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HUMANISM IN 鈥淧ARADISE LOST鈥� *

By A. F. THYAGARAJU, M.A. (London)

For three centuries 鈥淧aradise Lost鈥� has held its place as the greatest poem in the English language. It has been the touchstone of literary appreciation, the test by which the reader鈥檚 taste and understanding have been judged. It came into the world unheralded and unsung, but within a few years it cut out, as Dryden remarked, all its contemporaries and the ancients too. To what amazing quality or combination of qualities can this supreme triumph be attributed? Many would answer: the style; and indeed no man, not even Shakespeare, handled the English language with such superb and dignified mastery, with such unerring skill and such sonorous effect as Milton. But no work of art survives merely because of style; it is the perfect combination of manner and matter, the language and the thought-content, which gives such a work immortality and raises it to the rank of a classic. While critics have almost unanimously succumbed to the fascination of Milton鈥檚 rolling harmonies, they have not been equally convinced of the value of the poem鈥檚 message, nor for that matter, have they agreed on what the poem means.

To his Puritan contemporaries Paradise Lost was essentially a religious poem. It took its place in many an English household alongside of the Bible, Bunyan鈥檚 鈥楶ilgrim鈥檚 Progress鈥� and Foxe鈥檚 鈥楤ook of Martyrs鈥�. It was Milton鈥檚 imagery rather than anything the Bible says which produced the popular Christian ideas of Heaven and Hell. It employed the machinery of celestial and infernal worlds, and moved familiarly with angels and demons, the creator of Heaven and Earth, and the Son of God. It reduced to poetry the intractable material of Christian Theology and it sought to justify the ways of God to men. So Paradise Lost was looked upon as a book of sermons, and its text was God. Therefore, say the critics, as the theological framework, so essential to the poem, becomes out of date, as thoughtful men cease to believe in angels or devils, the poem will lose its validity, its appeal to the modern man, and become one of those monuments of art whose interest is purely antiquarian. Its essential weakness, they would assert, is that Paradise Lost is built on a fable which the modern mind rejects and which is, in the words of Satan, 鈥渨orth your laughter鈥�.

But it seems to me, to argue thus is to miss the whole point of the poem. The theme of paradise Lost is not God, but Man. I wonder if my listeners have noticed, what I have always felt, that there is an essential unity in Milton鈥檚 work, that from the first poem he ever wrote to the last, every one of his writings鈥揚rose or Poetry鈥揾as but one theme, viz.鈥揗ilton himself. Is there any other instance in the whole realm of English literature of such unashamed egotism? Yes, egotism if you like, but as Coleridge said, the egotism of such a man is a revelation of spirit. Milton himself is the theme of his works, but Milton as representative man, Milton as embodying the eternal conflicts which flesh is heir to, Milton as forming the crowded arena where that immortal garland is to be run for, not without dust and heat. It runs like a golden thread鈥搕his concentration on himself鈥揳nd illumines his writings like a candle in a dark world. From the Vacation Exercise at cambridge to Samson Agonistes, Milton鈥檚 poetry deals with the human problem, as fought out in the throbbing brain and pulsating spirit of one man, and it is as a humanist, as a champion of Man, as the knight in shilling armour fighting our battle and reaching the end of the day, without fear and without reproach, that Milton must ultimately be judged.

But what, it may be asked, is this human problem? If I can put it in one sentence, I would say it is the story of Man鈥檚 struggle with himself. Man is placed in a world of beauty and exhorted to enjoy himself. All things subserve his purpose and seem to be made for him. And as he sets out to be happy in this garden of bliss, he discovers that there is a snag about it somewhere: the moral law obtrudes itself and the question of right and wrong arises. Across his path he finds a banner with a strange device: 鈥淭hou shalt not鈥�, and, as he looks up, a forbidden fruit dangles before his eyes. And deep within him he finds something responding to this moral challenge, something which tells him that while he would like to sport with Amaryllis in the shade and with the tangles of Neaera鈥檚 hair, there is something else which raises the clear spirit, to scorn delights and live laborious days. Then the conflict begins:

The genius and the mortal instruments
Are there in council; and the state of man,
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then
The nature of an insurrection.

It was this inner struggle that Milton endured, the hell through which he passed, and the price he paid for his poetry. For no great work of art can be born until its creator has been crushed and ground in this wine-press of conflict and his life blood has watered the earth. On the one hand Milton was an artist. From his youth upwards he had been peculiarly sensitive to the appeal of beauty whether it came in the form of some rustic Horton girl or the more seductive dark-eyed maidens of Italy or the more mature charms of a Delilah. This world of beauty鈥損rimeval, amoral, aesthetic鈥搘aved its snow-white arms and sang its siren songs to him. It tells him in Lycidas not to waste his youth. It promises in Comus that

Not that Nepenthes which the wife of Thone
In Egypt gave to Jove-Dorn Helena

is of such power to stir up joy as this. It offers, him the apple鈥揳nd the apple in the fair hand of Eve鈥搃n Paradise Lost and the luscious banquet in Paradise Regained. In Samson Agonistes it takes the form of Delilah and produces the caustic comment of the Chorus: yet beauty, though injurious, hath strange power. But Milton was more than artist. He was a Puritan who desired to live as ever in his great Task-Master鈥檚 eye. He had to serve the nation and fight for her cause. He was the chosen instrument of God to effect His purpose for his beloved England. He could not afford to linger in the lap of dalliance when duty called him. And this became the greatest problem of his existence: to reconcile the demands of his aesthetic nature with those of his moral life and to win for himself that calm of mind, all passion spent, which was his ideal.

