Reading Paradise

As I have noted many times before, one of the best definitions of a Great Book is that it is a book you can reread many many times and always find something new.  (I think the origin of that definition is Adler and van Doren.)  I have reread many Great Books, and always do enjoy that fact about them.  But, I recently finished a Great Book that I have read 3 or 4 times before, and this time, not only did I discover something new, but the book suddenly seemed so immensely better that my new love of it makes my old love of it look like a trifling infatuation.  And, I used to think the book was unbelievably amazing.

Dante’s Paradiso has vaulted to the top in answer to the question, “What’s your favorite part of The Divine Comedy?”  I was reading it over Christmas (I finished it on Boxing Day—a holiday with a better Name than Traditions—does anyone actually celebrate Boxing Day anymore?), and for the first time in my life, I almost immediately started rereading a book I just finished.  (I refrained—other books called.)  But for the last three weeks, I have still been constantly tempted to reread it.  I am quite serious when I say that I used to love Paradiso—I love the whole Divine Comedy—it’s easily one of the greatest of the Great Books.  But, suddenly  Paradiso seems like the crowning jewel of the magnificent trilogy.

Why the newfound appreciation?  This was the first time I have ever read the book as a stand-alone book instead of at the end of reading the whole Comedy.  I had noticed before how the third part of the trilogy is quite different than the two preceding parts.  In Hell and Purgatory, Dante has long discussions about the lives of the people he meets.  In Paradise, the discussions change, becoming vastly more theological and philosophical.  This is fitting in the Dantean scheme of things.  While in Hell and Purgatory, the souls are naturally enough obsessed with their own lives.  In Heaven, however, the individual lives are not nearly as important as God.  So the discussions move from a backward look to an eternal perspective.  Very clever of Dante (assuming he just made it all up—if his trip was real, then I guess we have to say it was clever of God.) 

Now noting this and appreciating it turn out to be different things.  When reading the Comedy through, I always found Paradiso to be the slowest part—conceptually brilliant, but not as riveting on a canto-by-canto basis.  But, now I realize that it only had that impression because after the long journey through Hell and the quicker trip through Purgatory, I entered Heaven with a natural expectation of more of the same. And so, I (the Reader) started looking at the levels, trying to focus on what differentiates each level, thinking about the individuals and where they are placed, imagining a gradual ascent toward perfection at the Summit of Heaven.  And I thereby fell into exactly the trap which Dante had set for a reader like me.

Reading the book as a stand-alone book, suddenly the structure of the whole book came into focus.  It is not a journey through levels of souls; it is a journey through levels of theology.  It is an extended discussion of God, with each level representing the next step in the gradual revelation of the overwhelming and awe-inspiring vision of God.  For the first time, on reaching Heaven, I was overwhelmed not with satisfaction that the journey had finally ended but rather with Awe and Devotion.  This is easily the best devotional I can imagine—and I am simply stunned that I never noticed this before.  As Dante would put it:

I now see clearly that our intellect
cannot be satisfied until the truth enlighten it
beyond whose boundary no further truth extends. 

Indeed, it is the first time the following was quite literally true:

Merely consider, reader, if what I here begin

Went on no farther, how keen would be

Your anguished craving to know more.

Anguished craving indeed.

If you have never read The Divine Comedy, then by all means you should do so (in order, if it is your first (or second, I suppose) time).  (The Hollanders’ translation—don’t even think about reading any other translation.)  And if you have read The Divine Comedy multiple times, then read Paradiso alone.

In yet another sign that I have the best job in the world, the impetus to read Paradiso came from a student who was writing a senior thesis on it.  It was fun talking to her about her thesis, so I figured on the off-chance that she ever actually sends me a copy of it (yes, Hannah, that is meant to encourage you to do so…), it would be good to have the book fresh in my mind.  Little did I know that my experience would be so breath-taking.  I have had a few experience like that—reading a Great Book just to enhance my enjoyment of a senior thesis (Our Mutual Friend still takes the prize as the longest book I read purely for a student (it was also the first of Mallory’s string of perfect book recommendations.))  Like I said, I have a Great Job.