Subtlety, Opulence—and Ambiguity
The Argument
Paradise Lost is subtle and opulent—and what C.S. Lewis described as ambiguous, because of the many clauses whose adjectives-objects-verbs defy clear correspondence, leading to a “crumbling of the consciousness . . . which helps . . . rather than hinders” (Ricks 87) appreciation of the epic. Serpentine sentences are an expression of Milton’s love for Latinate word order and word meaning. My purpose in this section is to spotlight examples of this style, then in later sections to examine the resulting functions and consequences of it.
* * *
When I first read Paradise Lost, I found myself constantly jumping to footnotes to understand the language and references, and after relocating my place in the text, I struggled with reading those long, long sentences with some semblance of elegance. I realized within the first few pages that making my way through the entire twelve books would take me a long time! But, even with limited understanding of what I was reading, I will never forget the feeling of stunned enchantment. From the first, I loved the epic. It was sublime. Dr. Samuel Johnson put it perfectly:
He [Milton] sometimes descends to the elegant, but his element is the
great. He can occasionally invest himself with grace; but his natural port is
gigantic loftiness. He can please when pleasure is required; but it is his
peculiar power to astonish (Ricks 22).
This stunning and opulent language is packed into long, winding lines layered with multiple meanings and impressions and was probably inspired by Milton’s love of classical epics—especially Virgil’s Aeneid. Virgil’s Latin was a highly inflected language that allowed for great variety of word order in a sentence. English, on the other hand, is not so fluid. Nevertheless, Milton pressed English to its fluid boundaries by incorporating the more unexpected word order of Latin—and he wasted no time in doing so. The first sentence of Paradise Lost is stretched to its limit so that it is not until the 39th word that a verb finally fixes the poem’s intent (the sentence, however, does not end for another ten lines!). I give credit to Christopher Ricks for pointing this out in his excellent book Milton’s Grand Style.
Of Man’s First Disobedience, and the Fruit
Of that Forbidden Tree, whose mortal taste
Brought Death into the World, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
Restore us, and regain the blissful Seat,
Speak Heav’nly Muse . . . .
(Milton I.1-6)
That is a lengthy example, but even short sentences were enhanced by the unexpected word order. When Raphael describes Satan’s reaction to the Son’s glorification in heaven, the initial clause of the sentence is short, but conveys more gravity than one might expect from its brevity. This is accomplished by placement of the participle between its two objects—and this is a fairly common construction in Paradise Lost:
Deep malice thence conceiving and disdain . . .
(Schmoop, Milton V.666)
Phrasing like this forced me to slow down and savor what I was reading. Have you ever spoken to a service person whose quick questions and answers force you to match their rhythm—-to speed up and move on? When you say good-bye and are 30 steps away, you find yourself taking a long, slow breath to recover. Milton, using the same psychology, but with opposite aim, capitalizes on this human inclination by slowing his readers down with elaborate, unexpected phrasing. You may still walk away 30 steps and catch your breath—but for a very different reason!
Latin also influenced Milton’s choices on a word by word basis. Many words incorporate an older Latin root which adds historical meaning to the modern understanding of the word—and perhaps a sense of purer, more Edenic language (Rushworth)? The footnotes in most editions of the epic catch many of these Latinate words, but Patrick Hume’s Annotations on Milton’s Paradise Lost and the published explanatory notes on Paradise Lost by the Jonathan Richardsons—-both senior and junior—-are also excellent help in picking up on these words.
The Son describes to God the Father the day of reckoning in the future when Satan and his crew will be locked away in hell. He uses the word ruin which comes from the Latin root ruers meaning to hurl to the ground (Milton III.258). The awareness of this image allows the reader to appreciate the contrast between raised and ruin (hurled down) as the two words sit almost side by side on the line.
. . . out of heaven [You, i.e., God the Father] shalt look down and smile,
While by thee raised I ruin all my foes.
(Milton III.257-8-—Italics mine)
And, the alliteration adds even more depth and luster-—raised, ruin! The phrasing is pitch perfect.
