43-45. Within the heart of the father, this “perfect blood” undergoes a change into sperm. It then flows down to the male organs (“better left unmentioned”) and, in the act of conception, drips over the blood of the female in the womb (“another blood in its natural vase”).
46-48. These two bloods commingle. One of them (the female blood) is passive, i.e., it is menstrual, tending to flow away rather than to take form. The other (the male blood), because of the perfect place from which it flows (the heart), is active, i.e., it seeks to generate form.
49-51. The active blood then causes the passive blood to clot. It thus forms it into solid and workable matter, which it then quickens into life. Conception has taken place.
II. The Birth of the Human Soul:
52-54. With conception the soul is born, not as a coinheritance from the mother and father, but from the active force (the formative power) of the father-blood alone, the maternal blood providing only the matter for the formative power to work on. (Dante’s views here are pure Aquinian doctrine.)
This newly formed soul is like that of a plant (vegetative only), but with the difference that the plant soul is fully formed at this stage, whereas the human soul is only beginning.
55-57. From this plantlike state (possessing only “vegetative faculties”) the soul grows capable of elementary motion and sensation (the “sensitive faculties”). It has achieved the state of some “sea-thing.” Dante says not “sea-thing” but “sea-fungus.” He probably meant some coelenterate, such as the hydra, sea anemone, or jellyfish. In Dante’s time such life-forms were believed to be single living masses without differentiated organs of any sort.
58-60. From this “sea-thing” stage, the formative power of the soul (from the father) moves within the maternal material shaping each organ and member into its form and place in human anatomy, according to nature’s plan.
61-63. One must still ask how this animal foetus acquires the power of human reason (in Scholastic phrasing, “the possible intellect”). And here, before propounding the true doctrine as he sees it, Statius pauses to refute the teaching of Averroës (“a wiser head than yours”), who erred on this point.
64-66. To grasp the importance to Dante’s doctrine of the error of Averroës, one must understand that in Scholastic teaching the soul possesses (1) the vegetative faculty , which is to say it lives, (2) the sensitive or perceiving faculty, which is to say it feels and receives impressions, and (3) the reflective faculty, called the possible intellect, which is to say it has the power of reasoning from the known to the unknown, and of extracting forms and concepts from nature.
The vegetative and sensitive faculties receive particular impressions only. The organ of those faculties, common to both man and beast, is the brain. Where then was the organ of the higher intellectual faculty, the possible intellect?
Since he could find no such organ, Averroës postulated a generalized universal rationality from which all men could draw rational faculties during their lives, but which was lost to them at death. It must follow, therefore, that no individual and rational soul could be summoned to eternal judgment, since the soul would have lost its possible intellect (rationality) at death. Church scholars would necessarily be required to reject such a doctrine since it denied the very basis of free will and of just reward and punishment.
67-75. Having refuted error, Statius then explains the truth: the instant the brain is fully formed in the human foetus, God turns to it in his joy at the art of nature in forming so perfect a thing, and breathes into it a powerful spirit peculiar to man. This God-infused spirit draws all the life forces (vegetative, sensitive, and rational) into a single soul. Note especially, in reply to Averroës, that the soul so formed is individualized, self-measuring, and, therefore, self-responsible.
76-78. Statius then compares the change wrought by the new spirit with the way the heat of the Sun is transformed into the quickened wine when joined to the relatively inert sap of the vine.
III. The Nature of Aerial Bodies:
79-81. Then when Lachesis (the Fate who draws out the flaxen thread of life—see XXI, 24-27, note) measures the end of the mortal life, the soul goes free of the flesh but takes with it, by virtue of that essence God breathed into it, all of its faculties both human (vegetative and sensitive) and divine (rational).
82-84. These lower (vegetative and sensitive) faculties grow passive and mute after death, since they have left behind the organs whereby they functioned. The higher faculties, however, since they are God-inspired and now free of their mortal involvement in materiality, become more active and acute.
85-87. At the instant of death the soul miraculously falls, by an act of its own will, either to the shore of Hell for damnation, or to the mouth of the Tiber to await transport to Purgatory.
88-90. As soon as the soul feels itself inclosed in the new atmosphere of the after-life, the formative power from the heart of the father (line 40) sends out its rays, as it first did through the matter of the maternal blood to shape the living organs of the body.
91-93. The process is compared to the way the Sun’s rays (a force from without) work upon moist air to form a rainbow (within the air). Note that the power of the Sun’s rays is, allegorically, from God the Father, just as the formative power of the soul is from the mortal father, and that both work upon passive matter to give it form.
