A central concern of Christian scholars, philosophers, and theologians has been the reconciliation of God’s foreknowledge and man’s free will.  If God is omniscient, then He must already know what choices individuals will make — their future actions must have, in some sense, been predetermined; if humans can be held responsible for those choices, however, they must have been made freely rather than by necessity.  The central canto of Dante Alighieri’s Comedy, Canto XVI of Purgatorio, appropriately attempts to resolve this conflict, redefining freedom so as to require a guide for the soul.  While the heavens may have set human “appetites in motion” (Purg., XVI 73), humans are free to choose whether and how to satisfy them.  The untended soul will not use its free will to its fullest potential, and “like a child” (Purg., XVI 87), it will rebel against what serves its interest, becoming unfree and unable to gain the happiness that comes from serving God; only the soul that has been “well nurtured” (Purg., XVI 78) can receive real freedom through the fulfillment of its pre-determined desires.

            The character of Dante the pilgrim, however, has not been well nurtured.[1]  He once turned away from God and from true happiness, chasing “Mere appearances” (Purg., XXXI 34-5); unable to save himself through his own powers, he needed the help of a parent-like “guide or rein to rule [his] love” (Purg., XVI 93).  Only by becoming utterly dependent on his guides, by submitting to their wills (and thereby to the Divine Will) can the pilgrim achieve any measure of independence — yet it will be an independence that is really the freedom to act as they wish him to do.  In the Comedy, therefore, Dante will learn near-complete dependence on his guides, becoming independent only by unifying his will with theirs until he reaches a state of complete immersion in the will and the vision of God; he will learn to freely choose what God has chosen for him.

            This process is not an entirely smooth progression from the first canto to the hundredth.  Instead, it is a cyclical one, with many episodes of the same story replayed:  the independent human is defeated, only to be reformed by a guide-intercessor into the “right” kind of independent actor who in fact depends on the intercessor’s will.  The first canto of Inferno shows this process in a microcosm; the pilgrim is in a dark forest, alone, struggling to climb the mountain and escape from his fear; confronted by the difficulty of the path and the three animals, the pilgrim recognizes his human frailty and “abandon[s] hope” (Inf., I 53).  In despair, uncertain even of his senses, he cries to the approaching shadow, “Have pity on me . . . / whatever you may be — a shade, a man” (Inf., I 65-6); he calls Virgil “my master and my author” (Inf., I 85) and pleads to him for help.  Virgil proposes another path, but presents it on his own terms; in accepting, Dante must rely on Virgil’s judgment:  “Therefore, I think it and judge it best for you / to follow me, and I shall guide you . . .” (Inf., I 112-3).  In his reply, Dante abdicates responsibility to Virgil, following wherever the path may lead.[2]  Lest the reader forget the extent of Dante’s dependence, the pattern repeats itself in the second canto, where Dante doubts his worthiness, transfers all of his decision-making responsibility to his guide — “You’re wise; you know far more than what I say” (Inf., II 34-6)[3] — and is rescued by Virgil, who teaches him his place in the chain of will-alignment that ran from God to Mary to Lucia to Beatrice to Virgil to Dante himself:  “You, with your words, have so disposed my heart / to longing for this journey . . . / Now go; a single will fills both of us: / you are my guide, my governor, my master” (Inf., II 136-40).  Through teaching and instruction, Dante has come to desire what Virgil desires for him, and he has identified his will with that of Virgil and those who had moved him.

            The same story is told throughout Inferno; Dante repeatedly confirms his frailties only to be given fresh hope from Virgil.  His failure to understand the inscription on Hell’s gates on his own forces him to seek the help of his “master” even before entering the underworld.  The pilgrim breaks down and weeps, “oppressed by horror” (Inf., III 31), immediately upon entering Hell, but Virgil’s patient teachings sustain him and lead him to “underst[an]d with certainty” (Inf., III 61) the order hidden within the chaos.  Virgil is even given the privilege of corporeality (normally denied to souls except for the purposes of punishment) when dealing with Dante; in their flight from the pursuing demons, he snatches up his charge like “the mother who is wakened by a roar / and catches sight of blazing flames beside her, / will lift her son and run without a stop” (Inf., XXIII 38-40).[4]  Virgil is figuratively the mother, or the “gentle father” (Inf., VII 109), of the powerless, childlike Dante, who is threatened equally by the hellish monsters and his own ignorance; he comforts Dante both intellectually and emotionally, resolving his confusions and comforting his fears.  Virgil inspires a physically and spiritually exhausted pilgrim to greater efforts on the true path, even carrying him when necessary; by relying on Virgil’s guidance, Dante obtains the strength to say, “Go on; for I am strong and confident” (Inf., XXIV 60).