Raphael relates the story of earth’s creation to Adam in the passage below. Note the word genial which comes from the Latin root gignere, to beget (Milton VII.276—footnote). Awareness of this adds to the succession of images that evoke fecundity—-which I have italicized below:
The earth was formed, but in the womb as yet
Of waters, embryon immature involved,
Appeared not: over all the face of earth
Prolific humor soft’ning all her globe,
Fermented the greatmother to conceive,
Satiate with genial moisture . . . .
(Milton VII.276-82—Italics mine)
These images swell and roll with brooding depth. Expectancy thickens under the surface. Just what is about to be born?
Another one-word example of Milton’s subtlety is remorse: Upon entering Eden, Satan pauses to reflect on the beauty of the garden. In response, his wandering thoughts span his “remembrance from what state I fell” to his “torments . . . while they adore me on the throne of hell” (Milton IV.38-9 & 88-9). But, he shakes off the momentary nostalgia for heaven by realizing that the seeds of “deadly hate have pierced so deep” (Milton IV.99) that his path would be repeated were he given another chance in heaven. In fact, the sense of repetition is underscored by the word remorse in the passage below. The Latin root of remorse is remordere, to bite again (Milton IV.109 footnote).
So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear,
Farewell remorse: all good to me is lost;
Evil be thou my good . . .
(Milton IV.108-10—Italics mine)
What an uncannily perfect choice of words— to emphasize Satan’s ruminations in a way that presages his future temptation of Eve. And the words evil and good sitting so close together presage the result of Eve’s temptation—-knowledge of good and evil.
Now, putting all these Latinate influences together, I would like to evaluate more complicated passages-—and to highlight an additional stylistic effect not specifically pointed out above: enjambment. The lovely confusion of colliding images in stacked clauses (very Latinate) are importantly parsed to ensure tension between fading and surging images within a clause. The passage below describes Uriel who catching sight of Satan approaching Eden wings his way speedily to warn Paradise’s guardian angels:
Thither came Uriel, gliding through the even
On a sunbeam, swift as a shooting star
In autumn thwarts the night, when vapors fired
Impress the air, and shows the mariner
From what point of his compass to beware
Impetuous winds: he thus began in haste:
(IV, 555-60)
First, the Latin root of impress is imprimere, to use force upon or to make an impression on. In this sense impress signifies an assault-—“as by engaging armies” (Hume IV.558). Next, the examples of enjambment are represented by the phrases “swift as a shooting start” and “when vapors fired” and “from what point of his compass to beware.” On first reading, these phrases appear to be complete thoughts, until one rounds to the next line and finds that there is more to the thought! An add-on image follows, and this new image burns bright as the earlier image fades in one’s mind. Like the shooting star metaphor itself, the images burn with a similar bright head and fading tail.
The following example is similarly patterned. In addition, Milton adds the layering of images signifying hopelessness and the repetition of a musical sound—-the letter d. The narrator is describing Satan’s first view of hell:
. . . . . . . he with his horrid crew
Lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf
Confounded though immortal: but his doom
Reserved him to more wrath; for now the thought
Both of lost happiness and lasting pain
Torments him; round he throws his baleful eyes
That witnessed huge affliction and dismay
Mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hate:
At once as far as angels ken he views
The dismal situation waste and wild,
A dungeon horrible, on all sides round
As one great furnace flamed, yet from those flames
No light, but rather darkness visible
Served only to discover sights of woe,
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
Where rest can never dwell, hope never comes
That comes to all; but torture without end
Still urge, and a fiery deluge, fed
With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed:
(Milton I.51-68—Italics and underlines mine)
First, I am struck by the sense of an enduring quality of misery hammered home by the italicized words. Milton emphasizes the utter hopelessness of Satan’s situation with phrases that describe endlessness: immortal, lasting, round, as far as, all sides round, never, still, ever-burning, unconsumed. These images are heaped one upon the next oppressively. And, in addition, the rhythmic sounds of the repeating d creates a dirge-like background for me: doom, obdurate, dismal, dungeon, darkness, discover, doleful, dwell, deluge.
Note the Latinate overtones—-confound is rooted in Latin: con meaning with and fundere meaning to pour or mix. I think pouring or mixing extends more wretchedly the image of Satan rolling in the fiery gulf. The Latinate word order is commonly subject-object-verb or object-verb-subject; in English the typical order is subject-verb-object (“Latin Grammar”). Note the underlined examples in this passage, which clearly buck the English tradition—-and which, for me, add a fresh and grand note.
