Are Adjectives a Match for God?
Barbara Burns talks to Gabriella Addivinola, whose book Alan of Lille and Dante: Divine Predication from the Twelfth to the Fourteenth Century has just been published in Legenda’s Italian Perspectives series.
BB. Your book focuses on the theme of divine predication, a term used in theology and philosophy to refer to the way we use language to describe the nature of God. What are the limitations of using human language to express such concepts, and why was this subject important in Western medieval culture?
GA. In Western medieval culture, the question of how to name or describe God was approached from two different perspectives, each revealing a different facet of His nature. God was understood, paradoxically, as both transcendent, beyond the created world, and at the same time as the very ground of all being, the ultimate source from which everything flows. Because He was seen as both hidden and revealed through creation, a tension arose between two ways of speaking about Him: the apophatic, which stresses what cannot be said about God, and the cataphatic, which focuses on what can.
My book concentrates mainly on the apophatic tradition, though it also acknowledges how closely it is intertwined with the cataphatic. The apophatic approach begins from the awareness that the human mind cannot grasp the divine essence, which lies beyond not only the limits of our understanding but those of language itself.
BB. Your study homes in on the writing of two significant medieval writers: the French theologian and poet Alan of Lille, and the celebrated Italian poet Dante Alighieri. Can you give us an example from their work to illustrate this notion?
GA. Alan of Lille (1125/30–1202/3) argued that it is more accurate to speak of God by negation, by saying what He is not, rather than by attempting to define what He is. Such negative statements do not describe God directly, but they play a crucial role in preventing us from making misleading claims. For instance, when we say that ‘God is just’, we do not mean that God possesses justice as humans do, rather, we affirm that God is justice itself, in its most absolute and perfect form. In this light, for Alan, it is truer to say that God is not just, or that the word ‘just’ belongs to Him in name alone, stripped of the human meaning it normally bears. Reflecting this idea, Alan describes God in his poem Anticlaudianus as ‘just without justice’ (5.128).
A similar sensibility appears in Dante. At the climax of his journey, as he approaches the vision of God, he acknowledges the limits of both human intellect and language to convey what he experiences: ‘Da quinci innanzi il mio veder fu maggio | che ’l parlar mostra, ch’a tal vista cede, | e cede la memoria a tanto oltraggio’ [From here onward my seeing was greater than | speech can show, which gives way before such a | sight, and memory gives way before such excess] (Par. 33.55-57).
This recognition of the limits of human expression lies at the heart of medieval Christian thought. It affirms God’s transcendence and the boundaries of human reason, while also highlighting the role of faith and divine revelation. Yet, rather than discouraging intellectual exploration, acknowledging these limits stimulated a more rigorous use of reason and logic and, as I aim to show in the book, gave rise to a remarkably sophisticated reflection on how language itself can relate to the divine.
BB. Alan of Lille’s Anticlaudianus may not be familiar to all our readers, while Dante’s allegory of human redemption, the Divine Comedy, is more widely known. In what sense are these two poems key landmarks for exploring your subject?
GA. Both the Anticlaudianus and the Divine Comedy can be read as cosmological poems, structured around journeys toward God, in which the challenge of understanding and naming Him, and the universe He created, becomes a central driving force of the narrative.
In the first part of the Anticlaudianus, Nature, personified as a living, creative force, realises that her work is imperfect and that humankind is plagued by vice. In response, she resolves to fashion a perfect man with a redemptive mission and calls upon her sisters, the Virtues, for help. One of them, Fronesis (also called Prudence), seeks the counsel of Reason, who suggests sending a messenger to God to request a soul for this New Man. Fronesis is chosen for the task and sets out in a chariot built by the seven Liberal Arts and drawn by five horses (the five senses), with Reason as her charioteer. When she reaches the Empyrean, however, the horses falter, and a celestial guide appears to lead her further. She must leave both Reason and the chariot behind, for they cannot proceed further. Overwhelmed by God’s presence, she falls into a kind of lethargy until Faith revives her, shielding her with a mirror against the blinding brilliance of the place and giving her explanations about the divine mysteries she is about to see.
Dante’s Divine Comedy, as is well known, follows a similar trajectory. As Dante travels through Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise, accompanied by several guides including Virgil and Beatrice, his journey traces a movement from the recognition of sin, through purification, and finally toward the vision of God. This ascent mirrors Alan’s narrative in the Anticlaudianus, which also charts a redemptive path towards the divine. Moreover, both poets present their works as divinely inspired, imbuing their verses with theological authority.
At the heart of my study are thus questions about how and why these theologically infused texts can confidently cross into treating metaphysics and present themselves as prophetic works, striving to convey a glimpse of the divine.
BB. How did your interest in medieval poetry and theology develop?
GA. It grew out of a fascination with the theme of ineffability, the impossibility of fully expressing certain experiences or realities through language. During my MA studies at the University of Turin, I attended a seminar on two important figures in late medieval and early modern Italian mysticism, Angela da Foligno (1248-1309) and Maria Maddalena de’ Pazzi (1566-1607), whose writings struck me with their visionary intensity and richness of expression. The way in which they articulated the inexpressible inspired a deep fascination in me. When it came time to choose a dissertation topic, I knew I wanted to explore this theme further. One of my professors suggested extending the inquiry to Dante, and although I initially hesitated, intimidated by the sheer breadth of scholarship on him, I soon discovered a rich world of poetic and theological complexity which has since become a central focus of my research.
BB. Your research for this volume on medieval intellectual history has been highly specialized. To what extent can you draw on any of this material for teaching purposes? Are there particular theological/philosophical/linguistic/rhetorical issues here that are covered in the modern university curriculum?