            It is in this fashion that Dante obtains some degree of freedom in Inferno; a necessary part of instruction is learning through experience, and Dante the poet at times gives his character the pilgrim a loose rein[5] in order to provide opportunities to correct his behavior.  Dante often talks to the souls he meets without first consulting his guide,[6] an event which will become less frequent in Purgatorio and exceedingly rare in Paradiso — Virgil even leaves Dante to his own devices among the usurers, an event which is singular in the Comedy.  Dante’s outbursts at Filippo Argenti and Pope Nicholas III show a surprisingly independent spirit and are highly praised by Virgil.  Virgil can chastise as well as commend, reacting strongly to Dante’s weeping in the pouch of the soothsayers and to his fascination with the quarrel of Master Adam and Sinon; however, such correction results in the improvement of Dante’s actions.  While Dante may have cowered at the sound of Farinata’s voice, after Virgil reprimands him he shows the soul great respect, staying to talk even after his guide is ready to leave.  Dante’s improvement as an independent actor is made visible by his accurate recognition of the threat posed by the demons of the fifth pouch, a threat which Virgil had foolishly dismissed.  In the later canti, Dante shows a significant independence in his dealings with the souls; in Canto XXXII, Virgil speaks only once.  These canti also show the pilgrim’s growing appreciation of his own power as he negotiates with souls, offering them fame on earth in exchange for information.[7] 

            However, Dante gains the ability to act freely only through absorbing the lessons which Virgil has taught him.  He can be sure that his desires will be acceptable to his guide because he has made what is acceptable to his guide the sole object of his desires.  Having been told to show courtesy to the three noble Florentines of the Seventh Circle, Dante would have “thrown [him]self down there among them” (Inf., XVI 46) if only his “master would have sanctioned that” (Inf., XVI 48), and the encounter ends only when his master “thought it right to leave” (Inf., XVI 90).  He makes even his demand for knowledge contingent on Virgil’s will:  “O highest virtue . . . ,” he begs, “at your will / do speak to me, and satisfy my longings” (Inf., X 4-6).  This submission is demonstrated as the confident Dante of the later canti gives way in Canto XXXIV to a frightened pilgrim who retreats behind Virgil to escape from the wind and who lies passive on Virgil’s back during the long climb up Satan; Dante’s confusion at the reversal of direction only emphasizes his dependent position.  When they emerge beneath the stars, Dante may be wiser, but he is no more ready to confront his obstacles alone; however, he has found a new happiness in following Virgil’s will.

            Virgil’s control of his charge only becomes more explicit in Purgatorio.  While Dante would often approach souls on his own in Hell, in Purgatory, Virgil is more likely to do the talking; he speaks in Dante’s name and serves as a conduit for the fulfillment of Dante’s desires.  Despite numerous variations, there seems to be a standard pattern for encounters with souls in Purgatory, in which Virgil greets a group of souls in a new section or terrace, one soul identifies itself, and Dante continues the conversation.  Occasionally, a soul will begin an encounter without being prompted, most often by commenting on Dante’s status as a living being; in either case, however, Dante occupies a passive rather than active role.  Even those souls with whom Dante converses without Virgil’s involvement[8] often approach or address Dante first — the pilgrim only rarely initiates the encounter,[9] and as a result Virgil appears as more of a controlling force.  When the pilgrim is challenged by Cato, Virgil intervenes and replies; he answers questions posed directly to Dante by the souls of Canto V and by the angel at the gate of Purgatory, among others.  Not even Dante’s thoughts are independent in Purgatorio, as Virgil’s ability to perceive them increases dramatically, answering questions before they are asked and interpreting dreams before they are described.[10]  Virgil also exercises greater control of Dante’s time; since Purgatory is a temporary station, there is an urgency with which Virgil pushes Dante to complete the trek, both physical and moral, and reach his destination.[11]