The example below demonstrates many of the effects described above, but using the more gentle image of a large river in Eden. The effect is still quite opulent, but subtlety is also evident:
Southward through Eden went a river large,
Nor changed his course, but through the shaggy hill
Passed underneath engulfed, for God had thrown
That mountain as his garden mold high raised
Upon the rapid current, which through veins
Of porous earth with kindly thirst up drawn,
Rose a fresh fountain, and met the nether flood,
Which from his darksome passage now appears,
And now divided into four main streams,
Runs divers, wandering many a famous realm
And country whereof here needs no account
But rather to tell how, if art could tell,
How from that sapphire fount the crisped brooks,
Rolling on orient pearl and sands of gold,
With mazy error under pendent shades
Ran nectar, visiting each plant, . . . .
(the sentence runs another 23 lines!)
(Milton IV, 223-40–Italics mine)
Here again is one of Milton’s famously lengthy sentences packed with imagery. This time, the many layered images of wandering water are emphasized. It isn’t a musical letter sound repeated, but that sense of endlessness is again present to indicate the overflowing presence of waterways (see italicized expression above)!
And an awareness of Latin lurking under the surface of these images is important. The phrase mazy error under pendent shades joins the adjective for a maze meaning a confusing network of paths and error from Latin errare, to go astray or wander. Milton was likely reminding the reader of the error yet to come from a mazy (serpentine?) source. Next, the Latin root pendere meaning to hang down or depend and shade which suggests the dead or darkness and all its poetic baggage might cause one to shiver with foreboding in anticipation of Eve’s error which depends or hangs upon the dark, evil influence of Satan yet to come.
One more example was discussed by C.S.Lewis in his A Preface to Paradise Lost, pages 45-6. Both the passage and Lewis’ comments are shown below. He emphasizes the example of a stack of beautifully confused clauses that somehow work more beautifully because of the confusion. The occasion is Adam’s first awakening to life. The passage was also highlighted in Milton’s Grand Style by Christopher Ricks (86-7).
. . . . . . . . gentle sleep
First found me, and with soft oppression seized
My drowsed sense, untroubled though I thought
I then was passing to my former state
Insensible, and forthwith to dissolve:
(Milton VIII.286-91)
C.S. Lewis:
The syntax is so artificial that it is ambiguous. I do not know
whether untroubled qualifies me understood, or sense, and similar
doubts arise about insensible an the construction of to dissolve.
But then I don’t need to know. The sequence drowsed—untroubled—
my former state—insensible—dissolve is exactly right; the very
crumbling of consciousness is before us and the fringe of syntactical
mystery helps rather than hinders the effect (Lewis 47).
This is a lovely perception! His comment that he does not “need to know” is one that I agree with. This thought of Lewis’ is perhaps a key that might unlock the challenge of Milton’s ambiguity and help a reader to relax and become more receptive to the sometimes jarring notes of a feisty deity, a compelling devil, and other seemingly discordant aspects of the epic. These will be examined in the sections to follow.
Becoming a Fit Audience:
How Milton’s Language Supports Some of the
Most Important Narrative Challenges in Paradise Lost
The Argument
The ambiguity of Milton’s language, which C.S.Lewis found particularly suited to Milton’s broad-stroke themes, enabled Milton to effectively meet the challenge of portraying so sweeping a story which included the clashing viewpoints of multiple characters, the portrayal of an ineffable deity and unfallen world, and a glimpse behind the hypocrisy of Satan-—“the only evil that walks invisible, except to God alone” (Milton III.682-3). I intend to examine some of these major challenges below, along with the important role of language in supporting them.
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Some of the most important of narrative challenges addressed by Milton were the unmasking of Satan’s hypocrisy, the transition of Adam and Eve from unfallen to fallen beings, and the characterization of an ineffable God the Father and His Son and their changing relationship with man before and after the fall. I intend to examine each of these challenges and describe how Milton’s nuanced language helped him to address them.
