As has always been the case (Par. I.64-66 [Moon]; V.88-96 [Mercury]; VIII.14-15 [Venus]; X.37-39 [Sun]; XIV.79-84 [Mars]; XVIII.52-57 [Jupiter]; and in these verses), as he ascends to a new heaven, Dante fixes his eyes on Beatrice's face so that nothing else can attract his attention. And it will be much the same in the three ascents still before him (Par. XXII.97-105 [Starry Sphere]; XXVII.88-96 [Crystalline Sphere]; XXX.14-27 [Empyrean]). In most of these moments, Beatrice is either explicitly or indirectly portrayed as smiling (except in the first, fourth, seventh, and eighth of these passages). This time, however, there is something quite different about the heavenly guide's disposition, as we discover in the following tercet: For the first time in this situation, an ascent to the next celestial heaven, Beatrice is rather pointedly not smiling. The little mystery that this fact engenders is left for Peter Damian to resolve (see vv. 61-63).

The reference to Ovid's Semele (Metam. III.256-315) may at first seem out of place in this context (as it did not when it occurred in Inf. XXX.1-2, where the vengeance of God upon the counterfeiters is compared to the vengeance taken by Juno upon Semele). “Semele, daughter of Cadmus, king of Thebes; she was beloved by Jupiter, by whom she became the mother of Bacchus. Juno, in order to avenge herself upon Jupiter, appeared to Semele in the disguise of her aged nurse Beroe, and induced her to ask Jupiter to show himself to her in the same splendour and majesty in which he appeared to Juno. Jupiter, after warning Semele of the danger, complied with her request, and appeared before her as the god of thunder, whereupon she was struck by lightning and consumed to ashes” (Toynbee, Concise Dante Dictionary, “Semele”). Here, Beatrice, as Jove, withholds her sovereign and celestial beauty from her mortal “lover” until such time as he will be able to bear her divine beauty. Thus Ovid's “tragic” tale, embellished with a Christian and “comic” conclusion, is rewritten; unlike Semele, Dante will become capable of beholding the immortals face-to-face. See Kevin Brownlee (“Ovid's Semele and Dante's Metamorphosis: Paradiso 21-22,” in Rachel Jacoff and Jeffrey T. Schnapp, eds., The Poetry of Allusion: Virgil and Ovid in Dante's “Commedia” [Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1991], pp. 224-32, 293-94) for a discussion in this vein, also demonstrating that this myth functions as the “spine” of the narrative of Dante's spiritual growth in this heaven. And see Manuele Gragnolati (Experiencing the Afterlife [Notre Dame: Notre Dame University Press, 2005], p. 175) for the view that Semele's mortality is a sign of the protagonist's similar condition, that is, further evidence that he is present in the flesh.

Scartazzini (comm. to verse 6) was apparently the first (but hardly the last) commentator also to refer to Statius (Theb. III.184-185), for the burning of Semele into ashes. Margherita Frankel reports Colin Hardie's comment on this verse (from a letter) to the effect that Beatrice is the anti-Juno protecting Dante, the new Aeneas, while Juno, who destroyed Semele, was the sworn enemy of Aeneas.

The phrase l'etterno palazzo (eternal palace) recalls, according to Aversano (Dante daccapo [glosses to the Paradiso], copia d'eccezione, sent by the author on 11 September 2001), p. 94, the domus Dei (house of God) mentioned by Jacob (Gen. 28:17) in a passage not distant from the one describing his dream of the ladder, so prominently visited in this canto. See the note to vv. 28-30.

The verb temperasse strikes Aversano (Dante daccapo [glosses to the Paradiso], copia d'eccezione, sent by the author on 11 September 2001), p. 94, as establishing the thematic core of this heaven, temperance.

Beatrice announces that they have arrived in the seventh heaven, that of Saturn, characterized, as we shall find, by monastic silence. As the tenth canto of this cantica marked a transition to a higher realm (from the sub-solar heavens of Moon, Mercury, and Venus), so does this canto lift the pilgrim into a still higher realm, beyond that dedicated to the praise of those associated with knowledge, just warfare, and just rulership, for Dante the highest forms of human activity in this world. Contemplation, as a form of direct contact with divinity, is thus marked off as a still higher form of human activity, one that itself borders on the divine. The major exemplary figures in this realm, Peter Damian and Benedict, are presented as, even during their lives on earth, having been nearly angelic in their comprehension, if, however, maintaining contact with the ordinary in their daily rituals of monastic labor (a monastery was, among other things, a sort of single-sex farming community). The eighth sphere will present us with still holier humans, writers of the Christian Bible (Saints Peter, James, and John), while in the ninth we find the reflection of the angelic intelligences. Thus we are here entering the final triad in the poet's tripartite division of the created universe.

