After the comparisons which I have made of the seven first Heavens, we must now proceed to the others, which are three, as has been often stated.
I say that the Starry Heaven may be compared to Physics because of three properties, and to Metaphysics because of three others. For it shows us of itself two visible things, such as the multitude of stars and such as the Galaxy, that white circle which the common people call the Path of St. James. It shows to us also one of the poles, and keeps the other hidden from us. And it shows to us one movement alone from East to West; and another, which it makes from West to East, it keeps almost, as it were, hidden from us. Therefore, in due order are to be seen, first the comparison with the Physical and then that with the Metaphysical.
I say that the Starry Heaven shows us many stars; for, according to what the wise men of Egypt have seen, even to the last star which appeared to them in the Meridian, they place there twenty-two thousand bodies of stars, of which I speak. And in this it has the greatest similitude with Physics, if these three numbers, namely, Two, and Twenty, and Thousand, are regarded well and subtly. For by the two is meant the local movement, which is of necessity from one point to another; and by the twenty is signified the movement of the alteration, for, since from the ten upwards one advances not except by altering this ten with the other nine and with itself; and the most beautiful alteration which it receives is its own with itself, and the first which it receives is the twenty; reasonably by this number the said movement is signified. And by the thousand is signified the movement of increase, which in name, that is, this thousand, is the greater number, and to increase still more is not possible except by multiplying this. And these three movements alone are observed in Physics, as it is demonstrated in the fifth chapter of his first book.
And because of the Milky Way, this Heaven has a great similitude with Metaphysics. Wherefore, it is to be known that concerning this Galaxy the Philosophers have had different opinions. For the followers of Pythagoras said that the Sun at some time or other went astray from his path, and, passing through other parts not suitable to his fervent heat, he burnt the place through which he passed, and there remained that appearance of the conflagration. And I believe that they were moved by the fable of Phaeton, which Ovid relates in the beginning of the second part of his Metamorphoses. Others said, such as Anaxagoras and Democritus, that it was the light of the Sun reflected into that part. And these opinions, with demonstrative reasons, they proved over and over again. What Aristotle may have said of this is not so easy to learn, because his opinion is not found to be the same in one translation as in the other; and I believe that it might be due to the error of the translators, for in the new one he seems to say that the Galaxy is a collection of vapours under the stars of that part which always attract them; and this does not seem to be the true reason. In the old translation he says that the Galaxy is no other than a multitude of fixed stars in that part, so small that we cannot distinguish them from here below, but that they cause the whiteness which we call the Milky Way. And it may be that the Heaven in that part is more dense, and therefore retains and represents that light; and this opinion Avicenna and Ptolemy seem to share with Aristotle. Therefore, since the Galaxy is an effect of those stars which we cannot see, if we understand those things by their effect alone, and Metaphysics treats of the first substances, which we cannot similarly understand except by their effects, it is evident that the Starry Heaven has a great similitude to Metaphysics.
Again, by the pole which we see is signified the things known to our senses, concerning which, taking them universally, the Science of Physics treats; and by the pole which we do not see is signified the things which are without matter, which are not sensible, concerning which Metaphysics treats; and therefore the said Heaven has a great similitude with the one Science and with the other.
Again, by the two movements it signifies these two Sciences: for by the movement in which every day revolves, and makes a new revolution from point to point, it signifies things natural and corruptible which daily complete their path, and their material is changed from form to form; and of this the Science of Physics treats. And by the almost insensible movement which it makes from West to East by one degree in a hundred years, it signifies things incorruptible, which received from God the beginning of their creation, and will have no end; but of these Metaphysics treats. Therefore I say that this movement signifies those things, for it began this revolution which will have no end; the end of the revolution being to return to one self-same point, to which this Heaven will not return by this movement, which has revolved a little more than the sixth part from the commencement of the world; and we are now in the last age of the world, and verily we wait the consummation of the celestial movement. Thus it is evident that the Starry Heaven, on account of many properties, may be compared to the Science of Physics and Metaphysics.
The Crystalline Heaven, which, as the Primum Mobile, has been previously counted, has a sufficiently evident comparison to Moral Philosophy; for Moral Philosophy, according to what Tommaso says upon the second book of the Ethics, teaches us method in the other Sciences.
For as the Philosopher says in the fifth book of the Ethics, legal Justice requires the Sciences to be learnt, and commands, in order that they may not be abandoned, that they be learnt and taught: thus, the said Heaven rules with its movement the daily revolution of all the others; from which revolution every day all those receive and send below the virtues of their several parts. For, if the revolution of this Heaven could not rule over that, but little of their power would descend below, and little of their aspect. Wherefore we hold that, if it could be possible for this ninth Heaven not to move, the third part of the Heaven would not again be seen in any part from the Earth: Saturn would be for fourteen years and a half concealed from any place on the Earth, Jupiter would be hidden for six years, and Mars for almost a whole year, and the Sun for one hundred and eighty-two days and fourteen hours (I say days, meaning so much time as so many days measure); and Venus and Mercury, almost like the Sun, would be hidden and would reappear, and the Moon for the space of fourteen days and a half would be hidden from all people. Verily, here below there would be neither generation, nor the life of animals, nor of plants; there would be no night, nor day, nor week, nor month, nor year; but the whole Universe would be disordered, and the movement of the stars would be in vain. Not otherwise, should Moral Philosophy cease to be, would the other Sciences be hidden for some time, and there would be no generation nor life of happiness, and all books would be in vain, and all discoveries of old. Therefore it is sufficiently evident that there is a comparison between this Heaven and Moral Philosophy.
Again, the Empyrean Heaven, because of its Peace, bears a similitude to the Divine Science, which is full of all Peace; which endures no conflict of opinion or of sophistical arguments, on account of the most excellent certainty of its subject, which is God. And of this He Himself speaks to His disciples: "My peace I give to you: My peace I leave unto you," giving and leaving to them His doctrine, which is this Science whereof I speak.
Solomon says of this Science: "Sixty are the queens, and eighty the friendly concubines; and youthful virgins without number; but one is my dove and my perfect one." All the Sciences he terms queens, and friends, and virgins; and he calls this one dove, because it is without blemish of strife; and he calls this one perfect, because it causes us to see perfectly the Truth in which our Soul finds Peace.
And therefore the comparison of the Heavens to the Sciences having been thus reasoned out, it is easy to see that by the Third Heaven I mean Rhetoric, which has been likened unto the Third Heaven, as appears above.
