"Arts, Faculty of"@en . "English, Department of"@en . "DSpace"@en . "UBCV"@en . "Lovick, Laurence Dale"@en . "2011-06-21T20:47:15Z"@en . "1969"@en . "Master of Arts - MA"@en . "University of British Columbia"@en . "That no serious student of Milton considers Satan the hero of Paradise Lost is no longer a debatable proposition. Milton's concept of heroic man, however, remains the subject of much critical discussion. The poet's iterated vaunts, he will sing of \"deeds above heroic\u00E2\u0080\u009D, has earned him the displeasure of a host of commentators, none of whom are at all certain of Milton's final attitude concerning what is is that makes men heroes.\r\nThis thesis, by focusing on Milton's Christianity, sets out to show that Milton's religious belief provided him with new and enlarged scope for the delineation of heroic virtue, to show that the new dispensation heralded by Christ made it possible, theoretically, for all men to heroes, and for men to be superior to, or better heroes than any of the worthies whose careers antedated Paradise Lost.\r\nAccepting magnanimity as the single virtue that most closely corresponds to heroic virtue, I have attempted to demonstrate that magnanimity, what I have called perfect heroism, was not fully possible for man until Christ's advent. Milton, I have contended, deliberately sets out to show the inferior condition in which men lived before the Son manifested himself.\r\nBasing my discussion on Milton's three major poems, Paradise Lost, Paradise Regained, and Samson Agonistes, I have tried to show how Milton reveals the inferior condition in which men lived before, the new dispensation. I have tried to show that perfect heroism is a manifest impossibility while man is innocent, while he obeys God's sole commandment. I have tried to show that man's lot after the fall and before Christ's coming similarly precludes perfect heroism, to show that man's imperfect comprehension of faith rendered him incapable of realizing his highest human potentialities.\r\nPerfect heroism, magnanimity, is revealed in only one of Milton's three great poems: Paradise Regained. Milton\u00E2\u0080\u0099s perfect hero, his exemplary model of what man can aspire to do and to be, is Christ himself. Innocent Adam's career is circumscribed. Fallen man's capacity for heroism is limited by his ignorance of God's grand design. Milton makes it very clear that the only bona fide hero is Christ, the protagonist of Milton's brief epic, a distinctively Christian hero. Milton's Christian faith permitted no real or viable alternative."@en . "https://circle.library.ubc.ca/rest/handle/2429/35635?expand=metadata"@en . "MAGNANIMITY.: MILTON'S CONCEPT? OF HEROIC MAN V by LAURENCE DALE LOVICK B.A., The U n i v e r s i t y of B r i t i s h Columbia, 1967 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS i n the Department of E n g l i s h i l l We accept t h i s t h e s i s as conforming to the re q u i r e d standard THE--UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA September., 1969 In p r e s e n t i n g t h i s t h e s i s i n p a r t i a l f u l f i l m e n t o f the r e q u i r e m e n t s f o r an advanced degree at the U n i v e r s i t y o f B r i t i s h C o lumbia, I a g r e e t h a t t h e L i b r a r y s h a l l make i t f r e e l y a v a i l a b l e f o r r e f e r e n c e and s t u d y . I f u r t h e r agree t h a p e r m i s s i o n f o r e x t e n s i v e c o p y i n g o f t h i s t h e s i s f o r s c h o l a r l y p u rposes may be g r a n t e d by the Head o f my Department o r by h i s r e p r e s e n t a t i v e s . I t i s u n d e r s t o o d t h a t c o p y i n g o r p u b l i c a t i o n o f t h i s t h e s i s f o r f i n a n c i a l g a i n s h a l l not be a l l o w e d w i t h o u t my w r i t t e n p e r m i s s i o n . Department o f The U n i v e r s i t y o f B r i t i : V ancouver 8, Canada Columb i a P a t e ^ _4ypf. , Iffy THESIS ABSTRACT That no s e r i o u s s t u d e n t o f M i l t o n c o n s i d e r s Satan t h e hero o f P a r a d i s e L o s t i s no l o n g e r a d a b a t a b l e p r o p o s i t i o n . M i l t o n ' s concept o f h e r o i c man, however, remains t h e s u b j e c t o f much c r i t i c a l d i s c u s s i o n . The po e t ' s i t e r a t e d v a u n t s , he w i l l s i n g o f \"deeds above heroic'\"}\"\u00E2\u0084\u00A2 has earned him t h e d i s -p l e a s u r e o f a h o s t o f commentators, none o f whom are a t a l l c e r t a i n o f M i l t o n ' s f i n a l a t t i t u d e c o n c e r n i n g what i s i s t h a t makes men h e r o e s . T h i s t h e s i s , by f o c u s i n g on M i l t o n ' s C h r i s t i a n i t y , s e t s out t o show t h a t M i l t o n ' s r e l i g i o u s b e l i e f p r o v i d e d him w i t h new and e n l a r g e d scope f o r t h e d e l i n e a t i o n o f h e r o i c v i r t u e , t o show t h a t t h e new d i s p e n s a t i o n h e r a l d e d by C h r i s t made i t p o s s i b l e , t h e o r e t i c a l l y , f o r a l l men t o h e r o e s , and f o r men t o be s u p e r i o r t o , o r b e t t e r heroes t h a n any o f the w o r t h i e s whose c a r e e r s a n t e d a t e d P a r a d i s e L o s t . A c c e p t i n g magnanimity as t h e s i n g l e v i r t u e t h a t most c l o s e l y c o r r e s p o n d s t o h e r o i c v i r t u e , I have attempted t o demonstrate t h a t magnanimity, what I have c a l l e d p e r f e c t h e r o i s m , was not f u l l y p o s s i b l e f o r man u n t i l C h r i s t ' s ad-v e n t . M i l t o n , I have contended, d e l i b e r a t e l y s e t s out t o show t h e i n f e r i o r c o n d i t i o n i n which men l i v e d b e f o r e t h e Son m a n i f e s t e d h i m s e l f . B a s i n g my d i s c u s s i o n on M i l t o n ' s t h r e e major poems, P a r a d i s e L o s t , P a r a d i s e Regained, and Samson A g o n i s t e s , I have t r i e d t o show how M i l t o n r e v e a l s t h e i n f e r i o r c o n d i -t i o n i n which men l i v e d b e f o r e , t h e new d i s p e n s a t i o n . I have t r i e d t o show t h a t p e r f e c t h e r o i s m i s a m a n i f e s t im-p o s s i b i l i t y w h i l e man i s i n n o c e n t , w h i l e he obeys God's s o l e commandment. I have t r i e d t o show t h a t man's l o t a f t e r t h e f a l l and b e f o r e C h r i s t ' s coming s i m i l a r l y p r e c l u d e s p e r f e c t h e r o i s m , t o show t h a t man's i m p e r f e c t comprehension o f f a i t h r e n d ered him i n c a p a b l e o f r e a l i z i n g h i s h i g h e s t human po-t e n t i a l i t i e s . P e r f e c t heroism, magnanimity, i s r e v e a l e d i n only one of M i l t o n ' s t h r e e great poems: Pa r a d i s e Regained. M i l t o n r s p e r f e c t hero, h i s exemplary model of what man can a s p i r e to do and! to be, i s C h r i s t h i m s e l f . Innocent Adam's ca r e e r i s c i r c u m s c r i b e d . F a l l e n man's c a p a c i t y f o r heroism i s l i m i t e d by h i s ignorance of God's grand des i g n . M i l t o n makes i t very c l e a r t h a t the o n l y bona f i d e hero i s C h r i s t , the p r o t a g o n i s t of M i l t o n ' s b r i e f e p i c , a d i s t i n c t i v e l y C h r i s t i a n hero. M i l t o n ' s C h r i s t i a n f a i t h p e rmitted no r e a l or v i a b l e a l t e r n a t i v e . TABLE OF CONTENTS Chapter Page I. MAGNANIMITY: THE MEASURE OF HEROIC MAN 1 I I . INNOCENCE: FUGITIVE AND CLOISTERED HEROISM 30 I I I . FROM SIN TO GRACE: THE PATH TO HEROIC MAGNANIMITY 51 IV. SAMSON: MAGNANIMITY AGONISTES 83 V. CHRIST: THE PATTERN OF HEROIC MAGNANIMITY 115 VI. CONCLUSIONS 144 SOURCES CONSULTED i The meaning of l i f e here on eart h might be defined as c o n s i s t i n g i n t h i s : to u n f o l d your s e l f , to work what you have the f a c u l t y f o r . I t i s a n e c e s s i t y f o r the human being, the f i r s t law of our ex i s t e n c e . Thomas C a r l y l e On Heroes and Hero-Worship CHAPTER I MAGNANIMITY: THE MEASURE OF HEROIC MAN M i l t o n i n c u r r e d the s p e c i a l disadvantages and r e s p o n s i b i l i t i e s , as w e l l as the p r i v i l e g e s , of those who r e j e c t the ready-made s t r u c t u r e s of t h e i r time. The mode of h i s t h i n k i n g i s deeply l i b e r t a r i a n and i n d i v i d u a l i s t i c ; i t s content, i n many f e a t u r e s , i s broadly t r a d i t i o n a l . But i t i s always h i s own thought stamped w i t h the s e a l of h i s own r e s p o n s i b l e choice and i n t e r p r e t a t i o n . Robert M. Adams Ikon: John M i l t o n and the Modern C r i t i c s Every age and c u l t u r e f a s h i o n f o r themselves an image of what they conceive to be the noblest expression of human e x c e l l e n c e . The hero i s indigenous to human s o c i e t y . Because h i s career serves as a y a r d s t i c k by which ordinary men can measure t h e i r achievement, he i s , ie f o r a l l times and c u l t u r e s , a model of what men can a s p i r e to^and to be. Indeed, i f i t i s not f o r a l l men to be heroes, i t i s f o r a l l men to a s p i r e to become heroes. However d i f f e r e n t l y he may be drawn by p a r t i c u l a r c u l t u r e s , the hero i s always a symbol of human nature t r y i n g to f u l f i l i t s e l f , to r e a l i z e i t s h i g h e s t human p o t e n t i a l i t i e s . He i s a p o s i t i v e a s s e r t i o n of human worth and d i g n i t y . His career demonstrates to men what man can do, can c r e a t e , can s u f f e r , and can endure. He a t t e s t s to the n o b i l i t y of man. The d i f f e r e n c e between heroes and other men i s e s s e n t i a l l y a q u a l i t a t i v e one. Everything the hero does or endures bears the mark of h i s s u p e r i o r nature. What he accomplishes or endures must be gre a t , or grand, o.r...larger than l i f e , because what d i s t i n g u i s h e s him from other men 2 i s that h i s accomplishments are g r e a t e r , are grander, are more demanding and more noble than those of other men. He i s a super-man. The hero, however, must be human. His a c t i o n s and h i s charac-t e r must not place him beyond the comprehension of h i s f e l l o w men. He must be n e i t h e r i n v u l n e r a b l e nor i n v i n c i b l e ; he must be man. And h i s s t r u g g l e to a s s e r t h i m s e l f must have meaning outside the personal context. Everything that he does must be s i g n i f i c a n t and meaningful to others. The hero i s a leader of men; he i s man's r e p r e s e n t a t i v e and man's champion. Courageous and v a l i a n t man's s t r u g g l e to overcome h i s foes and the elements has t r a d i t i o n a l l y been the province of h e r o i c l i t e r a t u r e . To express i n d i v i d u a l man's determination, s t r e n g t h of purpose, c o n v i c t i o n , v a l o r , and f o r t i t u d e i s , indeed, the p r i n c i p a l concern of a l l the sepic poets. But h e r o i c poetry i s eminently a poetry of a c t i o n . Though we may assume that the p h y s i c a l a c t i o n s presented by the h e r o i c poets were to m i r r o r the heroes' inner q u a l i t i e s , the a c t i o n s themselves came to be understood as the essence of the h e r o i c . M i l t o n ' s C h r i s t i a n i t y , however, d i c t a t e d that a c t i o n s not i n themselves good could not make any c l a i m to being named h e r o i c , and h i s three major poems thus draw elaborate com-parisons between apparent and a c t u a l heroism. M i l t o n ' s method i s to r e v e a l the inadequacies of the conventional concept of the h e r o i c by c o n t r a s t i n g pagan h e r o i c v i r t u e s w i t h d i s t i n c t i v e l y C h r i s t i a n ones. As John M. Steadman has demonstrated, M i l t o n ' s s t r a t e g y i n Paradise L o s t , Paradise Regained, and Samson Agonistes i s to c o n s t r u c t a systematic c r i t i q u e of the conventional h e r o i c formulae.''\" M i l t o n ' s hero, i t i s c l e a r , i s very d i f f e r e n t from h i s pagan counterparts. Moreover, i n M i l t o n ' s view, 3 his hero i s more heroic than any of his predecessors i n epic poetry, greater than any hero of the c l a s s i c a l past. Milton's reasons for believing i n the superiority of his own conception of heroic man com-prise the p r i n c i p a l subject matter of this essay. The great t r a d i t i o n of heroic poetry Milton inherited had accepted A r i s t o t l e ' s judgment concerning magnanimity: \"greatness of soul i s the beautiful completion of a l l the v i r t u e s , for i t adds to 2 them i t s own greatness and i s inseparable from them.\" Spenser's Prince Arthur, for example, represented magnificence (magnanimity) \"which vertue for that (according to A r i s t o t l e and the rest) i t i s the perfection of a l l the r e s t , and containeth i n i t them a l l . \" But because i t embraces and encompasses a l l the moral v i r t u e s , magnanimity defies simple d e f i -n i t i o n or description. Though Milton succinctly defined i t i n the second book of his De Doctrina Christiana, acknowledging i t as one of the duties man owed to himself, Milton's c r i t i c s have had d i f f i c u l t y i n c l a r i f y i n g the meaning of the concept. Accordingly, c r i t i c s have examined magna-nimity from a number of d i f f e r e n t points of view and have assigned various meanings to the concept. In Milton and the Renaissance Hero, John M. Steadman discusses magnanimity as the individual's sense of merit, his consciousness of 4 personal worth. Two other c r i t i c s focus on Milton s Paradise Regained and consider magnanimity as the pursuit of honour or g l o r y a n d M e r r i t t Y. Hughes traces the growth and development of a Christian version of magnanimity which emphasizes contemplation as the ultimate heroic achievement. Magnanimity i n fact embraces a l l of these meanings, and 4 yet e x i s t s as the c h a r a c t e r i s t i c t r a i t of h e r o i c man. Indeed, d e s p i t e the v a r i o us meanings assigned by c r i t i c s , magnanimity i s c o n s i s t e n t l y acknowledged as tantamount to h e r o i c v i r t u e . I t i s the mark of the superi o r man. Magnanimity can be understood i n three d i s t i n c t ways, three mani-f e s t a t i o n s of a s i n g l e v i r t u e . Taken together, the three elements define and comprise magnanimity. F i r s t , magnanimity i s a process of s e l f -d i scovery l e a d i n g to self-knowledge and u l t i m a t e l y to c o n v i c t i o n or w i l l . Secondly, i t i s the p u r s u i t of honour or g l o r y . T h i r d l y , i t i s a f u l f i l -ment of the contemplative f a c u l t y of being. Magnanimity the r e f o r e i m p l i e s a process. The magnanimous man must f i r s t j u s t i f y h i s c l a i m to that d i s t i n c t i o n ; he must be worthy of the p u r s u i t of honour or g l o r y . That i s , : he must develop a measure of j u s t i f i a b l e self-esteem. Having t h i s , he i s then worthy to pursue honour. But the honour he seeks must be the r i g h t honour. I t cannot be, f o r example, the fame accorded by the m u l t i -tude or t i t l e s bestowed by i n f e r i o r s . In i t s h i g hest sense, then, honour i s the object the magnanimous man pursues. Moreover, because honour can be accepted only i f accorded by peers or s u p e r i o r s , the superior man holds the world i n small esteem; h i s mind a s p i r e s to higher t h i n g s , u l t i m a t e l y to the contemplation o f , and union w i t h the d i v i n e . A l l of these mani-f e s t a t i o n s of the s i n g l e v i r t u e must be considered. But because what c o n s t i t u t e s h e r o i c v i r t u e i s understood d i f f e r e n t l y by d i f f e r e n t c u l t u r e s , because magnanimity does not have the same meaning f o r A r i s t o t l e as f o r C i c e r o , f o r Homer as f o r V i r g i l , f o r Augustine as f o r Aquinas, or f o r Tasso as f o r M i l t o n , we must a l s o consider the t r a d i t i o n M i l t o n i n h e r i t e d . 5 M i l t o n ' s v e r s i o n of greatness of soul i n f a c t represents a l i b e r a l borrowing from a l l of the w r i t e r s whose work antedated Paradise L o s t . To understand how M i l t o n formulated h i s idea of h e r o i c v i r t u e , we must consider the d i f f e r e n t meanings assigned to the i d e a , and the d i f f e r e n t emphasis placed on p a r t i c u l a r aspects of the whole concept, by c l a s s i c a l , Medieval, and Renaissance philosophers and poets.'' Magnanimity must, t h e r e f o r e , be examined i n i t s three m a n i f e s t a t i o n s and from the points of view of three h i s t o r i c a l p e r i o d s . A r i s t o t l e ' s d i s c u s s i o n of magnanimity i s most remarkable f o r i t s apparent l a c k of concern w i t h the supe r i o r man's grounds f o r judging him-s e l f to be worthy. In A r i s t o t l e ' s terms, the magnanimous man's s e l f -knowledge does not i n v o l v e any arduous process of s e l f - d i s c o v e r y . The great-souled man's consciousness of h i s own worth i s , i n f a c t , a sine qua non; i t does not e n t a i l any kind of examination f o r d i s c o v e r y . A r i s t o t l e ' s magnanimous man knows i n s t i n c t i v e l y that he i s supe r i o r to other men, and h i s l i f e i s r e a l l y d i r e c t e d to making h i s s u p e r i o r i t y obvious to others. He thus adopts a c e r t a i n code of behaviour and c e r t a i n mannerisms. In the Greek ethos, then, self-knowledge i s a comparatively simple task. Self-knowledge means acceptance of the f a c t that man has but one l i f e to l i v e . As Hector t e l l s Andromache, Fate i s the same f o r the man who holds back, the same i f he f i g h t s hard. We are a l l h e l d i n a s i n g l e honour, the brave w i t h the weaklings. A man d i e s s t i l l i f he has done nothing, as one who has done much. ( I l i a d , V I , 318-320) 6 Thus, the great-souled man can prove h i s worth only by what he can accom-p l i s h i n the short time a l l o t t e d him. He i s ennobled by a c c e p t i n g h i s f a t e and by c o n t i n u i n g h i s s t r u g g l e to l i v e and to do i n the face of i r r e v o c a b l e defeat. Man's l i f e i s f u l f i l l e d and h i s d i g n i t y a s s e r t e d by the way he r e a c t s to the grim t r u t h of h i s own m o r t a l i t y . The hero demonstrates h i s self-knowledge, h i s magnanimity, by h i s acceptance of f a t e . His h e r o i c s p i r i t i s revealed by h i s v i t a l i t y , and h i s career i s a c e l e b r a t i o n of l i f e . He proves that he i s i n f a c t a l i v e by k i l l i n g other men. For the Greek poet the hero i s thus a w a r r i o r , and the b a t t l e -f i e l d i s a microcosmic view of l i f e . S e l f - d i s c o v e r y l e a d i n g to s e l f -knowledge, magnanimity, means acc e p t i n g as t r u t h that \"he i s dead who w i l l not f i g h t ; / And who dc?es f i g h t i n g has i n c r e a s e . \" I t i s u n l i k e l y that the C h r i s t i a n argument that v i r t u e i s i t s own reward would have rece i v e d a sympathetic hearing from Homer's audience. For the Greeks he r o i c v i r t u e or magnanimity sought honour as i t s r i g h t f u l due. A r i s t o t l e ' s s u p e r i o r man, f o r example, i s one who claims high con-s i d e r a t i o n from ot h e r s . The great-souled or magnanimous man makes l a r g e , even the l a r g e s t , claims and i s e n t i r e l y j u s t i f i e d i n doing so. But he must have a p a r t i c u l a r object i n view. What i s i t ? When we say somebody or something has 'worth' or 'value' we are t h i n k i n g i n terms of e x t e r n a l goods. The grea t e s t of these we s h a l l take to be that which we a s s i g n to the gods as t h e i r due and which i s de s i r e d by the eminent and awarded as the meed of v i c t o r y i n the most g l o r i o u s c o n t e s t s , namely, honour. For honour i s the grea t e s t of e x t e r n a l goods. The superior man, then, has the r i g h t a t t i t u d e to honours and dishonours. Indeed, i t goes without saying that he concerns h i m s e l f w i t h honour; i t i s what he c l a i m s , and claims j u s t l y , above a l l . ^ The paramount importance honour held f o r the Greeks i s a l o g i c a l c o r o l l a r y to the pagan world view, f o r when the l i f e s p a n i s a l l , r e p u t a t i o n or honour becomes the end of l i f e ; to d i e without honour i s to have never l i v e d . The s u p e r i o r man i s o b l i g a t e d , t h e r e f o r e , to leaves an unblemished name and r e p u t a t i o n to p o s t e r i t y . Claucus t e l l s Diomedes: Hippolochos begot me, and I c l a i m that he i s my f a t h e r ; he ,&$ent me to Troy, and urged upon me repeated i n j u n c t i o n s , to be always among the b r a v e s t , and hold my head above oth e r s , not shaming the generation of my f a t h e r s , who were the gre a t e s t men i n Ephyre and ag a i n i n wide L y k i a p ( I l i a d , V I , 206-210) Because darkness awaits the v a l i a n t and the cowardly a l i k e , the hero's l i f e i s a s t r u g g l e to prove he has l i v e d w o r t h i l y ; to prove to the gods that he i s f i t to l i v e . In A r i s t o t l e ' s system of e t h i c s the u l t i m a t e happiness f o r man was the contemplative l i f e . To t h i n k , to contemplate, was to f u l f i l the highest aspect of one's be i n g , because thought r e f l e c t e d the d i v i n e presence. As A r i s t o t l e contended, the a c t i v i t y of God, which i s blessed above a l l o thers, must take the form of contemplation. And from t h i s i t f o l l o w s that among human a c t i v i t i e s that which i s most a k i n to God's w i l l b r i n g us the gr e a t e s t happiness. What a l s o goes to show the t r u t h of t h i s i s the f a c t that the lower animals cannot partake of t h i s happiness, f o r they are u t t e r l y incapable of contemplation. The l i f e of the gods i s a l t o g e t h e r happy; that of man i s happy so f a r as i t inc l u d e s something that resembles the d i v i n e a c t i v i t y . 9 A r i s t o t l e d i d p o i n t out, however, that the contemplative l i f e was of too high an order f o r human attainment. I f man could not l i v e by bread a l o n e , he could not l i v e e i t h e r by thought alone. But the p r i n c i p a l emphasis i s p l a c e d , as Arnold c o r r e c t l y noted, on becoming r a t h e r than on being. The t r u l y s u p e r i o r man was one who attempted to transcend the merely p h y s i c a l . Whereas the Greek c u l t u r e placed primary emphasis on the i n d i -v i d u a l ' s duty to h i m s e l f , the Roman considered man's great e s t r e s p o n s i b i l i t y as owing to h i s s o c i e t y or s t a t e . The i n d i v i d u a l ' s sense of worth, then, was based on the c o n t r i b u t i o n he made to the w e l l - b e i n g of others. Magnanimity, w i t h reference to self-knowledge, meant the acceptance and r e c o g n i t i o n of o b l i g a t i o n s to others. Despite the new emphasis on the hero's duty, however, and de s p i t e the f a c t that i n the Aeneid (Book VI) there i s suggested a dimension of being beyond the purely p h y s i c a l and m o r t a l , the hero y et has but one l i f e to l i v e . His c a r e e r , l i k e h i s Greek c o u n t e r p a r t ' s , i s governed and circumscribed by the knowledge that Every man's hour i s appointed. B r i e f and u n a l t e r a b l e For a l l , the span of l i f e . (Aeneid, X, 467-468) The concept of inward s t r u g g l e , the process by which the su p e r i o r man becomes magnanimous and aware of h i s own worth, does not occupy much space i n e i t h e r V i r g i l ' s Aeneid or i n Cicero's De O f f i c i i s . The magnanimous man imposes h i s w i l l - - a w i l l subordinate to both f a t e and to h i s state--on o t h e r s , and h i s sense of worth i s demonstrated by what he can p h y s i c a l l y accomplish. Aeneas i s not s e r i o u s l y tempted to remain w i t h Dido, and the n o t i o n that V i r g i l ' s poem i s an a l l e g o r i c a l r e l a t i o n of the soul's pilgrimage ( i m p l i c i t l y i n v o l v i n g a moral choice and st r u g g l e ) i s an i n t e r p r e t a t i o n imposed on i t by Medieval C h r i s t i a n i t y . C i c e r o c a l l e d magnanimity \"the greatness and stren g t h of an i n v i n c i b l e mind,\" and made i t one of h i s four c a r d i n a l v i r t u e s . ^ Though 9 C i c e r o expressed a strong a n t i p a t h y to war, arguing that a c t s of peace were n o b l e r , h i s magnanimous man demonstrates h i s v i r t u e by a c t i o n s . We do not f i n d any suggestion i n the De O f f i c i i s that the magnanimous man must s t r u g g l e to recognize h i s own worth. The important p o i n t here i s that the magnanimous man, f o r both the Greeks and Romans, seems to know h i s own worth and v i r t u e by i n s t i n c t , and he demonstrates h i s knowledge of personal s u p e r i o r i t y by a c t i n g a c c o r d i n g l y . In c l a s s i c a l e p i c , the hero i s a man of a c t i o n ; he r e v e a l s h i s self-knowledge by a c t i n g r i g h t l y . Magnanimity as the p u r s u i t of honour, was, however, understood q u i t e d i f f e r e n t l y by Greeks and Romans. Cicero's s u p e r i o r man was i d e a l l y to avoid any c r a v i n g f o r honour or g l o r y . His magnanimity was revealed by h i s s e r v i c e to o t h e r s , and h i s g r e a t e s t c l a i m to honour was h i s w i l l i n g n e s s to s a c r i f i c e h i m s e l f 12 f o r the commonwealth. S i m i l a r l y , i n V i r g i l i a n epic there i s d i s -c e r n i b l e a curious ambiguity regarding the p r e c i s e meaning of honour. On the one hand, we hear J u p i t e r ' s words: \"To enlarge h i s fame by great deeds / Is what the brave man must aim a t . \" (Aeneid, X, 467-469) Yet, on the other hand, we r e c a l l the e n t i r e Nisus-Euryalus episode, which o f f e r s a view of honour q u i t e d i f f e r e n t from i t s counterpart i n Homeric e p i c . F i r s t , Nisus, though he admits to seeking g l o r y , questions h i s own impulses and h i s motives. Is i t God that makes one burn to do brave t h i n g s , Or does each of us make a god of h i s own f i e r c e passion to do them? For long I've been i t c h i n g to h u r l myself i n t o a f i g h t , or venture Some notable deed; i n a c t i o n and calm do not appeal to me. (Aeneid, IX, 184-187) Secondly, though the two young men r e c e i v e great g i f t s and p r a i s e s from 10 t h e i r f e l l o w w a r r i o r s , they are t o l d by A l e t e s , a man of \"mature judgment\", that \"the f i r s t and f a i r e s t / reward w i l l come from heaven and your own virtue'.' '(Aeneid, IX, 254-255). Regardless of how p a r t i c u l a r readers choose to i n t e r p r e t the Nisus-Euryalus episode, i t i s obvious that V i r g i l ' s concept of magnanimity, the p u r s u i t of honour, i s ambiguous. Whether the poet r e l a t e s the t a l e to show how youth i s subject to the r u l e of passion, to show that without Aeneas i n command the e n t i r e army i s i n danger, to portray human worth and d i g n i t y by examples of v a l o r , or perhaps to c r i t i c i z e the p u r s u i t of honour and r e p u t a t i o n , one t h i n g i s sure: magnanimity has undergone a d e f i n i t e s h i f t i n meaning from 13 Homeric to V i r g i l i a n e p i c . As A r i s t o t l e ' s s u p e r i o r man held the o p i n i o n of the world i n small esteem and a s p i r e d to a higher mode of being, Cicero's magnanimous man, though i t i s not made c l e a r whether he too a s p i r e d to a contemplative e x i s t e n c e , d i d not concern h i m s e l f w i t h the p r a i s e s of ordinary men. C i c e r o , l i k e A r i s t o t l e , emphasizes the great man's d i s d a i n f o r e x t e r n a l s , h i s contempt f o r a l l things w o r l d l y , and the best t e s t of a man's great-ness i s t h i s a t t i t u d e . As Cicero argues, \"the man who depends on the 14 mistaken p l a u d i t s of the ignorant i s not to be numbered among the great. Contemptus mundi i s , then, an i n t e g r a l part of the pagan concept of magnanimity. The v i r t u o u s or great-souled man was one whose mind a s p i r e d to higher t h i n g s . From the c l a s s i c a l point of view, magnanimity was regarded as the mark of the superi o r man. The magnanimous man demonstrated h i s superior nature i n e s s e n t i a l l y two ways: f i r s t , he pursued honour and g l o r y ; secondly, he r e j e c t e d the way of the world. But as man's p o s i t i o n i n the universe was viewed somewhat d i f f e r e n t l y by Homer and by V i r g i l , C h r i s t i a n i t y represented a r a d i c a l divergence from both views. The r e s u l t was that magnanimity took on a new and enlarged meaning. The c l a s s i c a l idea of a homocentric universe was now replaced by the C h r i s t i a n concept of a Deo-centric one. What t h i s meant f o r man was that l i f e ceased to be looked upon as a glimmer of l i g h t i n an imminent and all-encompassing darkness. Rather, human l i f e was now to be under-stood as a m i n i s c u l e part of e t e r n i t y . How one l i v e d that short l i f e , however, would d i c t a t e the k i n d of e t e r n a l l i f e he would spend. For good men e t e r n i t y would be a blessed s t a t e ; f o r e v i l , a perpetual h o r r o r . The emphasis, t h e r e f o r e , came to be placed on r i g h t conduct: how should a man a c t i n order to g a i n e t e r n a l happiness? Self-knowledge thus came to e x i s t as the b a s i s of C h r i s t i a n e t h i c s , and magnanimity, i n i t s meaning of self-knowledge, became a matter of c r u c i a l importance f o r the C h r i s t i a n poet who would attempt to portray h e r o i c v i r t u e . C.S. Lewis has pointed out that the s h i f t from the pagan to the C h r i s t i a n apprehension of man's p o s i t i o n i n the universe i s accompanied by man's discovery of the \"di v i d e d w i l l , \" h i s r e c o g n i t i o n of the con-f l i c t i n g claims of the inner and outer worlds. A l l our se r i o u s imaginative work, when i t touches on morals, paints a c o n f l i c t : a l l p r a c t i c a l m o r a l i s t s s i n g to b a t t l e or give h i n t s about the a p p r o p r i a t e s t r a t e g y . Take away the concept of 'temptation' and nea r l y a l l that we say or th i n k about good and e v i l would vanish i n t o t h i n a i r . ^ One has only to consider a few of the major C h r i s t i a n poems which attempt to demonstrate h e r o i c v i r t u e to r e a l i z e the t r u t h of Lewis' statement. 12 Dante's Purgatory i s one example. In order to experience the b e a t i f i c v i s i o n , i n order to experience heavenly b l i s s , the poet must s c a l e the high mountain. The path i s rugged and the climb i s arduous, and though most E n g l i s h readers are tempted to conclude w i t h Ruskin that the F l o r e n t i n e i s simply a 'poor mountaineer', Dante i s tempted--and must be tempted--to give up the s t r u g g l e . A r i o s t o ' s Orlando F u r i o s o i n the f o l l o w i n g century i s another case i n p o i n t . The drama and the con-f l i c t i n the poem are the r e s u l t of Angeline's temptation of the C h r i s t i a n k n i g h t . Orlando's madness represents h i s f a i l u r e to r e s i s t temptation; he i s a sl a v e of passion. S i m i l a r l y , i n Tasso's Jerusalem L i b e r a t a , the c o n f l i c t of the poem concerns the b a t t l e between reason and passion. The C h r i s t i a n champions are ensnared by passion and desert t h e i r cause. And, i n Spenser's F a e r i e Queene, the most i n t e r e s t i n g heroes, i n the same way, are r e g u l a r l y faced w i t h making a moral c h o i c e . The f a c t that M i l t o n looked upon S i r Guyon as a model of h e r o i c v i r t u e r e v e a l s h i s own ( M i l t o n ' s ) a b i d i n g concern w i t h the theme of temptation. Indeed, the poetry which attempts to o f f e r moral i n s t r u c t i o n and does not present a temptation m o tif i s doomed to f a i l u r e . Cowley's Davideis i s a prime example. David's v i r t u e and h i s f a i t h make him i n v u l n e r a b l e . When David, s l e e p i n g , i s approached by Satan, Cowley assures h i s hero \"though Thou s l e e p ' s t t h y s e l f , thy God's awake,\" and t h i s , u n f o r t u n a t e l y , i s the problem. There i s no apparent p o s s i b i l i t y that David w i l l weaken; there i s no conflict j t M B f r no drama. I have mentioned each of the preceding works to c l a r i f y the importance of the element of choice i n C h r i s t i a n p o r t r a i t s of the hero. 13 In C h r i s t i a n terms self-knowledge means understanding that one can be e i t h e r weak or strong; one can r e s i s t temptation or one can succumb. The element of choice i s c r u c i a l to an understanding of C h r i s t i a n h e r o i c v i r t u e . Between Medieval and Renaissance C h r i s t i a n i t y , however, there i s a manifest d i f f e r e n c e of o p i n i o n concerning the meaning of magnanimity i n each of the three m a n i f e s t a t i o n s I have o u t l i n e d . This i s e s p e c i a l l y evident w i t h reference to the magnanimous man's sense of h i s own worth. I f the E n g l i s h Renaissance can be f a i r l y looked upon as a r e -discovery of man and h i s p o t e n t i a l i t i e s , then i t i s comparatively safe to c a l l the Middle Ages a time i n which man's r e l a t i v e importance i n h i s u n i v e r s e was of small account. Though i t i s always a dangerous p r a c t i c e to make g e n e r a l i z a t i o n s regarding c u l t u r a l and l i t e r a r y p e r i o d s , we can say that Medieval C h r i s t i a n i t y regarded man as more degenerate than noble. V i r g i l ' s q uestion to Dante as he and the F l o r e n t i n e ascend the mountain of Purgatory i s i n d i c a t i v e of the Medieval a t t i t u d e . V i r g i l a s k s , Don't you see That we are worms, whose i n s i g n i f i c a n c e L i v e s but to form the a n g e l i c b u t t e r f l y That f l i t s to judgement naked of defence? Why do you l e t p r e t e n s i o n soar so h i g h , Being as i t were but larvae--grubs that l a c k The f i n i s h e d form that s h a l l be by and by? (Purgatory, X, 123-129) Man, to judge from the preceding passage, i s indeed a wretched c r e a t u r e . Self-knowledge i n the Medieval context r e a l l y amounts to a c c e p t i n g that m o r t a l i t y i s a p a i n f u l case. Men are n e i t h e r d i g n i f i e d nor noble. How then can they pursue honour? 