Bosco/Reggio (comm. to vv. 14-15) explain that Saturn, in conjunction with the constellation Leo in March-April 1300, now irradiates its influence, mixed with that of the constellation, down to the earth. They go on to say that the image “beneath the burning Lion's breast” reflects Ptolemy's description of Regulus, the star of first magnitude in the constellation Leo, as cor leonis (the heart of the lion). They conclude by pointing out that, both here and in Par. XVI.39, the poet would seem to ascribe a certain heat-producing capacity to the constellation itself, if he might better have confined that capacity to the Sun. Was Saturn in Leo in March-April 1300? Some have argued that this condition pertained only in 1301 and that the actual date of the voyage is that year, not 1300. But see the note to Purgatorio I.19-21.

For a thumbnail history of contemplation, from Plato to Peter Damian, with which Dante associates this heaven, see Georges Güntert (“Canto XXI,” in Lectura Dantis Turicensis: Paradiso, ed. Georges Güntert and Michelangelo Picone [Florence: Cesati, 2002], pp. 325-27).

See Carroll (comm. ad loc.) for the following deep analysis of this innocent-seeming tercet: “'Fix behind thine eyes thy mind, and make of those mirrors to the figure in this mirror (i.e. Saturn) which shall be to thee apparent.' In plain words, Dante is conscious that even yet he sees nothing 'face to face,' but only – to quote the passage from the Vulgate which was in his mind – per speculum in aenigmate ['through a glass darkly' – I Cor. 13.12]. What he has power to see is the reflection of a reflection from one mirror to another. Nay, even this is an under-statement. We must remember that this sphere of Saturn is presided over by the Thrones, the third Order of Angels, and that Dante expressly calls them 'mirrors,' reflecting the Divine judgments to all spheres from this downward [Par. IX.61-63]. Hence we have a succession of mirrors: the mirror of the Thrones sends an image of the Divine truth into the mirror of Saturn; the mirror of Saturn reflects it to the mirror of the poet's eyes; and finally, the mirror of the eyes reflects it to the mind behind the eyes.”

As Tozer (comm. to these verses) paraphrases: “The man who could conceive the greatness of my joy in feasting my eyes on Beatrice's face, would also be able to understand that I felt still greater delight in obeying her injunctions, when I looked away from her to the object which she indicated.”

It is not unusual for Dante to present his intellectual quest in terms of metaphors of ingestion. See the note to Paradiso X.22-27.

The line “balancing the one side of the scale against the other” reflects the strength of the protagonist's desire to look at Beatrice as measured against his even greater desire to obey her.

If Saturn is never named in his own heaven, he is clearly identified in this tercet. The planet and its homonymous pagan deity are both referred to here, Saturn proclaimed a beloved monarch under whom justice, in the form of the Golden Age, thrived. For a previous (and similarly circumlocutory) reference to Saturn, see Inferno XIV.95-96; and, for Dante's overall assessment of this best of the pagan gods, who presided over a golden age, see Amilcare Iannucci (“Saturn in Dante,” in Saturn: from Antiquity to the Renaissance, ed. M. Ciavolella and A. A. Iannucci [University of Toronto: Dovehouse, 1992], pp. 51-67).

The planet is mentioned by name only once in the poem (Purg. XIX.3). It is a larger presence in Convivio, where it is mentioned several times, including in the following description: “The heaven of Saturn has two properties by which it may be compared to Astrology: one is the slowness of its movement through the 12 signs, for according to the writings of the astrologers, a time of more than 29 years is required for its revolution; the other is that it is high above all the other planets” (Conv. II.xiii.28 - tr. R. Lansing). This makes it symbolically the most lofty philosophical pursuit of all, since astrology is the highest and most difficult science for its students to master. Theology alone is more lofty - and more difficult.

