Friends,
Today we reach the third and final canto dealing with the first terrace of Purgatory. It will be nice to move on, though there are some good reasons behind our lengthy sojourn here. First, it has served as a helpful introduction to how the purgative process works, thus calibrating our expectations for the rhythms and rituals that will continue to be mirrored in later terraces. Second, according to many teachers and interpreters throughout the history of the Christian tradition, the vice of pride (sometimes in partnership with its close cousins, vanity and arrogance) is at the root of every other kind of humanly caused evil; thus, dealing decisively with it right from the start is the foundation that enables holistic growth and recovery. Finally, Dante’s own pride was legendary, and this section demonstrates some admirable self-knowledge about his excessive self-regard. There are a few indications that he recognizes his own vulnerability to vainglory and egotism, such as his grateful comment to Oderisi da Gubbio that “Your true words instill good humility in my heart, and you reduce a great swelling in me” (11.118-119) Thus, this is one of the places where the three Dantes align quite closely with one another.
Even without a stone of his own—though again, it does seem that Dante-person expects to spend a good deal of time here in the future!—by adopting the penitent posture of the other souls on this terrace, Dante-pilgrim still gets to participate in their practice of humility. For virtue does indeed take practice, and engaging the body helps to deepen the ethical and spiritual formation that the prayers and the sculptures are meant to cultivate. Reflecting on the experience of talking with Oderisi while imitating his humble stance, Dante-poet narrates, “Side by side, like oxen that proceed under a yoke, I was walking along with that burdened soul, as long as my sweet tutor allowed it” (lines 1-3). So far, Virgil has been content to walk along silently and let Dante get a taste of the difficult regimen of training in virtue that eventually awaits him. Now, however, he tells his disciple that it is time to leave Oderisi and move on, since “here it is good that with wings and oars, as much as one can, each propels one’s own boat forward” (5-6). Moreover, there is another set of images, and it is important that Dante see them.
There are stone effigies on the pavement beneath the pilgrim. Just like the carved friezes on the walls beside him, these sculptures are remarkably lifelike in their detail, and most of the first half of the canto consists of Dante’s poetic (and highly stylized) description of them. It is his most impressive use of anaphora (repetition of the opening words of a clause for emphasis) that we have yet seen, extending across thirteen consecutive tercets!
Lines 25, 28, 31, and 34 all begin with Vedea (“I saw”)
Lines 37, 40, 43, and 46 all begin with O (“O _____,” leading to an apostrophe of lament)
Lines 49, 52, 55, and 58 all begin with Mostrava (“It [the pavement] showed”)
Finally, lines 61-63 bring all three words together in rapid succssion
The result is a combination of acrostic and acronym, reading VOM (“Man,” or “Human”). The painful, pitiable scenes of prideful people being cast down are therefore intended as warnings for every person who will take heed. (Indeed, given their heavy stone burdens, the souls who are undergoing their penance must first witness the punishments for vice before they gain the ability to stand upright and appreciate the blessings of virtue).
Given what we have already seen in the Comedy, it is hardly surprising that the particular examples of doomed pride are drawn from a mixed variety of sources. Many scenes—Satan’s fall from Heaven, Nimrod’s confusion at the Tower of Babel, Saul’s suicide amidst defeat in battle, Rehoboam’s dismay at the disintegration of his kingdom, Sennacherib’s murder at the hands of his sons, and the decapitation of drunken Holofernes—are found in the Bible. The others come from Greco-Roman myth and legend (especially Statius’ Thebaid and Ovid’s Metamorphoses), including the defeat of Briareus and the other giants, the death of Niobe’s children, Arachne’s transmogrification into a spider, Eriphyle’s betrayal of her husband for a necklace, the desecration of Cyrus’ body, and of course, the fall of Troy, which serves as the culminating image: “I saw Troy in ashes and cavernous ruins: O Ilion, how low and vile the sign, seen there, it showed you to be!” (61-63).
The pavement illustrates distinct (though also sometimes interlinked!) types of pride—rebellion against and/or competition with God, dangerous foolishness that harms oneself and others, and the tyrannical arrogance of unprincipled rulers—but they share in common the tragic results of destruction and loss. As he contemplates these horrific scenes, Dante fires off a heavily ironic charge: “Now, assert your pride, and go on with haughty brow, you sons of Eve, and do not lower your eyes, lest you see your evil path!” (70-72). Of course, his true purpose is for us to heed the warning signs of pride, in ourselves and others, before it is too late!
The second half of the canto involves a major shift in tone. Before Virgil and Dante depart this terrace, they meet with another angel, who is dazzling and lovely in appearance. This angel courteously shows them the gentle way forward and then brushes the pilgrim’s forehead with its wings. Dante hears voices singing Beati pauperes spiritu (“Blessed are the poor in spirit,” the first of the Beatitudes) and remarks how different this beautiful music is from the terrifying sounds he heard in Hell’s passageways. He also notices that his steps feel much lighter than they did before and, with wondrous bewilderment, asks Virgil, “Master, tell me, what heavy thing has been lifted from me, so that going forward I feel almost no fatigue?” (118-120). Virgil responds that the angel has wiped away the first P from his forehead, and the six that remain are much fainter (another confirmation that yes, pride really is Dante’s besetting sin). The canto ends with Virgil smiling as Dante puts his fingers to his forehead to trace out this transformation for himself.
It’s a sweet way to end a traumatic canto and a rocky terrace, so we’ll pause on this high note and pick up at Purgatorio Canto 13 on Saturday.
Yours on the journey,
Joshua
“Ozymandias” by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1818)
I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said, “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock’d them and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
Signs unmasking the prideful illusions of a wannabe king