14 Medieval C h r i s t i a n theologians and poets were unanimous i n r e -garding p r i d e as a mortal s i n . As h u m i l i t y was recognized as the p r i n c i p a l C h r i s t i a n v i r t u e , i t s contrary would n a t u r a l l y be looked upon as the p r i n c i p a l v i c e . T h e o r e t i c a l l y , i f man were to be v i r t u o u s , he could not take p r i d e i n h i s a b i l i t y to be so, and he could not accept r e c o g n i t i o n of h i s v i r t u e . To do so would be to arrogate honour. Rather, he must t r a n s f e r the c r e d i t (the honour or g l o r y ) to h i s God. In Medieval C h r i s t i a n i t y t h i s was the p r e v a i l i n g a t t i t u d e . S a i n t Augustine, f o r example, he l d that man, because of Adam's t r a n s g r e s s i o n , was i n h e r e n t l y weak and depraved. Everything that a man could and d i d accomplish was the r e s u l t of God's grace working i n him. Thus, without God's grace, men were h e l p l e s s and c o r r u p t . For men are separated from God only by s i n s , from which we are i n t h i s l i f e cleansed not by our own v i r t u e , but by the d i v i n e compassion; through His indulgence, not through our own power. For whatever v i r t u e we c a l l our own i s i t s e l f bestowed upon us by His goodness.16 E a r t h l y g l o r y and e t e r n a l g l o r y , moreover, are not compatible. Augustine argues: he who seeks to please h i m s e l f seeks s t i l l to please man. But he who, wit h true p i e t y towards God, whom he l o v e s , b e l i e v e s , and hopes i n , f i x e s h i s a t t e n t i o n more on those things on which he di s p l e a s e s h i m s e l f , or r a t h e r , not h i m s e l f , but the t r u t h , t r u t h to anything but to the mercy of Him whom he has feared to d i s p l e a s e , g i v i n g thanks f o r what i n him i s healed, and pouring out prayers f o r the h e a l i n g of that which i s yet u n h e a l e d . ^ Augustine's o p i n i o n concerning man's p u r s u i t of honour (glory) leaves l i t t l e room f o r human d i g n i t y to a s s e r t i t s e l f . Man was, indeed, a 15 p a t h e t i c c r e a t u r e . However, because Medieval C h r i s t i a n s h e l d that human l i f e was a p a i n f u l c o n d i t i o n , a miserable existence which had to be endured s o l e l y f o r the purpose of ensuring one's admission i n t o e t e r n a l b l i s s , contemplation became the highest human achievement. Medieval C h r i s t i a n i t y , i n f a c t , understood contemplation i n a form not f a r removed from the meaning A r i s t o t l e had given i t . For C h r i s t i a n s , man's l i f e was a s t r u g g l e to a t t a i n the knowledge of God, to be united u l t i m a t e l y w i t h the Creator as pure s p i r i t u a l essence. Though before the f a l l Adam possessed the knowledge of good without the knowledge of e v i l , i t remained for him to progress to the p e r f e c t knowledge of God (the Good) by d i l i -gent a p p l i c a t i o n and by s t r i c t obedience to God's commandment. He could u l t i m a t e l y become, l i k e the higher orders of a n g e l s , a purely contemplative being. Adam's s i n , however, had changed a l l of t h i s . Man had now to overcome hims e l f before he could hope to a t t a i n i n t i m a t e knowledge of God; he had to prove h i m s e l f worthy of becoming a wholly contemplative being. How man l i v e d t h i s l i f e , of course, was the c r u c i a l p o i n t . He had to conduct h i m s e l f properly i n the world of men and yet he had, a t the same time, to a s p i r e to a higher mode of being. How was man to l i v e ? In the C i t y of God Augustine makes a very c l e a r d i s t i n c t i o n between the two modes of being. Because C h r i s t had claimed that His Kingdom was not of t h i s w o r l d , Augustine reasoned that e a r t h l y l i f e was a p a i n f u l o b l i g a t i o n \u00E2\u0080\u0094 n o t h i n g more. The whole purpose of one's mortal existence was simply to prepare for heavenly and e t e r n a l l i f e . The c i t y of God (heaven) i s the realm of pure contemplation, the l o c a t i o n where a l l the saved souls can experience the d i v i n e presence. The e a r t h l y c i t y , 16 on the c o n t r a r y , i s an e v i l e xistence which had to be endured but which could not be embraced' or enjoyed by the true b e l i e v e r . L i f e , i n f a c t , was a struggle i n which men had to choose whether to l i v e according to man or according to God. The two, we l e a r n , are i n no wise compatible. A c c o r d i n g l y , two c i t i e s have been formed by two lov e s ; the e a r t h l y by the love of s e l f , even to the contempt of God; the heavenly by the love of God, even to the contempt of s e l f . The former, i n a word, g l o r i e s i n i t s e l f , the l a t t e r i n the Lord. For the one seeks g l o r y from men; but the gr e a t e s t g l o r y of the other i s God, the witness of conscience. The one l i f t s up i t s head i n i t s own g l o r y ; the other^g says to i t s God, \"Thou a r t my g l o r y , and the l i f t e r up of mine head.\" Augustine's a s c e t i c i s m , h i s severe and austere view of the human c o n d i t i o n , represents the viewpoint of Medieval C h r i s t i a n i t y . L i f e and the world are to be hel d i n contempt. The great-souled or magnanimous man, the martyr i n Sa i n t Augustine's terms, i s ready and w i l l i n g to shake o f f the mortal c o i l . In Medieval C h r i s t i a n i t y contemplation, t h e r e f o r e , means the almost t o t a l r e j e c t i o n of l i f e ; i t i s ot h e r - w o r l d l y par e x c e l l e n c e . Though i n i t s e s s e n t i a l o u t l i n e s Renaissance C h r i s t i a n i t y accepted Sain t Augustine's a t t i t u d e s , i t r e v e a l s , n e v e r t h e l e s s , a quite d i f f e r e n t apprehension of man's p o s i t i o n and h i s r o l e i n the universe. In the Medieval context the sense of human worth and d i g n i t y i s remarkable by i t s comparative absence; i n the Renaissance there i s a curious ambiv-alence of o p i n i o n . The l i t e r a t u r e of the Renaissance i s s i n g u l a r l y remarkable f o r i t s two c o n t r a s t i n g yet c o - e x i s t i n g views of man, h i s d i g n i t y and h i s b e s t i a l i t y . Man can be d i g n i f i e d and can r e f l e c t the image of h i s Creator, 17 or he can be depraved and b e a s t - l i k e . Douglas Bush has c a l l e d t h i s p a r t i c u l a r view of man the \"simultaneous double v i s i o n , \" and he i l l u s -t r a t e s the point by a quotation from Pico d e l l a Mirandola. The I t a l i a n poet portrays God addressing man and t e l l i n g him: Thou s h a l t have power to d e c l i n e unto the lower or brute crea-t u r e s . Thou s h a l t have power to be reborn unto the higher, or d i v i n e , according to the sentence of thy i n t e l l e c t . ^ Man d i d s i n , however, and d e c l i n e d unto a brute cre a t u r e . But, by the grace of God, man can repent h i s s i n f u l c o n d i t i o n and can a t t a i n e t e r n a l b l i s s . The task, however, i s not an easy one. Even Sidney, the Renaissance model of sp r e z z a t u r a , can complain i n h i s Apologie that since that f i r s t accursed f a l l of Adam . . . our erected w i t maketh us know what p e r f e c t i o n i s , and yet our i n f e c t e d w i l l keepeth us from reaching unto i t . 2 0 Man's l i f e thus becomes a str u g g l e to be v i r t u o u s , a st r u g g l e i n which passion and reason contend f o r the mastery of the i n d i v i d u a l ' s s o u l . The important point i s that man can be d i g n i f i e d ; he can be a worthy being. Self-knowledge thus comes to mean the individaL's awareness that he can be v i r t u o u s and there f o r e d i g n i f i e d , or that he can be e v i l and therefore i g n o b l e . This w i l l be made c l e a r e r by reference to Aquinas, a t h e o l o g i a n whose w r i t i n g bears the stamp of the Renaissance a t t i t u d e . Aquinas' treatment of magnanimity, h i s attempt to ' C h r i s t i a n i z e A r i s t o t l e 1 , l e f t somewhat more room f o r the a s s e r t i o n of human worth and d i g n i t y than had Augustine's. Aquinas accepted A r i s t o t l e ' s d e f i n -i t i o n of magnanimity as greatness of mind and made i t compatible w i t h 18 C h r i s t i a n h u m i l i t y ; he e f f e c t e d a k i n d of compromise between the pagan and C h r i s t i a n a t t i t u d e s . Aquinas contended that man contained i n him the seeds of greatness and d i g n i t y (the g i f t of God), and contained i n him a l s o the inherent weaknesses of h i s f a l l e n nature. But magnan-i m i t y , he argued, \"makes a man deem hi m s e l f worthy of great things i n 21 c o n s i d e r a t i o n of the g i f t s he holds from God.\" The very important d i f f e r e n c e between Augustine and Aquinas i n t h e i r r e s p e c t i v e opinions concerning the d i g n i t y of man i s the d i f f e r e n c e between the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. I n Augustine's view man i s more depraved than noble; i n Aquinas', he i s , i f not more noble than depraved, at l e a s t capable of a s s e r t i n g h i s human d i g n i t y . The l a t t e r view i s the one M i l t o n embraced. Because Aquinas d i d not deny that man was without d i g n i t y , he could argue that man's p u r s u i t of honour d i d not run counter to C h r i s t i a n e t h i c s w i t h i t s emphasis on h u m i l i t y as the greatest v i r t u e . Because the C h r i s t i a n magnanimous man sought to be honoured by God, he could accept e a r t h l y honour, the honour of men, on God's behalf. As Aquinas a s s e r t e d , Magnanimity by i t s very name denotes s t r e t c h i n g f o r t h of the mind to great t h i n g s . Now v i r t u e bears a r e l a t i o n s h i p to two t h i n g s , f i r s t to the matter about which i s the f i e l d of i t s a c t i v i t y , secondly to i t s proper a c t , which c o n s i s t s i n the r i g h t use of such matter. And since a v i r t u o u s h a b i t i s denominated c h i e f l y from i t s a c t , a man i s s a i d ^ to be magnanimous c h i e f l y because he i s minded to do some great a c t . Magnanimity thus comes to mean what we might c a l l c o n v i c t i o n or w i l l . The magnanimous man w i l l s i t that he s h a l l pursue honour as 19 a servant of h i s God, and the p u r s u i t of honour thus becomes p e r f e c t l y l e g i t i m a t e f o r the C h r i s t i a n . Moreover, magnanimity as contemplation was a l s o r a d i c a l l y modified by Renaissance C h r i s t i a n i t y . Although the Renaissance accepted Augustine's argument that t h i s l i f e was to be l i v e d i n a way that would prepare man to l i v e the other l i f e , contemptus mundi does not stand as the governing e t h i c or a t t i t u d e . Rather the Renaissance e t h i c that i s most remarkable i s that men have a bindin g o b l i g a t i o n to provide something f o r t h e i r f e l l o w s . The E n g l i s h humanist t r a d i t i o n i s , indeed, p r i m a r i l y an edu c a t i o n a l movement. The C h r i s t i a n has an o b l i g a t i o n to teach ot h e r s , to show them the path to righteousness while on e a r t h . In short , e t h i c s becomes as much a part of Renaissance C h r i s t i a n i t y as theology i s . As Bush points out, The broad aim of Tudor humanism was t r a i n i n g i n v i r t u e and good l e t t e r s ; the p r a c t i c a l aim was t r a i n i n g f o r the a c t i v e C h r i s t i a n l i f e , e s p e c i a l l y p u b l i c l i f e . For humanism was not only r e l i g i o u s , i t was a l s o both a r i s t o c r a t i c and u t i l i t a r i a n . * ^ The good C h r i s t i a n , then, d i d not r e j e c t l i f e . He sought, r a t h e r , to make the \" c i t y of God\" a t a n g i b l e r e a l i t y on e a r t h . Heroic poetry of the Renaissance attempted, t h e r e f o r e , to s y n c r e t i z e the a c t i v e and the contemplative hero i n a s i n g l e p e r s o n \u00E2\u0080\u0094 a C h r i s t i a n hero. Two examples w i l l serve to make my po i n t . In Tasso's Jerusalem L i b e r a t a the heroes are engaged i n a f u r i o u s combat to r i d the world of the pagan menace. Godfrey and h i s knights are compelled to do b a t t l e w i t h the host of A l a d i n e . The Sultan i s presented as e v i l incarnate whereas Godfrey i s d i v i n e l y i n s p i r e d . 20 Though Tasso makes i t c l e a r that the world of the s p i r i t i s the r e a l and more important one, h i s poem concerns the a c t i v i t i e s of men, and r e l a t e s t h e i r s t r u g g l e to make God's kingdom p r e v a i l on e a r t h . Hugo's prophecy r e v e a l s t h i s . Ere many years s h a l l run, Amid the s a i n t s i n b l i s s here s h a l t thou r e i g n ; But f i r s t great wars must by thy hand be done, Much blood be shed, and many Pagans s l a i n , The Holy c i t y by a s s a u l t be won, The land set f r e e from s e r v i l e yoke again Wherein thou s h a l t a C h r i s t i a n empire frame And a f t e r thee s h a l l Baldwin r u l e the same. (XIV, 57-64) The contemplative aspect of being i s , we must assume, to be understood from the motives on which Godfrey and h i s l e g i o n s a c t . That they are more concerned w i t h the heavenly c i t y we may be sure, but t h e i r worth i s demonstrable by how they conduct themselves i n the e a r t h l y one. Contemplation, to judge from Tasso's poem, i s not the end the hero pursues on e a r t h . He a s p i r e s , r a t h e r , to make God's w i l l p r e v a i l on e a r t h , to make the world of men a r e f l e c t i o n of God's kingdom. Though at the end of Tasso's poem Godfrey and h i s knights remove t h e i r armor and gather i n the temple to pray, t h e i r v i r t u e i s p r i m a r i l y e x e r c i s e d i n the world of men. Spenser's Prince A r t h u r , s i m i l a r l y , though he represents magna-n i m i t y and has been considered as the l i n k which t i e s the twelve moral 24 v i r t u e s to God, and though he i s i n p u r s u i t of g l o r y , i s a man whose business i t i s to do good deeds on e a r t h . His career does not r e v e a l any trace of the contemptus mundi a t t i t u d e . For Spenser, we may assume 21 that contemplation means co n t i n u i n g w i t h the quest, and m a i n t a i n i n g a f i r m r e s o l u t i o n not to wander from the paths of righteousness; i t means ho l d i n g to one's f a i t h and s t r u g g l i n g , by accomplishing good t h i n g s , to make oneself worthy i n the eyes of God. Contemplation d i d not, f o r the poets of the Renaissance, mean o t h e r - w o r l d l i n e s s . I t meant, r a t h e r , a s p i r i n g to the knowledge of God and attempting to obey h i s w i l l . I t meant, moreover, t r y i n g to make God's w i l l known to others; i t meant being a \" t r u e , wayfaring C h r i s t i a n . \" Though magnanimity i s f a i r l y c a l l e d \"the most H e l l e n i c of the 25 moral v i r t u e s , \" i t had a l s o , as I have demonstrated, been accepted by C h r i s t i a n poets and by at l e a s t one of the major d i v i n e s of the C h r i s t i a n Church, as a l e g i t i m a t e C h r i s t i a n v i r t u e . I t i s not, t h e r e f o r e , unreasonable to consider greatness of mind as the b a s i s of M i l t o n ' s concept of h e r o i c man. In De Doctrina C h r i s t i a n a M i l t o n c l a s s i f i e d magnanimity as one 26 of the v i r t u e s \"more p e c u l i a r l y appropriate to a high s t a t i o n . I t i s not, then, f o r a l l men to be magnanimous. But w i t h the v i r t u e of magnan-i m i t y M i l t o n coupled another, which he c a l l e d \" l o w l i n e s s of mind\": \" t h i n k i n g humbly of ourselves and a b s t a i n i n g from self-commendation except 27 where occasion r e q u i r e s i t . \" Magnanimity, though i n A r i s t o t l e ' s terms i t means j u s t i f i a b l e p r i d e , i s , f o r the C h r i s t i a n M i l t o n , a companion to h u m i l i t y . He thus defines h i s terms. Magnanimity i s shown when i n the seeking or a v o i d i n g , the acceptance or r e f u s a l of r i c h e s , advantages, or honors, we are actuated by a regard no to our own d i g n i t y r i g h t l y understood. \u00C2\u00B0 22 Christian humility, then, does not preclude a sense of worth or dignity. The c r u c i a l point i n Milton's d e f i n i t i o n of greatness of mind i s the phrase \" r i g h t l y understood\", for the emphasis i s placed on self-examination and self-knowledge. Indeed, Milton's heroes are, without exception, portrayed as engaged i n a struggle to know themselves. Before they can aspire to the pursuit of honour and before they can aspire to a knowledge of higher things (contemplation), they must know themselves\u00E2\u0080\u0094their strengths and th e i r weaknesses. For Milton the Socratic nosce te ipsum i s the f i r s t step i n the process of becoming magnanimous. Self-knowledge, as understood by Chr i s t i a n poets and philosophers of the Renaissance, meant, as I have indicated e a r l i e r , that man could be either d i g n i f i e d or depraved. With the growth of puritanism i n the seventeenth century, however, human dignity took on a new and enlarged meaning. Burton 0. Kurth has demonstrated that the Christian hero's career was conceived by poets of the seventeenth century as representing a small part of the cosmic drama, a scene i n the universal c o n f l i c t 29 between good and e v i l . Because the individual man's l i f e had universal significance, his dignity was greatly increased. Men could now see themselves as active participants i n God's battle against Satan. They, by conducting themselves virtuously and by defeating e v i l i n themselves, could be, as i t were, soldiers i n God'a army. Self-knowledge, then, implies a recognition of dignity and of duty. Men can be for or against God, and t h e i r l i v e s thus take on tremendous significance and importance. To be d i g n i f i e d i n God's eyes they must be a c t i v e l y virtuous; they must struggle to overcome e v i l as soldiers of God. Milton's emphasis on 23 \"a regard to our own d i g n i t y r i g h t l y understood\" (my i t a l i c s ) , cannot, I t h i n k , be overstressed i n d e a l i n g w i t h h i s concept of h e r o i c man. But magnanimity, according to M i l t o n , i s not f o r a l l men. I t i s the v i r t u e , r a t h e r , which i s u s u a l l y manifest i n , and more \" p e c u l i a r l y a p p r o p r i a t e \" to persons of a h i g h s t a t i o n . Men of high s t a t i o n are of course those who are c a l l e d upon to make d e c i s i o n s a f f e c t i n g the l i v e s of other men. To act as b e f i t t i n g t h e i r p o s i t i o n they must be magnanimous. M i l t o n ' s magnanimous man i s a person of s u p e r i o r nature; he stands above the rank and f i l e of humanity. And M i l t o n ' s s u p e r i o r man, l i k e Aquinas', i s one who i s \"minded to do some great a c t ; \" he i s thus o b l i g a t e d to a s s e r t h i s own sense of worth. M i l t o n , though he accepts Augustine's argument that without God's grace man i s h e l p l e s s , understood Heavenly Grace as implying a covenant: God's mercy, h i s grace, had made i t p o s s i b l e f o r f a l l e n man to be regenerated; but the f i n a l choice whether to be regenerated or to remain depraved i s man's. Regarding the p u r s u i t of honour, M i l t o n ' s view i s that the v i r t u o u s man can pursue honour i f i t i s the r i g h t honour: the s e r v i c e of God. A man can have s a t i s f a c t i o n i n what he can accomplish because he i s an a c t i v e worker on God's behalf. Indeed, man can achieve what M i l t o n c a l l s \"imperfect g l o r i f i c a t i o n \" w h i l e he remains on e a r t h . IMPERFECT GLORIFICATION i s that s t a t e wherein, being JUSTIFIED AND ADOPTED BY GOD THE FATHER, WE ARE FILLED WITH A CONSCIOUSNESS OF PRESENT GRACE AND EXCELLENCE, AS WELL AS WITH AN EXPECTATION OF FUTURE GLORY INSOMUCH THAT OUR BLESSEDNESS IS IN A MANNER ALREADY BEGUN. Man, by b e l i e v i n g i n God, and by s t r u g g l i n g to serve God, can achieve honour and g l o r y . The s u p e r i o r man, minded to do some great a c t , l i v e s 24 h i s l i f e i n the p u r s u i t of that g o a l , and h i s p u r s u i t o b l i g e s him to be a c t i v e l y v i r t u o u s . For M i l t o n , man can pursue honour i f the honour he pursues redounds to God. Man's f a i t h i n s t i l l s i n him the c o n v i c t i o n that he i s worthy or d i g n i f i e d ; he i s worthy to be a servant of God. The honour man pursues, i n f a c t , i s the highest honour; i t i s to be g l o r i f i e d or honoured by God. On e a r t h , however, the honour remains imperfect, f o r i t i s only i n e t e r n i t y ( i n heaven) that p e r f e c t g l o r y i s a t t a i n a b l e . But a l l men can share the k i n d of honour bestowed on A b d i e l when the angel r e s i s t s Satan's temptation. When God praises the f a i t h f u l cherub f o r h i s s t r e n g t h , we l e a r n that To stand approv'd i n s i g h t of God, though Worlds Judg'd thee perverse (PL VI. 36-37), i s tantamount to the hig h e s t honour and g l o r y . W h a t i s more, the same k i n d of honour, the same k i n d of r e c o g n i t i o n of worth, can be possessed by man. His conscience and h i s reason inform him that he, too, can be a good and f a i t h f u l servant, and, f o r M i l t o n , t h i s i s the highest honour. How w e l l man understands h i s duty and how w e l l he undertakes God's s e r v i c e are the measure of h i s magnanimity as I have defined the term i n i t s second meaning. We may now turn to the u l t i m a t e end the M i l t o n i c hero a s p i r e s t o , magnanimity as contemplation. I t i s h a r d l y necessary to point out that contemptus mundi should not enter i n t o any serious d i s c u s s i o n of M i l t o n ' s concept of he r o i c man. Michael's words to Adam on the l a t t e r ' s e x p u l s i o n from paradise make t h i s c l e a r . The Archangel t e l l s Adam: 25 Nor love thy L i f e , nor hate; but what thou l i v ' s t L i v e w e l l , how long or short permit to Heav'n. (PL X I . 553-554) Human l i f e , to be sure, i s a proving ground. But i t i s not an unpleasant n e c e s s i t y . In M i l t o n ' s view contemplation, the knowledge of God, was po s s i b l e f o r men while they remained on e a r t h . Just as man could be g l o r i f i e d , though i m p e r f e c t l y , i n t h i s l i f e , so, too, could he acquire an imperfect knowledge of God. This, indeed, was the meaning of C h r i s t ' s redemptive.mission. I f men accepted Jesus as the Son of God, i f they had f a i t h , they possessed an imperfect knowledge of God. They were, i n f a c t , p a r t i a l l y contemplative beings. They were not, however, e i t h e r e s s e n t i a l l y or purely contemplative beings. M e r r i t t Y. Hughes has concluded that M i l t o n conceived the h e r o i c character as contemplative, i . e . as possessing an enlightenment which was i n t e l l e c t u a l i n consequence of being r a t i o n a l l y e t h i c a l and (thanks to a touch of the emotion which Matthew Ar n o l d s a i d turns e t h i c s i n t o r e l i g i o n ) r e l i g i o u s . At bottom, the conception remained that of the v i r t u e which the Roman C a t h o l i c Church has long regarded as the beginning of s a n c t i t y , and proof of which i s the f i r s t step i n the process of c a n o n i z a t i o n . M i l t o n ' s heroj however, \u00C2\u00B1s a Renaissance man. His career represents, i f I , too, may borrow a phrase from A r n o l d , a mi s s i o n \"to make reason and the w i l l of God p r e v a i l . \" In shor t , M i l t o n ' s hero does not r e j e c t the world; he i s , r a t h e r , an a c t i v e worker i n the campaign to r a i s e Eden i n the w i l d e r n e s s . From the preceding d i s c u s s i o n i t i s obvious that M i l t o n ' s grounds f o r c l a i m i n g h i s heroes are more h e r o i c than any of the worthies i n c l a s s i c a l e p i c or Medieval romance are not e n t i r e l y i n d e f e n s i b l e . 26 Magnanimity, the measure of M i l t o n ' s h e r o i c man, was, as M i l t o n conceived i t , the c h a r a c t e r i s t i c t r a i t of a v e r i t a b l e super-hero. The magnanimous man discovered that he was worthy to be a s o l d i e r of God and was thereby d i g n i f i e d . He knew that he could be honoured by h i s God f o r h i s f a i t h f u l s e r v i c e , and, equipped w i t h f a i t h , the imperfect knowledge of God, he could a s p i r e to l i v e on a plane of existence higher than the purely p h y s i c a l . M i l t o n ' s t r u l y h e r o i c man must be magnanimous, f o r magnanimity, as M i l t o n contended i n the De D o c t r i n a , \" i s the s p i r i t by which every true C h r i s t i a n ought to be guided i n the estimate of h i m s e l f . The sup e r i o r man must recognize h i s own worth. He must a c t i v e l y pursue the g l o r y of God. This i s M i l t o n ' s p a t t e r n f o r h e r o i c v i r t u e , and h i s her o i c man must s a t i s f y each of these requirements. The task, however, i s not a simple one f o r any man. I t r e q u i r e s , indeed, a p e r f e c t man. M i l t o n ' s p e r f e c t hero, as I s h a l l attempt to prove, i s the p e r f e c t man h i m s e l f ; i t i s Jesus C h r i s t . In M i l t o n ' s three long poems, i n f a c t , i t can be seen that the only p e r f e c t hero u n t i l the coming of C h r i s t could be the Son h i m s e l f . I t was, indeed, p o s s i b l e f o r men to be p e r f e c t heroes only a f t e r the advent of C h r i s t . FOOTNOTES: CHAPTER I M i l t o n and the Renaissance Hero (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1967). 2 A r i s t o t l e , The E t h i c s of A r i s t o t l e The \"Nicomacheau E t h i c s \" Trans- l a t e d , t r a n s . J.A.K. Thomson (Hammondsworth: Penguin Books, 1959), p. 122. 3 Spenser s \" L e t t e r to Raleigh as quoted i n Edmund Spenser Selected Poetry, ed. Leo Kirschbaum (New York: H o l t , Rinehart and Winston, Inc., 1961), p. 4. 4pp. 137-60. 5 Maurice B. McNamee, Honor and the Epic Hero A Study of the S h i f t i n g Concept of Magnanimity i n Philosophy and Epic Poetry (New York: H o l t , Rinehart and Winston, Inc., 1960), pp. 162 ff,; Frank Kermode, \"Milton's Hero,\" RES. n.s. IV (1953), 317-330. \"The C h r i s t of Paradise Regained and the Renaissance Heroic T r a d i t i o n \" i n Ten Perspectives on M i l t o n (New Haven: Yale U n i v e r s i t y Press, 1965), pp. 35-62. ^I use the term \" c l a s s i c a l \" here w i t h reference to both the ancient Greek and Roman c u l t u r e s . 8 E t h i c s , p. 121. 9 I b i d . , p. 307. A r i s t o t l e ' s d i s c u s s i o n of contemplation ( E t h i c s , X) i s probably the aspect of h i s philosophy that most c l o s e l y resembles P l a t o ' s thought -the heavy emphasis the l a t t e r placed on man's struggle to a t t a i n know-ledge of the Good (the i d e a l form) i s r e a l l y not f a r removed from A r i s t o t l e ' s concept of contemplation - Because P l a t o d i d not s p e c i f i c a l l y d iscuss magnanimity i n e i t h e r the Republic or i n the Symposium, I have not r e f e r r e d to him i n my d i s c u s s i o n of contemplation. 11 . . . Cicero on Moral O b l i g a t i o n A New T r a n s l a t i o n of Cicero's 'De O f f i c i i s \" , t r a n s . John Higginbotham (Berkeley: U n i v e r s i t y of C a l i f o r n i a Press, 1967), p. 60. McNamee, Honor and the Epic Hero, p. 49. 28 The d i f f e r e n t meanings magnanimity h e l d f o r Greeks and Romans are f u r t h e r demonstrable by comparison of A r i s t o t l e w i t h C i c e r o . The Roman placed new emphasis on the moral v i r t u e s inherent i n a c t i o n s r a t h e r than, l i k e A r i s t o t l e , assuming that the superior man was incapable of doing anything that was not good. Ci c e r o argues that courage which manifests i t s e l f i n dangers and c r i s e s i s not deserving of c r e d i t \"unless i t i s a l l i e d to j u s t i c e and f i g h t s f o r common cause ra t h e r than i t s own advantage.\" See: De O f f i c i i s , p. 61. 14 De O f f i c i i s , p. 62. ^The A l l e g o r y of Love A Study i n Medieval T r a d i t i o n (New York: Oxford U n i v e r s i t y Press, 1958), p. 58. 16 \"The C i t y of God\" by Saint Augustine, t r a n s . Marcus Dodds (New York: The Modern L i b r a r y , 1950), p. 327. 1 7 I b i d . , p. 174. I b i d . , p. 477. 19 The Renaissance and E n g l i s h Humanism (Toronto: The U n i v e r s i t y of Toronto Press, 1965), p. 96. 20 \"An Apologie f o r P o e t r i e \" i n E n g l i s h L i t e r a r y C r i t i c i s m ; The Renaissance, ed. O.B. Hardison, J r . (New York: Appleton-Century C r o f t s , 1963), p. 105. 21 The \"Summa Theologiea\" of Thomas Aquinas, t r a n s . Fathers of the E n g l i s h Dominican Province, V o l . X I I (London: Burns Oates and Washbourne L t d . , 1935), p. 256. 22 I b i d . , p. 250. 23 The Renaissance and E n g l i s h Humanism, p. 78. 24 H.S.V. Jones, \"The Fa e r i e Queene and Medieval A r i s t o t e l i a n Trad-i t i o n , \" SEGP, XXV (1926), 293. 25 H.S.V. Jones, \"Magnanimity i n Spenser's Legend of H o l i n e s s , \" SP, XXIX (1932), 200. 29 26 The works of John M i l t o n , ed. Frank A l l e n Patterson and others, t r a n s . Charles R. Sumner, V o l . XVII (New York: Columbia U n i v e r s i t y Press, 1933), p. 235. Subsequent references to M i l t o n ' s pVtrSe w i l l be to Works, followed by volume and page references. 27 I b i d . , pp. 235-7. 28 I b i d . , p. 241. 29 M i l t o n and C h r i s t i a n Heroism B i b l i c a l Epic Themes i n Seventeenth-Century England (Hamden, Connecticut: Archon Books, 1966), pp. 108 f f . 30 Works, XVI, pp. 65-7. 31 Quotations from M i l t o n ' s poetry are taken from: John M i l t o n Complete Poems and Major Prose, ed. M e r r i t t Y. Hughes (New York: The Odyssey Press, 1957). A l l f u r t h e r references to the t e x t s of the poems w i l l be documented i n t e r n a l l y . 32 The C h r i s t of Paradise Regained and the Renaissance Heroic T r a d i t i o n \" , p. 54. Works, XVII, p. 245. CHAPTER I I INNOCENCE: FUGITIVE AND CLOISTERED HEROISM . . . the Master work, the end Of a l l yet done; a Creature who not prone And Brute as other c r e a t u r e s , but endu'd With S a n c t i t y of Reason, might e r e c t His S t a t u r e , and up r i g h t w i t h Front serene Govern the r e s t , self-knowing, and from thence Magnanimous, to correspond w i t h Heav'n, But g r a t e f u l to acknowledge whence h i s good Descends, t h i t h e r w i t h heart and voi c e and eyes D i r e c t e d i n Devotion, to adore And worship God Supreme, who made him c h i e f Of a l l h i s works. (PL. V I I . 505-516) Most readers of Paradise Lost are i n c l i n e d to accept Douglas Bush's o p i n i o n concerning the f i r s t parents: \"Adam and Eve are at f i r s t a r t i f i c i a l beings i n an a r t i f i c i a l w o r l d . \" Though i t i s true that a s t a t e of innocence i s not comprehensible to most of us, and probably not a t t r a c t i v e to many othe r s , there i s another problem which the sympathetic reader of the f i r s t e i g h t books of M i l t o n ' s e p i c must acknowledge: a poet's attempt to represent a st a t e of being w i l l i n v a r i a b l y be l e s s s u c c e s s f u l than the same poet's attempt to represent a st a t e of becoming. One has only to t h i n k of Dante's long poem to see the t r u t h of t h i s . Paradise i n the Divine Comedy does not have the same power of a t t r a c t i n g or i n v o l v i n g the reader as e i t h e r H e l l or Purgatory. The p r i n c i p a l reason f o r t h i s i s that the t h i r d book of the Comedy represents a c o n d i t i o n of pure being. There i s no progression the reader can f o l l o w and no movement he can j o i n . Because the reader has already a r r i v e d at h i s d e s t i n a t i o n when he begins the t h i r d book, i t remains f o r him only to experience a sense of f u l f i l m e n t . That i s , because there i s no c o n f l i c t i n Paradise, the reader i s not c a l l e d upon to pledge a l l e g i a n c e or give support to any party; he does not have, as i t were, to choose s i d e s . The unfortunate r e s u l t i s that the reader f i n d s h i m s e l f standing at a co n s i d -erable distance from the emotional center of the poem. Indeed, a s i t u a t i o n which manifests no c o n f l i c t i s one w i t h which the reader cannot i d e n t i f y or a s s o c i a t e , and the reader of Dante's Paradise thus remains standing by the wayside. M i l t o n , when he set out to portra y the s t a t e of innocence, faced a s i m i l a r problem. Eden was \"the b l i s s f u l Seat,\" and M i l t o n had, t h e r e f o r e , to describe innocence i n such a way that h i s readers could immediately recognize man's f i r s t c o n d i t i o n as being both b e a u t i f u l and meaningful. I f man's disobedience were to be c o r r e c t l y understood as the source of \" a l l our woe,\" then Eden had to be an i d e a l , almost p e r f e c t c o n d i t i o n . M i l t o n ' s genius informed him, however, that an i d e a l s t a t e (being) was not i n t r i n s i c a l l y i n t e r e s t i n g , that a s t a t e happiness which was wholly 9 secure and d i d not r e q u i r e the a c t i v e e x e r c i s e of w i l l f o r i t s maintenance, was p o e t i c a l l y v a p i d . M i l t o n therefore chose to define innocence as a st a t e of being and becoming. Our i n t r o d u c t i o n to Adam t e l l s us that he i s formed f o r \" v a l o r \" and f o r \"contemplation\" (IV. 297). S i g n i f i c a n t l y , M i l t o n d i d not accept Saint Augustine's argument that Adam was created by God as a wholly contemplative being. Augustine's view, as Thomas Merton i n h i s i n t r o -d u c t i o n to The C i t y of God points out, was t h a t : 32 God created Adam as a pure contemplative. M a t e r i a l c r e a t i o n was subject to Adam's reason, and the soul of Adam was p e r f e c t l y subjected to God. United to God i n a very high degree of v i s i o n and lo v e , Adam would have tr a n s m i t t e d to a l l mankind h i s own p e r f e c t i o n , h i s own l i b e r t y , h i s own peace i n the v i s i o n of God. In Adam a l l men were to be, as i t were, \"one contemplative\" p e r f e c t l y u n i t e d to one another i n t h e i r one v i s i o n and love of the One Truth.^ That M i l t o n chose, r a t h e r , to portray Adam as both an a c t i v e and a contemplative being i s i n d i c a t i v e of M i l t o n ' s f i r m b e l i e f that innocence embraced the str u g g l e to do and to know. Adam and Eve thus have c e r t a i n d u t i e s to perform i n a d d i t i o n to the keeping of God's commandment. Not a c c i d e n t a l l y the f i r s t parents are drawn by M i l t o n as l a b o r e r s . The f a c t that they must tend the garden i s meaningful i n an a c t u a l and a symbolic sense. Paradise cannot be h e l d without l a b o r , and innocence and happiness r e q u i r e an a c t i v e a s s e r t i o n of the w i l l . Thus, when Adam views the non-purposeful a c t i v i t y of the other creatures which i n h a b i t Eden, he i s informed of h i s own d i g n i t y and r e s p o n s i b i l i t y as man. He ex p l a i n s the s i t u a t i o n to Eve. Man hath h i s d a i l y work of body or mind Appointed, which declares h i s D i g n i t y , And the regard of Heav'n on a l l h i s ways; While other animals unactive range, And of t h e i r doings God takes no account. (IV. 618-622) Adam i s , and must be, an a c t i v e being. M i l t o n a l s o makes i t p a t e n t l y c l e a r that Adam and Eve's innocent c o n d i t i o n i s not the summum bonaum f o r man. Adam and Eve are informed of a high e r , more s p i r i t u a l form of e x i s t e n c e , and are t o l d that t h i s w i l l be the reward f o r a v i r t u o u s l i f e . Thus, i n answer to Adam's 33 question regarding the d i e t of the angels, Raphael admits that angels, l i k e men, r e q u i r e nourishment, and suggests to-Adam and h i s wife t h a t : . . . time may come when men With Angels may p a r t i c i p a t e , and f i n d No inconvenient D i e t , nor too l i g h t T a r e ; And from these c o r p o r a l nutriments perhapa_^ y ^ - ;\u00E2\u0082\u00AC<, a-i la i t Improv'd by t r a c t of time, and wing'd ascend ail fa sp.V;* E t h e r e a l , as wee, or may a t choice Here or i n Heav'nly Paradise d w e l l ; I f ye be found obedient, and r e t a i n U n a l t e r a b l y f i r m h i s love e n t i r e Whose progeny you are. (V. 493-503) Adam and Eve have a greater good to pursue, a l i f e s u p e r i o r to t h e i r p a r a d i s a l s t a t e of innocence. M i l t o n ' s genius enabled him to create a s t a t e of innocence that was not beyond the comprehension of h i s readers, and one that was recog-n i z a b l y b e a u t i f u l and meaningful. However, Milton's s o l u t i o n , to make innocence an intermediate s t a t e , a c o n d i t i o n of being and becoming, caused him other problems. M i l t o n had to show that something r i c h and meaningful had been l o s t by Adam's t r a n s g r e s s i o n . The f a l l had to be recognizable as a great catastrophe. But M i l t o n ' s C h r i s t i a n f a i t h h e l d that the f a l l was, p a r a d o x i c a l l y , a f ortunate event, an e v i l phenomenon which generated a greater good. M i l t o n had, then, to show that innocence was l e s s happy and l e s s p e r f e c t than the new human c o n d i t i o n heralded by the advent of C h r i s t . Innocent Adam, as a r e s u l t , had to be an admirable f i g u r e , one who, t h e o r e t i c a l l y , had the c a p a c i t y f o r heroism. But innocent Adam had, at the same time, to be a man whose existence was l e s s happy, and whose career was p o t e n t i a l l y l e s s h e r o i c than f a l l e n man's. In s h o r t , 34 though M i l t o n d e l i b e r a t e l y defines Adam's innocent c o n d i t i o n as a b e a u t i f u l yet imperfect one, though, o s t e n s i b l y , he provides innocent Adam w i t h the opportunity to f u l f i l h i m s e l f and to r e a l i z e h i s highest human poten-t i a l i t i e s , innocent Adam i s not--and cannot b e \u00E2\u0080\u0094 t h e i d e a l h e r o i c man as conceived by M i l t o n . I s h a l l attempt to show that Adam's innocence i n f a c t precludes h i s being what I have c a l l e d a p e r f e c t M i l t o n i c hero, to show that innocence i s , indeed, a f u g i t i v e and c l o i s t e r e d heroism. The p a t t e r n of h e r o i c magnanimity I have o u t l i n e d i n the f i r s t chapter of t h i s essay i n v o l v e s three d i s t i n c t elements: self-knowledge, the p u r s u i t of honour and g l o r y , and contemplation. M i l t o n ' s magnanimous man must f i r s t c o r r e c t l y understand h i m s e l f ; he must be aware of h i s own humanity, h i s strengths and h i s weaknesses. To the process by which Adam comes to know hi m s e l f we must now t u r n . How does innocent Adam l e a r n of h i s own d i g n i t y and worth, and of what does he deem himse l f worthy? By nature Adam i s an i n q u i s i t i v e being. He has a n a t u r a l d i s -p o s i t i o n to question and to seek to know. Thus, when he wakens to become a s e n t i e n t being, i t i s only a matter of minutes u n t i l he begins to question. He wants to know who he i s , where he i s , and how he came to e x i s t . . . . who I was, or where, or from what cause, [XJ knew not; to speak I t r i ' d , and f o r t h w i t h spake, My Tongue obey'd arid r e a d i l y could name Whate'er I saw. Thou Sun, s a i d I , f a i r L i g h t , And thou e n l i g h t ' n ' d E a r t h , so f r e s h and gay, Ye H i l l s and Dales, ye R i v e r s , Woods, and P l a i n s , And ye that l i v e and move, f a i r Creatures, t e l l , T e l l , i f ye saw, how came I thus, how here? ( V I I I . 