            This control, however, serves a purpose.  In order to be worthy of reaching the Earthly Paradise and the Heaven beyond, Dante must purge himself of his earthly desires and instead rely on the will of his guides.  His frequent encounters with poets from Casella to Arnaut serve to remind him of the “empty glory of the powers of humans” (Purg., XI 91), and Dante admits he has been “humbled” (Purg., XI 119) by the experience.  His own ability is insufficient to reach the summit, and he repeatedly expresses his dependence on his guide.[12]  Along the way, Dante continues to adopt Virgil’s will as his own, remaining with Oderisi only “as long as my / kind pedagogue allowed me to” (Purg., XII 2-3) and then following “willingly / . . . in my teacher’s steps” (Purg., XII 10-11); he regularly consults Virgil before speaking, not feeling “free to do as I had wanted to” (Purg., XII 88) without his master’s permission.  The freedom of souls in Purgatory to rise emphasizes the adoption of another’s will; Statius’ will was free but at the same time prescribed, in that he freely chose what God had wanted him to wish for.  Dante now begins to seek freedom by molding his will to Virgil’s, offering his will just as the “angels, as they sing Hosanna, / offer their wills to [God] as sacrifice” (Purg., XI 10-1).

            This dependence continues until just before Dante’s entrance into Earthly Paradise.  He is paralyzed by fear at the prospect of entering the fire on the Seventh Terrace, and when all of Virgil’s reasoning fails to conquer Dante’s fear, Virgil invokes the magic name of Beatrice, smiling at Dante “as one smiles at a child fruit has beguiled” (Purg., XXVII 45) when he takes the bait.  While in the fire, Virgil comforts him by talking of Beatrice:  “I seem to see her eyes already” (Purg., XXVII 54) — an obvious falsehood, but necessary to comfort the child-Dante who is unable to make the proper decision based on the truth.  Clearly, Dante has not reached a stage of spiritual maturity;[13] yet the next morning, Dante is recognized by Virgil as independent, crowned and mitered over himself.  This new-found freedom does not last for long; Matilda soon becomes Dante’s temporary guide through the Earthly Paradise, and when she chides him for looking too long at the seven lights, it is proof that Dante’s will can still lead him astray and that his pleasure is not a perfect guide.[14]  When Beatrice appears, Dante is again reduced to a childlike state, turning to Virgil “just as / a little child, afraid or in distress, / will hurry to his mother” (Purg., XXX 43-5).  Without Virgil, Dante begins to weep; he feels utterly lost without his guide.[15]

            How is it that Dante gained — and lost — so much freedom so quickly?  The answer lies not in Dante, but rather in Virgil:  as a flawed character, he can only be expected to carry Dante “just as far as where I teach can reach” (Purg., XXI 32-3), and Purgatorio is the realm of those who surpassed Virgil in faith.[16]  While Virgil could occasionally be Dante’s equal, Beatrice never interacts with Dante except from a pedestal of benevolent superiority.  The cycle of dependence turns once again; Dante recognizes his own frailties,[17] relies on a parent-like guide for help,[18] places himself in her hands, and is then reconciled to the true path.  To reach God, Dante needs Beatrice as an intercessor and intermediary;[19] he ascends to heaven, passing “beyond the human” (Par., I 70), only through Beatrice.

            Paradiso is filled with declarations of human weakness and divine glory; the poet is defeated by the subject he addresses as often as the pilgrim is blinded by the beauty he sees.   Having received some of the Divine Light, Beatrice shares in the superiority of heaven over earth.  Her unchallenged position is demonstrated as soon as she becomes Dante’s guide; when given the opportunity to question her, Dante cannot find the proper words, and so Beatrice reads the question directly from his mind — as Virgil’s mind-reading powers had improved as his control of Dante had increased, so Beatrice, with complete power over the pilgrim, also has complete knowledge of his mind.[20]  This deep knowledge is a result of Beatrice’s elevated status and is shared by all the souls of heaven,[21] yet it makes her discourse with Dante fundamentally uneven, giving it a somewhat authoritarian aspect:   “I tell — not ask — what you / now want to hear” (Par., XXIX 10-2).