By the similitudes spoken of it is possible to see who these Movers are to whom I speak; what are the Movers of that Heaven; even as Boethius and Tullius, who by the sweetness of their speech sent me, as has before been stated, to the Love, which is the study of that most gentle Lady, Philosophy, by the rays of their star, which is the written word of that fair one. Therefore in each Science the written word is a star full of light, which that Science reveals And, this being made manifest, it is easy to see the true meaning of the first verse of the purposed Poem by means of the exposition, Figurative and Literal. And by means of this self-same exposition one can sufficiently understand the second verse, even to that part where it says, This Spirit made me look on a fair Lady: where it should be known that this Lady is Philosophy; which truly is a Lady full of sweetness, adorned with modesty, wonderful for wisdom, the glory of freedom, as in the Third Treatise, where her Nobility will be described, it is made manifest. And then where it says: "Who seeks where his Salvation lies, Must gaze intently in this Lady's eyes;" the eyes of this Lady are her demonstrations, which look straight into the eyes of the intellect, enamour the Soul, and set it free from the trammels of circumstance. Oh, most sweet and ineffable forms, swift stealers of the human mind, which appear in these demonstrations, that is, in the eyes of Philosophy, when she discourses to her faithful friends! Verily in you is Salvation, whereby he is made blessed who looks at you, and is saved from the death of Ignorance and Vice. Where it says, "Nor dread the sighs of anguish, joys debarred," the wish is to signify, if he fear not the labour of study and the strife of conflicting opinions, which flow forth ever multiplying from the living Spring in the eyes of this Lady, and then her light still continuing, they fall away, almost like little morning clouds before the Sun. And now the intellect, become her friend, remains free and full of certain Truth, even as the atmosphere is rendered pure and bright by the shining of the midday Sun.
The third passage again is explained by the Literal exposition as far as to where it says, "Still therefore the Soul weeps." Here it is desirable to attend to a certain moral sense which may be observed in these words: that a man ought not for the sake of the greater friend to forget the service received from the lesser; but if one must follow the one and leave the other, the greater is to be followed, with honest lamentation for desertion of the other, whereby he gives occasion to the one whom he follows to bestow more love on him. Then there where it says, "Of my eyes," has no other meaning except that bitter was the hour when the first demonstration of this Lady entered into the eyes of my intellect, which was the cause of this most close attachment. And there where it says, "My peers," it means the Souls set free from miserable and vile pleasures, and from vulgar habits, endowed with understanding and memory. And then it says, "Her eyes bear death," and then it says, "I gazed on her and die," which appears contrary to that which is said above of Salvation by this Lady. And therefore it is to be known that one Spirit speaks here on one side and the other speaks there on the other; which two dispute contrariwise, according to that which is made evident above. Wherefore it is no wonder if here the one Spirit says Yes, and there the other Spirit says No. Then in the stanza where it says, "A sweet voice of tenderness," a thought is meant which was born of my deep contemplation; wherefore it is to be known that by Love, in this Allegory, is always meant that deep contemplation which is the earnest application of the enamoured mind to that object wherewith it is enamoured. Then when it says, "There shall shine High miracles before thee," it announces that through her the adornments of the miracles will be seen; and it speaks truly, that the adornment of the miracles is to see the cause of the same, which she demonstrates; as in the beginning of the book on Metaphysics the Philosopher seems to feel, saying that, through the contemplation of these adornments, men began to be enamoured with this Lady. And concerning this word, i.e., miracle, in the following treatise I shall speak more fully. What then follows of this Song is sufficiently explained by the other exposition.
And thus at the end of this Second Treatise, I say and affirm that the Lady with whom I became enamoured after the first Love was the most beautiful and most excellent daughter of the Ruler of the Universe, to which daughter Pythagoras gave the name of Philosophy. And here ends the Second Treatise, which is brought in for the first dish at my Banquet.
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The Third Treatise.
Love, reasoning of my Lady in my mindWith constant pleasure, oft of her will sayThings over which the intellect may stray;His words make music of so sweet a kindThat the Soul hears and feels, and cries, Ah, me,That I want power to tell what thus I see!
If I would tell of her what thus I hear,First, all that Reason cannot make its ownI needs must leave; and of what may be knownLeave part, for want of words to make it clear.If my Song fail, blame wit and words, whose forceFails to tell all I hear in Love's discourse.
The Sun sees not in travel round the earth,Till it reach her abode, so fair a thingAs she of whom Love causes me to sing.All minds of Heaven wonder at her worth;Mortals, enamoured, find her in their thoughtWhen Love his peace into their minds has brought.
Her Maker saw that she was good, and poured,Beyond our Nature, fulness of His PowerOn her pure soul, whence shone this holy dowerThrough all her frame, with beauty so adoredThat from the eyes she touches heralds flyHeartward with longings, heavenward with a sigh.
On her fair frame Virtue Divine descendsAs on the angel that beholds His face.Fair one who doubt, go with her, mark the graceIn all her acts. Downward from Heaven bendsAn angel when the speaks, who can attestA power in her by none of us possessed.
The graceful acts that she shows forth to allRival in calls to love that love must hear;Fair in all like her, fairest she'll appearWho is most like her. We, content to callHer face a Miracle, have Faith made sure:For that, He made her ever to endure.
Her aspect shows delights of Paradise,Seen in her eyes and in her smiling face;Love brought them there as to his dwelling-place.They dazzle reason, as the Sun the eyes;And since I cannot fix on them my gazeWords must suffice that little speak their praise.
Rain from her beauty little flames of fire,Made living with a spirit to createGood thoughts, and crush the vices that innateMake others vile. Fair one, who may desireEscape from blame as one not calm or meek,From her, who is God's thought, thy teaching seek.
My Song, it seems you speak this to opposeThe saying of a sister Song of mine:This lowly Lady whom you call divine,Your sister called disdainful and morose.Though Heaven, you know, is ever bright and pure,Eyes may have cause to find a star obscure.
So when your sister called this Lady proudShe judged not truly, by what seemed; but fearPossessed her soul; and still, when I come nearHer glance, there's dread. Be such excuse allowed,My Song, and when thou canst, approach her, say;My Lady, take all homage I can pay.
In the preceding treatise is described how my second Love took its rise from the compassionate countenance of a Lady; which Love, finding my Soul inclined to its ardour, after the manner of fire, was kindled from a slight spark into a great flame; so that not only during my waking hours, but during sleep, its light threw many a vision into my mind. And how great the desire which Love excited to behold this Lady, it would be impossible either to tell or to make understood. And not only of her was I thus desirous, but of all those persons who had any nearness to her, either as acquaintances or as relations. Oh! how many were the nights, when the eyes of other persons were closed in sleep, that mine, wide open, gazed fixedly upon the tabernacle of my Love.
