Convivio
(The Banquet)
Dante Alighieri
Book Two
A. S. Kline © 2008 All Rights Reserved
This work may be freely reproduced, stored, and
transmitted, electronically or otherwise, for any non-commercial purpose.
Contents
Canzone
Prima (Original Italian Text)
The
First Canzone (English Translation)
Chapter
I: Four Kinds of Meaning
Chapter
II: The First Canzone – Origin and Structure
Chapter
III: The First Canzone – The Nature of the Heavens
Chapter IV: The First Canzone – The Intelligences or
Angels
Chapter
V: The First Canzone – The Angelic Orders
Chapter
VI: The First Canzone – The Influence of Venus
Chapter
VII: The First Canzone – Conflicting Thoughts
Chapter
VIII: The First Canzone – Immortality of the Soul
Chapter
IX: The First Canzone – The Soul Speaks
Chapter
X: The First Canzone – The New Thought Replies
Chapter
XI: The First Canzone – The Tornata
Chapter
XII: The First Canzone – Allegorical Meaning
Chapter
XIII: The First Canzone – The Spheres and Sciences I
Chapter
XIV: The First Canzone – The Spheres and Sciences II
Chapter
XV: The First Canzone – The Allegorical Exposition
Voi, che ‘ntendendo il terzo ciel
movete,
udite il ragionar ch’è nel mio
core,
ch’io nol so dire altrui,
sì mi par novo;
e ‘l ciel che segue
lo vostro valore,
gentili creature che voi sète,
mi tragge ne lo stato ov’io mi trovo.
Onde ‘l parlar de la vita ch’io
par che si drizzi degnamente a vui:
però vi priego che lo mi
‘ntendiate.
Io vi dirò
come l’anima trista piange in lui
e come un spirto contr’a
lei favella,
che vien pe’ raggi de la vostra stella.
Suol esser vita de lo cor
dolente
un soave penser, che
se ne gìa
molte fiate a’ pie’
ove una donna glorïar vedìa
di cui parlav’a me sì
dolcemente
che l’anima dicea: ‘Io
men vo’ gire.’
Or apparisce chi lo fa
fuggire
e segnoreggia me di tal virtute,
che ‘l cor ne trema, che di
fuori appare.
Questi mi face una donna guardare,
e dice: ‘Chi veder vuol
la salute,
faccia che li occhi d’esta donna
miri,
sed e’ non teme angoscia
di sospiri.’
Trova contraro tal che lo distrugge
l’umil pensero che parlar mi sole
d’un’angela, che ‘n cielo è coronata.
L’anima piange, sì ancor len dole,
e dice: ‘Oh lassa a me, come si fugge
questo piatoso che m’ha consolata!’
De li occhi miei dice questa affannata:
‘Qual ora fu che tal donna
li vide!
e perché non credeano
a me di lei?
Io dicea: “Ben ne li occhi di
costei
de’ star colui che
le mie pari ancide!”
E non mi valse ch’io
ne fossi accorta
che non mirasser tal, ch’io ne son morta.’
‘Tu non se’ morta,
ma se’ ismarrita,
anima nostra, che sì
ti lamenti’
dice uno spiritel d’amor gentile;
‘ché quella bella donna, che
tu senti,
ha transmutata in tanto
la tua vita,
che n’hai paura, sì se’ fatta vile!
Mira quant’ell’è pietosa
e umile,
saggia e cortese ne la sua grandezza,
e pensa di chiamarla donna, omai!
Ché, se tu non t’inganni,
tu vedrai
di sì alti miracoli adornezza,
che tu dirai: “Amor, segnor verace,
ecco l’ancella tua; fa che ti
piace.”‘
Canzone, io credo che
saranno radi
color che tua ragione intendan bene,
tanto la parli faticosa e
forte.
Onde, se per
che tu dinanzi da persone
vade
che non ti paian d’essa bene accorte,
allor ti priego che ti riconforte,
dicendo lor, diletta mia novella:
‘Ponete mente almen com’io son bella!’
You whose intellect moves the third sphere,
Hear now the debate within my heart,
That seems so new I cannot speak to others.
The heaven that is driven by your power
Oh, noble creatures that you are,
Led me to this state where I now find me.
Hence these words about the life I live
Should rightly be said, it seems, to you:
And so I pray that you will hear me.
I will speak of the new thing in my heart,
How the sad soul weeps therein,
And how a spirit disputes with it,
Descending with the rays from your star.
The life of my grieving heart was once
A tender thought that often would find
Its way to the feet of your Lord,
Where it saw a lady bright with glory
Of whom it spoke to me so sweetly
That my soul said: ‘I would go there.’
Now one appears who makes it flee,
And lords it over me with such power
That my heart trembles visibly.
One that makes me look upon a lady,
And says: ‘Who wishes to see bliss,
Let his eyes on this lady gaze,
If he does not fear anguished sighs.’
The humble thought that used to speak
Of an angel who is crowned in heaven,
Meets now an enemy that destroys it.
The soul weeps, for this must grieve her,
And says: ‘Oh woe is me, how he flees,
The compassionate one who consoled me!’
This troubled one says now of my eyes:
‘Sad hour when such a lady saw them!
Why were my words about her not believed?’
For I’d said: “Now, surely, in her eyes
Must dwell the one who slays the likes of me!”
Yet my awareness was worth nothing,
For they gazed on him, and I am slain.’
Then a noble spirit of love replies:
‘You are not dead but only led astray,
Soul of ours, who so grieve yourself.
This lovely lady whose power you feel,
Has so transmuted your whole life,
That you are made afraid, and a coward!
See how compassionate she is and humble,
Wise and courteous in her grandeur,
Resolve to call her your lady, now!
Unless you deceive yourself, you’ll see
The beauty of such high miracles,
That you’ll say: “Love, my true lord,
Behold your handmaid; do what you wish.”‘
Canzone, I think there will be few
Who’ll rightly understand your speech,
So complex and difficult the words.
So, if it should chance to pass
That you find yourself with those
Who seem not to understand you well.
Then I beg you to take courage,
Saying to them, my fresh delight:
‘At least reflect how beautiful I am!’
Now that I have served up my preface, and my
bread has been prepared adequately in the preceding book, time summons me and
demands that my ship leave harbour; so that, having set the sail of my reason
to the breeze of my desire, I enter the open sea with hopes of a fair voyage
and a safe and worthy harbour at the end of my feast. But before it appears, in
order that this food of mine may be more beneficial, I wish to show, how the
first course should be eaten.
I say, as was recounted in the first chapter,
that this exposition must be both literal and allegorical. And to explain what
this means, it is needful to know that writing can be understood and should be
expounded in four main ways. The first is termed the literal, and this is the meaning
that, in poetic fables for instance, does not delve beneath the surface of the
words. The next is termed the allegorical, and this meaning is concealed
beneath the cloak of the fables, and is a truth hidden beneath a lovely
fiction. So Ovid says that with his lyre Orpheus tamed wild beasts, and made
the trees and rocks come to him at his call, which is to say that the wise man
with the instrument of his voice makes harsh hearts tender and humble, and
moves at will those who do not devote their lives to knowledge and art; and
that those who have no rational life at all are almost like stones. Why this
kind of concealment was devised by the wise will be shown in the penultimate
book. Indeed theologians treat this meaning differently to the poets; but since
it is my intention to follow the methods of poetry here, I shall treat the
allegorical meaning in the manner of the poets.
The third meaning is the moral one, and this is
the meaning that teachers should seek to uncover throughout the scriptures, for
their own and their pupils’ benefit; so, for example, in the Gospels we may see
that Christ took with him only three of the Apostles when he climbed the mount
to be transfigured, the moral sense of which is that in matters of great
secrecy we should have few companions.
