Towards a Synthesis of Forms: Milton’s Humanist-Christianity and its Implications for

“Paradise Lost”

John Milton’s Paradise Lost is a work which has long enjoyed a prominent position,

both in the English canon and in the canon of religious epic. It is a poem which, in the words

of Bruce King, “offers a history of the world as found in the Old and New Testament and

elaborated by biblical commentators, but also incorporates pagan mythology”.1 Milton’s

depiction of the fall of man is one which encompasses not only the biblical story, but also the

entire history of man up until the early-modern period. He describes his intention in writing

the poem as that of justifying “the ways of God to man”. This essay is not concerned with

whether or not he succeeds in this aim, but rather seeks to explore the ways in which he

employs pagan and neo-classical imagery in order to do so. Also discussed will be the idea of

Milton as a ‘Christian-humanist’. Milton’s complex relationship with his classical forebears

is one which bears a great deal of scrutiny. In many ways, Paradise Lost is a challenge to the

great classical writers, a robust answer to Homer and Virgil. It is an attempt to bring Milton’s

vernacular language and his own religious values to the same exalted linguistic status as the

classical texts that inspired him. This essay will attempt to chart the ways in which classical

and biblical sources are intertwined in the poem, and to question whether Milton’s rejection

of classicism is ever really convincingly expounded. Particular attention will be paid to the

idea of the classical heroic, and to Milton’s attempted creation of a new paradigm for the

heroic mode.

Though it arguably came to blossom with his magnum opus, Milton’s use of a

mixture of pagan and Christian elements in his poetry was established long before he even

attempted the writing of Paradise Lost. The masque Comus or A Masque Presented at

Ludlow Castle is one of the most classically-influenced pieces of his early work. In it, we see

1 Bruce King, Seventeenth Century English Literature (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 1982), 170

a virtuous Lady attempting to defend her chastity against a villainous demi-god named

Comus. Comus is important in studying Milton’s use of pagan mythology in his work

because it prefigures a number of themes which will ultimately become vital to the study and

full understanding of Paradise Lost. The interpolation of Grace at the end of the masque

prefigures the eventual salvation of mankind in Paradise Regained. His adaptation of the

pastoral form in Lycidas is another good early example of this tendency in his poetry. It is,

according to Alan Sinfield, “at first sight the complete puritan-humanist poem”.2 The poem

moves slowly from a humanist to a more Christian perspective, opening with the classical

pastoral device of the poet-as-shepherd, and ending with a denunciation of this figure as an

“uncouth swain” (L, 186). As Sinfield reminds us, “The reality of death requires a more

powerful answer” than that offered by the pastoral. This comes in the form of Christian

revelation (“So Lycidas sank low, but mounted high” (L, 173)). Many have seen the closing

lines of the poem (“At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue:/Tomorrow to fresh woods,

and pastures new” (L, 192-193)), as Milton’s symbolic farewell to the pastoral mode. In order

to properly synthesise the pagan and the Christian, Milton needs to expand into the grander

form of the epic.

The problem of defining this intricate intermingling of classical and Christian imagery

has long plagued critics of Milton’s work. In his book on English protestant literature in the

early-modern period, Sinfield articulates the issue thusly “In Paradise Lost Milton places the

classical gods - Saturn, Jove and their peers – amongst the devils. The poem is replete with

pagan imagery but Milton frequently insists upon its inferior status. Yet the ultimate effect is

to grant classical literature a significance which is explicitly repudiated, for it becomes

apparent that Milton depends on it for emotional richness”.3 Some critics, such as G. K.

