Day 12: Examining the beast within

There is some pretty powerful imagery in Canto XXII.  The first lines talked about descending along an alpine bank and seeing "a toppled mass of rock that struck the Adige on its flank, this side of Trent," describing a real life Trent nestled in the Alps.  There are boulders everywhere styming passages.  All paths are redirected to a ravine where the most frightening of beasts, the infamous Minotaur of Crete awaits.  When he sees our travelers he is so inscensed that he begins biting himself, fully inhabiting the animal side of his dualistic self. Dante describes the biting like one whom fury devastates within, and it that terrific stanza fully encapsulates the fury of this circle.  Those confined here exhibits traits far closer to beast than man.  Their anger consumes them, and in this place of destruction and natural fury is the ideal backdrop for such sinners.  The river Flegetonte flows through it, spewing blood.  The minotaur rules here, as do the terrifying herds of Centaurs Dante and Virgil confront.  They manage to slip by teh minotaur because he becomes so inscenced, thinking that the living soul he sees is his vanquisher Theseus, that he cannot function and his fury blinds him.  It is here that Virgil informs Dante about his previous trip down through the circles of Inferno.  The last time he was here, as told in his Aenid, the fallen boulders were intact on the mountain.  In fact Virgil was here right before Christ came down to battle Satan, which is historically accurate (Virgil did live shortly before the historical Jesus of Nazareth).  The battle was so fierce that it changed the topography of the underworld.  Anger manifested in nature.
Virgil points out to Dante the river below, where "those injure others violently, boil."  It really doesn't get much more frightening than that. And yet, it is along these banks that they meet the Centaurs, who gallop around hunting with bows and arrows, consumed in their fury.  They immediately come upon Dante and Virgil, and were it not for Chiron, the most human of the Centaurs and also Achilles' tutor, out two travelers would be pincusions.  Chiron almost shoots them on sight, until he notices that Dante walks not as a soul, but of liveing flesh and blood.  For a brief moment, the beast subsides and reason and humanity bubble to the surface.  Virigl hastily explains that he has diplomatic immunity based on Beatrice's heavenly blessings to the quest.  Chiron offers his own guide through the Centaurs' turf, knowing quite well that the others' human sides are buried much deeper and will most likely shoot first and ask second.  Thus, Nessus, whose blood stained Hercules' cloak causing him to commit suicide, is their protector.  Hard to imagine a more intimidating guide than the one who bested humanity's most famous hero.
While walking through this hell, they meet observe a pretty impressive collection of characters.  Alexander the Great is here, as is Dionysius. Sesto, son of Pompey is mentioned as are several other ruthless tyrants and rulers, including Atila the Hun. 
The cacophany of rage, so exemplified by the raging river of blood, is deafening on these pages.  It almost hurts my ears to read this canto.  It is a sign of impressive poetic skill that Dante perfectly manifests the inner rage that blinds all other senses. I leave you with Dore's minotaur.
 
  