270-278) 35 Adam's e x u l t a t i o n i n h i s own v i t a l i t y and h i s d e l i g h t i n the beauty which surrounds him ( V I I I . 259-269) soon, however, give place to pensive-r ness ( V I I I . 283-287). He i s b a f f l e d by the mystery of h i s e x i s t e n c e . But i n a d d i t i o n to h i s n a t u r a l curiosity^Adam, we d i s c o v e r , has an innate c a p a c i t y to reason. Adam knows i n t u i t i v e l y that he e x i s t s and that he i s happy, and he concludes from t h i s that he must, t h e r e f o r e , have been created by a benevolent power f a r greater than h i m s e l f . . . . how came I thus, how here? Not of myself; by some great-Maker then, In goodness and i n power preeminent; T e l l me, how may I know him, how adore, From whom I have that thus I move and l i v e , And f e e l that I am happier than I know. ( V I I I . 278-283) Adam's r e c o g n i t i o n of the f a c t that he owes h i s being to a greater power i s the r e s u l t of a reasoning process. Whether the reasoning i s simple or complex, Adam's \"proof\" of God's existence i s s u b s t a n t i a l l y 3 the same as the one M i l t o n put forward i n De Doctrina C h r i s t i a n a , and i t i s e s s e n t i a l l y the same ' p r o o f as that o f f e r e d by e i t h e r Descartes or by L e i b n i t z . We see, then, t h a t innocent Adam i s a d i s t i n c t i v e l y human b e i n g \u00E2\u0080\u0094 b e f o r e he i s informed of h i s own humanity\u00E2\u0080\u0094before God speaks to him. Thus f a r , Adam's knowledge i s the r e s u l t of the a c t i v e exjrercise of h i s w i l l to know and h i s power to reason. And, indeed, by f a r the greater part of what Adam learns i s the r e s u l t of h i s own a c t i v i t y . When God f i r s t v i s i t s Adam, he gives only a modicum of i n f o r m a t i o n . God t e l l s Adam h i s (Adam's) name, that he i s man, that the garden i s 36 the g i f t of empire over which Adam alone s h a l l r u l e , that the f r u i t of the tree of knowledge i s forbidden on pain of death, and that Adam i s su p e r i o r to a l l other creatures which i n h a b i t e a r t h ( V I I I . 319-341). This knowledge i s revealed to Adam without any request on h i s part. Everything e l s e that Adam comes to know, however, i s a r e s u l t of h i s 4 own propensity to question, h i s a b i l i t y to reason, or h i s own experience. A f t e r naming a l l the animals t h a t populate the eart h and remarking that a l l are p a i r e d , Adam asks h i s Creator why, as the superi o r being i n God's c r e a t i o n , he alone should be without a mate. Adam knows, f o r God has t o l d him^that he i s a higher being. But he reasons f o r h i m s e l f t h a t he can f i n d no f i t companion f o r h i m s e l f , that the higher f a c u l t i e s he possesses separate him from the r e s t of c r e a t i o n ( V I I I . 381-389). He r e a l i z e s , moreover, that he i s not s e l f - s u f f i c i e n t ; he r e q u i r e s a companion, a r a t i o n a l being l i k e h imself ( V I I I . 389-397). Knowing t h i s much, Adam has recognized h i s own worth and h i s l i m i t a t i o n s . He under-stands that he i s a being s u p e r i o r to the other creatures i n Eden. Yet, at the same time, he recognizes that he i s not as powerful or worthy as the e n t i r e l y s e l f - s u f f i c i e n t God. Thus, when God suggests that because He does not r e q u i r e a companion asset feiaafc Adam should not then r e q u i r e one ( V I I I . 403-411), Adam r e p l i e s : Thou i n t h y s e l f a r t p e r f e c t , and i n thee Is no d e f i c i e n c e found; not so i s Man, But i n degree, the cause of h i s d e s i r e By conversation w i t h h i s l i k e to. h e l p , Or solace h i s d e f e c t s . No need that thou Shouldst propagate, already i n f i n i t e ; And through a l l numbers ab s o l u t e , though One; But Man by number i s to manifest His s i n g l e i m p e r f e c t i o n , and beget L i k e of h i s l i k e , h i s Image m u l t i p l i ' d , 37 In u n i t y d e f e c t i v e , which r e q u i r e s C o l l a t e r a l l o v e , and dearest amity. Thou i n thy secrecy although alone, Best w i t h t h y s e l f accompanied, seek'st not S o c i a l communication, yet so pleas'd , Canst r a i s e thy Creature to what h i g h t h thou w i l t Of Union or Communion, d e i f i ' d ; I by conversing cannot these e r e c t From prone, nor i n th\u00C2\u00ABir ways complacence f i n d . ( V I I I . 415-433) Knowing that God created the world and man, Adam reasons f o r h i m s e l f that he i s not God's peer. Adam's sense of worth i s thus accompanied by an awareness of h i s own weakness. What i s of s p e c i a l importance here i s that God p r a i s e s Adam f o r h i s questioning s p i r i t and reasoning a b i l i t y ( V I I I . 437-444). Adam's worth i s f i r s t t e s t e d , then acknowledged by h i s Creator. S h o r t l y a f t e r waking from h i s dream i n which he had witnessed God's c r e a t i o n of Eve, Adam f i r s t experiences the power of passion ( V I I I . 530-559). Though he understands that Eve i s not h i s mental equal, t h a t he i s the s u p e r i o r being ( V I I I . 540-542), Adam a l s o recognizes h i s v u l n e r a b i l i t y . As he admits, . . . so absolute she seems And i n h e r s e l f complete, so w e l l to know Her own, that what she w i l l s to do or say, Seems w i s e s t , v i r t u o u s e s t , d i s c r e e t e s t , best; A l l hi-gher knowledge i n her presence f a l l s Degraded, Wisdom i n discourse w i t h her Loses discount'nanc't, and l i k e f o l l y shows; A u t h o r i t y and Reason on her w a i t , As one intended f i r s t , not a f t e r made Oc c a s i o n a l l y . . . . ( V I I I . 547-556) Eve's charms and graces are, Adam d i s c o v e r s , p o t e n t i a l l y more powerful than h i s reason and h i s knowledge of personal s u p e r i o r i t y . Again Adam 38 has recognized h i s own worth and h i s l i m i t a t i o n s \u00E2\u0080\u0094 f r o m personal experience. He has not been warned that passion i s a powerful force w i t h which the su p e r i o r man must l e a r n to contend. Rather, he discovers i t f o r h i m s e l f . When Satan r e c o n n o i t e r s Eden i n an e f f o r t to evaluate the d i f -f i c u l t i e s he w i l l encounter i n t r y i n g . t o corrupt Adam and Eve, we are introduced to an Adam who i s not yet equipped w i t h any f u r t h e r measure of d i v i n e i n s t r u c t i o n . Adam i s s u b s t a n t i a l l y the same f i g u r e now as he was a t the time of Eve's c r e a t i o n \u00E2\u0080\u0094 e x c e p t that he has had more experience and more time to use h i s reason. Adam and Eve, as the Adversary witnesses, j o y to be a l i v e . Recognizing that t h e i r \"one easy p r o h i b i t i o n \" i s a small p r i c e to pay f o r the happiness they enjoy, Adam reasons that the God who f r e e l y gave them t h e i r b l i s s must be good and l i b e r a l . As Adam e x p l a i n s to Eve, . . . needs must the Power That made us, and f o r us t h i s ample World Be i n f i n i t e l y good, and of h i s good As l i b e r a l and free as i n f i n i t e , That r a i S ' d us from the dust and p l a c ' t us here In a l l t h i s happiness, who at h i s hand Have nothing merited, nor can perform Aught whereof hee hath need . . . . (IV. 412-419) Once more Adam manifests h i s c a p a c i t y to reason. He i s an a c t i v e , t h i n k i n g being. We a l s o d i s c o v e r that Adam and Eve are aware of t h e i r own human d i g n i t y . Eve has learned by experience that Adam i s her super i o r (IV. 445-447), and yet she had i n t u i t i v e l y recognized that she was a worthy mate f o r him. Adam i s aware that man, alone of a l l created beings, has d i g n i t y 39 (IV. 618-622). Endowed w i t h reason, and therefore w i t h a l a r g e r c a p a c i t y f o r enjoyment, man, as Adam recognizes, has d i g n i t y i n the eyes of h i s Creator. T h e o r e t i c a l l y , he can be magnanimous \"to correspond w i t h Heav'n\" ( V I I . 510). When Raphael makes h i s v i s i t to Eden i t i s s i g n i f i c a n t that Adam goes out to meet him (V. 350-360). Adam's manner i s n a t u r a l and d i g n i f i e d . He i s not \"aw'd\", but he recognizes the s u p e r i o r i t y of the angel. Adam i s conscious of h i s own worth and, thus, t a l k s to the angel \"as f r i e n d w i t h f r i e n d . \" I t i s Adam who i n v i t e s the angel to dine w i t h man. I t i s Adam who d e s i r e s to know what passes i n heaven and how the world was created. I t i s Adam who i n q u i r e s concerning the motions of the p l a n e t s , and Adam who o f f e r s to t e l l the angel of h i s (Adam's) own c r e a t i o n . In sh o r t , everything that Adam learns from God's messenger i s g iven i n answer to Adam's questions. To be sure, God had t o l d Raphael to draw Adam to discourse (V. 233-234), but the f a c t remains that M i l t o n makes i t e x p r e s s l y c l e a r that Adam's a c q u i s i t i o n of knowledge i s the r e s u l t of h i s own. d e s i r e to l e a r n and to know. Indeed, of a l l the i n f o r -mation Raphael gives to Adam concerning the universe and the h i s t o r y of the beings which i n h a b i t i t , the most important knowledge Adam acquires i s that which informs him of h i m s e l f , of his' own strengths and weaknesses. Raphael's account of the war i n Heaven and h i s r e l a t i o n of God's c r e a t i o n of the world are d i r e c t e d to t h i s purpose. From Raphael's account of the b a t t l e i n heaven Adam learns that he, l i k e A b d i e l , can \"stand approv'd i n s i g h t of God,\" o r , l i k e Satan, he can be consigned to misery and damnation. From the s t o r y of c r e a t i o n Adam learns that he 40 i s the \"Master work\", t h a t , though v a s t l y i n f e r i o r to God, he i s d i g n i f i e d and w o r t h y \u00E2\u0080\u0094 i f he remains obedient. These are the most important elements of Raphael's teaching, and i f Adam has learned h i s lessons p r o p e r l y , he w i l l have a regard to h i s \"own d i g n i t y r i g h t l y understood.\" One f i n a l i l l u s t r a t i o n w i l l serve to make, my p o i n t . When Adam t e l l s Raphael of h i s v u l n e r a b i l i t y to Eve's charms, the angel reminds him that he must not lose s i g h t of h i s own s u p e r i o r i t y . Adam fear s that there i s a flaw i n h i s c h a r a c t e r , that he i s not made per f e c t as he has been t o l d , because h i s wisdom and h i s superior g i f t s are powerless before Eve's d e l i g h t f u l g i f t s (VIII. 547-556). Raphael t e l l s him: .... . Accuse not Nature, she hath done her part; Do thou but t h i n e , and be not d i f f i d e n t Of wisdom, she deserts thee not, i f thou Dismiss not her, when most thou need'st her ni g h , By a t t r i b u t i n g overmuch to things Less e x c e l l e n t , as thou t h y s e l f p e r c e i v ' s t . For what admir'st thou, what tr a n s p o r t s thee so, An outs i d e ? f a i r no doubt, and worthy w e l l Thy c h e r i s h i n g , ' t h y honoring and thy l o v e , Not thy s u b j e c t i o n : weigh w i t h her t h y s e l f ; Then v a l u e : Oft-times nothing p r o f i t s more Than self-esteem, grounded on j u s t and r i g h t W ell manag'd; of that s k i l l the more thou know'st, The more she w i l l acknowledge thee her Head, And to r e a l i t i e s y i e l d a l l her shows. (VIII. 561-575). There can be no doubt that i f Adam understands and accepts what Raphael t e l l s him here he w i l l have acquired the knowledge that he i s a d i g n i f i e d and worthy being. Adam, however, does not l e a r n h i s l e s s o n properly and he s i n s . F a i l i n g to be \"actuated by a regard\" to h i s own \" d i g n i t y r i g h t l y understood,\" Adam loses h i s innocence. He f a i l s to be magnanimous 41 and cannot, then, be a bona f i d e hero. The question we must ask, however, i s whether Adam, i f he had not sinned, could have been a p e r f e c t M i l t o n i c hero. Adam, M i l t o n makes i t very c l e a r , should have possessed a sense of worth. But what, i f anything, could Adam deem h i m s e l f worthy of? M i l t o n ' s theology embraces the view that God created the world to augment His own g l o r y . In De Doctrina M i l t o n argued: CREATION i s that a c t whereby GOD THE FATHER PRODUCED EVERY THING THAT EXISTS BY HIS WORD AND SPIRIT, that i s , BY HIS WILL, FOR THE MANIFESTATION OF THE GLORY OF HIS POWER AND GOODNESS.5 Indeed, the C h r i s t i a n d o c t r i n e i t s e l f , as M i l t o n pointed out, was \"the d i v i n e r e v e l a t i o n concerning the nature and worship of the d e i t y f o r the 6 promotion of the g l o r y of God, and the s a l v a t i o n of mankind.\" Moreover, the same view i s i m p l i c i t throughout Paradise Lost. When, f o r example, Raphael t e l l s Adam how God had made the world and man, the angel e x p l a i n s , too, how the heavenly host reacted to the Creator's accomplishment. The a n g e l i c c h o i r s i n g s : . . . Thrice happy men, And Sons of men, whom God hath thus advanc't, Created i n h i s Image, there to dwell And worship him . ... . ( V I I . 625-628) And Adam le a r n s t h a t the worship of God i s man's p r i n c i p a l duty. But the important point here i s the a c t u a l meaning M i l t o n assigned to worship. In De D o c t r i n a C h r i s t i a n a M i l t o n defined worship as \"the love of God.\"^ To love God, i t i s obvious, means to g l o r i f y God. Indeed, God created man i n His own image and gave him the power to reason so that man might understand the d i v i n e goodness and thus w i l l i n g l y p r a i s e 42 and honour the d i v i n e beneficence. Man was to be the \"Master work,\" a being \"endu'd/ w i t h S a n c t i t y of Reason\" ( V I I . 507-508). Adam learns that God, a f t e r the r e v o l t i n heaven, created man as a proof that e v i l was powerless, to prove that He could produce good from e v i l . Adam hears the angels s i n g to God, . . . Who seeks To l e s s e n thee, against h i s purpose serves To manifest the more thy might: h i s e v i l Thou u s e s t , and from thence c r e a t ' s t more good. (VII . 613-616) Adam l e a r n s , then, that he has been created to augment h i s Creator's g l o r y , and to prove the impotence of e v i l . I n man's \"happiest l i f e \" he g l o r i f i e s h i s God by.his w i l l i n g obedience. By proving that he i s capable of r e s i s t i n g and r e j e c t i n g any temptation to wander from the path t h a t has been shown him, he honours and g l o r i f i e s h i s Creator. But can an Adam who i s ignorant of e v i l , who has been warned only of i t s e x i s t e n c e , p o s s i b l y have an a c t i v e r o l e to play? Can innocent Adam be aware that h i s s t r e n g t h , h i s r e j e c t i o n of e v i l , w i l l augment God's g l o r y ? The answer, I t h i n k , i s that he cannot. Adam i s aware that h i s obedience w i l l ensure the maintenance of h i s own happiness, and the happiness of h i s w i f e and h i s progeny. But h i s innocence precludes h i s understanding that i t i s i n h i s power to prevent the existence of e v i l . Though Adam knows that h i s strength w i l l cause Raphael and the other angels great j o y , he does not comprehend that he can a c t i v e l y pursue God's g l o r y . In short , Adam's ignorance of e v i l makes h i s v i r t u e meaningful only to himse l f and h i s progeny. 43 For example, of the tree of knowledge, God had warned him: The day thou e a t ' s t thereof, my sole command Transgrest, i n e v i t a b l y thou s h a l t d i e ; From that day m o r t a l , and t h i s happy State Sha l t l o s e , e x p e l l ' d from hence i n t o a World Of woe and sorrow. ( V I I I . 329-333) God d i d not t e l l him, however, that i f (Adam; d i d not eat, h i s a c t i o n would augment the Creator's g l o r y . Adam does not, i n f a c t , recognize that he can honour or g l o r i f y God. This can be made c l e a r e r by a few i l l u s t r a t i o n s . A b d i e l ' s r e j e c t i o n of Satan i s o s t e n s i b l y the best model of v i r t u e Adam i s informed of. The'angel's r e f u s a l to \"swerve from Truth\" m e r i t s God's app r o v a l , and t h i s , indeed, i s the highest honor or g l o r y . But Adam i s not aware that he can pursue the same honor. Raphael's f i n a l warning to Adam does not imply that God w i l l be honored by Adam's con-quest of e v i l . The angel admonishes: Be s t r o n g , l i v e happy, and l o v e , but f i r s t of a l l Him whom to love i s to obey, and keep His great command; take heed l e s t Passion sway Thy Judgment to do aught, which e l s e f r e e W i l l Would not admit; th i n e and of a l l thy Sons The weal or woe i n thee i s p l a c ' t ; beware. I i n thy persevering s h a l l r e j o i c e , And a l l the B l e s t : stand f a s t ; to stand or f a l l Free i n thine own Arbitrement i t l i e s . P e r f e t w i t h i n , no outward a i d r e q u i r e ; And a l l temptation to transgress r e p e l . ( V I I I . 633-643) That Adam's r e j e c t i o n of e v i l w i l l please God i s made c l e a r , but that he can thereby honour or g l o r i f y God i s not explained or expressed. Innocent man, u n l i k e h i s C h r i s t i a n counterpart, i s not aware that he can be a 44 s o l d i e r i n God's army, a combatant i n the u n i v e r s a l struggle against e v i l . Innocent Adam knows only that he can be happy or miserable and that the choice i s h i s . One f u r t h e r example w i l l serve to make my p o i n t . When Adam asks Raphael f o r i n f o r m a t i o n concerning the v i s i b l e u n i v e r s e , the angel hastens to e x p l a i n that c e r t a i n knowledge i s forbidden to man. Adam, indeed, i s made very much aware of the f a c t that there 8 e x i s t s a great g u l f between Heaven and e a r t h . While i t i s true that Adam and Eve are i n perpetual communion w i t h Heaven, and while i t i s true that Heaven and e a r t h are not g r e a t l y d i s s i m i l a r , the f a c t remains: innocent man's l o t on e a r t h i s to l i v e i n happy ignorance of what he cannot immediately perceive or comprehend. Raphael thus t e l l s Adam: S o l i c i t not thy.; thoughts w i t h matters h i d , Leave them to God above, him serve and f e a r ; Of other c r e a t u r e s , as him pleases best, Wherever p l a c ' t , l e t him dispose: j o y thou In what he gives to thee, t h i s Paradise And thy f a i r Eve: Heav'n i s f o r thee too high To know what passes there: be lowly wise: Think only what concerns thee and thy being; Dream not of other Worlds, what Creatures there L i v e , i n what s t a t e , c o n d i t i o n or degree, Contented that thus f a r hath been r e v e a l ' d Not of E a r t h only but of highest Heav'n. ( V I I I . 167-78) Despite the f a c t that Raphael does spend a considerable amount of time d i s c u s s i n g \"what passes t h e r e , \" Adam i s informed that ignorance i s indeed b l i s s . Though Adam le a r n s that the g u l f may be bridged at some l a t e r time, and that t h i s i s man's normal course, the problem remains: Adam's ap p e t i t e f o r knowledge has been whetted by Raphael and p a r t i a l l y s a t i s f i e d , but Adam i s then t o l d he should not have hunger. What i s even more 45 important here, however, i s that Adam's innocence precludes h i s p u r s u i t of honour or g l o r y . That i s , Adam's l i f e before the f a l l i s r i g i d l y c ircumscribed to imply that he cannot have an a c t i v e r o l e to play i n the cosmic b a t t l e a g a i n s t e v i l , t hat war which, i f waged strenuously, makes the human s o l d i e r an a c t i v e worker on God's behalf. Adam does not know--he has not been t o l d - - t h a t he can be an a c t i v e p a r t i c i p a n t i n the u n i v e r s a l s t r u g g l e , a human hero whose l i f e i s dedicated and devoted to the augmentation of God's g l o r y . Adam knows only that he can m e r i t God's approval, and man's r o l e , h i s c o n t r i b u t i o n , thus becomes p a t e n t l y n e g l i g i b l e . Innocence means that Adam cannot pursue honour or g l o r y i n the manner of the true wayfaring C h r i s t i a n . Indeed, i t i s only when e v i l e x i s t s i n the world t h a t man can be t r u l y magnanimous, can be a s o l d i e r i n God's army, can be p e r s o n a l l y committed to the d e s t r u c t i o n of e v i l . The g u l f that e x i s t s between heaven and e a r t h while man l i v e s i n a s t a t e of innocence i s , then, too wide. I t s prodigious s i z e i s even more apparent, however, when we examine the magnanimous^man1s contemplative f a c u l t y . Contemptus mundi i s a l i e n to the s t a t e of innocence. Paradise i s a near p e r f e c t e x i s t e n c e , and Adam and Eve have been i n s t r u c t e d to enjoy t h e i r l i f e i n the garden. Thus i t i s that Adam can t e l l h i s mate: \"For not to irksome t o i l , but to d e l i g h t / He made us, and d e l i g h t to Reason j o i n ' d \" (IX. 242-243). Indeed, the garden of Eden i s a world of sensuous pleasure. D e l i g h t f u l l y e v o c a t i v e , i t i s a c e l e b r a t i o n of sensuous experience. A s c e t i c i s m and a u s t e r i t y have no place i n the world 46 of innocence, and contemplation, t h e r e f o r e , takes on a meaning very d i f f e r e n t from that h e l d by e i t h e r A r i s t o t l e or Augustine. But we must question whether contemplation i s , i n f a c t , p o s s i b l e before the existence of e v i l i n the world. When Raphael t e l l s Adam and Eve of God's c r e a t i o n of man, God i s portrayed as e x p l a i n i n g how He w i l l f r u s t r a t e Satan's attempts to make e v i l v i c t o r i o u s , how He w i l l create another world. God . . . i n a moment w i l l create Another World, out of one man a Race Of men innumerable, there to d w e l l , Not here, t i l l by degrees of mer i t r a i s ' d They open to themselves a t length the way Up h i t h e r , under long obedience t r i ' d , And E a r t h be chang'-d to Heav'n, and Heav'n to E a r t h , One Kingdom, Joy and Union without end. (V I I . 154-61) This i s the d i v i n e plan. I t i s a statement of the process by which man can a t t a i n the i n t i m a t e knowledge of God and can be u n i t e d w i t h Him. The important point f o r our d i s c u s s i o n here i s that man can achieve t h i s b l e ssed state, o n ly by proving h i m s e l f worthy. We must consider how man does t h i s . What are the ''degrees of m e r i t \" by which man can be r a i s e d ? Is i t p o s s i b l e f o r man's innocent l i f e to be i n any way contemplative, as the term i s defined i n our f i r s t chapter? Most i m p o r t a n t l y , does man's innocence not preclude contemplation as i t precludes h i s p u r s u i t of honour and g l o r y ? I have pointed out e a r l i e r that Raphael e x p l a i n s to Adam and Eve how they may \"at l a s t t u r n a l l to s p i r i t , \" and how they are guaranteed t h i s reward i f they remain obedient (V. 493-503). Adam's answer r e v e a l s what remains f o r man to do. To Raphael he says: 47 0 favorable S p i r i t , p r o p i t i o u s guest, Well hast thou taught thej) way that might d i r e c t Our knowledge, and the scal e of Nature set From centre to circumference, whereon In contemplation of created things By steps we may ascend to God. (V. 507-512) The c r u c i a l point here i s that man i s to concern him s e l f only w i t h \"created\" t h i n g s , w i t h that which God has placed before him. His l i f e , then, i s of t h i s world. He i s not to a s p i r e to higher t h i n g s , but, r a t h e r , to accept by f a i t h alone that he may ascend to heaven--without p e r s o n a l l y committing h i m s e l f to that end. Paradise does not a l l o w f o r the i n d i v i d u a l ' s t r a n s -cendence of the p h y s i c a l world. I t i s true that t h i s i s promised to Adam and Eve, but t h e i r duty i s merely to l i v e t h e i r l i f e on eart h to the f u l l e s t , to be t h a n k f u l and obedient, and not to concern themselves w i t h anything above and beyond paradise. Their innocent existence i s , i n f a c t , s e v e r e l y r e s t r i c t e d to the t a n g i b l e world of the senses. This i s made emph a t i c a l l y c l e a r when Raphael t e l l s Adam t h a t , though i t i s good f o r man \"to ask or search,\" man must.accept that God's dwe l l i n g - p l a c e i s f a r beyond human comprehension, and man would do b e t t e r to concentrate e n t i r e l y on h i s own world. God to remove h i s ways from human sense, Plac'd Heav'n from Earth so f a r , that e a r t h l y s i g h t , I f i t presume, might e r r i n things too h i g h , And no advantage gain. ( V I I I . 119-122) I t i s made p a t e n t l y obvious here that beyond obedience to God's w i l l , man's innocent l i f e , though i t i s a process of becoming, does not leave much room f o r contemplation. Adam le a r n s from Raphael a le s s o n that sounds very much l i k e the 48 philosophy expressed i n E c c l e s i a s t e s ; \"For i n much wisdom i s much g r i e f : and he that i n c r e a s e t h knowledge i n c r e a s e t h sorrow\" ( I . 18). Adam le a r n s how . . . apt the Mind or Fancy i s to rove Uncheckt, and of her r o v i n g i s no end; T i l l warn'dj or by experience taught, she l e a r n That not to know at large of things remote From use, obscure and s u b t l e , but to know That which before us l i e s i n d a i l y l i f e , I s the prime Wisdom; what i s more, i s fume, Or emptiness, or fond impertinence, And renders us i n things that most concern Unp r a c t i c ' d , unprepar'd, and s t i l l to seek. ( V I I I . 188-197) In f a c t , then, contemplation of the d i v i n e i s an i m p o s s i b i l i t y i n the s t a t e of innocence. The A r i s t o t e l i a n concept of sophia has been sublimated to become: \"obey God and p r a i s e His goodness; and do not seek to know God.\" The only suggestion of something more than innocent existence i s thus made p u r p o s e f u l l y vague. Adam and Eve are to be i n t i m a t e l y u n i t e d O M \u00E2\u0080\u00A2 O i l w i t h God, but they are not to a s p i r e a c t i v e l y to that e e r e S i ^ s w i . L i f e i n Eden, w i t h reference to contemplation, becomes a s t a t e of semi-consciousness; i t i s s t r i n g e n t l y p r e s c r i b e d and circumscribed. One h a r d l y need point out here that t h i s idea was not a t t r a c t i v e or acceptable to M i l t o n . Adam, i n the s t a t e of innocence, i s portrayed as an a c t i v e being whose self-knowledge gives him a sense of worth and d i g n i t y . However, he cannot a c t i v e l y pursue honour or g l o r y i n a context of meaning beyond Eden. Moreover, he cannot a c t i v e l y a s p i r e to knowledge of the d i v i n e . With reference to p r e - l a p s a r i a n man, then, magnanimity or h e r o i c v i r t u e 49 i s only p a r t l y p o s s i b l e . Adam could possess a sense of worth and d i g n i t y ; he could not a c t i v e l y pursue honour or g l o r y , and he could not a c t i v e l y a s p i r e to in t i m a t e knowledge of the d i v i n e . M i l t o n portrayed Adam i n such a way that he (M i l t o n ) could have the best of both worlds; the world of being and the world of becoming. The poet demonstrated that Eden or innocence was a b l i s s f u l c o n d i t i o n , but one that r e q u i r e d a c t i v e c o n t r i b u t i o n s from human beings to continue and to remain b l i s s f u l . Because the s t a t e of innocence r e q u i r e d a c t i v e v i r t u e on the part of i t s i n h a b i t a n t s , i t i s p o e t i c a l l y s u c c e s s f u l , and innocent Adam emerges as an admirable f i g u r e . But M i l t o n ' s C h r i s t i a n f a i t h , h i s b e l i e f that the new di s p e n s a t i o n s i g n a l l e d by C h r i s t was a b e t t e r c o n d i t i o n f o r man than innocence, r e q u i r e d that he show the l i m i t -a t i o n s of innocence. One way i n which M i l t o n demonstrated the i n f e r i o r i t y of man's f i r s t c o n d i t i o n was to show that innocent Adam d i d not have the same p o t e n t i a l f o r heroism as he had a f t e r he had sinned. Innocence was, indeed, a f u g i t i v e and c l o i s t e r e d heroism; Adam, even had he not sinned, could not be M i l t o n ' s p e r f e c t hero. FOOTNOTES: CHAPTER I I 1 The Renaissance and E n g l i s h Humanism, p. 120. 2 The C i t y of God, p. x i i . 3 Works, XIV, p. 27. 4 The p o s s i b l e exception to t h i s i s Adam s apparently i n t u i t i v e knowledge of the h i e r a r c h y of the senses which he e x p l a i n s to Eve f o l l o w i n g her dream (V. 100-119). This knowledge, i t may be argued, i s not u n l i k e Adam's innate c a p a c i t y f o r speech. For the r e s t , however, Adam's a c q u i s i t i o n of knowledge i s the r e s u l t of h i s own a c t i o n s . 5Works, XV, p. 5. 6 I b i d . , XIV, p. 17. 7 I b i d . , p. 21. 8 I t might be argued here that the r e l a t i o n s h i p between Heaven and e a r t h was never more intima t e than i t was while man l i v e d i n innocence. The answer to t h i s o b j e c t i o n i s contained i n the very nature of M i l t o n ' s C h r i s t i a n f a i t h . God's Kingdom i s w i t h i n every man. The b e l i e v i n g C h r i s t i a n , M i l t o n f o r example, i s equipped w i t h knowledge of God's grand design. Moreover, accompanied and guided by the Holy S p i r i t , he i s more i n t i m a t e l y r e l a t e d to God than innocent man was. Thus, Adam, though he b i t t e r l y complains of the c e s s a t i o n of communion w i t h Heaven occasioned by h i s t r a n s g r e s s i o n (IX. 1080-1090), i s , when he learns of the new d i s -pensation, happier. He possesses w i t h i n h i m s e l f a \"paradise, happier f a r . \" CHAPTER I I I FROM SIN TO GRACE: THE PATH TO HEROIC MAGNANIMITY . . . we know not only e v i l , but we know good only by means of e v i l . For i t i s by e v i l that v i r t u e i s c h i e f l y e x e r c i s e d , and shines w i t h greater b r i g h t n e s s . De Doctrina C h r i s t i a n a In Jewish and i n C h r i s t i a n w r i t i n g s the f a l l of man has always been t r e a t e d as a t e r r i b l e catastrophe. In De Doctrina C h r i s t i a n a , f o r example, M i l t o n argued that the o r i g i n a l s i n of Adam and Eve contained w i t h i n i t s e l f a whole complex of s i n s : the f i r s t parents had d i s t r u s t e d the d i v i n e v e r a c i t y ; they had been g u i l t y of u n b e l i e f , i n g r a t i t u d e , d i s -obedience, and g l u t t o n y ; Eve had not shown a \"proper r e g a r d \" to Adam; 1 and Adam had been g u i l t y of \"excessive uxoriousness\". S i m i l a r l y , i n Paradise L o s t , M i l t o n does not a l l o w us to f o r g e t the g r a v i t y of Adam and Eve's off e n c e , and i n i n t r o d u c i n g the p a i n f u l subject he complains: . . . I now must change Those notes to Tragic; f o u l d i s t r u s t , and breach D i s l o y a l on the part of Man, r e v o l t , And disobedience: On the part of Heav'n Now a l i e n a t e d , distance and d i s t a s t e , Anger and j u s t rebuke, and judgment g i v ' n , That brought i n t o t h i s World a world of woe, S i n and her shadow Death, and Misery Death's Harbinger. . . . (IX. 5-13) Because M i l t o n understood the f a l l as the source of \" a l l our woe,\" he had to describe the i n c i d e n t as profoundly moving and t r a g i c . In doing t h i s M i l t o n had admirable success, but no serious student of M i l t o n can or w i l l deny that the l a s t three books of Paradise L o s t , considered 52 together w i t h Paradise Regained and Samson Agonistes, are M i l t o n ' s honest attempt to demonstrate that the f a l l of man was r e a l l y a fortunate event. P a r a d o x i c a l l y , the f a l l of man was f o r t u n a t e , f o r from that e v i l God was able to produce a greater good than that which had been l o s t . I t should be pointed out here, however, that M i l t o n cannot be given c r e d i t f o r e i t h e r o r i g i n a l i t y or b r i l l i a n c e of thought i n h i s treatment of man's f i r s t t r a n s g r e s s i o n . As Arthur 0. Lovejoy has demonstrated, more than one C h r i s t i a n w r i t e r before M i l t o n had embraced and advocated a s i m i l a r o p i n i o n . A paradox which had / been embraced by Ambrose, Leo the Great, Gregory the Great, F r a n c i s de S a l e s , and Du Bartas; had f o r at l e a s t ten c e n t u r i e s had a place i n many m i s s a l s , and had f i n a l l y been o f f i c i a l l y adopted by the Roman Church, was, o b v i o u s l y , s u f f i c i e n t l y orthodox; and i t had been put more sharply and b o l d l y by at l e a s t two of the Doctors of the Church, by the composer of the E x u l t e t , by the French m y s t i c , and by the author of La Semaine, than by Milton.