In Dante's Inferno, the first circle of Hell is an uneasy state of Limbo, for the "Virtuous Pagans" (Ciardi 25). The sinners there are not so much punished as they are continuing. They remain in the same state of uncertainty and incompleteness as when they were living: forever longing for the truth and never able to experience it. This absence of punishment suits their crime: absence of faith. They lived well and did not blaspheme against God (they are not called "virtuous" for no reason), but nor did they have faith, so they are unfulfilled. Dante writes, and Ciardi translates:
"and so they did not worship God's Trinity/in fullest duty. I am one of these./For such defects are we lost, though spared the fire/and suffering Hell in one affliction only:/ that without hope we live on in desire" (Ciardi, 28).
Basically, it is the circle of the philosophers and ancient Greek poets. Homer is there, and Virgil (who is the speaker of the above passage), and last but not least, the subject of Dante's man-crush, Aristotle. All of those wise men who spent their lives in thought and never believed in anything greater than what they could prove.
Eden Phillpotts makes a similar point in his (much smaller) poem, "The Learned." His succinct poem of eight lines draws for us the picture of wise, old men-- "grey beards wag, the bald heads nod" (Phillpotts 1058)-- lounging about discussing science and philosophy-- "To talk electrons, gases, God." These men obviously think much of themselves (note how they "nod" so reassuringly at their own talk). However, the turn that comes in the last two lines of the poem dismantles their image as oh-so-wise and learned, and draws them into the world of Dante's: specifically, into the first circle. Each 'learned' man:
" Holds up his little crumb of crust/ And cries, 'Behold the loaf!'"
Each man sees his bit of knowledge and thinks that what he holds is the answer, but man's knowledge can only take him so far. The rest of the loaf is out there, unknowable, and when we limit ourselves to our own understanding and refuse to acknowledge what is unknowable, we will reside in a state of eternal longing for what our crumb came from.
This poem (and this reply) was ones that considered quiet a bit of thought on my part. When I first read The Learned, I honestly didn’t think much of it. I picture dotty old men gathered around a table discussing things that the normal human mind couldn’t begin to comprehend. But then I read your response, Alex dear, which kind of forcefully shoved me down another path. I NEVER would have made a connection between this piece and Dante’s Inferno, and I must say, it was an interesting connection at that. I do not mean to say that there is absolutely no connection between the balding scientists and the philosophers of Limbo; it’s just a stretch in my mind. I viewed the whole poem as a statement. A statement saying that there is an expert in EVERYTHING and each one of these experts believes they know the most (and wish to make that clear). The last lines “Holds up his little crumb of crust/ And cries, ‘Behold the loaf!’’ made that very clear to me. They view their little piece of bread as the sole piece, the entire loaf and creation. They do not take into account that their crumb, or fraction of knowledge, is only a small part of the big picture. Maybe I’m wrong, but that’s what I interrupted. But very nice connections, I really enjoyed reading it. Also, Dante has a man crush on Virgil too. ;)
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