            The ability of the souls of heaven to read Dante’s thoughts adds to their interactions with the pilgrim an element of the absurd.  In Venus, a number of souls approach and tell Dante they are ready to serve him; however, Dante first turns to Beatrice for her consent and the freedom to ask the question that everyone involved knew he would ask — the souls’ identities.    This need to confirm all of his actions not only indicates a slavish devotion to Beatrice, but improperly seems to lower his respect for all other souls in Heaven; if they had indeed been perfected in their will, there should be no need to doubt the appropriateness of their offers.  While in Saturn, a soul approaches him and unmistakably indicates his wish to speak; though Beatrice had told him to trust the souls as he would “trust gods” (Par., V 123), Dante still pauses to consult “she from whom I wait for word on how / and when to speak and to be silent” (Par., XXI 46-7).  Beatrice, by seeing into Dante’s mind, must have been aware of his doubt; the situation therefore becomes almost comic, as all involved are aware of Dante’s questions, his wish to consult Beatrice, and Beatrice’s eventual reply, yet they still go through the motions of asking and answering.[22]

            Going through the motions, however, may yet have some value.  During his scolding in Purgatory, Dante is asked to confess his transgression and show contrition; certainly Beatrice, who can see into his mind, was aware of both his guilt and his sorrow.[23]  However, the fact that he admitted them with his own mouth, rather than allowing them to be read from his mind, has real value in God’s eyes.[24]  The contradictions inherent in the requirement that one go through the motions, admitting a sin already known to all or asking permission from a source who will certainly grant it, represent the conflicts of a world of free beings whose actions are known in advance.  Dante’s seeking permission can only be meaningful if Beatrice is a free actor who can decide to grant or deny it; however, if her will is to follow that of God, then she will act in predictable (and, one could argue, predetermined) ways.  In the sphere of Mars, Cacciaguida asks Dante to utter a request himself, so that “the love that makes me thirst with sweet desire / be better satisfied” (Par., XV 66-7) even though his “answer is decreed already” (Par., XV 69).  Cacciaguida maintains in his prophecies that fate and foreknowledge are consistent with free action;[25] no matter how strong the expectation, the act itself is valued more than the certain knowledge that it will occur, and the fulfillment of the prophecy brings additional happiness as if it had been an unexpected joy.  Going through the act expresses the desire “well-stamped with [his] internal seal” (Par., XVII 9), sought by his own free will, that “free / love which fulfills eternal Providence” (Par., XXI 74-5).[26]  In a philosophical sense, this need for the action itself, for an unenlightening confession, derives directly from the concept of a universe populated by free beings created so that they might, as Creation “shines back to Him, declare ‘Subsisto,’ / . . . as pleased Him” (Par., XXIX 15-17).  The fact that His Creation did, in fact, exist (and could accurately declare “subsisto”) should be obvious to an omniscient God; were He content with only this knowledge, there would have been no need to create the world, only to conceive of its existence.  Instead, because He wanted to hear “I am” come from His creatures’ own lips and their love for Him freely declared, He gave them free will, His “greatest gift” (Par., V 19) and the one “most suited to His goodness” (Par., V 21).

            The nature and extent of free will therefore become critical to Paradiso, where much of Dante’s theology and philosophy must be explained.  The ineffable beauty of heaven demonstrates the insignificance of human power compared to the divine; it logically follows from such a system that the sin lies only in the substitution of earthly wills for the divine will, the “trespass of the boundary” (Par., XXVI 117).  By serving God, by accepting the “helpful curb” (Par., VII 25) on willpower, one can find the opportunity for true happiness, an opportunity denied to those who turn their wills against Him:  “Only man’s sin annuls man’s liberty” (Par., VII 79).   The curbed, corrected, perfected soul will sacrifice the freedom to do evil and follow God out of free choice; one who chose to disobey “would be no more free / than water that does not flow toward the sea” (Par., X 89-90).