This ladder, as has been recognized at least since the fourteenth century (see the Codice Cassinese, comm. to Par. XXII.67), derives from the Bible, the ladder to Heaven seen by Jacob in his dream (Genesis 28:12), as Dante's reference in the next canto will underline (Par. XXII.70-72). Further, and as Bosco/Reggio (comm. to vv. 29-30) point out, both these saints, Peter Damian and Benedict, the latter in the Rule that he set down for his Order (see Giorgio Varanini [“Canto XXII,” in Lectura Dantis Scaligera: “Paradiso”, dir. M. Marcazzan {Florence: Le Monnier, 1968}, p. 798]) had written of Jacob's Ladder as emblematizing the purpose of (monastic) life. However, we probably ought also to consider Boethius, who presents the Lady Philosophy as having the image of a ladder on her gown (Cons. Phil. I.1[pr]), connecting the Greek letters pi (at the bottom, for practical knowledge) and theta (at the top, for theoretical or, we might say, contemplative knowledge [Dante knew enough Greek to realize that theta is also the first letter of the word for God, theos]). Singleton (comm. to vv. 29-30) credits Grandgent for the reference to Boethius. See the note to Paradiso XXII.1.

That the ladder is golden reminds us that Saturn reigned in the golden age.

See Marco Pecoraro (“Canto XXI,” in Lectura Dantis Scaligera: “Paradiso”, dir. M. Marcazzan [Florence: Le Monnier, 1968], pp. 745-49), for a discussion of this scaleo, which eventually settles on the traditional interpretation; the ladder, built of rungs of humility, leads to the contemplation of God. Pecoraro takes an interesting detour through the writings of Paolo Amaducci, a neglected figure in Dante studies, who effectively was the first modern critic (Filippo Villani was arguably the first ancient one) to apply the fourfold method of Scriptural exegesis to interpreting Dante (for Amaducci, without reference to Pecoraro's earlier notice, see Hollander [“Dante Theologus-Poeta,” Dante Studies 94 {1976}: 128-29, n. 49 and Dante: A Life in Works {New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001}, p. 187, n. 45]). (Pecoraro discusses only one of Amaducci's five studies of Dante's supposed reliance on Peter Damian [Nel cielo de' contemplanti: S. Pier Damiano Ravennate; saggio di una interpretazione nuova della Divina commedia {Rome: Alfieri e Lacroix, [1921]}].) Pecoraro eventually rejects Amaducci's main thesis with regard to Peter Damian's treatise on the forty-two mansiones of the Israelites in the desert (places in which they settled, as recorded in Numbers 33). Hollander, too, is skeptical about the main theory (involving, among other things, a forty-two-part Commedia), but does insist that, if Amaducci were not exactly right (Peter Damian as the specific source for Dante's typological view of history and his shaping of the Commedia), his work surely merited more attention than it received. (Amaducci, a historian of Ravenna, had a mid-career “conversion” to Dante and spent the rest of his life doing work [four monographs and one lectura Dantis of Par. XXI] of which at least like-minded fellow-travelers ought to have been aware.) When his first book (La fonte della Divina commedia scoperta e descritta da Paolo Amaducci [Rovigo: Tipografia Sociale, 1911]) failed to convince many people, he invested a quarter century (his last publication in this vein was La diretta dipendenza della Divina Commedia dal “De quadresima et quadraginta duabus hebraeorum mansionibus” di san Pier Damiano ravennate, 4 fascicles [San Marino: Arti Grafiche della Balda, 1934-36]) in trying, unsuccessfully, to persuade Dantists that he was on to something. Most of the few reviews he received were brutal (one dismissed him in a single sentence, to the effect that it were better not to speak of this book). But he was on to something important, if he himself did not properly generalize his discovery.

It is eventually clear (e.g., vv. 64-66) that all these spirits (compared to all the stars in the nighttime sky), descending, are coming from the Empyrean for the sole purpose of welcoming Dante to his higher degree of contemplative awareness; that they, like all the spirits we see in the heavens, are only temporary visitors to these realms; that all the saved souls and the angels populate the Empyrean (as far as we can tell, they have never manifested themselves to anyone in a lower heaven before Dante's most extraordinary visit to the heavens that concludes his journey through the afterworld).

Jacob saw angels on the ladder in his dream, ascending and descending. Dante sees the souls of the blessed only descending, at least for now.

This is the sole “classical” simile in these two cantos devoted to the monastic sphere of Saturn (but see Par. XXII.1-6) and perhaps represents the only joyous moment in them. It describes those souls who descend from the Empyrean, where such behavior is not only appropriate but natural, for it is the realm of everlasting joy.