The fourth meaning is termed anagogical, that
is to say beyond the senses; and is revealed when writings are expounded in a
spiritual sense which, although they are true in the literal sense also,
signifies by means of symbols an aspect of the divine glory of eternal things,
as can be seen in the Psalm of the Prophet which reads that when the children
of Israel went out of Egypt, Judea was rendered whole and free. For though it
is clearly true according to the letter, what is intended to be taken spiritually
is no less true, namely that when the soul departs from sin it is made whole
and free in its powers. In this kind of explanation, the literal should always
be treated first, as being the meaning in which the others are enclosed, and
without which it would be impossible and illogical to treat the other meanings,
especially the allegorical. It would be impossible because with regard to all
that has an outside and an inside, it is impossible to arrive at the inside
without first arriving at the outside; thus, given that, in what is written,
the outside is always the literal meaning, it is impossible to arrive at the
other meanings, especially the allegorical, without first arriving at the
literal.
Moreover, it would be equally impossible
because with every natural or artificial thing it is impossible to arrive at
the form unless the material on which the form is to be imposed is first
prepared, as it is impossible for a piece of jewellery to acquire its form if
the material, subject to it, is not first ordered and prepared, or a chest to
acquire its form if the material, the wood, is not first ordered and prepared.
Thus, since the literal meaning is always the material of the other meanings, and
subject to them, especially the allegorical, it is impossible to understand
them without first understanding this literal meaning. Then again, it would be equally
impossible because with every natural or artificial thing it is impossible to
make progress unless the foundation is first laid, as in house-building or in
education; thus, since explanation is the building of knowledge, and the
literal explanation is the foundation for the others, especially the
allegorical, it is impossible to understand the other meanings without first
understanding the literal meeting.
Further, even if it were possible, it would be
illogical, that is to say out of sequence, and would therefore be performed
with great labour and much confusion. This is why Aristotle says, in the first
book of his Physics, that Nature
wills that we proceed in order with our learning, that is, from what we know
well, to what we know less well; I say that Nature wills it because this method
of learning is naturally innate in us. Therefore if the meanings other than the
literal are less well understood, which it is apparent they are, it would be
illogical to proceed to explain them if the literal meaning had not been
explained first. For these reasons, therefore, I shall first discuss the
literal meaning of each canzone, and then its allegorical meaning, that is its
concealed truth, touching at times on the other meanings, as time and place require.
To commence then, I say that after the passing
of that blessed Beatrice, who lives in heaven with the angels and on earth in my
soul, the planet Venus had twice revolved in that orbit of hers, which at
different times of year makes her apparent in the evening or in the morning,
when the noble lady, whom I mentioned at the end of the New Life, first appeared before my eyes, accompanied by Love, and
occupied a place in my mind.
As I have recounted in that little book, I
consented to be subject to her because of her gentleness rather than of my own
choice; for she showed herself possessed of so great a pity for my bereaved
life that the spirits of my eyes became most friendly towards her. Being thus,
they then formed her image so within me, that I was pleased to wed myself to
that image. Yet because love is not born, and does not grow or achieve
perfection, in an instant, but needs time and nourishment in the mind, especially
where opposing thoughts impede it, before this new love could become perfect
much strife was needful between the thought that nourished it and the thought
that opposed it, which still held the citadel of my mind on behalf of that
glorious Beatrice. For the one was continually supported by the faculty of
vision, before me, while the other was supported by the faculty of memory,
behind me; and the support before me, hindering me from turning my gaze backward,
increased each day, which the other had no power to do; so that it seemed so
full of awe, and so hard to bear, that I could not endure it. And so, almost
crying aloud to excuse myself for this change of mind, in which I seemed to
show lack of purpose, I directed my voice to that sphere from which emerged
that victorious new thought, which was as powerful as celestial virtue; and I
began by saying: ‘You whose intellect
moves the third sphere.’
To understand the meaning of this canzone
fully, it is first needful to know its structure, so that it will be easier
afterwards to construe its meaning. And to avoid setting these same words at
the head of each exposition of a canzone,
I intend to maintain the order of treatment of this book in all the other books.
I therefore state that the canzone before us is composed of three main sections. The first
section comprises the first stanza: here certain Intelligences, or Angels as we
are accustomed to call them, who, being its movers, preside over the revolutions
of Venus’ heaven, are invited to hear what I propose to say. The second section
comprises the three succeeding stanzas: here is revealed the dialogue of the
different thoughts within. The third section comprises the fifth and last
stanza: here the work itself is addressed, as if to encourage it. And all these
three sections will be explained in order, as stated above.
In order to understand
the literal sense of the first section, as defined above, more clearly, which
is our present concern, we must know who it is who is summoned to hear me, and
how many of them there are, and what this third heaven is which I say they
move. I will speak first of this heaven, and then of those whom I address. According
to Aristotle’s opinion expressed in his work On Animals, though we can
know little of the true reality of these things, the part of them that human
reason sees gives more delight than the certainty and plenitude of things we
know more fully,
I say then, that varying
opinions are held concerning the number and position of the heavens, though the
truth has finally been discovered. Aristotle, simply following the longstanding
ignorance of the astrologers, believed that there were only eight heavens, of
which the outermost, namely the eighth sphere containing the rest, was that of
the fixed stars, and that there was no other beyond it. Also he thought that
the sphere of the Sun was contiguous to that of the Moon, that is to say,
second from us. Anyone who wishes can find this erroneous opinion of his in the
second book of his On Heaven and Earth,
which is in the second of the books about Nature. However he apologises for
this in the twelfth book of the Metaphysics, where he shows clearly that he was
simply following others’ opinion when obliged to speak about astrology.
Ptolemy, later, realising
that the eighth sphere moved with a complex motion, seeing that its circle
deviated from the true circle, which turns everything from east to west, and
constrained by the principles of philosophy, which demanded the simplest primum mobile, proposed that another heaven
existed beyond that of the fixed stars which make this revolution from east to
west, a revolution I say completed in about twenty four hours, roughly speaking
in twenty-three hours and fourteen fifteenths of an hour. So that, according to
Ptolemy and the received opinion in astrology and philosophy since the time
this motion was first perceived, there are nine moving heavens; and their
position is visible and determined by the science of perspective, and by
arithmetic and geometry, as perceived by the senses and by reason, and by other
sensory data. Thus during an eclipse of the Sun, the Moon appears to our sight
to be nearer than the Sun, and this is the testimony of Aristotle, who, as he
tells us in the second book of On Heaven
and Earth, saw the half Moon, with his own eyes, eclipse Mars, the Moon’s
dark side leading, and Mars remaining hidden till it appeared from the other
bright side of the Moon, which faced West.
The order of the heavens
is as follows. The first is that of Mars; the second Mercury; the third Venus;
the fourth that of the Sun; the fifth Mars; the sixth Jupiter; the seventh
Saturn; the eighth that of the fixed stars; the ninth being imperceptible to
the senses except for its anomalous motion mentioned above, and which many call
the Crystalline sphere, that is one which is diaphanous or completely
transparent. Moreover, beyond these, the Catholics place the Empyrean, which is
to say the heaven of flame, or luminous heaven; and they consider it to be
unmoving, because it holds within itself, that which its matter in every part
desires. This is why the Primum Mobile has the
swiftest motion. Because of the fervent desire that every part of the ninth
heaven has to be united with every part of that tranquil and divine heaven,
with which it is contiguous, it revolves within it with such desire that its
speed is almost incomprehensible. Stillness and peace are the qualities of that
region of Supreme Deity, who alone beholds himself entire. It is the region of
the blessed spirits, according to the will of
It should be known that
each sphere beneath the Crystalline has two fixed poles, fixed in respect of
itself; and they are firm and fixed in the ninth, and immutable in every way.
