Counter-Narcissus: A Short Guide to Seeing Truly
(Paradiso, Canto III): Symphony of Empyrean, Piccarda, Constancy
Go back inside yourself and look: if you do not see yourself as beautiful, then do as a sculptor does with a statue he wants to make beautiful: he chisels away one part, and levels off another, makes one spot smooth and another clear, until he shows forth a beautiful face on the statue.
Like him, remove what is superfluous, straighten what is crooked, clean up what is dark and make it bright, and never stop sculpting your own statue, until the godlike splendor of virtue shines forth to you . . . .
~ Plotinus as quoted by Pierre Hadot
Welcome to Dante Read-Along! ✨
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Welcome to Dante Book Club, where you and I descend into Hell and Purgatory to be able to ascend to Paradise. Our guide in Paradise is Beatrice, and in this third Canto of the Paradiso, we visit the Sphere of the Moon. You can find the main page of the read-along right here, reading schedule here, and the list of chat threads here.
In each post you can find a brief summary of the canto, philosophical exercises that you can draw from it, themes, character, and symbolism explanations.
All the wonderful illustrations are done specially for the Dante Read-Along by the one and only Luana Montebello.
This Week’s Circle ⭕️
The Sphere of the Moon - Dante's confusion over reflections - He meets the souls inhabiting the Moon - Piccarda Donati - The placement of souls closer or further from the highest spheres - The will of the souls in Paradise at one with the will of God - Those whose vows were unfulfilled - The Empress Constance.
Canto III Summary:
Dante was humbled by Beatrice—his sun, who had awakened love in him in his youth, when he was but nine years old—as she corrected his views on the moon through proofs and counterproofs.1
Nine times already since my birth the heaven of light had circled back to almost the same point, when there appeared before my eyes the now glorious lady of my mind, who was called Beatrice.
Dante, Vita Nuova ii.2
Dante had raised his head just enough to meet her eyes when he was distracted by a new sight. Seeing before him what he thought were reflections of faces, as faint as would be a pearl placed on a white forehead, he stared at the sight, thinking that there must be a crowd of souls behind him. He thought he saw these reflections just as Narcissus had seen his reflection in a clear forest pool:
Worn out and overheated from the chase,
here comes the boy, attracted to this pool
as to its setting, and reclines beside it.
and as he strives to satisfy one thirst,
another is born; drinking, he’s overcome
by the beauty of the image that he sees;
he falls in love with an immaterial hope,
a shadow that he wrongly takes for substance.
Ovid, Metamorphoses 530-537
[This] is plainly a reproof to the ‘narcissism’ of human thought, which supposes that it can identify the factual reality of the case by its own intellectual efforts.2
Dante turned to look behind him to discover who was there as Beatrice looked on, amused and smiling at him, telling him that his ‘childish thoughts’ did not yet have a firm footing to stand on. As he had been misguided about the dark spots on the moon, he was now misguided about the nature of the ‘reflections’ that he saw.
He had looked for their source when in fact what he saw were ‘true substances’, the souls of that celestial realm of the moon.
Beatrice here uses the word ‘substances’ in its scholastic sense. In scholastic philosophy, a ‘substance’ is anything that exists for itself, such as a human being, a dog, a plant, a table. It is opposed to and distinguished from ‘accident’, by which the schoolmen meant something which exists only as an experience or an attribute of a substance, such as love, hunger, greenness, solidity.3
We find here the reason for these souls’ placement in the realm of the moon: it is the place for those who were unable to fulfill their vows. This indicated an inconsistency of character, represented by the close proximity to earth and of the changing and shifting nature of the moon’s light.
Beatrice encouraged Dante to speak with one of the inhabitants of that realm, and Dante turned to the soul who was most eager to speak with him, who introduced herself as Piccarda:
Our charity will never lock its gates
against just will; our love is like the Love
that would have all Its court be like Itself.