This fairly extended simile is complex enough to have caused considerable difficulty. For an interesting and original interpretation, see Carroll (comm. to these verses). He argues that Dante has carefully followed Thomas Aquinas (ST II-II, q. 180, a. 3-6) for every detail of this passage (Torraca [comm. to these verses] will later cite the same passage without treating it as fully). Here is an abbreviated version of Carroll's argument: Thomas is responding to Richard of St. Victor's six steps of contemplation, reduced by Richard himself to three: Cogitatio, Meditatio, Contemplatio. When the descending spirits, the jackdaws in the simile, reach a certain step, groups of them begin moving in one of three ways (about which there will be more shortly). That step, Carroll says, represents Richard's second step, Meditation, or speculation, an intellectual activity that draws, in Aquinas's treatment here, on the image of mirroring (as Carroll points out Dante has done in vv. 17-18). The descending spirits, we must remember, are used to seeing in the third way, Contemplation. Now, re-entering the protagonist's realm of experience, which necessarily falls short of seeing face-to-face (as even he will be able to do shortly, once he enters the Empyrean), these saved souls behave in three different ways. Carroll associates each of these behaviors in turn with Thomas's discussion of Richard of St. Victor's three modes of intellectual activity: “Some of the souls 'go away without return,' that is, without doubling back: they represent the straight motion which goes direct from things of sense to things of intellect. Some 'turn back to where they started from' – to the certain step from which their flight began: they represent the oblique motion, which is composed, says Aquinas, of a mixture of straight and circular, of reason and divine illumination. And some, 'wheeling, make a sojourn': they represent the circular motion, – that perfect movement by which the intellect turns uniformly round one centre of Divine truth, the 'sojourn' signifying the immobility of this motion, as of a revolving wheel that sleeps upon the axle.”

Other, later analyses, all apparently without knowledge of Carroll's, are less convincing. E.g., Gabriele Muresu (“Lo specchio e la contemplazione [Paradiso XXI],” L'Alighieri 8 [1996], pp. 9-15), who cites, as source for the discussion (p. 11n.) of Richard's three modes (which he dismisses), E.G. Gardner (Dante and the Mystics [London: Dent, 1913], pp. 173-74), only thus to deny Carroll's hypothesis without mentioning its founder, perhaps because he knows it only indirectly, from Momigliano's gloss to these verses, which mentions only Gardner and Richard of St. Victor, leaving both Carroll and St. Thomas out of the discussion. Carroll's hypothesis, alone among those heretofore offered, has at least the potential capacity to deal with this issue. Zygmunt Baranski (“Canto XXII,” in Lectura Dantis Turicensis: Paradiso, ed. Georges Güntert and Michelangelo Picone [Florence: Cesati, 2002], pp. 353-57), like Muresu, refers only to Richard and Gardner, thus also leaving Thomas and Carroll to one side. Baranski also sets off contemplation from its higher counterpart, mystical vision (rather than Meditation from Contemplation, as Carroll does). Christian apologists, however, e.g., Thomas, In I Sententiarum (q. 1, a. 1), tend to link the words contemplatio and Dei. And see ST II-II, q. 180, a. 3, reply to Objection 1: “But 'contemplation' regards the simple act of gazing on the truth; wherefore Richard says again (De Grat. Contempl. i, 4) that 'contemplation is the soul's clear and free dwelling upon the object of its gaze; meditation is the survey of the mind while occupied in searching for the truth: and cogitation is the mind's glance which is prone to wander.'”

As for the birds themselves, Carroll cites Benvenuto (comm. to these verses) to the effect that they love solitude and choose the desert for their habitation. Pole, according to some commentators, are cornacchie grige (gray crows, or jackdaws), having black wings, silver eyes, and large red beaks encircled by yellow.

For Peter Damian's notice that when Benedict went from Subiaco to Montecassino the crows he had befriended followed him there, see Marco Pecoraro (“Canto XXI,” in Lectura Dantis Scaligera: “Paradiso”, dir. M. Marcazzan [Florence: Le Monnier, 1968], p. 752); Güntert (“Canto XXI,” in Lectura Dantis Turicensis: Paradiso, ed. Georges Güntert and Michelangelo Picone [Florence: Cesati, 2002], p. 333).

For costume as “natural instinct” or “inner law,” see the note at its first appearance in the poem, where it also seems to have this sense (Inf. III.73).

It is perhaps needless to say that there have been several ingenious attempts to explain these three movements of the birds. It is perhaps fair to say that none has seemed ultimately convincing. Carroll's, based in the texts of Richard of St. Victor and of Aquinas (see the note to vv. 34-42), remains the most interesting.