And as the rapidly increasing fire must of necessity be seen, it being impossible for fire to remain hidden, the desire seized me to speak of the Love that I could no longer restrain within me. And although I could receive but little help from my own counsel, yet, inasmuch as, either from the will of Love or from my own promptness, I drew nigh to it many times, I deliberated, and I saw that, in speaking of Love, there could be no more beautiful nor more profitable speech than that which commends the beloved person. And in this deliberation three reasons assisted me. One of them was self-love, which is the source of all the rest, as every one sees. For there is no more lawful nor more courteous way of doing honour to one's self than by doing honour to one's friend; and, since friendship cannot exist between the unlike, wherever one sees friendship, likeness is understood; and wherever likeness is understood, thither runs public praise or blame. And from this reason two great lessons may be learnt: the one is, never to wish that any vicious man should seem your friend, for in that case a bad opinion is formed of him who has made the evil man his friend; the other is, that no one ought to blame his friend publicly, because, if you consider well the aforesaid reason, he but points to himself with his finger in his eye.
The second reason was the desire for the duration of this friendship; wherefore it is to be known, as the Philosopher says in the ninth book of the Ethics, in the friendship of persons of unequal position it is requisite, for the preservation of that friendship, for a certain proportion to exist between them, which may reduce the dissimilarity to a similarity, as between the master and the servant. For, although the servant cannot render the same benefit to the master that is conferred on him, yet he ought to render the best that he can, with so much solicitude and freewill that that which is dissimilar in itself may become similar through the evidence of good-will, which proves the friendship, confirms and preserves it. Wherefore I, considering myself lower than that Lady, and perceiving myself benefited by her, endeavoured to praise her according to my ability. And, if it be not similar of itself, my prompt freewill proves at least that if I could I would do more, and thus it makes its friendship similar to that of this gentle Lady.
The third reason was an argument of prudence; for, as Boethius says, "It is not sufficient to look only at that which is before the eyes, that is, at the Present; and, therefore, Prudence, Foresight, is given to us, which looks beyond to that which may happen." I say that I thought that for a long time I might be reproached by many with levity of mind, on hearing that I had turned from my first Love. Wherefore, to remove this reproach, there was no better argument than to state who the Lady was who had thus changed me; that, by her manifest excellence, they might gain some perception of her virtue; and that, by the comprehension of her most exalted virtue, they might be able to see that all stability of mind could be in that mutability: and, therefore, they should not judge me light and unstable. I then began to praise this Lady, and if not in the most suitable manner, at least as well as I could at first; and I began to say: "Love, reasoning of my Lady in my mind." This Song chiefly has three parts. The first is the whole of the first two stanzas, in which I speak in a preliminary manner. The second is the whole of the six following stanzas, in which is described that which is intended, i.e., the praise of that gentle Lady; the first of which begins: "The Sun sees not in travel round the earth." The third part is in the last two stanzas, in which, addressing myself to the Song, I purify it from all doubtful interpretation. And these three parts remain to be discussed now in due order.
Turning, then, to the First Part, which was composed as a Proem or Preface to the Song or Poem, I say that it is fitly divided into three parts. In the first place, it alludes to the ineffable condition of this theme; secondly, it describes my insufficiency to speak of it in a perfect manner; and this second part begins: "If I would tell of her what thus I hear." Finally, I excuse myself for my insufficiency, for which they ought not to lay blame to my charge; and I commence this part when I say: "If my Song fail."
I begin, then: "Love, reasoning of my Lady in my mind," where in the first place it is to be seen who this speaker is, and what this place is in which I say that he is speaking. Love, taking him in his true sense, and considering him subtly, is no other than the spiritual union of the Soul with the beloved object; into which union, of its own nature, the Soul hastens sooner or later, according as it is free or impeded. And the reason for that natural disposition may be this: each substantial form proceeds from its First Cause, which is God, as is written in the book of Causes; and they receive not diversity from that First Cause, which is the most simple, but from the secondary causes, and from the material into which it descends. Wherefore, in the same book it is written, when treating of the infusion of the Divine Goodness: "The bounties and good gifts make diverse things, through the concurrence of that which receives them." Wherefore, since each effect retains somewhat of the nature of its cause, as Alfarabio says when he affirms that that which has been the first cause of a round body has in some way an essentially round form, so each form in some way has the essence of the Divine Nature in itself; not that the Divine Nature can be divided and communicated to these, but participated in by these, almost in the same way that the other stars participate in the nature of the Sun. And the nobler the form, the more does it retain of that Divine Nature.
Wherefore the human Soul, which is the noblest form of all those which are generated under Heaven, receives more from the Divine Nature than any other. And since it is most natural to wish to be in God, for as in the book quoted above one reads, the first thing is to exist, and before that there is nothing, the human Soul desires to exist naturally with all possible desire. And since its existence depends upon God, and is preserved by Him, it naturally desires and longs to be united to God, and so add strength to its own being. And since, in the goodness of Human Nature, Reason gives us proof of the Divine, it follows that, naturally, the Human Soul is united therewith by the path of the spirit so much the sooner, and so much the more firmly, in proportion as those good qualities appear more perfect; which appearance of perfection is achieved according as the power of the Soul to produce a good impression is strong and clear, or is trammelled and obscure. And this union is that which we call Love, whereby it is possible to know that which is within the Soul, by looking at those whom it loves in the world without. This Love, which is the union of my Soul with that gentle Lady in whom so much of the Divine Light was revealed to me, is that speaker of whom I speak; since from him continuous thoughts were born, whilst gazing at and considering the wondrous power of this Lady who was spiritually made one with my Soul.
The place in which I say that he thus speaks is the Mind. But in saying that it is the Mind, one does not attach more meaning to this than before; and therefore it is to be seen what this Mind properly signifies. I say, then, that the Philosopher, in the second book on the Soul, when speaking of its powers, says that the Soul principally has three powers, which are, to Live, to Feel, and to Reason: and he says also to Move, but it is possible to make this one with feeling, since every Soul moves that feels, either with all the senses or with one alone; for the power to move is conjoined with feeling. And according to that which he says, it is most evident that these powers are so entwined that the one is a foundation of the other; and that which is the foundation can of itself be divided; but the other, which is built upon it, cannot be apart from its foundation. Therefore, the Vegetative power, whereby one lives, is the foundation upon which one feels, that is, sees, hears, tastes, smells, and touches; and this vegetative power of itself can be the Soul, vegetative, as we see in all the plants. The Sensitive cannot exist without that. We find nothing that feels, and does not live. And this Sensitive power is the foundation of the Intellectual, that is, of the Reason; so that, in animate mortals, the Reasoning power is not found without the Sensitive. But the Sensitive is found without Reason, as in the beasts, and in the birds, and in the fishes, and in any brute animal, as we see. And that Soul which contains all these powers is the most perfect of all. And the Human Soul possessing the nobility of the highest power, which is Reason, participates in the Divine Nature, after the manner of an eternal Intelligence: for the Soul is ennobled and denuded of matter by that Sovereign Power in proportion as the Divine Light of Truth shines into it, as into an Angel; and Man is therefore called by the Philosophers the Divine Animal.