Within the world I was a nun, a virgin;
and if your mind attends and recollects,
my greater beauty here will not conceal me,
and you will recognize me as Piccarda,
who, placed here with the other blessed ones,
am blessed within the slowest of the spheres.
iii.43-52
The love that those souls knew did not deny satisfaction of any rightful desire, for all their desires had become as one with God's desire toward them: to be in unity with the highest. Dante had known Piccarda in life, and just as in Inferno, where the features of those he had known were changed through suffering, here in Paradiso, her features had grown more beautiful and light in her transformation through love.
Piccarda was the daughter of Simone Donati and the sister of Corso and Forese and was related by marriage to Dante through his wife, Gemma, daughter of Manetto Donati. According to early commentators, she entered a convent but was forced thence by her brother Corso so that he might marry her to a Florentine named Rossellino della Tosa.4
The moon being the slowest of the spheres in this celestial conception, as Piccarda explained it, had to do with it being the lowest level of beatitude, and not being slowest in its physical motion. She continued to explain the nature of the love that they experienced in that realm:
Our sentiments, which only serve the flame
that is the pleasure of the Holy Ghost,
delight in their conforming to His order.
And we are to be found within a sphere
this low, because we have neglected vows,
so that in some respect we were deficient.
iii.52-57
Dante acknowledged the change in Piccarda’s features as having become transfigured with supernatural light, but wanted to know if she and her companions were content being in the lowest of the celestial spheres, or if they did not wish they could rise to a higher position, closer to God?
And this is why the saints do not envy each other, since each achieves the end of his or her desire, which is proportionate to their natural goodness.
Dante, Convivio III.xv.10
In answer, she shone with the light of ‘love’s first fire’, that of the Holy Ghost, the very love that was inscribed on the gate of Hell pointing to the creator of all—in the Trinity of Divine Authority, the Highest Wisdom, and the Primal Love—and explained the way in which all the residents of the celestial realm viewed such placements:
Brother, the power of love appeases our
will so—we only long for what we have;
we do not thirst for greater blessedness.
Should we desire a higher sphere than ours,
then our desires would be discordant with
the will of Him who has assigned us here,
but you’ll see no such discord in these spheres;
to live in love is—here—necessity,
if you think on love’s nature carefully.
iii.70-78
Each heaven takes in an amount of Divine Light that is in proportion to its capacity to receive it. In the same way, each individual soul enjoys the bliss of the highest realm, in accordance with its capacity. Thus, the Blest are all content, wherever they are in the hierarchy of Paradise. For Piccarda to desire to be elsewhere would be impossible, since such a desire would spring from an imperfect will and a lack of knowledge of the teleological character of the Divine Order.5
The will of the inhabitants of the celestial realm was in perfect accord with God’s will, and in this concept is the full essence of Paradise: “And in His will is our peace” (85).
In your gift do we rest, and there we have joy in you. Our rest is our peace. Love lifts us up to it, and your good Spirit lifts up our lowliness ‘from the gates of death’.
St Augustine, Confessions 13.9
With this Dante understood that no matter the realm, closest to earth or directly below the Empyrean, it was all Paradise. Yet he desired to know more about her and her story, for her to finish weaving the cloth that she had begun when telling him of her time as a nun on earth. Piccarda had taken the vows as a sister of the order of St. Clare of Assisi, a contemporary of St. Francis and founder of the Poor Clares, known for their austere lifestyles.
Then men more used to malice than to good
took me—violently—from my sweet cloister:
God knows what, after that, my life became.
iii.106-108
Violence and frailty on earth frustrated her intentions. But it is part of Dante’s characterization of her that he shows her in Heaven not only strengthened by the order she always sought, but also able to speak with utmost clarity of the centrality of free will and caritas - or charity - in the structure of a truly human life.6
Piccarda then pointed to her companion, identified as the Empress Constance, who, according to legend, was believed to have been a nun before becoming the wife of Emperor Henry VI.
But though she had been turned back to the world
against her will, against all honest practice,
the veil upon her heart was never loosed.
iii.115-117
This is a reassurance of the possibility to remain pure of heart, no matter the outward circumstances, and pointed to a nobility of spirit invisible to the eye.
