Purgatory is not directly mentioned in most versions of the Bible; but in the Catholic faith, the idea of Purgatory holds considerable importance. It is an “in-between” afterlife realm – a place where less-than-perfect people who are not ready for heaven, but who nonetheless do not deserve damnation, are purified of their sins. And because Purgatory was such an important concept to the people of Dante Alighieri’s time, it should be no surprise that when Dante composed his Divine Comedy (c. 1308-20) – with its first third being the Inferno, about Hell, and its last third being the Paradiso, about Heaven – the middle installment is titled Purgatorio, and deals with Dante’s passage through Purgatory.
Exiled from his beloved Florence because of his loyalty to the losing side in a Florentine civil conflict, Dante created a world of his own, in what remains perhaps the single greatest feat of the human literary imagination. In the Inferno, Dante the Poet creates a protagonist who is a version of himself – and Dante the Pilgrim, as protagonist, journeys through the concentric and ever-descending Circles of Hell, guided by the Roman poet Virgil and observing how the punishment of forever-damned sinners always somehow matches their crimes.
Making his way to the very bottom of Hell, Dante the Pilgrim then finds, at the beginning of the Purgatorio, that he and Virgil are suddenly ascending. As Hell is a pit of suffering and hopelessness, where things gets worse the farther one descends, so Purgatory is a mountain, where things become more hopeful each time a sinner who is expiating his or her sins moves up a level. And throughout the Purgatorio, Dante the Pilgrim learns more and more about the process by which flawed, imperfect human beings seek redemption for the sins for which they have learned to be genuinely sorry.
Readers who know the Inferno, and who are familiar with the complex array of circles and bolgias into which Dante the Poet organizes his Hell, will not be surprised to learn that the geography of the Purgatorio is comparably intricate. First, at the very bottom of the Mountain of Purgatory that takes up almost all of Purgatory Island – before one can even get into Purgatory proper – there is the Antepurgatory, where those who repented late in life must wait for admission to Purgatory.
It is striking to note that the administrator of the Antepurgatory, who sorts out the arriving souls and tells them where they must go, is no less a Roman personage than Cato the Younger (95-46 B.C.) – the senator who, in defence of the Roman Republic, sided with Pompey against Julius Caesar in the Roman Civil War, and later took his own life rather than surrender to the victorious Caesar at war’s end.
The alert reader may already be thinking that Cato, by the rules of Dante the Poet’s moral universe, should be ineligible to administer the Antepurgatory for two important reasons. First, he lived and died before the time of Jesus of Nazareth, and was not associated with the prophets and kings of the Old Testament; therefore, he should not be able to live anywhere higher than the abode of the Virtuous Pagans in Limbo, the First Circle of Hell. Second, as Cato took his own life – even if his action comported with the tenets of the Stoic philosophy in which he believed – he committed a mortal sin according to Catholc doctrine, and should theoretically be consigned to the Wood of the Suicides in the Inferno’s Seventh Circle, there to be transformed into a brittle and twisted tree that is forever torn by Harpies.
To all of which Dante the Poet might say, “Che importa?” (“Who cares?”) Like any good storyteller, he knows that part of telling a good story is setting up a fictive universe with internally consistent rules – and being willing to violate those rules, when following those rules too closely would get in the way of the story. For Dante the Poet, Cato the Younger embodies the best of the classical Roman virtues that, for centuries, preserved a united Italian republic – a republic that was lost in the chaos that followed the assassination of Julius Caesar, and that was still lost 13 centuries later, in the divided and fractious Italian states of Dante’s time. Therefore, Dante eases up on the rules, and Cato – stern and duty-bound, and yet not without compassion – emerges as one of the most memorable characters of the Purgatorio.
Eventually, Dante the Pilgrim and his guide Virgil arrive at the gates of Purgatory itself. A bright and shining guardian angel accedes to Dante’s humble request to be admitted to Purgatory – but before the Pilgrim can enter, there is a preparatory ritual that the angel must perform:
[W]ith his sword he traced upon my brow
The scars of seven P’s. “Once entered here,
Be sure you cleanse away these wounds,” he said. (p. 99)
As translator Mark Musa of Indiana University explains in a characteristically helpful footnote, “The letter P stands for the Latin peccatum, ‘sin’”, and “The seven P’s carved on the Pilgrim’s forehead represent the stains of the seven Capital Sins that the Penitents must purge by their suffering on the mountain of Purgatory before their souls are ready to enter the Kingdom of Heaven” (p. 106). Part of the pleasure of reading this set of Penguin Classics translations of the Divine Comedy is benefitting from Musa’s encyclopedic knowledge of the world and world-view of Dante the Poet.
Readers of the Inferno will recall that Dante the Poet is amazingly conscientious about categorizing sins and their punishments. His fictive Hell has areas designated for a wide variety of sinners including the Indecisive, the Lustful, the Gluttonous, the Wrathful, and the Violent, as well as Hoarders, Spendthrifts, Suicides, Heretics, Panders, Seducers, Flatterers, Simonists, Barrators, Hypocrites, Thieves, and various kinds of Traitors. Dante the Poet was nothing if not thorough.