*^ Regardless of the a c c e p t a b i l i t y or orthodoxy of the o p i n i o n , however, the important point f o r our d i s c u s s i o n here i s that the d o c t r i n e of the \"fortunate f a l l \" i s an i n t e g r a l part of M i l t o n ' s concept of h e r o i c man. Man's new s t a t e , h i s l o s t innocence and h i s awareness of e v i l , provided M i l t o n w i t h much more scope f o r the d e l i n e a t i o n of h e r o i c v i r t u e than had man's innocence. Indeed, f a l l e n man has a greater p o t e n t i a l f o r heroism than had man i n the sta t e of innocence. \ By p e r m i t t i n g passion to overthrow h i s reason, Adam became aware of h i s own freedom of w i l l . As B a s i l W i l l e y points out, Adam, though free before h i s f a l l , had not the f u l l s p i r i t u a l l i b e r t y which c o n s i s t s i n the v o l u n t a r y submission of a r a t i o n a l being to the law of reason. With the exception of h i s one vu l n e r a b l e p o i n t , h i s 53 p a r a d o x i c a l c a p a c i t y to los e h i s freedom, he was r e a l l y God-constrained, not i n the manner of a re s p o n s i b l e moral being, but i n the manner of the animals and the r e s t of nature. He could not but w i l l what was r i g h t u n t i l , having disobeyed, he had become capable of s i n . Only a being capable of s i n could know the meaning which M i l t o n r e a l l y attached to the no t i o n of s p i r i t u a l freedom; thus the F a l l was l o g i c a l l y a neces-sary stage i n the e v o l u t i o n of man. I t may be s a i d that Adam and Eve were capable of moral choice, and hence of s i n , before they ate the f r u i t , otherwise they could not have chosen to disobey God's express command; and M i l t o n , i n h i s endeavour to make h i s e p i c n a r r a t i v e humanly co n v i n c i n g , c e r t a i n l y has to a t t r i b u t e to them some of the f r a i l t i e s of f a l l e n humanity i n order to make t h e i r behaviour p l a u s i b l e . But t h i s l i m i t e d freedom of choice, and i t s a r b i t r a r y connection w i t h an i n e x p l i c a b l e /\"taboo, d i d not c o n s t i t u t e the f u l l \" l i b e r t y \" of M i l t o n ' s own r i p e s t thought. A man must know good and e v i l much more i n t i m a t e l y than p r e l a p s a r i a n Adam could before he can submit w i t h h i s whole being to the c o n t r o l of that d i v i n e law i n whose s e r v i c e i s per f e c t freedom.\"^ In h i s innocence, then, Adam had an innate or i n t u i t i v e knowledge of r i g h t reason. A f t e r the f a l l , however, he had to str u g g l e to know r i g h t reason and to make i t p r e v a i l i n h i s conduct. The p r i n c i p a l d i f f i c u l t y f a c i n g M i l t o n i n Paradise Lost was to s y n c r e t i z e h i s r e l i g i o u s c o n v i c t i o n w i t h h i s humanism. M i l t o n ' s r e l i g i o n d i c t a t e d that something wonderful had been l o s t when Adam took h i s f i r s t b i t e of the f r u i t . But h i s humanity answered that the very j o y of l i f e was i n the struggle to \"regain the b l i s s f u l s e a t . \" Man's awareness of both good and e v i l and awareness of h i s human p o t e n t i a l to embrace and ob t a i n e i t h e r , and man's c o n s c i o u s l y reasoned s t r u g g l e to pursue the good (the g l o r y of God), despite the d i f f i c u l t i e s en route, are, f o r M i l t o n , tantamount to h e r o i c . I t i s i n the s t r u g g l e i t s e l f that M i l t o n as a human being found man's c a p a c i t y f o r heroism, and on t h i s premise M i l t o n ' s concept of h e r o i c man i s u l t i m a t e l y based. I t has been pointed out i n an e a r l i e r chapter of t h i s essay that Man's s t a t e of innocence d i d not a l l o w f o r r e a l heroism, f o r magnanimity. 54 Because Heaven and eart h were d i s t i n c t l y separate, man could not understand or r e a l i z e h i s h e r o i c p o t e n t i a l . Adam, thus, could not see that he could be a s o l d i e r i n the cosmic s t r u g g l e against e v i l . He could not v i s u a l i z e himself as a s o l d i e r i n God's army whose career of w i l l i n g s e r v i c e to God could augment God's g l o r y and honour. Moreover, the great g u l f that e x i s t e d between heaven and ear t h d i d not permit of man's contemplation of the d i v i n e . Innocence was earth-bound and f l i g h t was not f o r man. The knowledge of e v i l Adam gained by e a t i n g the forbidden f r u i t , by disobeying God, r a d i c a l l y a l t e r e d a l l of t h i s . Adam's new c o n d i t i o n , what we may f a i r l y c a l l the human c o n d i t i o n , presented him w i t h new and more c h a l l e n g i n g o p p o r t u n i t i e s . He now faced a challenge which would tax him to the l i m i t of what man can endure. Adam's reach could now exceed h i s g r a s p \u00E2\u0080\u0094 y e t could s t i l l m e r i t God's approval. Adam could now become a hero: magnanimous man. Adam and Eve's l o s s of innocence i s accompanied by a gain of knowledge. They know: \"Both Good and E v i l , Good l o s t and E v i l Got. . .. .\" (IX. 1071). What t h i s means i s that they discover how wretched t h e i r c o n d i t i o n i s . Carnal l u s t i s the f i r s t m a n i f e s t a t i o n of t h e i r a l t e r e d s t a t e , and from t h i s they acquire a knowledge of t h e i r own de p r a v i t y and b e s t i a l i t y , what W i l l e y c a l l s \"sexual s e l f - c o n s c i o u s n e s s . \" ^ What i s more important, however, i s that they f e e l shame. Adam recognizes that he has not acted as b e f i t s a super i o r being (man), that he has, i n f a c t , debased h i s own human d i g n i t y by a l l o w i n g passion to overrule h i s reason. He i s ashamed that he i s man. Be r e f t of any sense of worth, he wishes that he might never be seen by angels' eyes again. To Eve he thus counsels: 55 But l e t us now, as i n bad p l i g h t , devise What best may f o r the present serve to hide The Parts of each from other, that seem most To shame obnoxious, and unseemliest seen, Some Tree whose broad smooth leaves together sew'd And g i r d e d on our l o i n s , may cover round Those middle p a r t s , that t h i s new comer, Shame, There s i t not, and reproach us as unclean. (IX. 1091-98) This sense of shame, however, i s the necessary f i r s t step i n Adam's regeneration, f o r without i t he cannot possess any sense of h i s own worth and d i g n i t y . He w i l l remain without any v e s t i g e of s e l f - r e s p e c t . P a r a d o x i c a l l y , an admission of h i s own weakness i s mandatory i n order f o r M i l t o n ' s s u p e r i o r man to be strong. He must know he can be, or has been weak. \u00E2\u0080\u00A2 How man i s regenerated, how he regains h i s l o s t sense of worth, i s our f i r s t concern. M i l t o n ' s God, we know, had declared He would be m e r c i f u l to c e r t a i n men. Man s h a l l not quite be l o s t , but sav'd who w i l l , Yet not of w i l l i n him, but grace i n me F r e e l y v o u t s a f ' t ; once more I w i l l renew His lapsed powers, though f o r f e i t and e n t h r a l l ' d By s i n to f o u l e x o r b i t a n t d e s i r e s ; Upheld by me, yet once more he s h a l l stand On even ground against h i s mortal foe, By me upheld, that he may know how f r a i l His f a l l ' n c o n d i t i o n i s , and to me owe A l l h i s d e l i v e r a n c e , and to none but me. ( I I I . 173-82) T h e o l o g i c a l l y M i l t o n accepted t h i s d o c t r i n e of grace. But i n one important point he d i f f e r e d from the A u g ustinian d o c t r i n e . M i l t o n could not wholly accept a d o c t r i n e which placed so l i t t l e emphasis on the human being's own c o n t r i b u t i o n to s a l v a t i o n . To judge from God's 56 speech above, w i t h i t s manifest contemptus homo a t t i t u d e , i t i s r a t h e r obvious that man's r o l e (and i m p l i c i t l y h i s d i g n i t y ) i s of minor s i g n i -f i c a n c e . M i l t o n ' s view of man, however, represents a d e f i n i t e r e j e c t i o n of that aspect of the d o c t r i n e of grace which i m p l i e d that man's own c o n t r i b u t i o n i s i n s i g n i f i c a n t . M i l t o n , i t i s f a i r to say, looked upon man's regeneration as an act of d i v i n e grace working i n man and as a d e f i n i t e e x e r c i s e of the human w i l l . God's mercy and His Grace made regeneration p o s s i b l e ; but God d i d not make i t happen. This w i l l be made c l e a r e r by reference to De D o c t r i n a C h r i s t i a n a and Paradise Lost. In De Doctrina C h r i s t i a n a M i l t o n discussed at considerable length how man could be r e s t o r e d . By God's grace a c t i n g i n him and by the e x e r c i s e of the d i v i n e mercy, man can possess a paradise \"happier f a r \" than the one which he had l o s t . Man can a t t a i n a happier, e t e r n a l l i f e . God's grace i s what makes t h i s p o s s i b l e , and He gives i t f r e e l y . That i s , man does not have to prove him s e l f worthy of grace. This much i s given. THE RESTORATION OF MAN IS the act whereby man, being d e l i v e r e d from s i n and death by God the Father through Jesus C h r i s t , i s r a i s e d to a f a r more e x c e l l e n t s t a t e of grace and g l o r y than that from which he had f a l l e n . 5 In the process are contained redemption and renovation. The redemption of man i s C h r i s t ' s w i l l i n g payment f o r the debt of man's s i n . For God so loved the world, that he gave h i s only begotten Son, that whosoever b e l i e v e t h i n him should not p e r i s h , but have e v e r l a s t i n g l i f e . For God sent not h i s Son i n t o the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved. (John I I I , 16-17) 57 C h r i s t w i l l i n g l y became as man and w i l l i n g l y died so that other men might l i v e . His m i n i s t r y of redemption i n c l u d e d , f i r s t , h i s h u m i l i a t i o n at the hands of men, then h i s e x a l t a t i o n at the hands of God. I t was a free g i f t by the grace of God and, hence, unearned by man. Man's reno-v a t i o n i s \"that change whereby HE WHO WAS BEFORE UNDER THE CURSE, AND 6 OBNOXIOUS TO THE DIVINE WRATH, IS BROUGHT INTO A STATE OF GRACE.\" By t h i s process, man i s i n v i t e d to know the way that God can be p r o p i t i a t e d and worshipped. In sh o r t , renovation i s the g i f t of God by which man might be saved from death, the curse that followed h i s s i n f u l disobedience. But God, i n f a c t , makes i t p o s s i b l e f o r man .to save h i m s e l f . His grace and h i s mercy a l l o w men to repent, but repentence i s t h e i r own f r e e a c t . Indeed, many are c a l l e d but few are chosen, f o r man's w i l l i s f r e e . He must choose i n order to be chosen. Thus, what God's r e s t o r a t i o n and renovation of man means i s that God w i l l give men the opportunity to be d i g n i f i e d and str o n g , to be worthy. T h e o l o g i c a l l y , t h i s i n t e r p r e t a t i o n of grace i s perhaps subject to some dis p u t e . For M i l t o n , however, i t i s e n t i r e l y acceptable. M i l t o n ' s a t t i t u d e i s that God's grace makes regeneration or reno-v a t i o n p o s s i b l e , but that the f i n a l choice whether to be regenerated remains w i t h man. I t i s the i n t e n t of s p i r i t u a l r enovation, M i l t o n argues, to r e s t o r e , \"more completely than before\", the n a t u r a l f a c u l t i e s : reason and free w i l l . But i t i s a l s o \"to create a f r e s h the inward man 7 and i n f u s e new and supernatural f a c u l t i e s i n t o the mind of the renovated.\" The 'new' inward man has been regenerated. REGENERATION IS THAT CHANGE OPERATED BY THE WORD AND THE SPIRIT, WHEREBY THE OLD MAN BEING DESTROYED, THE INWARD MAN IS REGENERATED BY 58 GOD AFTER HIS OWN IMAGE, IN ALL THE FACULTIES OF HIS MIND ^'understanding and w i l l \" ( M i l t o n ' s note ) 7 , INSOMUCH THAT HE BECOMES AS IT WERE A NEW CREATURE, AND THE WHOLE MAN IS SANCTIFIED BOTH IN BODY AND SOUL, FOR THE SERVICE OF GOD, AND THE PERFORMANCE OF GOOD WORKS.8 The e f f e c t s of t h i s regeneration are two: repentance and f a i t h . REPENTANCE . . . . IS THE GIFT OF GOD, WHEREBY THE REGENERATE MAN PER-CEIVING WITH SORROW THAT HE HAS OFFENDED GOD BY SIN, DETESTS AND AVOIDS IT, HUMBLY TURNING TO GOD THROUGH A SENSE OF THE DIVINE MERCY, AND HEARTILY STRIVING TO FOLLOW RIGHTEOUSNESS.9 For f a i t h , M i l t o n accepts the Pauline d e f i n i t i o n : the substance of things hoped f o r . I t i s a f i r m b e l i e f that what has been promised w i l l be. Basing judgment e n t i r e l y on the m a t e r i a l quoted above, i t might seem th a t M i l t o n , l i k e Augustine, regarded man's c o n t r i b u t i o n as p a i n f u l l y minimal. But M i l t o n ' s own emphasis on the soul's freedom of choice cannot, I am sure, be ignored or overstressed. Thus, i n Paradise L o s t , despite M i l t o n ' s emphasis on God's v o l u n t a r y g i f t , i t i s made emphatically c l e a r that grace i s a k i n d of covenant. Mercy w i l l be shown to Adam and Eve. They w i l l have the opportunity to accept i t . God w i l l not \"harden\" t h e i r h e a r t s . But he w i l l leave i t to them to choose. Adam and Eve, because of God's \"prevenient grace\" working i n them, beg f o r mercy. But God's words, and here M i l t o n S t r i c t l y followed Genesis, r e v e a l the nature of f r e e w i l l and the n e c e s s i t y f o r choice. To the Son, God says: He sorrows now, repents and prays c o n t r i t e . My motions i n him; longer than they move, His heart I know; how v a r i a b l e and v a i n S e l f - l e f t . (XI. 90-93) Regardless, then, of whether or not we agree w i t h God's concept of j u s t i c e 5 9 and mercy, i t i s c e r t a i n l y obvious that Adam and Eve have free w i l l , that they are f r e e to accept or r e j e c t God's o f f e r of mercy. I f God must place a guard around the tree of l i f e , then Adam and Eve are free to s i t down to another meal, and t h a t , i n the same way as i f Robert F r o s t had taken the other road, would have made a l l the d i f f e r e n c e . God's grace, i n sh o r t , i s the beginning of man's regeneration. E t e r n a l happiness i s contingent on man's a c t i v i t y . The u l t i m a t e choice r e s t s w i t h man. I have quoted at some length from M i l t o n ' s De Doctrina C h r i s t i a n a i n order to make c l e a r what I t h i n k i s the c r u c i a l point i n man's regen-e r a t i o n . Man, by the grace of God, can r e g a i n h i s d i g n i t y . But to do so, there must be an a c t i v e e x e r t i o n of the human w i l l . M i l t o n ' s l a s t three books of Paradise Lost represent the poet's attempt to r e f a s h i o n Adam as a d i g n i f i e d and worthy being, as a magnanimous man. In the concluding pages of h i s well-known essay on Paradise L o s t , C.S. Lewis points out that \"the r e a l question a t i s s u e \" i s \"whether man should or should not continue to be 'a noble animal, s p l e n d i d i n ashes 10 and pompous i n the grave'.\" Lewis contends he should and M i l t o n i n s i s t s upon i t . Adam's education a f t e r the f a l l i s , thus, a process by which he becomes more noble. I have s a i d that Adam's contempt f o r h i s own humanity i s the f i r s t step i n h i s regeneration. He must be aware of h i s f r a i l t y before he. can be strong. Though tout comprendre does not n e c e s s a r i l y mean tout pardoner, knowledge i s power i n M i l t o n ' s view of man. Man under-stands h i s n o b i l i t y by comprehending h i s p o t e n t i a l i t y f o r b e s t i a l i t y . 60 S h o r t l y a f t e r c l o t h i n g themselves i n the v a i n hope that they can hide t h e i r shame, Adam and Eve become more and more aware of the wretchedness of t h e i r own c o n d i t i o n . They l e a r n that reason, the image of the d i v i n e i n them,.is now the source of t h e i r g r e a t e s t pain r a t h e r than the source of great e s t pleasure i t had formerly been. That i s , they are aware of what they have been and what they are now, and t h e i r misery i s compounded by the comparison. This i s a t o r t u r e , f o r , l i k e Satan, they discover that they cannot erase from t h e i r minds the memory of t h e i r former grandeur. The mind becomes a p r i s o n from which no escape i s p o s s i b l e . Thus f e n c ' t , and as they thought, t h i r shame i n part Cover'd, but not at r e s t or ease of Mind, They sat them down to weep, nor only Tears Rain'd at t h p i r Eyes, but high Winds worse w i t h i n Began to r i s e , high Passions, Anger, Hate, M i s t r u s t , S u s p i c i o n , D i s c o r d , and shook sore Thir inward State of Mind, cg/m Region once And f u l l of Peace, now t o s s ' t and t u r b u l e n t . . . . (IX. 1119-27) Shamed by h i s own absence of d i g n i t y , Adam begins to reprimand Eve f o r her weakness, f o r her f o o l i s h n e s s i n i n v i t i n g d i s a s t e r . Though Adam i s h a r d l y noble i n a t t a c k i n g h i s w i f e , he has learned something. He knows that the w i s e l y v i r t u o u s man does not seek temptation. He does 11 not d e l i b e r a t e l y seek to put h i s f a i t h to the t e s t . When Eve argues i n her defence that Adam should not have permitted her to leave him, Adam i s forced to t r y to j u s t i f y h i s own conduct. Because Adam cannot, and because he i s too ashamed to accept h i s g u i l t , he f o o l i s h l y upbraids Eve and a l l women. But Adam had learned from 61 Raphael that i t i s r i g h t \"to subdue / By force who reason f o r t h i r Law r e f u s e \" (VI. 39-40). He, t h e r e f o r e , d i d not execute h i s duty. As Eve's s u p e r i o r , he was o b l i g a t e d to c o n s t r a i n her i f she would not be persuaded. Adam only begins to r e a l i z e that the c h i e f g u i l t i s h i s : \". . . perhaps / I a l s o e r r e d i n overmuch admiring\" (IX. 1177-78). He i s s t i l l too depraved and ashamed to accept the blame. P a r a d o x i c a l l y , however, t h i s must mean that Adam r e t a i n s some sense of worth and d i g n i t y which, i r o n i c a l l y , he no longer possesses. Adam, i n facfe, i s too proud to acknowledge h i s own d e p r a v i t y , to accept h i s f a l l e n c o n d i t i o n , and, as M i l t o n pointed out i n De Doctrina C h r i s t i a n a , \" c o n v i c t i o n of s i n \" 12 i s the f i r s t step i n the process of repentance. When C h r i s t descends from Heaven to judge Adam and Eve, they are too ashamed to face Him and attempt to hide themselves. Adam, whose i n t u i t i v e sense of d i g n i t y had given him the courage to question who had made him, and which had enabled him to ask h i s c r e a t o r why i t was that man should be a s o l i t a r y being, i s now presented to us as a cowering, f r i g h t e n e d , and p a t h e t i c a l l y f r a i l c r e a t u r e . He can no longer f r e e l y say what he f e e l s or t h i n k s , and can no longer f r e e l y question. Rather, he must weigh h i s words c a r e f u l l y and must analyze h i s speech. Spontaneity of utterance and s e l f - c o n f i d e n c e have disappeared. Thus, when questioned by the Son, Adam cannot answer c a n d i d l y or ingenuously. He r e p l i e s c a r e f u l l y and w i t h long h e s i t a t i o n f o r f e a r of off e n d i n g . His behaviour i s , i n f a c t , d espicable. He attempts to extenuate h i s own g u i l t by emphasizing that he could not reasonably have expected that a creature as f a i r as Eve could be capable of d e c e i t . 62 This Woman whom thou mad'st to be my h e l p . And gav'st me as thy p e r f e t g i f t , so good, So f i t , so acceptable, so D i v i n e , That from her hand I could suspect no i l l , And what she d i d , whatever i n i t s e l f , Her doing seem'd to j u s t i f y the deed; She gave me of the Tree, and I d i d eat. ( X . 1 3 7 - 1 4 3 ) Adam's response here stamps him as a coward. He i s p a t h e t i c . What i s more, he i s a l i a r , f o r Adam was not deceived. He w i l f u l l y disobeyed God. We could admire Adam i f he admitted that he had not been w i l l i n g to l i v e without Eve, and that he would r a t h e r die than be without her ( h i s r e a l reason f o r d i s o b e y i n g ) . But when he attempts to l e s s e n the g r a v i t y of h i s own s i n by implying ignorance, he i s despicable. The Son c o r r e c t l y c h a s t i z e s Adam, then, f o r abrogating h i s manhood. Adam i s c r i t i c i z e d f o r not c o r r e c t l y understanding h i s own d i g n i t y , f o r h i s want of magnanimity. Indeed, C h r i s t ' s indictment of Adam re v e a l s the r e a l nature of Adam's s i n : he has f a i l e d to recognize h i s worth as man. The Son says: WasJ? shee thy God, that her thou d i d s t obey Before h i s v o i c e , or was shee made thy guide, Superior, or but equal, that to her Thou d i d s t r e s i g n thy Manhood, and the Place Wherein God set thee above her made of thee, And f o r thee, whose p e r f e c t i o n f a r e x c e l l ' d Hers i n a l l r e a l d i g n i t y : Adorn'd She was indeed, and l o v e l y to a t t r a c t Thy l o v e , not thy S u b j e c t i o n , and her G i f t s Were such as under Government w e l l seem'd, Unseemly to bear r u l e , which was thy part And person, hadst thou known t h y s e l f a r i g h t . ( X . 1 4 5 - 1 5 6 ) S i m i l a r l y , when C h r i s t passes judgment on Adam, we discover that the emphasis i s once more placed upon man's abrogation of r e s p o n s i b i l i t y . 63 Because thou hast heark'n'd to the v o i c e of thy Wife, And eaten of the tree concerning which I charg'd thee, saying: Thou s h a l t not eat thereof, Curs'd i s the ground f o r thy sake . . . . (X. 198-201) As a C h r i s t i a n , M i l t o n had to embrace the d o c t r i n e that Adam was \"fondly overcome w i t h Female charm.\" I t i s obvious, however, that Adam's s i n r e s u l t e d from h i s f a i l u r e to recognize h i s own s u p e r i o r i t y . Adam was not--when he should have been--magnanimous. He i s now, as a r e s u l t , w h o l l y without d i g n i t y . Adam must r e a l i z e t h i s before he can be regen-erated as a worthy and d i g n i f i e d being, as magnanimous man. With the coming of S i n and Death, the p a r a d i s a l aspect of Eden i s transformed to a Hobbesian \"state of nature\". Adam discover s that the concord and harmony of p r e l a p s a r i a n Eden have given place to a l i f e t hat i s , indeed, \" s o l i t a r y , poor, nasty, b r u t i s h and s h o r t . \" Adam sees how Beast now w i t h Beast gan war, and Fowl w i t h Fowl, And F i s h w i t h F i s h ; to graze the Herb a l l l e a v i n g , Devour'd each other; nor stood much i n awe Of Man, but f l e d him, or w i t h count'nance grim Glar'd on him passing. . . . (X. 710-14) He sees, then, that he i s no longer the \"Master work\" of c r e a t i o n . He i s no longer recognized by the brute creatures as the su p e r i o r being, and he must r e a l i z e that he i s , i n f a c t , no b e t t e r than they, that he i s , indeed, worse. Adam's \" c o n v i c t i o n of s i n \" must be accompanied by awareness of h i s own d e p r a v i t y . Adam's p r o t r a c t e d complaint (X. 720-844) makes t h i s c l e a r . Adam's c a p a c i t y to reason becomes h i s bane. His reason informs him that the g u i l t i s h i s alone, but informs him, too, that he i s a 64 generator of e v i l and misery. His s i n w i l l be the source of misery f o r generations yet unborn. He i s a cancer. The only escape Adam can com-prehend i s death, and he welcomes i t s approach. But h i s reason a l s o robs him of t h i s hope. . . . Yet one doubt Pursues me s t i l l , l e s t a l l I cannot d i e , Lest that pure breath of L i f e , the S p i r i t of Man Which God i n s p i r ' d , cannot together p e r i s h With t h i s c o rporeal Clod; then i n the Grave, Or i n some other dismal p l a c e , who knows But I s h a l l die a l i v i n g Death? (X. 782-88) He f o n d l y hopes that God's wrath might be spent on him alone, but knows that he i s too f r a i l to bear that burden even i f shared w i t h Eve. His reason leads him i n t o a l a b y r i n t h of despair from which no escape i s p o s s i b l e . And conscience, which unbeknown to Adam i s God's g i f t whereby man might be helped to r e g a i n \"the b l i s s f u l seat\", becomes Adam's worst enemy. 0 Conscience, i n t o what Abyss of fears And h o r r o r s hast thou d r i v ' n me; out of which 1 f i n d no way, from deep to deeper plung'dl (X. 842-44) But Adam i s not yet f u l l y 'convicted' of h i s own s i n . He s t i l l blames 13 Eve f o r h i s miserable c o n d i t i o n . Adam's long harangue against woman seems to have b l i n d e d most readers to the f a c t that he f o r g i v e s Eve and accepts the c h i e f g u i l t as h i s . Her admission of g u i l t moves Adam to p i t y and to n o b i l i t y . Eve had declared (X. 930-36) that she would w i l l i n g l y accept the g u i l t and the punishment, and her a l t r u i s m moves Adam to a s s e r t that he would do 6 5 the same. But Adam knows th a t n e i t h e r of them can atone f o r man's d i s -obedience by t h e i r own v o l u n t a r y s a c r i f i c e . They do not know that that task remains f o r the \"one greater Man\", and they can, t h e r e f o r e , only speculate concerning what remains to be done by man. Adam's words, however, c o n t a i n an admission of personal g u i l t . He t e l l s Eve: . . . I f Prayers Could a l t e r high Decrees, I to that place Would speed before thee, and be louder heard, That on my head a l l might be v i s i t e d , Thy f r a i l t y and i n f i r m e r Sex f o r g i v ' n To me committed and by me expos'd. (my i t a l i c s ) But r i s e , l e t us no more contend, nor blame Each other, blam'd enough elsewhere, but s t r i v e In o f f i c e s of Love, how we may l i g h t ' n Each other's burden i n our share of woe. . . . ( x . 952-961) The very f a c t that Adam does not devote much sound and breath to h i s own mea culpa makes h i s admission more b e l i e v a b l e . He simply admits g u i l t and proceeds to reason how he and Eve may adapt themselves to t h e i r new c o n d i t i o n . Adam's repentance and h i s regeneration have begun. In De D o c t r i n a C h r i s t i a n a M i l t o n l i s t e d f i v e steps i n the process of repentance: \" c o n v i c t i o n of s i n , c o n t r i t i o n , c o n f e s s i o n , departure , . 1 4 from e v i l , and conversion to good. Adam has taken the f i r s t step towards regeneration by f o r g i v i n g Eve and a d m i t t i n g h i s own g u i l t . C o n t r i t i o n i s the second step and i s e q u a l l y d i f f i c u l t . That i s , Adam must accept and acknowledge h i s own d e p r a v i t y ; he must be broken i n order to be r e b u i l t . C o n v i c t i o n d i f f e r s from c o n t r i t i o n i n that the former r e q u i r e s that the sinner accept h i s g u i l t , whereas the l a t t e r r e q u i r e s he admit he i s powerless to atone f o r that g u i l t without the a i d of d i v i n e mercy. The c o n t r i t e man must admit that he i s too weak and 66 i n s i g n i f i c a n t to be capable of atoning f o r h i s s i n without God's help (grace). To the problem of how they should conduct themselves i n the face of God's curse, Eve proposes two s o l u t i o n s ; sexual abstinence and s u i c i d e . Adam commends her f o r the apparent s u p e r i o r i t y of mind her contempt fo r l i f e and pleasure manifests. But he c o r r e c t l y reasons that her thoughts are the product of her own \"anguish and re g r e t / For l o s s of l i f e and pleasure o v e r l o v ' d \" (X. 1018-19). Moreover, he reasons that God i s too wise to a l l o w them to escape the doom He has pr e s c r i b e d f o r them. Adam then remembers that the curse a l s o e n t a i l e d man's opportunity f o r revenge ag a i n s t Satan, and concludes that t h i s sweet revenge would not be p o s s i b l e i f he and Eve d i d not reproduce t h e i r species. But the problem w i t h both Adam's and Eve's reasoning here i s that they are t h i n k i n g of Godtas t h e i r enemy. He i s t h e i r adversary r a t h e r than t h e i r benefactor. Adam and Eve have not yet considered submission to the w i l l of God as t h e i r s a l v a t i o n , and i t i s only when Adam begins to reason without \"Rancor and p r i d e , impatience and d e s p i t e \" that r e a l repentance and regen e r a t i o n are p o s s i b l e . Adam and Eve's f i n a l r e s o l u t i o n to pray f o r d i v i n e mercy i s the cul m i n a t i o n of a long reasoning process (X. 1046-1096). Through the ex e r c i s e of h i s own reason, Adam comes to know t h a t ; God i s too powerful f o r man to f r u s t r a t e His grand design; God showed p i t y and compassion i n judging man, and must, t h e r e f o r e , be benevolent and m e r c i f u l ; the curse i t s e l f i s not completely sans j o i e , f o r the pains of c h i l d b i r t h are recompensed by the joys of parenthood, and labor i s not i n i t s e l f d e s picable. Knowing t h i s much, Adam c o r r e c t l y reasons that i f God can 67 be, and i s compassionate without human beings' e n t r e a t i e s , then he must s u r e l y be even more m e r c i f u l when e a r n e s t l y appealed t o . Adam recognizes, moreover, that without God's grace man i s powerless. He thus asks: What b e t t e r can we do, than to the place Rep a i r i n g where he judg'd us, p r o s t r a t e f a l l Before him rev e r e n t , and there confess Humbly our f a u l t s , and pardon beg, with tears Watering the ground, and with our sighs the A i r Frequenting, sent from hearts c o n t r i t e , i n s i g n Of sorrow unfeign'd, and h u m i l i a t i o n meek. (X. 1086-1093) The answer of course i s that there i s nothing b e t t e r to do. By under-standing and accepting that he depends on the mercy of a compassionate God, Adam i s c o n t r i t e . Confession i s the next step and an e a s i e r one. I t i s the v i s i b l e m a n i f e s t a t i o n of repentance and regeneration, the proof, as i t were, of conviction . j.and c o n t r i t i o n . Aware of t h e i r g u i l t and aware that they are powerless without God's grace, Adam and Eve can f r e e l y confess. The f i n a l step i n repentance i s more d i f f i c u l t , and Adam and Eve's \"departure from e v i l and conversion to good\" r e q u i r e s Michael's v i s i t to e a r t h . Though Adam and Eve have now become convinced of t h e i r g u i l t , have been c o n t r i t e , and have confessed t h e i r s i n , they have not yet learned that s t i l l more i s r e q u i r e d of man. They have not yet learned that \"to stand approv'd i n s i g h t of God\" r e q u i r e s more than passive submission to the w i l l of God. They must l e a r n , and i t i s Michael's job to teach them, that f a i t h f u l s e r v i c e to God demands human a c t i v i t y . Man must do a l l that l i e s i n h i s power to augment the g l o r y of God. He must be an a c t i v e and e n e r g e t i c worker on God's behalf. Departure from 68 e v i l and conversion to good are not a simple matter of passive obedience. On the c o n t r a r y , they e n t a i l \u00E2\u0080\u0094 i n d e e d d e m a n d \u00E2\u0080\u0094 w i l l f u l and a c t i v e s e r v i c e on the part of man. Whatever the o p p o s i t i o n might be, and regardless of the d i f f i c u l t i e s to be faced, man has a p o s i t i v e duty to continue the s t r u g g l e . Adam and Eve must l e a r n that the path i s not e a s i l y f o l l o w e d , that the road l e a d i n g to God i s hard to walk and w i l l demand a l l t h e i r s trength and power of w i l l . The good i s not to be a t t a i n e d without arduous and p a i n f u l l a b o r , and Michael's m i s s i o n i s to make t h i s v i v i d l y c l e a r to Adam and Eve. I t i s f o r t h i s reason thatxthe Archangel's announcement that Eden must be vacated i s made so p a i n f u l . Adam and Eve cannot, i n f a c t , pursue the good without s u f f e r i n g ; i t i s not an easy or a p a i n l e s s quest. This i s demonstrated even before Adam and Eve are informed of t h e i r e x p u l s i o n . When God announces Adam and Eve's banishment, he points out that they have l o s t t h e i r happiness (innocence) and i m m o r t a l i t y by t h e i r disobedience. But He a l s o announces that an escape from misery i s p o s s i b l e f o r Adam and Eve. God w i l l give them mortal pain and immortal happiness. For man, then, . . . Death becomes His f i n a l remedy, and a f t e r L i f e T r i ' d i n sharp t r i b u l a t i o n , and r e f i n ' d By F a i t h and f a i t h f u l works, to second L i f e , Wak't i n the renovation of the j u s t , Resigns him up with Heav'n and Earth renew'd. (XI. 61-67) Man's l o t , however, i s not whol l y p a i n f u l or miserable, though M i l t o n ' s God has an awkward h a b i t of making i t appear so. To judge from God's 69 words, l i f e becomes a p a i n f u l and wholly unpleasant n e c e s s i t y which i s o f f s e t only by the happiness rewarded a t the end of a v i r t u o u s l i f e . The happiness, of course, i s s u f f i c i e n t to make the pain bearable. But God makes i t c l e a r that human l i f e may be \" r e f i n ' d \" by f a i t h and f a i t h f u l works, and t h i s i s the ba s i s of the paradise \"happier f a r \" Michael u l t i m a t e l y promises to Adam and Eve. Human l i f e , we may assume, then, can be other than miserable or p a i n f u l . Michael's task i s to show Adam how t h i s may be accomplished. He must show them that human l i f e , though fraught w i t h pain and s u f f e r i n g , i s worthwhile. He must make i t c l e a r to Adam that l i f e can be a b l e s s i n g or a curse, t h a t , properly armed w i t h f a i t h , man's existence need not be wretched. The Archangel must demonstrate to Adam how man can v i n d i c a t e h i m s e l f i n the eyes of God and how he can earn the p r a i s e of God. From Michael's long h i s t o r y of the world and h i s prophecy of the world's f u t u r e , Adam a c q u i r e s , or should a c q u i r e , a knowledge of h i m s e l f \u00E2\u0080\u0094 o f man. His c a p a c i t y f o r heroism depends on h i s a b i l i t y to comprehend Michael's l e s s o n . He must l e a r n that i t remains a matter of personal choice whether he i s b e s t i a l or d i g n i f i e d , depraved or magnanimous. Adam must understand what man's new d u t i e s and r e s p o n s i b i l i t i e s are. Before Michael's r e v e l a t i o n of God's grand design f o r man, Adam i s presented to us as happy i n the ex p e c t a t i o n that h i s s i n w i l l be f o r g i v e n . He presumes that God w i l l be. m e r c i f u l and that happiness i s w i t h i n h i s grasp. Adam's presumption i s c o r r e c t , but he e r r s i n t h i n k i n g that h i s own regeneration and happiness are imminent. In few words Michael destroys Adam's i l l u s i o n s and hopes of an easy v i c t o r y . 