            Of course, the one who must fulfill the role of curbing, correcting, and perfecting the soul is the guide.  Dante assigns only to God the position of the independent entity; He who designed the glorious Eagle “has no one as His guide: / He guides Himself; in Him we recognize / the shaping force that flows from nest to nest” (Par., XVIII 109-111).  All others are to be guided by His Word, by the light reflected off a Beatrice’s eyes (Par., XVIII 16-8).[27]  Although it also achieves a poignant image of interrupted love, Dante the poet severs his character from his beloved Beatrice primarily to return the focus to God; St. Bernard enters with a defined purpose, to carry Dante beyond Beatrice and into the Highest Light.[28]  Dante is guided up until the very moment of his vision of God.  Bernard will pray the prayer, but Dante must mean it, following Bernard’s words with his heart’s deepest affection; the Virgin Mary is next to assume a guidelike role, interceding on Dante’s behalf; finally, Dante reaches the object of his pilgrimage.[29]  In one sense, he is guideless and alone before the Light; in another, however, he has ignored his self in the pursuit of the vision and has become the companion of the Infinite; his will has been united, absorbed like clockwork, like “a wheel revolving uniformly — by / the Love that moves the sun and the other stars” (Par., XXXIII 144-5).

            The narrative structure of Paradiso shows that it is a constructed fiction within a fiction (Pertile 145).  The spheres of the Moon, Mars, and Saturn do not actually contain spirits, but Dante is shown souls in their spheres because “Such signs are suited to your mind” (Par., IV 40).  Beatrice is not merely a companion on a voyage through an already existing landscape, but rather the messenger of a Providence which has designed and constructed the entire tour to provide a frail human mind with a way to understand ineffable truths, just as the Bible “condescends / to human powers” (Par., IV 43).  The fiction-within-a-fiction of Paradiso creates Dante’s ultimate dependence, for not only does he rely on others to comprehend his surroundings, but also for the existence of surroundings to comprehend.  Yet what is true of Paradiso is true of the entire Comedy; it is a landscape designed and constructed by an artist who wished to convey to others the greater truths behind the images and events.[30]  In this way, the story is a meta-guide, guiding through its guides; the powerful drama of Virgil, for instance, at the same time represents the fact of his condemnation and the insufficiency of human powers.  The Bible can present the Exodus from Egypt both as factual truth and as an allegorical representation of redemption through Christ (Singleton 13); Cacciaguida’s speech begins in words “too deep to meet my understanding” (Par., XV 34) and then descends “to meet the limit of our intellect” (Par., XV 45); so, to Dante, can the Word “condescend” to human form to accomplish a greater purpose, uniting its reader’s will with that of God.

            Now Dante has completed the self-abnegation of the will, and now he is free at last.  The Comedy does not tell of his return to earth, of the life that he led after the eternal vision; but the reader can assume that neither Virgil, Beatrice, nor St. Bernard were present on earth to show him the proper way.  Instead, Dante would depend on the guides available, on Christ and his Church; he would use his free will to freely choose to execute the will of God.  In a created world, the Creator is the only entity who is truly free; it is by becoming part of God’s design, by predetermining his actions to be consistent with His will, that the pilgrim Dante Alighieri can find true freedom.

Works Cited

Alighieri, Dante.  The Divine Comedy.  Inferno.  Trans. Allen Mandelbaum.  New York:  Bantam, 1982.

---.  The Divine Comedy.  Paradiso.  Trans. Allen Mandelbaum.  New York:  Bantam, 1986.

---.  The Divine Comedy.  Purgatorio.  Trans. Allen Mandelbaum.  New York:  Bantam, 1984.

Mandelbaum, Allen, Gabriel Marruzzo, and Laury Magnus.  Notes.  The Divine Comedy.  Inferno.  By Dante Alighieri.  New York:  Bantam, 1982.

Pertile, Lino.  “Paradiso:  A Drama of Desire?”  Word and Drama in Dante:  Essays on the Divina Commedia.  Ed. by John C. Barnes and Jennifer Petrie.  Dublin, Ireland:  Irish Academic Press, 1993.  143-180.

Singleton, Charles.  “In Exitu Israel de Aegypto.”  Dante Studies 78.  Boston:  Dante Society, 1960.  1-24.

[1] References to “Dante” should be taken to mean the character of the pilgrim unless otherwise indicated.

