Paradiso (105 page)

130–132.
   The gold florin, currency of Florence, has a lily stamped on its face, and, “accursèd flower” that it is, has corrupted the citizens of the town, whether old (“sheep”) or young (“lambs”), because it had first corrupted the clergy, turned from caretaker (“shepherd”) to greedy marauder of the flock (“wolf”). The avarice of the clergy caused major complaint in the Middle Ages, even more so than the runners-up, sexual license and gluttony.
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133–135.
   The blackened margins of collections of decretals, or books of ecclesiastical law, tell what interests lure the clergy to study: the material advantage furthered, or so they believe, by mastering the ins and outs of canon law. For this they have given over not only consulting the Gospels, but studying the Fathers of the Church. And in one of his own letters (to the Italian cardinals gathered in France to choose a new pope after the death of Clement V), Dante makes the same charge, mentioning some specific names of those whom these cardinals do not read: “Gregory lies among the cobwebs; Ambrose lies forgotten in the cupboards of the clergy, and Augustine along with him; and Dionysius, Damascenus, and Bede” (
Epist
. XI.16 [tr. P. Toynbee]).

See Cassell (Cass.2004.1), pp. 12–13, adducing the fact that all the popes of Dante’s time (except, of course, Celestine V) were canon lawyers, a fact that may help explain some of Dante’s hostility to decretals.

In the early centuries of the Catholic Church, canon law was formed by the member churches themselves at synods of bishops or church councils. By the sixth century, papal letters settling points in canon law (a practice dating perhaps to the third or fourth century) began to be included in collections of the decisions of synods and councils. Sometime between the late eighth and late ninth century there was produced a collection, the so-called
False Decretals
. These spurious documents included “papal letters” that had in common the desire to strengthen papal authority. Gratian, a sort of Justinian of canon law, published his
Decretum
circa 1150. It codified the laws of the Church (although it included many documents collected in the
False Decretals
) and enjoyed a great deal of authority. To the surprise of some, given Dante’s dislike of those churchmen who are interested in studying decretals as a path to maintaining or augmenting their financial privilege, we find Gratian in the heaven of the Sun (
Par.
X.103–105). See J. Michael Gaynor, “Canon Law and Decretals” (
http://jmgainor.homestead.com/files/PU/PF/cld.htm
).
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136.
   “To it” refers, again, to the florin, to which the highest ranks of the officialdom of the Church, the pope and his cardinals, pay much more serious attention than their vows of poverty should allow.
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137–142.
   The two references are, first, to the Annunciation (when Gabriel “opened his wings” to Mary in Nazareth); second, to all those martyred in Rome for their belief in Christ, starting with Peter (buried on the Vatican hill) and filling many a catacomb. Thus the two exemplary groups bracket the birth and resurrection of Jesus, the one preparing the way for Him, the second following his path into a glorious death (and eventual resurrection).

Scartazzini (comm. to vv. 127–142) suggests that Dante’s muffled prophecy is set in the context of crusading (see vv. 125–126), without going on to suggest that it calls for a new crusade. However, that does seem a real possibility. At any rate, most commentators have given up on finding a precise formulation for understanding Folco’s prophecy. The “usual suspects” have been, more or less in this order of popularity, the death of Boniface VIII, the removal of the papacy to Avignon, the coming of a great leader (e.g., on the model of the
veltro
and/or the DXV). It would not seem like Dante to have a negative prophecy at this point (furthermore, the death of Boniface did
not
lead to a rejuvenation of the Church, nor did the “Avignonian captivity”); nor would it seem like him to repeat a prophecy that he would then repeat still again in
Paradiso
XXVII.145 (the
fortuna
[storm at sea]) and which is primarily imperial, not ecclesiastical, as this one is. And so it seems reasonable to suggest that Scartazzini may have been on the right track. Fallani (comm. to vv. 139–142) comes close to saying so (without referring to Scartazzini). And see Angelo Penna, “Raab,”
ED
IV (1973), p. 817a, who says in passing that vv. 112–142 reflect crusading. Mark Balfour (Balf.1995.1), pp. 140–41, sees the desire for renewed crusading in the Holy Land as permeating the conclusion of the canto, but follows exegetical tradition in seeing its very last lines as referring to the
veltro
or DXV. The Church (and the entire context of this passage, vv. 133–142, which we hear in the voice of a [crusading] churchman,
is
ecclesiastical) will reorder itself only when it returns to its original purpose; for Dante, no matter how this may trouble modern readers, that meant recapturing Jerusalem.
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1–6.
   
Like the other tenth
canti
, this one marks the crossing of a borderline (in
Inferno
, it separated the sins of Incontinence from the walls of the City of Dis, enclosing the sins of the hardened will; in
Purgatorio
, Ante-purgatory from Purgatory proper). The first of these is fairly indistinctly marked; the next more formally established. But this one is as though a double line had been drawn across the space separating Canto IX from Canto X, separating the planets attained by the earth’s shadow from those, beginning with the Sun, that are free of such darkening. None of the souls we will meet from now on suffered from the human weakness that we found among those who lacked a vigorous faith, or those who placed too much hope in the things of this world, or those who failed to understand the nature of true love (for the program of the defective Theological Virtues in the first three heavens of
Paradiso
, see the note to
Par.
III.47–48; and see Andreoli [comm. to
Par.
III.16]: “The fact is that it is only in the fourth heaven that we shall begin to find souls who are completely beyond reproach”).

On this opening, see Forti (Fort.1968.1), p. 352: After the several references in the last canto to human strife, Dante now turns to “celestial harmony instead of earthly disorder.” Forti later says (p. 380) that the celestial Athens (see
Conv
. III.xiv.15) is the point at which we have now arrived.