It may be fair to suggest that the significance of this “rung” of Jacob's Ladder has also escaped even the few who choose to discuss it. It seems unlikely to represent a mere “realistic” detail, for example, the “rung” of the “ladder” that is at a level with the heaven of Saturn. Again, see Carroll's interesting hypothesis (see the note to vv. 34-42), that this is the “grade” of meditation, the earthly form of divine contemplation, as it were. In other words, Peter has momentarily desisted from his contemplation of God to minister to Dante.

This soul will eventually identify himself as Peter Damian at verse 121. See the note to vv. 106-126.

Dante underlines his obedience to Beatrice as the reason he does not respond more fully to Peter Damian's affection for this special visitor to the sphere of Saturn. This tercet casts her in the role of leader of a monastic community, setting the rules for conversation and all other aspects of the social life of the “monk” under her care, Dante Alighieri.

Once again we are given to understand that the souls in bliss are able to know all that may be known in their contemplation of the mind of God, the mirror of all creation. The identical nature of such knowledge with its source is suggested by the three uses of the verb vedere in these two lines.

Beatrice only now releases Dante to open his mind and heart to Peter.

From Peter, Dante wants to know two things: why he seemed, by his proximity, so affectionate toward him and why, for the first time in the heavens, song has yielded to silence.

Saturn is marked by an atmosphere of monastic self-denial. It is the home of the cardinal virtue temperance and of religious meditation. The absence of melody in Saturn is singular thus far in Paradiso, for we and the protagonist have become accustomed to hearing sacred songs as we ascend the spheres: Ave Maria in the Moon (Par. III.121-122); an Osanna in both Mercury (VII.1) and Venus (VIII.29); the singing of the souls in the Sun is referred to a good half dozen times (Par. X.66, X.76, X.146; XII.6, XII.23; XIV.24), but it is only in Paradiso XIII.25-27 that we are informed that they sing, not of Bacchus nor of Apollo, but of the Trinity; next we learn that the unidentified song in Mars contains the words Risurgi and Vinci (Par. XIV.125) and that the souls in Jupiter sing of God (Par. XVIII.99). Underscoring the uniqueness of the silence of this sphere, the final three heavens are also marked by song: the Starry Sphere by Gabriel's song for Mary (Par. XXIII.103-108) and by the other members of the Church Triumphant crying out, to the ascending mother of God, Regina celi (Par. XXIII.128). In the succeeding sphere, various moments in Dante's progress among his saintly interlocutors are punctuated by voices raised in song: Dio laudamo (Par. XXIV.113), Sperino in te (Par. XXV.73), Sperent in te (Par. XXV.98), Santo, santo, santo (Par. XXVI.69), Al Padre, al Figlio, a lo Spirito Santo, gloria (Par. XXVII.1-2); in the Crystalline Sphere the angelic choirs resonate with “Hosannah” (Par. XXVIII.94); in the Empyrean we hear once more the Ave Maria (Par. XXXII.95). See the note to Paradiso XXVII.1-3.

The adjective dolce (sweet) occurs with some regularity from one end of the poem (Inf. I.43) to the other (Par. XXXIII.63), 106 times in all, occurring 19 times in the first cantica, 44 in the second, and 43 in Paradiso.

Peter Damian gives his answer to the second of Dante's questions first. It is brutally frank: Dante still thinks as the world thinks and is not yet ready to experience the higher degree of divinity that songs at this level represent. And now we also learn that this was precisely the reason for Beatrice's withholding of her customary smile as well (see verse 4).

Peter's answer to Dante's first question is more circuitous, but reflects the same problem: Dante's inability to think beyond the limits of a human comprehension of love. Peter's affection for Dante is not greater than that felt by any others among the saved in Paradise, that is to say, it is not “personal.” We may remember Casella, in Purgatorio II, whose greeting was very personal indeed, as a kind of control for our measurement of this affection.

Still a slow learner, Dante gets part of the message: In the Court of Heaven, freedom in loving is to follow God's will, a similar paradox to that developed in Beatrice's lengthy discussion of free will in Paradiso V.19-33. On the other hand, his follow-up question reveals that he is still eager to understand the reason for the choice of Peter Damian as the deliverer of heavenly greeting.

