As he journeys through Heaven, Dante frequently gazes at his beloved Beatrice, who throughout The Divine Comedy has symbolized divine revelation. Sometimes, just looking at the beautiful Beatrice overpowers and temporarily blinds Dante. His overwhelm and loss of sight in the face of her beauty—symbolically, the beauty of divine revelation, or indirect knowledge of God—suggests that his own knowledge of God is weak and easily overwhelmed. But that Dante continually gazes at his beloved Beatrice anyway shows that love keeps him pressing forward. Significantly, as he journeys through Heaven, Dante’s desire to look at Beatrice gradually lessens as his strength to endure her beauty strengthens. By the end of the cantica, Dante is strong enough to look briefly upon the beauty of God himself, no longer needing to look instead at Beatrice. By showing Dante’s lessening need to look to Beatrice and his growing ability to endure the sight of God directly, Dante suggests that the more determinedly a person seeks God, the more a person will be able to see and understand God, though never exhaustively.
At first, Dante cannot look directly toward the heavens for long, though he wants to; instead, he redirects his gaze to Beatrice’s lesser yet still dazzling beauty. This shows how Dante isn’t yet ready for direct knowledge of God, though Dante still tenaciously seeks God through indirect knowledge. At the beginning of Dante and Beatrice’s journey through Paradise, Dante looks fleetingly at the heavens, then back at Beatrice. “I could not bear it long” to look directly toward the sun, Dante relates; “And my bright glance, / turned back from that above, I fixed on” Beatrice instead. Notably, Dante is able to bear the sight of the sun for a brief moment, and his glance is “bright,” suggesting that even at this early stage of his journey, he has some capacity to understand God. Yet, for now, he is mainly dependent on indirect knowledge, mediated through Beatrice.
In fact, Dante is often dazzled by Beatrice herself, and he sometimes has to be reminded to pay attention to his heavenly surroundings instead. In the heaven of Mars, for example, Dante becomes so entranced by Beatrice’s eyes that he disregards his surroundings: “my heart, in awe now looking back at her, / was free of all desires, save that alone […] A smile – its light defeating me – she now addressed me: ‘Turn around. […] Heaven is found not only in my eyes.’” In this case, Dante contents himself with indirect knowledge of God and is even “defeated” by the intensity of this mediated light. Beatrice’s words remind him that he must not be satisfied with gazing at her, but that he is supposed to be strengthening his vision for yet greater sights—that is, direct knowledge of God.
As Dante learns more about God throughout his journey, he becomes able to look directly at God, first fleetingly through Christ, then more searchingly into the divine light itself. Again, the more Dante seeks God, the more he is enabled to seek God—a quest that never ends. When Dante and Beatrice reach the sphere of the fixed stars, Dante is able to look at Christ himself, albeit fleetingly. Dante finds that, after glimpsing in Christ “the being that creates that glow, too bright […] to tolerate,” redirecting his gaze to Beatrice’s blazing smile is actually a relief: “Open your eyes and look at what I am!” Beatrice comforts Dante. “You have seen things by which you’re made so strong, / you can, now, bear to look upon my smile.” Beatrice means that, now that Dante’s vision has been strengthened to endure a brief look at God in Christ, Beatrice’s smile (symbolizing indirect knowledge of God) no longer has the power to dazzle Dante so completely. He can fall back on her gaze (which has grown brighter and more intense the higher they’ve traveled) for respite. This further suggests that, the more passionately a person seeks God, the more they will be enabled to see him.
By the time Dante reaches the Empyrean, the heavenly sphere where God himself dwells, Dante outgrows his need for Beatrice’s mediating light altogether. Beatrice is replaced as guide by Bernard of Clairvaux who, unlike Beatrice, doesn’t mediate knowledge of God, but rather exhorts Dante to look directly at the light of God—something Dante is now ready for. “My sight,” Dante exults upon looking into the divine light, “becoming pure and wholly free, / entered still more, then more, along the ray / of that one light which, of itself, is true.” Dante’s long ascent through the heavenly spheres has gradually purified and freed his vision to gaze directly into God’s light—an inexhaustible sight, as he searches “still more, then more.”
