Paradiso

Canto IV

Questionings of the Soul and of Broken Vows. Beatrice's Discourse.

Between two equally distant meals,
both equally tempting,
a free man would starve to death
before he could bring either to his mouth.
A lamb would freeze the same way
between two ravenous wolves,
fearing both equally.
A dog would stand just as paralyzed
between two deer.
So it is—
I cannot blame myself for staying silent,
pulled equally by conflicting doubts—
since it must be this way, I don't condemn myself either.
I held my peace, but my longing was written
across my face, my questioning burned there
far more intensely than any spoken words could show.
Beatrice acted as Daniel once had,
freeing Nebuchadnezzar from the rage
that made him cruel beyond all justice,
and she said: "I see clearly how both desires
pull at you, so your worry binds itself
so tightly that it cannot find its breath.
You argue: if good will remains constant,
why should another's violence reduce
the measure of my merit in any way?
And here's another doubt to trouble you—
souls that seem to return unto the stars,
following Plato's ancient reasoning.
These questions press equally upon your mind,
so first I'll address the one with deeper sting.
The seraph most absorbed in God's presence,
Moses, Samuel, whichever John you choose,
even Mary herself—none of them
have seats in any heaven different
from these spirits who just appeared to you,
nor do they possess more or fewer years.
They all make beautiful that highest sphere
and live in sweetness at different levels,
feeling the eternal breath in varying degrees.
They showed themselves here not because
this sphere was given to them as their place,
but to signal the celestial realm
that stands at the lowest level of heaven.
This way of speaking fits your human mind,
since only through the senses can you grasp
what you then make worthy of understanding.
For this reason Scripture condescends
to your capacities, giving God feet and hands
while meaning something else entirely.
Holy Church shows you Gabriel and Michael
in human form, and him who healed Tobias—
all to accommodate your way of seeing.
What Timaeus argues about the soul
bears no resemblance to what we see here,
because it seems he believes what he speaks.
He says the soul returns to its own star,
thinking it was severed from that place
when nature gave it form within the body.
Perhaps his teaching differs from the sound
of his own words, and possibly carries meaning
that shouldn't be dismissed or mocked.
If he means that honor and blame return
to these celestial wheels for their influence,
perhaps his arrow hits upon some truth.
This misunderstood principle once warped
nearly the entire world, leading it astray
to invoke Jove and Mercury and Mars.
The other doubt that troubles you contains
less poison, for its malice could never
lead you away from me to other paths.
That our justice should appear unjust
in mortal eyes—this is a matter of faith,
not heretical sin that damns the soul.
But so your understanding can penetrate
this truth completely, as you desire,
I will give you full satisfaction.
If violence occurs when the one who suffers
doesn't cooperate with the one using force,
these souls still cannot be excused.
Will is never extinguished unless it wills to be,
but works like fire within its nature—
even if violence distorts it a thousand times.
So if will yields more or less, it aids
the force applied. These souls did exactly that,
having the power to return to their holy place.
If their will had been perfect, like the will
that held Lawrence firm upon his burning grill,
or made Mucius ruthless toward his own hand,
it would have driven them back along the road
from which they'd been dragged, the moment they were free.
But such unshakeable will is far too rare."
With these words, if you've gathered them correctly,
the argument that would have troubled you
many more times has been completely refuted.
But now another passage cuts across
your vision, one so dense you couldn't thread
your way through it before exhaustion claimed you.
I have planted firmly in your mind
that blessed souls could never speak a lie,
being so close to Truth in its pure form.
Yet you might have heard from Piccarda's lips
that Constance kept her love for the religious veil—
so she seems to contradict my words.
Many times, brother, it has come to pass
that someone, to escape from mortal danger,
reluctantly did what should not be done.
Just as Alcmaeon, urged on by his father,
killed his own mother, becoming pitiless
in order not to lose his sense of duty.
At this point I want you to remember
that force mingles with will, and together
they cause offenses that cannot be excused.
Absolute will never consents to evil,
but consents only insofar as it fears
that refusing might bring even greater harm.
So when Piccarda used those words of hers,
she meant the absolute will, while I meant
the other kind—and both of us speak truth."
Such was the flowing of that holy river
issuing from the fountain of all truth.
This set to rest every one of my longings.
"O beloved of the First Lover, O divine one,"
I said at once, "whose words flood over me
and warm me so they bring me more and more to life,
my own capacity for love runs not so deep
as to suffice in giving grace for grace—
let Him who sees and can do all respond.
I understand clearly that our intellect
is never satisfied unless Truth illuminates it,
beyond which nothing true extends itself.
In Truth the mind rests like a wild beast in its lair
once it attains that goal—and it can reach it.
If not, then every desire would end in failure.
This is why doubt springs up like a green shoot
at the foot of truth—this is nature's way
of driving us from height to height toward the summit.
This invites me, this gives me confidence
to ask you, Lady, with proper reverence,
about another truth that remains dark to me.
I want to know: can mortals satisfy you
for broken vows with other good deeds,
so they won't seem too light upon your scales?"
Beatrice looked at me with eyes so full
of love's sparks, so utterly divine,
that my power failed me. I turned away
and nearly lost myself, my gaze cast down.