleton has indicated the appropriate passage in St. Thomas showing how “man's nature may be raised above its own natural proportions and powers to a dignity that is transhuman” (Journey, pp. 29-30). He has also touched upon the important role of the human body in the unfolding of a journey in the Christian beyond, but only in terms of Dante's artistic strategy in conveying the “journey in allegory” (Commedia, pp. 11-13, 73-76). In this latter study it is interesting to note that for Singleton the concept of the Incarnation and Resurrection provided Dante with an expedient that made his “myth” different from any previous one. “It was that total event which so sanctified the human body that a philosophical poet could find our body in the eternal world beyond, and find it there in all reality—find it there before it could really be there, for the day of our Resurrection is not yet come when Dante visits the three realms beyond. … One day, according to the faith, the whole man, body and soul, will participate in beatitude or damnation. … The myth (Dante's) is only saying: “If one day, why not now?” (p. 75) Singleton's perspective, however, remains focused on what and how Dante, the viator, sees. It fails to include the actual presence and state of the pilgrim himself.

12. See, e.g., Singleton, Journey, pp. 279-280.

13. For a thorough analysis of the extent to which symmetry permeates the entire Cantica, see E. De’ Negri, “Tema e iconografia del Purgatorio,” RR, XLXI (1958), 81-104.

14. M. Barbi, Problemi fondamentali per un nuovo commento della Divina Commedia (Florence, 1956), p. 120. See also E. Williamson, “De beatitudine huius vite,” Seventy-Second Annual Report of the Dante Society, (1958), 1-22; and De’ Negri, “Tema e iconografia,” 95-96.

15. Yet, we must not fail to bear in mind Miss Sayer's explanation of why it is proper for Virgil to accompany Dante throughout Purgatory: “… although Nature cannot ascend Purgatory without the aid of Grace and in company with a soul in Grace, Virgil has a right to be there, and the ascent cannot be made without him. For at the summit of the Mountain is the Earthly Paradise, and what is restored there is, precisely, Nature. The end and aim of the long journey through Hell and up the Mountain is to bring Man back to the perfection of Nature which was lost by the Fall.” D. Sayers, Further Papers on Dante (New York, 1957), p. 76.

16. See F. Fergusson, Dante's Drama of the Mind (Princeton, 1953), pp. 70-72.

17. Cf. Petrarch's “Triumph of Time,” v. 136.

18. Fergusson, Dante's Drama, Chap. 11.

19. It is interesting to note how Virgil's description of the movement of the “animo” in the operation of love parallels Dante's experience as he tries to penetrate the “nuova luce” of XVII, 41, particularly in vv. 49-51. The dream that follows upon the “Novo pensiero” seems to repeat essentially the same experience, although in connection with a false image (XIX, 7-33).

20. De’ Negri, 96.

21. Ibid., 97.

22. For further discussion of the allusions to Christ, see Fergusson, Chap. 13.

23. Ibid., Chap. 16.

24. La divina commedia, (Milano-Napoli, 1957), p. 679.

25. Starting with Dante's question as to how a bodiless spirit can grow thin from hunger, the emphasis throughout Canto XXV remains on the way in which human qualities persist even in the hereafter. See Par. VII, 145-148; XIV, 37-60; and Conv. III, viii, 1.

26. C. H. Grandgent, La Divina Commedia di Dante Alighieri (Boston, 1933), p. 558, fn. 121.

27. Fergusson, p. 167.

28. See, e.g., Grandgent, p. 574, fn. 59.

29. Singleton, Journey, Chap. X.

30. See Barbi, Problemi, pp. 134-139. Of particular interest is the “fleshly” image with which the pageant proper ends (Purg. XXXII, 145-160).

31. For discussions of the role of humility in the Purgatorio, see De’ Negri, 100-104.

32. D. Sayers, Introductory Papers on Dante (London, 1954), p. 96.

33. In the previous canto, indeed, he had turned to Virgil with a trust

    col quale il fantolin corre alla mamma
    quando ha paura o quando egli è afflitto.

    (Vv. 44-45)

34. But Virgil was gone and Dante is reduced “to the immediate truth of his own being.” See Fergusson, p. 187. Cf. Matthew xviii, 3: “Amen I say to you, unless you turn and become like little children, you will not enter unto the kingdom of heaven. Whoever, therefore, humbles himself as this little child, he is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”

35. Poet of the Secular World, p. 115.

36. Ibid., p. 114.

37. Cf. Rom. xiii, 12-14. “The night is far advanced; the day is at hand. Let us therefore lay aside the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light. Let us walk becomingly as in the day, not in revelry and drunkenness, not in debauchery and wantonness, not in strife and jealousy. But put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and as for the flesh, take no thought for its lusts.”

38. The Roman Catholic Mass still recalls in its opening moments the childhood of the race in its innocence and joy. Three times does this theme emerge at the very beginning of the service as a response on the part of the congregation. The celebrant's opening words are: “Introibo ad altare Dei,” to which the participants respond: “Ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meam.” Shortly thereafter the priest's supplication is: “Emitte lucem tuam et veritatem tuam: ipsa me deduxerunt et adduxerunt in montem sanctum tuum, et in tabernacula tua,” words that appear singularly applicable to the journey of the Comedy. Once again the response is: “Et introibo ad altare Dei: ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meam.” A moment later the priest repeats: “Introibo ad altare Dei,” and is once again answered: “Ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meam.”

    The opening supplications also echo Man's gratitude to God for the salvation of his identity. In fact, God is addressed as both “Deus meus” and “salutare vultus mei.” The same motif reappears at a high point of the Consecration when, just before the distribution of the Eucharist the following prayer is uttered: “Perceptio Corporis tui, Domine Jesu Christe, quod ego indignus sumere praesumo, non mihi proveniat in judicium et condemnationem: sed pro tua pietate prosit mihi ad tutamentum mentis et corporis. …”

39. Today's Catholic missal still relates Christ's parable of the wedding guest who came without proper garment (Matt. xxii, 1-14) to the man who has yet to “put on” Christ. See Holy Name Manual-Missal (New York, 1944), p. 365.

40. For a revealing study of the polemics provoked both inside and outside the church during the early fourteenth century by doctrines dealing with the body's role in the hereafter, see M. M. Rossi, “Laura morta e la concezione petrarchesca dell’aldilà,” in Studi petrarcheschi, VII (1961), 301-321. In an article entitled “Spirit and Flesh in Dante's Commedia” Allan Gilbert has recently examined the nature of Dante's shades (see Italica, XLII [1965], 1-19).