At this, Piccarda began to sing the Ave Maria as she vanished, as though into deep still waters. Dante shifted his gaze to the focus of his greater desire, Beatrice, whose light shone so brightly, that it silenced him with its radiance.
💭 Philosophical Exercises
Sense does not grasp the essences of things, but only exterior accidents. No more does the imagination which only apprehends the likenesses of bodies. The intellect alone grasps the essences of things.
~ Thomas Aquinas
If the circles of Hell are disconnected, the spheres of Paradise are interconnected.
My reader, who by now is familiar with my way of thinking and writing, knows that I lack Dante’s genius for capturing the architecture of Hell or the symphony of Paradise in just a few lines. But here is what I believe: a truly great film cannot be spoiled. You can tell someone the entire plot of The Shawshank Redemption (for example), and still, their experience won’t be diminished. I am telling you this for this reason: we have to explore here very briefly what Beatrice will teach us more deeply several cantos later, namely, the matter of absolute will and conditional will.
But first, lets take a look at this.
I.
What does it mean to have a vision? Or, what does it mean to truly be able to see?
Most of us go through life with a healthy pair of eyes and yet die blind, never learning how to see. In this scene, when Dante begins to grasp the image of Piccara Donati and thinks she is a reflection on the moon, Beatrice gently rebukes his confusion.
Vision is true to the extent that it recognises who is before him. Learning how to see, how to distinguish appearance from reality. To be able to see is to see the essence of a human, the true substance. As we will glide from one sphere to another we will see how the intellect is weaned from fascination with appearances toward disciplined assent to what is. The soul must be re-trained to attend to intelligible reality rather than images.
Why do the blessed first appear as faint?
Not because they are less real, but because Dante, and us, are not yet capable of receiving them. The light is constant; it is our attention that must be formed. Pierre Hadot, whose Philosophical Exercises inspired much of our journey, refers to what ancient philosophy called askēsis: the daily effort to purify the eyes of the soul.
From this point forward, Dante does not flee from the senses, he reorders them.
He teaches the intellect to wait before it assents, to mistrust the quick triumph of appearances, and to let love guide perception toward being. When Dante turns back to see if the forms are merely reflections, it is his subtle admission that the pilgrim still reflects his own thoughts onto reality, rather than seeing reality as it is.
II.
The second important and crucial theme is that of vows.
What is a vow?
A vow is the act of giving freedom a shape. It is not only a promise to God but also to oneself: a chosen limit that turns possibility into purpose. In vowing, I surrender not my freedom but its aimlessness; I trade caprice for constancy.
Freedom without direction becomes noise. A ship may be free to sail to any port in the world, but it must choose one to make the journey meaningful. A vow turns wandering into music.
“People [must] apply their learning and bear witness to their learning in their actions,” says Epictetus. Seneca, a fellow Stoic, writes: “Philosophy teaches us to act, not to talk.”
Virtue is not a theory, but a practice.
Beatrice does not teach Dante the pilgrim how to see, she assists him in seeing, through experience.
In Purgatorio, we followed what Montaigne described as the work of preparing oneself “to receive yourself there; it would be madness to trust in yourself,” he continues, “if you do not know how to govern yourself.”
Now that we have learned to govern our will and master ourselves, the next task lies before us: we must learn how to live.
To be “in union with the Divine” means to be in union with yourself, with the truth of who you are. Marcus Aurelius wrote that one should view the world from above, to see oneself in union with nature and in harmony with the greater whole. We feel lost in life when we stop seeing ourselves as part of the cosmic movement.
To return, to be whole again, one must follow virtue, for virtue reconnects us to ourselves. It reassembles what was broken (as Dante the pilgrim did through Inferno), and restores the link to the Divine, to Nature, or to God.
III.
When Dante converses with Piccarda Donati and she tells him about her vows, he wonders whether she ever wishes to be closer to God. Piccarda’s reply, at first glance, might seem vague.