The classifications in the Purgatorio, by contrast, are not quite so exhaustive. In Purgatory, there are just seven ascending terraces, corresponding with the Seven Deadly Sins. And on those terraces, sinners expiate their offenses against God in a punishment-fits-the-crime manner somewhat similar to what one sees in the Inferno:
1. The Proud, who sought to exalt themselves above others in life, are bowed down by the heavy stones that they carry on the First Terrace.
2. The Envious, who looked with selfish jealousy upon the good things enjoyed by others, must wander blindly along the Second Terrace, with their eyes sewn shut.
3. The Wrathful, whose anger in life prevented them from seeing clearly, walk amidst heavy smoke that obscures their view of the Third Terrace.
4. The Slothful, who could not be bothered to exert themselves on behalf of anything good or virtuous, run perpetually along the Fourth Terrace.
5. The Avaricious, who thought in life that the possession of money would give them power, are prostrated on the Fifth Terrace, and are thus reminded that only spiritual wealth matters.
6. The Gluttonous, who once sated in an excessive manner, their hunger for food, must starve on the Sixth Terrace while they learn the lessons of temperance.
7. The Lustful, who burned with sexual passion in life, must do penance in the fires of the Seventh Terrace, while they wait to pass beyond the bounds of the penitential terraces of Purgatory.
The process through which a soul ascends through the various levels of Purgatory before achieving purgation for earthly sins and becoming ready for Paradise is illustrated not only through Dante the Pilgrim’s own ascent (each time he goes up another level, an angel wipes one of those P’s for peccatum or sin off his forehead), but also through another real-life historical personage with whom Dante the Poet takes certain historical liberties – the poet Statius (c. 45-96 A.D.).
As Dante the Poet tells it, Statius overtakes Dante the Pilgrim and his guide Virgil on the Terrace of the Avaricious, and explains that “My name is Statius, still well known on Earth./I sang of Thebes, then of Achilles’ might” (p. 231) – all true enough, as the Thebaid and the unfinished Achilleid are his best-known works. He later adds some further details that are not supported by the historical record:
I was baptized,
But was a secret Christian out of fear,
Pretending to be pagan many years;
And for this lack of zeal I had to run
400 years on the Fourth Circle. (p. 239)
Please note that there is not a shred of evidence that Statius ever became a Christian; but he lived in a time when a Roman could theoretically become a Christian, and that is enough for the thematic purposes of Dante the Poet.
Statius’ time in Purgatory is ending by the time he meets Virgil and Dante the Pilgrim, and he can continue upward towards Paradise. His fate in this regard is happier than that of Virgil – who, as a virtuous pagan who lived and died before the time of Christ, must spend eternity in Limbo, the First Circle of Hell. Virgil leaves Dante the Pilgrim at the top of the staircase that leads from the Seventh Terrace into the Earthly Paradise, telling the Pilgrim, “Expect no longer words or signs from me,/Now is your will upright, wholesome, and free…I crown and miter you lord of yourself!” (p. 294)
On that note, Dante the Pilgrim proceeds into the Earthly Paradise – the Garden of Eden, closed to human beings on Earth ever since the sin of Adam and Eve as described in Chapter 3 of Genesis. There is a moving moment when the Pilgrim turns to his left, excited to share his impressions with his long-time guide, and then notes with sadness, “But Virgil was not there. We found ourselves without Virgil” (p. 322). Thus ends one of the most memorable friendships in all of literature.
And then, in a moment that is always much anticipated by readers of the Divine Comedy, Dante the Pilgrim meets Beatrice. The historical Beatrice Portinari (1266-90) seems to have been the great love of Dante the Poet’s life; they met as children (he was 9, she was 8), and he seems to have fallen in love with her at first sight. She married another man, before dying young at age 25, and Dante the Poet married another woman; but Beatrice seems always to have been Dante’s poetic muse and his inspiration.
Considering the depths of emotion that the real-life Beatrice inspired within Dante the Poet, some readers of the Divine Comedy may be somewhat disappointed that, when Dante the Pilgrim finally gets to meet his long-loved and long-lost Beatrice, the meeting is a rather cold one. The Pilgrim notes the sharpness of Beatrice’s words and “the regal sternness of her face”, as she says to him,
“Yes, look at me! Yes, I am Beatrice!
So, you at last have deigned to climb the mount?
You learned at last that here lies human bliss?” (p. 323)
It is, to say the least, not the kind of lovers’ reunion that one would expect to see in a Hollywood blockbuster. But Beatrice, purified of all earthly imperfections, is intent upon providing Dante the Pilgrim with the guidance that he needs before he can be ready to enter Paradise, so that Dante the Poet can bring The Divine Comedy to its conclusion.
As Judith Thurman points out in a recent New Yorker article, “Many readers don’t get farther with Dante than Inferno, for obvious reasons: depravity is a more compelling subject than virtue”. Yet the Purgatorio captures an important aspect of the medieval Catholic mindset of Dante’s time.
And that concept of Purgatory, while arguably not Biblical, certainly has parallels in other faith traditions – what Shakespeare scholars Barbara Mowat and Paul Werstine describe as “the human need to believe in a just and merciful cosmos – one in which ordinary people, neither hardened sinners nor perfect saints, may undergo correction, balance life’s accounts, satisfy old debts, cleanse accumulated defilements, and heal troubled memories.” As long as there is that human need to find balance, order, and justice in the universe, the Purgatorio will speak to readers just as powerfully as the other books of the Divine Comedy.