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Dante's Inferno

Fiction | Novel/Book in Verse | Adult | Published in 1307

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Symbols & Motifs

The Dark Wood and the Three Beasts

The Inferno begins with a sort of prologue—a canto unlike any canto that follows it—in which Dante is lost in a dark wood and attacked by three beasts. Where much of the Comedy is innovatively immediate, this first canto takes a more traditional allegorical form. The dark wood can be read as spiritual desolation, perhaps in the form of a midlife crisis: Dante is, after all, “In the middle of the journey of our life” (1.1), having a broadly human experience. That this dark wood bears some resemblance to the forest of the suicides suggests Dante is in dangerously deep despair when Virgil comes to rescue him. You need only consider the traditional symbolism of fairytale woods—frightening places of transformation—to understand why Dante might start the story of a spiritual epiphany in a menacing forest.

The three beasts Dante encounters are likewise allegorical. While there is some debate over exactly which beast represents what, scholars broadly agree that the beasts represent the three major divisions of Hell. In one common interpretation, the leopard—with its spotted coat reminiscent of Geryon’s lively patterns—represents fraud; the lion represents violence; and the she-wolf—that beast Dante just cannot seem to get past—represents incontinence. This would make a certain sense: The upper circles of incontinence are the most populous precisely because it is easy to be seduced by earthly goods. Dante’s fainting fit in the circle of Lust also suggests the “she-wolf” might be a stumbling block for him. That these beasts are animals also points to sin’s dehumanizing power, made most abundantly clear in Cocytus, where the sinners snarl and grimace like animals.

This strange canto serves a numerological role as well. The Divine Comedy in its entirety is composed of 100 cantos, a number symbolizing perfection. In order to make that perfect number, one of the three books must be the odd one out. The Inferno, with 34 cantos to the 33 of Purgatorio and Paradiso, is the natural transgressor.

Geryon

Dante spends much time on his encounter with the monster Geryon, who guards the border of Cocytus—the pit of Hell reserved for the fraudulent. Geryon’s whole being symbolizes fraud. His attractive “face of a just man” (17.8) disguises a hideously devolving body, moving through apish arms into a snaky trunk and a scorpion’s deadly tail. He is painted all over with attractive, distracting patterns, like weavings. The evil of fraud, Geryon’s horrible form suggests, is that it literally dehumanizes. Fraudulence is treachery not only to one’s fellow humans, but to the very idea of humanity: It is an abuse of intellect and speech, the qualities by which humans most resemble God.

It is not just Geryon’s shape that makes him symbolically important, but his movements. Dante’s descent on Geryon is a microcosmic image of The Inferno as a whole. Geryon’s flight, like Dante and Virgil’s journey, is a downward spiral, described in intense physical detail. Dante directly addresses the reader at the beginning of this flight, swearing that though he knows this sounds crazy, it all really happened; in swearing this, he demands the reader consider the relationship between fiction and fraud. The vivid, tangible Geryon mirrors the increasing materiality of lower Hell where all is dense, solid, and spiritless; Dante’s account of Geryon asks the reader to look through these solid images to the spiritual truth.

Satan

Many readers of The Inferno have found Dante’s confrontation with Satan disappointing. This bat-winged drooling beast is not the charismatic, silver-tongued figure of popular culture (or indeed of Milton’s later Paradise Lost). Rather, he is somewhere between an animal and a machine. At a distance, he reminds Dante of some terrible windmill. He is certainly a horror; when Dante sees him, he proclaims, “I did not die and I did not remain alive” (34.23)—a succinct description of utter despair. But Satan does not seem to have any personal animus toward Dante. He is busy with his own despair.

This is the key to Satan’s symbolism. Satan represents a worldview of utter isolated disconnection. His shape supports his symbolic weight: With his three weeping, slavering faces, he is a perversion of the Holy Trinity—shaped according to the pattern of God but utterly divorced from love. His mechanical chewing is without intellect. And like the sinners around him, he is frozen in place, trapped just as they are.

As Virgil tells Dante, Satan’s fall from heaven created Hell in the first place: The funnel-shape of Hell comes from Satan’s plummet into the center of the earth. Since pride, rebellion against God, was Satan’s original sin, Satan is a powerful image of how sinful pride severs God-given intellect from its origins. Satan’s pride, in splitting him off from God, makes him a purely material being: lightless, loveless, and terminally trapped in his own tormented self.

That pure materiality is also the saving grace in this vision of evil. While Satan is a horror, he is a measurable horror: very big, but containable. The God toward whom Dante will move in Purgatorio and Paradiso is anything but.

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