94-96. Wherever (i.e., on whichever shore, as in line 86) the soul lights, the inclosing air takes on the image of that soul by virtue of the soul’s indwelling formative power.
97-99. Then, ever after, and just as flame follows fire, the new form follows the soul, wherever it may move.
100-102. This new form is called a shade because it is made of insubstantial air, and because out of air it forms all the organs of sense.
103-105. Not only is the shade able to receive sensory impressions, but to produce sounds and appearances that can be registered by mortal senses. (As well as by other shades, as the narrative has made clear at many points.)
106-108. The appearance of the shade, moreover, conforms in detail to the inner feelings of the soul. Thus, if God fills the souls of the gluttonous with a craving for food which is then denied them, their shades appear to wither and starve, their outward appearance conforming to their inner state. It is this phenomenon that amazed Dante on the ledge below. (Note, too, the difference made clear here between men and shades. Men may appear virtuous by hiding their inner evil desires, and thus practice fraud. But shades cannot hide their inner workings: as they are within themselves, so must they appear. This doctrine applied retrospectively, especially to the souls in Hell, will immediately suggest another dimension to be considered when reading Dante’s descriptions of the souls he meets.)
119. we all must keep a tight rein on our eyes: On the narrative level, Virgil means simply, we must watch our dangerous path with great care. On the allegorical level, however, he can certainly be read to mean that lust (the excess of love) is the most readily inviting sin, but that it is as dangerous as a fall off the cliff, and that all men must guard their souls against it and refuse, like the souls of the Carnal now in Hell, to “abandon reason to their appetites.” It was a convention of the “sweet new style,” moreover, that love always enters through the eyes.
121. “Summae Deus clementiae”: God of clemency supreme. These words are the beginning of the old hymn (now revised) which was sung at Matins on Saturday. The hymn is a prayer for chastity, begging God, of his supreme clemency, to burn lust from the soul and to leave the suppliant chaste.
128 ff. THE WHIP OF LUST. The Whip of Lust consists of examples of chastity which are called forth in praises by the sinners themselves, one example being cried forth at each completion of the Hymn they sing endlessly. The first example (Holy chastity) is, as always, from the life of Mary. The second (Natural chastity) cites Diana. In subsequent intervals between the hymn-singing, the sinners cry out the praise of various husbands and wives (not specified by Dante) who were cha
ste as required by natural virtue and the sacramental vows of matrimony. They might be called examples of Catholic chastity.
128. “Virum non cognosco”: “I know not a man.” These words were spoken by Mary at the Annunciation. Gabriel had said, “Behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son.” Mary replied, “How shall this be, seeing I know not a man?” (Luke, i, 26-38.)
130 ff. “Diana kept to the wood . . .”: In order to preserve her virginity, Diana lived in the woods and became a huntress. One of her attendant nymphs, Helicé, felt the urging of lust (the poison of Venus, as opposed to love itself, which would also be from Venus, but not as poison) and gave herself to Jove. After she had been driven away by Diana, Helicé was changed into a bear by Juno. Jove, who seemed systematically incapable of keeping his wife under control where his philandering was concerned, made his new she-bear a questionable sort of recompense by placing her in the sky as Ursa Major, the Big Dipper. (Ovid, Metamorphoses, II, 401-530.)
Canto XXVI
THE SEVENTH CORNICE
The Lustful
The Rein of Lust
Dante’s shadow falls on the wall of flame and it is noticed by the souls of the Lustful who approach (without leaving the flames) to question him. Dante’s answer, however, is interrupted by the approach of a second band of souls from the opposite direction. These are THE SODOMITES. The two bands of souls exchange brief embraces and then cry out THE REIN OF LUST as they move on, drawing rapidly apart.
The first group again approaches Dante and the soul of GUIDO GUINIZELLI speaks to him. Dante pays high homage to Guinizelli and discusses with him the growth of the Sweet New Style.
With a final request for a prayer for his soul, Guido withdraws and Dante then addresses ARNAUT DANIEL, who answers in the langue d’oc, and also begs that Dante say a prayer for him. His petition made, Daniel disappears into the purifying flame.
So, one before the other, we moved there
along the edge, and my Sweet Guide kept saying:
“Walk only where you see me walk. Take care.”
The Sun, already changing from blue to white
the face of the western sky, struck at my shoulder,
its rays now almost level on my right;
and my shadow made the flames a darker red.
Even so slight an evidence, I noticed,
made many shades that walked there turn their head.