70 Adam, Heav'n's high behest no Preface needs: S u f f i c i e n t that thy Prayers are heard, and Death, Then due by sentence when thou d i d s t t r a n s g r e s s , Defeated of h i s s e i z u r e many days Giv'n thee of Grace, wherein thou mayst repent, And one bad act w i t h many deeds w e l l done May'st cover: w e l l may then thy Lord appeas'd Redeem thee quite from Death's rapacious c l a i m ; But longer i n t h i s Paradise to d w e l l Permits not; to remove thee I am come, And send thee from the Garden f o r t h to t i l l The ground whence thou wast tak'n, f i t t e r S o i l . (XI. 251-62) The e f f e c t t h i s has on Adam and Eve i s staggering. When Adam regains h i s composure, however, he asks the Archangel what more of misery man must bear, and Michael r e p l i e s that Adam can . . . good w i t h bad Expect to hear, supernal Grace contending With s i n f u l n e s s of Men; thereby to l e a r n True patience, and to temper j o y w i t h f e a r And pious sorrow, e q u a l l y i n u r ' d By moderation e i t h e r s t a t e to bear, Prosperous or adverse: so s h a l t thou lead S afest thy l i f e , and best prepar'd endure Thy mortal passage when i t comes. (XI. 358-67) In the h i s t o r y of the world Michael shows and r e l a t e s to Adam, misery and h o r r o r are the scenes which predominate. The \"good\" i s most remarkable by i t s r e l a t i v e absence. Adam witnesses murder, the pains of growing o l d , the h o r r i b l e r e s u l t s of sensual pleasure, carnage, butchery, l u s t , and d e p r a v i t y . Man's inhumanity to man and man's b e s t i a l i t y are the feature a t t r a c t i o n s of Michael's grim s p e c t a c l e . But from a l l t h i s h o r r o r Adam le a r n s that f o r v i r t u o u s men something more i s p o s s i b l e . He learns that c e r t a i n men can be accepted by God and can please God. He discov e r s that God cares enough f o r i n d i v i d u a l men that he w i l l not destroy a l l 71 men. Adam l e a r n s , moreover, that some men can be heroes of God. Michael r e l a t e s the careers of Enoch and Noah to show Adam the path the v i r t u o u s man must f o l l o w . Both men are unshakeable i n t h e i r f a i t h , and are not swayed by the opinions of the mu l t i t u d e . Both men have the courage of t h e i r conviction.] they speak out against s i n and e v i l . Thus, Enoch \"spake much of Right and Wrong, / Of J u s t i c e , of R e l i g i o n , Truth and Peace, / and Judgment from above\" (XI. 666-668). His was an a c t i v e v i r t u e . Noah's behavior i s a l s o a case i n point. Noah viewed the s i n f u l a c t i v i t i e s of men and he \" d e c l a r ' d \" h i s d i s l i k e ; he \" t e s t i f i ' d \" a g a i n s t t h e i r ways, and he \"preach'd\" (XI. 720-724;. The i t a l i c s are mine). The important point i s that both Enoch and Noah a c t i v e l y f o l l o w the law of God, and a c t i v e l y s t r i v e to disseminate His t r u t h . Both, too, are w i l l i n g to s u f f e r f o r the j u s t cause. Both view the b e s t i a l aspect of man's being, and both struggle to make reason r u l e r over passion. From t h i s Adam learns that the f a i t h f u l servant of God must be an a c t i v e being i n order to be worthy. In the a n t e d i l u v i a n period of h i s t o r y man's own righteousness i s not s u f f i c i e n t , f o r he must str u g g l e to show others the way to God. Adam learns from the h i s t o r i e s of Enoch and Noah that t r u t h ' s s e r v i c e i s never easy. Pain and s u f f e r i n g , indeed, are a part of the hero's career. Adam l e a r n s , moreover, that i t i s not f o r a l l men to be servants of God, f o r the task i s too hard f o r most. He discover s from Michael's h i s t o r y of a n t e d i l u v i a n man that men, f o r the most p a r t , are wretched cr e a t u r e s . But he a l s o learns that men can be superi o r beings \u00E2\u0080\u0094 i f they recognize t h e i r own w o r t h \u00E2\u0080\u0094 i f they recognize and reverence the image of the d i v i n e i n themselves. Adam learns that he can be e i t h e r d i g n i f i e d or b e s t i a l . He has been both, and i t remains f o r him to choose which he w i l l be now. The magnanimous man recognizes h i s s u p e r i o r i t y by h i s demonstrated a b i l i t y to persevere i n the cause of t r u t h . From the f i r s t part of Michael's h i s t o r y Adam discovers man's d u a l i t y of nature. He f i n d s out that he, too, can be e i t h e r man or beast. He can remain wretched or depraved, or he can prove h i m s e l f worthy i n God's eyes and i n h i s own. Raphael had warned him of the r e s u l t s man's f a i l u r e to l i v e by reason would have. Michael now shows him the r e s u l t s . H o r r i f i e d by what he sees, and shamed by the knowledge that he i s the f i r s t cause of the misery and wretchedness he witnesses, Adam has p a i n f u l l y acquired self-knowledge. This i s the i n i t i a l step i n h i s process of becoming magnanimous. The second and t h i r d steps are more complex, f o r they r e q u i r e that Adam be aware of God's grand design f o r man. As a C h r i s t i a n poet, M i l t o n was o b l i g a t e d to make h i s h e r o i c man a C h r i s t i a n . Though t h i s may sound a l i t t l e fatuous here, or at l e a s t s e l f - e v i d e n t , i t i s not. The problem, as Burton Kurth has demon-s t r a t e d , was that the e x p l o i t s of the Old Testament f i g u r e s were not s a t i s f a c t o r y models f o r the C h r i s t i a n hero. The careers of these men and women were inadequate because the i n d i v i d u a l s d i d not know of God's 15 o v e r a l l design, the course of u n i v e r s a l h i s t o r y . True heroism or magnanimity, as M i l t o n understood i t , was not, i n f a c t , p o s s i b l e u n t i l the coming of C h r i s t . Because Adam i s informed of the course of u n i v e r s a l h i s t o r y , because he le a r n s of the cosmic s t r u g g l e between good and e v i l , however, he has the opportunity to be a h e r o i c man. Adam learns of C h r i s t ' 73 m i n i s t r y , h i s c r u c i f i x i o n , h i s r e s u r r e c t i o n , and h i s second coming, and i s thus equipped w i t h the same in f o r m a t i o n the C h r i s t i a n hero i s re q u i r e d to have i n order to be t r u l y h e r o i c . This w i l l be made c l e a r e r by a b r i e f examination of the C h r i s t i a n view of h i s t o r y . A f t e r Adam and Eve's disobedience man l i v e s i n a sta t e of s i n . His c a p a c i t y to reason has diminished and he must struggle to overcome h i s passions. In De Doctrina C h r i s t i a n a M i l t o n contended that man's s i n 16 had lessened man's power to determine \"the c h i e f good\". Man's s i n f u l c o n d i t i o n demanded that he be on guard, f o r as Michael t e l l s Adam, Since thy o r i g i n a l lapse, true L i b e r t y Is l o s t , which always w i t h r i g h t Reason dwells Twinn'd, and from her hath no d i v i d u a l being: Reason i n man obscur'd, or not obey'd, Immediately i n o r d i n a t e d e s i r e s And u p s t a r t Passions catch the Government From Reason, and to servitude reduce Man t i l l then f r e e . ( X I I . 83-90) Because of man's inherent d e p r a v i t y , h i s i n a b i l i t y to reason r i g h t l y , God revealed His w i l l to men through prophets. Men were o b l i g a t e d to f o l l o w God's law as revealed, f o r without the law men would soon lapse i n t o s i n f u l behavior. A man's self-knowledge amounted to r e c o g n i t i o n of h i s own need f o r the law, f o r t h i s was the b a r r i e r which prevented him from descending to a lower, b e s t i a l form of being. T h e o r e t i c a l l y , men could be aware of t h e i r own d i g n i t y by how w e l l they adhered to the precepts of the law. That i s , men were aware of t h e i r d i g n i t y by t h e i r obedience to God's w i l l as tran s m i t t e d by the law. They could, i n a some-what r e s t r i c t e d sense, be magnanimous. T h e o r e t i c a l l y , man could a l s o pursue the honor and g l o r y of God before the coming of C h r i s t . His p u r s u i t 74 of g l o r y , however, was d i r e c t e d to the lea d e r s h i p of God's chosen people. That i s , he could honor or g l o r i f y God by e n f o r c i n g God's law and d i r e c t i n g His people i n t h e i r worship of God. But the p u r s u i t of honor and g l o r y are a l s o circumscribed while man i s l i v i n g i n s i n . The same g u l f that e x i s t e d between heaven and eart h i n the sta t e of innocence i s s t i l l present. Man's l i f e i s sharply separated from God and from heaven, and the g l o r y he pursues i s e a r t h l y g l o r y (the Kingdom of I s r a e l ) that w i l l please God. Magnanimity as contemplation i s not pos s i b l e f o r man while he l i v e s i n s i n . He was too depraved ( s i n f u l ) to a s p i r e to knowledge of God i n t h i s l i f e . Contemplation, the intimat e knowledge of and union w i t h God, was the end of a v i r t u o u s l i f e , the reward f o r obedience. Knowledge of God was p o s s i b l e f o r only a few men, f o r those e s p e c i a l l y chosen by God to be His prophets. Man's l o t , however, d i d not permit contemplation i n t h i s l i f e . C h r i s t ' s coming changed a l l of t h i s . With the ADVENT the law was replaced by a new covenant, a \" b e t t e r \" one i n M i l t o n ' s view, f o r , as Michael t e l l s Adam, the law i s a temporary measure, and imperfect ( X I I . 300-306). The new di s p e n s a t i o n placed emphasis on the inward man, and man proved h i s obedience by f a i t h r a t h e r than by s t r i c t obedience to the law. Under the law, those who t r u s t e d i n God were j u s t i f i e d by f a i t h indeed, but not without the works of the law . .... . The gospel, on the c o n t r a r y , j u s t i f i e s by f a i t h without the works of the law. Wherefore, we being freed from the works of the law, no longer f o l l o w the l e t t e r , but the 1 7 s p i r i t ; doing the works of f a i t h , not of the law. The new covenant d i f f e r e d from the o l d a l s o i n p l a c i n g s p e c i a l emphasis on man's free choice. As M i l t o n e x p l a i n s , 75 Moses imposed the l e t t e r , or e x t e r n a l law, even on those who were not w i l l i n g to r e c e i v e i t ; whereas C h r i s t w r i t e s the inward law of God by h i s S p i r i t on the hearts of b e l i e v e r s , and leads them as w i l l i n g f o l l o w e r s . 1 8 Because of t h i s new emphasis on freedom of choice, the a c q u i s i t i o n of self-knowledge becomes strenuous. Men can be e i t h e r depraved or worthy and d i g n i f i e d . More i m p o r t a n t l y , men can be e i t h e r f o r or against God. I f they accept C h r i s t as the Son of God they become workers i n the s e r v i c e of God; i f they deny Him, they become workers i n the s e r v i c e of Satan. Man can a t t a i n a sense of worth by h i s a b i l i t y to persevere i n the s t r u g g l e a g a i n s t e v i l , and magnanimity i n the context of s e l f -knowledge thus takes on a whole new, and broader meaning. Man's l i f e i s no longer r e s t r i c t e d i n the sense that h i s l i f e i s e n t i r e l y a means of o b t a i n i n g h i s own s a l v a t i o n or damnation. Rather, human l i f e becomes the means by which man can g l o r i f y God. The v i r t u o u s man's l i f e n a t u r a l l y becomes devoted to the s e r v i c e of God, and the s u p e r i o r man a c t i v e l y pursues honor and g l o r y . He i s magnanimous. The new d i s p e n s a t i o n C h r i s t o f f e r e d a l s o made i t p o s s i b l e f o r a l l men to know God by f a i t h f u l l y a c cepting Jesus C h r i s t as the Son. A l l men now had the p o t e n t i a l f o r contemplation. Though M i l t o n was very c a r e f u l to point out that p e r f e c t i o n was not p o s s i b l e i n t h i s l i f e , he nonetheless makes i t c l e a r that men can i m p e r f e c t l y experience the d i v i n e presence while on e a r t h . By becoming \" i n g r a f t e d \" i n C h r i s t , the regenerate man can be reborn i n t o a b e t t e r and higher k i n d of l i f e , a \"newness\" of l i f e which i s more s p i r i t u a l , more contemplative. 76 NEWNESS OF LIFE i s that by which we are said to l i v e unto God. . . . The primary functions of the new l i f e are comprehension of s p i r i -tual things, and love of holiness. And as the power of exercising these functions was weakened and i n a manner destroyed by the s p i r i t u a l death /man's disobedience^, so i s the understanding restored i n great part to i t s primitive clearness, and the w i l l to i t s primitive l i b e r t y , by the new s p i r i t u a l l i f e i n C h r i s t . ^ By becoming \"implanted\" i n Christ, the believer attains some knowledge of God. Indeed, as Jesus t o l d the Pharisees: \"the Kingdom of God i s within you\" (Luke XVII, 21). But the Christian can know God i n another way too. The Holy S p i r i t walks with man on earth. The t h i r d member of the T r i n i t y serves as man's comforter, and as man's l i n k with the divine being. When Adam asks Michael how i t i s that men can be strong enough to suffer persecution for truth's sake, the Archangel t e l l s him that God . . . to his own a Comforter w i l l send, The promise of the Father, who s h a l l dwell His S p i r i t within them, and the Law of Faith Working through love, upon t h / i r hearts s h a l l write, To guide them i n a l l truth, and also arm With s p i r i t u a l Armor, able to r e s i s t Satan 1s assaults, and quench his f i e r y darts, What Man can do against them, not a f r a i d , Though to the death, against such c r u e l t i e s With inward consolations recompens't, And o f t supported so as s h a l l amaze Thir proudest persecutors. . . . (XII. 486-497) What we might choose to c a l l f a i t h i s , for the believer, tantamount to a knowledge of God. I f man wholeheartedly accepts Christ, he has attained some knowledge of the divine, for the Christian accepts as truth that: \"Blessed are the pure i n heart: for they s h a l l see God\" (Matthew V,8). 20 Because Adam i s informed of a l l of t h i s , he can be a hero. 77 Equipped w i t h self-knowledge (the nature of man), Adam can possess a sense of worth or d i g n i t y . F u r t h e r , knowing that man's l i f e i s a small part of the cosmic or u n i v e r s a l struggle between good and e v i l , Adam can pursue the honor or g l o r y of God. And, armed w i t h f a i t h , Adam can apparently contemplate God, can achieve a p a r t i a l or imperfect knowledge of God. Adam can be magnanimous. Though i t i s true that c e r t a i n chosen men l i v i n g before the time of C h r i s t could be h e r o i c because i n d i r e c t communication w i t h God, f o r the masses of men r e a l heroism was an impos-s i b i l i t y . C h r i s t i a n i t y o f f e r e d the p o t e n t i a l f o r r e a l heroism to a l l men. C h r i s t showed men how they could g l o r i f y God and showed them how they could gain some knowledge of God while they remained on e a r t h . Indeed, Adam's second education, h i s preparation f o r heroism, only r e a l l y begins when Michael t e l l s him of C h r i s t ' s m i n i s t r y and e x p l a i n s how the inward paradise \"happier f a r \" might be r e a l i z e d . When he le a r n s that C h r i s t ' s m i s s i o n i s to destroy e v i l , Adam expects to hear of a magnificent p h y s i c a l combat between the Son and Satan. Michael informs him, however, that the b a t t l e i s not to be h e r o i c i n any conventional sense of the term. Adam i s introduced to a \"more h e r o i c \" contest i n which good overcomes e v i l not by strength but by weakness. He learns that \". . . God hath chosen the f o o l i s h things of the world to confound the -wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the mighty\" ( I Co r i n t h i a n s I , 27). The C h r i s t i a n mystique w i t h i t s p a r a d o x i c a l emphasis on great strength i n weakness, i s the l e s s o n Adam must l e a r n . C h r i s t w i l l overcome Satanic strength w i t h d i v i n e weakness. He w i l l r e s i s t and r e j e c t s i n and w i l l d i e only to l i v e 78 again. His apparent weakness, h i s p a t i e n t endurance of pain, s u f f e r i n g , and death, becomes h i s great s t r e n g t h , f o r by r e s i s t i n g s i n and by being r e s u r r e c t e d , he proves that e v i l ' s great strength ( S i n and Death) i s powerless. Ostensible weakness i s r e a l l y great s t r e n g t h and has the f i n a l v i c t o r y . C h r i s t i s he r o i c because he v o l u n t a r i l y o f f e r s to s u f f e r and to d i e so that he might redeem man and destroy e v i l . Man, by f o l l o w i n g C h r i s t ' s example, can a l s o c o n t r i b u t e to the d e s t r u c t i o n of e v i l . Man can be free from s i n (\"dead to s i n \" ) and can be r e s u r r e c t e d w i t h C h r i s t . The C h r i s t i a n hero's duty, then, i s to p a t i e n t l y endure the torments of e v i l , and thereby a i d i n the d e s t r u c t i o n of e v i l . Adam learns that he can be a part of the u n i v e r s a l c o n f l i c t , that he can co n t r i b u t e to e v i l ' s d e s t r u c t i o n . Knowing t h i s , Adam can have a sense of purpose and a con-v i c t i o n of h i s own worth. He can devote h i s l i f e to the p u r s u i t of God's g l o r y and honor. For the C h r i s t i a n , to f o l l o w C h r i s t i s to g l o r i f y the Fa t h e r , \". . . Jesus s a i d , ( s i c . ) Now i s the Son of man g l o r i f i e d , and God i s g l o r i f i e d i n him. I f God be g l o r i f i e d i n him, God s h a l l a l s o g l o r i f y him i n hi m s e l f , and s h a l l straightway g l o r i f y him. (John X I I I , 30-31) Man's a b i l i t y to persevere i n the cause of righteousness even though t h i s may mean pers e c u t i o n , pleases and g l o r i f i e s God. Indeed, God can be g l o r i f i e d by any good and v i r t u o u s a c t . M i l t o n contended that the Holy S c r i p t u r e s were w r i t t e n f o r the \"promotion of the g l o r y of God, and the 21 s a l v a t i o n of mankind.\" The true worship (love) of the d i v i n e c o n s i s t e d i n \"good works\" and served to promote the g l o r y of God. 79 GOOD WORKS are THOSE WHICH WE PERFORM BY THE SPIRIT OF GOD WORKING IN US THROUGH TRUE FAITH, TO THE GLORY OF GOD, THE ASSURED HOPE OF OUR OWN SALVATION, AND THE EDIFICATION OF' OUR NEIGHBOR.22 For the C h r i s t i a n hero, then, l i f e i s a b a t t l e against the forc e s of e v i l which, i f fought strenuously and s u c c e s s f u l l y , serves to g l o r i f y God. As Michael t e l l s Adam, \"add / Deeds to thy knowledge answerable . . . . \" (XI I . 581-582) We thus l e a r n that Adam has a p o s i t i v e duty to execute i n l i f e ; he i s to be a servant of God working f o r the g l o r y of God. He i s to be magnanimous. Whether we can consider Adam a p o t e n t i a l l y contemplative being when he leaves Eden, however, depends on the pre c i s e meaning we as s i g n to \"Providence\". I have s a i d that Adam, because he i s aware of C h r i s t ' s redemptive m i s s i o n , and because he i s aware of God's grand design, may have the c a p a c i t y f o r knowing God while he (Adam) yet remains on e a r t h . M i l t o n points out i n De Doctrina C h r i s t i a n a , however, that God's comforter 23 was \"sent by the Son from the f a t h e r . \" M i l t o n does not say whether Adam, e x i s t i n g before C h r i s t ' s coming, had the advantage of the Holy S p i r i t ' s a i d . I t h i n k that M i l t o n would argue he d i d not. Adam would not, then, have the same c a p a c i t y f o r heroism that the b e l i e v i n g C h r i s t i a n d i d . M i l t o n would accept t h i s o p i n i o n , I b e l i e v e , because i t would make C h r i s t ' s advent more meaningful to men. That i s , p e r f e c t heroism i s only p o s s i b l e w i t h the p h y s i c a l a r r i v a l of C h r i s t , and C h r i s t , t h e r e f o r e , deserves a l l the more thanks and praise f o r h i s goodness. Adam has only conscience ( r i g h t reason) and \"Providence\" to guide him. His power to reason, because regenerated, w i l l enable him to d i f f e r e n t i a t e between good and e v i l , but whether he has any k i n d of contact w i t h the d i v i n e presence 80 we cannot know f o r c e r t a i n . Providence i s the only p o s s i b l e a l t e r n a t i v e to the Holy S p i r i t . In,De Doctrina C h r i s t i a n a M i l t o n defined providence as God's government of the uni v e r s e , as the d i v i n e p r i n c i p l e making f o r order. There can be no doubt that every t h i n g i n the world, by the beauty of i t s order, and evidence of a determinate and b e n e f i c i a l purpose which pervades i t , t e s t i f i e s that some supreme e f f i c i e n t Power must have p r e - e x i s t e d , by which the whole was ordained f o r a s p e c i f i c end. There can a l s o be no'.;doubt that M i l t o n b e l i e v e d Adam l e f t paradise to dwel l i n a benevolent universe where God permitted e v i l to f l o u r i s h so that man could prove h i s righteousness. But whether p r e - C h r i s t i a n man could a c t u a l l y experience the d i v i n e presence, could a c t u a l l y acquire any knowledge of God, i s a debatable point and one that my remarks here w i l l not l i k e l y r e s o l v e . I wish to point out, however, that Adam was very l i k e l y incapable of c o n t e m p l a t i o n \u00E2\u0080\u0094 o f complete and pe r f e c t h e r o i s m \u00E2\u0080\u0094 f o r that r e q u i r e d the mediation of C h r i s t . Regardless of whether we choose to c a l l Adam a p e r f e c t M i l t o n i c hero or,-not, however, one f a c t i s sure: Adam i s more h e r o i c a f t e r the f a l l than he was before i t . His new l i f e i s a challenge which he knows w i l l demand a l l h i s w i l l and h i s str e n g t h . He has a greater sense of worth now because he knows that he can be a s o l d i e r of God i n the war aga i n s t e v i l . He knows that he has been, and s t i l l i s weak, but knows, too, that he can be strong. Armed w i t h a new sense of purpose he can be stronger than before. In paradise, Adam had b l i s s f u l l i f e created f o r him; on eart h he must create h i s own. Indeed, before the f a l l , Adam's world was before him and he owned i t a l l . Now i t i s f o r him to choose h i s own \"place of r e s t . \" F e l i x culpa! FOOTNOTES: CHAPTER I I I 1 Works, XIV, pp. 181-83. 2 Arthur 0. Lovejoy, \" M i l t o n and the Paradox of the Fortunate F a l l \" i n Essays i n the H i s t o r y of Ideas (New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1968), pp. 294-95. 3 B a s i l W i l l e y , The Seventeenth-Century Background (New York: Doubleday and Company, Inc., 1953), pp. 250-51. 4 I b i d . , p. 255. 5Works, XIV, p. 251. 6 I b i d . , p. 343. ? I b i d . , p. 367. 8 I b i d . 9 I b i d . , p. 379. 10 C.S. Lewis, A Preface to \"Paradise L o s t \" (New York: Oxford U n i v e r s i t y Press, 1961), p. 134. ^ I n the second book of De Doctrin a C h r i s t i a n a M i l t o n discusses prudence as one of the dut i e s owing to both God and man. Belonging to the understanding, prudence i s \"that v i r t u e by which we d i s c e r n what i s proper to be done under the va r i o u s circumstances of time and p l a c e \" (Works, XVII, p. 37). 12 Works, XV, p. 385. 13 E.M.W. T i l l y a r d argues, and w i t h some j u s t i f i c a t i o n , that Adam's passionate outcry against women (X. 888-908) \" i s of course M i l t o n ' s own v o i c e , unable through the urgency of personal experience to keep s i l e n t . \" This o p i n i o n , i t seems to me, f a i l s to recognize that Adam i s wholly depraved when he speaks. Before Adam can be regenerated, before he can, i n f a c t , become noble, he must acknowledge h i s own g u i l t as the c h i e f one. Adam i s never allowed to f o r g e t that i t was h i s r e s p o n s i b i l i t y to manage h i s w i f e . See: E.M.W. T i l l y a r d , M i l t o n (London: Chatto and Windus, 1956), P. 265. 82 14 ..Works, XV, p. 385. 15 Kurth, M i l t o n and the Renaissance Heroic T r a d i t i o n , pp. 57-79. 1 6Works, XV, p. 206. 1 7 I b i d . , XVI, p. 151. 18 T... I b i d . 19 T... , I b i d . , p. 5. 20 At the Last Supper Jesus t o l d h i s d i s c i p l e s : \"But the Comforter, which i s the Holy Ghost, whom the Father w i l l send i n my name, he s h a l l teach you a l l t h i n g s , and b r i n g a l l things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have s a i d unto you\" (John XIV, 26). 21 Works, XIV, p. 17. 22 Works, XVII, p. 5. 2 3 I b i d . , XIV, p. 24 I b i d . , p. 27. CHAPTER IV SAMSON: MAGNANIMITY AGONISTES For we our selves are as great enemies to our s a l -v a t i o n as e i t h e r the world or the d i v e l . For our understanding, reason, w i l l and a f f e c t i o n s , are al t o g e t h e r against us. Our n a t u r a l wisdom i s an enemy unto us. Our concupisences and l u s t s do m i n i s t e r strength to Satan's temptations. They are a l i n league w i t h Satan against us. They take part w i t h him, i n every t h i n g , a g a i n s t us and our s a l v a -t i o n . They f i g h t a l under h i s standard, and re c e i v e t h e i r pay of him. This then goeth hard on our s i d e , that the d i v e l l hath an inward party against us: and we c a r r i e alwaies w i t h i n us our great e s t enemie, which i s ever r e a d i e , night and day, to betray us i n t o the hands of Satan; y e t , to unbolt the doore, and l e t him i n , to cut our t h r o a t s . Here then we see an huge army of d r e a d f u l l enemies, and a very Legion of d i v e l s , l y i n g i n ambush, against our soules. Are not we t h e r f o r e poore wretches, i n a most p i t t i f u l case, which are thus besieged on every - side? A r t h u r Dent The Plaine-Mans Path-way to Heaven (1601) To look at the career of a p r e - C h r i s t i a n man i n the hope of d i s -c overing M i l t o n ' s f i n a l statement of what c o n s t i t u t e s h e r o i c v i r t u e would seem to c o n t r a d i c t a l l that has been s a i d i n t h i s essay. C r i t i c s of Samson Agonistes, however, have attempted, and w i t h considerable success, to show that Samson, i n the f i n a l a n a l y s i s , i s M i l t o n ' s most s u c c e s s f u l rendering of h e r o i c man. W r i t i n g i n 1949, F.M. Krouse i n h i s f u l l - l e n g t h study of Samson Agonistes, points out M i l t o n ' s Samson i s a model of C h r i s t i a n heroism and v i r t u e . M i l t o n , Krouse contends, drew from a r i c h and v a r i e d l i t e r a r y t r a d i t i o n surrounding the b i b l i c a l Samson, and made h i s own pro t a g o n i s t anf. exemplary image of C h r i s t i a n v i r t u e f o r a l l men to emulate. Krouse w r i t e s : 84 The Samson we meet i n M i l t o n ' s play i s a s a i n t , a champion of God, a great hero, who, through h i s own f a u l t , has f a i l e d i n h i s v o c a t i o n , f a l l e n from v i r t u e and grace, and s o r e l y repented. Indeed, f o l l o w i n g Krouse's l e a d , more recent c r i t i c s of M i l t o n ' s tragedy have made a concerted e f f o r t to demonstrate that the E n g l i s h poet's play could w e l l be a chapter i n the New Testament. W r i t i n g i n 1959, A.S.P. Woodhouse points out that the r e l i g i o n permeating Samson Agonistes i s not Hebraic but d i s t i n c t i v e l y C h r i s t i a n . i 2 The t e n s i o n i n the poem i s between mans freedom and God's providence. John M. Steadman, by astute and lengthy references to the t h e o l o g i c a l w r i t i n g s of M i l t o n ' s contemporaries and to M i l t o n ' s own d i s c u s s i o n of C h r i s t i a n d o c t r i n e , r e v e a l s that M i l t o n ' s Samson, though l i v i n g i n the o l d d i s p e n s a t i o n , can s t i l l be a \"hero of f a i t h . \" Samson \"conforms to 3 the law of the s p i r i t i n c o n t r a d i s t i n c t i o n w i t h the w r i t t e n law.\" The f a c t that Samson was a N a z a r i t e , a l l the c r i t i c s agree, does not i n any way d e t r a c t from h i s p o t e n t i a l i t y f o r C h r i s t i a n heroism. Because Samson i s f a l l e n man whose p a i n f u l s u f f e r i n g does not make him despair of the f u l f i l m e n t of God's promise to him, he i s a s u i t a b l e model f o r the d e l i n e a t i o n of C h r i s t i a n heroism. Samson conforms to the h e r o i c p a t t e r n o u t l i n e d by Burton Kurth. In the C h r i s t i a n view, there was not only the heroism of the a c t i v e s t r u g g l e w i t h e v i l f o r c e s , but a l s o the heroism of s a c r i f i c e and submission to the w i l l of God i n order that greater good might be achieved, the v i c t o r i o u s s u f f e r i n g of the martyrs and s a i n t s . Furthermore, the contest w i t h e v i l was seen not only as a t e s t of the C h r i s t i a n hero's n o b i l i t y and s p i r i t u a l s t r e n g t h , but a l s o as the means whereby he might gain greater wisdom and f a i t h . T r i a l and s u f f e r i n g began to emerge as the c h i e f measures of the C h r i s t i a n hero, whose v i r t u e and steadfastness were thus e x e m p l i f i e d and proved.^ 85 I t i s no longer subject to d i s p u t e , then, to regard M i l t o n ' s Samson as an exemplar of C h r i s t i a n h e r o i s m . S a m s o n , though l i v i n g before the advent of C h r i s t , can, apparently, be a pe r f e c t M i l t o n i c hero. At r i s k of appearing to have constructed a k i n d of \"straw man\" argument by o u t l i n i n g the modern c r i t i c a l o p i n i o n concerning M i l t o n ' s play, I must point out that I t h i n k the c r i t i c s have ignored one extremely important element: M i l t o n ' s treatment of the N a z a r i t e c l e a r l y shows that Samson's heroism i s imperfect, imperfect i n the sense that Samson's contemporaries do not c o r r e c t l y understand M i l t o n ' s grounds f o r c o n s i d e r i n g Samson a hero. Samson Agon i s t e s , i n f a c t , contains an i m p l i c i t r e j e c t i o n of Samson's p h y s i c a l heroism, and the poem thus embraces a subtle but nonetheless grand i r o n y . That i s , Samson's d e s t r u c t i o n of the P h i l i s t i n e s ' temple i s a symbolic a c t . Samson, by p u l l i n g down the p i l l a r s , s y m b o l i c a l l y destroys e v i l . But i t i s h i s p h y s i c a l act of d e s t r u c t i o n that h i s f r i e n d s p r a i s e ; they admire \"might\" and c a l l i t \"heroic v i r t u e . \" In Samson Agonistes, l i k e Paradise L o s t , M i l t o n set out to r e v e a l the i n f e r i o r c o n d i t i o n i n which men l i v e d before the time of C h r i s t . I c a l l t h i s chapter \"Magnanimity Ago n i s t e s \" f o r two reasons: f i r s t , Samson i s magnanimous man who loses h i s own sense of worth and must s t r u g g l e to r e g a i n i t ; secondly, the concept of magnanimity i t s e l f i s on t r i a l i n M i l t o n ' s play, f o r M i l t o n demonstrates t h a t , u n t i l C h r i s t ' s advent, true heroism, magnanimity, was n e i t h e r understood nor recognized by men. Samson, because d i r e c t l y chosen by God and because, we may assume, i n d i r e c t communication w i t h God, can be a bona f i d e C h r i s t i a n hero. But Samson's contemporaries, not equipped w i t h the same intimat e knowledge of 86 God that Samson has, cannot comprehend Samson's heroism. When we f i r s t meet Samson, he i s the image of f a l l e n humanity, the eikon of depraved and s i n f u l man. The nature of h i s s i n demands our f i r s t c o n s i d e r a t i o n . Samson knows that he was born \"a person separate to 6 God, /Design'd f o r great e x p l o i t s . . . \" (31-32). He knows, moreover, that h i s great s t r e n g t h was the g i f t of God, given so that Samson might g l o r i f y God by d e l i v e r i n g h i s people from t h e i r slavery, to the P h i l i s t i n e s . Before h i s s i n , Samson knew, then, that he was a superi o r man, one whose l i f e was to be dedicated and devoted to the s e r v i c e of God. Because of the supernatural circumstances surrounding h i s b i r t h and because of h i s supernatural s t r e n g t h , Samson was o b l i g a t e d to be conscious of h i s own worth. His s i n r e s u l t e d from a f a i l u r e on h i s part to recognize h i s own worth and d i g n i t y as a servant of God. L i k e Adam, Samson forgot or ignored h i s r e s p o n s i b i l i t y ; he thereby repudiated h i s own worth and d i g n i t y . Indeed, Samson's b i t t e r complaint i s focused on t h i s matter: he complains that he has betrayed h i m s e l f and, i m p l i c i t l y , God's t r u s t . He has revealed the source of h i s stre n g t h to an i n f e r i o r , an enemy of h i s people and h i s God. Though Samson's f i r s t impulse i s to impute the f a u l t to God (35-42), he r e a l i z e s that the weakness i s h i s own and upbraids h i m s e l f . Whom have I to complain of but myself? Who t h i s high g i f t of strength committed to me, In what part lodg'd, how e a s i l y b e r e f t me, Under the s e a l of s i l e n c e could not keep, But weakly to a woman must r e v e a l i t , O'ercome w i t h importunity and t e a r s . 0 impotence of mind, i n body strong! (46-52) Samson's s i n , then, amounts to h i s f a i l u r e to act as b e f i t s a super i o r man. This can perhaps be made c l e a r e r by re f e r e n c e to De Doctri n a C h r i s t i a n a 87 where M i l t o n o u t l i n e s the v i c e s opposed to magnanimity: ambitious s p i r i t , p r i d e , and p u s i l l a n i m i t y . ^ Does Samson's s i n , i n the same way as Adam's, r e v e a l that he i s g u i l t y of any or a l l of these? M i l t o n contended, by quoting from S c r i p t u r e , that \" f o r men to search t h e i r own g l o r y i s not g l o r y \" (Proverbs XXV, 27). To do so would be to have an ambitious s p i r i t . M i l t o n ' s Samson, however, devoted h i s l i f e to the p u r s u i t of God's g l o r y . He i s not g u i l t y on t h i s account. The g u i l t here, however, i s not wholly absent. I t i s Manoa's. He, by repeatedly p r a i s i n g h i s son f o r the l a t t e r ' s 'heroic' e x p l o i t s , i s a c t u a l l y tempting Samson to be ambitious, to pursue h i s own g l o r y r a t h e r than the g l o r y of God. For example, when Manoa b e l i e v e s he has been s u c c e s s f u l i n arranging Samson's r e l e a s e from the m i l l , he says: I t s h a l l be my d e l i g h t to tend h i s eyes, And view him s i t t i n g i n the house ennobl'd With a l l those high e x p l o i t s by him achiev'd, And on h i s shoulders waving down those l o c k s , That of a Nation arm'd the strength contain'd . . . . (1490-1494) Samson's f a t h e r wants to g l o r i f y Samson and, v i c a r i o u s l y , h i m s e l f . He thus complains against God's j u s t i c e when he sees h i s son's wretched c o n d i t i o n . 0 wherefore d i d God grant me my request, And as a b l e s s i n g w i t h such pomp adorn'd? Why are h i s g i f t s d e s i r a b l e ; to tempt Our earnest Prayers, then, g i v ' n w i t h solemn hand As Graces, draw a Scorpion's t a i l behind? For t h i s d i d t h ' Angel twice descend? f o r t h i s O rdain 1d thy nurture h o l y , as of a P l a n t ? S e l e c t and Sacred, Gl o r i o u s f o r a w h i l e , The m i r a c l e of men: then i n an hour Ensnar'd, a s s a u l t e d , overcome, l e d bound Thy Foes' d e r i s i o n , Captive, Poor, and B l i n d , Into a Dungeon t h r u s t , to work w i t h Slaves? (356-367) 88 I t might be argued i n Manoa's defence that he i s a heartbroken o l d man whose l i f e has come cras h i n g down around him. But M i l t o n , besides making the o l d man blame God i n order that Samson might be compelled to reason that the f a u l t i s not God's, makes i t c l e a r , too, that the o l d man i s g u i l t y of an ambitious s p i r i t . He wants g l o r y f o r Samson and f o r himse l f as Samson's f a t h e r . Obviously Manoa does not understand the r e a l nature of the su p e r i o r man's p u r s u i t of g l o r y . P r i d e , the second v i c e opposed to magnanimity, i s a s i n of which both Samson and h i s f a t h e r are g u i l t y . Samson d i f f e r s from h i s fa t h e r i n t h i s , however, f o r Samson admits h i s g u i l t . He e x p l a i n s : . . . a f t e r some proof Of acts indeed h e r o i c , f a r beyond The Sons of Anak, famous now and b l a z ' d , F e a r l e s s of danger, l i k e a pe t t y God I walk'd about admir'd of a l l and dreaded On h o s t i l e ground, none daring my a f f r o n t . (526-531) In De Doctrina C h r i s t i a n a M i l t o n defined pride as \"when a man values h i m s e l f without m e r i t , or more h i g h l y than h i s merits deserve*, or i s g e l a t e d by some i n s i g n i f i c a n t circumstance.