[2]The diction employed in Dante’s reply reinforces this spirit of submission:  “O poet — by that God / whom you had never come to know — I beg you . . . to lead me to the place of which you spoke, / that I may see the gateway of Saint Peter / and those whom you describe as sorrowful” (Inf., I 130-5).  The repeated relative pronouns always refer to the object of Virgil’s prepositions; Dante makes no attempt to confirm Virgil’s statements with his own insufficient knowledge and merely takes the poet at his word.

[3] The pilgrim also continues the linguistic burden-shifting of the previous canto, calling Virgil “Poet, you who are my guide” (Inf., II 10) and mentioning that “You say that he who fathered Sylvius” went into Hell (Inf., II 13).

[4] Virgil’s conditional corporeality serves both to demonstrate the exceptional nature of Dante’s quest and Dante’s exceptional need for protection and support.  Virgil is a shade, not a man, one of the  “empty images that seem like persons” (Inf., VI 36), and as such should not be corporeal; yet he is given the ability to hold Dante’s hand in Canto III.  Virgil is not corporeal to Statius, who tries to kiss his feet and forgets “our insubstantiality, / treating the shades as one treats solid things” (Purg., XXI 135-6).  Furthermore, when Dante attempts to clasp Casella in his arms, he finds that the latter is “in all except appearance — empty” (Purg., II 79-81).  However, Virgil repeatedly undertakes actions regarding Dante that would require him to have a physical body; he takes Dante’s hand, places his hands over Dante’s eyes in front of the Furies, holds Dante in his arms and props him up on the back of Geryon, carries Dante into the fourth pouch of Malebolge and away from the demons of the fifth, pushes him up the bank of the pouch of the hypocrites, holds Dante in the palm of Antaeus, and lets him ride on his back while climbing down Satan.  Although Virgil does not truly wear his body, which he will only receive after the Last Judgment, he is given what seems to be a temporary corporeality in order to assist Dante on his journey.

[5] In comparison to the pilgrim’s actions in the other canticles; see discussion below.

[6] E.g., Ciacco, Cavalcanti, Ser Brunetto Latini, Venedico Caccianemico, etc.

[7] Dante grows more independent of Virgil as he grows more pitiless toward the souls around him.  After kicking Bocca in the head, Dante asks Virgil to halt while he torments the soul further, and Dante’s conversations with Count Ugolino and Fra Alberigo are both initiated without Virgil’s involvement. (Bocca must have corporeal attributes for this episode to be possible; perhaps the ability to be kicked in the head constitutes a part of these souls’ punishment.)

[8] E.g., Casella, Belaqua, Manfred, Judge Nino, Oderisi, Marco Lombardo, Forese, etc.

[9] Furthermore, the pilgrim’s proper role is pointed out even in the exceptions; Dante initiates his conversation with Hugh Capet by promising praise in this world, but Capet replies “not because I hope / for solace from your world, but for such grace / as shines in you before your death’s arrived” (Purg., XX 40).

[10] Virgil had shown some mind-reading ability in Inferno.  It is mentioned explicitly during the summoning of Geryon, when Dante notes “how much care men ought to exercise / with those whose penetrating intellect / can see our thoughts — not just our outer act!” (Inf., XVI 118-20); having expected “something strange” (Inf., XVI 115) to follow Virgil’s sign with the cord, his guide tells him that “there will soon emerge what I await and what your thought has conjured” (Inf., XVI 121-2).  However, it would not be particularly difficult to guess that Dante would be confused under those circumstances — it is, after all, Virgil’s “penetrating intellect” which gives him this foresight.  In Purgatory, however, Virgil is aware of thoughts that he could not possibly have obtained by intellect alone, particularly in regard to Dante’s visions; after his dream in Canto XV, Virgil says that a hundred masks “would not conceal / from me the thoughts you thought, however slight” (Purg., XV 128-9), and he knows the content of Dante’s dream of the siren.  The visions, perhaps the only spheres in which Dante perceives himself to be fully independent and alone, are turned into common property and an aspect of the whole — by defeating the Siren, Virgil shows Dante’s dependence even in dreams.

