Roopkatha Banerjee
PG II
Roll Number 75.
“All heart they live, all head, all eye, all ear,
All intellect, all sense, and as they please
They limb themselves, and colour, shape, or size,
Assume, as likes them best, condense or rare. “
-Milton, Paradise Lost.
When we talk of Milton, it is of significance to note that there is a good reason why he was hailed as one of the most highly regarded intellectuals of his time. His grip and dexterity over multiple languages and the polished way in which he used them was perhaps, what earned him the title “man of letters”. The language that he used was quite vivid in nature and had a kind of visual dexterity usually seen in paintings- this paper aims to look at some of the perspectives through which this “art” can be observed in Milton’s works, with a special emphasis on Paradise Lost.
With regards to this, the approach that will be taken in this paper is one within the scope of the language itself, analysing metaphysical and intertextual elements that transcend the confines of literature and tread more into artwork territory. In doing so one could observe the direct influence of art and the literature around Milton that transcended into his work, and could be said to have references as well. Art in its literary form, and the kind of assimilation that took place when it came to Milton.
When we do some research with respect to history, it can be observed that the traditional ‘Renaissance Rhetoric’, so to speak, had strong associations with painting. In that aspect it could ideally be regarded as a kind of ‘speaking picture’ presented, alongside other things, with these very rhetorical colours. It was meant to be looked at, and so executed that it should seem as if the writer had painted rather than told, and as if the reader had seen rather than read. When such descriptions had no strictly functional purpose, it was expected that the artist would make the most of his chance to “luxuriate in a display of his craft”. A fitting example of this would be to look at stylistic choices made by Homer and Virgil.
A common stereotype would be to consider the picture dramatically, in terms of the impact upon the audience when it comes to the details. In reality, however, what this audience has seen so far is only the background of the picture. Once the details have made their impact, and have emerged through the metaphorical gloom, they move no longer. They are the static background, and quite properly in the past tense. For this new picture, we are now able to observe, is a verbal one; and we must not expect to see the details in quite the same order that we should expect if this were an actual painting before our eyes.
According to T.S Eliot in The Sewanee Review (Vol. 56), the device of the historical present is familiar enough in Milton, and in other writers. The shift back to the past tense immediately after the present tense has been used to bring a part of the picture forward. But even this is a piece of relatively simple technique compared with the complicated effects of the earlier passages, he states.
The description is therefore, regarded as a painting, and plainly not a photographic one in its characteristics. It is revealed to be one that skilfully arranges depths and chiaroscuro; it is vague and sharp, suggestive and defined, real and unreal. It secures all these effects while it is obeying literary laws, and this though the final effects may approximate those of painting.
He then goes on to say:
“I repeat that the remoteness of Milton’s verse from ordinary speech, his invention of his own poetic language, seems to me one of the marks of his greatness. Other marks are his sense of structure, both in the general design of Paradise Lost and Samson, and in his syntax; and finally, and not least, his inerrancy, conscious or unconscious, in writing so as to make the best display of his talents, and the best concealment of his weaknesses. The appropriateness of the material of Paradise Lost to the genius and the limitations of Milton, is still more evident when we consider the visual imagery. I have already remarked, in a paper written some years ago, on Milton’s weakness of visual observation, a weakness which I think was always present- the effect of his blindness may have been rather to strengthen the compensatory qualities than to increase a fault which was already present. Mr. Wilson Knight, who has devoted close study to recurrent imagery in poetry, has called attention to Milton’s propensity towards images of engineering and mechanics; to me it seems that Milton is at his best in imagery suggestive of vast size, limitless space, abysmal depth, and light and darkness. No theme and no setting, other than that which he chose in Paradise Lost, could have given him such scope for the kind of imagery in which he excelled, or made less demand upon those powers of visual imagination which were in him defective.”
An example of this would be the phrase “Of depth immeasurable” in line 549 of Paradise Lost (Book I) reaffirms the effect of the verb tenses, and gives the impression of depth so frequent in the backgrounds of Renaissance paintings. The following phrase, “ in guise/Of Warriers old ” (Paradise Lost, Line 564, Book I) -especially the ‘in guise’ part, brings in the note of strangeness, the imaginative unreality through which art achieves the real. For this poet, a picture, however rich in details, need not be confined to one frame. The picture may move imperceptibly into a second picture and then into a third, the foreground of one overlapping into the background of the next, and so on. And yet the effect may remain closer to the effect of painting than of cinema.
Milton’s predisposition to envision form as that which transcends the visible world and, on the other, as that which constitutes it is a dichotomy that is oft seen in his work. To be slightly more specific, we see a metaphysic that maintains the integrity of the phenomenal world from the vantage point of a supraphenomenal perspective. The repercussions of this posture have an immense bearing upon Milton’s conduct in both the prose and poetry, a conduct that can be understood upon closely analysing and juxtaposing Miltonian, Aristotelian and Platonic discourse.
Further reading on the ultimate movement of thought in the seventeenth century showed a shift or movement away from allegorical and symbolic modes of interpretation and toward more idiosyncratic formulas of interpretation. It was seen that a new school of rationalism looked at classical myth with unblurred eyes, and the paradigmatic frame of explanation began to be discarded as men came to view ‘in the diffusion of myth an aspect of man’s intellectual and cultural progress.’