\" Samson prided h i m s e l f i n the p h y s i c a l strength God had given him. Samson's own m e r i t l a y i n h i s adherence to the cause of t r u t h and the use of h i s strength i n God's s e r v i c e \u00E2\u0080\u0094 n o t i n the ac t s themselves. The s t r e n g t h , i n f a c t , was of minor s i g n i f i c a n c e . I t had been the g i f t of God, and Samson, t h e r e f o r e , had no r i g h t to pride h i m s e l f on what God's strength could accomplish. Samson, indeed, was e l a t e d by the acts themselves, r a t h e r than by what the ac t s accomplished w i t h reference to God's g l o r y . Unlike h i s son, Manoa does not understand, as Samson u l t i m a t e l y does, that the h e r o i c acts are not 89 i n themselves h e r o i c , that the g l o r y Samson gains i s h i s only i n t r u s t , and that the f i n a l g l o r y must be God's. The o l d man thus r e f e r s to h i s son as \"once g l o r i o u s \" , \"the m i r a c l e of men\". He reminds Samson of the s i n f u l n e s s of t a k i n g part i n the P h i l i s t i a n c e l e b r a t i o n , p o i n t i n g out to h i s son that Samson w i l l thereby dishonour God. But Manoa's g r i e f i s as much f o r himse l f as i t i s f o r God. He complains: So Dagon s h a l l be magnified, and God, Besides whom i s no God, compar'd w i t h I d o l s , D i s g l o r i f i e d , blasphem'd, and had i n scorn By t h ' I d o l a t r o u s rout a^midst th\u00C2\u00A3ir wine/ Which to have come to pass by means of thee, Samson, of a l l thy s u f f e r i n g s t h i n k the h e a v i e s t , Of a l l reproach the most w i t h shame that ever Could have b e f a l l ' n thee and thy Father's house. (440-447) Manoa's complaint, though he acknowledges that the great shame w i l l accrue to God, a l s o r e v e a l s that he i s g u i l t y of p r i d e . That i s , Manoa i s ashamed as much f o r hi m s e l f and h i s house as he i s f o r God. His shame r e v e a l s t h a t he wants g l o r y f o r h i s son's e x p l o i t s . Once more i t i s obvious that Manoa does not comprehend the r e a l nature of the super i o r man's p u r s u i t of g l o r y . I t i s the t h i r d v i c e opposed to magnanimity, p u s i l l a n i m i t y , which represents Samson's gravest offence, f o r Samson's f a i l u r e to be magnanimous i s the p r i n c i p a l cause of h i s s i n . In De Doctrina C h r i s t i a n a M i l t o n does not f o r m a l l y define the term. Rather, he provides an example. The example M i l t o n g i v e s , however, leaves no doubt as to the precise meaning M i l t o n assigned to p u s i l l a n i m i t y . He r e f e r s to the f i r s t book of Samuel i n which the prophet informs Saul that he (Saul) i s to be the King of I s r a e l . 90 Though Saul had already been anointed by Samuel and t o l d of God's w i l l ( I . X, 1), he d i d not admit to h i s uncle what the prophet had revealed. S i m i l a r l y , when Samuel announces to the people that a King has been chosen, Saul i s nowhere to be found. . . . and Saul the son of K i s h was taken by l o t . But when they sought him, he could not be found. So they i n q u i r e d again of the LORD, \"Did the man come h i t h e r ? \" and the LORD s a i d , \"Behold, he has hidden h i m s e l f among the baggage.\" Then they ran and fetched him from there; and when he stood among the people, he was t a l l e r than any of the people from h i s shoulder upward. And Samuel s a i d to a l l the people, \"Do you see him whom the LORD has chosen? There i s none l i k e him among a l l the people.\" And a l l the people shouted, \"Long l i v e the k i n g ! \" (I.X, 20-24) S i g n i f i c a n t l y , M i l t o n chose the episode of Saul to demonstrate what the magnanimous man had not to be. S a u l , l i k e Samson, has great strength (h i s height i s symbolic of t h i s ) and, even more s i g n i f i c a n t , he soon proves h i m s e l f a capable m i l i t a r y leader ( I . X I , 11). The most important point here i s s u r e l y that S a u l , according to M i l t o n , l a c k s a necessary q u a l i t y . He does not recognize h i s own worth, and t h i s , i t i s emphasized, i s a v i c e , a weakness i n h i s c h a r a c t e r . P u s i l l a n i m i t y i s defined (OED) as: \" l a c k of courage or f o r t i t u d e ; p e t t i n e s s of s p i r i t ; cowardliness, t i m i d i t y . \" P h y s i c a l l y , n e i t h e r Samson nor Saul are cowardly. As avowed 9 servants of God, both men, moreover, are above p e t t i n e s s of S p i r i t . But Samson, l i k e S a u l , was not s u f f i c i e n t l y aware of h i s own worth. Neither man was \"actuated by a regard to h i s own d i g n i t y r i g h t l y under-stood.\" Samson had been d i v i n e l y c a l l e d to be a servant of God and to g l o r i f y God. By f a i l i n g to recognize h i s own magnanimity, by b e t r a y i n g h i s s e c r e t (God's s e c r e t ) to D a l i l a , he had, i n e f f e c t , renounced h i s own 91 d i g n i t y . Samson's contest i s with h i m s e l f , and the drama of Samson Agonistes i s Samson's st r u g g l e to be regenerated as magnanimous man. As I have suggested i n my d i s c u s s i o n concerning Adam's regeneration, self-knowledge, l e a d i n g u l t i m a t e l y to the i n d i v i d u a l ' s sense of worth, demands, p a r a d o x i c a l l y , that the i n d i v i d u a l acknowledge h i s own weakness. Samson, l i k e Adam, must accept h i s own human f r a i l t y before he can be strong. He must l e a r n the nature of h i s own humanity. \"Self-knowledge,\" as one c r i t i c has maintained, i s the i n s i g h t i n t o one's own nature, i t s essence, i t s c a p a c i t i e s , i t s weaknesses, and i t s o b l i g a t i o n s . . . / i t provides the foundation, t h e r e f o r e , both of i n t e l l e c t u a l h u m i l i t y and of magnanimity. To perform h i s proper f u n c t i o n and o f f i c e s and to observe h i s proper end, the r a t i o n a l creature must recognize h i s p e c u l i a r p o s i t i o n i n the scale of being and the d i s t i n c -t i v e p r o p e r t i e s which d i f f e r e n t i a t e him from other creatures--both higher and lower than himself--and from God.-'-1-' Samson i s not a p l a s t e r - s a i n t without seams; he i s a human being. He has, then, the c a p a c i t y f o r greatness (the God-like i n him) and an equal c a p a c i t y f o r d e p r a v i t y (the b r u t e - l i k e ) . The f i r s t step to the h e r o i c s t a t u r e Samson u l t i m a t e l y a t t a i n s i s the self-knowledge t h a t , as man, he i s f r a i l . He must l e a r n that even h i s great p h y s i c a l strength i s a c t u a l l y weak. M i l t o n makes t h i s point e x p r e s s l y c l e a r by presenting Samson, the s u p e r n a t u r a l l y strong man, as b l i n d , \"eyeless i n Gaza\", dressed i n rags and stumbling. Samson's great p h y s i c a l s t r e n g t h , indeed, i s made p a t h e t i c , f o r he i s presented to us as p r o t e s t i n g God's wisdom i n making h i s body so f r a i l . He complains . . . why was the s i g h t To such a tender b a l l as th'eye confin'd? And not as f e e l i n g through a l l parts d i f f u s ' d , That she might look at w i l l through every pore? (93-97) 92 But Samson's acknowledgement of h i s p h y s i c a l f r a i l t y per se i s only the beginning of h i s self-knowledge. He must l e a r n that p h y s i c a l strength i s only meaningful i n s o f a r as i t i s commensurate with wisdom, mental or s p i r i t u a l s t r e n g t h . He thus reasons: But what i s strength without a double share Of wisdom? Vast, u n w i e l d l y , burdensome, Proudly secure, yet l i a b l e to f a l l By weakest s u b t l e t i e s , not made to r u l e , But to subserve where wisdom bears command. (53-57) And, even more im p o r t a n t l y , Samson learns the t r u t h , by p a i n f u l experience, that God's g i f t of strength d i d not make him i n v u l n e r a b l e . Though Samson i s tempted to blame God when he laments h i s f a l l e n c o n d i t i o n , the t r u t h of h i s observation i s obvious. He argues: God, when he gave me s t r e n g t h , to show w i t h a l How s l i g h t the g i f t was, hung i t i n my H a i r . (58-59) What Samson says here i s true i n that God's g i f t _is s l i g h t . That i s , p h y s i c a l strength per se i s h e l p l e s s l y weak. The chorus reminds us of the r e a l nature of God's g i f t when they bemoan Samson's miserable c o n d i t i o n . We l e a r n of Samson . . . whose st r e n g t h , while v i r t u e was her mate, Might have subdu'd the E a r t h . . . . (172-173; my i t a l i c s ) The emphasis, i n s h o r t , i s placed upon the l i m i t a t i o n s of p h y s i c a l s t r e n g t h . I t f o l l o w s , t h e r e f o r e , that Samson's p h y s i c a l strength as i t i s mani-f e s t e d by h i s d e s t r u c t i o n of the P h i l i s t i n e ' s temple, cannot be the j u s t -i f i c a t i o n f o r c a l l i n g him a hero. Samson's heroism, r a t h e r , depends on 9 3 h i s a b i l i t y to accept h i s human f r a i l t y by acknowledging that the p r i n c i p a l g u i l t i s h i s alone. He cannot be strong u n t i l he admits he i s weak. Though the B i b l i c a l account of Samson cannot be looked upon as a k i n d of 'key' to Samson Agonistes, the concluding episode i n Samson's career bears c o n s i d e r a t i o n here. According to Judges, Samson s i n s , i s b l i n d e d and made ca p t i v e by the P h i l i s t i n e s , and, while \"making s p o r t \" f o r them, p u l l s down the p i l l a r s of t h e i r temple and destroys h i m s e l f and h i s enemies. There i s only one b r i e f suggestion of Samson's inner s t r u g g l e i n the B i b l i c a l account. He prays: 0 Lord God, remember me, I pray thee, and strengthen me, I pray thee, only t h i s once, 0 God, that I may be at once avenged on the P h i l i s t i n e s f o r my two eyes. (XVI, 28) In t h i s passage i s contained the germ of M i l t o n ' s tragedy, f o r Samson's words suggest that he has learned h i s l i m i t a t i o n s as man--he prays that God w i l l grant him the great strength he once had\u00E2\u0080\u0094and, f u r t h e r , suggest that Samson perhaps sees h i m s e l f as the instrument of God's j u s t i c e . M i l t o n took these two ideas and made them the basis of h i s poem's c o n f l i c t . Samson must recognize that he i s powerless without God's grace and must recognize, too, that he might yet c o n t r i b u t e i n the cosmic s t r u g g l e against e v i l and thereby g l o r i f y God. Samson Agonistes i s a dramatic account of one man's s i n , s u f f e r i n g , repentance, and regeneration as magnanimous or he r o i c man. Samson, r e f l e c t i n g on h i s own f o l l y and h i s miserable c o n d i t i o n , comes dangerously c l o s e to f a l l i n g i n t o d e s p a i r , which, as M i l t o n pointed out i n De Doctrina C h r i s t i a n a , \"takes place only i n the reprobate.. 94 Samson knows that God had chosen him to be the d e l i v e r e r of h i s people, but he cannot accept that he might s t i l l succeed i n h i s mi s s i o n . Promise was that I Should I s r a e l from P h i l i s t i a n yoke d e l i v e r ; Ask f o r t h i s great D e l i v e r e r now, and f i n d him Eyeless i n Gaza at the M i l l w i t h s l a v e s , Himself i n bonds under P h i l i s t i a n yoke; Yet stay, l e t me not r a s h l y c a l l i n doubt Divine p r e d i c t i o n ; what i f a l l f o r e t o l d Had been f u l f i l l ' d but through mine own d e f a u l t , Whom have I to complain of but myself? (38-46) Samson i s too ashamed and too depraved to deem himse l f worthy of God's s e r v i c e . Though i t i s true that Samson a c q u i t s God of the blame and though he does not deny that God's w i l l may yet p r e v a i l (60-62), he cannot see that he might have a part to play i n God's d i v i n e plan. Samson i s without hope. He remains, as the chorus l a t e r observes, As one past hope, abandon'd And by h i m s e l f given over . . . . (120-212) Hope, M i l t o n argued, was \"that by which we accept with c e r t a i n t y the 12 f u l f i l m e n t of God's promises.\" That Samson i s plagued by doubt i s made p a t e n t l y c l e a r by the f a c t that Samson does not want to l i v e . Lamenting h i s b l i n d n e s s , Samson complains that h i s l i v i n g death i s worse than p h y s i c a l death. He argues he i s Buri e d , yet not exempt By p r i v i l e g e of death and b u r i a l From worst of other e v i l s , pains and wrongs, But made hereby obnoxious more To a l l the m i s e r i e s of l i f e , Among inhuman foes. (103-109; my i t a l i c s ) 95 By l o o k i n g upon p h y s i c a l death as a \" p r i v i l e g e \" , Samson reveals that he i s hopeless. His inhuman foes are h i s own thoughts, and Samson's sense of shame i s only compounded by h i s consciousness of what he had been, was to have been, and what he i s now. This i s the f i g u r e we encounter i n the f i r s t one-hundred and more l i n e s of M i l t o n ' s poem. Samson i s p a t h e t i c , ashamed, and p i t i f u l l y hopeless, and death i s the only remedy he can conceive. I t i s not unfounded s p e c u l a t i o n to argue here that Samson might have c a r r i e d on i n t h i s manner i n d e f i n i t e l y - - e v e n u n t i l h i s n a t u r a l death. But he i s not allowed to do t h i s , f o r , compelled by the a c t i o n s of both f r i e n d s and enemies, he i s forced to examine h i m s e l f , the nature of h i s s i n , and h i s own f a i t h i n God. Indeed, M i l t o n ' s b e l i e f 13 t h a t \" t r i a l l i s by what i s c o n t r a r y \" i s e x e m p l i f i e d i n the a c t i o n of Samson Agonistes. Samson i s tempted by both h i s comforters and h i s t o r -mentors; h i s v i r t u e i s t e s t e d . Samson must l e a r n from t h i s , f i r s t , to d i f f e r e n t i a t e between good and e v i l , then, to pursue the good and r e j e c t the e v i l . By t h i s process Samson can r e g a i n a sense of h i s own worth; he can become magnanimous man. The drama of Samson Agonistes can be looked upon as c o n s i s t i n g 14 of f i v e separate a c t s . The f i r s t (1-331) concerns Samson and the chorus, and r e v e a l s Samson's i n i t i a l s t a t e of mind. Samson, as Woodhouse notes, f e e l s remorse\u00E2\u0080\u0094not repentance. Samson's complaints a r i s e from h i s sense of i n j u r e d m e r i t . He recognizes that he has been weak, but h i s personal shame leads him to a s c r i b e the f a u l t to God. To the chorus he complains that he has been f o o l i s h and weak, and asks; / 96 . . . t e l l me, f r i e n d s , Am I not sung and proverb'd f o r a f o o l In every s t r e e t ; do not they say, \"How w e l l Are come upon him h i s d e s e r t s ? \" yet why? Immeasurable strength they might behold In me, of wisdom nothing more than mean; This w i t h the other should, at l e a s t , have p a i r ' d , These two proportion'd i l l drove me transverse. (202-209) The chorus c o r r e c t l y reprimands Samson f o r h i s i m p l i c i t c r i t i c i s m of God and informs him that human f l e s h i s i n h e r e n t l y weak. Tax not d i v i n e d i s p o s a l ; w i s e s t Men Have e r r ' d , and by bad Women been deceiv'd; And s h a l l again, pretend they ne'er so wise. (210-212) But when Samson's f r i e n d s proceed to accuse him of more g u i l t than i s r i g h t f u l l y h i s , he i s impelled to defend h i m s e l f . In a d d i t i o n to e x p l a i n i n g that he chose an i n f i d e l f o r h i s wife because prompted by d i v i n e impulse, Samson r e j e c t s the advice of h i s supposed f r i e n d s . They had informed him that f l e s h was f r a i l and that many good men had been deceived by women, but Samson refuses to accept precedent as grounds f o r extenuating h i s g u i l t . Rather, he admits: . . . of what now I s u f f e r She ^ D a l i l a J was riot the prime cause, but I myself Who vanquisht w i t h a peal of words (0 Weakness!) Gave up my f o r t of s i l e n c e to a Woman. (233-236) Though the chorus has v i s i t e d Samson i n the b e l i e f that . . . apt words have power to swaye The tumors of a t r o u b l ' d mind, And are as balm to f e s t e r ' d wounds (184-186), 97 t h e i r words only serve to augment Samson's g r i e f and remorse. The chorus forces Samson to accept that the c h i e f g u i l t i s h i s own. His f r i e n d s ' second overture, however, has a very d i f f e r e n t e f f e c t . When Samson's countrymen^ complain that \"Is.rael s t i l l serves w i t h a l l h i s Sons\" (239), Samson argues i n h i s defence that one man's v a l o r can^not make and keep a n a t i o n f r e e . What i s more important f o r our d i s c u s s i o n here, however, i s that Samson's answer r e v e a l s c e r t a i n t r a c e s of magnanimity. He admits that he d i d not seek to gain a large f o l l o w i n g , that he was not a m b i t i o u s . ^ The magnanimous man does not, to r e f e r 17 once again to C i c e r o , \"depend on the mistaken p l a u d i t s of the ignorant. Samson had been g u i l t y of p r i d e ; he had indeed \"walk'd about l i k e a petty God,\" and had concerned him s e l f w i t h the applause of the mu l t i t u d e . He now admits that the strength was God's g i f t and that he had used i t to promote God's g l o r y . Though Samson's sense of i n j u r e d merit s t i l l prevents him from being p e n i t e n t , he begins to understand that he was worthy, and he thus refuses to accept the g u i l t that i s not r i g h t l y h i s . Indeed, when the chorus proceeds to e x p l a i n Samson's misfortune by r e f e r r i n g to examples from h i s t o r y (277-289), Samson, though he admits to f a i l u r e i n h i s m i s s i o n , t e l l s h i s countrymen that they are o b l i g a t e d t o keep t h e i r f a i t h i n God's promised d e l i v e r a n c e . Of such examples add mee to the r o l e , Mee e a s i l y indeed mine may n e g l e c t , But God's propos'd del i v e r a n c e not so. (290-292) I r o n i c a l l y , Samson advises the chorus as to what they must d o \u00E2\u0080\u0094 w i t h o u t comprehending t h a t he, too, must not abandon f a i t h . In the f i r s t act of 98 M i l t o n ' s drama, then, Samson's shame i s counterbalanced by h i s sense of i n j u r e d m e r i t . He has not f u l l y accepted the g u i l t or repented, and he advises others to continue the p u r s u i t of God's g l o r y (to maintain t h e i r f a i t h ) while he i s i n extreme danger of completely l o s i n g h i s own. The second a c t (332-709), however, represents an even lower point i n Samson's wretchedness. Manoa's impassioned complaint against the miserable c o n d i t i o n i n which he f i n d s h i s son and against the misery he h i m s e l f f e e l s , moves Samson to defend God's ways. He c o r r e c t s h i s f a t h e r ' s e r r o r , and admon-ishes Appoint not heavenly d i s p o s i t i o n Father, Nothing of a l l these e v i l s hath b e f a l l ' n me But j u s t l y ; I myself have brought them on, Sole author I , sole cause, i f aught seem v i l e , As v i l e hath been my f o l l y , who have profan'd The mystery of God g i v ' n me under pledge Of vow, and have betray'd i t to a woman, A Catraanite, my f a i t h l e s s enemy. This w e l l I knew, nor was a t a l l s u r p r i s ' d , But warn'd by o f t experience! . . . . (373-382) By defending God's j u s t i c e , Samson recognizes that he has been f a i r l y t r e a t e d , and recognizes that the misery he now s u f f e r s i s not as wretched as h i s former weakness had been. He admits: The base degree to which I now am f a l l ' n , These rags, t h i s g r i n d i n g i s not yet so base As was my former s e r v i t u d e . . . . (414-416) The grea t e s t pain Samson s u f f e r s i s inward, the i n d i g n i t y and shame he f e e l s at having been untrue to h i m s e l f , at not having been magnanimous as he should have been. I t i s when Manoa informs him of the shame Samson 99 has brought to God (433-457), however, that Samson's shame becomes almost unbearable. But, by the force of the o l d man's argument, Samson i s compelled to a s s e r t h i s own f a i t h i n God. This only hope r e l i e v e s me, that the s t r i f e With mee hath end; a l l the contest i s now Twixt God and Dagon; Dagon hath presum'd, Mee overthrown, to enter l i s t s w i t h God, His D e i t y comparing and p r e f e r r i n g Before the God of Abraham. He, be sure, W i l l not connive, or l i n g e r thus provok'd, But w i l l a r i s e and h i s great name a s s e r t . . . . (460-468) Samson, then, has not l o s t h i s f a i t h i n God's power to combat and defeat e v i l . He cannot, however, comprehend that he may be a p a r t i c i p a n t i n the great contest. Indeed, i t i s here that the i n f e r i o r human c o n d i t i o n of the o l d d i s p e n s a t i o n manifests i t s e l f . Manoa, though he, l i k e Samson, acknowledges God's power, does not understand that h i s own son may yet be of s e r v i c e to God (478-481), and the o l d man thus suggests that Samson might be released by payments made to the P h i l i s t i a n l o r d s (481-486). What Manoa suggests here i s r e a l l y a temptation put before Samson, a temptation to give up the s t r u g g l e , and must n e c e s s a r i l y be r e j e c t e d . Indeed, passive s u f f e r i n g i s anathema to M i l t o n ' s concept of h e r o i c man, f o r the s u p e r i o r man i s m o r a l l y o b l i -gated to pursue the honour of God; he i s , i n Aquinas' words, \"minded to 18 do some great a c t . \" And Samson, though he cannot see h i m s e l f as having an a c t i v e r o l e to play i n the b a t t l e against e v i l , must not leave the f i e l d . To do so would be to i r r e v o c a b l y renounce h i s own magnanimity. But Samson's r e p l y to h i s f a t h e r i s not i n d i c a t i v e of regained magnanimity, 100 f o r i t i s not properly motivated. Samson, i n f a c t , wants to punish him-s e l f . To Manoa, he says Spare that proposal, Father, spare the t r o u b l e Of that s o l i c i t a t i o n ; l e t me here, As I deserve, pay on my punishment; And e x p i a t e , i f p o s s i b l e , my crime, Shameful g a r r u l i t y . (487-490) 19 Samson, as h i s f a t h e r c o r r e c t l y reasons, i s \"over-?just.\" He t e l l s h i s son that Samson should be repentant, but should not w i l f u l l y aggravate h i s misery (502-515). And here Samson i s once more c a l l e d upon to d i f -f e r e n t i a t e between good and e v i l . He must repent h i s s i n , to be sure, but i f he p a s s i v e l y accepts h i s own miserable c o n d i t i o n , h i s d e c i s i o n w i l l manifest h i s d i s t r u s t of God. Manoa, i n f a c t , here tempts him to do t h i s . Samson's r e j e c t i o n of the course of i n a c t i o n h i s f a t h e r o u t l i n e s , however, i s s t i l l not i n t r i n s i c a l l y good. Rather, Samson complains that l i f e would no longer be bearable because of h i s inward misery, and because of h i s consciousness of what he had formerly been. His l i f e , he complains, would be u t t e r l y devoid of meaning and purpose. He asks, Now b l i n d , d i s h e a r t ' n ' d , sham'd, dishonou'd, q u e l l ' d To what can I be u s e f u l , wherein serve My Nation, and the work from Heav'n impos'd, But to s i t i d l e on the household hearth, A burdenous drone . . . ? (563-567) The p a i n f u l t r u t h i s that the s u p e r i o r man l i v i n g before the advent of C h r i s t i s not aware that he can make any meaningful c o n t r i b u t i o n except i n terms of a c t i o n . The 'imperfect f a i t h ' of the o l d d i s p e n s a t i o n a c t u a l l y precludes Samson's understanding that men can j u s t i f y t h e i r existence by simply r e s i s t i n g and r e j e c t i n g e v i l . The only e v i l Samson knows i s 101 Dagon and h i s worshippers. Unless he can see h i s duty comprised of a c t u a l p h y s i c a l s t r u g g l e against Dagon, Samson cannot see himself as arhero. Manoa, i t i s t r u e , had e x t o l l e d patience and f i l i a l submission as man's l o t (511), but f o r the t r u l y magnanimous man who pursues honor and g l o r y , submission i s h a r d l y tantamount to heroism. In s h o r t , e v i l i n the o l d d i s p e n s a t i o n amounted to i d o l a t r y . V i r t u e meant obedience to God's law. The magnanimous or h e r o i c man's task i s to a i d i n the d e s t r u c t i o n of e v i l and thereby to g l o r i f y God. But the enemy to the law ( i d o l a t o r s ) i s the only e v i l he knows. Samson cannot know that he can g l o r i f y God by p a t i e n t endurance of e v i l , and that he can destroy e v i l by r e j e c t i n g i t i n h i m s e l f . His heroism must, t h e r e f o r e , be demon-s t r a t e d by p h y s i c a l a c t s . I t i s f o r t h i s reason that Samson, incapable of comprehending how he, bl i n d e d and made c a p t i v e , can b a t t l e Dagon. He i s tempted n a t u r a l l y to give up the s t r u g g l e . L i k e the mythic S i b y l , he wants only to d i e . Samson's wretchedness i s made even more h o r r i b l e , however, by the f a c t that h i s imperfect comprehension of f a i t h leads him to b e l i e v e God has deserted him. I was h i s n u r s l i n g once and choice d e l i g h t , His d e s t i n ' d from the womb, Promis'd by Heavenly message twice descending. Under h i s s p e c i a l eye Abstemious I grew up and t h r i v ' d amain; He l e d me on to m i g h t i e s t deeds Above the nerve of mortal arm Against th'uncircumcis'd, our enemies. But now hath cast me o f f as never known . . . . (633-641) The chorus' response to Samson's expression of anguish reveals the r e a l nature of the p a r t i c u l a r d i f f i c u l t y i n which Samson f i n d s h i m s e l f . They argue: 102 Many are the sayings of the wise In ancient and i n modern books e n r o l l ' d , E x t o l l i n g patience as the t r u e s t f o r t i t u d e , And to the bearing w e l l of a l l c a l a m i t i e s , A l l chances i n c i d e n t to man's f r a i l l i f e C o n s o l a t o r i e s w r i t With stu d i e d argument, and much persuasion sought Lenient of g r i e f and anxious thought, But w i t h t h ' a f f l i c t e d i n h i s pangs t h i r sound L i t t l e p r e v a i l s , or r a t h e r seems a tune, Harsh, and of dissonant mood from h i s complaint, Unless he f e e l w i t h i n Some source of c o n s o l a t i o n from above Secret r e f r e s h i n g s , that r e p a i r h i s st r e n g t h , And f a i n t i n g s p i r i t s uphold. (652-666) The c r u c i a l point here i s that Samson cannot possess any source of conso-l a t i o n from above which might enable him to p a t i e n t l y endure. He does not know that patience i n the face of e v i l g l o r i f i e s God, or that the p a t i e n t s u f f e r e r has as much c l a i m to being c a l l e d a s o l d i e r i n God's army as has the a c t i v e w a r r i o r . Samson cannot know t h i s grand design. As a r e s u l t , though Samson can have f a i t h i n God's strength and i n h i s mercy, and though he can t r u s t i n God's promise that Samson should d e l i v e r I s r a e l , he i s not equipped, because of h i s imperfect f a i t h , to p a t i e n t l y endure. For t h i s reason death i s h i s only r e a l remedy, and i t . i s , moreover, the only p o s s i b l e s o l u t i o n to Samson's problem. I t i s f o r t h i s reason a l s o that Samson's f a i t h i s renewable only by i t s e x e r c i s e i n r e a c t i o n to h o s t i l e f o r c e s . Samson does not possess any knowledge of God's grand design beyond what God has informed him concerning the d e l i v e r a n c e of I s r a e l . The only e v i l Samson recognizes, then, i s i n the form of h i s nation's enemies. Samson's regeneration i s thus accom-p l i s h e d by h i s r e j e c t i o n of e v i l i n the persons of D a l i l a and Harapha. D a l i l a ' s overtures are a symbol of passion. Samson must r e j e c t 103 her i n order to prove that he i s no longer s u s c e p t i b l e to passion's domination, that he i s master of h i m s e l f . D a l i l a ' s attempts to extenuate her own g u i l t are met w i t h scorn by Samson, and i t i s i n t e r e s t i n g to note that i n Samson's d i s m i s s a l of her the beginnings of h i s new-found f a i t h are manifest. Thus, when D a l i l a , begging f o r pardon, pleads innate weakness (female c u r i o s i t y ) , and conjugal love as her reasons f o r be t r a y i n g him (773-818), Samson becomes God's advocate: he informs her that weakness can never be an excuse i n God's eyes (829-835); he i n s t r u c t s her i n the r e a l meaning of love (836-840). Samson, perhaps u n w i t t i n g l y , has become an a c t i v e servant of God. But he i s forced to acknowledge the t r u t h of one of D a l i l a ' s arguments: he i s as g u i l t y as she i s , perhaps even more so. He admits: I to myself was f a l s e ere thou to me; Such pardon the r e f o r e as I give my f o l l y , Take to thy wicked deed . . . . (824-826) S i m i l a r l y , when D a l i l a claims her r e l i g i o n was i t s e l f j u s t i f i c a t i o n , Samson argues that gods who are ungodly are no gods and deserve no obedience (895-898). D a l i l a ' s o f f e r of emotional and p h y s i c a l sanctuary (909-927) must a l s o be r e j e c t e d , f o r to accept would be to embrace the very e v i l that had debased Samson. But Samson's r e j e c t i o n of e v i l ( f a i t h l e s s , P h i l i s t i a n D a l i l a ) gives him strength and p a r t i a l r e lease from h i s pain. He regains a measure of self-esteem by r e c o g n i z i n g that h i s s e r v i t u d e a t the m i l l i s l e s s s e r v i l e than would be h i s acceptance of D a l i l a ' s o f f e r e d pleasure. Indeed, as he t e l l s D a l i l a , This Gaol I count the house of L i b e r t y To thine whose doors my f e e t s h a l l never enter. (949-950) 104 Thus rejected, Dalila torments Samson and exults in her victory, (959-996). The importance of this scene is that Dalila, by coming in contact with good, manifests herself as e v i l , and she is seen by Samson for what she really i s : spiteful, cruel, hypocritical, and idolatrous. It is after Dalila departs, however, that we see the f u l l effect she has had on Samson. Samson's words after Dalila's departure reveal that he begins to understand, though imperfectly, the mystery of God's ways. Ironically, he reasons, . . . God sent her to debase me, And aggravate my f o l l y who committed To such a viper his most sacred trust Of secrecy, my safety, and my l i f e . (999-1002) God's permissive w i l l allowed Dalila to tempt Samson and to taunt him\u00E2\u0080\u0094 20 but not in order to shame him more. Rather, Dalila's overtures enable Samson to refashion some vestige of personal worth, and for this reason God had permitted her to confront Samson. Samson has mastered himself. He has preferred \"strenuous liberty\" to \"bondage with ease\", and knowing that i t was within his power to choose and that he has chosen the harder course, he has a renewed sense of worth. This is made patently clear in the fourth act of the drama (1075-1307) when he is confronted by the Philistian giant, Harapha. Observing Harapha's approach, the chorus informs Samson that the giant's \". . . habit carries peace, his brow defiance\" (1073). Samson's laconic reply reveals the transformation his character has undergone, for he says simply, \"Or peace or not, alike to me he comes\" (1074). His fortitude tempered and toughened by his painful ordeal, Samson is 21 now equipped to face his adversary. 105 Harapha's a c t i o n s do not c o n s t i t u t e a temptation. Rather, they are M i l t o n ' s device to l i f t Samson out of h i s depressed s t a t e . Confronted by a braggart who speaks against Samson and h i s God, Samson must a c t i v e l y oppose the g i a n t . But from the c o n f l i c t Samson draws strength and c o n f i -dence. Harapha i s the e i d o l o n of h e r o i c magnanimity. He i s of 'heroic' s t a t u r e , s k i l l e d i n f e a t s of arms, and e x u l t a n t i n h i s own p h y s i c a l s t r e n g t h . Moreover, the gia n t i s o v e r t l y contemptuous of i n f e r i o r s ; h i s mind a s p i r e s to the increase of h i s own g l o r y . His vaunts (not a c c i d e n t l y bearing remarkable resemblance to the k i n d of speeches which permeate the I l i a d ) move Samson to a s s e r t h i s (Samson's) met t l e . The gi a n t has come to examine Samson's p h y s i c a l bearing, f o r by i n s p e c t i n g Samson's outward fobm Harapha mistakenly b e l i e v e s he can evaluate Samson's worth. By h i s own admission, Samson i s riot h e r o i c i n aspect; he had formerly r e f e r r e d to himse l f as a \"burdenous drone\" and, outwardly at l e a s t , he i s a .pathetic f i g u r e . His h e r o i c s p i r i t , however, remains formidable, and Samson openly challenges the g i a n t to mortal combat. But Samson's v a l o r i s not the r e s u l t of pride i n h i s own p h y s i c a l s t r e n g t h . T h i s , indeed, i s made ex p r e s s l y c l e a r when Harapha r i d i c u l e s the b l i n d w a r r i o r and accuses him of using \" s p e l l s \" or \"black enchantments\" to subdue, h i s foes (1130-1138). Samson, forced to r e p l y to t h i s c h a l l e n g e , argues that h i s armor i s h i s f a i t h , and h i s strength the g i f t of God. I know no s p e l l s , use no forbidden A r t s ; My t r u s t i s i n the l i v i n g God who gave me At my N a t i v i t y t h i s strength . . . . (1139-1141) By i n v i t i n g Harapha to defend the name of Dagon ( e v i l ) Samson ob v i o u s l y 106 sees himself as God's champion (1145-1153). Samson has recaptured h i s l o s t hope by c h a l l e n g i n g Harapha, f o r the Na z a r i t e no longer doubts that what God has promised w i l l come to pass. When, s i m i l a r l y , Harapha accuses Samson of presuming on h i s God (1165-1168), Samson answers i n h i s own defence that h i s God i s m e r c i f u l and f o r g i v i n g . To Harapha's i n s u l t s and h i s suggestion that Samson's God has forsaken h i s former champion, Samson thus r e p l i e s : A l l these i n d i g n i t i e s , f o r such they are From t h i n e , these e v i l s I deserve and more, Acknowledge them from God i n f l i c t e d on me J u s t l y , yet despair not of h i s f i n a l pardon Whose ear i s ever open; and h i s eye Gracious to re-admit the s u p p l i a n t . . . . (1168-1173) Forced by e x t e r n a l circumstances to a s s e r t h i s worth and to examine h i s own f a i t h , Samson has moved that much c l o s e r to r e c a p t u r i n g h i s magnanimity. As a sinner he i s o b l i g a t e d to be 'convicted' of h i s s i n , to be c o n t r i t e , to confess, to depart from e v i l , and, u l t i m a t e l y , to turn to good. By the time the g i a n t departs, Samson has been regenerated; he has repented h i s s i n . The next step i n h i s renovation i s the a c q u i s i t i o n of f a i t h , which he now manifests signs of possessing. But Samson's f a i t h i s demon-s t r a b l e only by t r i a l , and before he \"can hope (can expect that what has been promised by God w i l l be g i v e n ) , he must prove h i s f a i t h . The messenger's a r r i v a l t r i g g e r s t h i s f i n a l development i n Samson's character. When informed of the demands of the P h i l i s t i a n l o r d s , Samson's f i r s t r e a c t i o n i s b l a t a n t r e f u s a l . .Warned t h a t ' h i s r e f u s a l w i l l offend the enemy, Samson shows that he i s immune to any punishment that might be d e a l t him. He p r o t e s t s , 107 Can they t h i n k me so broken, so debas'd With c o r p o r a l s e r v i t u d e , that my mind ever W i l l condescend to such absurd commands? (1335-1337) Samson has o b v i o u s l y regained h i s sense of personal worth and d i g n i t y . J u s t i f i a b l y , he b e l i e v e s he i s too worthy a being to \"make s p o r t \" f o r the P h i l i s t i n e s . To g l o r i f y Dagon, of course, i s the u l t i m a t e d e p r a v i t y f o r Samson as a Hebrew, and i d o l a t r y i s the worst k i n d of s i n . Jahweh, indeed, i s a j e a l o u s God. But Samson no longer sees h i m s e l f as i n d i v i d u a l man; he i s God's champion. Samson's p a r t i c u l a r f a i t h , however, l i k e f a i t h i t s e l f as Hume contended, subverts a l l the p r i n c i p l e s of human 22 understanding. Samson f e e l s c e r t a i n \"motions\" w i t h i n him (1381-1383). He r e l e n t s , and f o l l o w s the messenger to do he knows not what. To h i s f r i e n d s , he bids f a r e w e l l by saying, Happ'n what may, of me expect to hear Nothing dishonorable, impure, unworthy Our God, our Law, my n a t i o n , or myself; The l a s t of me or no I cannot warrant. (1423-1426) S i g n i f i c a n t l y , St. Paul considered Samson a hero of f a i t h . Paul had defined f a i t h as \"the substance of things hoped f o r , the evidence of things not seen\" (Hebrews X I , 1), and had argued that the f a i t h f u l servant of God \"must b e l i e v e what he fGodJ i s , and that he i s a rewarder of them that d i l i g e n t l y seek him\" (XI, 6). Samson, according to P a u l , had, then, to be convinced that God would grant him the strength to destroy the temple of Dagon. The messenger's d e s c r i p t i o n of Samson's l a s t moments manifests that M i l t o n , l i k e P a u l , o b v i o u s l y considered Samson a hero of f a i t h . Samson, 108 . . . w i t h head a while i n c l i n ' d , And eyes f a s t f i x t he stood, as one who pray'd, Or some great matter i n h i s mind r e v o l v ' d . . (1636-1638) There can be no doubt that M i l t o n ' s Samson had, before h i s death, recovered h i s f a i t h , \". . . A FULL PERSUASION OPERATED IN IS THROUGH THE GIFT OF GOD, WHEREBY WE BELIEVE, ON THE SOLE AUTHORITY OF THE PROMISE ITSELF, 23 THAT WHATSOEVER THINGS HE HAS PROMISED . . . ARE OURS . . . .