For Aquinas's distinction (ST I, q. 23, a. 1) between providence and predestination, see Torraca (comm. to these verses). Carroll, in another context (comm. to Par. XX.130-132), cites this same passage in the Summa and paraphrases it as follows: “Hence Predestination is defined as 'Divine Providence leading rational creatures to their supernatural end, the Beatific Vision,' the entire process, from beginning to end, having its reason in the Divine will alone. It is not dependent on the foreseen merits of the elect; and the prayers of saints (such as Gregory's for Trajan) are only part of the second causes by means of which the decree of Predestination is worked out.” Bosco/Reggio (comm. to verse 78) also cite Thomas (ST I, q. 22, a. 3): “Two things belong to providence – namely, the type of the order of things foreordained towards an end; and the execution of this order, which is called government.” They go on to suggest that Dante was in accord with this view in Paradiso XI.28-30. Their point is that the subject here is not predestination, but divine foreknowledge of the actions of particular individuals.

For more on predestination, see the note to Paradiso XX.130-148.

Peter's preamble tells Dante how he was filled with divine love for his mission, but not why, as his final point will insist.

Bosco/Reggio (comm. to these verses) paraphrase the passage as follows: “The light of grace descends on me, penetrating the light that wraps me round, in whose womb I am enclosed, and its power, conjoined with my intellect, lifts me so far above myself that I can see the supreme essence, God, from whom this light bursts forth. From this sight comes the joy with which I shine, since the splendor of my flame is as great as the clarity of my vision of God.”

Gabriele Muresu (“Lo specchio e la contemplazione [Paradiso XXI],” L'Alighieri 8 [1996], p. 30) reports discomfort at the Dantean coinage inventrarsi on the part of several commentators. Among those he mentions are Tommaseo (comm. to this verse): “non bello” (not beautiful) is his laconic reaction. Andreoli (comm. to this verse) has this to say: The term is “unfit to describe a heavenly spirit speaking of his divine light.” But see Mattalia (comm. to this verse) for an understanding of Dante's sense of the Scriptural relevance of the word, reflecting the Gospels' references to Mary's womb (e.g., Luke 11:27, cited by Virgil, as character, at Inf. VIII.45). As usual, Scartazzini (comm. to this verse) has a lengthy discussion of the variant readings. See also the two appearances of the noun ventre (womb, belly) in this cantica (Par. XXIII.104 and Par. XXXIII.7 and the notes thereto).

For the word pareggio, see the note to Paradiso XXIII.67.

Not even the most exalted soul in Heaven, Peter explains, possibly referring to Mary (see Par. XXXI.116-117), nor the most enlightened of the Seraphim, the highest order of angels, can ever know the reasons for God's decisions. Thus even angelic intelligence has a limit. All those in the Empyrean can know, in God, all relations among all things, in heaven and on earth, but not the eventual reasons that might explain their causes. The urgency of Peter's explanation to Dante is clearly aimed past him, to us on earth, who so enjoy imagining that we understand the root causes of events even though our normal sinful disability should probably deprive us of such baseless optimism in this regard. But we are little more mature than babies, forever asking “Why?” See, on this passage, Peter Hawkins (“Paradiso XVIII,” in Dante's “Divine Comedy,” Introductory Readings III: “Paradiso,” ed. Tibor Wlassics [Lectura Dantis {virginiana}, 16-17, supplement, Charlottesville: University of Virginia, 1995], p. 313).

The description of providence (God's foreknowledge, which alone can account for the causes that lie behind the interrelations of things) as an “abyss” suggests a “plurality of worlds,” this universe (known by the angels and the blessed) and the vast inner mind of God that extends (if it may be said to extend) to regions of which we cannot possess even the slightest knowledge nor indeed verify the existence. At least as early as Purgatorio III.37, Dante should have understood that such things were beyond knowing. Virgil then advised him that humans were not behaving rationally when they hoped to know the “why” behind things. Dante is, as we are frequently forced to acknowledge, a slow learner.

Discouraged from pursuing his quest for knowledge beyond both human and, indeed, angelic potential, Dante contents himself with asking Peter, in the form of his third question, to identify himself.

The seven tercets dedicated to the life of Peter Damian (1007-1072) are reminiscent of the earlier saints' lives that we have heard in Paradiso. Once again we begin with a geographical indicator (the mountain called Catria, in the Apennines, that rises some five thousand feet above sea level, near the town of Gubbio). Peter's narrative is brief and self-abnegating (those of Francis [Par. XI] and of Dominic [Par. XII] are considerably more full, but then they are narrated by praiseful others, not by their abstemious selves). Peter's is modesty itself, concluding with the ironic and bitter reflection on his having been made to give over the life of prayer that truly pleased him for that of “administration.”