Each one, the ninth included, sweeps out a circle which may be called the
equator of its proper sphere and is equidistant from the poles in its
revolution, as can be seen from experience by spinning an apple or other round
object. In each sphere this equatorial circle moves more swiftly than any other
part of the heaven, as can be seen upon careful consideration. Every region of
the sphere has a swifter movement the nearer it is to the equator, and a slower
the further it is away and the nearer it is to the poles, because its turning
circle is smaller there, yet must of necessity be completed in the same period
of time as the larger. I say, also, that the closer a region is to the
equatorial circle the nobler it is compared to the poles, because it has
greater motion, actuality, life and form, and approaches the characteristics of
the sphere which encloses it and in consequence possesses more virtue. Thus the
stars of the Starry Heaven possess more virtue, one with another, the nearer
they are to this circle.
In the sphere of Venus, which we are currently discussing, on the outer edge of this equatorial circle, there is a small sphere which revolves of itself in that heaven, whose circle the astrologers call an epicycle. And just as the great sphere revolves about two poles, so does this smaller one; and it possesses its own equatorial circle, and its regions are nobler the nearer they are to this equator; and on the arc or outer edge of this circle is fixed the brightest planet Venus. Although we have said that strictly there are only ten heavens, this number does not comprise them all; for the one just mentioned, namely, the epicycle on which the planet is fixed, is a heaven or sphere in its own right, and is not at one with that which bears it, although it shares its nature more than that of others, and both are spoken of as if there was one heaven, named after the planet. The structure of the other heavens with their other stars and planets is not my subject at present; let what truth has been told of the third heaven with which I am at present concerned be sufficient, about which all that is needful at present has been fully explained.
Now that I have shown in
the preceding chapter the nature of the third heaven and how it is structured,
it remains for me to explain who it is that moves it. We must firstly know that
its movers are of substance other than matter, namely Intelligences, whom the
common people call Angels. Various people have held various opinions about
these creatures just as they have about the heavens, though the truth is now
known. There are certain philosophers, among whom it would appear is Aristotle
in his Metaphysics, though in his
first book On Heaven he seems, in
passing, to think otherwise, who believed that there were just as many of these
beings as there are circular motions in the heavens, and no more, saying that
any others would have been idle for all eternity, lacking any activity, which
would be impossible since their being consists of activity. There are others
like the eminent Plato who maintain that not only are there as many
Intelligences as there are spheres in heaven, but also as many as there are
species of things, for example one for men, another for gold, another for
dimension, and so on. He held that just as the heavenly Intelligences each
brought their sphere into being, so other Intelligences brought into being all
other things and exemplars, each in its own species; and Plato called them Ideas, that is to say universal forms
and natures.
The pagans called
them God and Goddesses, though they did not conceive of them in a philosophical
sense as Plato does, and they worshipped images of them, and built vast temples
to them, for example to Juno whom they called goddess of might, Pallas or
Minerva goddess of wisdom, Vulcan the god of fire, and Ceres goddess of
harvest. These things and these beliefs are evident from the testimony of
poets, who variously describe pagan customs, their sacrifices and their creeds,
and they are also evident in the many surviving ancient names for places and
buildings, as anyone can easily discover if they will.
Though the beliefs mentioned above were products of human reason and
copious observation, the pagans nevertheless failed to perceive the truth,
though inadequate reasoning and a lack of knowledge; for by reason alone it can
be seen that the creatures mentioned above are more numerous than the effects
men can apprehend. Here is one reason: no one, whether philosopher, pagan, Jew,
Christian, or a member of some sect, doubts the blessedness of these
Intelligences, all or the majority of them, or that they are in the most
perfect state of being. Consequently, since human nature is blessed not only in
one way but in two, namely in the active and the contemplative life, it would
be illogical for such beings to be blessed with an active life, that is the
civil governance of the world, and not a contemplative one, more excellent and
divine. Since those who are blessed with governing, cannot also be
contemplative, since their intellect is everlastingly one, there must be others
who live by contemplation alone. And since this contemplative life of theirs is
more divine, and the more divine a thing is the more it is like God, it is
clear that such a life is more beloved of God; and if it is more beloved, the
more is its blessedness made bountiful; and if it is more bountiful the more
living beings are committed to it than to the active life. From this we
conclude that the number of these creatures is much greater than the effects reveal.
This is not opposed to what Aristotle appears to say in the tenth book
of the Ethics, that the contemplative
life alone befits souls without bodies (separate substances). Though the
contemplative life alone befits them, the circular motion of the heavens, which
governs the world, is allotted to the contemplative life of a specific number
of them, and is a kind of active civil order conceived within the contemplation
of its movers.
Another reason is that no effect is greater than its cause, because the
cause cannot generate what it does not already possess; consequently, since the
divine intellect is the cause of everything, above all the human intellect, it
follows that the human intellect cannot transcend the divine, but is
transcended by it, out of all proportion. So, if from these reasons and many
others we see that God could have created innumerable spiritual creatures, it
is obvious that he has created this greater number of them. Many other reasons
can be provided, but let this suffice for the present.
No one should be surprised if such reasons have not been fully
demonstrated; nevertheless we should admire the excellence of these creatures,
an excellence which transcends the human mind, as Aristotle says in the second
book of the Metaphysics, and we
should affirm their existence. For though we cannot perceive them with the
senses, which are the source of our knowledge, some light from their living
being shines within our intellect, inasmuch as we understand the arguments
above and many others, just as someone whose eyes are closed can assert that
the air is filled with light, because some speck of radiance, or whole ray of
light, such as passes through the eyes of a bat, reaches him: for the eyes of
our intellect are closed in just such a way, as long as the soul is bound and
imprisoned within the organs of our body.
It has been said that the ancients, because of
lack of knowledge, did not realise the truth concerning spiritual creatures,
even though the children of
The first thing, the first secret, he revealed
to us was one of the creatures previously mentioned, his great ambassador who
came to Mary, a thirteen-year old girl, on behalf of the Heavenly Healer. Our
Saviour said, with his own lips, that the Father provided him with many legions
of angels; when he was told the Father had ordered the angels to minister to
him and serve him, he did not deny its truth. So it is clear to us that these
creatures exist in extraordinary numbers, for his spouse and secretary, the
The numerical position in which the hierarchies
and orders reside determines the principal object of their contemplation. Since
the Divine majesty exists in three persons with one substance, it is possible
to contemplate them in a threefold way. The supreme power of the father can be
contemplated, on which the first hierarchy gazes which is first in nobility,
and which we count highest. Then the supreme wisdom of the Son can be
contemplated, on which the second hierarchy gazes. And finally the supreme and
most fervent love of the Holy Spirit can be contemplated, on which the last
hierarchy gazes which is nearest to us and bestows the gifts it receives on us.
Since each person of the threefold Trinity can be considered in a threefold
manner, the three orders in each hierarchy contemplate their principal object
in different ways. The Father can be considered in regard to Himself alone, and
this contemplation the Seraphim perform, who perceive more of the First Cause
than any other angelic beings. The Father can also be considered in relation to
the Son that is in his separation from Himself and his union with Himself, and
this contemplation the Cherubim perform. Finally the Father can be considered
in respect of how the Holy Spirit emanates from Him, and in respect of its
separation and union with Him, and this contemplation the Powers perform. In a
similar manner the Son and the Holy Spirit can be contemplated in three
different ways, and thus there are nine types of contemplative spirits, to gaze
on the Light that only its own self can behold completely.