To truly understand how the Divine Order works, or what Spinoza might call Nature in its secular form, we must look at it differently.
Imagine an orchestra playing a beautiful Beethoven symphony: we see cellos, violins, oboes, drums, and a conductor at the center. The vow, or commitment to virtue, we discussed earlier allows each of these instruments to play in harmony, each following the conductor’s direction while fulfilling its own unique role.
Now imagine an audience member approaching the percussionist seated at the very back of the orchestra and asking:
“You’re so far from the conductor don’t you wish you could sit closer?”
The question, of course, is absurd. The drummer, like every other musician in the orchestra, plays a vital role. Whether close or far from the conductor is irrelevant, as long as the musician’s gaze remains fixed on the conductor’s baton.
So too in Paradise: proximity to God is not measured by distance but by harmony.
IV.
We finally arrive at the idea of absolute and conditional will - a distinction Beatrice will explain in more detail in later cantos. However, I believe it’s worth offering my reader a brief introduction here.
Piccarda’s absolute will was firmly directed toward virtue. Her soul, her deepest wish, was to live in harmony with the divine order to remain attuned, like an instrument in the orchestra. But her conditional will that part of our will which must resist the external pressures and forces of the world, succumbed. It yielded not because her desire was weak, but because the conditions around her were too strong.
She remained in tune (absolute will), but the performance bent under pressure (conditioned will). Paradise honours the tuning; the Moon teaches us why the piece did not sound in full.
Plotinus: To find God, it is not necessary to go to the temples he is supposed to inhabit. We do not have to budge to attain his presence. Rather, we must ourselves become a living temple, in which the divine presence can manifest itself
This Week’s Sinners and Virtuous 🎭
(Themes, Quotes, Terms and Characters)
I. The Reverse of Narcissus
Often what we see is not the reality but how we imagine it to be.
Narcissus saw a reflection and thought it was a real person. Dante sees real persons in the Moon and thinks they are reflections.
This reversal teaches a simple lesson about perception. We often project our own image onto the world and mistake what is true for a surface echo. Beatrice’s gentle correction invites a new habit of seeing. Look again, wait before you assent, and recognize who stands before you. Vision matures when love turns us from our own image toward reality.
II. Constanza (Constancy)
Piccarda points to the light beside her: Empress Constance of Sicily, forced from the veil and returned to the world, yet the veil “was never loosened from her heart.”
She appears here as the image of inner steadfastness under outward coercion. There is, of course, an interesting pun in her name, Constanza (Constancy)
She symbolises inner constancy despite of external pressure.
III. Under the Shadow of the Moon 🌒
The first three heavens (Moon, Mercury, Venus) are subsolar spheres, and the souls we meet here had the strongest influence of earthly forces, as it is with Piccarda Donati, whose absolute will stayed steadfast, while her conditioned will was pressured by the earthly forces.
Quotes 🖋️
(The ones I keep in my journal as reminders of eternal wisdom):
your mind misguides you into emptiness:
what you are seeing are true substances,
placed here because their vows were not fulfilled.
Thus, speak and listen; trust what they will say:
the truthful light in which they find their peace
will not allow their steps to turn astray.”
~ lines 28-33, Paradiso, Canto III
For those who have made it through the last very difficult canto on the dark spots of the moon, take heart: “If many readers have responded to the previous canto—for some the most labored and unwelcoming of the entire poem—with a certain impatience (e.g., if Paradiso is going to be like this, I’d prefer to spend my time in Inferno and/or Purgatorio), here they are placed on notice that, for Dante, Beatrice’s instruction in spiritual astronomy is more aesthetically pleasing than any possible worldly attraction. Robert Hollander Paradiso 74
Robin Kirkpatrick, Paradiso 340
Dorothy L. Sayers, Paradiso 77
Charles S. Singleton, Commentary on the Paradiso 67
Mark Musa, The Portable Dante 406
Kirkpatrick 341