\" Samson had, moreover, regained h i s d i g n i t y as a man, had devoted h i s l i f e and death to the p u r s u i t of God's honour and g l o r y , and had, by a c q u i r i n g f a i t h , gained some knowledge of God. He i s magnanimous man, a M i l t o n i c hero. Samson's s t r u g g l e , however, i s only one p a r t , a l b e i t the most important p a r t , of the contest M i l t o n ' s poem d e p i c t s . Magnanimity i s a l s o c o n t e s t i n g . Samson's p a r t i c u l a r g i f t from God i s p h y s i c a l s t r e n g t h , and h i s achievement i s thus represented i n p h y s i c a l terms; he destroys the temple 24 and the P h i l i s t i n e s . The p h y s i c a l a c t , of course, i s a symbolic r e p r e s e n t a t i o n of man's v i c t o r y over e v i l (Dagon). By d e s t r o y i n g e v i l , man f u l f i l s h i s o b l i g a t i o n s i n l i f e and can thus shake o f f the mortal c o i l and gain h i s reward. The r e a l drama of M i l t o n ' s tragedy concerns Samson's inward s t r u g g l e to destroy the e v i l i n h i m s e l f , to make hi m s e l f worthy, and the drama i s eminently p s y c h o l o g i c a l . But M i l t o n , as I have i n d i c a t e d throughout t h i s chapter, makes i t p a t e n t l y c l e a r that the r e a l nature of Samson's heroism and h i s magnanimity i s i m p e r f e c t l y u n d e r s t o o d \u00E2\u0080\u0094 e s p e c i a l l y by Manoa. The chorus, whose f u n c t i o n i t i s to provide a commentary on the a c t i o n of the poem, apparently comprehends the nature of Samson's heroism 109 and h i s magnanimity. Thus, when Samson challenges Harapha to combat and the g i a n t r e f u s e s , the chorus reminds us that Samson's great strength i s inward. He has \". . . P l a i n Heroic magnitude of mind,\" and he i s armed w i t h \" c e l e s t i a l v i g o r \" (1279-1280). The chorus then proceeds to e x t o l patience as a b e t t e r f o r t i t u d e (1287-1289), but, as I pointed out i n my d i s c u s s i o n of Manoa's pr a i s e of f i l i a l submission, patience i s not tantamount to heroism i n Samson's eyes. M i l t o n ' s own C h r i s t i a n i t y l i k e l y moved him to put these words i n t o the mouths of the chorus, but one f a c t i s c l e a r : i n the context of the o l d d i s p e n s a t i o n p a t i e n t acceptance of s u f f e r i n g i s not h e r o i c . This could only be when men were aware that the cosmic s t r u g g l e between good and e v i l could be waged w i t h i n every man. Samson's magnanimous nature cannot f u l f i l i t s e l f by patjent endurance of e v i l . I t r e q u i r e s a c t i v e struggle against e v i l (Dagon). I t i s Manoa's r o l e i n the play to make i t obvious that r e a l heroism i s not p o s s i b l e f o r men (men not e x p r e s s l y chosen by God) l i v i n g i n the o l d d i s p e n s a t i o n , f o r Samson's f a t h e r r e v e a l s that he does not comprehend why h i s son i s a hero. On Manoa's r e t u r n to the courtyard where he had l e f t Samson, the o l d man proudly announces h i s success i n working h i s son's l i b e r t y (1454). Obviously Manoa does not understand the nature of true l i b e r t y , however, f o r he has f a i l e d to comprehend that Samson's s l a v e r y and bondage were inward. The chorus, because they j o y o u s l y r e a c t to Manoa's news, a l s o f a i l to understand that Samson had a t t a i n e d freedom (1455-1466). S i m i l a r l y , Manoa w i l l be \"ennobl'd\" by h i s son's past accomplishments (1491-1492). He takes pride i n what are r e a l l y \" i n s i g n i f i c a n t circum-stances.\" But the grand i r o n y occurs a f t e r Samson's death. 110 Manoa, w i t h h i s c h a r a c t e r i s t i c h a b i t of speaking absolute t r u t h and u t t e r falsehood i n the same breath, asks, How died he? death to l i f e i s crown or shame. A l l by him f e l l thou sa y ' s t , by whom f e l l he, What g l o r i o u s hand gave Samson h i s death's wound? (1579-1581) Manoa's f i r s t statement i s c o r r e c t . But, l i k e Harapha, Manoa i s most impressed by f e a t s of arms and m a r t i a l v a l o r . Apparently the man who sla y s Samson gains g l o r y . Again, when Manoa learns of the manner i n which h i s son d i e d , he describes the revenge as \" g l o r i o u s \" (1660). Though Manoa admits that the revenge i s g l o r i o u s because God has f u l f i l l e d h i s promise to Samson, the g l o r y the o l d man e x u l t s i n i s not the g l o r y of God, or Samson's i n the name of God. Indeed, Manoa's l a s t words make i t very c l e a r that he does not perceive the r e a l , e s s e n t i a l nature of Samson's heroism. He t e l l s h i s f r i e n d s : Come, come, no time f o r lamentation now, Nor much more cause: Samson hath q u i t h i m s e l f L i k e Samson, and h e r o i c l y hath f i n i s h ' d A l i f e H e roic, on h i s Enemies F u l l y reveng'd hath l e f t them years of mourning . . . . (1708-1712) Su r e l y M i l t o n ' s point i s that Samson has f i n i s h e d l i f e more h e r o i c l y than Samson. Manoa, however, measures h i s son's heroism by the p h y s i c a l a c t \u00E2\u0080\u0094 t h e number of the enemy Samson has s l a i n . Furthermore, the g l o r y i n which Manoa e x u l t s i s e s s e n t i a l l y that which he and Samson w i l l r e c e i v e . Though Manoa recognizes that the honor of I s r a e l has been v i n d i c a t e d by Samson's act (1714-1716), he does not comprehend that the r e a l g l o r y i s owing to God, that h i s son's g l o r y i s only Samson's I l l i n s o f a r as the hero i s considered to be God's agent. Manoa's d e c i s i o n to b u i l d a monument to h i s son's g l o r y c o n c l u s i v e l y r e v e a l s that Manoa does not recognize the e s s e n t i a l q u a l i t y of heroism. Manoa w i l l . . . b u i l d him A Monument, and plant i t round with shade Of L a u r e l ever green, and branching Palm, With a l l h i s Trophies hung, and A c t s - e n r o l l ' d In copious Legend, or sweet L y r i c Song. Thith e r s h a l l a l l the v a l i a n t youth r e s o r t , And from h i s memory inflame t h i r breasts To matchless v a l o r , and adventures high. (1733-1740; i t a l i c s are mine) For Manoa, then, heroism means p h y s i c a l v a l o r and m a r t i a l prowess. He represents the meaning heroism h e l d f o r men who l i v e d i n the o l d d i s -pensation. He cannot conceive of a brand of heroism that transcends the purely p h y s i c a l . That M i l t o n d e l i b e r a t e l y set out to demonstrate the imperfect comprehension of p r e - C h r i s t i a n men, I t h i n k , i s i n d i s p u t a b l e to judge from the a c t i o n of Samson Agonistes. In Paradise Lost Michael had informed Adam, though the angel r e f e r r e d to the e v i l acts of the sons of Seth, t h a t : . . . i n those days Might only s h a l l be admir'd And v a l o r and Heroic v i r t u e c a l l ' d ; To overcome i n B a t t l e , and subdue Nations, and b r i n g home s p o i l s w i t h i n f i n i t e Man-slaughter, s h a l l be h e l d the highest p i t c h Of human g l o r y , and f o r Glory done Of triumph^ to be s t y l e d great conquerors, Patrons of Mankind, Gods, and Sons of Gods, Destroyers r i g h t l i e r c a l l ' d , and Plagues of men, Thus fame s h a l l be achiev'd, renown on E a r t h , And what most merits fame i n s i l e n c e h i d . (XI. 689-699) Though M i l t o n ' s Samson, because he was a servant of God and chosen by 112 God to augment the Creator's g l o r y , cannot be placed i n the same category as the race of g i a n t s , the f a c t remains: Manoa does not recognize or comprehend \"what most m e r i t s fame.\" Despite the f a c t that the bloody carnage Manoa e x u l t s i n has been committed i n the name of God, i t does not a l t e r the p l a i n f a c t that Manoa does not perceive the e s s e n t i a l meaning of heroism. The Old Testament v e r s i o n of heroism was not s a t i s -f a c t o r y to M i l t o n , and Manoa's f u n c t i o n i n the play, i t seems obvious to me, i s to make t h i s c l e a r . E.M.W. T i l l y a r d ' s d i s c u s s i o n of Samson Agonistes embraces the point of view that M i l t o n was d i s s a t i s f i e d w i t h h i s heroes i n Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained. M i l t o n ' s drama represents the poet's \"renewed f a i t h i n a c t i o n . \" In n e i t h e r Paradise Lost nor Paradise Regained had there been a normal hero. Adam, i f the hero, was i n a s i t u a t i o n too f a r removed from ordinary human c o n d i t i o n s to be quite s a t i s f a c t o r y as normal man: f u r t h e r , he d i d not have the opportunity of e f f e c t i n g anything that could be c a l l e d worthy of the highest a b i l i t i e s of mankind. C h r i s t i n Paradise Regained cannot be s a i d to correspond - to f a l l i b l e humanity: h i s v i c t o r y i s a foregone c o n c l u s i o n and h i s s t r u g g l e , as s t r u g g l e , has l i t t l e i n t e r e s t . Samson i s d i f f e r e n t : human, f a l l i b l e , and yet e x h i b i t i n g to what heroism humanity can r i s e . M i l t o n may w e l l have r e s t e d u n s a t i s f i e d t i l l he had achieved h i s c r e a t i o n . 2 - ' I do not dispute that Samson i s a M i l t o n i c hero, but I do dispute T i l l y a r d ' s grounds f o r c a l l i n g him a hero. Samson's career represents M i l t o n ' s a r c h e t y p a l h e r o i c s i t u a t i o n : man confronted by e v i l , s t r u g g l i n g against i t and overcoming i t , and becoming magnanimous i n the process. But M i l t o n ' s r e l i g i o n d i c t a t e d that genuine heroism was comprehended by men only w i t h the advent of C h r i s t . Samson Agonistes contains an i m p l i c i t d e c l a r a t i o n of t h i s , and M i l t o n ' s exemplary hero must be, then, C h r i s t h i m s e l f . FOOTNOTES: CHAPTER IV M i l t o n ' s Samson and the C h r i s t i a n T r a d i t i o n ( P r i n c e t o n : P r i n c e t o n U n i v e r s i t y Press, 1949), p. 104. 2 \"Tragic E f f e c t i n Samson Ago n i s t e s \" i n M i l t o n Modern Essays i n C r i t i c i s m , ed. Arthur E. Barker (New York: Oxford U n i v e r s i t y Press, 1965), pp. 447-66. 3 \" F a i t h f u l Champion\": The Th e o l o g i c a l Basis of M i l t o n ' s Hero of F a i t h \" i n M i l t o n Modern Essays i n C r i t i c i s m , p. 471. 4 M i l t o n and C h r i s t i a n Heroism, p. 27. Modern c r i t i c i s m of Samson Agonistes a l s o recognizes M i l t o n ' s Samson as a p r e f i g u r a t i o n of C h r i s t . See C.A. P a t r i d e s , M i l t o n and the C h r i s t i a n T r a d i t i o n (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1966), p. 130. Another c r i t i c has viewed M i l t o n ' s play as a c e l e b r a t i o n of C h r i s t ' s s p i r i t u a l agony. See T.S.K. S c o t t - C r a i g , \"Concerning M i l t o n ' s Samson,\" Renaissance News, V (1952), 45-53. \u00E2\u0080\u009E There can be no doubt that M i l t o n ' s Samson bears l i t t l e resemblance to h i s counterpart i n Judges. For i n f o r m a t i o n regarding the character of Samson we may, t h e r e f o r e , r e l y almost e x c l u s i v e l y on M i l t o n ' s play. 7Works, XVII, pp. 245-47. 8 I b i d . , p. 247. 9 With reference to S a u l , I am here c o n s i d e r i n g h i s character and career before the appearance of David when Saul's degeneration began. 10 John M. Steadman, M i l t o n and the Renaissance Hero, p. 63. U W o r k s , XVII, p. 59. 12 I b i d . , p. 57. 13 \" A r e o p a g i t i c a \" i n Works, IV, p. 311. 14 Woodhouse's d i v i s i o n i n \"Tragic E f f e c t i n Samson Ago n i s t e s \" i s the one I have used i n t h i s paper. 114 15 \"Tragic E f f e c t i n Samson Ag o n i s t e s \" i n M i l t o n Modern Essays, p. 450. 16 Ambition, as used by M i l t o n here, \"keeps i t s L a t i n meaning of canvassing f o r p u b l i c support.\" M e r r i t t Y. Hughes' note i n Complete Poems and Major Prose, p. 557. ^ 7De O f f i c i i s , p. 66. 18 Summa Theologica, p. 250. 19 In h i s e d i t i o n of M i l t o n ' s work Hughes notes that M i l t o n defined righteousness \"as j u s t i c e to a man's s e l f , \" and contended that opposed to righteousness was \"a perverse hatred of s e l f . \" Complete Poems, p. 563. 20 M i l t o n argued i n De Doctrina C h r i s t i a n a that God permitted tempt-a t i o n because i t made f o r righteousness. . Works, XIV, p. 247. 21 , In De Doctrina M i l t o n discussed f o r t i t u d e as one of the dut i e s man owed to h i m s e l f . F o r t i t u d e \" i s c h i e f l y conspicuous i n r e j e c t i n g e v i l , or i n regarding i t s approach w i t h equanimity.\" Works, XVII, p. 247. 22 I t i s strange to witness that Samson can experience these \"motions\" and yet can f i n d no \"source of c o n s o l a t i o n from above / Secret r e f r e s h i n g s . . . ,\" that might serve to enable him to p a t i e n t l y endure. The f a c t that Samson's onl y \" r e l e a s e can be death serves, i t seems to me, to show that the f a i t h h e l d by men l i v i n g before the coming of C h r i s t i s i n f e r i o r to C h r i s t i a n i t y . Works, XVII, p. 393. This i s from M i l t o n ' s d e f i n i t i o n of \"saving f a i t h . \" The omission i s : \u00E2\u0080\u00A2\". . . whatsoever things he has promised i n C h r i s t are ours . . . .\" Samson's f a i t h , because he has been promised by God that he should d e l i v e r I s r a e l , i s s u b s t a n t i a l l y and e s s e n t i a l l y the same as C h r i s t i a n \"saving f a i t h . \" 24 St. P a u l , whom I venture to t h i n k M i l t o n ' s \"best\" teacher, had contended: \"Every man hath h i s proper g i f t of God, one a f t e r t h i s manner, and another a f t e r t h a t \" ( I . C o r i n t h i a n s V I I , 7 ). M i l t o n (London: Chatto & Windus, 1956), p. 331. CHAPTER V CHRIST: THE MEASURE OF HEROIC MAGNANIMITY And when i t was day, he departed and went i n t o a desert place: and the people sought him, and came unto him, that he should not depart from them. And he s a i d unto them, I must preach the Kingdom of God to other c i t i e s a l s o : f o r there-fore am I sent. Luke IV, 42-43 Despite the f a c t that d i s p a s s i o n a t e c r i t i c i s m has long been r e c -ognized as the p r i n c i p a l c r i t e r i o n f o r c r i t i c a l e v a l u a t i o n of l i t e r a t u r e , the experience of l i t e r a t u r e remains eminently personal. Next to Paradise Regained, I can t h i n k of no other poem w i t h which c r i t i c s have had greater d i f f i c u l t y i n seeing the object as i n i t s e l f i t r e a l l y i s . We come to the poem bearing our l i k e s and d i s l i k e s , our biases and p r e j u d i c e s , our icons and i d o l s ; we g e n e r a l l y depart c a r r y i n g the same baggage. Because the permanent b e l i e f s of men r e s i d e i n an area of the mind where l o g i c and reason are seldom permitted e n t r y , when we examine a work of a r t which l i e s near the very heart of our own personal exper-ience and c u l t u r e , our c a p a c i t y f o r i m p a r t i a l examination and e v a l u a t i o n i s g r e a t l y impaired. This i s the d i f f i c u l t y f a c i n g the student of Paradise Regained. C h r i s t i a n readers f e a r t h e i r own b i a s ; they c a r e f u l l y guard t h e i r p r a i s e s and t h e i r c r i t i c i s m s . Non-Christians f e a r nothing; they can f r e e l y deprecate the poet's achievement out of hand. O s t e n s i b l y , to defend M i l t o n ' s b r i e f i s to j u s t i f y the C h r i s t i a n f a i t h w i t h a l l i t s c o n t r a d i c t i o n s and i t s a m b i g u i t i e s ; to a t t a c k the poem i s to argue that 116 the character of Jesus C h r i s t a u t o m a t i c a l l y precludes any p o s s i b i l i t y of dramatic c o n f l i c t . The r e a l problem f a c i n g c r i t i c s of Paradise Regained concerns the mysterious nature of C h r i s t : i s he man or i s he a god? The C h r i s t i a n b e l i e v e s that the Son i s both human and d i v i n e ; he i s , as M i l t o n argued i n De D o c t r i n a , the \" h y p o s t a t i c union of two n a t u r e s . \" The n o n - C h r i s t i a n f i n d s i t almost impossible to accept M i l t o n C h r i s t as man. Unfounded admiration and unsupported condemnation are the two poles between which the w o u l d - b e - h o n e s t - c r i t i c of M i l t o n ' s b r i e f epic must s t e e r . And the course i s hazardous. For M i l t o n , the C h r i s t of Paradise Regained represents the u l t i m a t e heroism man can r e a l i z e ; the Son i s the p e r f e c t measure of h e r o i c magnanimity. Indeed i n h i s f i r s t i n v o c a t i o n M i l t o n promises . . . to t e l l of deeds Above H e r o i c , though i n secret done, And unrecorded l e f t through many an Age, Worthy t'have not remained so long unsung. ( I . 14-17) S i g n i f i c a n t l y , M i l t o n d i d not choose e i t h e r C h r i s t ' s m i n i s t r y or the \"Passion\" to demonstrate the Son's heroism, a brand ofVheroism which the poet claimed was s u p e r i o r t o , and \"above\" what other poets had named h e r o i c . M i l t o n e l e c t e d , r a t h e r , to represent the u l t i m a t e heroism by p o r t r a y i n g C h r i s t b a t t l i n g a gainst Satan i n the w i l d e r n e s s . But Satan's t r i p l e temptation of C h r i s t as recorded i n the gospel according to 2 Luke, provided M i l t o n w i t h what I have c a l l e d the a r c h e t y p a l h e r o i c s i t u a t i o n : man tempted by e v i l , s t r u g g l i n g against and r e j e c t i n g e v i l , d e s t r o y i n g e v i l by accepting good, and becoming magnanimous i n the proces 117 The great d i f f i c u l t y most c r i t i c s have found i n d e a l i n g w i t h Paradise Regained, however, i s t h a t , f o r them, the poem contains no elements of drama--there i s no c o n f l i c t . In i t s e s s e n t i a l o u t l i n e s , the prevalent c r i t i c a l a t t i t u d e regarding M i l t o n ' s b r i e f epic f o l l o w s . The character of C h r i s t , i t i s i m p l i e d , i s above temptation. The Son i s , i n f a c t , the p e r f e c t magnanimous man before he i s approached by Satan. There i s no development or progression i n the poem because C h r i s t has r e a l i z e d h i s p o t e n t i a l f o r heroism before he i s c a l l e d upon to prove i t . C h r i s t , most readers of Paradise Regained seem to agree, i s more d i v i n e than human. As a r e s u l t , the reader i s not made to f e e l t hat the Son i_s hungry or that there L^s any p o s s i b i l i t y of h i s weakening. Satan's overtures thus become empty motions, and the poem f a i l s to engage 3 the reader. What f o l l o w s i n t h i s chapter i s not o f f e r e d i n the hope that a c r i t i c a l r e v a l u a t i o n of the poem w i l l suddenly a l t e r the a t t i t u d e s and opinions of men who are wiser and more experienced than I , but simply to show what I take to be M i l t o n ' s best expression of what h e r o i c man was to be. In my o p i n i o n , there i s a c o n f l i c t i n the poem. I t concerns C h r i s t ' s p e r f e c t heroism, h i s magnanimous nature. Satan's temptation of C h r i s t i s a temptation f o r the apparently s u p e r i o r man e i t h e r to renounce or f a i l to recognize h i s own magnanimity. The Adversary's plan i s to prove that Jesus i s not the p e r f e c t man. He can do t h i s by showing that C h r i s t ' s self-esteem i s not j u s t i f i a b l e , or by demonstrating that the Son does not place s u f f i c i e n t emphasis on h i s own worth, by showing that C h r i s t i s proud, ambitious, or p u s i l l a n i m o u s . Satan, i n f a c t , challenges the Son's magnanimity, and the l a t t e r , t h e r e f o r e , 118 i s c a l l e d upon to defend and to define h i s own superior nature. Their b a t t l e , as Saurat has contended, i s between reason and passion ( f a l s e reason), a purely i n t e l l e c t u a l c o n f l i c t i n which reason and passion contend f o r the mastery of man.^ Seen i n t h i s context, Paradise Regained does embrace and c o n t a i n a dramatic s i t u a t i o n . T h e r e i s not, as W.W. 6 Robson argues, \"an e s s e n t i a l f a i l u r e i n the l i f e of the poem.\" Satan s challenge to C h r i s t represents a challenge to M i l t o n ' s concept of h e r o i c magnanimity. 7 C h r i s t ' s answer to the d e v i l ' s challenge therefore provides us w i t h M i l t o n ' s f i n a l p a t t e r n of magnanimity or h e r o i c v i r t u e . On our f i r s t meeting with M i l t o n ' s C h r i s t , we l e a r n that he i s the s u p e r i o r man. We l e a r n that he has acquired self-knowledge. He acknowledges h i s own weakness as man by e x p l a i n i n g that he i s dependent on God ( I . 293), and knows h i s strength as man by r e c o g n i z i n g that he can be a s o l d i e r i n the army of God. From h i s childhood, he admits, . . .my mind was set Serious to l e a r n and know, and thence to do What might be p u b l i c good; myself I thought Born to that end, born to promote a l l t r u t h , A l l r ighteous things . . . . ( I . 202-205) Aware of h i s own worth, C h r i s t ' s mind a s p i r e s to higher t h i n g s , to the p u r s u i t of honour and g l o r y . \"Admir'd by a l l \" f o r h i s y o u t h f u l wisdom, the Son admits: . . . v i c t o r i o u s deeds Flam'd i n my heart h e r o i c a c t s ; one while To rescue I s r a e l from the Roman yoke, Then to subdue and q u e l l o'er a l l the earth Brute v i o l e n c e and proud Tyrannic pow'r, T i l l t r u t h were f r e e d , and e q u i t y r e s t o r ' d : Yet h e l d i t more humane, more heavenly, f i r s t 119 By winning words to conquer w i l l i n g h e a r t s , And make persuasion do the work of f e a r ; At l e a s t to t r y , and teach the e r r i n g Soul Not w i l f u l l y misdoing, but unware M i s l e d : the stubborn only to subdue. ( I . 215-226) Moreover, C h r i s t knows that the end of h i s l i f e i s union w i t h h i s f a t h e r . A f t e r f u l f i l l i n g h i s o b l i g a t i o n s as man, he w i l l u l t i m a t e l y acquire the p e r f e c t knowledge of God. . . . my way must l i e Through many a hard assay even to the death, Ere I the promis'd Kingdom can a t t a i n . . . . ( I . 263-265) Thus before he i s confronted by Satan, C h r i s t i s magnanimous man. He recognizes h i s own worth. He seeks the honour and g l o r y of God, and he a s p i r e s to a t t a i n the p e r f e c t knowledge of God. But i t i s C h r i s t ' s magnanimous nature that makes him v u l n e r a b l e . Because he wants immediately to begin the b a t t l e a gainst e v i l , because he wants to g l o r i f y and honour God by d e s t r o y i n g e v i l , Satan can o f f e r him the apparent means to do so, and can c r i t i c i z e the Son f o r n e g l e c t i n g h i s r e s p o n s i b i l i t i e s while m e d i t a t i n g i n the desert. And t h i s i s p r e c i s e l y what Satan's r e a l tempt-a t i o n i s . Confronted by the Adversary, C h r i s t must l e a r n to d i f f e r e n t i a t e between good and e v i l . He must l e a r n to d i s c e r n what i s i n t r i n s i c a l l y good and to accept i t , and to d i s c e r n what i s i n t r i n s i c a l l y e v i l and r e j e c t i t . C h r i s t must demonstrate h i s a b i l i t y to d i s t i n g u i s h between apparent and a c t u a l , to r e j e c t the former and embrace the l a t t e r . Indeed, the Son must become aware of what genuine or r e a l heroism e n t a i l s and embraces. The important point i s that C h r i s t does not yet f u l l y comprehend 120 how he may begin h i s good works. He does not know what he w i l l do or how and when he s h a l l begin. He knows only that he i s the Son of God and that he has a duty to perform. S i n g l e d out by John the B a p t i s t and acknowledged as the Messiah by signs from heaven, C h r i s t reasons that h i s work can now begin. . . . I knew the time Now f u l l , that I no more should l i v e obscure, But openly begin, as best becomes The A u t h o r i t y which I d e r i v ' d from Heaven. And now by some strong motion I am l e d Into t h i s Wilderness, to what i n t e n t I l e a r n not\"yet; perhaps I need not know; For what concerns my knowledge God r e v e a l s . ( I . 286-293) Satan, we d i s c o v e r , loses l i t t l e time i n a n a l y z i n g h i s opponent's strengths and p o t e n t i a l weaknesses, and h i s f i r s t encounter w i t h the Son i s r e a l l y nothing more than a k i n d of reconnaissance m i s s i o n . The Adversary's f i r s t and foremost task i s to discover the true i d e n t i t y of Jesus. He does not know f o r c e r t a i n whether the s e l f -proclaimed Messiah i s the a c t u a l Son of God. To h i s comrades, Satan thus announces: Who t h i s i s we must l e a r n , f o r man he seems In a l l h i s lineaments, though i n h i s face The glimpses of h i s Father's g l o r y shine^ ( I . 91-93) To t h i s end a l l the d e v i l ' s energy i s d i r e c t e d . By suggesting that no ordinary man would venture alone i n t o the wilderness ( I . 321-325), and by remarking that the wanderer i s the man whom John the B a p t i s t had declared the promised d e l i v e r e r of men, Satan hopes to gain from the man 121 a d e c l a r a t i o n and c o n f i r m a t i o n of h i s (Jesus') i d e n t i t y . But the Son answers Satan's e x p l o r a t o r y question by a f l a t d e c l a r a t i o n of h i s f a i t h i n God: \"Who brought me h i t h e r / W i l l b r i n g me hence, no other guide I seek\" ( I . 335-336). Satan's f i r s t demand of C h r i s t i s a c a r e f u l l y framed question which i s put forward i n the hope that C h r i s t w i l l demon-s t r a t e h i s d i v i n i t y . By c h a l l e n g i n g Jesus to turn stones i n t o bread ( I . 342-345), Satan can evaluate h i s opponent's power of r e s i s t a n c e . I f C h r i s t performs the m i r a c l e , the Adversary w i l l l e a r n h i s i d e n t i t y ; i f the Son r e f u s e s , Satan can judge from Jesus' grounds f o r r e f u s a l whether the s o l i t a r y man can be the promised saviour of men. Indeed, from C h r i s t ' s answer Satan should l e a r n p r e c i s e l y what he set out to d i s c o v e r , and he does, i n f a c t , g ain from the Son an admission of the l a t t e r ' s i d e n t i t y . Jesus asks, Why dost thou then suggest to me d i s t r u s t , Knowing who I am, as I know who thou a r t ? ( I . 355-356) Satan, however, does not comprehend the r e a l s i g n i f i c a n c e of C h r i s t ' s r e j e c t i o n of him. The Son i s equipped w i t h f a i t h i n h i m s e l f and h i s God, and ther e f o r e f e e l s no need to demand proof of, or j u s t i f i c a t i o n f o r h i s f a i t h . S i g n i f i c a n t l y , the man's response to Satan's challenge, h i s defence as i t were ( I . 347-356), i s based on mortal men's a b i l i t y to endure, and does not, t h e r e f o r e , give the Adversary any t a n g i b l e proof of C h r i s t ' s d i v i n e nature. The p l a i n f a c t that Satan f a i l s to recognize i s that b e l i e f or f a i t h r e q u i r e s no t a n g i b l e or concrete proof. Satan, 122 however,'would see a s i g n ' . The f i r s t temptation, i f i t may be. r e f e r r e d g to as such, f a i l s . That t h i s i s so i s not because Satan's demands have f a i l e d to achieve the d e s i r e d e f f e c t , but because Satan's ' u n b e l i e f renders him incapable of comprehending C h r i s t ' s d i v i n e nature. That i s , because Satan must have p h y s i c a l evidence (a m i r a c l e ) to accept that C h r i s t i s the Son, he cannot b e l i e v e . C h r i s t ' s b e l i e f , h i s a b i l i t y to accept by f a i t h alone, enables him to recognize Satan as the e v i l one, and i t i s only t h i s which provides Satan w i t h the s i g n he r e q u i r e s . But the remainder of the f i r s t encounter between the d e v i l and the Son r e v e a l s that Satan i s r e s o u r c e f u l , cunning, and a worthy adversary, f o r , now reasonably convinced of h i s enemy's i d e n t i t y , the d e v i l begins to p l o t h i s s t r a t e g y . He attempts, by r e c o n n o i t e r i n g h i s opponent's defences, to discover where the Son i s most v u l n e r a b l e . Before he confronted the Son, Satan had t o l d h i s comrades that f o r c e would not be s u c c e s s f u l , that they would, r a t h e r , have to employ \" w e l l - c o u c h 1 t fraud, well-woven snares\" ( I . 97). Satan's remaining speeches i n the f i r s t book of the poem r e v e a l h i s s k i l f u l attempt to d i s c o v e r what p a r t i c u l a r k i n d of fraud w i l l best serve him. Because C h r i s t recognizes him, Satan c a p i t a l i z e s on the apparent weakness of h i s own p o s i t i o n . He openly declares h i s i d e n t i t y and proceeds to make an appeal to the Son's sympathies. The Adversary's long speech ( I . 357-405) i s complex, a mixture of t r u t h and falsehood. He i m p l i e s that he f e e l s remorse: the angels' r e v o l t was \"rash\"; he i s an \"unfortunate S p i r i t \" who has l o s t h i s \"happy S t a t i o n \" . Yet he e x p l a i n s that he s t i l l enjoys \"large l i b e r t y \" , and then complains that he i s i n v o l u n t a r i l y i n 123 God's s e r v i c e : \"For what he bids I do\" ( I . 377). Satan's apparent conf u s i o n , however, i s a ruse. His r e a l s t r a t e g y becomes apparent when he e x p l a i n s h i s new c o n d i t i o n and informs the Son why he (Satan) has confronted him. Satan e x p l a i n s : . . . I have not l o s t To l o v e , at l e a s t contemplate and admire What I see e x c e l l e n t i n good, or f a i r , Or v i r t u o u s ; I should so have l o s t a l l sense. What can be then l e s s i n me than d e s i r e To see thee and approach thee, whom I know Declar'd the Son of God, to hear a t t e n t Thy wisdom, and behold thy Godlike deeds? ( I . 379-386) Satan's plan i s to make C h r i s t aware of the l a t t e r ' s own sense of worth, h i s magnanimity. Satan f l a t t e r s the Son. But he does not a l l o w C h r i s t to ponder the meaning of t h i s , f o r he immediately changes the d i r e c t i o n of h i s argument. He pleads that he i s not the sworn enemy of man ( I . 387-396). He argues that h i s own misery i s not a l l e v i a t e d by making others miserable ( I . 397-403), and ends by a s s e r t i n g that h i s own misery i s compounded by the knowledge that he can never be r e s t o r e d ( I . 404-405). Satan's complex and o f t e n c o n t r a d i c t o r y arguments represent an e l a b o r a t e l y c o n t r i v e d t e s t of C h r i s t ' s perception. From C h r i s t ' s response Satan w i l l l e a r n a great deal about h i s enemy. When C h r i s t r e p l i e s and reveals that he has not been confused by the arguments Satan has put forward, the Adversary learns one important t h i n g : C h r i s t i s eager to a t t a c k him f o r h i s e v i l doings, but i s not disposed to rebuke Satan f o r the l a t t e r ' s f l a t t e r y . C h r i s t does not upbraid the e v i l one f o r pretending to admire v i r t u e . Satan's next speech ( I . 468-492) thus explores the one p o s s i b l e weakness i n C h r i s t ' s 124 character he has discovered. Satan claims that he admires v i r t u e and therefore wishes to be i n the presence of v i r t u e ( I . 482-485). But Satan's appeal i s made even stronger by d i r e c t i n g h i s arguments to C h r i s t ' s knowledge of e v i l i n the world of men. Satan asks why C h r i s t should r e j e c t him i f God allows e v i l men to profane His g l o r y ( I . 486-492). Once more the Adversary's argument i s two-pronged. He appeals, f i r s t , to C h r i s t ' s own sense of worth and d i g n i t y , and, secondly, to the Son's r o l e i n the u l t i m a t e extermination of e v i l . By suggesting that e v i l i s permitted to f l o u r i s h u n t i l the coming of C h r i s t , Satan i s f l a t t e r i n g the Son, b o l s t e r i n g C h r i s t ' s ego and i m p e l l i n g him to recognize h i s own worth. Once more C h r i s t answers c o r r e c t l y but does not say enough. He t e l l s Satan: Thy coming h i t h e r , though I know thy scope, I b i d not or f o r b i d ; do as thou f i n d ' s t Permission from above; thou canst not more. ( I . 493-495) By answering Satan as he does here, and by not saying more, Jesus gives Satan two va l u a b l e pieces of i n f o r m a t i o n . The f i r s t i s that C h r i s t i s not averse to being f l a t t e r e d ; twice Satan has openly pr a i s e d the Son and n e i t h e r time has he been re b u f f e d . The second i s t h a t C h r i s t , who, as Satan had learned e a r l i e r ( I . 460-461), i s \"minded to do some great a c t \" , i s conscious of h i s own worth; he w i l l not s h r i n k from the encounter w i t h e v i l and indeed, stands ready and w a i t i n g to do b a t t l e w i t h e v i l . I have considered Satan's f i r s t overtures a t some length here because, i t seems to me, they r e v e a l the course that the contest between the d e v i l and the Son i s to take. Satan has discovered a p o t e n t i a l l y 125 weak spot i n C h r i s t ' s armor: the Son, because he f e r v e n t l y d e s i r e s to do b a t t l e a gainst e v i l , can be g u i l t y of pride i n e i t h e r h i s m i s s i o n (hi s sense of worth) or h i s achievements. This i s r e f l e c t e d i n the Son's f a i l u r e to r e j e c t Satan's f l a t t e r y and p r a i s e . How Satan r e a c t s a f t e r h i s f i r s t encounter w i t h C h r i s t serves to show that he has discovered the one p o s s i b l e weakness i n the character of h i s opponent, and serves to show, moreover, that he i s determined to take f u l l advantage of the i n t e l l i g e n c e . Addressing h i s comrades, Satan r e l a t e s what he has discovered. He has recognized that C h r i s t i s a supe r i o r man, and admits: I , as I undertook, and w i t h the vote Consenting i n f u l l frequence was empow'r'd, Have found him, view'd him, t a s t e d him, but f i n d Far other labor to be undergone Than when I d e a l t w i t h Adam f i r s t of Men, Though Adam by h i s Wife's allurement f e l l , However to t h i s Man i n f e r i o r f a r , I f he be Man by Mother's side at l e a s t With more than human g i f t s from Heav'n adorn'd, P e r f e c t i o n s absolute, Graces d i v i n e , And amplitude of mind to gre a t e s t Deeds. ( I I . 129-139) Thus when B e l i a l suggests p h y s i c a l temptation i n the form of women ( I I . 153-171), Satan f l a t l y rebukes him. C h r i s t , Satan c o r r e c t l y diagnoses, i s one \"on worthier things i n t e n t \" ( i i . 195). The Son i s . . . wiser f a r Than Solomon, of more e x a l t e d mind, Made and set wholly on th'accomplishment Of greater things . . . . ( I I . 