Many readers are fascinated with Satan in the early books of Paradise Lost. Some readers have even wondered whether Satan was the hero of Paradise Lost! Considering how important spirituality was for Milton, that would be unthinkable. But, the glamour of Satan for many readers is undeniable. When he first lifts himself off hell’s burning lake and lands on dry, singéd rocks he is a swaggering, loud, and compelling character.
. . . . hail horrors, hail
Infernal world, and thou profoundest hell
Receive thy new possessor. . . . . .
Better to reign in hell, than serve in heav’n.
(Milton I.250-63)
And later, when Satan undertakes a search for the world of man, he approaches the gates of hell where a pair of very forbidding figures stand guard, and while these two might strike fear into most hearts, Satan is undaunted. He is again swaggering and bold addressing the first:
Whence and what art thou, execrable shape,
That dar’st, though grim and terrible, advance
Thy mistreated front athwart my way
To yonder gates?
(Milton II.681-4)
Yet, even in these early books, Satan’s glamour might remind a thoughtful reader of the bragging, swaggering, and general huffing and puffing that are the stock and trade of empty souls. If this psychology is overlooked in the early books, Milton gradually begins to challenge the idea of a glamorous Satan more pointedly as the epic progresses.
This challenge is especially noticeable when Satan first arrives in Eden. The reader is given a glimpse inside Satan’s mind to his warring impulses-—those impulses based on pride which propelled his challenge of the Son and inflated his bragging, as well as those humbler, more fearful impulses which bespoke a truer understanding of his weaknesses. The following lines demonstrate this tension as he first views Eden:
O had his powerful destiny ordained
Me some inferior angel, I had stood
Then happy; no unbounded hope had raised
Ambition.
(Milton IV.58-61)
Satan realizes his downfall rests upon his sin of pride. But, that sin is writ deeply in him, that he realizes he would have been drawn to ambition whatever his post in heaven, unlike other angels who remained steadfast. In the lines below, both perceptions are faced:
. . . . Yet why not [conspire]? some other Power
As great might have aspired, and me though mean
Drawn to his part. . . . .
(Milton IV.61-3)
and
. . . .other Powers as great
Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within
Or from without, to all temptations armed.
Hadst thou the same free will and power to stand?
Thou hadst . . .
(Milton IV.63-7)
Milton has been explicit in these line to underscore his true opinion that Satan is fatally flawed-—and that flaw is his pride. There is often a seductive side to evil, but over the course of the epic, Milton teaches his reader to see past the specious glamour. And, to ensure a reader understands this lesson, Milton spells out the physical effect of sin on Satan:
Thus while he spake, each passion dimmed his face
Thrice changed with pale, ire, envy and despair,
Which marred his borrowed visage, and betrayed
Him counterfeit. . .
(Milton IV.114-7)
Hereafter, signs of Satan’s outward decay may gradually cue a reader to inward decay.
Adam and Eve also demonstrate change through Milton’s careful use of language. Although portraying the purity of an unfallen state must have been a challenge for a fallen author, Milton presses Latin into service to approximate the effect. Those Latin words that conjure purity before the fall, invite more maligned overtones after the fall.
The word wanton is traced before and after the fall in the lines below. The first example describes Eve’s curling hair and shows the word in its purest use :
Disheveled, but in wanton ringlets waved
As the vine curls her tendrils
(Milton IV.306-7—Italics mine)
The word wanton here is footnoted as meaning luxuriant or unrestrained. Critics generally agree that the more maligned meaning—-suggesting sexual promiscuity—-is not intended. As a side note, when Eve yields to Adam a few lines later, it is with modest pride (Milton IV.310), and this emphasis on modest pride seems to contrast with Satan’s immodest pride. The second example of the use of wanton is seen during Satan’s occupation of the serpent as he tempts Eve-—and here the word presages the evil that is imminent, especially when :
. . . and of his tortuous train
Curl many a wanton wreath in sight of Eve,
To lure her eye
(Milton IX.516-8–Italics mine)
Overtones of decadence are surely intended here. Then, after the fall, wanton is again used—-this time with all the seedy weight of contemporary meaning—-when Adam and Eve are inflamed by passion:
Carnal desire inflaming, he on Eve
Began to cast lascivious eyes, she him
As wantonly repaid . . .
