The past five years have been a slow ascent, a pilgrimage through intellectual rigor, personal upheaval, and sustained endurance. At times, I doubted whether I would reach this moment—standing at the threshold of my proposal defense, poised to enter the final stage of my doctoral journey. This moment, though not the culmination, is a liminal space: a gate through which I must pass before the ultimate ascent.
William Blake’s The Gate of Purgatory encapsulates this precise feeling of standing on the precipice of transformation. In the illustration, Dante and Virgil kneel before the angelic guardian at the threshold of purgatory, the vast mountain of purification looming above them. The crimson sky churns behind them, suggesting both celestial fire and impending revelation. The gate itself is not merely a passageway but a threshold between states of being—between burden and release, between striving and attainment, between self-doubt and self-actualization. This visual representation resonates profoundly with the academic and personal trials that have defined my path, transforming my journey into something more than a mere pursuit of credentials.
To stand at a threshold is to exist in a state of betweenness, a space neither of arrival nor of departure, but of confrontation with the self. The liminality of this moment mirrors Dante’s own transition from the despair of Inferno to the redemptive toil of Purgatorio. Upon reaching the gate, Dante is marked with seven P’s, the symbolic representation of the seven deadly sins. The angel at the entrance warns him:
"Enter, but first be sure to cleanse this wound,
Until its stain is gone.”
This injunction underscores a fundamental truth of the purgatorial journey: transformation is neither immediate nor painless. It is a process of purification, in which one must confront and purge the burdens that inhibit ascent.
Academia, too, functions as a kind of purgatory. The scholar exists in a space of perpetual refinement, where knowledge is constantly challenged, reshaped, and redefined. One does not emerge from doctoral study unchanged; the process itself is transformative, demanding a willingness to question assumptions, dismantle preconceived notions, and endure the slow, often painful, process of revision and self-critique. My own journey has been marked by such refinement, not only in the academic sense but in the deeply personal trials that have shaped my ascent.
Dante’s Purgatorio was largely theoretical to me until I encountered Thomas Merton’s Seven Storey Mountain. Raised in the Southern Baptist tradition, I was never exposed to the doctrine of purgatory; redemption, as I was taught, was immediate and absolute. Yet, Merton’s memoir presented an alternative framework—one in which spiritual growth is a gradual, arduous ascent rather than an instantaneous event. Merton’s early life was defined by intellectual pride, worldliness, and spiritual restlessness. He resisted transformation until he was confronted with the weight of his own emptiness. In a moment of self-awareness, he wrote:
"I had an unconquerable reluctance to admit that I was in any way imperfect. It was as if I had been born on the top of Mount Purgatory, and had never fallen off.”
This passage illuminates the inherent human resistance to purgation, to the discomfort of recognizing one’s own incompleteness. Merton’s eventual embrace of monastic life was not a moment of arrival but the beginning of his own Purgatorio—a life of discipline, humility, and constant refinement. His story reframed my understanding of my own struggles, particularly as I navigated the emotional and intellectual trials of doctoral study. The pursuit of knowledge, like the pursuit of spiritual fulfillment, is not a static state but an ongoing process of unlearning, relearning, and refinement.
Dante’s purgatory is structured as a mountain with seven terraces, each representing the purification of a particular vice. The souls climbing this mountain do so willingly, understanding that their suffering is temporary and directed toward ultimate transcendence. In reflecting on my own doctoral journey, I recognize the echoes of this purgatorial structure. The shift to online learning in 2020, necessitated by the COVID-19 pandemic, created an intellectual isolation that felt akin to the suffocating smoke through which Dante’s wrathful souls must navigate. The absence of in-person discourse and the disembodiment of virtual engagement required an adaptation that was both intellectually and emotionally taxing. The dissolution of my marriage was a crucible of its own, forcing a confrontation with selfhood, failure, and reconstruction. In Purgatorio, the prideful are weighed down by stones, their posture physically altered as they learn humility. Similarly, the process of personal loss reshaped my own identity, forcing me to reconsider what perseverance truly meant. Like the souls in Ante-Purgatory who delayed their repentance and must wait before beginning their ascent, I too lingered in uncertainty after pausing my studies. The inertia of doubt, the fear of returning to an unfinished journey, was its own purgatorial test. Writing my literature review became an intellectual act of purgation—an attempt to distill complex ideas, strip away extraneous arguments, and shape a cohesive scholarly narrative. The recursive nature of writing and revision mirrored the incremental progress of Dante’s souls, each iteration bringing me closer to clarity.
Each of these experiences has functioned as a form of purification, preparing me for this moment at the gate.
Blake’s The Gate of Purgatory is not a depiction of arrival but of transition. The figures in the painting are still outside, kneeling in humility, awaiting judgment. The composition suggests anticipation, the threshold that separates aspiration from entry. This is where I find myself now. The committee before me will serve as my gatekeepers—not celestial, but academic—evaluating my readiness to ascend. Like Dante’s souls, I do not enter blindly; I carry with me the evidence of my trials, the knowledge of the work I have undertaken to reach this point.
Merton, reflecting on the nature of vocation, wrote:
"A man knows when he has found his vocation when he stops thinking about how to live, and begins to live.”
Perhaps this defense is not merely a procedural requirement but a vocational moment—the point at which I cease questioning whether I am capable of completing this journey and instead inhabit the reality of my own progress. The purgation is not yet complete, the summit not yet reached. But the gate is open. The next step is mine to take.
Tomorrow, I cross the threshold. I move forward—one step closer to the summit.