And when they saw my shadow, these began
to speak of me, saying to one another:
“He seems to be no shade, but a living man!”
And some of them drew near me then—as near
as they could come, for they were ever careful
to stay within the fire that burned them there.
“O you who trail the others—with no desire
to lag, I think, but out of deference—
speak to me who am burned by thirst and fire.
Not I alone need what your lips can tell:
all these thirst for it more than Ethiopes
or Indians for a drink from a cold well:
how is it that you cast a shadow yet,
making yourself a barrier to the Sun,
as if death had not caught you in its net?”
—So one addressed me. And I should have been
explaining myself already, but for a new
surprising sight that caught my eye just then;
for down the center of that fiery way
came new souls from the opposite direction,
and I forgot what I had meant to say.
I saw them hurrying from either side,
and each shade kissed another, without pausing,
each by the briefest greeting satisfied.
(Ants, in their dark ranks, meet exactly so,
rubbing each other’s noses, to ask perhaps
what luck they’ve had, or which way they should go.)
As soon as they break off their friendly greeting,
before they take the first step to pass on,
each shade outshouts the other at that meeting.
“Sodom and Gomorrah,” the new souls cry.
And the others: “Pasiphaë enters the cow
to call the young bull to her lechery.”
As if cranes split into two flocks, and one
flew to the Rhipheans, one to the sands,
these to escape the ice, and those the Sun—
so, then, those shades went their opposing ways;
and all returned in tears to their first song,
and each to crying an appropriate praise.
Then those who came my way drew close once more—
the same shades that had first entreated me.
They seemed as eager to hear me as before.
I, having had their wish presented twice,
replied without delay: “O souls assured—
whenever it may be—of Paradise,
I did not leave my limbs beyond the flood,
not green nor ripe, but bear them with me here
in their own jointure and in their own blood.
I go to be no longer blind. Above
there is a lady wins us grace, and I,
still mortal, cross your world led by her love.
But now I pray—so may it soon befall
you have your greater wish to be called home
into that heaven of love that circles all—
tell me, that I may write down what you say
for all to read, who are you? and those others
who move away behind you—who are they?”
Just as our mountaineers, their first time down,
half-wild and shaggy, gape about the streets
and stare in dumb amazement at the town—
just such a look I saw upon those shades;
but when they had recovered from their stupor
(which from a lofty heart the sooner fades),
the first shade spoke again: “Blessèd are you
who for a better life, store in your soul
experience of these realms you travel through!
Those souls you saw going the other way
grew stained in that for which triumphant Caesar
heard his own legions call him “Queen” one day.
Therefore their band, at parting from us, cries
‘Sodom!’—as you have heard—that by their shame
they aid the fire that makes them fit to rise.
We were hermaphroditic in our offenses,
but since we did not honor human laws,
yielding like animals to our lusting senses,
we, when we leave the other band, repent
by crying to our shame the name of her
who crouched in the mock-beast with beast’s intent.
And now you know our actions and our crime.
But if you wish our names, we are so many
I do not know them all, nor is there time.
Your wish to know mine shall be satisfied:
I am Guido Guinizelli, here so soon
because I repented fully before I died.”
In King Lycurgus’ darkest hour, two sons
discovered their lost mother: I was moved
as they had been (but could not match their actions)
when I heard his name, for he had fathered me
and all the rest, my betters, who have sung
sweet lilting rhymes of love and courtesy.
Enraptured, I can neither speak nor hear
but only stare at him as we move on,
although the flames prevent my drawing near.
When at last my eyes had fed, I spoke anew;
and in such terms as win belief, I offered
to serve him in whatever I could do.
And he to me then: “What you say has made
such a profound impression on my mind
as Lethe cannot wash away, nor fade.
But if the words you swore just now are
true,
let me know why you show by word and look
such love as I believe I see in you?”
And I to him: “Your songs so sweet and clear
which, for as long as modern usage lives,
shall make the very ink that writes them dear.”
“Brother,” he said, “that one who moves along
ahead there,” (and he pointed) “was in life
a greater craftsman of the mother tongue.
He, in his love songs and his tales in prose,
was without peer—and if fools claim Limoges
produced a better, there are always those
who measure worth by popular acclaim,
ignoring principles of art and reason
to base their judgments on the author’s name.
So, once, our fathers sent Guittone’s praise,
and his alone, bounding from cry to cry,
though truth prevails with most men nowadays.
And now, if you enjoy such privilege
that you are free to go up to that cloister
within which Christ is abbot of the college,