One thing must not be left unsaid. A certain
number, perhaps a tenth, of all these orders fell soon after they were created,
for the restoration of which number human nature was afterwards created. The
nine moving heavens declare the numbers, orders and hierarchies, and the tenth
proclaims the unity and stability of God’s being. Thus the Psalmist says: ‘The
heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament sheweth
his handiwork.’ It is therefore reasonable to believe that the movers of the
Moon’s sphere belong to the order of Angels, of Mercury’s sphere to the
Archangels, and of the sphere of Venus to Thrones; all these, their nature
characteristic of the love of the Holy Spirit, performing the activity innate
in them, namely the movement of the heaven filled with love, from which that
heaven derives a potent ardour, by which the souls below are kindled to love,
according to their disposition. The ancients, recognising that this sphere was
the cause of love here below, said that Love was the son of Venus, as Virgil
attests in the first book of the Aeneid, where Venus says to Love: ‘My son, my power, son of
the supreme father, who heeds not Typhoeus’ darts’; and
Ovid in the fifth book of the Metamorphoses, where Venus says to Love: ‘My son,
my arms, my power.’
The Thrones, assigned to governing this sphere,
are not great in number, though the philosophers and astrologers have estimated
it variously depending on their estimate of its rotations, though all are
agreed on this point: that there are as many of them as there are independent
motions of the sphere. According to the best estimate of the astrologers,
summarised in the book of the Constellations
of Stars, these movements are threefold: one by which the planet moves in
its epicycle; a second by which the epicycle moves with the whole sphere, equally
with that of the Sun; a third by which the whole sphere moves, following the
movement of the starry heaven, from west to east, one degree every hundred
years. So corresponding with these three movements, there are three movers.
Then, the whole of this sphere moves and revolves with its epicycle from east
to west once a day. Whether this movement derives from some intelligence or the
pull of the Primum Mobile, only God knows; it would seem
presumptuous to judge on this point.
The movers generate the rotation of that which
they each move, by intellect alone. That most noble form, the heavenly sphere,
which contains within itself the principle of natural passivity, revolves at
the touch of the motive force which comprehends it; and by touch I mean
contact, though not in a physical sense, with the power that is directed
towards it. Such are the movers to whom my speech in the canzone is addressed, and of whom I make my request.
As was said in the third
chapter above, it was necessary to speak of the spheres and those who move
them, in order to understand fully the first section of the canzone before us,
and this has been done in the preceding three chapters. I say then, in the
first section, to those whom I have shown to be the movers of the sphere of
Venus: You whose intellect, that is
whose intellect alone, as was said above, moves
the third sphere, hear now the debate; and I do not say hear as if they perceived sound, for
they lack sense perception, but so that they may listen with what hearing they
do have, which is intellectual perception. I say: Hear the debate within my heart, within, that is, because it has
not yet appeared beyond. And it should be known that throughout this entire canzone, the heart is to be taken, in all senses, as the private space within,
and not as a specific part of mind and body.
After
I have summoned them to hear what I wish to say, I give two reasons why it is
appropriate for me to speak to them. One is the newness of my state, which, not
having been experienced previously by other men, could not be understood by
them as well as by those beings who understand the effects of their operations;
and this I touch on when I say: That
seems so new I cannot speak to others. The other reason is when someone receives
a benefit or an injury he should first relate it to whoever caused it, if
possible, rather than to others; thus he who receives a benefit should show his
gratitude to his benefactor, and if he receives an injury should move the
wrongdoer to noble pity with gentle words. I touch on this reason when I say: The heaven that is driven by your power, oh,
noble creatures that you are, led me to this state where I now find me,
that is to say, your operations, that is your revolutions, have led me to my
present state. Thus I end by stating that my speech must be directed at them,
as has been said; and I say this in the words: Hence these words about the life I live, should rightly be said, it
seems, to you.
After giving this justification, I ask them to
listen to me: And so I pray that you will
hear me. But, because the speaker in any kind of discourse should be intent
above all on persuading, that is charming, his audience to listen, since this
is the means to all other kinds of persuasion, according to the rhetoricians,
and since the most effective way of rendering the listener attentive is to
promise to tell new and momentous things, I set this after my petition for a
hearing, by announcing my intention to them to speak of something new, that is
the division in my spirit, and something momentous, that is the influence of
their planet. And I say this in the final words of the first section: I will speak of the new thing in my heart,
how the sad soul weeps therein, and how a spirit disputes with it, descending with
the rays from your star.
To explain fully the meaning of these words,
this new spirit is none other than the oft-repeated thought of praise for and
adornment of the new lady; and the sad soul is the thought, accompanied by
assent, which, opposing the former, praises and adorns the memory of that
glorious Beatrice. And since the
ultimate judgement of my mind, its assent, was still attached to this thought
my memory reinforced, I call the one soul and the other spirit, just as we call
those who hold a place the city, and
not those who attack it, even if both are its citizens. Further, I say that
this spirit descends with the rays from the star, because the rays from each
sphere are the paths along which their influence descends on things here below.
Since rays are none other than the passage of light through the air from the
light-source to the thing illuminated, and since the light comes only from the
body of the star, as the rest of the sphere is diaphanous, that is transparent,
I say that the spirit, that is the thought, comes not from the sphere as a
whole but from the star. This planet, due to the nobility of its movers, is so
powerful that it has a vast influence over our spirits, and all things
appertaining to us, notwithstanding that its distance to us at perigee is 167
times and more the radius of the earth, which is 3250 miles. This ends the
literal explanation of the first section of the canzone.
The literal meaning of
the first section of the canzone can
be understood from the above, so the second may now be treated, revealing the
conflict I felt within. And this section is further sub-divided. In its first
stanza I relate the nature of the conflicting thoughts within me to their
source; then I relate what each conflicting thought said; beginning with the
second stanza, and what the defeated thought said.
To clarify then the
meaning of this initial sub-division, we first observe that things should be
denoted by their highest nobility of form, for example Mankind by reason and
not the senses, or anything less noble. So, when we say that a man lives, we
understand this to mean that he employs his reason which is his individual life
and the actualisation of his noblest faculty. Thus he who forgoes his reason
and merely utilises his senses lives as a beast and not a man; as the excellent
Boethius says: ‘He lives like an ass.’
Justly so, because reflection is a facet of reason, and beasts do not reflect,
as they have no reasoning powers; and I say this not only of the lesser
creatures, but those that have the semblance of man but the mind of a sheep or a
foul beast.
Thus,
I say that the life of my heart, my inner life, was once a sweet thought (sweet in the sense of charming, gentle,
pleasing and delightful), a thought which would rise to the feet of the Lord of
those beings I address, namely God; in other words, I contemplated the kingdom
of the blessed, in thought. So I swiftly tell the primal cause of my ascent
there in thought, saying: Where it saw a
lady bright with glory, so as to have it understood that it was because I
was certain, and am certain, through her gracious revelation, that she is in
heaven. Thus I often travelled there, in thought, to the extent of my powers,
as if I had been rapt.
Next I describe the effects of this thought,
which was so great that, to make its sweetness understood, it made me long for
death, so as to go where it had gone, and this I mean by: Of whom it spoke to me so sweetly, that my soul said: ‘I would go there.’
And this was the root of the first of the conflicting thoughts within me. To be
clear, what ascended to behold that blessed one is here termed thought and not soul, because it was a thought unique to that action. By soul I mean, as I said in the previous
chapter, generalised thinking with assent.