[11] This urgency can be seen in Virgil’s curt response to the souls of Canto V:  when those who died by violence see Dante’s shadow and ask him to “Please tell us something more of what you are” (Purg., V 30), Virgil tells them only that “the body of this man is flesh” and that if “they stopped to see his shadow, / that answer is sufficient” (Purg., V 33-5).  The gambler analogy of the following canto shows the risk of delay that the eager souls pose to Dante’s journey.

[12] At various stages of physical duress, Dante refers to Virgil as his “only comfort” (Purg., III 22), his “more than father” (Purg., XXIII 4), and his “guide who gave me hope and was my light” (Purg., IV 30).  When the souls are scattered by Cato, Dante searches frantically for Virgil, asking “how could I have run ahead without him? / Who could have helped me as I climbed the mountain?” (Purg., III 5-6).  Virgil later confirms this dependence to Statius, saying that Dante’s soul, “could not — alone — have climbed here, for it does not see the way we see” (Purg., XXI 28-30).

[13]  Indeed, before the canto is over, Dante has regressed from child to livestock, sleeping on the stairs watched over by his herdsmen Virgil and Statius.

[14] The seven lights show Virgil’s limits as well; when Dante sees them, he turns back to his former guide, who answers “with eyes that were no less amazed than mine” (Purg., XXIX 55-7).

[15] The poet finds himself dependent on Virgil in this passage as well; “Manibus date lilia plenis” (Purg., XXX 21) and “I recognize the signs of the old flame” (Purg., XXX 48) either quote or paraphrase the Aeneid (Mandelbaum, Notes, Inferno 396-7).

[16] As a result, when Virgil sets Dante free, it is not because the pilgrim has become perfected, but because he has learned all that Virgil can teach him; as he did while studying the carvings on the terrace of the prideful, Dante has “moved / past Virgil” (Purg., X 52-3) to improve himself further.  This surpassing movement is prefigured throughout Purgatorio; in Canto III, Virgil’s reason is unable to discern the correct path until Dante corrects his guide and points out a group of passing souls (Purg., III 61-3).

[17] Beatrice’s scolding of Dante reveals his insufficiency; if he is so ignorant as to weep in Eden, how could he have reached the Earthly Paradise without aid: “How were you able to ascend the mountain? / Did you not know that man is happy here?” (Purg., XXX 74-5).  Dante then accepts this low judgment of himself and is unable even to face his own image:  when he sees himself reflected in the stream, “such shame weighed on my brow, my eyes drew back / and toward the grass” (Purg., XXX 78-9).

[18] As Virgil was his “gentlest father” (Purg., XXX 50), so “just as a mother seems / harsh to her child, so did [Beatrice] seem to me” (Purg., XXX 79-80).  However, no matter how childlike Dante may be in seeking forgiveness, he is still an adult, a fact demonstrated when Beatrice tells him to “lift up / your beard” (Purg., XXXI 68-9).

[19] After confessing his misdeeds, Dante is passive for the rest of Canto XXXI: he falls unconscious and is plunged into Lethe by Matilda, he is guided “unto [Beatrice’s] eyes” (Purg., XXXI 209) by the four maidens and helped to “penetrate her joyous light” (Purg., XXXI 111) by the group of three, and he sees Christ, the “double-natured creature” (Purg., XXXI 122), reflected in Beatrice’s eyes rather than directly; it is through this vision that his will becomes molded to God’s will, by tasting “that food which, even as / it quenches hunger, spurs the appetite” (Purg., XXXI 128-9).  This need for intercessors and intermediaries is extremely appropriate for a religion which maintains an organized Church which mediates between man and God and venerates saints who can intercede on a supplicant’s behalf.

[20] Beatrice sees far more of Dante’s mind than Virgil had; almost every time he feels a new desire or doubt, “she / from whom my need could not be hidden” (Par., II 26-7) becomes instantly aware of it.  In the heaven of the Sun, Beatrice even tells the spirits a question that Dante has not disclosed “with speech / nor in his thoughts as yet” (Par., XIV 10-1):  she can see into the future to know the thoughts he has not yet formulated.

[21] As Aquinas explains, by gazing “at the Eternal Light, / I can perceive your thoughts and see their cause” (Par., XI 20-1); Adam can predict Dante’s four questions by looking into “the Truthful Mirror / that perfectly reflects all else” (Par., XXVI 103-8).