In God’s presence, Dante reflects that “The beauty I saw, transcending every kind, / is far beyond us here […] / Its maker, I think, alone could know its joy.” From struggling to endure Beatrice’s radiance (God’s mediated light), Dante is gradually strengthened in his capacity for God’s light to the point that it can shine on him directly. Importantly, though, even this light contains unfathomable depths that only God himself can know. In Heaven, souls’ happiness consists in the reality that, as God’s depths are gazed upon, deeper love is continually drawn out of souls, spurring an ever-expanding, endlessly delightful and satisfying quest.
Related Themes from Other Texts
Vision, Knowledge, and the Pursuit of God ThemeTracker
Vision, Knowledge, and the Pursuit of God Quotes in Paradiso
Glory, from Him who moves all things that are,
penetrates the universe and then shines back,
reflected more in one part, less elsewhere.
High in that sphere which takes from Him most light
I was – I was! – and saw things there that no one
who descends knows how or ever can repeat.
For, drawing near to what it most desires,
our intellect so sinks into the deep
no memory can follow it that far.
‘Dear brother, we in will are brought to rest
by power of caritas that makes us will
no more than what we have, nor thirst for more.
Were our desire to be more highly placed,
all our desires would then be out of tune
with His, who knows and wills where we should be. […]
In formal terms, our being in beatitude
entails in-holding to the will of God,
our own wills thus made one with the divine.’
I see full well that human intellect
can never be content unless that truth
beyond which no truth soars shines down on it.
[…] Born of that will, there rise up, like fresh shoots,
pure doubts. These flourish at the foot of truth.
From height to height, they drive us to the peak.
This beckons me.
Yet here we don’t repent such things. We smile,
not, though, at sin – we don’t think back to that –
but at that Might that governs and provides.
In wonder, we here prize the art to which
His power brings beauty, and discern the good
through which the world above turns all below.
Call as I might on training, art or wit,
no words of mine could make the image seen.
Belief, though, may conceive it, eyes still long.
In us, imagination is too mean
for such great heights. And that’s no miracle.
For no eye ever went beyond the sun.
So shining there was that fourth family
that’s always fed by one exalted Sire
with sight of what He breathes, what Son He has.
The providence that rules the universe,
in counsels so profound that all created
countenance will yield before it finds its depth […]
ordained two princes that, on either side,
should walk along with [the Church] and be her guide.
The one was seraph-like in burning love,
the other in intelligence a splendour
on the earth that shone like Heaven’s cherubim.
[…] Their different actions served a single plan.
So too, like constellations in the depths
of Mars, these rays composed the honoured sign […]
And here remembering surpasses skill:
that cross, in sudden flaring, blazed out Christ
so I can find no fit comparison.
But those who take their cross and follow Christ
will let me off where, wearily, I fail,
seeing in that white dawn, as lightning, Christ.
As bolts of fire, unlocked from thunder clouds,
expand beyond containment in those bounds,
then fall to ground […]
so, too, surrounded by this solemn feast,
my own mind, grown the greater now, went forth
and can’t remember what it then became.
‘Open your eyes and look at what I am!
You have seen things by which you’re made so strong,
you can, now, bear to look upon my smile.’
My being, and the being of the world,
the death that He sustained so I might live,
the hope that all, with me, confess in faith,
the living knowledge I have spoken of –
all drew me from the waves of wrongful love
and set me on the shores of righteousness.
And every leaf, en-leafing all the grove
of our eternal orchardist,
I love as far as love is borne to them from Him.
Grace, in all plenitude, you dared me set
my seeing eyes on that eternal light
so that all seeing there achieved its end.
Within in its depths, this light, I saw, contained,
bound up and gathered in a single book,
the leaves that scatter through the universe –
beings and accidents and modes of life,
as though blown all together in a way
that what I say is just a simple light.
But mine were wings that could not rise to that,
save that, with this, my mind, was stricken through
by sudden lightning bringing what it wished.
All powers of high imagining here failed.
But now my will and my desire were turned,
as wheels that move in equilibrium,
by love that moves the sun and other stars.