“St. Peter Damian, proclaimed doctor of the Church by Leo XII in 1828; born of an obscure family at Ravenna c. 1007. In his childhood he was much neglected, and after the death of his parents was set by his eldest brother to tend swine. Later on, another brother, named Damian, who was archdeacon of Ravenna, took compassion on him and had him educated. Peter in gratitude assumed his brother's name and was thenceforth known as Peter Damian (Petrus Damiani). After studying at Ravenna, Faenza, and Parma, he himself became a teacher, and soon acquired celebrity. At the age of about 28, however, he entered the Benedictine monastery of Fonte Avellana on the slopes of Monte Catria, of which in 1043 he became abbot. In this capacity he rendered important services to Popes Gregory VI, Clement II, Leo IX, Victor II, and Stephen IX, by the last of whom he was in 1057, much against his will, created cardinal bishop of Ostia. He appears to have been a zealous supporter of these popes, and of Hildebrand (afterwards Gregory VII), in their efforts to reform Church discipline, and made journeys into France and Germany with that object. After fulfilling several important missions under Nicholas II and Alexander II, he died at an advanced age at Faenza, Feb. 22, 1072.

”Dante represents Peter Damian as inveighing against the luxury of the prelates in his day; the commentators quote in illustration a passage from a letter of his to his brother cardinals, in which he reminds them that the dignity of a prelate does not consist in wearing rare and costly furs and fine robes, nor in being escorted by troops of armed adherents, nor in riding on neighing and mettlesome steeds, but in the practice of morality and the exercise of the saintly virtues“ (Toynbee, ”Damiano, Pietro“ [Concise Dante Dictionary]). While he was never formally canonized, he was venerated as a saint from the time following his death in several places in Italy and at Cluny.

For possible points of contact between this part of the poem and Peter Damian's own writings as well as twenty or so of the legends that accumulated around his life, see Vittorio Capetti (”Dante e le leggende di S. Pier Damiano,“ Appendix to his Studi sul ”Paradiso“ dantesco [Bologna: Zanichelli, 1906], pp. 111-30).

John of Serravalle (comm. to vv. 106-111) distinguishes among latrìa (the accent in the poem may be due to the requirements of rhyme or, as Scartazzini suggests [comm. to this verse], to Dante's small Greek), dulia, and yperdulia. The first is defined as honoring God alone; the second, those who are virtuous (e.g., the saints); the third, ”things excellent“ (examples are Mary and the cross). Tommaseo (comm. to vv. 109-111) mentions the appearance of the term in both Augustine (DcD X.1) and Aquinas (ST II-II, q. 81, a. 1). Pietro di Dante (Pietro1, comm. to vv. 106-111) was the first to cite Isidore of Seville for the term (Etym. VIII.xi.11).

This tercet contains one (of two) references in the heaven of Saturn to ”contemplative“ intellectual behavior or to those who perform it (see also the word contemplanti in Par. XXII.46). In neither case does it seem to refer to contemplatio Dei, but would rather seem to indicate monastic rumination, or meditation, thoughts that lead to God, but not a direct vision of Him. In fact, of the seven uses of words derived from contemplare in the poem, beginning in Purgatorio XXIV.132, where Virgil, Dante, and Statius meditate upon Gluttony, only one would clearly seem to indicate contemplation of the highest kind, St. Bernard in Paradiso XXXI.111; but even that may have been contemplation of the Virgin (as his contemplation referred to in Par. XXXII.1 clearly is). For the two other occurrences, see Par. XXVIII.131 and Par. XXIX.68; and see the note to Par. XXI.34-42.

There has been controversy over the reference of the second Peter in this tercet. Petrocchi's text has ”fu'“ (fui [I was]). And the logic of the phrasing also indicates a single reference: In place 1, I was called ”x,“ in place 2, ”y.“ Later historical certainty, which would make Dante responsible for knowing that there was another Peter, a monk in the monastery to which he has Pietro allude and who died there in 1119, may not apply. Scholars have pointed out that Dante's knowledge of Peter Damian was itself suspect; he could easily have conflated these two religious of Ravenna in this passage written, one assumes, after his settling in Ravenna ca. 1317. However, since Peter Damian died in 1072, nearly fifty years before the death of Pietro Peccatore, Dante's phrasing would seem quite odd: ”In that place (his monastery at Fonte Avellana) I was known as Peter Damian, and Peter the Sinner was (fu, not fu', abbreviation of fui) in the House of Our Lady....“ The syntax and logic seem beyond rescue. The first version may be historically inaccurate, but it does make grammatical sense: ”In that place I was (fu', not fu) known as Peter Damian, and as Peter the Sinner in the House of Our Lady.“ This view is in accord with the generally authoritative Michele Barbi (Con Dante e coi suoi interpreti [Florence: Le Monnier, 1941], pp. 257-96) and with the later discussion in Anna Maria Chiavacci Leonardi (Paradiso, con il commento di A. M. C. L. [Milan: Mondadori, 1997]), pp. 596-97 - with updated bibliography).