In this sense, one could say that the seventeenth century was strongly Augustinian: man’s reason was insufficient to ensure salvation (Augustine would argue that reason in fallen man was the seat of his corruption). God’s grace alone was the reconciler of opposites. Hence, unlike modern realism which may be described as “poetry of opposition,” emphasizing the disparateness of experience in order to convey the poet’s perception of the true nature of that experience, seventeenth-century poetry described as ” ‘poetry of reconciliation’ came nearer than ‘poetry of opposites’ to the emphasis intended by seventeenth-century poets. Stemming from this, we see that in Paradise Lost, Milton was drawing upon many ancient traditions to create a sweeping epic-view of man’s nature and destiny in a universe initiated and providentially preserved by God.
Milton’s shift from outward to inward seeing, from external
to internal sight, recalls Dante’s shift from reliance on his physical sight to
the divine power of “phantasy” which makes the carvings he sees speak
as living forms. In both cases the pilgrims gain knowledge beyond their own
experience, and for both the verbal or oral aspect of the instruction humanizes
its visually overwhelming component. While Adam’s visions lie outside his lived
experience, their source in the Hebrew scriptures is of course readily
available to Milton. Even so, the verbal texture of the episode becomes
Milton’s own. Here and throughout, Paradise Lost presents a thoroughly
vocalized set of visions, accessible through God’s external word in scripture,
the internal Word of the spirit, and the articulate words of Virgil, Dante, and
other poets.
This limitation of visual power, like Milton’s limited interest in human
beings, turns out to be a defining characteristic and not merely a negligible
defect, and also a positive virtue. An example of this is when Adam and Eve in
Eden are observed. Just as a higher degree of characterization of Adam and Eve
would have been unsuitable, so a more vivid picture of the earthly Paradise
would have been less paradisiacal. In order to achieve a greater definiteness,
a more detailed account of flora and fauna, would have alienated the reader instead.
One could only have assimilated Eden to the landscapes of earth with which we
are familiar with the extra cohesion, if it was provided. The limo that we are
given with regards to the imagery is what draws the line between description
and imagination and ends up being the best version of itself . As it turns out
ultimately, the impression of Eden which we retain, is the most suitable, and
is that which Milton was most qualified to give: the impression of light- a
daylight and a starlight, a light of dawn and of dusk, the light which,
remembered by a man in his blindness, has a supernatural glory unexperienced by
men of normal vision.
When we read lines
549 to 562 in Book I of Paradise Lost,
we see that in its entirety, it has an important purpose to fulfil.
“Anon they move
In perfect Phalanx to the Dorian mood
Of Flutes and soft Recorders; such as rais’d
To highth of noblest temper Hero’s old
Arming to Battel, and instead of rage
Deliberate valour breath’d, firm and
unmov’d
With dread of death to flight or foul retreat,
Nor wanting power to mitigate and swage
With solemn touches, troubl’d thoughts, and chase
Anguish and doubt and fear and sorrow
and pain
From mortal or immortal minds. Thus they
Breathing united force with fixed thought
Mov’d on in silence to soft pipes that charm’d
Thir painful steps o’re the burnt soyle.”
The fallen angels that are described and their leader, are full of doubts and fears, but they still desperately wish to be defiant. The only certainty they are capable of feeling is that of marching men. Yet this feeling is for fallen angels more a refuge than a strength. The artist is great enough in his sympathy, and in his art, to feel his way into the villains of his piece. Suddenly they are angels, though fallen; and like the reader, or the ordinary man, underneath their various exteriors, they are dependent upon comforts that are outside themselves. Satan and his legions of devils, the fallen angels, all humanity-for a moment they fuse and become one in their strength and weakness. It is only for a moment, but it is a bold moment. This segment can be compared with line 558, “Anguish and doubt and fear and sorrow and pain,” another distinguished series of nouns- an effect that can also be seen as being utilized in Matthew Arnold’s Dover Beach.
Making a comparison with Dante’s failure of vision and Paradise Lost, we observe that even
though the former coincides with the latter, especially at the end of his poem,
Milton’s reliance on the power of the spoken word to engender visionary
enlightenment carries his pilgrim’s education further through Dante’s art of
visual speech. The final conclusion of Milton’s epic takes fallen humanity from
the ‘merely spontaneous free will of Eden’ to what can be salvaged in a malignant
world, which ends up being hard-won liberty for God’s faithful.
This sequence of divine visions, human responses, and angelic corrections leads
Adam to see the true nature of his own sin and to attain self-governance in
order to minimize this very sin through future choices. As if recalling the
beginning of Dante’s journey, Milton abandons his pilgrims enlightened yet
humbled for their solitary journey as they depart from Eden to their dark wood
of choice.
Therefore, we see that an aesthetic that emphasizes on small ironies or themes developing an image may not follow the separate ironies far below the surface, that ends up forming two distinct, but eventually related images. All of the possible variations would thus proceed from the one theme, which itself remains static, though the details may or may not. But the implications of these details do not really trouble and work the theme to make it a rich imaginative thing, greater and more significant by the suggestive evolvement of its implications. This is a technique that is very effectively observed in Milton’s work, especially Paradise Lost. The difference that ultimately is revealed is that the divide between illustrating an idea and developing it with artistic imagination is a significant one and hinges on the difference between using the aesthetic of tension as a formula and using it as a standard.
Milton 