Though early readers assumed the Divine Comedy was quite literally a textual record of a religious experience, there is something that suggests that the poem is far from quasi-autobiographical, that there is a schism between Dante Alighieri, poet and author, and Dante the Pilgrim, the protagonist and narrator of the epic. Metafictive elements within the text remind readers that there is a separation between the author Dante and the character Dante; for instance, in Canto IX, Alighieri writes, “Oh, all of you whose intellects are sound, look now and see the meaning that is hidden beneath the veil that covers my strange verses.” These lines pull the audience out of the narrative momentarily as Dante the Poet reflects on his own work, reminding readers that the poetry he has written is far from cut-and-dry. While Dante the Pilgrim interacts directly with the shades in the underworld, the horrors of hell, and the pleasures of paradise, offering emotional responses to all he encounters, Dante the Poet weaves morality into the text, offering sidenotes, allusions, and commentary for all that transpires. Dante the Author remains constant and self-assured, whereas Dante the Pilgrim undergoes several changes, traveling an expansive character arc. It is nearly a measure of head and heart, the matter-of-fact author Dante contrasting with the empathetic pilgrim Dante. On the same hand, one can interpret the act of writing itself as some sort of pilgrimage, a journey into the depths of one’s soul and psyche.

There is a nearly paradoxical relationship between affectionate mercy and swift justice in the Qur’an, a parallel view of God as both a nurturing creator and a powerful deliverer of retribution. In the Feast, it is written, “Be mindful of God: He is swift to take account,” a phrase that is echoed multiple times throughout the selection, conjuring an image of an omnipresent deity watching his creations with constant vigilance, a keen eye aware of any possible moral transgressions. However, in lines following, God is said to “wipe out” the sins of anyone who keeps up with prayer and almsgiving. The text points out that God forgives those who are “mindful of him,” an interesting concept that all shall be forgiven, at least on the level of the soul, if an individual attempts to ask for forgiveness and acknowledge that he stands in shame before his creator. Yet the concept of mercy only seems to apply to the soul and mind; corporally, sinners still face grave punishments at the hands of other men who act in keeping with the laws God has set forth. (“Cut off the hands of thieves…as a punishment for what they have done,” is a directive set forth in the Qur’an, though it is quickly followed by, “God is most forgiving, most merciful.” Sinners must pay a price, it seems, though ultimately, they will be forgiven on a level higher than that of bodily mutilation.) The text specifies that God has “no intention to cleanse” those who are entirely misguided with no real belief in their heart; faith is twofold in the Qur’an, an internal passion, trust, and devotion coupled with an external display of certain rites and rituals.

There is an intriguing distinction in the Ramayana between death of merit and honor and death of a convenient release from suffering. In Book Five, the Sundara, a captive Sītā reflects on her time away from her husband and finds herself miserable, pining for an escape from the misery she has endured. She considers taking her own life, debating with herself whether or not death at that present moment would be morally acceptable. She rationalizes that “untimely death is not attained here either by man or a woman,” coming to the conclusion that her suicide would be impure, as it was motivated by her missing her spouse. Still, she finds herself tying a noose and weighing her options and though her human heart screams for release, her knowledge of honor and expectations coupled with many “auspicious omens” dissuaded her from ending her life and her “despair abated.” This death would have been dishonorable and thus impure; Sītā resultantly refrains from suicide. This is in sharp contrast to her death (and subsequent rebirth) at the end of the tale. At the conclusion of the Ramayana, upon Rāma denouncing Sītā for her time with Rāvana (despite Rāvana having kidnapped her, making any form of relationship between them entirely non-consensual), Sītā walks into the fire, hoping that the flames that engulf her will “protect” her, self-immolation proving her purity to her husband. Yet soon after, Sītā is returned to Rāma by the gods, who claim there is “no fault” in her; though her time spent with Rāvana may have had corporeal transgressions, her thoughts were pure as her “heart was set on” her husband. This depiction again emphasizes the taking of one’s own life as a precautionary measure, an act done to safeguard one’s soul, love, honor, or purity. There seems to be a conscious distinction between suicide with purpose and suicide as selfishness. Sītā’s contemplated case presented in the epic was dishonorable and thus unfulfilled while her consummated act of self-destruction was a sacrifice of selflessness and liberation.

Analyze a literary device–most likely an image or metaphor–or series of devices you find in Plato, Sappho, or Catullus.

as the sweetapple reddens on a high branch / high on the highest branch and the applepickers forgot – no, not forgot: were unable to reach

Sappho, Fragment 105A

In this fragmented remnant of one of her lyrical love poems, Sappho employs a simile to compare an unspecified figure to a sweetapple ripening on a difficult-to-reach branch of a tall fruit tree. It can be inferred that the sweetapple represents a virginal young woman, a picture of femininity coming of age (hence the “redden”-ing or ripening imagery), who is beginning to attract the eye of suitors who are watching her maturing beauty unfold. These lines read more of desire and lust than of pure love; the applepickers know that the sweetapple is far from their clutches but nonetheless yearn for it. Still, they are unwilling to strive to reach out for her. Rather, that additional attempt will be made by a romantic hero, the man who truly loves her enough to exert the extra effort necessary to reach the top branches. There is a lack of true sentiment here, as the comparison of a woman to a sweetapple brings to mind images of consumption (or, in this case, consummation) and, inevitably, once the apple is freed from its position at the top of the tree, it is free to be eaten at the whim of the applepicker. Additionally, the “picking” of a fruit off a branch symbolically makes a connection to the concept of being “chosen” or “claimed” by a suitor; a sweetapple is immovable without an outside party acting upon it, just as the reddening, blushing young virgin patiently awaits a fearless, far-reaching suitor to be the catalyst for change in her romantic life.