GA. Many of the themes developed in my book lend themselves naturally to teaching and classroom discussion, and I’ve had the chance to integrate them successfully into both undergraduate and graduate courses.
In theology classes, apophatic theology, the tradition that seeks to approach the divine by acknowledging the limits of human language, offers an especially fruitful starting point. Students can begin by exploring Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, the sixth-century Christian Neoplatonist who first articulated the distinction between cataphatic (affirmative) and apophatic (negative) ways of speaking about God. From there, the discussion can move to his medieval readers who brought together Greek patristic theology and Latin intellectual traditions both in theological treatises and literary works. This allows students to trace the historical development of these theological concepts and analyse their literary representations, also exploring the interaction between reason and faith.
In courses on Dante, my book also provides useful perspectives on the theological and philosophical sources underlying his thought, particularly the Greek, Latin, and Arabic traditions that inform his vision. I explored this material in several undergraduate classes at Ghent University, where students were intrigued to trace the cross-cultural paths of Dante’s ideas. This helps students appreciate not only the depth of Dante’s intellectual background but also the global and interconnected nature of medieval philosophy and theology.
In Italian literature courses, the theme of ineffability provides a fascinating thread through which students can explore how poets across the centuries have grappled with the limits of expression. Beginning with Dante and moving forward to modern figures such as one of Italy’s greatest twentieth century writers, Eugenio Montale, students can trace how imagery, style, and poetic form adapt to the challenge of giving voice to the unsayable. In Ossi di seppia (Cuttlefish Bones), for example, Montale transforms the ineffable into a distinctly modern concern, one shaped by the disillusionment of post-World-War-I Italy and the existential anguish of the individual. His famous lines, ‘Codesto solo oggi possiamo dirti, / ciò che non siamo, ciò che non vogliamo’ [Today we can tell you only this, what we are not, what we do not want], perfectly capture this tension. Studying these texts encourages students to think critically about the relationship between experience, reality and language, and to observe how literary strategies develop in response to historical and cultural contexts as writers engage with the enduring topos of the ineffable.
Another rich avenue of exploration in Italian literature is the experimentation with the limits of language itself. In one course I taught at the University of Turin, I encouraged students to compare Dante and Andrea Zanzotto, a contemporary poet renowned for his linguistic inventiveness. Despite the centuries that separate them, both poets test the expressive boundaries of words, continually probing the edge between what can and cannot be articulated. In Zanzotto’s work, this experimentation takes on a distinctly modern character: his poetry investigates the structures, sounds, and rhythms of language, giving rise to what he calls a ‘logos erchomenos’, a word in the process of coming into being. Students found this particularly engaging, as it invited them to compare medieval poetic strategies with contemporary linguistic experimentation and to reflect on how language both shapes and limits our understanding of the world.
BB. What were some of the highlights or challenges of studying for your PhD in the UK? Did you find the culture here very different from Italy?
GA. Adapting to a new cultural environment came with its challenges, but it also taught me a great deal. Everyday interactions could be tricky: I had to learn to be less direct and tone down gestures, something I initially found quite difficult, probably because of a mix of my personality and my Italian background. What I really appreciated about British culture was its pragmatism and efficiency. Things that in Italy might have taken endless emails and negotiations were often solved quickly and politely.
I really valued the less hierarchical approach in academia, which made it easier to engage with my supervisors, feel genuinely valued, and receive thoughtful attention to my work. I also enjoyed the focus on generating new ideas and proposals. During my time at the University of Warwick, for example, I was able to organise several experimental Dante-related events, thanks to the support of the university.
Nowadays, I sometimes joke to my students that I’ve picked up a bit of a British mindset, especially when it comes to organizing presentations or drafting texts. Hopefully it’s helped me tone down my Italian tendency toward long-winded, convoluted phrasing. And of course, I have unforgettable memories of the friends I made there, especially my very first flatmates, who truly made me feel at home.
BB. Since completing your PhD at Warwick, you’ve had an interesting early-career trajectory, working at the University of Savoy Mont Blanc, at Ghent University, and at the University of Turin. How have you found the transition from one European country to another, and in what ways have these moves been enriching or tough?
GA. The transition was surprisingly smooth, because I had already spent several years studying at the University of Turin and the University of Savoy Mont Blanc. In addition, one of my closest friends lives in Brussels, providing me with a small piece of home to rely on when I first arrived in Belgium to teach at Ghent University. I have always enjoyed exploring different cultures, first as a student participating in Erasmus and Leonardo da Vinci European programmes, and later by seeking academic positions abroad. These experiences have been incredibly enriching, encouraging me to rethink my pedagogical strategies and course design. Working with students and colleagues from diverse backgrounds challenged my assumptions and sparked new ideas both for teaching and research.
BB. Where are you based now, and what is your main focus?
GA. Currently, I am still based in Italy, continuing to refine my teaching approach while exploring a new field: I am now also pursuing a specialization in clinical psychology. This new endeavour has provided an enriching dimension to the way I engage with students. Experiencing what it’s like to be a student again, learning not only new research techniques but field-specific teaching strategies, has allowed me to reflect on my own approach to learning and teaching, offering fresh perspectives that have significantly refined my pedagogical practice.
BB. Finally, what do you do for fun outside academia?
GA. I have a great passion for Muay Thai, and recently I have also taken up climbing, a pursuit I had long dreamed of. There is a surprising thrill in being 30 meters up on a cliff, clinging to the smallest edge of rock for support and balancing on the tips of your toes in shoes at least one size too small. Perhaps it is the challenge of finding a path where none seems to exist that resonates so strongly with me, an experience that feels oddly akin to the journeys described in the texts I study.
full news feed • subscribe via RSS