2 Alan Sinfield, Literature in Protestant England, 1560-1660 (Routledge Revivals), (London: Routledge, 2009), 263 Sinfield, Protestant England, 24

Hunter, believe that this apparent inconsistency between Milton’s admiration for the

technique and talent of the classical writers and his Christian convictions can be explained by

a sort of hierarchy of achievement, that he was first and foremost a Christian poet, and a

‘just’ (or classical) poet second. He argues that these factors create a synthesis in Milton’s

works, that “The rhetoric, strategy and technique of his major works can be seen to be

working to maximise the coherence of this group of self-identifying characteristics, and to

minimise their inner contradictions”.4 This idea of a symbiotic hierarchy of poetic structure

can be seen most obviously in the sections of the poem where Milton provides invocations to

the Muse. At the beginning of Book III, he uses the classical figure of Urania as a sort of

personification of the Holy Spirit, and in doing so subordinates the classical world into his

Christian ethic. It is worthy of note, however, that in this holy incantation, he appeals to the

muse as “Bright effluence of bright essence incarnate” (III, 6). God, he says, is light. This

notion of the almighty as a personification of light seems to be fed into by some deeper, more

atavistic idea than a traditional Christian one. One explanation for this may be that Milton’s

blindness made him see light itself as inherently holy, although it could also be a

manifestation of pagan light worship.

Hunter’s explanation does not necessarily seem entirely satisfactory given the scope

of these divisions in the works. In her book on Milton and Tasso, Judith A. Kates argues that

Milton’s use of the classical epic form in fact presents a subversion of traditional classical

morals, undermining the very ideas of pagan nobility and ethics. Her discussion focuses

largely around what she sees as Milton’s rejection of the classical heroic. We are forced, she

attests, to constantly mistake Satan for the hero of the poem. “We hear in Satan”, she claims,

“the familiar voice of pride, integrity to an individual sense of honour, and determined will to

4 George Kirkpatrick Hunter, “Paradise Lost”, (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1980), 1

remain in a chosen course, however fated or wrong”.5 It is undeniable that Satan does exhibit

some of the characteristics we might associate with classical heroism. He is willing to defend

those loyal to him, and he refuses to allow anyone else to undertake the treacherous journey

across chaos to the newly-created earth (“I abroad/Through all the coasts of dark destruction

seek/Deliverance for us all: this enterprise/None shall partake with me” (II, 463-467)) He is

also repeatedly assigned the title of ‘monarch’, and is described in Book II as “raised above

his fellows” by “transcendent glory” to “monarchal pride” (II, 427-429). This pride is both

Satan’s most attractive feature, and the one that ultimately brings about his downfall. It is this

pride, this self-assured nature of a conquering hero; that leads him to the mistaken

assumption that it is “better to reign in Hell than to serve in Heaven” (I, 263). It is also

perhaps his most human trait. Satan’s desire for freedom from predetermination is a quality

which endears him to the reader, and it is one of the qualities which prompted William Blake

to argue that Milton was “Of the Devil’s party without knowing it”.6

Whether we should agree with Kates that this represents a rejection of the ideals of

the pagan heroic tradition, or whether we should take Blake’s side and sympathise

wholeheartedly with Satan’s travails, largely depends on how we read the speeches and

actions of him and his posse of rebel angels. If we are to agree with William Empson that

Milton’s God is a tyrannical presence, then the figuration of Satan as classical hero places

him in the unlikely position of moral compass in the poem, fighting a noble but ultimately

futile battle against an oppressive overlord. If, however, we are to take the more traditional

interpretation of Satan as the irredeemable liar and father of all sin then logically the relation

of Satan to the classical hero must reflect poorly upon the latter. The whole of the epic form

for Milton seems to be tainted by its pagan implications. As Kates writes “Milton develops

5 Judith A. Kates, Tasso and Milton: The Problem of Christian Epic, (Michigan: Bucknell University Press, 1983), 1266 William Blake, The Works of William Blake, (Ware, Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Editions Ltd., 1994), 180

further than Tasso an awareness of the problematic nature of the epic poets’ need to

accommodate an admired tradition, which he sees as the model for beauty and order in

artistic creation, but whose ethical and spiritual foundation he must reject”.7

Perhaps the most significant aspect of this rejection of the classical framework of

heroism is the significance it holds for how we should read the depiction of the battle of

Heaven. Kates argues that the war in Heaven is emblematic of the traditional battle of

classical heroes, that Milton suggests “characteristics of most of the famous literary heroes at

various points in the portrayal of Satan”.8 The courage so valued in these ancient heroes is

here rendered as futile, with resistance only leading to more bloodshed. The real moral path is

exemplified in the words of Abdiel, “than whom none with more zeal adored/The Deity, and

divine commands obeyed” (V, 805-806). Abdiel’s path is one of words. It is not, however, a

path of sophistry or rhetoric, which we might more feasibly associate with Satan or Comus.