(Milton IX.1013-5—Italics mine)
Once this kind of example is noted, it becomes fascinating to see the pattern in other words—-loaded words—-as I have heard them called. That said, I am sure many of these examples are still hidden from my view, as the example below was until spotlighted by another reader.
This word that I did not see without assistance is less a loaded word than it is a concept. The word is maze, and Kathleen Swaim has pointed out how “maze words mark the sequence of the fall in . . . Book IX” (Swaim 129). The root maze and its synonym labyrinth are used “concretely” (Swain 129) in the description of Satan the serpent, but maze suggests a more “abstract” meaning when part of the complex word amazed to describe the effect of the fall. Swaim points out the following lines which describe the serpent Satan’s physical state, where maze words are used concretely:
mazy folds (Milton IX.161)
labyrinth of many a round self-rolled (Milton IX.183)
fold above fold a surging maze, his head crested aloft (Milton IX.499-500)
Examples of the abstract (Swain 129) action of Satan’s evil inflicted on Eve and Adam are shown below:
. . . much marveling; at length
Not unamazed she thus in answer spake.
(Milton IX.551-2)
So talked the spirited sly snake; and Eve
Yet more amazed unwary thus replied.
(Milton IX.613-4)
. . . [Satan, like a ignis fatuus] . . .
Hovering and blazing with delusive light,
Misleads th’ amazed night-wanderer . .
(Milton IX.639-40)
. . . Adam, soon as he heard
The fatal trespass done by Eve, amazed. . .
(Milton IX.888-9)
As Kathleen Swain concludes, the poetic concept of maze potently captures the soul of the fall-—and the importance of language in the accomplishing of it. Satan’s “labyrinth of language and logic” (Swaim 129) subverts Eve’s reason and faith. As background, Swaim explains that mazes were familiar to Greek and Roman scholars as a confused network of passages which, if entered, one would need a guide to find the way out of. This poetically suggests the model for man who, losing the way spiritually, must rely on God’s grace for a way out.
As a comparison, the word maze was used by God the Father in its purest form when Raphael related how God glorified his Son, after which song and dance erupted in heaven. The footnotes adds that the dancing of the angels was compared to the movement and music of the spheres as the planets moved in their intricate paths:
In song and dance about the sacred hill,
Mystical dance, which yonder starry sphere
Of planets and of fixed in all her wheels
Resembles nearest, mazes intricate,
Eccentric, intervolved, yet regular
Then most, when most irregular they seem:
And in their motions harmony divine
So smooths her charming tones, that God’s own ear
Listens delighted.
(Milton V.619-27—Italics mine)
In this passage, maze bears none of the negative connotations of the earlier passages. Swaim suggests that God’s apprehension of the universe does not present Him with spiritual danger. But, we humans, without “Right Reason or faith [which] may prevent amazement . . . [are in danger of] becoming lost in the maze of delusive experience” (Swaim 131–Italics mine).
Now, to examine one of my favorite examples of language’s reflection of a narrative problem: how to depict God the Father. For, even to Adam and Eve, before the fall, God the Father would have been ineffable, just as he was ineffable for the angels in heaven. So, how did Milton manage to portray the un-portrayable? One way was to write in superlatives, then to admit that it only approached the target. The lines below are spoken by the narrator after God the Father requests a volunteer to atone for man’s sin:
Thee Father first they sung omnipotent,
Immutable, immortal, infinite,
Eternal King; thee Author of all being,
Fountain of light, thyself invisible
Amidst the glorious brightness where thou sitt’st
Throned inaccessible, but when thou shad’st
The full blaze of thy beams, and through a cloud
Drawn round about thee like a radiant shrine,
Dark with excessive bright thy skirts appear,
Yet dazzle heav’n, that brightest Seraphim
Approach not, but with both wings veil their eyes.
(Milton III.372-82—Italics mine)
God, as a being who cannot be apprehended—-visually or conceptually—-must be described in our fallen language. This, of course, is Milton’s special gift-—“to see things invisible to mortal sight” (III, 55). How perfectly suited he is to help the sighted reader to receive celestial light inward by which to see the ineffable. Stacked words suggest a “greater-than-and-beyond-that” sense: omnipotent, immutable, immortal, infinite, eternal, all-being. They are stacked until they vibrate and reach extended harmonics, until we sense why angels must “with both wings veil their eyes.”
