Gesammelte Aufsätze zur romanischen Philologie. Erich Auerbach
are summoned to interrupt (or to continue) the reading of a book, not a journey through Heaven. For it is not even certain whether, at the moment of this address, Beatrice and DanteDante have already entered Heaven. Furthermore, DanteDante, as the narrator, invariably uses qui for ‘here on earth’.23 Finally, just a short time ago (in Canto I, 4ff.) he has said that he has been in Heaven (nel ciel … fu io) and is now going to report his experiences:
Veramente quant’ io del regno santo
ne la mia mente potei far tesoro,
sarà ora matera del mio canto.
At this point, as always, he remains the man who has returned from the other world and records what he has seen, so that others may read it.
DanteDante was the writer of a book, and the vas d’elezione of a revelation which he had to report in that book. Hence, the book had to combine didactics and poetic fascination; a forceful charming of the soul which particularly suited his revelation, since this was shaped as a sequence of events, as a journey through the other world, highly emotional in all its parts, and linked at every moment to the most urgent problems of contemporary life. The Commedia is a special development of the tradition of the Gospels, which also were a revelation of a doctrine centered around an historical event. As the announcer of a revelation, the poet surpasses his readers: he knows something of the highest importance which they have to learn from him. In spite of the charity that he exercises towards his fellowmen, by imparting his knowledge, and of the fact that, as a human being, he is their equal before God, Divine Grace, by electing him for this special revelation, has rised him above all other mortals. The reader is not his equal. He may well repudiate DanteDante’s message, accuse him as a liar, a false prophet, an emissary of Hell, yet he cannot argue with him on a level of equality, he must ‘take it or leave it’. These last sentences, of course, are exaggerated; the contemporary reader already knew that all this: mission, journey, and actual revelation in Purgatory and Heaven, was poetical fiction. But a fiction so fused with reality that one easily forgets where its realm begins; and DanteDante’s narrative is so dense, so invariably consistent in its linking of true events that some of its realistic suggestion survives, at least temporarily, in many minds. At any rate, his relation to the reader, as expressed in the addresses, is inspired by this ‘poetic fiction’: DanteDante addresses the reader as if everything that he has to report were not only factual truth, but truth containing Divine Revelation. The reader, as envisioned by DanteDante (and in point of fact, DanteDante creates his reader), is a disciple. He is not expected to discuss or to judge, but to follow; using his own forces, but the way DanteDante orders him to do.
I know of, at least, one classical apostropheApostrophe, linked with an address to the hearer, which seems comparable to DanteDante’s loftiest addresses as regards its sublimity and its urgency. It is due to a man who is himself comparable to DanteDante – both had the same psychagogical power, the same partiality, the same vindictiveness and cruelty toward their enemies; also, both experienced an utter failure of all their political aspirations. I am thinking of DemosthenesDemosthenes. In 330 B. C., when Philip of MacedonPhilipp v. Makedonien was dead and his son AlexanderAlexander d. Große far advanced in the conquest of Persia, Demosthenes had to defend his policy of resisting Philip’s power in the past. At the time when he made his famous speech on the Crown, everyone, including himself, knew that the policy of resistance had failed. The battle of Chaironeia (338) had decided against Greek independence and against the course of Demosthenes. In a certain passage of the speech (199ff.), he raised the question whether a policy worthy of the Athenian tradition of defending Greek independence should be condemned because fate had denied it victory. His answer was, no.
Even had we been able, he says, to foresee what was to happen, we should have acted as we did. You followed my advice at that time. That is your glory as it is mine. If you now condemn this policy, as my opponent [Aeschines] requires you to do, that would rob you of the enduring praises of posterity; you would appear not as men who suffer the blows of insensible fate, but as men who have done wrongly.24 But it cannot be, no, men of Athens, it cannot be that you have acted wrong, in encountering danger bravely, for the liberty and the safety of all Greece. No! by those generous souls of ancient times who were exposed at Marathon, by those who stood arrayed at Plataeae, by those who encountered the Persian fleet at Salamis, who fought at Artemisium, by all the brave men whose remains lie deposited in the public monuments. All of whom received the same honorable interment from their country, Aeschines: not those only who prevailed, not those alone who were victorious. And with reason. What was the part of gallant men they all performed; their success was such as the deity dispensed to each.
This apostropheApostrophe of § 208: μὰ τοὺς Μαραϑῶνι προϰινδυνεύσαντας was the most famous passage of oratory in Graeco-Roman history. In modern times, as long as Greek was an essential part of higher education, many generations of students read and admired it. Read after more than twenty-two centuries, in a private study (not, as it once was, delivered in a stormy political assembly by an incomparable master of rhetoric), it still has the power to make the reader’s heart beat faster. It represents the most magnanimous, and also the most violent, attempt to win the support of the audience wich classical literature has bequeathed to us. Still, there can be no doubt that DemosthenesDemosthenes is arguing a cause, and that he awaits the decision of his hearers. He is not supported by the infallible judgment of the Divinity. On the contrary, this lack of an unerring ally becomes his strongest argument. He argues against the Divinity. For his divinity, FateFatum, decides only what happens; it cannot decide what is right or wrong. This decision belongs to the men of Athens, to their conscience, guided by the traditions of their city. Demosthenes, a man of Athens, appeals to the judgment of his equals, the citizens of a community proud of having been, since the days of Marathon, the champion and protector of Greek independence. He does not know the future; the object of his interpretation is the past; and his opponent, AeschinesAeschines, has the same right as he to submit another interpretation of that past to the decision of their fellow citizens.
DanteDante’s position is quite different. The Christian God is not only the ruler who governs the universe, he is also the sole source and the sole arbiter of justice. Therefore, whoever advocates a cause on earth, has to present it as the will of God. Now, God has disclosed his will; his revelation, linked through the Incarnation to human history, involves a providential plan of this history. But the revelation – the Holy Scriptures as well as earthly events taken as expressions of Divine Providence – may be interpreted in many different ways, especially if practical issues are at stake. The ambiguity of God’s revelation creates an uncertainty even greater than that facing DemosthenesDemosthenes and his contemporaries. Their criterion (i. e. their conscience as citizens of a polis) has lost its decisive authority; and the new criterion, God’s will, is inscrutable. Demosthenes’ argument, that one must not judge by the event, has not lost its strength. The argument stands, only its basis has changed. God does not reveal his decision on a particular earthly issue by bestowing victory upon the righteous. The victory of the righteous will be manifest only at the last judgment. On earth, evil will always play its part, and will very often prevail, since it has an essential function in the drama of human redemption.
The struggle over political issues (I use the word ‘political’ in its widest sense) had thus become a struggle over the interpretation of the will of God; DanteDante was not the first to present his interpretation as an authentic one. The appeal to divine authority was the natural and normal way to express strong political convictions in medieval civilisation, as it had been at the time of Jewish prophecy. Indeed, very few of DanteDante’s medieval predecessors had gone so far as to claim that a special revelation had been granted them; and never before had this claim been asserted with such an encyclopedic unity of vision and with such a power of poetic expression. Politically, it was a failure. DanteDante’s idea, the reestablishment of the Roman Empire as the providential form of united human and Christian society on earth, was a lost cause long before the Commedia became known. The life which the great poem won tra coloro che questo tempo chiameranno antico (Par. XVII, 119–120) is not due to its political doctrine, but to its poetic power. Yet DanteDante’s poetic power would not have reached its highest perfection, had it not been inspired by a visionary truth transcending the immediate and actual meaning. The