For a review of the history of the issue (and eventual agreement with Barbi's analysis), see Marco Pecoraro (”Canto XXI,“ in Lectura Dantis Scaligera: ”Paradiso“, dir. M. Marcazzan [Florence: Le Monnier, 1968], pp. 771-77). For strong support of Barbi's views on the single identity of the two Peters, see Gabriele Muresu (”Lo specchio e la contemplazione [Paradiso XXI],“ L'Alighieri 8 [1996], p. 35n.). That Benvenuto da Imola (comm. to vv. 121-123), who knew that part of Italy well, spoke so forcefully about the ”deception“ of those who believe that Dante is talking about two Peters probably should have concluded the debate long ago.

Like Shakespeare's ”hats and clocks“ in Julius Caesar (II.i), Peter's ”cappello,“ the red hat worn by cardinals, is a gratuitous anachronism on Dante's part. As Torraca was the first commentator to point out (comm. to vv. 124-126, citing an article in BSDI 6 [1899]), it was only during the papacy (1243-54) of Innocent IV that this clerical accouterment began to be worn by the princes of the Church.

Peter concludes his words to Dante with a denunciation of corrupt clergy, culminating in one of the more memorable anticlerical images in the poem, the pastor on horseback as beast with attendants, his poor horse sagging under the weight of his flesh and gorgeous robes.

Dante may have known Peter's own imprecations against the corruptions of the clergy in his Liber Gomorrhianus (as was often suggested in the last century, first by Torraca [comm. to vv. 121-123]). As a number of commentators suggest, Peter was a man after Dante's heart, not only for his surprising openness to ”imperial“ politics, but especially for his scurrilous tongue for the malfeasance of the clergy, for which he apologizes but apparently delights in allowing free rein. That Dante was recognized as anticlerical by the clergy is not a matter to doubt. There is the obvious case of the Monarchia (which spent some three centuries and one-third [from the first index of prohibited books until 1881] as unfit for Catholic eyes). However, and as Adriano Comollo (Il dissenso religioso in Dante [Florence: Olschki, 1990], pp. 49-50) points out, there were any number of rough spots, for a cleric respectful of his pope, in the poem as well (particularly Inf. XI.6-9; XIX.106-117; Purg. XIX.106-116; and Par. IX.136-142).

Cephas (stone [pietra]) is the [Aramaic] name that Christ gave to Simon (see John 1:42), thereafter known as Simon Peter (Pietro, in Italian, keeps the pun alive better than does the English ”Peter“). The ”exalted vessel of the Holy Ghost“ is Paul (see Inf. II.28).

Scartazzini (comm. to this verse) points to biblical sources for this fraternal abnegation: I Corinthians 10:27 (”eat whatever is set before you“) and Luke 10:7 (Christ advising his disciples not to go from house to house in search of food, but to stay wherever they chance to be).

Peter's collegial souls, as they descend the ladder to greet him, glow with righteous indignation at these words. Surrounding him, having ceased their circular movement, they let loose a cry so loud and angry that Dante cannot make out the words of what they shout. Where earlier in the canto he had been denied both Beatrice's smile and the singing of the blessed, now he is allowed to hear a superfluity of sound with a similar net result. (The canto moves from monastic silence to monkish outrage, each of them leaving the protagonist stunned, uncomprehending.) It is a final reminder of his human incapacity even now, when he has attained the height of Saturn in the heavens.

For this ”thunder“ as resonating with that found in Ovid's description of Jupiter, preparing to descend to seduce Semele by taking his thunder and his lightning bolts along (Metam. III.300), see Kevin Brownlee (”Ovid's Semele and Dante's Metamorphosis: Paradiso 21-22,“ in Rachel Jacoff and Jeffrey T. Schnapp, eds., The Poetry of Allusion: Virgil and Ovid in Dante's ”Commedia“ [Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1991], pp. 226-27).