This, then, is the answer to those who ask why Milton, the humanist, chose the theme of the Fall of Man for his greatest work. For Milton was indeed a humanist. He was brought up in the tradition of Plato; the speculations of the Greek philosophers were his rod and staff, the dramas of the great tragedians his daily bread. He was a Renaissance scholar who had discovered afresh the vitality of the Greek outlook. The stories of Greece were parables that spoke that his inmost being. Like Orpheus he had found a lyre whose music could wring feeling from wood and stone; like Actaeou he had gazed on Nature鈥檚 naked loveliness; like Proserpin he had gathered flowers in the fair field of Enna. He had the Greek thirst for knowledge, the Greek love of beauty, the Greek devotion to liberty, the Greek insistence on the primacy of man. He was of the breed which strove with gods outside the walls of Troy and on the high seas. And when he decided to put himself wholly into one mighty utterance which the world would not willingly let die, he chose a theme which would have delighted his Greek predecessors. It had just that slightly ironic flavour which they appreciated, that emphasis on a human problem, that wide sweep which covered the three worlds that are found in the writings of the Greek masters. But Milton had something which the Greeks did not have鈥搕he assurance that the problem was not insoluble and鈥搃f only the Greeks would understand鈥搃t was a solution which continued to uphold the dignity of man, for one greater Man鈥搚es, a Man, could restore us and regain the blissful seat.

Thus in Paradise Lost we see the fruition of the humanist outlook. The story revolves around that weak, helpless creature called Man. But, in spite of his frailty, he is the centre of the universe. For him a whole cosmogony has been devised, for him worlds have been created, and his welfare concerns regions beyond ours. For his salvation councils are held in Heaven and for his destruction pandemonium prevails in Hell. This gives Man a dignity and a status which is entirely different from the position afforded to him in Greek epic or drama. For in Paradise Lost Man is not the victim of some inexorable, inexplicable fate against which he is pitted in unequal struggle, nor can it be said of men that

Like flies to wanton boys are we to the gods,
They kill us for their sport.

The moment the artist accepts such philosophies, however great his artistic power might be, the result of his work is helpless pessimism as in the Greek Tragedies or the novels of Thomas Hardy.

Adam鈥檚 position in Paradise Lost has been much misunderstood, though Eve鈥檚 role has been better appreciated. But Adam represents the real human element. He is, as his name implies, truly a man. In his long conversations with the angels鈥搈uch derided by short-sighted critics鈥揳re the questions which have always troubled man: Who am I, whence have I come, and what is my destiny? With the creation of the new and strangelty fascinating creature Eve, a whole realm of problem and perplexity bursts upon Adam; love, without which man cannot exist which does not enter alone; for in his train are tears and doubts and immemorial pain; and companionship, failure and forgiveness. With the bitter experience of Eden comes the hard lesson that humanity refuses to learn but must learn, if it should survive in God鈥檚 universe鈥搕hat obedience to the moralo law is the guarantee of peace and security and that the price of disobedience is the loss of Paradise, the Paradise of an innocent and undefiled mind.

Most readers of Paradise Lost have been perplexed by one difficulty, that Milton seems to be on the side of Satan; in the titanic struggle between good and evil he seems to admire the infernal enemy rather than the All-wise and All-good. While it is true that much of Milton鈥檚 colossal energy has gone into the creation of Satan, it is not correct to say that he is on Satan鈥檚 side. He is interested in Satan more perhaps than in God, because in Satan he finds the same conflict as in Man, the same dualism, the same upsurging of the good, the same repressal of it and conscious choice of evil that have disfigured humanity. Indeed it is an intensely human Satan that Milton has created, a being who can feel the pangs of envy when he sees Adam and Eve imparadised in one another鈥檚 arms and realises that he can never know that bliss. So, in this sense, Milton is Satan, Milton is Adam, as Milton was later to be the suffering Samson, now eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves, and now the triumphant instrument of God鈥檚 punishment.

So to all lovers of humanity, to all believers in the dignity of the human race, to all champions of human rights and liberties, Milton has left his legacy鈥搕he soul-stirring, challenging, elevating message of Paradise Lost. That such a challenge is needed more than ever today we need not doubt. Nor do we need to question Milton鈥檚 answer to our perplexity, that human problems cannot be solved merely on the human plane. In the acceptance of this truth lies our only hope, and the fulfillment of Milton鈥檚 vision of a new Heaven and Earth wherein the just shall dwell,

And after all their tribulations long
See golden days, fruitful of golden deeds
With Joy and Love triumphing and fair Truth.

* Broadcast from the All-India Radio, Vijayavada, on Nov. 27, 1951 and Published by kind permission.