In this most noble part of the Soul are many virtues, as the Philosopher says, especially in the third chapter of the Soul, where he says that there is in it a virtue which is called Scientific, and one which is called Ratiocinative, or rather deliberative; and with this there are certain virtues, as Aristotle says in that same place, such as the Inventive and the Judging. And all these most noble virtues, and the others which are in that excellent power, are designated by that one word, which we sought to understand, that is, Mind. Wherefore it is evident that by Mind is meant the highest, noblest part of a man's Soul.
And it is seen to be so, for only of man and of the Divine substances is this Mind predicated, as can plainly be seen in Boethius, who first predicates it of men, where he says to Philosophy: "Thou, and God who placed thee in the mind of men;" then he predicates it of God, when he says: "Thou dost produce everything from the Divine Model, Thou most beautiful One, bearing the beautiful World in Thy mind." Neither was it ever predicated of brute animals; nay, of many men who appear defective in the most perfect part, it does not seem that it ought to be, or that it could be, predicated; and therefore such as these are termed in the Latin Tongueamentianddementi, that is, without mind. Hence one can now perceive that it is Mind which is the perfect and most precious part of the Soul in which is God.
And that is the place where I say that Love discourses to me of myLady.
Not without cause do I say that this Love was at work in my mind; but it is said reasonably, in order to explain what this Love is, by the place in which it works. Wherefore, it is to be known that each thing, as is said above, for the reason shown above, has its especial Love, as the simple bodies have Love, innate, each in its proper place. Therefore the Earth always descends to the centre, the fire to the circumference above near the Heaven of the Moon, and always ascends towards that. The bodies first composed, such as are the minerals, have love for the place where their generation is ordained, and in which they increase, and from which they have vigour and power. Wherefore, we see the loadstone always receive power from the place of its generation. Each of the plants which are first animated, that is, first animated with a vegetative soul has most evident love for a particular place, according as its nature may require; and therefore we see certain plants almost always grow by the side of the streams, and certain others upon the mountain tops, and certain others grow by the sea-shore, or at the foot of hills, which, if they are transplanted, either die entirely or live a sad life, as it were, like a being separated from his friend. The brute beasts have a most evident love, not only for places, but we see also their love towards each other. Men have their own love for things perfect and excellent; and since Man, although his Soul is one substance alone, because of his nobility, partakes of the nature of each of these things, he can possess all these affections, and he does possess them all. By his part in the nature of the simple body, as earth, naturally it tends downwards; therefore, when he moves his body upwards, he becomes more weary.
Because of the second nature, of the mixed body, it loves the place of its generation, and even the time; and therefore each one naturally is of more power in his own place and in his own time than in any other. Wherefore, one reads in the History of Hercules, and in the greater Ovid, and in Lucan, and in other Poets, that when fighting with the Giant who was named Antæus, every time that the Giant was weary, and laid his body down on the earth at full length, either by the will or strength of Hercules, new strength and vigour then surged up in him, drawn wholly from the Earth, in which and from which he was produced; Hercules, perceiving this, at last seized him, and having compressed and raised him above the Earth, he held him so tightly, without allowing him to touch the Earth again, that he conquered Antæus by excess of strength, and killed him. According to the testimony of the books, this battle took place in Africa.
And because of the third nature, that is, of the plants, Man has a love for a certain food, not inasmuch as it affects the senses, but in so much as it is nutritious; and that particular food does the work of that most perfect Nature, while certain other food, dissimilar, acts but imperfectly. And therefore we see that certain food will make men handsome, and strong-limbed, and very brightly coloured, and certain other food will do the opposite of this.
And by the fourth nature, of the animals, that is, the sensitive, Man has the other love, by which he loves according to the sensible appearance, like the beasts; and this love in Man especially has need of control, because of its excessive operation in the delights given, especially through sight and touch.
And because of the fifth and last nature, which is the true Human Nature, and, to use a better phrase, the Angelic, namely, the Rational, Man has by it the Love of Truth and Virtue; and from this Love is born true and perfect friendship from the honest intercourse of which the Philosopher speaks in the eighth book of the Ethics, when he treats of Friendship.
Wherefore, since this nature is termed Mind, as is proved above, I spoke of Love as discoursing in my Mind in order to explain that this Love was the Friendship which is born of that most noble nature, that is, of Truth and Virtue, and to exclude each false opinion, by which my Love might be suspected to spring from pleasure of the Senses.
I then say, "With constant pleasure," to make people understand its continuance and its fervour. And I say that it often whispers "Things over which the intellect may stray." And I speak truth, because my thoughts, when reasoning of her, often sought to draw conclusions of her, which I could not comprehend, and I was alarmed, so that I seemed almost like one dazed, even as he who, looking with the eye along a direct line, sees first the nearest things clearly; then, proceeding, it sees them less clearly; then, further on, doubtfully; then, proceeding an immense way, the sight is divided from the object, and sees nothing. And this is one unspeakable thing of that which I have taken for a theme; and consequently I relate the other when I say:
His words make music of so sweet a kindThat the Soul hears and feels, and cries, Ah, me,That I want power to tell what thus I see!
And because I know not how to tell it, I say that my soul laments, saying, "Ah, me, that I want power." And this is the other unspeakable thing, that the tongue is not a complete and perfect follower of all that the intellect sees. And I say, "That the Soul hears and feels;" hearing, as to the words, and feeling, as to the sweetness of the sound.
Now that the two ineffable parts of this matter have been discussed, we must proceed to discuss words that describe my insufficiency.
