Canto 1: Lost and Afraid in Dante’s Wood
This past May, I was fortunate enough to walk the Camino de Santiago. One morning, I headed out a couple of hours before dawn, hoping to reach my destination before the sun became too strong. There was no moon, so it was very dark. If there were any stars, I could not see them through the canopy formed by the trees. Although I had a headlamp, walking through an inky black forest was unnerving. I worried about what might be hiding in a clump of bushes farther up the path. Worse yet, what was behind me? I started to sing, hoping to frighten anything that might be nearby. Then I wondered, would I be scaring off potential predators or simply telling them where to find their breakfast? Although sitting in my comfortable, well-lit library, I can now laugh, I was more flustered than I care to admit.
The experience made real to me the confusion and fear Dante must have felt in Canto 1 of the Inferno. I, like Dante, was a pilgrim alone in a dark wood. Even as I say this, I feel the comparison is unfair to Signore Alighieri. Dante was lost and in the dark. He did not have a GPS to guide his steps or a rechargeable LED headlamp to light his path. Yet, even with these advantages, I was still apprehensive. It was not my best morning on the Camino.
The best morning was two weeks later. Again, starting well before dawn, I walked through grain fields stretching out to the horizon. This was the Meseta, a dry, hot, flat expanse beneath the great blue dome of Spanish sky stretching between Burgos and Astorga. That morning, the moon surrounded by stars shined in the clear predawn heavens, bathing everything in a silvery light. It was a moment of awe-inspiring beauty, a thin fragment of tranquility that I hadn’t previously known. I felt as if God had breathed new life into my soul.
The contrast between the two mornings gave me a different perspective on the beginning of the Inferno. Let us begin with the forest. I have frequently read how this symbolizes Dante’s sinful life. I disagree with this interpretation; it is too easy and misses the point. Instead, I see the dark wood as a representation of the world in which Dante lived. Dante points out in verse three that the straightaway was lost. How can the forest represent a sinful life when there is a straightway, a correct path through it? If it is sinful, there is no right path.
More importantly, a forest has many paths, just like the world. Which one is correct? After walking the Camino in the dark, I could not think of a more appropriate metaphor. Unlike the Meseta, in a forest, how far down a particular path you can see is limited, even when that path is well lit. You know what I mean if you have been lost in a wood. You take one trail only to find that it leads to a dead end. So, you turn around, trying to backtrack, but you are not quite sure how you got to where you are. There are forks in the path, alternate routes you don’t remember. You weren’t paying attention. Which of them did you take? Or worse yet, the trail you chose only leads you back to where you started. You are struggling through the undergrowth, making no progress toward your ultimate goal. How do I get back to the straight and narrow?
When we consider Dante’s life, we can see how this fits. Throughout his political life in Florence, there were many alternatives from which he had to choose. Every option had its opportunities and risks. For example, in the political battle between Emperor Henry VII and Pope Clement V, Dante first supported Clement but then switched his allegiance to the emperor. Did Dante doubt? I could imagine him standing at a fork in a path, trying to decide which course to follow.
This sense of being lost applies not just to Dante but to all of us. Does God exist? In the face of uncertainty, I suppose we could simply believe, as Pascal suggests, but he was too simplistic in his analysis. The choice is not binary, belief versus unbelief. If we choose a life of faith, we don’t get very far before we then must decide what it is we believe. Judaism? Islam? Christianity? Hinduism? But there are still more options to evaluate. Haredi? Dati? Sunni? Shi’a? Catholic? Evangelical? Pentecostal? Lutheran? These questions are all ones we ask ourselves before we even begin to ask the daily moral decisions that are part of everyday life.
Along which path in the dark forest of the world do we travel?
Beyond the confusion is the fear. Where the fields of the Meseta are places ordered by the hand of man, forests are undeveloped and untouched by man. They are wild, lawless places where evil hides. They are the home of brigands and thieves. And the hiding places for witches and demons. In a pasture, you can see a predator coming at you. It is difficult to hide in an open field. But in a forest, you never know what is hiding in the bush ahead or the tree behind. Modern readers cannot appreciate how devastated Dante must have felt when his political rivals exiled him from Florence. Beyond having his property confiscated on trumped-up charges, exile attacked his very essence. Dante was much more than just a Florentine citizen. Florence was part of his identity. He felt that his very humanity was as a member incorporate in the society in which he lived. Exile ripped him out of that community, a community he served well and faithfully. Exile meant being thrown out of the city where you were safe, the ordered world you have lived all your life, into the wild, possible victim to anyone who might come along.
When I think of the dark wood of the world today, the brigands and thieves that come to mind are the politicians who use God to appeal to voters and evoke hatred to rally political support. That group over there are perverts who want to defile your children. This group over here wants to destroy our Christian way of life. But vote for me because I alone can save our nation from their Satanic ways.
When I think of the witches and demons of the woods, I think of the flim-flam charlatans that look to ensnare struggling pilgrims. Think of the television evangelists who greet you with a broad smile and an open, itching palm. They refer to you, in their southern twang, as “friend” when they haven’t the foggiest idea who you are. You know to whom I am referring. They live in mansions, fly in personal jets, and drive around in luxury cars, all paid for by the people working every day to put bread on the table and clothes on their children’s backs. But don’t forget to tithe. Remember, you aren’t giving God ten percent of your money; you are keeping ninety percent of his!
I feel that I am ranting, so let me stop there.
We all have our own interpretation of literature, especially in works such as The Divine Comedy, which is so rich in meaning. While this interpretation of the wood may vary from the norm, I feel it is worth considering. We all are making our way through life, deciding which path is correct while avoiding hidden threats.
In my next post, I will address the significance of the darkness of the wood.
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