Abdiel’s speech is typified by a desire to obey unquestioningly the laws of God. He

consciously avoids the emotive language and appeals to ‘humanistic’ desires that Satan

engages in throughout the poem, insisting instead that God’s laws are “our laws, all honour to

him done/Returns our own” (V, 844-845), and that any attempt to “quit the yoke/Of God’s

Messiah” (V, 882-883) can only end in ruin. Loyalty, not freedom, and words, not deeds are

shown to be the more moral path, and given special status. This valuing of the spoken word

as a way to solve disputes also appears in Comus, where the Lady uses her powers of oratory

to successfully defend her virtue against the persuasive powers of the god of revelry. God

congratulates Abdiel for fighting “the better fight”, and for having “maintained/Against

revolted multitudes the cause/Of truth, in word mightier than they in arms” (VI, 29-32).

Of course, the very fact that there is a war in heaven; and that Abdiel is one of the

finest fighters in the angelic forces; would seem to nullify this previous idea and return to the 7 Kates, Tasso and Milton, 1308 Kates, Tasso and Milton, 130

classical imagery of war and to classical notions of heroic feats of arms. As K. G. Hamilton

points out “The power of truth is thus set up as triumphant, as the “better fight”, against the

violence of armed might. But immediately God seems to turn to just that armed fight for

defence against the rebels”.9 This war reads as particularly remarkable because the angels are

supernatural beings, and thus Adam (and by extension, the reader), cannot even begin to

comprehend its splendour and the feats of valour contained within. This conflict between the

style of the poem and the religious subject matter is one which extends beyond Satan and

encompasses the whole of his host, even bringing into question the ‘good’ angels who have

remained loyal to God. As Hamilton points out “In the act of physical war in heaven the good

angels are drawn into the sin of military arms themselves”.10 The pomp and majesty of the

battle is one which leads the angels into the remarkably human sin of pride in military might.

To further complicate this ambiguous portrayal of classical courage and military

bravery, we must return to Book II, and to the great council of Hell. We see this debate

dramatized here through the discussion between Moloch and Belial. We see the idea of pagan

courage exemplified in Moloch’s plea for the fallen angels to reject “The prison of his

tyranny who reigns/By our delay”. “No”, he exhorts, “let us rather choose/Armed with hell

flames and fury all at once/O’er heaven’s high towers to force resistentless way,/Turning our

tortures into horrid arms/Against the torturer” (II, 59-64). Moloch’s ultimate desire is to meet

his end with courage. A certain classical nobility could be seen in continuing to fight even

when the cause is lost, and Milton is clearly criticising this idea here. A point of interest,

however, is that Milton expresses this displeasure not through some edict of God or through

use of his omnipotent narrator, but through the words of another fallen angel; the figure of

Belial. Belial is the one who points out the futility of war with the omnipotent God,

9 Kenneth Gordon Hamilton, “Paradise Lost”: A Humanist Approach, (University of Queensland: University of Queensland Press, 1981), 6310 Hamilton, A Humanist Approach, 64

describing the inevitable punishment for doing so in graphic terms. (“While we

perhaps/Designing or exhorting glorious war,/Caught in a fiery tempest shall be hurled/Each

on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey/Of racking whirlwinds” (II, 178-182)). This is not

to say that the narrator condones the feelings of Belial, indeed he sees them not as a product

of obedience or piety, but as one of “ignoble ease, and peaceful sloth” (II, 227).