Then I explain the root of the second
conflicting thought, saying: Now one
appears who makes it flee, saying that as the thought, described above, was
once my life, now another appears which drives away the first. I say flee to show that the second thought
opposes the first, since one contrary of its nature flees another, while the
one that flees reveals that it does so through lack of strength to resist. And
I say that this new thought has the power to seize me and overcome my whole
soul, saying moreover that it rules me in such a way that my heart, my inner
self, trembles, and my outward self displays it visibly in a fresh seeming.
Subsequently, I show the power of this new
thought by its effect, saying that it directs me to gaze on a lady and speaks
seductive words to me (speaking to my gaze of intellectual affection, so as to
seduce me, promising me that salvation lies in the sight of her eyes), And the
better to convince the mature soul of this, it says that the lady’s eyes are
not to be looked at by anyone who fears sighs of anguish. It is a fine stroke
of rhetoric to make a thing seem lacking in external beauty while making it
inwardly truly beautiful. This fresh amorous thought could not seduce my mind
to give consent more readily than by speaking so profoundly of the power of the
lady’s eyes.
Now I have shown how and why love is born, and
the conflict I experienced, it is appropriate to reveal the meaning of the
stanza where conflicting thoughts war within me. I affirm that it is fitting to
discuss the soul first, that is, the old thought, and then the other, because
what a speaker wishes to stress above all should be reserved till the last, because
it will remain most in the listener’s mind. Since I wish to say more about what
those beings I addressed do, than what they undo, it is rational to discuss
that which was being destroyed before discussing that which was being brought
to birth.
Here, however, a doubt is born, which cannot be
passed over without comment. Someone might ask: ‘Since the effect of the
Intelligences addressed is love, and the previous thought was of love as well
as the latter, why does their virtue destroy the one and give birth to the
other: it should rather preserve the former, since every cause loves its own
effect, and in loving it should preserve it?’ This question can readily be
answered. Their effect is love as has been said; but since they cannot preserve
it except in those subjects that come under the influence of their sphere, they
transfer love from that region beyond their power to that within it, that is
from the soul departed this life to the soul still living; just as human nature
transfers itself in human form from father to son, because it cannot preserve
its effect forever within the father. I say effect,
since the soul joined to a body is its effect; for the soul once departed
endures eternally in a nature more than human. Thus the question is answered.
Now that the immortality of the soul has been
touched on here, I will make a digression to discuss it; as it would be fitting
to end with this discussion my comments regarding the blessed ever-living
Beatrice, whom I deliberately do not intend to speak of again in this work. I
say that the most foolish of follies, the vilest, and most pernicious is the
belief that there is no life beyond this one; for if we search the books of the
philosophers and other wise men who have written on this subject, they all agree
that there is an immortal part of us. Aristotle above all appears to confirm
this in his book On the Soul; all the
Stoics appear to confirm it; Cicero too, especially in his brief work On Old Age; every poet of the pagan
faith appears to agree; every creed confirms it, whether of the Jews, Saracens,
Tartars or whoever else lives according to principles of reason; If all these
were wrong, an impossibility would exist that is too terrible even to speak of.
All are certain that human nature is the most perfect of natures here below. No
one denies it, and Aristotle affirms it in his thirteenth book On the Animals, saying that man is the
most perfect creature of all. So, since many living creatures are wholly
mortal, for example, the brute beasts, and all are in this life without hope of
another, then if ours was a vain hope the error would be greater in us than any
other animal, because many people before us have given their life here for the
sake of the other life. Therefore the most perfect animal, Man, would be the
most imperfect, which is impossible, and reason, which is his greatest
perfection, would be the cause of his greatest defect, which is a paradoxical
thing to say.
Moreover, it would follow that Nature has
placed this hope in the human mind in her own worst interest, since many have
hastened the death of the body in order to live in the next life; and for her
to do this is, likewise, impossible.
And then, we see continual proof of our
immortality in the revelations of dream, which could not obtain unless there
was something immortal in us, since, if we consider carefully, the agent of
revelation, whether corporeal or incorporeal, must necessarily be immortal – I
say corporeal or incorporeal because
of the diversity of opinion on this point – and that which is moved by, or
receives its form directly from, an informing agent must be related
proportionately to that agent, while between the mortal and immortal there is
no proportional relation.
Moreover the true doctrine of Christ asserts
it, which is the way, the truth and the light: the way, because we proceed
without obstacle by it to the joy of this immortality, the truth, because it is
not subject to error; the light, because it illuminates us in the darkness of
mortal ignorance. This teaching, I say, gives us certainty beyond all other
reasons, for the one who has granted it to us sees and measures our
immortality, which we cannot see perfectly while our immortal part is joined to
our mortal part; though we see it perfectly by faith, we see it by reason with
a shadow of darkness, because the mortal and immortal are conjoined. This is
the strongest argument that both exist in us, and I therefore believe, and
affirm with certainty, that I shall pass to another and better life after this,
where that lady lives in glory, of whom my soul was enamoured when I was
involved in my inner struggle, as will be discussed in the next chapter.
Returning
to the explanation, I say that in the stanza which begins: The humble thought, I intended to reveal what my soul said within
me, that is the old thought, in opposition to the new. Firstly I briefly reveal
the cause of its sorrowful words when I say: The humble thought that used to speak of an angel who is crowned in
heaven, meets now an enemy that destroys it. This is the special thought of
which I said in the first stanza that it was once: The life of my grieving heart. Then, where I say that: The soul weeps, for this must grieve her, I
reveal that my soul is still on the side of this thought, and speaks sadly; and
I say that she speaks in lament, almost as if she were amazed at the sudden
transformation, saying: ‘Oh woe is me,
how he flees, the compassionate one who consoled me!’ She may indeed say consoled, for in her great loss this
thought, which ascended to heaven, gave her much consolation.
After this, I pardon her of fault in saying
that all my thought, my soul that is, which I call the troubled one, begins to
speak out against my eyes; and this is made clear by the words: This troubled one says now of my eyes.
And I tell how the soul says three things about and against them. The first is
that she curses the hour when this lady gazed on them. And here it should be
known that though many images can enter the eye at once, only those which enter
the centre of the pupil in a direct line are truly seen, and stamp themselves
on the imagination. This is because the nerve along which the visual spirit
runs is directed to that point; and thus the eye cannot look into another eye
without being seen by it; for just as the one gazing receives an image in the
pupil in a direct line, so its own image proceeds into the one at which it is
in turn gazing; and many times is the bow of him against whom all weapons are
ineffectual discharged along this extended line. So when I say: such a lady saw them it is as much as to
say that her eyes and my eyes gazed into one another.
The second thing the soul says is that she
reprimands their disobedience, when she says: Why were my words about her not believed? Then she proceeds to the
third comment, saying that she should not reproach herself, since she had
foreseen it, but should reproach them for not having obeyed, for in speaking of
the lady she had said that the lady’s eyes would have power over her, if she
opened the path to them, and this she says in the words: For I’d
said: ‘Now, surely, in her eyes..’ Indeed it is to be believed that my soul
knew that she was pre-disposed to receive the actuality of this lady, and
therefore feared her; for the actuality of the agent is apprehended by a
patient disposed to receive it, as Aristotle says in the second book On the Soul. Thus if wax was inclined to
fear, it would fear encountering the sun’s rays more than a stone would,
because its disposition receives the sun’s rays more effectively.
Finally in her discourse the soul makes it
clear that the eyes’ presumption put them in danger, where she says: ‘Yet my awareness was worth nothing, for they
gazed on him, and I am slain.’ She says gazed on him, that is, on him whom she had previously called the one who slays the likes of me. With
this she ends her speech, to which the new thought replies, as will be
explained in the next chapter.
