Mr. Halter’s Reviews > The Divine Comedy: Inferno - Purgatorio - Paradiso > Status Update

Paradiso XXIX contains a criticism that feels surprisingly modern. After explaining the creation of the angels, Beatrice turns her attention to preachers who entertain with clever stories while neglecting the truth. Dante’s point lands hard: words shape souls, so teaching isn’t about being interesting—it’s about helping people love what is actually worth loving.

Paradiso XXVIII may contain the key to the entire Comedy. Dante discovers that the universe isn’t ultimately held together by power or mechanics, but by love. The closer the angels are to God, the faster they move—not because they’re compelled, but because love draws them. It’s a beautiful idea: we’re all moving toward whatever we love most.

Paradiso XXVII contains one of Dante’s fiercest moments. The closer he gets to Heaven, the less tolerant he becomes of corruption on Earth. St. Peter himself condemns popes who traded humility for power, reminding us that loving an institution doesn’t mean defending its failures—it means caring enough to call it back to its purpose.

Paradiso XXVI finally arrives at what feels like the central question of the Comedy: What do you love most? After exams on faith and hope, St. John tests Dante on love, because every virtue—and every sin—flows from what our hearts ultimately pursue. It’s a fitting reminder that our lives are shaped less by what we know than by what we love.

Paradiso XXIV imagines Heaven as an oral exam. St. Peter doesn’t ask Dante if he believes. He asks what faith is and why he believes. I appreciated that Dante refuses to pit faith against reason. For him, faith isn’t the end of thinking; it’s what carries us beyond where reason alone can go. They work together.

Paradiso XXIII reminds me that the closer Dante gets to God, the less he tries to explain and the more he simply stands in awe. When Christ finally appears, Dante barely describes Him at all and instead, he describes the effect His presence has on Heaven. Maybe some of the most important things in life aren’t meant to be explained, but experienced.

One of the most powerful moments in Paradiso comes in Canto XXII when Dante finally looks back at Earth from the heavens. The world that consumed so much of the Comedy—its politics, rivalries, ambitions, and pride—has shrunk to a tiny speck. Perspective may be the greatest gift of Paradise: the higher Dante climbs, the smaller his ego and the world’s obsessions become.

Canto XXI quietly challenges that the most important people are the busiest, loudest, or most influential. Dante enters a silent heaven where the heroes are monks, where the dominant image is a ladder disappearing into infinity, and where greatness is measured not by accomplishments but by closeness to God. After all the debates about justice & power, this canto suggests that the highest ascent begins in stillness.

Paradiso XX is Dante at his most humbling. The people we expect to find in Heaven are there but so are a pagan emperor and an almost-forgotten Trojan from the Aeneid. Dante’s point isn’t that justice is arbitrary; it’s that God’s vision is far larger than ours. History remembers the famous. God remembers the just.

Paradiso XIX asks one of the hardest questions in the entire Comedy: What about the genuinely good person who never had the chance to know Christ? I expected Dante to give a simple answer. Instead, he reminds us that the greatest obstacle to justice isn’t asking difficult questions, it’s assuming we already know the mind of God. Perfect justice requires perfect knowledge and only God has that.