Ruth Rushworth, in a web article entitled “Language in Paradise Lost” suggested another method by which Milton evoked God’s supreme power. He is able to perform the abstract and humanly impossible action described in Christian theology whereby His naming of a thing actually creates the thing. She further adds that Milton would have recognized a Biblical passage from the Book of John which described this:
In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God,
And the Word was God (King James Bible, John. 1.1)
She points out that “in Christian theology, this ‘Word’ is the creative power of God and is usually equated with the Son. . . . [and] in Paradise Lost, Milton makes this association explicit” (Rushworth). In Paradise Lost, God speaks:
And thou my Word, begotten Son, by thee
This I perform, speak thou, and be it done . . .
So spake the almighty, and to what he spake
His Word, the filial Godhead, gave effect
(Milton VII.164-75)
To elaborate a little further, Rushworth describes the Speech Act Theory, which is associated with certain speech-acts of God, especially during creation. Her description of The Speech Act Theory is shown below, along with her two examples—first from the Bible, then from Paradise Lost—demonstrating the action.
[The Speech Act is] a theory of language . . . which identifies
certain types of utterances (speech acts) that perform actions rather
than simply saying or describing something. The words God speaks at the
Creation are the ultimate and original speech act; as narrated in
Genesis and Paradise Lost, God only has to speak and the words come
into effect (Rushworth)
And God said, ‘Let there be light’; and there was light . . . (KJV, Genesis.1:3)
Let there be light, said God, and forthwith light
Ethereal, first of things, quintessence pure
Spring from the deep . . . (Milton VII.243-5)
Rushworth points out that related to this action is Adam’s ability, upon awaking for the first time in the garden, to mimic this power. God invites Adam to name all the beasts over which he has been given dominion. Adam’s first words:
. . . to speak I tried, and forthwith spake,
My tongue obeyed and readily could name
What e’er I saw . . . (Milton VIII.271)
Milton pointedly describes Adam’s grasp of language as a perfect merging of naming-understanding which exemplifies the “crystalline clarity” of language used in the garden before the fall (Rushworth):
I named them [the animals], as they passed, and understood
Their nature, with such knowledge God endued
My sudden apprehension . . . . (Milton VIII.352)
This mystical ability of Adams, related as it is to God’s Biblically familiar power, was a powerful way for Milton to evoke the unfathomable pureness and unknowable culture of Eden for we fallen men and women.
For me, all these examples demonstrate the breadth of Milton’s ingenuity so perfectly described by C.S. Lewis above. Truly, the unique challenges of portraying the complexity of unknown pure worlds and deities, and the glittering deception of Satan are better served when hinted, shaded, adumbrated in Milton’s diverting Latinate manner —rather than tackled head-on with directness.
The Ambiguity of Language and How it Can Lead to Logical Contradictions
The Argument
The ambiguous language of Paradise Lost enables great breadth, but also invites —or at least enables—some disturbing consequences: An irritable God? The fatal punishment of Eve for succumbing to hypocrisy—that “only evil that walks invisible, except to God alone” (Milton III.682-3)? A war in heaven? God’s worry that Adam & Eve might eat of the Tree of Life before He can eject them from Eden? These all seemed like logical inconsistencies enabled by ambiguous language—and I have given them some thought below.
* * *
The ambiguity of language, which enables the reader to hold so many disparate images in mind at once, to the benefit of the narrative, may also provide a few extra wanton coils to trip up logic which eventually redounds upon its own head!
One major instant of this disjunction was in Book III when God the Father vaunts—reminiscent of Satan’s vaunting in Books I and II—leaving the same impression of a psychologically shallow, empty being—to my mind! With the aim of “clear[ing] his own justice and wisdom from all imputation” (Milton Argument III) as He watches Satan approach Eden, God’s growls that man will fall:
He and his faithless progeny: whose fault?
Whose but his own? Ingrate . . .
(Milton III.96-7)
That seems harsh. But, gradually, God’s indignation softens. He holds that since man was deceived by Satan—as opposed to being self-tempted as Satan was—man shall be shown mercy. The Son of God encourages this mercy. But the Father’s emotions ratchet up once again as He describes the full effect of man’s sin which will require “rigid satisfaction, death for death” (Milton III.212). It is the Son who expresses mercy with the gentleness I would expect.