I say, then, that my insufficiency arises from a double cause, even as in a twofold manner the exalted nature of my Lady surpasses all, in the way which has been told. For I am compelled, by the poverty of my intellect, to omit much of the truth concerning her which shone into my mind like rays of light, but which my mind receives like a transparent body, unable to gather up the ends thereof and reflect them back. And this I express in that following part: "First, all that Reason cannot make its own I needs must leave." Then, when I say, "And of what can be known," I say that not even to that which I do understand am I sufficient, because my tongue is not so eloquent that it could tell that which is discoursed in my thoughts concerning her. It may be seen, therefore, that, with respect to the Truth, it is very little that I shall say; and this redounds to her great praise, if well considered, in that which was the main intention. And it is possible to say that this form of speech came indeed from the workshop of Rhetoric, which on every side lays its hand upon the main intention. Then, when it says, "If my Song fail," I excuse myself for my fault, which ought not, then, to be blamed when others see that my words are far below the dignity of this Lady. And I say that, if the defect is in my rhymes, that is, in my words, which are appointed to discourse of her, for this are to be blamed the weakness of the intellect and the abruptness of our speech: "blame wit and words," which are overpowered by the thought, so that they cannot follow it entirely, especially there where the thought is born of love, because there the Soul searches more deeply than elsewhere. It would be quite possible for any one to say: Thou dost excuse and accuse thyself all in one breath, which is a reason for blame, not for escape from blame, inasmuch as the blame, which is mine, is cast on the intellect and on the speech; for, if it be good, I ought to be praised for it in so much as it is so; and if it be defective, I ought to be blamed. To this it is possible to reply, briefly, that I do not accuse myself, but that I excuse myself in truth. And therefore it is to be known, according to the opinion of the Philosopher in the third book of the Ethics, that man is worthy of praise or of blame only in those things which it is in his power to do or not to do; but in those things over which he has no power he deserves neither blame nor praise, since either the praise or blame is to be attributed to some other, although the things may be parts of the man himself. Therefore, we ought not to blame the man because his body, from his birth, may be ugly, since it was not in his power to make it beautiful; but our blame should fall on the evil disposition of the matter whereof he is made, whose source was a defect of Nature. And even so we ought not to praise the man for the beauty of form which he may have from his birth, for he was not the maker of it; but we ought to praise the artificer, that is, Human Nature, who shapes her material into so much beauty when she is not impeded. And therefore the priest said well to the Emperor who laughed and scoffed at the ugliness of his body: "The Lord, He is God: It is He that hath made us, and not we ourselves;" and these are the words of the Prophet in a verse of the Psalms, written neither more nor less than according to the reply of the Priest.
And therefore let the wicked evil-born ones perceive that, if they put their chief care in the adornment of their persons, it must be with all modesty; for to do that is no other than to adorn the work of another, that is, Nature, and to abandon their own proper work.
Returning, then, to the proposition, I say that our intellect, through defect of the power through which it sees organic power, that is, the imagination, is not able to ascend to certain things, because the imagination cannot help it and has not the wherewithal, such as are the substances apart from matter, which (if we can have any knowledge of them) we cannot fully comprehend.
And the man is not to blame for this, because he was not the maker of this defect; nay, Universal Nature did this, which is God, who wills that in this life we be without this light. And because He was the cause, it would be presumptuous to argue concerning it. So that if my earnest thought transported me into a place where my imagination failed my intellect, I was not to blame if I could not possibly understand.
Again, a bound is set to our understanding in each operation thereof; but not by us, but by Universal Nature; and therefore it is to be known that the bounds of the understanding are wider in thought than in speech, and wider in speech than in signs. Hence, if our thought, not only that which fails in a perfect intellect, but also that which in a perfect intellect attains its end, is the conqueror of speech, we are not to blame, because we are not the makers of it. And therefore I prove that I do truthfully excuse myself when I say: "Blame wit and words, whose force Fails to tell all that I hear Love discourse;" for, sufficiently clear ought to appear the good-will, which alone we should regard in respect to merits that are human.
And thus is now explained the first principal part of this Song which flows from my hand.
Discourse on the first part of the Song has now made its meaning open and clear, and it is needful to proceed to the second; for the clearer perception of which, three divisions are desirable, according as it is contained in three sections. For in the first part I praise that Lady entirely and generally, as in the Soul so in the body; in the second part I descend to especial commendation of the Soul; and in the third, to especial praise of the body. The first part begins: "The Sun sees not in travel round the earth;" the second begins: "Her Maker saw that she was good;" the third begins: "Rain from her beauty little flames of fire," and these parts or divisions in due order are to be discussed.
I say then: "The Sun sees not in travel round the earth;" where it is to be known, in order to have perfect understanding thereof, how the Earth is circled round by the Sun. In the first place, I say that by the Earth I do not here mean the whole body of the Universe, but only that part of the sea and land, following the common speech, which is thus wont to designate it, whereupon some one exclaims, "This man has seen all the World," meaning "this part of the sea and land." This World Pythagoras and his followers asserted to be one of the stars, and they also said that there was another opposite to it, similar to it: and they called that one Antictona; and he said that both were in one sphere which revolved from East to West, and by this revolution the Sun was circled round us, and now he was seen, and now he was not seen. And he said that the fire was in the centre of these, considering the fire to be a more noble body than the water and than the Earth, and giving the noblest centre to the four simple bodies; he said that the fire, when it appeared to ascend, according to strict truth descended to the centre. Then Plato was of another opinion, and he wrote in a book of his, which he called Timæus, that the Earth with the sea was indeed the centre of all, but that its whole sphere revolved round its centre, following the first movement of the Heavens, but much slower on account of its gross material, and because of the immense distance from that first moved. These opinions are confuted in the second chapter, Of Heaven and the World, by that glorious Philosopher, to whom Nature opened her secrets most freely; and by him it is therein proved that this World, the Earth, is of itself stable and fixed to all eternity. And his reasons, which Aristotle states in order to break those other opinions and to affirm the truth, it is not my intention here to narrate; therefore, let it be enough for those to whom I speak, to know, upon his great authority, that this Earth is fixed, and does not revolve, and that it, with the sea, is the centre of the Heavens. These Heavens revolve round this centre continuously, even as we see; in which revolution there must of necessity be two fixed Poles, and a circle equally distant from these round which all especially revolves. Of these two Poles, the one is visible to almost all the discovered Earth, that is, the Northern Pole; the other is hidden from almost all the discovered Earth, that is, the Southern Pole. The circle spread from them is that part of Heaven under which the Sun revolves when it is in Aries and Libra. Wherefore, it is to be known that if a stone could fall from this Pole of ours, it would fall there beyond into the sea precisely upon that surface of the sea, where, if a man could be, he would always have the Sun above the middle of his head; and I believe that from Rome to that place, going in a straight line to the North, the distance may be almost two thousand seven hundred miles, or a little more or less. Imagining, then, in order to understand better what I say, that there is in that place a city, and that its name may be Maria, I say again that if from the other Pole, that is, the Southern, a stone could fall, that it would fall upon that part of the ocean which is precisely on this ball opposite to Maria; and I believe that from Rome to where this second stone would fall, going in a direct line to the South, the distance may be seven thousand five hundred miles, a little more or less. And here let us imagine another city, which may have the name of Lucia; and the distance, from whatever part one draws the line, is ten thousand two hundred miles between the one and the other, that is, half the circumference of this ball, so that the citizens of Maria hold the soles of the feet opposite the soles of the feet of the citizens of Lucia. Let us imagine also a circle upon this ball which is in every part equi-distant from Maria as from Lucia. I believe that this circle, according to what I understand by the assertions of the Astrologers, and by that of Albertus Magnus in his book On the Nature of Places and on the Properties of the Elements, and also by the testimony of Lucan in his ninth book, would divide this Earth uncovered by the sea in the Meridian, almost through all the extreme end of the first climate, where there are amongst the other people the Garamanti, who are almost always naked; to whom came Cato with the people of Rome when flying from the dominion of Cæsar. Having marked out these three places upon this ball, one can easily see how the Sun circles round it.
