Scott D. Moringiello
Scott D. Moringiello is a Lawrence C. Gallen fellow in the Humanities at Villanova University, where he teaches the Augustine and Culture Seminar and courses in the theology department.
By this author
Heaven is won-der-ful, isn't it? That was the answer one of my students gave when we began our class discussion of the Paradiso a couple of years ago. Thinking about what heaven is like turns out to be a more difficult exercise than you might have expected. My students expect people in heaven to be happy, and they imagine that heaven is a place where everything works out in the end (or something like that). Sometimes they mention harps or clouds or people in white robes.
Today is the 200th birthday of the Danish theologian Soren Kierkegaard. Kierkegaard is famous for many things: being a forerunner of existentialism, his concept of the "leap of faith" (a term he never actually uses), and his attacks on what he saw as the lazy Christianity of his day, which was all too attached to Christendom, to name but a few. What always interests me about Kierkegaard, though, is his deep attachment to Jesus Christ. For Kierkegaard, human life does not make sense without Christ as its center and guide.
When Dante reaches the Garden of Eden in Canto 28, the as-yet-unnamed Matelda describes the two rivers Dante finds there: "On this side it descends and has the power / to take from men the memory of sin. / On the other it restores that of good deeds. / Here it is called Lethe and on the other side / Eno, but its water has no effect / Until they both are tasted" (Purg. 18:127-132).
Now that we have reached the middle of the Purgatorio and, therefore, the middle of the Commedia as a whole, I can't help but marvel again at how miraculous this poem is. It would be one thing to spin the story Dante spins, another to blend theology and philosophy and political history with narrative the way he does, yet another to mix without confusion and without syncretism the sacred and profane, the Christian and the pagan, as he mixes them, and still yet another to maintain a rhyme scheme and structure of the poem. Yet he does all this at the same time.
This weekend has been crazier than I thought it would be. Even though I'm up to date with the reading, I haven't had time to put together a post on the beginning of the Purgatorio. I wanted to write about Cato, Virgil, and Sordello, and how each of them carries themes we have seen in the Inferno into the Purgatorio. Dante's journey through Hell was marked by fear and despair. His journey thus far in Purgatory has been marked by hope. Instead of putting all my thoughts together, I've decided to quote two scholars whose insights far exceed mine.
Ive posted the latest installment of Un cammino attraverso la Commedia over on the Verdicts site. As you'll see, I'm interested in how theInferno ends by not ending. We're onto thePurgatorio! As always, comments welcome.
I had hoped that I could tie things together in this post. I wanted to bring together some thoughts on Dante's debt to Virgil both as a poet and a guide, on Dantes poetics, and on the fittingness of the punishments that Cassius and Brutus and Judas receive. But I've been rethinking it all the last day or so, and now believe that the strength of an ending comes from the way it defers its own ending.* And I think Dante does that through his use of the word cammino.
I've posted the latest installment of Uno cammino attraverso la Commedia over on the Verdicts site. My discussion focuses on Ulysses and the tension between one's quest for knowledge and one's duty to family. Please feel free to join our discussion. The post is here.
In Canto 26, in the eighth malebogia where false counselors suffer their torments, Virgil and Dante meet Diomedes and Ulysses. Dante would have known these Greek heroes through Virgil's Aeneid, where they are involved with the plot for the Trojan Horse, which leads to the fall of Troy. The Horse in the Aeneid serves a role similar to the apple in Genesis. They are both felices culpae that lead to the salvation which comes from Rome and from Christ.