[7] In the three lower rounds of Purgatory.


"Now I would that thou hear of the other,--that which runs to the
good in faulty measure. Every one confusedly apprehends a good[1]
in which the mind may be at rest, and which it desires; wherefore
every one strives to attain it. If the love be slack that draws
you to see this, or to acquire it, this cornice, after just
repentance, torments you therefor. Another good there is,[2]
which doth not make man happy, is not happiness, is not the good
essence, the root of every good fruit. The love which abandons
itself too much to this[3] is lamented above us in three circles,
but how it is reckoned tripartite, I am silent, in order that
thou seek it for thyself."

[1] The supreme Good.

[2] Sensual enjoyment.

[2] Resulting in the sins of avarice, gluttony, and lust.



CANTO XVIII. Fourth Ledge The Slothful.--Discourse of Virgil on
Love and Free Will.--Throng of Spirits running in haste to redeem
their Sin.--The Abbot of San Zone.--Dante falls asleep.


The lofty Teacher had put an end to his discourse, and looked
attentive on my face to see if I appeared content; and I, whom a
fresh thirst already was goading, was silent outwardly, and
within was saying, "Perhaps the too much questioning I make
annoys him." But that true Father, who perceived the timid wish
which did not disclose itself, by speaking gave me hardihood to
speak. Then I, "My sight is so vivified in thy light that I
discern clearly all that thy discourse may imply or declare:
therefore I pray thee, sweet Father dear, that thou demonstrate
to me the love to which thou referrest every good action and its
contrary." "Direct," he said, "toward me the keen eyes of the
understanding, and the error of the blind who make themselves
leaders will be manifest to thee. The mind, which is created apt
to love, is mobile unto everything that pleases, soon as by
pleasure it is roused to action. Your faculty of apprehension
draws an image from a real existence, and within you displays it,
so that it makes the mind turn to it; and if, thus turned, the
mind incline toward it, that inclination is love, that
inclination is nature which is bound anew in you by pleasure.[1]
Then, as the fire moveth upward by its own form,[2] which is born
to ascend thither where it lasts longest in its material, so the
captive mind enters into longing, which is a spiritual motion,
and never rests until the thing beloved makes it rejoice. Now it
may be apparent to thee, how far the truth is hidden from the
people who aver that every love is in itself a laudable thing;
because perchance its matter appears always to be good;[3] but
not every seal is good although the wax be good."

[1] In his discourse in the preceding canto, Virgil has declared
that neither the Creator nor his creatures are ever without love,
either native in the soul, or proceeding from the mind. Here he
explains how the mind is disposed to love by inclination to an
image within itself of some object which gives it pleasure. This
inclination is natural to it; or in his phrase, nature is bound
anew in man by the pleasure which arouses the love. All this is a
doctrine derived directly from St. Thomas Aquinas. "It is the
property of every nature to have some inclination, which is a
natural appetite, or love."--Summa Theol., 1, lxxvi. i.

[2] Form is here used in its scholastic meaning. " The active
power of anything depends on its form, which is the principle of
its action. Fur the form is either the nature itself of the
thing, as in those which are pure form; or it is a constituent of
the nature of the thing, as in those which are composed of matter
and form."--Summa Theol., 3, xiii. i. Fire by its form, or
nature, seeks the sphere of fire between the ether and the moon.

[3] The object may seem desirable to the mind, without being a
fit object of desire.


"Thy words, and my understanding which follows," replied I to
him, "have revealed love to me; but that has made me more full of
doubt. For if love is offered to us from without, and if with
other foot the soul go not, if strait or crooked she go is not
her own merit."[1] And he to me, "So much as reason seeth here
can I tell thee; beyond that await still for Beatrice; for it is
a work of faith. Every substantial form that is separate from
matter, and is united with it,[2] has a specific virtue residing
in itself which without action is not perceived, nor shows itself
save by its effect, as by green leaves the life in a plant. Yet,
whence the intelligence of the first cognitions comes man doth
not know, nor whence the affection for the first objects of
desire, which exist in you even as zeal in the bee for making
honey: and this first will admits not desert of praise or blame.
Now in order that to this every other may be gathered,[3] the
virtue that counsels [4] is innate in you, and ought to keep the
threshold of assent. This is the principle wherefrom is derived
the reason of desert in you, according as it gathers in and
winnows good and evil loves. Those who in reasoning went to the
foundation took note of this innate liberty, wherefore they
bequeathed morals[5] to the world. Assuming then that every love


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