I say, then, that the Heaven of the Sun revolves from West to East, not directly against the diurnal movement, that is, of the day and night, but obliquely against that, so that its mid-circle, which is equally between its Poles, in which is the body of the Sun, cuts into two opposite parts the circle of the two first Poles, in the beginning of Aries and in the beginning of Libra; and it is divided by two arcs from it, one towards the North and one towards the South; the points of these two said arcs are equi-distant from the first circle in every part by twenty-three degrees and one point more, and the one point is the tropic of Cancer, and the other is the tropic of Capricorn; therefore it must be that Maria in the sign of Aries can see, when the Sun sinks below the mid-circle of the first Poles, this Sun to revolve round the Earth below, or rather the sea, like a millstone, of which only one half of its body appears, and can see this come rising up after the manner of the screw of a vine-press, so much so that it completes ninety-one rotations, or a little more. When these rotations are completed, its ascension is to Maria almost as much in proportion as it ascends to us in the half-third, that is, of the equal day and night; and if a man could stand in Maria, with his face always turned to the Sun, he would see that Sun pass by on the right. Then by the same way it seems to descend another ninety-one rotations, or a little more, so much so that it circles round below the Earth, or rather sea, not showing the whole of itself; and then it is hidden, and Lucia begins to see it, which, the same as Maria, then sees it to ascend and to descend around itself with the same number of rotations. And if a man could stand in Lucia, with his face always turned towards the Sun, he would see it pass to the left. Therefore, it is possible to see that these places have in the year one day of six months' duration, and one night of the same length of time; and when one has the day the other has the night.
It must be also that the circle where the Garamanti are, as has been said above, upon this ball, can see the Sun revolve precisely above them, not after the fashion of a mill-stone, but of a wheel, which cannot in any part be seen except the centre, when it goes under Aries. And then it is seen to depart from its place immediately above and go towards Maria ninety-one days, or a little more, and by so many to return to its position; and then, when it has turned back, it goes before Libra, and even so departs and goes towards Lucia ninety-one days, or a little more, and in so many returns to its position. And this place always has the day equal with the night, either on this side or on that, as the Sun goes, and twice a year it has the summer of intense heat, and two little winters. It must also be that the two distances, which are midway from the two imaginary Cities and the mid-circle, see the Sun variously, according as they are remote from, and near to, these places.
Now, by what has been said, this can be seen by him who has good understanding, to which it is well to give a little fatigue. He can now perceive that, by the Divine Providence, the World is so ordained that the sphere of the Sun, being revolved and turned round to one point, this ball whereon we are in every part receives an equal share of light and darkness. Oh, ineffable Wisdom, Thou which didst thus ordain! Oh, how poor and feeble is our mind when seeking to comprehend Thee! And you, O men, for whose benefit and pleasure I write, in what fearful blindness do you live if you never raise your eyes upwards to these things, but keep them fixed in the mud of your foolishness.
In the preceding chapter is shown after what manner the Sun travels round the Earth; so that now one can proceed to demonstrate the meaning of the part to which this thought belongs. I say, then, that in that first part I begin to praise that Lady by comparison with other things. And I say that the Sun, circling round the Earth, sees nothing so gentle as that Lady; wherefore it follows that she is, according to the letter, the most gentle of all things that the sun shines upon. And it says: "Till the hour;" wherefore it is to be known that "hour" is understood in two ways by the Astrologers. The one is, that of the day and of the night they make twenty-four hours—twelve of the day, twelve of the night, however long or short the day may be. And these hours are short and long in the day and night according as the day and night increase and diminish. And these hours the Church uses when it says, Prima, Tertia, Sexta, and Nona—first, third, sixth, and ninth; and these are termed hours temporal. The other mode is, that, making of the day and of the night twenty-four hours, the day sometimes has fifteen hours and the night nine; and sometimes the night has sixteen and the day eight, according as the day and night increase and diminish; and they term these hours equal at the Equinox, and those that are termed temporal are always the same, because, the day being equal to the night, it must happen thus.
Then when I say, "All Minds of Heaven wonder at her worth," I praise her, not having respect to any other thing. And I say that the Intelligences of Heaven behold her, and that the people here below think of that gentle Lady when they have more of that peace which delights them. And here it is to be known that each Mind or Intellect in Heaven above, according to that which is written in the book Of Causes, knows that which is above itself and that which is below itself; therefore it knows God as its Cause; therefore it knows that which is below itself as its effect.
And since God is the most universal cause of everything, to know Him is to know all, according to the degree of the Intelligence; wherefore all the Intelligences know the human form in as far as it is by intention fixed or determined in the Divine Mind. The moving Intelligences especially know it; since they are the most especial causes of it, and of every kind of form; and they know the most perfect, as far as they can know it, as their rule and pattern.
And if this human form, copied and individualized, is not perfect, it is not the fault of the said copy or image, but of the matter from which the individual is formed. Therefore when I say, "All Minds in Heaven wonder at her worth," I wish to express no other than that she is thus made, even as the express image of the human form in the Divine Mind. And each Mind there above beholds her by virtue of that quality which exists especially in those angelic Minds which build up and shape, with Heaven, things that exist below. And to confirm this, I subjoin when I say, "Mortals, enamoured, find her in their thought When Love his peace into their minds has brought," where it is to be known that each thing especially desires its perfection, and in that its every desire finds peace and calm, and for that peace each thing is desired.
And this is that desire which always makes every pleasure appear incomplete, for there is no joy or pleasure so great in this life that it can quench the thirst in our Soul, for always the desire for that perfection remains in the Mind. And since this Lady is truly that perfection, I say that people here below receive great delight when they have most peace; for she abides then in their thoughts. For this Lady, I say, is perfect in as high a degree as it is possible for Human Nature to be.
Then when I say, "Her Maker saw that she was good," I prove that not only this Lady is the most perfect in the human race, but more than the most perfect, inasmuch as she receives from the Divine Goodness more than human dues. Wherefore one can reasonably believe that as each Master loves most his best work far more than the other work, so God loves the good human being far above the rest. And forasmuch as His Bounty is of necessity not restricted by any limit, His love has no regard to the amount due to him who receives, but it overflows in gifts, and in the blessings of power and grace. Wherefore I say here, that this God, who gave life or being to this Lady, through love or charity for her perfection pours into her of His Bounty beyond the limits of the amount due to our nature.
Then when I say, "On her pure soul," I prove this that has been said with reasonable testimony, which gives us to know that, as the Philosopher says in the second chapter, On the Soul, the Soul is the act of the Body; and if it be its act, it is its Cause; and as it is written in the book before, quoted, On Causes, each Cause infuses into its effect some of the goodness which it receives from its own Cause, which is "God." Wherefore, since in her are seen wonderful things, so much so on the part of the body that they make each beholder desirous to see those things, it is evident that her form, which is her Soul, guides it as its proper Cause and receives miraculously the gracious goodness of God.
