Each one was tearing at her breast with her claws, beating with her hands, and crying out so loudly, that I pressed close to the poet, out of fear. ‘Let Medusa come,’ they all said, looking down on us, ‘so that we can turn him to stone: we did not fully revenge Theseus’s attack.’
‘Turn your back.’ said the Master, and he himself turned me round. ‘Keep your eyes closed, since there will be no return upwards, if she were to show herself, and you were to see her.’ Not leaving it to me, he covered them, also, with his own hands.
O you, who have clear minds, take note of the meaning that conceals itself under the veil of clouded verse!
Here is my response to the passage:
Dear
Dante the poet,
My blessed ward, your God has
granted me an unearned and brief opportunity to pen to you some fine words of
admonishment and explication. Minós made
a rather random visit to the circle of the Virtuous Pagans yesterday, carrying
a message from the Lord Himself: in your great work, which you label The
Divine Comedy, there is an ambiguous scene in which I cover your eyes, so
that you do not stare at Medusa and turn to stone. With hazy, unclear words, you alert the
reader that you have written something profound, and that is now his job to
pull your text apart and glean from it your deep meaning. My friend, this is far too difficult to
comprehend as it is, and I highly suggest that you either rewrite the entire
scene, or at least add some key words that will make it something that does not
take hours to understand. I do believe
that every truth should be worked for, should be sought amidst layers of
untruth through reasoning; but what you have here is a sparse collection of
philosophical words, linked in such an obscure way that even the most astute
scholar hundreds of years from now will have no simple time grasping the
meaning of your verses.
I venture to say that you may not
fully understand the implications of my action yourself, Dante; for whereas in
other places you explain the reason for which you write something, in the
currently addressed section you make the reader as blind as you were by my
hands. Here is what I had hoped to
accomplish through my act. Years from
now, well-learned scholars will study your comedy and assign my character the
role of human reason. So, they will
explicate the scene in which I cover your eyes thus: human reason blinds a man
from looking upon something that will “turn him to stone.” This is a good interpretation, for while
“being blind” is generally seen as something negative, here it is a positive
experience. You may ask, “How can this
in any way be a positive experience? Why would human reason blind someone?” The
answer can be found by identifying the Christian idea of a hardened heart, which has its roots in the famous tale of Pharaoh
and Moses. No matter how many times
Pharaoh witnessed the hand of God in his life, he hardened his own heart, and
God also hardened his heart. In other
words, Pharaoh had a heart of stone.
Faith is a grounded, unshakeable
belief in something, even if there is not enough hard evidence to prove that it
is true. Faith can be exercised by a
person, and this belief will dispel a hardened heart. Had Pharaoh had faith, his end would not have
come in that manner that it did. But
having faith is not the argument of the passage in your comedy of which I
speak; using human reason to avoid blindness and petrification is the
theme. Faith alone is not the only road
one may take to believe in God initially; in fact, at times, some people
follow a trail of logic and reason before discovering that there must be a
God. And so, here is the explication of
your scene, using the ideas I have mentioned above. Human reason covered your eyes when Medusa
was near, so that you would not turn to stone.
Reason did not trust you to look upon her with the weak eyes of your
flesh, for he knew that you would not understand. For application in the world, this means that
reason can actually be used, like faith, to avoid a hardened heart, to avoid
turning to stone. Using reason to shield
one from a fleshly, illogical explanation of things will help the man of reason
enjoy a soft, receptive heart. But he
who decides to look upon the world without faith and reason will have his heart
hardened. He will say to himself, “The
stars, the trees, the sun, the animals, and man are not enough evidence to
conclude that there is a God.” He is an illogical man, one who is not using
logic to draw an accurate conclusion. He
trusts in his own weak understanding. If
only he were blind, as Oedipus was; then he would see!
This is what I, and likely God
through me, desired to reveal to readers throughout the ages; but instead of
making it clear, so that the common man can use it for edification, you have
hidden the truth in a web of difficult words and phrases. I now implore you to elucidate the passage of
topic, for I believe that it is the will of God. Of course, it is quite difficult to trust in
a messenger who directs people to their eternal torment on a daily basis;
perhaps he has an agenda of his own. But
altering some of the words and phrases in your passage, in a way that will
clarify the deep meaning to the everyday reader, cannot damage your story. Rather, it will edify others and make your
comedy more accessible. I do not argue
that you should require absolutely no
work on the reader’s part, for I find it brilliant that, as I have covered your eyes in the passage, the
reader must uncover your
meaning. All I encourage you to do, my
friend, with whom I have encountered various adventures, is make this essential
part of your story somewhat clearer, so that any man may pick it up, and
recognize that reason will bring him to the meaning behind your strange verses.
May your pen ever trail the ink
of imagination,
Virgil
No comments:
Post a Comment