[22] Dante’s need for Beatrice’s approval does not even restrict itself to his dealings with other souls:  while watching the flaming cross in Mars, the pilgrim “turned to my right side to see if I / might see if Beatrice had signified / by word or gesture what I was to do” (Par., XVIII 52-4).  In his ultimate servility, Dante seeks out Beatrice’s approval even when there are no decisions to be made, simply to be sure that her will is being fully obeyed.

[23] In fact, she names the sin well before his reply when she said he “followed counterfeits of goodness, which / never pay in full what they have promised” (Purg., XXX 131-2)

[24] Had Dante failed to disclose his sins, his “guilt would not be less / in evidence:  it’s known by such a Judge” (Purg., XXXI 38-9). 

[25] Cacciaguida is careful to clarify that knowing the foreknowledge “does not imply necessity, / just as a ship that sails downstream is not / determined by the eye that watches it” (Par., XVII 40-2).  This may, however, be an unpersuasive analogy; the knowledge that a ship will float downstream is determined by necessity rather than free will, since freedom implies that the ship could have chosen to float upstream had it so desired.  Yet Dante the poet does not always feel the need to lay extensive foundations for his philosophical positions, as shown in the Eagle’s unenlightening discussion of the virtuous pagans.

[26] When Virgil asks Dante why he has not climbed “the mountain of delight, / the origin and cause of every joy” (Inf., I 77-8), he is not seeking to learn the answer; when he asks  “What’s wrong with you?” (Purg., XV 133) after one of Dante’s visions, he did so “that your feet might find more force” (Purg., XV 136).  Similarly, before his oral examinations in the sphere of the Fixed Stars, Beatrice states that Dante “loves well and hopes well and has faith” (Par., XXIV 40), a fact “not concealed” (Par., XXIV 41) from his examiners; but to proceed anyway, to “speak of faith, that he may glorify it” (Par., XXIV 45), establishes that the response came from Dante’s free soul.

[27] This Beatrice need not be the woman that Dante loved or even a specific person.  Among the Fixed Stars, Dante sees “what seemed . . . to be a smile / the universe had smiled; my rapture had / entered by way of hearing and of sight” (Par., XXVII 4-6).  This episode of a Beatrice-like smile formed out of the stars, the symbols of celestial order, shows that all the universe can serve as a Beatrice, and vice versa; the whole heavenly host is Dante’s guide, if only for these few moments.

[28] Dante’s reaction to Beatrice’s departure shows a stronger pilgrim than the one who wept at Virgil’s disappearance; perhaps this is because the poet has readied us for her departure by her frequent absences within Paradiso.  Beatrice is not mentioned in five of the thirty-four cantos in which she is Dante’s guide (Cantos VI, XII, XIII, XIX, and XX of Paradiso); Bernard and Virgil are mentioned in every canto in which they are guides.  These absences may also have been inserted so as to keep Beatrice from outshining God.

[29] In the contemplation of the vision, the cycle of guiding receives one final turn.  Unable to reconcile the circle of the Son with its human form, Dante realizes that “my own wings were far too weak for that” (Par., XXXIII 139); after realizing that his powers are insufficient, shifting his power and will to God as he did to his guides, Dante is rewarded by divine inspiration, by “light that flashed” and by his mind “receiv[ing] what it had asked” (Par., XXXIII 140-1).  The final tercet of force and fantasy recalls Ulysses trying to storm the shores of Purgatory; the will of heaven is only won because it would be won, and Dante conquers by allowing himself to be conquered and to join in God. 

[30] Dante the poet is not ashamed to play the guide occasionally; he conducts the reader through the Comedy, with frequent apostrophes and asides, declaring, “I have prepared your fare; now feed yourself” (Par., X 25).  This tour was designed with the reading public in mind; Cacciaguida admits as much when he says that Dante was only shown “those souls that unto fame are known” (Par., XVII 138) so that readers would recognize them.  Out of the Socratic conviction that instruction will create improvement, that to know the good is to do the good, comes the urgent need to educate and teach Dante, and through him, the world — “as I grasp / the good,” Beatrice says, “so I approach the good in act” (Par., V 5-6).