Day 11: Dante adjusts to the smell

I read a fair amount of television criticism.  Let me clarify.  I read a lot about the show Breaking Bad, what I consider to be one of the most breathtaking visual experiences I've ever encountered.  But this isn't going to be a long-winded essay comparing Walter White's descent into moral depravity to Dante's decent into the underworld.  That would be a false premise, in that Dante goes through a transformative journey from sin to virtue, whereas Walter just goes deeper and deeper into decay.  But this is more about a particular phenomena in long form storytelling that has been affectionately called table setting.  In serialized television and it's precursor the serialized novel, there are certain chapters in the story that no forward momentum, or minimal action to move the plot along, occurs.  This is slightly misleading, as the best shows or novels, disguise these very essential pieces of information within these chapters.  In essence, sometimes the most critical ideas or themes are introduced in what used to be called filler episodes. 
Canto 11 is a prototypical example of a chapter when there is no forward movement, and yet the entire Divine Comedy rests upon some of the concepts explained within.  Dante and Virgil have rested, and Dante wants to know what gives.  Virgil explains that here in the land of heretics the stench is overwhelming to the visitor.  One must adjust their olifactory organs in order to proceed.  He seems to be saying, if you are so focused on how bad it smells, you're going to miss a whole lot about what you are about to witness. It's at this moment that Dante introduces, rather sheepishly, a metatextual explanation.  Virgil is going to use this moment of rest to expound upon the architecture of the lowest circles of hell to Dante, and thus to the reader.  The remaining two circles are Violence and Fraud.  Each contain within them three smaller circles.  With violence, one can sin against their neighbor, themselves, and God, with violence against God being the gravest sin.  What is most interesting at least to me as a modern reader, is that Usuary is how Virgil describe violence against God.  It is, to a medieval mind lie Dante's, so grave because it runs contrary to nature.  He relates it to sodomy.  It's difficult to see the correlation between chargin interest for loans, and sodomy (which in modern terms doesn't seem quite the grave sin it was, but is still considered by many folks to be pretty bad)  So those who charge interest are committing violence against God, even if it is in metaphorical terms. 
Virgil also speaks at length about the sins of fraud, which are graver sins than those of violence.  Once again, this is a confusing thing to the modern mind, which seems to put acts of violence above all others when weighing the gravity of sins.  But to lie or steal or manipulate with deception can cause far more damage to humanity than one individual act of violence, at least according to Virgil, and thus to Dante the poet.  A lie can infect a whole generation, can alter history in ways that violence does not.  Whether you agree with this is beside the point.  The fact is, this is Dante's poem, and he is the god-head of this world.  I must say, it's a provocative position, one that I have spent a lot of time ruminating upon.  I dare say i've thought more on this canto than a majority of the action packed cantos.  It's when "nothing happens" that we are allowed to ask the bigger questions, not distracted by the vivid imagery or unforgettable characters.  It's kind of like Breaking Bad, where an episode puts the two main character in one room for an hour and produces a compelling chapter of ideas not action.  Nothing happens and yet everything changes from the perspective of the consumer.  Dante enriched and enlivened his epic by stopping and talking.  Remarkable.

Day 10: A Room with a View

Dante is nothing if not a fan of irnoic punishment.  In this Canto, he and Virgil are confronted with quite a striking scene.  They are amidst a vast graveyard of open sepulchers and graves filled with fire.  Dante, like the rest of us, wonders what to make of this scene.  It sounds like the perfect setting for a zombie movie, and that comparison might not be too far off.  Virgil explains that this is the territory of Epicureas and his devotees.  Now for those of you unfamiliar with this philosopher, he is carpe diem personified.  Epicureas believed that life truly ends at death, so enjoy it while you can!  Hedonism is an offshoot of Epicureanism.  He was Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens millenia before there skepticism ignited modernity.  So Dante the poet thought the most deserving of punishments for these unfortunate souls was an eternity in open graves, fully aware of their grave (sorry for the pun; just couldn't help myself) but confined to their small plots of land.  It's some of the closest imagery to what we conceive of us ghosts today.  Lost souls, trapped in a blind prison, for their crime of heresy.
There is a wonderful exchange in this canto that illuminates more of Dante the man's personal philosphy.  Dante is confronted by a soul named Farinata.  Farinata is wonderfully described as rising out of his grave from the waist up, full of great contempt for hell.  This is one bitter man, having realized that he bet on the wrong horse.  The first words he speaks (or rather spits) to Dante are "Who are your ancestors." You see, Farinata was a Gheibelline, while Dante was a Guelph, in the war for political power of Florence.  He, like Dante, was outcast from Florence.  There is a bit of a verbal sparring between Dante and Farinata, with Dante seemingly grabbing the upper hand by proclaiming that while both he and Farinata's families were exiled, Farinata's clan never returned, while Dante's kept coming back. 
In another fascinating detail, Farinata explains to Dante that the heretics, and more broadly all souls in Inferno, have the ability to see events in the future, but as these events come closer to the present they become fuzzier.  Long term view is that this ability shows these souls that they are never getting out.  All they have is their suffering.  The future is bleak for them.  No end in sight.  And sight is a big theme here.  Their lack of vision beyond the mundane has been realized in their eternal tombs.  Each has his view only of their fiery grave.  Even temporal perspective is skewed so that all they know is suffering.  It's no wonder that Farinata is embittered.  