Later, however, the Son, who had been the voice of calm above, exhibits His own un-God-like pettiness. When Adam is groping to explain his need for a fit companion to allay his solitude; the Son points to all the creature of the earth under Adam’s dominion as if to ask how he can be lonely. Adam reasonably responds that they are not creatures like him. The Son counters that he has no creature like Himself but is not lonely. Adam reminds the Son that He is sufficient in Himself; Adam is not. Finally, the Son reveals that He was just testing Adam, and He will provide a fit companion. There is also a similar coy scene after the fall when the Son knows why Adam and Eve are hiding, but teasingly asks where they are and why they are not coming out.
These behaviors of God and Son are annoying to me. My first response is that they remind me of childhood catechism depictions of the deity. Perhaps Milton, realizing he is faced with a nearly impossible task of describing an indescribable God, has opted to paint a childhood caricature. A reader might, on some level, intuit the challenge of describing the ineffable, and by dropping back into a childhood groove, will recognize this as a representation like Raphael’s—suggesting rather than truly describing. Of course, there is also a possibility that given Milton’s cultural and religious backdrop and personal inclination he was comfortable with an Old Testament deity. For me, however, the idea that Milton is giving the reader a space-holder description to allow for personal intuition seems more likely.
Another inconsistency involves the claim for incompatibility of good and evil— and the uneven enforcement of separating the two. Permitting a war in heaven for two days before effectively charging the Son with the task of expelling Satan was an odd narrative construct for me. The idea of allowing evil to languish in heaven for two days of fighting seems to jar with the urgency of expelling Adam and Eve from Eden based on the idea that “the law [God] gave to Nature . . . forbids those pure immortal Elements that know No gross” (Milton XI.49). And, while knowledge of good through evil means a hasty removal of Adam and Eve from the garden, God the Father, in Book XI, admits that angels know good through evil.
O Sons, like one of us Man is become
To know both Good and Evil, since his taste
Of that defended Fruit; but let him boast
His knowledge of Good lost, and Evil got,
Happier, had it suffic’d him to have known
Good by it self, and Evil not at all.
(Milton XI.84-9)
And how can God hold that this knowledge is more dangerous for man than not angels? Is the answer related to Kathleen Swaim’s concept of mazes in Paradise Lost: that “Right Reason or faith [which] may prevent “amazement”? Are we humans deemed more susceptible to the traps of delusive experience” (Swaim 131. If so, God miscalculated by permitting angels this knowledge in light of the fall of Satan and his legions, who were clearly ensnared by evil.
Another sticking point for me is the harshness of God’s response to Eve’s temptation and fall. In light of the admission that hypocrisy was the “only evil that walks invisible, except to God alone” (Milton III.682-3), I find Adam and Eve’s expulsion from Paradise on a first offense unusually cruel. Here, I think the story line of the Bible presents an impossible dilemma for Milton—the fall is a given, so Milton must expel Adam and Eve. But, given this essential narrative event, this fateful line describing hypocrisy as invisible except to God leaves God open to a charge of cruelty when Adam and Eve are expelled so abruptly. Try as I might, I cannot reconcile this unfairness.
Related to the above problem of expelling Adam and Eve, is a similarly inconsistent line of reasoning which treats Satan’s transgression more harshly than Adam’s. If Satan fell by his “own suggestion . . . self-tempted” (Milton III.130), why is Adam not similarly viewed? Adam willfully chose to eat the fruit to ensure he and Eve remained inseparable. One explanation has been that Adam’s sin was placing love of Eve above love of God, and that this was not selfish self-tempting. But, I interpret this differently; Adam’s sin is much more selfish, it was really a love of his own comfort and pleasure in Eve that he placed above love of God. Isn’t this very similar to Satan’s placement of self-love above love of God? I have not found a satisfactory resolution to this inconsistency, either.
To close, I must admit that the inconsistencies and clashes do not bother me overmuch. Their presence is so honest a part of life that I would not hold Milton to making his story perfectly neat and tidy, with no loose ends. The loose ends somehow help rather than hinder, as C.S. Lewis suggested. I guess I am used to loose ends in life.