These six verses might be paraphrased: “God the Father (the Power), gazing on His Son (Wisdom) with the Holy Spirit (Love) that breathes forth eternally from both Father and Son, created all things that revolve above, whether in angelic consciousness or in the sphere that they govern (e.g., that ruled by the Principalities, Venus), with the result that anyone who (as Dante now is doing) contemplates the Father’s Power cannot fail to savor it.”
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1–3.
   Dante seizes the opportunity to underline his adherence to orthodox doctrine: The Holy Spirit breathes forth from both the Father and the Son. The so-called
filioque
controversy, caused by the addition of that phrase (meaning “and from the Son”) in the Nicene Creed, which was one of the eventual causes of the split between the Eastern and Western Churches (which became final in 1054), was centered in the dispute over the emanation of the Holy Spirit. Against the decision of the Council of Nicea (325), the Eastern position was that the Spirit proceeded only from
the Father. See Carroll (comm. to vv. 1–6): “Probably Dante had here a special interest in asserting the orthodox doctrine, because the two chief spokesmen of this Heaven were summoned to defend it against the Greek deputies at the Council of Lyons in 1274. Aquinas died on the way, and Bonaventura during the sitting of the Council.”
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4–5.
   These lines have caused difficulty. Where some have thought the references are to thoughts of things and things themselves in the created universe, most contemporary readers (perhaps following Forti [Fort. 1968.1], p. 353) think the references are to angelic intelligences (the nine orders of angels) and to the things impelled by them (the heavens with their planets).
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6.
   This verse initiates the theme of ingestion in the canto, a part of the metaphor of eating first deployed as a governing trope by Dante in
Convivio
. It has a perhaps surprising presence in this canto that, in light of its higher interests, might seem an inappropriate place for such concerns. See also vv. 23 (“tasted”), 25 (“feed yourself”), 88 (“thirst” for “wine”), 96 (“where sheep are fattened”).
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7–15.
   This is the fourth address to the reader in
Paradiso
(see also
Par.
II.10–18; V.109–114; IX.10–12) and is in fact triple, with three imperatives, each in the first line of a tercet, marking its triune shape, which breaks a single action into three moments, matching the opening Trinitarian proem of the canto (vv. 1–6), with the reader being asked first to elevate his or her sight (verse 7), then to begin to gaze (verse 10), and finally to perceive (13).
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9.
   “The heavenly bodies have two opposing movements: the one, daily (or equatorial), from east to west in the plane of the Equator, the other, annual (or zodiacal), from west to east in the plane of the ecliptic” (Bosco/Reggio, comm. to vv. 8–9).
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10–12.
   God, apparently an aesthetician, loves contemplating His own work, just as the reader is encouraged to do as well. Barely out of sight in this tercet is Dante the maker, contemplating his own God-bearing poem with wonder and delight.
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16–21.
   See Tozer (comm. to vv. 16–18) for the following paraphrase and explanation: “ ‘And if their path (the zodiac) were not inflected (i.e.,
oblique), much influence in Heaven would be fruitless, and almost every agency on earth below would fail.’ It is the obliquity of the zodiac which causes the changes of the seasons; without it the sun could not produce the effect for which it was designed, and such agencies as those which originate life and growth in plants and animals, movement in winds and streams, changes of temperature, and the like, would no longer exist.” See also Carroll (comm. to vv. 7–27): “Dante asks the reader to lift his eyes to ‘the high wheels’ at that point ‘where the one motion on the other strikes’—that is the equinoctial point, where the ecliptic, ‘the oblique circle which bears the planets,’ crosses the circle of the Equator. The reference is to the annual revolution of the Sun. Its
daily
motion is from east to west, and parallel to the Equator; but its
annual
motion is from west to east, and along the Zodiac at a certain angle to the Equator.”
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22–27.
   There is some dispute as to whether this is a distinct address to the reader or a continuation of that found in vv. 7–15. Because they are rhetorically separate entities (“Leva dunque, lettore, …” and “Or ti riman, lettor, …”) and enjoy temporal separation (the reader is asked three times to look along with Dante up at the circling heavens, and then to think upon what he or she has seen, unaided by the poet, who now must return to his narrative), one does not find an easy objection to consider them as being in fact more than one. The controlling element in this central metaphor of these two
terzine
moves from a scholar’s bench (verse 22), on which we readers sit, listening to Dante’s lecture, to (in verse 25) a seat at a banquet, at which chef Dante is preparing the meal, a “feast of knowledge” indeed. He does, however, beg off from serving us, leaving us to do that for ourselves, since he must attend to continuing his narrative.
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23.
   For the interesting verb
prelibare
, appearing here for the first time in the poem, see the note to
Paradiso
XIV.4.
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27.
   A
hapax
, the Latinism
scriba
, rhyming with two other Latinisms,
preliba
(tasted [and not yet swallowed]) and
ti ciba
(feed yourself), is one of the key words in Dante’s self-presentation as veracious author, which occupies a privileged space here, the last line of one of the longest introductory passages to a canto in this poem at the point where it has reached the first stage of its destination, what we might refer to as “God’s country.” Poletto (comm. to vv. 25–27) points to the apt phrase in
Monarchia
II.x.6 where Luke is referred to as the scribe of Christ (“Cristus, ut scriba eius Lucas testatur”). And see Sarolli, “Dante
scriba Dei
” (in Saro.1971.1, pp. 189–336)
and the note to
Paradiso
V.85. For a meditation on this verse as encapsulating Dante’s self-presentation as scribe throughout the poem, see Jacomuzzi (Jaco.1968.1). Dante’s claim here, to be merely the “scribe” of God, is at once part of the topos of modesty and a shattering denial of it, since Dante’s “mere scribal” activity lifts him to the level of the authors of Scripture, including the Solomon whom we will see in this very canto.
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