And thus is proved, by that appearance, which exceeds the due appointment of our nature, which in her is most perfect, as has been said above, that this Lady is by God endowed with good gifts and made a noble thing. And this is the whole Literal meaning of the first section of the second principal part.
Having commended this Lady generally, both according to the Soul and according to the Body, I proceed to praise her specially according to the Soul.
And first I praise her Soul for its goodness, that is great in itself; then I commend it for a goodness that is great in others, and useful to the World. And that second part begins when I say, firstly, "On her fair frame Virtue Divine descends;" where it is to be known that the Divine Goodness descends into all things, and otherwise they could not exist; but, although this goodness springs from the First Cause, it is received diversely, according to the more or less of virtue in the recipients. Wherefore it is written in the book Of Causes: "The First Goodness sends His good gifts forth upon things in one stream. Verily each thing receives from this stream according to the manner of its virtue and its being." And we can have a sensible, living example of this in the Sun. We see the light of the Sun, which is one thing, derived from one fountain, to be variously received by material substances; as Albertus Magnus says in his book On the Intellect, that certain bodies, through having mixed in themselves an excess of transparent brightness, so soon as the Sun sees them they become so bright that, by the multiplication of light within them, their aspect is hardly discernible, and from themselves they render back to others great splendour or brilliancy, such as is gold and any gem. Sure I am that by being entirely transparent, not only do they receive the light, but that they do not intercept it; nay, they pass it on, like stained glass, coloured with their own colour, to other things. And there are certain other bodies so overpowering in the purity of the transparency that they become so radiant as to overpower the adjustments of the eye, and you cannot look at them without fatigue of sight; such as are the mirrors. Certain others are so free from transparency, that but little light can they receive; as is the Earth. Thus the Goodness of God is received in sundrywise by the sundry substances, that is, in one way by the Angels, who are without grossness of matter, as if transparent through their purity of form; and otherwise by the human Soul, which although on one side it may be free from matter, on another side it is impeded: even as the man who is all in the water but his head, of whom one cannot say that he is entirely in the water, or entirely out of it. Again otherwise it is received by the animals, whose soul is wholly comprised in matter; but I say that the soul of animals receives of the Goodness of God in proportion as it is ennobled. Again otherwise is it received by the minerals; and otherwise by the Earth, than by the others, because the Earth is most material, and therefore most remote, and most out of all proportion to the First most simple and most high Cause, which is alone Intellectual, that is to say, God.
And although here below there may be placed general degrees of excellence, nevertheless, singular degrees of excellence may also be placed; that is to say, that amongst human Souls one Soul may receive more bountifully than another. And since in the intellectual order of the Universe one ascends and descends by degrees almost continuous from the lowest form to the highest, and from the highest to the lowest, as we see in the visible order of things; and between the Angelic Nature, which is intellectual, and the Human Soul there may be no step, but the one rise to the other as it were continuously through the height of the degrees; and from the Human Soul and the most perfect soul of the brute animals, again, there may not be any break in the descent. For as we see many men so vile and of such low condition that it seems almost that it can be no other than bestial, so it is to be asserted and firmly believed that there may be some men so noble and of a condition so exalted that it can be no other than that of the Angel. Otherwise the human species could not be continued on every side, which cannot be. Such as these Aristotle calls, in the seventh book of the Ethics, Divine; and such a one I say that this Lady is, so that the Divine Virtue, after the manner that it descends into the Angel, descends into her.
Then when I say, "Fair one who doubt," I prove this by the experience that it is possible to have of it in those operations which are proper to the rational Soul, wherein the Divine Light shines forth more quickly, that is, in the speech and in the actions, which are wont to be termed conduct and deportment. Wherefore it is to be known that only man amongst the animals speaks, and has conduct and acts which are called rational, because he alone has Reason in himself. And if any one might wish to say, in contradiction, that a certain bird can speak, as appears true, especially of the magpie and of the parrot; and that some beast performs acts, or rather things, by rule, as appears in the ape and in some other; I reply that it is not true that they speak, nor that they have rules, because they have not Reason, from which these things must proceed; neither is there in them the principle of these operations; neither do they know what that is; neither do they understand that by those acts something is intended; but that only which they see and hear they represent, even as the image of somebody may be reflected in a glass. Wherefore, as in the mirror the corporal image which the mirror shows is not true, so the image of Reason, in the acts and the speech which the brute soul represents, or rather shows, is not true. I say that what gentle Lady soever doubts should "go with her, mark the grace In all her acts." I do not say man, because one can derive experience more modestly from the woman than from the man; and I say she will find that "Downward from Heaven bends An angel when she speaks." For her speech, because of its exalted character and because of its sweetness, kindles in the mind of him who hears it a thought of Love, which I call a celestial Spirit; since from Heaven is the source and from Heaven the intention thereof, as has been already narrated. From which thought I pass to a firm opinion that this Lady is of miraculous power, that there is "A power in her by none of us possessed." Her actions, by their suavity and by their moderation, "Rival in calls to Love that Love must hear." They cause Love to awaken and again to hear whenever he is sown by the power of bountiful Nature. Which natural seed acts as in the next treatise is shown.
Then when I say, "Fair in all like her, fairest she'll appear Who is most like her," I intend to narrate how the goodness and the power of her soul are good and useful to others; and, firstly, how useful it is to other women, saying that she is "Fair in all like her," where I present a clear or bright example to the women, from gazing at which they can make their beauty seem gentle in following the same. Secondly, I relate how useful she is to all people, saying that her aspect assists our faith, which is more useful to the whole Human Race than all other things beside; for it is that by which we escape from Eternal Death and acquire Eternal Life; and she assists our Faith, for the first foundation of our Faith is on the miracles performed by Him who was crucified, who created our Reason, and willed that it should be less than His power. He performed these miracles, then, in His own name for His saints; and many men are so obstinate that they are in doubt of those miracles if there be the least mist or cloud around them; and they cannot believe any miracle unless they have visible experience of the same; and this Lady is a thing visibly miraculous, of which the eyes of men daily can have experience, and which can make the other miracles appear possible to us. Wherefore it is manifest that this Lady, with her marvellous aspect, assists our Faith. And, therefore, finally I say:
We, content to callHer face a Miracle, have Faith made sure:For that God made her ever to endure.
And thus ends the second section of the second principal part of theSong according to its Literal meaning.