One explanation for this seeming logical inconsistency could be that, in a post-

lapsarian society, a pagan or classical morality is the only one which it is possible to possess.

The fallen angels can never redeem themselves, even if their decisions are made for the

common good. This proposition may also go some way towards answering the question of

why Milton endows his devils with the powers of reasoned argument. Any act of

disobedience against the higher power takes away all hope of moral salvation, so despite the

fact that Belial’s arguments are similar in substance to those of God later in the poem, his

motivations can never be pure. The pagan world for Milton is one which, while not bereft of

beauty or of wonder, can never be truly righteous, because even if the decisions made are the

morally correct ones, they are always overshadowed by the fall and the original sin of

idolatry.

We can see this enacted at the end of Book I, when Pandemonium is raised, in a

manner which Hunter describes as reminiscent of “a secular Greek city-state”.11 The palace is

undeniably a grand one. It is “Built like a temple, where pilasters round/Were set, and Doric

columns overlaid/With golden architrave” (I, 713-715). It is even stated that the architect of

Pandemonium, Mulciber, was known and loved in ancient Greece. That such an evil place

can be so wondrously decorated, and so intricately related to a classical civilisation, is

indicative of Milton’s belief in an innate lack of morality among the ancients. Milton’s

description of the army of Hell provides further evidence for this hypothesis. It is depicted in

11 Hunter, “Paradise Lost”, 54

splendid detail, with all the trappings of a great army of ancient Greece or Rome, moving “in

perfect phalanx to the Dorian mode/Of flutes and soft recorders: such as raised/To height of

noblest tempers old/Arming to battle, and instead of rage/Deliberate valour breathed” (I, 550-

554). Once again, however, we notice an ambivalence to the imagery here. Clearly, this

section is intended to convince us of the moral vacuum represented by classical ideals of

courage and valour. However, the quiet grace of the poetry and the invocation of music give

this passage a moving quality which cannot fail to touch the reader. Perhaps this is because,

in our fallen state, we are ourselves guilty of the mistakes Milton is warning us about.

This use of negative comparison of pagan/post-lapsarian and Christian/pre-lapsarian

imagery also appears in the list of places with which Eden is compared in Book IV. Mindele

Anne Treip points out that these places are universally “human or mythic-historic places not

simply beautiful...but riddled with human passions”.12 The associations made are ones of

indolent luxury and of licentiousness: The rape of Proserpine and the debauchery of Pan are

two of the most prominent examples. Again, it seems, we need the crutch of classical imagery

and allusion to make any attempt at defining beauty and goodness in a post-lapsarian world.

As Treip says, the similes “force our attention away from paradisal beauty to a world that has

since become deeply fallen, making us see Eden as if veiled and disfigured by that fallen

world”.13 Later in the book when we are told that Eve is “More lovely than Pandora, whom

the gods/Endowed with all their gifts” (IV, 714-715), we are forced by Milton to consider the

implications of this association (“and O too like/In sad event” (IV, 715-716)). Of course, this

means that pagan and pre-Christian imagery are as necessary to the framework of the poem

as its biblical source material. In a fallen world there can be no hope of imagining the true

beauty of paradise or of comprehending the will of God, so all Milton can do is to attempt to

12 Mindele Anne Treip, Allegorical Poetics and the Epic: The Renaissance Tradition to “Paradise Lost”, (Kentucky: University Press of Kentucky, 2015), 24513 Triep, Allegorical Poetics, 246

approximate using the only tools he has available to him. The classical imagery provides us

with something familiar upon which to hang our conceptions of a place and a time which we

can never fully understand, a sort of cosmic shorthand which Milton can use to get around the

impossibility of human consciousness of a pre-lapsarian world. To quote Hunter,

No Christian reader could ever suppose that Eden was rivalled by any pagan garden, so why bother to tell us that it was not rivalled? The answer I wish to offer is that the simile is not present to give us a one-to-one comparison, but rather to show how comparison functions, what it can do and what it cannot do when the matter is, as here, beyond compare.14

