Canto 1: How Dark Was the Wood

In my January 27th post, Lost and Afraid in Dante’s Wood, I proposed that rather than interpreting the woods as Dante’s sinful life, we should see the forest as the fallen world in which Dante lived. In that article, I discussed how the dangers of the forest are metaphors for the spiritual threats we all face in life’s journey. Accepting that reading, we now turn to the darkness. What is its significance? Is there a deeper meaning here, or was Dante simply describing a spooky environment? Why was the wood so dark? Does this tell us anything?

In that previous article, I noted my experience in a dark wood while on the Camino de Santiago. On that particular night, there was no moon. This causes me to wonder in what phase was the moon when Dante was lost. To determine this, we must know what day Dante began his journey. Fortunately, Dante gave us enough information to figure this out. According to Dante, life’s midpoint is at the age of 35. He tells us in the Convivo, “it is hard to say where the highest point of this arch [life] is, because of the inequality spoken above; but in the majority, I take it to be somewhere between the thirtieth and fortieth year. And I believe that in those of perfect nature it would be in the thirty-fifth year.” Therefore, to determine the year, we add thirty-five to the year he was born, 1265. This places the start of The Divine Comedy in 1300.

One side note here; the reality of Dante’s time did not quite meet this estimation. The average life expectancy was much lower, even if we remove infant mortality, which was roughly 40-60% of all deaths. If you were one of the lucky ones who survived your childhood, you had an even chance of living to somewhere between 50 and 55 years old. Dante, born in 1265 and died in 1321, did just a tad better than this, making it to 56. The actual midpoint of his life, therefore, was his twenty-eighth year, which would place the journey in 1293, but of course, Dante did not know that at the time of his writing.

Now that we have the year, we must narrow it down to the day. The teaching of the Catholic Church, as stated in the Apostles Creed, is that Christ “suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried; he descended to hell. The third day he rose again from the dead.” It is generally accepted that  Dante’s journey paralleled that of Christ, descending into hell on Good Friday and emerging three days later on Easter Sunday. Dante, therefore, was lost in the woods on the morning of March 25, 1300. The moon on this date was 4.33 days old, a waning crescent 23.57% illuminated[1].

Admittedly, this all seems rather silly. Doesn’t it? While the point may seemingly appear trivial, I believe it to be a statement on the church’s corruption, a reoccurring theme throughout The Divine Comedy. To understand this better, let us refer to another of Dante’s great works, De Monarchia. In it, Dante discusses the church and state relationship. Book III addresses the issue of whether the monarch derives his power from the pope or directly from God. Dante’s view on the origin of the authority of these two powers is a topic I will address later when discussing canto 16 of Purgatorio. The relevant part of that discussion, however, is The Two Suns Theory, which maintains that two great lights guide humanity. While the government is concerned with maintaining peace and justice, the ordering of civil society, the church should be concerned with man’s spiritual health, leading him to salvation. While Dante saw these roles as separate, the pope did not.

In 1302, Pope Boniface issued the papal bull, Unam Sanctam, which stated that the pope was the supreme authority for both the spiritual and secular world, the emperor, and any Earthly government. Dante saw this power grab as nothing more than the actions of a corrupt pope, which is what it was. Boniface, as were many popes, was a political animal whose motivations were obvious. How could a man with such moral blindness lead others on their path to salvation? The two roles he was attempting to conflate were in direct opposition. This conflict is made clear in Saint Augustine’s, The Two Cities.

In Saint Augustine’s writings, he uses the metaphor of cities rather than describing the respective powers as suns. The earthly city, man’s government, was one of self and pride, while the city of God, the church, focused on bringing glory to him. As we are told by the scripture, we cannot serve two masters. We cannot serve God and mammon. In attempting to do both, Boniface doused the light of the church.

But what about the government? While we can see how his corruption affected the church, what had it to do with the government? In attempting to subordinate all authority to the church, Bonifice tried to establish a theocracy of sorts. A theocracy, however, is the worse form of government; it neither establishes a harmonious society nor leads its citizens to salvation.

Surprisingly, many today would welcome a theocracy, providing that the basis of government is their particular faith. I very much doubt that my evangelical friends would welcome a government based on Catholicism, Sharia Law, or the Book of Mormon. Of course, the same would hold true for any of these groups. They would balk at being forced to live under another group’s beliefs, leading to civil strife. Madison, an author of several of The Federalist Papers that explained our constitution, clarified the necessity of a secular government. He reminds us that “the purpose of separation of church and state is to keep forever from these shores the ceaseless strife that has soaked the soil of Europe with blood for centuries.” To prove Madison’s point, look at England and Ireland’s past. Look at Iran today.

Equally important is that you cannot use the power of government to cause people to believe. Again, quoting Madison, “That religion, or the duty which we owe to our creator, and the manner of discharging it, can be directed only by reason and conviction, not by force or violence.” At best, laws can only force a person to behave, not believe.

I expect many a Danteist out there would strongly disagree with my particular interpretation of the beginning of The Divine Comedy. Some would say that it is outright wrong. My only defense is that there is no one correct interpretation of a literary work. We each read from our own perspective. When I read that first line of The Inferno, I see a man lost in a world with many trails and threats. He cannot see which path to follow or what threats loom because the corruption of other men has extinguished the lights meant to guide him.

To read more about Italian and Italian-American culture, read my book, Italianità: The Essence of Being Italian and Italian-American.

[1] https://nineplanets.org/moon/phase/3-25-1300/