God gives two lights: one helps until we reach that momentary frail movement into death, a fleeting thought, passing vanished deeds: one thinks, discerns, understands, desires. the other allows us to worship Him: a sense of something other, deserted steps, unused paths, making us lean, great wings sheltering, yielding His presence always. The first, called reason--it's human nature, we say--lets animal passions compel, restrain, conquer the nobler gentle heart; sensing that other one forgets self, scorns the world, the heart closes against shadows opens to transforming light, part of God. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
Notes: From V XXXIX:199. See also B S1:13:191; R XXVI:448-9. Translations: McAuliffe 109; Gibaldi 39. Key |