This technique of comparison to pre-Christian mythology is also of paramount

importance in Milton’s imagined depiction of the birth of Sin. He describes the moment

where “All on a sudden miserable pain” surprises Satan and he sinks to the ground aflame

with black fire “till on the left side opening wide” out of his head springs “a goddess fully

armed” (II, 751-758). As Bruce King points out, the coming forth of Sin, and the subsequent

birth of Death is “a parody of the Father’s creation of the son”.15 This scene has obvious

parallels with the birth of Athena, who also sprang from Zeus’ head fully formed. This is

further evidence of Milton’s distaste for classical heroism. Athena’s position as the goddess

of both civilisation and military strategy is grossly parodied here. Perhaps this is because, in a

pre-lapsarian world, before the birth of Sin, these qualities would never have been necessary.

There is no need to civilise a paradise, and to require military strategy in a perfect world is a

notion too absurd to contemplate.

Another interesting inclusion that Milton makes from Greek mythology is that of the

Furies and Medusa. These creatures are of particular note because they do not seem to fit

within the framework of the Greek gods, who Milton has categorically written off as devils.

The Furies seem in the Miltonic context to have come into being with the creation of Hell.

Medusa is given the job of “with gorgonian terror” guarding the ford of Lethe (II, 611-612).

14 Hunter, “Paradise Lost”, 10915 King, Seventeenth Century Literature, 172

This begs the question, did God create these creatures in order to carry out these tasks, or

were they too damned to this fate for rebelling against him? This question has serious moral

implications for how we read Milton’s God, for if he did in fact create these creatures purely

to add to the misery of the fallen angels, then surely Empson’s claim that he is a tyrant must

be treated with a little more credence. The inclusion of these dangerous creatures also gives

more heroic impact to the journey that Satan undertakes to Earth. His quest is given

something of a chivalric tinge in that he has to face monsters and overcome obstacles in order

to find his destination. There are also some direct references to specific incidents in the Iliad

and the Aeneid, most notably Satan’s hanging out of his golden scales at the end of Book IV,

just as Zeus does in the Iliad and Jove in the Aeneid. However, as Hunter points out, Milton’s

use of the scales image differs greatly from those of his classical predecessors. “In Homer

and Virgil the tipping of the scales represents what will inescapably happen. Those who see

the phenomenon understand their fates and must then proceed to fulfil them. But the

necessity that the scales imply is potential only in Paradise Lost”.16 In other words, Milton

gives Satan the option to run away from a second battle, he is not preordained to fight again.

This has interesting implications for the idea of predestination that Milton floats throughout

the poem. If Satan can choose his own path, does that negate the omnipotence of God?

We have already seen that Milton wished with this work to change the perception of

what constituted epic heroism for a Christian audience, and that he used Abdiel’s spoken

resistance to Satan to provide an example of such. Abdiel, however, is an angel, an

otherworldly being, and as such cannot be accused of the same humanistic foibles as many of

the heroes of ancient Greece and Rome. It is also true that the challenge Abdiel faces is one

which inextricably related to more traditional ideas of heroism. Even if Abdiel is fighting

with words and not with swords, he is still in a militaristic setting. The characters who face

16 Hunter, “Paradise Lost”, 50

the biggest challenges in the poem however, are not angels, and their challenge is, on the face

of it, an almost absurdly benign one: Whether or not to eat an apple. Of course, this dilemma

is the one upon which stands the entire fate of the human race. It is the dramatic climax of the

poem. As Hunter says, though, it is a climax “of understanding rather than of action”.17 Here,

we have further subversion of the classical epic style. As Hunter puts it “The heroic gestures

are made to accumulate towards an apple because Milton wishes to make clear to us (if not to