I have explained the
meaning of the sub-section in which the soul speaks, that is, the old thought
which was destroyed. Now I must explain the meaning of that in which the new
opposing thought speaks; and this sub-section is wholly comprised by the stanza
which begins: Then a noble spirit. To
be rightly grasped this stanza must be divided in two: in the first part the
opposing thought reprimands the soul for her cowardice; and in the second part,
beginning with the words: See how
compassionate she is, declares what the reprimanded soul must do now.
Continuing from her last
words he tells her: it is not true that you are dead; but the reason you feel
death is because of the abject confusion into which you have fallen when this
new lady appeared. Here it should be noted that, as Boethius says in his Consolation, ‘no sudden change can take
place without mental disturbance.’ That is the meaning of the reprimand
delivered by this thought, which I call a spirit
of love, to indicate that he attracted my consent; and we can understand
and recognise his victory all the more since he already says soul of ours, making himself her friend.
Then, as I said, he declares what the reprimanded soul must do in order to come
to him, and says to her: See how
compassionate she is and humble, since the correct remedy for fear, by
which the soul seems possessed, is twofold, those feelings which, above all
when conjoined, cause one to have profound hope, and especially compassion, which
makes every other virtue shine with its borrowed light. That is why Virgil,
speaking of Aeneas, praises him most of all by calling him compassionate. And
compassion is not what people think, that is grief for another’s misfortune,
which is merely one of its specific effects, namely pity, an emotion. Compassion,
however, is not an emotion, but rather a noble pre-disposition of the mind, a
readiness to receive love, pity and other emotions rising from charity.
Next
the thought says that she is: wise and
courteous in her grandeur. Here he speaks of three characteristics, of
those which we may acquire, that make a person especially pleasing. He says wise: and what is lovelier in a woman
than wisdom? He says courteous: and
nothing is more becoming in a woman than courtesy. And the wretched herd should
not be deceived by this word either, thinking courtesy no more than generosity;
for generosity is a specific and limited form of courtesy! Courtesy and
nobility are one and the same; and because virtue and good manners were
practised in the courts in time past, while the contrary is now the case, the
word was derived from court, and courtesy was the custom of the court. If the word were derived anew from the
courts of today, especially those of
He says also: in her grandeur. Temporal greatness, which is what is meant here,
is most becoming of all when accompanied by the two previous virtues, because
it is a light which clearly shows the good or otherwise in a person. How much
wisdom and habitual virtue goes unsung for lack of this light! How much
foolishness and vice is shown by the possessors of this light! It would be
better for the foolish and wretched nobles to live in a humble estate, since
they would not be so disgraced then in this world or the next. Indeed it is of
them that Solomon speaks in Ecclesiastes:
‘There is a grievous evil which I have seen under the sun, namely riches
preserved for their owner’s ruin.’ Then the thought exhorts her, my soul that
is, to call this new one her lady, promising her that she will be pleased by
this when she becomes aware of her adornment; and this he says in the words: Unless you deceive yourself, you’ll see.
That completes what he has to say in this stanza, and all that I say in
addressing the celestial Intelligences in the canzone.
In conclusion, as this
commentary stated above when dividing the canzone
into its principal parts, I address my discourse directly to the canzone itself, and speak to it. To clarify,
I say that in a canzone this is
normally called the tornata,
because the Provençal poets who first employed it did so in order that when the
canzone was sung they might return and repeat a specific part of the
melody. But I rarely employ it in that way, and so that others might see this I
have seldom composed according to the metrical pattern of the canzone, regarding the number of lines
required for the melody; rather I have used it to adorn the canzone when there was a need to say
something external to its meaning, as may be seen in this canzone and in my others. Thus I state here that the virtue and the
beauty of a discourse are separate things, and differ from one another; for
virtue lies in the meaning, and beauty in the adornment of words; and both give
pleasure, but virtue is especially pleasing. So, since the virtue of this
canzone was hard to perceive, because of the various speakers and the need for
distinction between them, while its beauty is easy to perceive, it seemed
necessary to me that others should be alive to its beauty before its virtue.
And this is what I say in conclusion.
Yet
since an admonition may often appear presumptuous, a rhetorician will, in
certain circumstances, speak indirectly to his audience, addressing his words
not to the person for whom they are meant, but some other. This method is
adopted here, in fact, since the words are addressed to the canzone, but their meaning to its
audience. Thus I say: Canzone, I think
there will be few, few indeed, who’ll
rightly understand your speech. And I give the twofold reason. Firstly
because your speech is complex, and I
say complex for the reasons mentioned; and secondly, because your speech is difficult to understand, difficult by
virtue of the novelty of its meaning. Then I admonish it and say: if you chance
to find yourself with those who are perplexed by your argument, don’t be
dismayed, but say: Since you do not see my virtue, at least consider my beauty.
I mean by this only what has been said above: you who cannot understand the
meaning of this canzone, do not
reject it on that account; instead consider its beauty, which is great through
its composition, the concern of the grammarians, its discourse the concern of
the rhetoricians, and the rhythm of its verses, the concern of the musicians.
These elements of its beauty can be seen by anyone who looks closely.
This completes the literal meaning of the first
canzone, which as indicated above constitutes the first course of the banquet.
Now the literal meaning
has been adequately explained, I must proceed to a true allegorical exposition.
And so, beginning again from the first stanza, I say that when I lost that
noblest delight of my soul, whom I mentioned above, I was pierced by such
sorrow that no comfort availed me. Yet, after a while, my mind, which was
trying to heal itself, decided to resort to a method (since neither my own
consolation nor that of others helped) which a certain disconsolate individual
had adopted in order to console himself: I began to read that book of Boethius,
known to few, in which, while in captivity and exile, he had found consolation.
And hearing moreover of another book of Cicero’s, where in discussing Friendship, he addressed consoling words
to Laelius, a man of the highest merit, on the death
of his friend Scipio, I set about reading it. Though I found it hard at first
to penetrate the meaning, I finally succeeded in doing so as far as my command
of Latin and limited intellect allowed: which intellect had shown me many
things before, as in a dream, as can be seen in the New Life.
And just as it may happen
that on looking for silver a man contrary to his intentions finds gold, which
some hidden cause reveals, perhaps through divine ordinance, so I who sought to
console myself not only found a remedy for my tears but also the words of
authors, books and sciences. Reflecting on these, I soon realised that
Philosophy, who was the lady of these authors, books and sciences, was someone
of the highest. I imagined her formed as a noble lady, and I could not conceive
of her in any attitude except one of compassion, and the part of my mind that
perceives truth gazed at her so willingly that I could barely turn it from her.
I began to frequent the places where she was truly seen, namely the schools of
the religious orders and the disputations of the philosophers, so that in a
relatively short time, perhaps two years and a half, I began so to feel her
sweetness that love for her dispelled and erased every other thought.
For that reason, feeling
myself elevated from thoughts of the former love to recognition of the virtues
of this one, I opened my mouth to utter the words of the canzone before us, revealing my state under the cover of other
things, because no verse in any vernacular was worthy of treating in an overt
manner the lady of whom I was enamoured; and the audience was not well-enough
prepared to be able to understand such an overt meaning easily; nor would they
have believed that true meaning, as they did the fictional, because they
believed indeed that I was well-disposed towards the new love, and not the
former. I therefore commenced with: You
whose intellect moves the third sphere. Since this lady, most noble and
beautiful Philosophy, is, as has been said, the daughter of God, and queen of
all things, we must consider who the movers are and the nature of this third
heaven. And firstly I will speak of that sphere, in the manner already
employed. Here I will not need to sub-divide and explain the text word for
word, since by interpreting the literal words, the allegorical meaning will be
sufficiently clear, from the exposition already given.