Amongst the Works of Divine Wisdom, Man is the most wonderful, considering how in one form the Divine Power joined three natures; and in such a form how subtly harmonized his body must be. It is organized for all his distinct powers; wherefore, because of the great concord there must be, among so many organs, to secure their perfect response to each other, in all the multitude of men but few are perfect. And if this Creature is so wonderful, certainly it is a dread thing to discourse of his conditions, not only in words, but even in thought. So that to this apply those words of Ecclesiastes: "I beheld all the Work of God, that a Man cannot find out the Work that is done under the Sun." And those other words there, where he says: "Let not thine heart be hasty to utter anything before God: for God is in Heaven, and thou upon Earth: therefore let thy words be few." I, then, who in this third section intend to speak of a certain condition of such a creature, inasmuch as, through the goodness of the Soul, visible beauty appears in his body, I begin timorously uncertain, intending, if not fully, at least partially, to untie such a knot as this. I say, then, that since the meaning of that section is clear, wherein this Lady is praised on the part of the Soul, we are now to proceed and to see how it is when I say: "Her aspect shows delights of Paradise." I praise her on the part of the body, and I say that in her aspect bright gleams appear which show us pleasant things, and amongst others those of Paradise.
The most noble state of all, and that which is the crown of every good, is to be at peace within one's self; and this is to be happy. And this content is truly (although in another manner) in her aspect; so that, by looking at her, the people find peace, so sweetly does her Beauty feed the eyes of the beholders; but in another way, for the Peace that is perpetual in Paradise is not attainable by any man.
And since some one might ask where this wonderful content appears in this Lady, I distinguish in her person two parts, in which human pleasure and displeasure most appear. Wherefore it is to be known that in whatever part the Soul most fulfils its office, it strives most earnestly to adorn that part, and there it does its work most subtly. Wherefore we see that in the Face of Man, where it fulfils its office more than in any other outward part, it works so subtly that, by making itself subtle therein as much as its material permits, it causes that no face is like another, because its utmost power over matter, which is dissimilar in almost all, is there brought into action; and because in the face the Soul works especially in two places, as if in those two places all the three Natures of the Soul had jurisdiction, that is, in the Eyes and in the Mouth, these it chiefly adorns, and there it spends its care to make all beautiful if it can. And in these two places I say that those pleasures of content appear, saying: "Seen in her eyes and in her smiling face;" the which two places, by means of a beautiful comparison, may be designated the balconies of the woman who dwells in the house of the body, she being the Soul; because there, although veiled, as it were, the Soul often shows itself. The Soul shows itself so evidently in the eyes that it is possible to know its present passion if you look attentively.
Six passions are proper to the human Soul of which the Philosopher makes mention in his Rhetoric, namely, Grace, Zeal, Mercy, Envy, Love, and Shame; and with whichever of these the Soul is impassioned, there comes into the window of the Eyes the semblance of it, unless it be repressed within, and shut from view by great power of will. Wherefore some one formerly plucked out his eyes that an inward shame should not appear without, as Statius the Poet says of the Theban Oedipus when he says that with eternal night he loosed his damnèd shame.
It reveals itself in the Mouth, like colour behind glass as it were. And what is a smile or a laugh except a coruscation of the Soul's delight, a light shot outwardly from that which shines within? And therefore it is right for a man to reveal his Soul by a well-tempered cheerfulness, smiling moderately with a due restraint, and with slight movement of the limbs; so that the Lady, that is, the Soul, which then, as has been said, shows herself, may appear modest, and not dissolute. Therefore the book on the Four Cardinal Virtues commands us thus: "Let thy smile be without loud laughter, that is, without cackling like a hen."
Ah, the sweet wonder of my Lady's smile, which is never seen but in the eyes!
And I say of these delights seen in her eyes and smile: "Love brought them there as to his dwelling place;" where it is possible to consider Love in a twofold form. First, the Love of the Soul, peculiar or proper to these places; secondly, universal Love, which inclines things to love and to be loved, which ordains the Soul to rule these parts.
Then, when I say, "They dazzle Reason," I excuse myself for this, that it appears of such exceeding beauty that I can tell but little, owing to its overpowering force; and I say that I can say but little concerning it for two reasons. The one is, that those things which appear in her aspect overpower our intellect; and I tell how this conquest is made: that "They dazzle Reason, as sunbeams our eyes," when the Sun overpowers our feeble sight, if not also the healthy and the strong. The other is, that the man cannot look fixedly at it, because the Soul becomes inebriate therein; so that incontinently, after gazing thereat, it fails in all its operations.
Then, when I say, "Rain from her beauty little flames of fire," I recur to discourse of its effect, since to discourse entirely of it is not possible. Wherefore it is to be known that all those things which subdue our intellect, so that it is unable to see what they are, are most suitably to be discussed in their effects; wherefore of God, and of His separate substances, and of the first matter we can thus have some knowledge. And therefore I say that the beauty of that Lady rains little flames of fire, meaning the ardour of Love and of Charity, "Made living with a spirit," that is, Love informed by a gentle spirit, which is direct desire, through which and from which "to create Good thoughts;" and it not only does this, but it crushes and destroys its opposite, the innate vices which are especially the foes of all good thoughts.
And here it is to be known that there are certain vices in the Man to which he is naturally disposed; as certain men of a choleric complexion are disposed to anger: and such vices as these are innate, that is, natural. Others are the vices of habit, for which not the complexion, but habit, or custom, is to blame; such as intemperance, and especially intemperance in wine. But these vices are subdued and put to flight by good habits, and the man is made virtuous thereby without finding fatigue in his moderation, as the Philosopher says in the second book of the Ethics. Truly there is this difference between the natural passions and the habitual, that through use of good morals the habitual entirely vanish, because their origin, the evil habit, is destroyed by its opposite; but the natural, the source of which is in the complexion of the passionate man, although they may be made much lighter by good morals, yet they do not entirely disappear as far as regards the first cause, but they almost wholly disappear in act, because custom is not equal to nature, which is the source of such a passion. And therefore the man is more praiseworthy who guides himself and rules himself when he is of an evil disposition by nature, in opposition to natural impulse, than he who, being gifted with a good disposition by nature, carries himself naturally well; as it is more praiseworthy to control a bad horse than one that is not troublesome. I say, then, that those little flames which rain down from her beauty destroy the innate, or the natural, vices, to make men understand that her beauty has power to renew Nature in those who behold it, which is a miraculous thing. And this confirms that which is observed above in the other chapter when I say that she is the helper of our Faith.
Finally, when I say, "Lady, who may desire Escape from blame," I infer, under pretext of admonishing another, the end for which so much beauty was made. And I say that what lady believes her beauty to be open to blame through some defect, let her look on this most perfect example; where it is understood that it is designed not only to improve and raise the good, but also to convert evil to good. And, finally, it is subjoined that she is "God's thought," that is, from the Mind of God. And this to make men understand that, by design of the Creator, Nature is made to produce such an effect.
And thus ends the whole of the second chief part of the Song.