Day 9: The unseen

Today I would like to focus on a specific line from Canto 9.  Dante and Virgil have confronted the three Furies Megera, Aletto and Tesifone, who writhe in agony, eternally living in desparation that Theseus' assault upon them will be met with teh vengeance of Medussa the Gorgon.  She is there as well, still capable of turning men to stone (or in Dantean terms capturing the Dante the poet and keeping in Inferno for eternity).  Virgil physically grabs Dante to turn him away from Medussa, unconvinced that simply covering his eyes will protect Dante. It's then that Dante the poet unleashes the great line
"O you posessed of sturdy intellects, observe the teaching that is hidden here beneath the veil of verses so obscure"
This phrase has a whole lot of hidden meanings.  And it's conspicuous place in Inferno is not to be overlooked.  Dante the poet is nothing if not meticulous, and it's not coincidence that this particular stanza appears immediately after the mention of the Gorgon.  The veiled Medussa, whose look turns a human to stone.  There's a pretty obvious slew of metaphors.  To remove the veil is to unlock knowledge, which is a powerful tool and a dangerous one to anyone unprepared to understand that knowledge.  Dante has been privy to all manner of hidden knowledge on his journey.  The things he has seen are not for the living, and have ramifications.  Dante narrowly escapes peril after peril, being saved by his guides.  To be seduced by an idea is as dangerous is an action, and often it is anger that festers in the soul causing sinful actions.  This is a topic to be explored at greater length in the Purgatorio, which is meant to rid the psyche of the thought of sin.  But here is Dante at the edge of the river styx, being seduced to let the anger take over.  It's like when the Emperor in Star Wars senses Luke's anger and tries to enhance it, make it fester within him so he rots from within and is taken over by malicious thoughts and permanently turned to the dark side.  The emporer knows that anger is a seed, sometimes taking years to grow into hate which will inevitably drive out the joy and goodness inherent int he human soul.  It is a gnawing sensation, one that is echoed by the fallen angels Dante meets later in the canto.
Knowledge can be a dangerous thing.  The lifted veil can be illuminating, but it can be damning for the unprepared.  Milton explored this at length in his masterpiece Paradise Lost.  Lucifer gains knowledge he cannot understand which leads to rebellion and the creation of hell.  Adam and Eve eat from the tree of knowledge, unprepared for the epiphanies present in free will.  Knowledge can weigh on a soul, like the souls buried to their heads, unable to manage the weight of a knowledge obscured.  It morphs into an anger unchecked.  A knowledge unearned.  It's enough to turn one to stone.

Day 8: Things are getting angry

Well, this canto is full of some scary imagery.  We have a maniacal Phlegyas storming towards Dante and Virgil, assuming they are souls trying to escape this wrathful circle.  Phlegyas is the angry boatman on the river Styx (no relation to the prog-rock 70's band of Sail Away infamy).  With his entrance we have a lot of fire.  Phlegyas is in inferno because he set fire to one of Apollo's temples, and Apollo took offense to this act of pyromancy.  Never mind that Apollo raped one of Phlegyas' daughters.  However justified the act was, it was done in a frenzy of wrath.  Dante and Virgil get a terrifying glimpse of a tower with two flames flickering a signal to another flame far off.  Commentators have speculated that the two flames are lit as a signal announcing out unwanted guests, ala the flame network from the Lord of the Rings.  But since no other mention was given as to the nature of the flames, that is pure speculation.  Fire is an important symbol here.  The fire that burns within.  The wrath that can erupt in each of us. Dante seems to claim that we all have the capacity to lay a torch to our lives, or souls, just as Phlegyas did.  It's that fire that caused Filippo Argenti, a real life Florentine, to slap Dante in the face.  Ad it is also that fire that causes Dante to once again betray his own human sensibilities and place yet another historically inconsequential individual in his epic.  The short fuses that lead to fires show Phlegyas' instant overeaction when he believes Dante and Virgil are going defecting for nicer circles.  It is Dante's own distrust of Muslim religion that he places mosques among the burning muddy residue of the river Styx (a river, in Greek mythology, of fire).  We are getting all the signals that this Inferno is quite a different beast that we have previously encountered.  These are the major sins.  The flames are a deep red.  The fallen angels by the thousands gather, incensed by the sight of a mortal free to traverse the land they have been imprisoned in for millenia. 
And then Dante does something that for most of the history of literature has been considered a gimmick; poor writing.  He steps away fromt eh narrative to address the reader directly.  He actually does this several times throughout the Divine Comedy, and every time it is slightly jarring.  The angels are threatening Virgil, demanding Dante to stay here while he proceeds.  Dante is so nervous and fearful that he jumps out of the poem.  The situation seems so dire that Dante needs to stress his own lack of faith that this journey is by no means just a tourist jaunt.  The wrathful fire of these lost souls so overwhelms Dante that he needs to again be assured by Virgil that no one can stop them.  But the wrathful, their sin so viscerally embodied in the pervasive fire, go so far as to slam the gates to the city of Dite, denying their passageway.  This is a moment made for the modern adventure.  How will our venturers escape?  Who is the mysterious soul that Virgil insists will open the gates for them.  One thing is certain, we a reno longer in Kansas.