To see what the third heaven,
or sphere, means, we must first understand what I mean by the word heaven itself; and then it will be
obvious why it was needful to speak of this third heaven. I say that by heaven
I mean science, and by the heavens, the sciences, because of three kinds of
similarity these heavens bear to the sciences, and because they seem to agree
in order and number, as will be seen in speaking of the third.
The first similarity consists
in the revolution of each around something motionless with respect to it. For
each moving sphere turns on its centre, which is unmoved by the motion of the
sphere; while each science moves around its subject, without moving it, because
no science creates its own subject, but rather presupposes and reveals it.
The second similarity is
the illuminating power of each; since each sphere illuminates visible things,
and likewise each science illuminates intelligible things.
The third similarity
consists of bringing perfection to those things so disposed. As far as the
first perfection, substantial generation, is concerned, all philosophers agree
that the heavens are the cause, though they explain it differently, some
imputing it to the movers, as do Plato, Avicenna, and Algazel;
some to the planets themselves, especially as regards human souls, as do
Socrates, and again Plato and Dionysius the Academician; and some to celestial virtue
in the natural heat of the seed, as do Aristotle and the Peripatetics. Equally
the sciences bring about the second perfection, by means of which we
contemplate the truth, and this is our ultimate perfection, as Aristotle says
in the sixth book of the Ethics, where he says that truth is the good of the
intellect. Because of these as well as other similarities, the sciences may be
called heavens.
Now it remains to be
understood why I say the third sphere.
For this we must compare the order of the heavens to that of the sciences. As
was said above, the seven heavens nearest to us are those of the Sun, Moon, and
planets; next come the two moving heavens beyond them, and the one beyond them
all which is unmoving. To the first seven the seven sciences of the Trivium and Quadrivium
correspond, namely: Grammar, Dialectics, Rhetoric, Arithmetic, Music, Geometry
and Astrology. Natural science, which is called Physics, and the supreme
science, called Metaphysics, correspond to the eighth Sphere, the Starry
Heaven; Moral Science to the ninth sphere; and the Divine Science, Theology, to
the unmoving heaven. The rationale for this should be considered briefly.
I say that Grammar may be
compared to the heaven of the Moon which it resembles; for if the Moon is
examined carefully two things will be observed which are not observed of the
other lights: one are the shadows in it, which are due to variations of density
in its substance whereby the rays of the Sun cannot terminate and so be
reflected back to us, as they are from its denser parts; the other thing is the
source of its light, which shines now from the waxing side and now the waning,
according to its position relative to the Sun. These two characteristics
Grammar also displays; for because of its infinite scope the rays of reason are
not terminated, especially in the region of vocabulary; and it shines now on
one side, now the other, insofar as certain words, declensions, and
constructions, are now in use which once were not, and many were formerly used
which may be used again, as Horace says at the beginning of the Poetics, where he says: ‘Many words will
be re-born that fell out of use long ago.’
Dialectics may be
compared to Mercury’s sphere, for two reasons: Mercury is the smallest planet,
because its diameter is not more than 232 miles according to Alfraganus, who claims it is
Rhetoric may be compared
to the sphere of Venus because of two characteristics: the first is the
brightness of the planet’s aspect, which is sweeter to view than any other, the
second its appearance sometimes in the morning and sometimes the evening. And
these two characteristics are found in Rhetoric, since Rhetoric is sweeter than
the other sciences, as that is its principal aim, and it appears in the morning
when the rhetorician speaks to his hearer’s face, and in the evening, that is
behind him, when the rhetorician speaks through writing, at a distance.
Arithmetic may be
compared to the sphere of the Sun for two reasons: one is that all the
planetary spheres are illuminated by its light; the other is that the eye
cannot gaze on it. And these two properties are true of Arithmetic also; for by
its light all the sciences are illuminated, since all their subjects are
treated under some numerical aspect, and in treating of them we always work by
numbers. For example, in Natural Science, the subject of study is bodies in
motion, and a body in motion obeys the principle of continuity, and this
contains the principle of infinite division; also the science’s prime consideration
is the principles of natural things, which are threefold, namely matter, absence
of usual qualities, and form, in which we perceive this numerical aspect.
Number exists not only in all of them together, but also, on careful
reflection, in each individually; for this reason Pythagoras, as Aristotle says
in the first book of the Physics,
declared even and odd to be the principles of natural things, considering all
things as having a numerical aspect. The other property of the Sun is also seen
in number, of which Arithmetic is the science: in that the eye of the intellect
cannot gaze on it, because number is in itself infinite, and this infinity we
cannot comprehend.
Music may be compared to
the sphere of Mars because of two properties: one is the planet’s beautiful
relationship with the other heavens, since in counting the moving spheres,
wherever we begin, whether with the nearest or the farthest, the sphere of Mars
is the fifth and most central, that is of the first, second, third and fourth
pairs. The second is, as Claudius of Ptolomea says in
the Quadripartitus,
that Mars dries and incinerates things because of its burning heat; and this is
why it appears fiery in colour, to a varying extent, according to the density
or rarity of its accompanying vapours which often ignite spontaneously as is
established in the first book of Albertus Magnus’ Meteorics. This
is why Albumassar says that the ignition of these
vapours signifies the death of kings and the mutation of kingdoms, because such
are the effects of Mars’ lordship, and why Seneca says that he saw a ball of
fire in the sky at Augustus’ death. This is also why in
Geometry may be compared
to Jupiter’s sphere for two reasons: one is that it turns between two heavens
antithetical to its sweet temperance, namely those of Mars and Saturn; thus, Ptolomea, in the book referred to above, says that Jupiter
is a planet of temperate constitution, between the cold of Saturn and the heat
of Mars: the other reason is that among the planets it appears white, almost
silver. And these characteristics are true of Geometry also, which operates
between two things antithetical to it, namely the point and the circle, and I
mean circle in the general sense of anything round, whether surface or solid;
for as Euclid says, the point is Geometry’s beginning and the circle its most
perfect figure, therefore to be thought of as its end. Geometry thus operates
between the point and circle, its beginning and end, and these two are
antithetical to its exactness; since the point cannot be measured because of
its indivisibility, and the circle cannot be squared because of its arc, and so
cannot be measured precisely. Geometry is moreover akin to whiteness in that it
is without taint of error, and most exact both in itself and in its handmaid
Perspective.
Astrology may be compared
to the sphere of Saturn in two ways: one is in the slowness of its movement
through the twelve zodiacal signs, for according to the writings of the
astrologers it requires more than twenty-nine years for its revolution; the other
is that it is far distant from the other lights. And Astrology shows these two
characteristics: for to complete its circle, that is to master the science, a
very large span of time must pass, both because of its handmaids which are more
numerous than those of the above-mentioned sciences, and because of the
experience required before making correct use of its knowledge. Furthermore it
is far above the other sciences, since as Aristotle says at the beginning of On the Soul, a science is noble due to
the nobility of its subject and its exactness; and this one, more than those mentioned
above, is high and noble because of its high and noble subject, the movement of
the heavens, and because of its exactness, which is flawless, as deriving from
perfect and regular principles. If any believe it is flawed, it is not due to
the science, but, as Ptolomea says, it arises through
our negligence, and must be attributed to that.
Having made these comparisons regarding the
first seven spheres, we must proceed to the remaining ones, which are three, as
previously stated several times. I say that Physics may be compared to the
Starry Heaven for three reasons, and Metaphysics for three others: since the
Starry Heaven displays two things to us, the multitude of stars and the Galaxy,
the white band that the populace call St Jacob’s Way; and it reveals one pole
to us while the other is hidden; and reveals its motion from east to west to
us, while keeping the other which it makes from west to east virtually hidden.