Satan) the need the apple imposes upon us to revise our notions of heroism or battle as

appropriate to this complex world of spiritual conflict”.18 The heroic act for Milton is a

personal one, involving an inner choice and the potential for disastrous consequences. Here

again we are reminded of the Lady in Comus. At the end of the masque, the Lady is

distraught, not because of Comus’ actions, but because he “hast nor ear, nor soul to

apprehend/The sublime notion, and high mystery/That must be uttered to unfold the sage/And

serious doctrine of virginity” (C, 784-787). The Lady’s heroism lies in her refusal to submit

to Comus’ desire, and Comus’ tragedy lies in his inability to comprehend the Godly or the

virtuous. Courage for Milton is embodied in obedience to the Lord and to what is right, not in

any daring feats of arms or legendary battles. The epic may be contained in a single

misguided decision by a single woman.

It is not in Paradise Lost, however, that Milton ultimately provides us with a

resolution to the thorny problem of what meaning heroism should take in a Christian epic, but

in Paradise Regained. Heroism, and by extension the epic form, can only be ‘saved’ through

the actions of the Son of God. It is significant that one of Satan’s attempted temptations of

Christ is an appeal to “Greece,/the mother of arts and eloquence”. (PR, IV, 240-141). Christ’s

answer, that “The solid rules of civil government/In their majestic unaffected style/Then all

the Oratory of Greece and Rome/In them is plainest taught, and easiest learnt,/What makes a

17 Hunter, “Paradise Lost”, 5118 Hunter, “Paradise Lost”, 52

Nation happy, and keeps it so” (PR, IV, 360), is proof of Milton’s firm belief in divine

providence, in obedience and the rule of law over the beauty which he finds in the Greco-

Roman tradition. In Hamilton’s words

It is almost as though Milton had asked himself what was the greatest sacrifice he could think of making in the interest of self-autonomy, of kingship over the self; and certainly it is significant that in these two last temptations he has Christ reject both Greece and Rome, the twin bases of the classical heritage of western Christendom, and of the humanist side of the Christian-humanist dichotomy.19

By setting Christ’s heroism in direct opposition to that of Satan, Milton pins his colours to the

mast for this new heroism of obedience. However, even in this great moment of rejection,

Milton has Christ acknowledge the beauty of classical literature where “moral virtue is

expressed/By light of nature not in all quite lost” (PR, IV, 351-352). It seems that, whatever

sacrifices Hamilton feels that Milton has had to make here (and indeed we can see that the

style here differs greatly from the more ornate poetics of Paradise Lost, indicating that there

has been some break with the classical modes), he cannot resist offering this small grain of

redemption to the classical writers whom he has admired for so long. As Sinfield points out

“Explicitly Milton observes Sidney’s segregation of Christian and pagan; implicitly we

observe his reluctance to discount classical myth… The humanist wants to grant true

inspiration to the heathens he admires but the puritan recognizes their products must be

unsatisfactory. They have and do not have divine approval”.20

In conclusion, it is obvious that Milton’s relationship with the classical was one which

changed and developed over time, but which never quite reached a state of stable equilibrium.

It seems he was never quite able to reconcile his strong Christian beliefs and his intense

appreciation for the writers of ancient Greece and Rome. His ultimate rejection of the

classical tradition in Paradise Regained seems to ring hollow when we read back over his

long career, and examine the extent to which these influences played their part in creating his

style. From Comus, through Lycidas and the sonnets, and culminating in Paradise Lost, we 19 Hamilton, Humanist Approach, 10920 Hunter, “Paradise Lost”, 24

see Milton developing his Christian-humanist style. The pagan and classical myths are almost

as integral a part of these texts as the overlays of Christian morality. However, Milton’s use

of this imagery is certainly idiosyncratic, and his novel treatment of the pagan heroic in

particular helped to bring the epic into a new age, even when it was going out of style among

his peers. Paradise Lost is a poem which seeks to bring together two great doctrines of

scholarship. In this venture it is in some parts more successful than others, and an uneasy

relationship always exists between the two sides of the Christian/Pagan dichotomy, but the

overall result is at least a partial synthesis. It is, beyond all doubt, a Christian epic.