Return to Clarity

Purgatorio 1

There’s a lovely sense of pre-dawn stillness that permeates the first canto of Dante’s Purgatorio, mingled with more expansive motifs of forward motion and renewal. We feel relief and gratitude, as we read, that our soul-sapping descent into the pit of the Inferno is complete. After such a dispiriting subterranean sojourn, we see the stars again at last and feel the soft morning air upon our faces, full of hope and promise:

It was that still moment of the dawn when the entire sky takes on the hue of deepest sapphire and one can almost see forever. Free at last from the air of death that weighed so heavily upon me, I breathed deeply the cool freshness of that morning I shall not soon forget, and let my eyes feast on the sparkling delights of the heavens as they gave way to that luminous morning of eternal hope.

This is calm, reflective writing - no agitation or excitement, but a centredness and peace that stabilises and refreshes the pilgrim and gives him a solid, prayerful base from which to continue.

It’s Easter Sunday in the year 1300, about an hour before sunrise. Dante and his guide, Virgil, have just emerged onto the shores of Mount Purgatory from the frozen recesses of Hell and the foul, depressive presence of Satan himself. Venus, the morning star, is there to greet them, along with four bright stars which represent for Dante the cardinal virtues of prudence, justice, fortitude and temperance. These are the basic building blocks of what the good life entails, both in the individual and the civic spheres. They are pre-requisites for anything beautiful, good or true, and are shared in common by people of good will everywhere, regardless of religion, denomination or worldview. These virtues were wholly absent in Hell but Dante shows them to us now so that we understand starightaway that we need them watching over us on the penitential ascent of Mount Purgatory. We won’t get far without them!

The light of these stars shines in the face of the mountain’s guardian, Cato the Stoic. He orders Virgil to take Dante to the shore and wash off from his face the mire and filth of Hell. To proceed further, Dante will then need a girdle wrapped around his waist, and Virgil is instructed to pluck one of the reeds that grows down by the water for this purpose. A little miracle then takes place as a fresh shoot springs up there and then in the very spot where Virgil plucks the reed:

And when we reached a shaded place where the soft grass was still wet with the morning’s dew, Virgil bent down and ran his outstretched hands through the grass. I knew what he was doing and I offered him my stained and dirty face. Wiping it with his wet hands, he cleansed and restored it from the sooty grime of Hell.

We then continued quietly along that lonely shore … There, as Cato had directed him, Virgil plucked a reed out of the sand and wrapped it around my waist. And here was a miracle! No sooner had he pulled up that reed than a second one sprang up immediately from where the first one was!

This illustrates that we are now in a place where positive things can happen and where human growth and flourishing are as natural as the sunrise. This is what Purgatory is all about at bottom. The barren, sterile wastelands, where change was impossible, are behind us now. ‘Abandon hope all ye who enter here’, said the sign on the brass doors of the infernal city of Dis. But Purgatory is the opposite. Hope is allowed here and totally encouraged. Whatever our faults, whatever our sins, whatever our circumstances, there is a way up and through and out. We just need turn our backs on what seduces and destroys and to take one single step towards what and Who gives sustenance and joy. The ‘love that moves the sun and the other stars’ will guide, protect and direct us from there.

I think this would be a terrific text to give to someone who has hit rock bottom and who acknowledges and accepts this fact and is looking to rebuild his or her life from a base of absolutely nothing. No more blaming others - even if others have been to blame - no more ‘woe is me’ stories. The pages of Inferno are filled with such self-justificatory cant. It makes the souls we meet there so wizened and vindictive, eaten up with ancient sins and grievances they can’t or won’t let go of.

So the small self has to go, and the Big Self - ‘The Voice that Thunders’, in Alan Garner’s phrase - has to enter in. ‘He must increase, I must decrease.’ And it begins right here in the pre-dawn stillness, in simplicity and silence, with the wisdom of the past (Virgil) to guide us and the light of the stars to remind us of who we truly are and where our destiny ultimately lies.

There’s nowhere else to go when you’re at the bottom but up. The fog of illusion is dispelled and the air is clear and fresh. Our faces are clean and the girdle of humility is tied around our waist. The journey will be long and hard but we are in the open air again, no longer going down but up, and the Sun is close to rising:

And ever so subtly, the face of Aurora changed from deep vermilion to a luminous glowing gold.

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Translation by Michael F. Meister, FSC, PhD (St Mary’s College, California) - www.dantecomedy.com