Proceeding in order we will first consider the comparison to Physics and then
to Metaphysics.
The Starry Heaven shows us many stars, for
according to the observations of the
learned Egyptians, they count 1022 starry bodies, including the star appearing
last to them in the south, and it is of these that I speak. In this respect it
bears an analogy to Physics, if we consider the three numbers, two, twenty and
one thousand. For by two we understand localised movement, which is from one
point to a second point. By twenty is signified movement through alteration,
for since we cannot go beyond ten without modifying ten itself by means of
itself or the other nine lesser numbers, and since the most beautiful modification
it undergoes is modification by itself, and since the first modification of
that kind is at twenty, it is reasonable to signify the movement mentioned
above by this number. By a thousand is signified movement by growth, since a
thousand is the largest number that has a unique name at this time, and there
can be no further growth except by multiplying it. Physics displays these three
movements only, as is proved in the fifth book of the first group of
Aristotle’s books.
Metaphysics bears a strong resemblance to this
sphere because of the Galaxy. Here it should be known that philosophers have
held different opinions regarding the Galaxy. The Pythagoreans held that the
sun once strayed from its path, and passing through regions unsuited to its
fiery heat, it ignited the regions through which it passed, leaving those traces
of the conflagration. I believe they were influenced by the myth of Phaeton,
which Ovid recounts at the start of the second book of the Metamorphoses. Others, for
example Anaxagoras and Democritus, held that the Galaxy was a region of
reflected sunlight, and refuted other opinions by demonstrative reasoning. What
Aristotle thought cannot be known with certainty since his opinion differs
between translations, and I believe this to be due to some translator’s error;
for in the new translation he appears to say that the Galaxy is a cloud of
vapour below the stars in that region which continually attracts them, and this
appears to have no foundation in truth. In the old translation he says the
Galaxy is nothing but a multitude of fixed stars in that region, so small that
we are unable to distinguish them from Earth, though the brightness we call the
Galaxy emanates from them; and it may be that the heaven in that region is
denser and therefore retains and reflects this light. Avicenna and Ptolemy
appear to share this opinion with Aristotle. Thus since the Galaxy is an effect
of stars which we cannot see, other than in their effects, and since
Metaphysics treats of the primal substances, which we likewise cannot
comprehend except by their effects, Metaphysics bears a clear resemblance to
the Starry Heaven.
Then, the pole which we see signifies material
things, which Physics treats of, taken as a whole; while the pole we cannot see
signifies non-material things, which are not visible, of which Metaphysics
treats; and therefore the two sciences individually resemble aspects of that
sphere. And furthermore, its two motions signify the two sciences. For its
diurnal circuit signifies the corruptible things of nature, which complete
their course from day to day, their matter altering from form to form; and
these Physics deals with. The well-nigh imperceptible motion which the sphere
makes from west to east, at the rate of a degree per hundred years, signifies
the incorruptible things which God created and which are without end; and these
Metaphysics deals with. This movement thus signifies the incorruptible things,
because it has a beginning but no end, for the end of a circuit consists in its
return to the beginning, which this heaven, given its motion, will never
achieve. Since the beginning of the world it has completed little more than a
sixth of a revolution, and yet we are already in the last age of the world and
await the consummation of celestial movement. Thus it is clear that Physics and
Metaphysics can be compared in many ways to the Starry Heaven.
The Crystalline Heaven, or Primum
Mobile, is analogous to Moral Philosophy; since Moral Philosophy, as
And then the Empyrean resembles the Divine
Science, Theology, which is full of peace and tolerates no diversity of opinion
or sophistical reasoning because of the supreme certainty of its subject, which
is God. Christ says of this science to his disciples: ‘Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you,’ being his
teaching, which is the science of which I speak. Solomon, speaking of this
science, says: ‘There are threescore
queens and fourscore concubines; and virgins without number: my dove, my
undefiled, is but one.’ He calls the sciences queens and concubines and
virgins, but this one he calls choice
because it allows us to know perfect truth, in which our souls find rest.
Now that the analogies between the spheres and
the sciences have been discussed, it is clear that by the third sphere I mean
Rhetoric, which is analogous to the third heaven, as was shown above.
From the analogies
discussed above, it is obvious who those movers are whom I address: they are the
movers of that heaven, such as Boethius and Cicero, who guided me by the
sweetness of their discourse along the path of love, that is in pursuit of the
most gentle lady Philosophy, with the rays of their star, that is their
writings of her; because the written word is in every science a star filled
with light that reveals that science. Understanding this, we can then perceive
the true meaning of the first stanza of the canzone
before us, by way of the literal meaning. By means of that exposition, the
second stanza may also be adequately addressed, as far as: One that makes me look upon a lady.
Let
us observe here that this lady is Philosophy, truly a lady full of sweetness,
adorned with honour, marvellous in wisdom, glorious in freedom, as will be
shown in the third book, which will treat of her nobility. And when I say: Who wishes to see bliss, let his eyes on
this lady gaze, then this lady’s eyes are her proofs by reason, which
directed into the eyes of the intellect enamour the soul freed from confusion. Oh
sweet and ineffable look, captivating the human mind, that appears in the eyes
of Philosophy when she speaks with her lovers! Truly salvation lies in you, so
that he who gazes on you is blessed and saved from the deathliness of vice and
ignorance. When I say: If he does not
fear anguished sighs, I mean, provided he does not fear the strain of study,
nor the veils of doubt that spring from this lady’s first glances, and then vanish
like morning cloud before the sun’s face as her light continues to fall, so
that the intellect grows accustomed to her, and is left free and filled with
certainty, like air purged and illuminated by the rays of noon.
The third stanza can likewise be understood by
means of the literal reading to the point where I say: The soul weeps. Here we must be mindful of a certain moral contained
in these words: that a man should not forget the services rendered by a lesser
friend, for the sake of a greater one; yet if he must forsake one and follow
the other, he should follow the better, abandoning the other with honest
expressions of regret, so as to give the one he does follow cause for greater
love. Next, where I say: now of my eyes,
it means that it was a harsh hour in which this lady’s first proofs entered the
eyes of my intellect, which was the instant cause of this love. Where I say: the likes of me, I mean souls free from
wretched base pleasures and vulgar pastimes, and endowed with intellect and
memory. Where I say: slays, and am slain, which seems contrary to what
was said above of the lady’s power to save, it should be noted that first one
side speaks and then the other, the two being in contention, as has been made
clear previously, and it is therefore no surprise if the one says yea and the
other nay, if we observe which is in the ascendant and which wanes.
Next, in the fourth stanza, where I say: a noble spirit of love, it means a
thought born of study. In this allegory, it should be known that love always
means that study which is the application of the mind to the thing beloved.
Then when I say: You’ll see the beauty of
such high miracles, I declare that the beauty of these miracles shall be
perceived through her; and I say true, for to see the beauty of marvels is to
perceive their cause, which she reveals, as Aristotle appears to say at the
start of the Metaphysics, where he
writes that at the sight of this beauty men first fell in love with this lady.
We will speak more fully of this word marvel in the next book. The rest of the canzone has been adequately explained by
the previous exposition.
Thus, in completing this second book, I affirm
that the lady of whom I became enamoured after my first love, was the most
beautiful and honourable daughter of the Emperor of the universe, whom
Pythagoras named Philosophy.
Here ends the second book, whose aim was to
explain the canzone which was served
as the Banquet’s first course.
End of Book II