205-207) C h r i s t i s not to be defeated by too obvious means, and Satan concludes that the a s s a u l t must be more p s y c h o l o g i c a l than p h y s i c a l . He r e s o l v e s : 126 . .. . w i t h manlier objects we must t r y His constancy, w i t h such as have more show Of worth, of honor, g l o r y , and popular p r a i s e ; Rocks whereon*greatest men have o f t e s t wreck'd; Or that which only seems to s a t i s f y Lawful d e s i r e s of Nature, not beyond . . . . ( I I . 225-230; my i t a l i c s ) To judge from Satan's words here, i t seems that the Adversary recognizes he w i l l o f f e r only the apparently good t h i n g s . But Satan's words must be i r o n i c . He t h i n k s that he w i l l appeal to C h r i s t ' s reason r a t h e r than to h i s passion, to the Son's sense of worth and d i g n i t y , h i s i n t e l l i g e n c e . The i r o n y i s t h a t Satan's s t r a t e g y i s b r i l l i a n t but h i s method i s s t u p i d . He could tempt C h r i s t i f he c o r r e c t l y understood the nature of g l o r y , honour, worth, and the e s s e n t i a l nature of C h r i s t ' s proposed war against e v i l . That i s , i f the Adversary were to rebuke C h r i s t f o r not immediately beginning to do God's work, i f he were to challenge C h r i s t f o r not hastening to a l l e v i a t e human misery by preaching the word of God, h i s temptation could conceivably be e f f e c t i v e . But, as we discover from Satan's conduct of the temptation, i t i s u t t e r l y f u t i l e . The second c o n f r o n t a t i o n begins when the Adversary o f f e r s nour-ishment to C h r i s t . The e v i l one argues that hunger i s a n a t u r a l d e s i r e i n men that must be s a t i s f i e d ( I I . 302-316), and C h r i s t _is hungry. But Satan's temptation goes beyond the purely p h y s i c a l . He points out that other f a i t h f u l servants of God have been fed by God ( I I . 306-313), and i m p l i e s t h a t C h r i s t , as God's most f a i t h f u l servant, should not then do without nourishment. He therefore asks the Son whether he would eat i f food were set before him ( I I . 320-321). When, i n r e p l y to Satan's question, C h r i s t answers \"Thereafter as I l i k e / The g i v e r \" ( I I . 321-322), Satan 127 makes a d i r e c t appeal to Jesus' magnanimity. He asks why C h r i s t , as l o r d of a l l created t h i n g s , should not be free to take whatever he r e q u i r e s ( I I . 322-327). He argues that Nature h e r s e l f recognizes C h r i s t ' s s u p e r i o r nature, and hence o f f e r s the Son her c h o i c e s t d e l i c a c i e s . The bearers of the food, Satan t e l l s C h r i s t , . . . are S p i r i t s of A i r , and Woods, and Springs, Thy gentle M i n i s t e r s , who come to pay Thee homage, and acknowledge thee t h i r Lord . . . . ( I I . 374-376) But C h r i s t ' s r e j e c t i o n of Satan's o f f e r r e v e a l s that the Son has not been taken i n by Satan's f l a t t e r y , f o r C h r i s t demonstrates that he i s able to r e j e c t Satan because he ( C h r i s t ) c o r r e c t l y understands h i s own d i g n i t y . He answers: S h a l l I r e c e i v e by g i f t what of my own, When and where l i k e s me best, I can command? ( I I . 380-381) Satan had appealed to C h r i s t ' s magnanimity to tempt him but i s rebuked by C h r i s t ' s magnanimous nature. That i s , the Adversary's appeal was d i r e c t e d to C h r i s t ' s s u p e r i o r nature but i s r e j e c t e d because Satan has not properly understood how convinced of h i s own worth the Son a c t u a l l y i s . The food Satan o f f e r s i s not i n t r i n s i c a l l y e v i l , but i f C h r i s t accepts i t , he w i l l not, i n f a c t , recognize h i s own worth and power. The r e s t of the e v i l one's overtures are s i m i l a r l y motivated and s i m i l a r l y repulsed. What Satan o f f e r s to C h r i s t comprises what A r i s t o t l e ' s magnanimous man pursues. Satan o f f e r s C h r i s t the means whereby the Son might acquire 128 honour. Power and r i c h e s , A r i s t o t l e had contended, were d e s i r a b l e . But the magnanimous man wanted them f o r the sake of the honour that surrounded 9 them. They were, then, means to an end. M i l t o n ' s magnanimous man, however, does not accept that the ends j u s t i f y the means, f o r M i l t o n ' s s u p e r i o r man must be p e r f e c t l y and inwardly v i r t u o u s . How man conducts h i m s e l f i s as important as why he conducts himself i n a p a r t i c u l a r way. M i l t o n ' s d e f i n i t i o n of magnanimity must be quoted once more. \"Magnanimity\", he a s s e r t e d , \" i s shown, when i n the seeking or a v o i d i n g , the acceptance o_r r e f u s a l of r i c h e s , advantages, or honors, we are actuated by a regard to our own d i g n i t y , r i g h t l y understood\" (my i t a l i c s ) . ^ M i l t o n makes i t c l e a r , then, that the magnanimous man's p u r s u i t of honour must not be an i n d i s c r i m i n a t e quest. The s u p e r i o r man must comprehend i n what r e a l honour c o n s i s t s , and must, i n a d d i t i o n , ' r i g h t l y ' understand h i m s e l f , h i s own d i g n i t y and worth. Satan's second temptation forces C h r i s t to d i f f e r e n t i a t e between l e g i t i m a t e and i l l e g i t i m a t e honour and g l o r y , and impels the Son to recognize h i s own d i g n i t y ; i t i s a t e s t of C h r i s t ' s knowledge of h e r o i c v i r t u e . 11 Satan's argument manifests that he has a f a l s e idea of heroism. In f a c t , he f a i l s to understand the meaning of h e r o i c v i r t u e as M i l t o n understood i t . The Adversary recognizes the e x t e r n a l signs of the magnan-imous man, but does not p e r c e i v e , as C h r i s t does, that r e a l heroism i s an inward q u a l i t y . Indeed, as M i l t o n ' s \" b e t t e r teacher\" Spenser, had argued i n the F a e r i e Queene, . . . vertues seat i s deepe w i t h i n the mynd And not i n outward shows, but inward thoughts defynd. (Prologue, V I . i v . 8-9) 129 Paradise Regained makes i t c l e a r that M i l t o n followed h i s teacher's advice. Satan assumes that C h r i s t ' s \"great a c t s \" w i l l be h e r o i c i n the conventional sense; he assumes that C h r i s t w i l l wage a magnificent war on e v i l which w i l l exceed the pomp and splendor of Caesar's greatest conquests. He assumes that C h r i s t w i l l be a v a l i a n t general who w i l l l ead a grand army i n t o b a t t l e . Because he understands \"high designs\" and \"high a c t i o n s \" as c o n s i s t i n g i n m i l i t a r y v i c t o r i e s , Satan n a t u r a l l y assumes that C h r i s t w i l l r e q u i r e money. He asks Jesus: Which way or from what hope dost thou a s p i r e To greatness? whence A u t h o r i t y d e r i v ' s t , What f o l l o w e r s , what Retinue canst thou gain, Or at thy heels the d i z z y M u l t i t u d e , Longer than thou canst feed them on thy cost? Money brings Honor, F r i e n d s , Conquest, and Realms . . . . ( I I . 417-422) But C h r i s t answers Satan's question, and rebuts h i s argument that v i r t u e , v a l o r , and wisdom l i v e i n poverty and are therefore impotent ( I I . 430-432), 12 by p o i n t i n g out that men cannot be r u l e d by force alone. Yet Wealth without these three i s impotent To g a i n dominion or to keep i t gain'd. ( I I . 434-435) Riches, the Son then points out, are a hindrance to v i r t u e ( I I . 435-456), and power, he adds, i s a curse r a t h e r than a b l e s s i n g , a p a i n f u l o b l i g a t i o n ( I I . 457-465). But C h r i s t ' s r e a l grounds f o r r e f u s a l are s u r e l y not based on h i s d i s t a s t e f o r r e s p o n s i b i l i t y . They are, r a t h e r , to be found i n M i l t o n ' s r e l i g i o u s c o n v i c t i o n s . The Son points out that the man who 13 seeks power over other men must f i r s t master h i m s e l f . He contends t h a t : 130 . . . he who r e i g n s w i t h i n h i m s e l f , and r u l e s Passions, D e s i r e s , and Fears, i s more a King; Which every wise and v i r t u o u s man a t t a i n s : And who a t t a i n s not, i l l a s p i r e s to r u l e C i t i e s of men, or headstrong M u l t i t u d e s , Subject h i m s e l f to Anarchy w i t h i n , Or lawless p a s s i o n s * i n him, which he serves. But to guide Nations i n the way of t r u t h By saving Doctrine, and from e r r o r lead To know, and knowing worship God a r i g h t , Is yet more K i n g l y ; t h i s a t t r a c t s the Soul, Governs the inner man, the nobler part; That other o'er the body only r e i g n s , And o f t by f o r c e , which to a generous mind So r e i g n i n g can be no s i n c e r e d e l i g h t . Besides, to give a Kingdom hath been thought Greater, and nobler done, and to l a y down Far more magnanimous than to assume. ( I I . 466-483) This long passage I have quoted here contains w i t h i n i t s e l f the germ of M i l t o n ' s concept of h e r o i c man. The magnanimous man must f i r s t be master of h i m s e l f i n order to be a governor of men. M i l t o n ' s praise of O l i v e r Cromwell i n the Second Defense of the E n g l i s h People (1654) r e v e a l s the poet's a b i d i n g concern with the i n d i v i d u a l ' s self-mastery. Cromwell, he wrote, . . . was a s o l d i e r , above a l l others the most e x e r c i s e d i n the knowledge of h i m s e l f ; he had e i t h e r destroyed, or reduced to h i s own c o n t r o l , a l l enemies w i t h i n h i s own b r e a s t \u00E2\u0080\u0094 v a i n hopes, f e a r s , d e s i r e s . A commander f i r s t over h i m s e l f , the conqueror of h i m s e l f , i t was over him s e l f he had l e a r n t most to triumph. The importance M i l t o n attached to i n d i v i d u a l self-mastery cannot be over-s t r e s s e d i n d e a l i n g w i t h h i s concept of h e r o i c man. I t i s c l e a r that Satan does not comprehend that the magnanimous man's greatest v i c t o r y i s personal, that h i s grandest conquest i s the overcoming of h i s own weakness. The Adversary expects that C h r i s t , l i k e Moses or David, w i l l engage i n p h y s i c a l combat w i t h e v i l . Satan does not recognize that the 131 b a t t l e C h r i s t i s f i g h t i n g and w i l l continue to f i g h t , i s inward i n nature, and that i t w i l l be fought w i t h i n each man who seeks honour. Men must be persuaded to be v i r t u o u s and to j o i n the army of the forces f o r g ood\u00E2\u0080\u0094 not coerced or c o n s t r a i n e d . I t i s thus C h r i s t can argue \"to give a Kingdom\" w i s more magnanimous than to assume one. Indeed, i t i s C h r i s t ' s m i s s i o n to o f f e r a kingdom to a l l men. He w i l l not attempt to force obedience to h i s r u l e and command, but w i l l i n s t e a d show men the way to self-government. Hughes notes that \" r e f u s a l of a crown was o f t e n c i t e d as a supreme example of m a g n a n i m i t y , b u t C h r i s t ' s statement here, i t seems to me, represents what i s f o r M i l t o n the e s s e n t i a l q u a l i t y of heroism. C h r i s t f r e e l y o f f e r s men a sense of worth and d i g n i t y by showing them the pathway to heroism. Magnanimity thus takes on the meaning of g e n e r o s i t y , and t h i s , i n the f i n a l a n a l y s i s , i s an i n t e g r a l part of M i l t o n ' s concept of heroism. Men are heroes when they conquer themselves and seek to show others the way to self-mastery and e t e r n a l happiness. The Son argues that magnanimity does not i n v o l v e imposing one's w i l l on oth e r s , but r a t h e r i n v o l v e s o f f e r i n g one's s e r v i c e s to others. Satan's understanding of heroism w i t h i t s i m p l i c a t i o n s of force and c o n s t r a i n t i s 16 r e a l l y anathema to M i l t o n . The remainder of Satan's arguments i n d i c a t e that he has f a i l e d to perceive the e s s e n t i a l q u a l i t y of C h r i s t ' s magnanimity. Indeed, Satan's cleverness and h i s resourcefulness d i m i n i s h r a p i d l y i n the t h i r d and f o u r t h books of the poem. He i s enamoured of e a r t h l y g l o r y and assumes that C h r i s t w i l l n a t u r a l l y share h i s love . Thus Satan's challenge that C h r i s t i s pusillanimous ( I I I . 21-42), though i t could have been e f f e c t i v e i f he had ar r a i g n e d the Son f o r not beginning to preach the gospel of 132 s a l v a t i o n , loses any e f f e c t i t might have had because Satan's challenge i s based on a wholly f a l s e premise: e a r t h l y g l o r y i s good i n i t s e l f . C h r i s t thus a t t a c k s Satan f o r the d e v i l ' s misunderstanding of g l o r y - -without however defending h i m s e l f against Satan's f i r s t charge that Jesus was n e g l e c t i n g h i s duty by not f u l f i l l i n g h i s o b l i g a t i o n s , by not, as i t were, s h i n i n g h i s l i g h t before men. Satan had asked: These Godlike V i r t u e s wherefore dost thou hide? A f f e c t i n g p r i v a t e l i f e , or more obscure In savage Wilderness . . . ? ( I I I . 21-23) But Satan had emasculated h i s own question by adding that C h r i s t ' s g u i l t was the r e s u l t of h i s f a i l u r e to pursue g l o r y as Satan understood i t ( I I I . 23-30). The Son thus rebukes Satan by making a long speech on the r e a l nature of the g l o r y the magnanimous man pursues. C h r i s t argues that the p r a i s e of the multitude i s f a l s e g l o r y ( I I I . 4 7 - 5 6 ) . ^ He points out that those men who have most eagerly pursued 'glory' are the worst enemies to mankind. They e r r who count i t g l o r i o u s to subdue By Conquest f a r and wide, to overrun Large Countries, and i n f i e l d great B a t t l e s win, Great C i t i e s by a s s a u l t : what do these Worthies, But rob and s p o i l , burn, s l a u g h t e r , and enslave Peaceable Nations, neighboring or remote, Made Captive, yet deserving freedom more Than those t h i r Conquerors, who leave behind Nothing but r u i n wheresoe'er they rove, And a l l the f l o u r i s h i n g works of peace destroy, Then s w e l l w i t h p r i d e , and must be t i t l ' d Gods, Great benefactors of mankind, D e l i v e r e r s , Worship't w i t h Temple, P r i e s t and S a c r i f i c e ? One i s the Son of Jove, or Mars the other, T i l l Conqueror Death discover them scarce men, R o l l i n g i n b r u t i s h v i c e s , and deform'd^, V i o l e n t or shameful death t h i r due reward. ( I I I . 71-87) 133 The magnanimous man's m i s s i o n i s not to destroy but to b u i l d . Men are to be r e h a b i l i t a t e d r a t h e r than punished. Moreover, the g l o r y the t r u l y h e r o i c man pursues i s not h i s own but God's ( I I I . 106-107). The highest g l o r y i s thus to be obtained by the unswerving p u r s u i t of t r u t h , the w i l l of God. i:For M i l t o n , thus, Socrates and Job are more h e r o i c than a l l the heroes of the past, f o r they have been true to themselves and' to the cause of good. True g l o r y , we l e a r n , i s tantamount to fame i n Heaven; i t i s \"to stand approy'd i n s i g h t of God.\" Rejected because of h i s f a i l u r e to comprehend the r e a l nature of g l o r y , Satan s h i f t s h i s at t a c k to other grounds; he upbraids the Son f o r the l a t t e r ' s i n a c t i v i t y . Satan's argument i s that C h r i s t has a duty to perform and i s ne g l i g e n t by h e s i t a t i n g to execute i t . He accuses the Son, i n e f f e c t , of being pusil/animous. But once more Satan destroys the e f f e c t i v e n e s s of h i s argument by imp l y i n g that C h r i s t i s g u i l t y because he does not begin to pursue h i s own ( C h r i s t ' s ) g l o r y . M i l t o n ' s magnanimous man, of course, must not pursue h i s own g l o r y , f o r to do so would render him g u i l t y of ambition, the excess of magnanimity. The magnanimous man pur-sues God's g l o r y and w i l l i n g l y submits to the w i l l of God. He therefore acts only when he knows that God wants him to. To Satan's challenge ( I I I . 171-180), C h r i s t thus responds: A l l things are best f u l f i l l ' d i n t h e i r due time, And .time there i s f o r a l l t h i n g s , Truth hath s a i d : I f of my r e i g n Prophetic Writ hath t o l d That i t should never end, so when begin The Father i n h i s purpose hath decreed . . . . ( I I I . 182-186; my i t a l i c s ) Once again the Adversary's ignorance has destroyed the p o s s i b l e e f f e c t i v e n e s s 134 of h i s challenge. Satan i s unaware of God's grand design and unaware that the g l o r y C h r i s t pursues i s not h i s ( C h r i s t ' s ) own. Satan's attempts to entrap C h r i s t by showing him \" a l l / The Kingdoms of the world, and a l l t h i r g l o r y \" (IV. 88-89) are thus r e f u t e d w i t h r e l a t i v e ease by the Son. This i s so because the Adversary has not yet f u l l y understood that C h r i s t ' s kingdom i s not of t h i s world. A l l Satan's o f f e r s of power, of the means whereby C h r i s t might i n i t i a t e h i s r u l e , are thus meaningless. Satan's n o t i o n that C h r i s t w i l l have to know the e v i l the Son proposes to overcome ( I I I . 246-250) i s a l s o mistaken. C h r i s t w i l l not set out to depose the c i v i l r u l e r s of e a r t h . He w i l l , r a t h e r , free men from t h e i r inward s e r v i t u d e . Because the Adversary does not know God's grand design, a l l h i s examples of how men have b a t t l e d e v i l i n the past are s i m i l a r l y i n v a l i d . The new d i s p e n s a t i o n does not r e q u i r e means of the k i n d Satan proposes. Indeed, even though C h r i s t informs Satan of the f a c t that p h y s i c a l f o r c e , the \"luggage of war\", i s \"argument / Of human weakness r a t h e r than of s t r e n g t h \" ( I I I . 401-402), the Adversary does not yet recognize what the nature of C h r i s t ' s r u l e w i l l be. And when the Son t e l l s Satan that men who renounce t h e i r inward l i b e r t y deserve p h y s i c a l servitude ( I I I . 414-432), the d e v i l s t i l l f a i l s to comprehend that the power he o f f e r s to C h r i s t i s worthless and impotent. He p e r s i s t s . He o f f e r s C h r i s t a choice between the Roman and P a r t h i a n l e g i o n s . From t h i s point i n the contest, Satan's overtures are r e a l l y i n the realm of t r a v e s t y . His reasoning power has apparently deserted him, and h i s o r i g i n a l plan to use \"well-couch't f r a u d \" c e r t a i n l y disappears when he demands that C h r i s t worship him (IV. 166-167). The 135 remainder of Satan's temptations are u t t e r l y f u t i l e because, i n f a c t , he has put forward the unacceptable c o n d i t i o n before he makes h i s next o f f e r . That i s , Satan w i l l give to C h r i s t the \"Kingdoms of the world\" i f the Son w i l l worship him. These are Satan's c o n d i t i o n s . Thus, any other o f f e r s the Adversary makes w i l l i n v o l v e the same c o n d i t i o n s . As a r e s u l t , C h r i s t ' s r e f u s a l w i l l be automatic. Indeed, Satan's o f f e r of wisdom and C h r i s t ' s vehement indictment of e a r t h l y wisdom must be seen i n t h i s context. M i l t o n ' s t i r a d e against c l a s s i c a l l e a r n i n g has occasioned much comment by h i s c r i t i c s . Douglas Bush adequately e x p l a i n s the problem w i t h which readers of M i l t o n are confronted. Bush w r i t e s : I t i s p a i n f u l indeed to watch M i l t o n t u r n and rend some main roo t s of h i s being, but we must t r y to understand him. His harsh condem-n a t i o n i s r e l a t i v e r a t h e r than absolute;.we know, that h i s f a v o u r i t e authors up to the end were a n c i e n t s , and t h i s very poem owes much to them. Yet, w i t h a strenuous and disappointed l i f e behind him, M i l t o n has come more and more to hold f a s t to u l t i m a t e t h i n g s . I f he, a wayfaring C h r i s t i a n , must choose between the c l a s s i c a l l i g h t of nature and the Hebrew l i g h t of r e v e l a t i o n , he cannot h e s i t a t e , whatever the c o s t . For i f our supreme task i i i t h i s world i s the conduct of our own l i v e s , then C h r i s t comes before P l a t o . I t would be wrong to say simply that i n o l d age the p u r i t a n has conquered the humanist. What i s true i s that M i l t o n holds the t r a d i t i o n a l a t t i t u d e of.the C h r i s t i a n humanist w i t h a more than t r a d i t i o n a l fervour i n s p i r e d by the c o n d i t i o n s of h i s age and by h i s own intense c h a r a c t e r . ^ This o p i n i o n , I b e l i e v e , i s the most i n t e l l i g e n t \u00C2\u00A9 * e - c r i t i c s of M i l t o n have put forward. But M i l t o n ' s a t t a c k on c l a s s i c a l l e a r n i n g i s a l s o understandable and indeed j u s t i f i a b l e , at l e a s t i n p a r t , because of i t s context i n the poem. Satan, i t must be remembered, has made i t p e r f e c t l y c l e a r that C h r i s t must worship the d e v i l i f he would re c e i v e the favors Satan proposes, and t h i s , of course, i s unthinkable. There i s , moreover, 136 one other circumstance which might serve to m o l l i f y M i l t o n ' s offence against the main roots of h i s being. This concerns the duty of the C h r i s t i a n . Regardless of the b e l i e v e r ' s l i b e r a l i t y , the p l a i n t r u t h i s that the C h r i s t i a n f i n d s \"true wisdom\" only i n S c r i p t u r e . He might, to be sure, f i n d shades of t r u t h i n n o n - C h r i s t i a n w r i t i n g s , and might f i n d c e r t a i n v e s t i g e s of f a i t h i n pagan philosophers. But the \"prime\" wisdom i s contained i n the B i b l e . No C h r i s t i a n can or w i l l deny t h i s . In a d d i t i o n , the Adversary's o f f e r is,r.-.made to C h r i s t \u00E2\u0080\u0094 t h e r e p o s i t o r y of t r u t h . He, as the Son of God, i s i n d i r e c t communication with the Omnipotent and has, t h e r e f o r e , acquired the p e r f e c t knowledge which other men must st r u g g l e to a t t a i n . I t i s f o r other mortal men to study \"to know God a r i g h t \" ; i t i s f o r other men to w r i t e t r e a t i s e s on what they conceive to be the C h r i s t i a n d o c t r i n e . C h r i s t i s the C h r i s t i a n d o c t r i n e . I have digressed somewhat here only i n order to make c l e a r p r e c i s e l y how \" r e l a t i v e r a t h e r than a b s o l u t e \" C h r i s t ' s conduct i s . A l l of Satan's appeals have thus f a r been made to C h r i s t ' s own sense of worth, to the Son's obvious d e s i r e to pursue the g l o r y of God. Because Satan does not understand (to judge from h i s conduct) the e s s e n t i a l nature of the su p e r i o r man, or the p a r t i c u l a r k i n d of g l o r y the magnanimous man pursues, he has been r e f u t e d w i t h r e l a t i v e ease. C h r i s t ' s conscious-ness of h i s own worth, h i s regard to h i s own d i g n i t y r i g h t l y understood, precludes h i s being deceived by Satan. Because of f a i l u r e , Satan, f r u s -t r a t e d , subjects the Son to a f i n a l t e s t of the man's f a i t h . P l a c i n g him on the highest peak of God's temple, Satan c h a l l e n g e s : 137 . . . There stand, i f thou w i l t stand, to stand u p r i g h t W i l l ask thee s k i l l . . . . (IV. 551-552) The Son knows that he has the power to overcome e v i l by f a i t h , that he i s f r e e to stand though f r e e to f a l l . His f a i t h gives him s t r e n g t h ; he does not presume to tempt h i s f a t h e r by h u r l i n g h i m s e l f from the pinnacle. Satan, however, because he cannot comprehend the nature of f a i t h or b e l i e f , f a l l s : \"Satan smitten w i t h amazement f e l l \" (IV. 561). This f i n a l scene i s a symbolic r e p r e s e n t a t i o n of the power of f a i t h or b e l i e f . The Son represents b e l i e f ; Satan, u n b e l i e f . F a i t h or b e l i e f gives man' \" s k i l l \" ; without f a i t h or b e l i e f , man cannot endure and cannot stand. His c o n d i t i o n , M i l t o n makes i t very c l e a r , i s p e r i l o u s \u00E2\u0080\u0094 u n l e s s man has f a i t h . Armed w i t h f a i t h i n God as C h r i s t i s , man i s capable of c o n t r i -b uting to the d e s t r u c t i o n of e v i l . He can destroy e v i l , as i t were, by proving that e v i l i s powerless to destroy him. This i s the great l e s s o n of Paradise Regained. I t i s moreover, the p e r f e c t m a n i f e s t a t i o n of the h e r o i c man's duty f u l f i l l e d . M i l t o n ' s C h r i s t , I have maintained, represents the u l t i m a t e heroism to which men can a s p i r e ; he i s the p e r f e c t model of h e r o i c /$ v i r t u e . The problem f a c i n g most readers of Paradise Regained curn.,1 u).ill whether C h r i s t i s a s a t i s f a c t o r y model f o r mere men to emulate. Is the Son not, i n f a c t , too p e r f e c t ? Is he not able to withstand e v i l so s u c c e s s f u l l y because of h i s d i v i n e nature r a t h e r than because of h i s human strength? M i l t o n apparently b e l i e v e d that C h r i s t ' s human nature and strength were being t e s t e d by Satan, and b e l i e v e d that C h r i s t ' s r e j e c t i o n and defeat of e v i l were p o s s i b l e f o r a l l men. There remain, 138 however, two problems that C h r i s t ' s character i n Paradise Regained poses fo r c r i t i c s and readers of M i l t o n . The f i r s t concerns what might be c a l l e d C h r i s t ' s p e r s o n a l i t y , and questions whether he i s a 'sympathetic char a c t e r ' . The second d i f f i c u l t y a r i s e s from the p a r t i c u l a r k i n d of heroism the Son's a c t i v i t y i n the poem represents: i s M i l t o n ' s hero a contemplative r a t h e r than an a c t i v e being? M i l t o n ' s C h r i s t , i t has been observed, i s not very l i k e a b l e . He i s too proud, too conscious of h i s own worth, and i s , t h e r e f o r e , more obnoxious than meek and m i l d . Is M i l t o n s p e r f e c t hero r e a l l y a s a t -i s f a c t o r y image of human exc e l l e n c e i f he i s so d i f f i c u l t to l i k e ? In answer to t h i s , one can only r e p l y that the Jesus we meet i n Paradise Regained i s confronted by the u l t i m a t e e v i l . Satan cannot be converted to good; he must be u t t e r l y r e j e c t e d . The M i l t o n i c hero cannot be t o l e r a n t of e v i l , f o r he must devote a l l h i s energies to d e s t r o y i n g e v i l . M i l t o n ' s p u r i t a n c o n v i c t i o n s d i c t a t e d that the t r u l y v i r t u o u s man had a p o s i t i v e duty to speak out against e v i l , that he be a l i v i n g jy^proach to e v i l men. Despite the f a c t that love i s the gospel Jesus preached, and i s the r e a l message of the second book of M i l t o n ' s De Doctrina C h r i s t i a n a , the good C h r i s t i a n has a p o s i t i v e duty to hate e v i l . In a world where e v i l f l o u r -i s h e s , v i r t u e w i l l seldom be regarded as wholly p a l a t a b l e , and the t r u l y v i r t u o u s man w i l l be looked upon w i t h s u s p i c i o n . M i l t o n ' s p e r f e c t hero, because he a c t i v e l y opposes the s i n f u l ways of the world, w i l l be regarded w i t h d i s t r u s t and u n b r i d l e d animosity. T h i s , indeed, i s the p r i c e the hero, the p e r f e c t l y v i r t u o u s man, must pay. We should not f o r g e t that Yeats was p e r f e c t l y c o r r e c t when he observed: 139 . . . twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle. That i s , Christ's advent, his gospel, represented a challenge and a threat to the old dispensations. For some, Christ brought peace; for others, a sword. Indeed, gentle Jesus was both a deliverer and a nightmare. That the magnanimous man's virtue w i l l make him enemies is unden-iable, but we must question why Milton's readers find i t so d i f f i c u l t to accept the Christ of Paradise Regained. C.S. Lewis has pointed out that when poets set out to present virtue i t is not always to teach that virtue, but, rather, to show that they adore virtue. Of Milton, Lewis writes: The whole man is kindled by his vision of the shape of virtue. Unless we bear this in mind we shall not understand either Comus or Paradise Lost, either the Faerie Queene or the Arcadia, or the Divine Comedy i t s e l f . We shall be in constant danger of supposing that the poet was inculcating a rule when in fact he was enamoured of perfection.^ Milton, I am sure, believed i n the intrinsic beauty of virtue as he conceived i t . If we cannot see the beauty in an unshakable resolution to serve God, i t is our own loss. Milton's reaction, I believe, would have been simply: \"So be i t \" . Much of the d i f f i c u l t y concerning Christ's essential nature arises from the fact that contemptus mundi is looked upon as synonomous with contemplation.^ What seems most important to me, is that Milton placed the greater emphasis on preparation for heroism, rather than on the visible manifestations of heroism. As Steadman points out, \"Milton portrays his hero's virtue not simply in deed but, f i r s t and foremost, in analysis I 140 22 and c h o i c e . \" C h r i s t ' s r e j e c t i o n of \"the Kingdoms of the w o r l d \" i s , to be sure, a triumph of s p i r i t , but contemptus mundi i s , I t h i n k , t o t a l l y -a l i e n to M i l t o n ' s concept of h e r o i c man. C h r i s t has a mi s s i o n to perform: he i s a teacher of men. He educates men how to l i v e i n the world of men and how to prepare themselves f o r a b e t t e r , e t e r n a l l i f e . C h r i s t r e j e c t s the world i n s o f a r as the world i s looked upon as the end of human e x i s t e n c e , but h i s own career represents p o s i t i v e commitment to the world of men. Indeed, . . . to give a Kingdom hath been thought Greater, and nobler done, and to l a y down Far more magnanimous than to assume. ( I I . 481-483) What i s more, we may be sure that M i l t o n knew how Luke's record of Satan's t r i p l e temptation ended. He knew that C h r i s t l e f t h i s f r i e n d s and d i s -c i p l e s \"to preach the Kingdom of God.\" As M i l t o n w r i t e s , H a i l Son of the most High, h e i r of both worlds, Q u e l l e r of Satan, on thy g l o r i o u s work Now enter, and begin to save mankind. (IV. 633-635) And t h i s , s u r e l y , i s the only p o s s i b l e career f o r the M i l t o n i c hero. To s t r i v e to know one's l i m i t a t i o n s as man; to pursue, whatever the hazards, the g l o r y of God; to t e s t i f y against e v i l by preaching a message of t r u t h ; to defend and i f need be s u f f e r , and even die f o r what one b e l i e v e s : t h i s i s M i l t o n ' s concept of what makes men heroes. FOOTNOTES: CHAPTER V 1 Works, XV, p. 271. 2 Luke IV, 1-13. 3 See, for example, the bibliographical entries under: Bush, Hughes, Kermode, Kurth, McNamee, Robson, Steadman, and T i l l y a r d . 4 Milton Man and Thinker, p. 195. For a contrary point of view, see: E.M.W. T i l l y a r d , Milton, p. 319. 6 \"The Better Fortitude\" i n The Liv i n g Milton Essays by Various Hands, ed. Frank Kermode (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1960), p. 127. ^The concept of magnanimity with reference to Paradise Regained has been discussed by both T i l l y a r d and Hughes. Both men are concerned, however, with the figure of the poet himself, and see the contest of the poem as representing Milton's struggle to choose between the active and contemplative modes of l i f e . See: E.M.W. T i l l y a r d , \"The Christ of Paradise Regained and the Renaissance Heroic Tradition\" i n Studies i n Milton, pp. 100-106; and Hughes' a r t i c l e of the same t i t l e i n Ten Perspectives on Milton, pp. 35-62. g In Luke's account of the temptation a l l three temptations, are, of course, v a l i d . Milton, following Scripture, had to pay l i p service to a l l three. However, as T i l l y a r d correctly points out, Milton r e a l l y concerned himself with the second temptation only. See Milton, p. 323 f f . 9 Ethics, I I I , p. 122. Works, XVII, p. 241. John M. Steadman, i n Milton and the Renaissance Hero, demonstrates how Milton's Satan (the Adversary of both Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained) represents the conventional epic hero. He i s the eidolon of v i r t u e ; Christ, the eikon. Satan thus represents magnanimity i n i t s external aspect; Christ represents real or genuine magnanimity, the inward virtue that renders him capable of defeating Satan and pursuing r e a l honour. See pp. 160-164. 142 12 I r o n i c a l l y , the i d e n t i c a l view had been expressed by the Satan of Paradise L o s t ; \". . . who overcomes / By f o r c e , hath overcome but h a l f h i s foe\" ( I . 648-649). 13 M i l t o n ' s a u t h o r i t y f o r p u t t i n g these words i n t o C h r i s t ' s mouth i s unimpeachable. The same message forms the basis of the Pauline t r a c t s and the greater part of the New Testament. Compare, f o r example, Jesus' words to the h y p o c r i t e s : \"Woe unto you, s c r i b e s and Pharisees, hypo-c r i t e s ! For ye make c l e a n the outside of the cup and of the p l a t t e r , but w i t h i n they are f u l l of e x t o r t i o n and excess\" (Matthew X X I I I , 25). 14 Works, V I I I , p. 215. S i g n i f i c a n t l y , M i l t o n considered Cromwell as an exemplar of magnanimity, though the poet expressed h i s concern that the general might not l i v e up to h i s \"wonted magnanimity.\" See: p. 225. 15 Complete Poems, p. 505. 16 I t i s on t h i s i s s u e , i t seems to me, that the major d i f f e r e n c e between the y o u t h f u l and mature a t t i t u d e s h e l d by M i l t o n i s d i s c e r n i b l e . His e a r l y p o l i t i c a l optimism ( i n A r e o p a g i t i c a , f o r example) gives way i n Paradise Regained to the view that the New Jerusalem w i l l not be b u i l t i n England by Englishmen, but can be erected by each man w i t h i n h i m s e l f . This development, I t h i n k , i s remarkably s i m i l a r to St. Paul's a t t i t u d e regarding the establishment of the Church. For me, there i s no doubt that the l a t t e r i s the saner and more enlightened view. ^One c r i t i c contends that C h r i s t ' s contempt f o r the m u l t i t u d e i s not i n keeping w i t h the character of the b i b l i c a l C h r i s t . Though the c r i t i c recognizes that Jesus was not always \"gentle Jesus\", the r e a l i s s u e here, i t seems to me, i s that C h r i s t i s r e j e c t i n g the unfounded praises of?*men. M i l t o n i s suggesting, I t h i n k , that men d i d not, before the advent of C h r i s t , r e a l i z e what comprised r e a l v i r t u e . They are, i n f a c t , a \"miscellaneous r a b b l e \" who do not comprehend the e s s e n t i a l q u a l i t y of heroism. The \"new covenant\" gave d i g n i t y to the masses of men that they could not possess before the C h r i s t i a n era. In a d d i t i o n , M i l t o n ' s view of magnanimity, i n t h i s p a r t i c u l a r context of meaning, i s not s u b s t a n t i a l l y d i f f e r e n t from e i t h e r A r i s t o t l e , C i c e r o , or Aquinas. See: W.W. Robson, \"The B e t t e r F o r t i t u d e \" i n The L i v i n g M i l t o n , p. 133. 18 The Renaissance and E n g l i s h Humanism, p. 125. 19 W.W. Robson embraces t h i s view. See: \"The Better F o r t i t u d e , \" pp. 124-137. 143 20 A Preface to Paradise L o s t ? (London: Oxford U n i v e r s i t y Press, 1965), p. 81. 21 See, f o r example, M e r r i t t Y. Hughes, \"The C h r i s t of Paradise Regained and the Renaissance Heroic T r a d i t i o n \" i n Ten P e r s p e c t i v e s , pp. 35-62. 'Milton and the Renaissance Hero, p. 160. CONCLUSION The c r i t i c a l debate concerning M i l t o n ' s concept of h e r o i c man l i k e l y began when John Dryden, i n h i s Discourse on Epick Poetry (c.1697), wrote that M i l t o n could have been f a i r l y c a l l e d a h e r o i c poet, \" i f the d e v i l had not been h i s hero, i n s t e a d of Adam; i f the g i a n t had not f o i l e d the k n i g h t , and d r i v e n him out of h i s strong h o l d , to wander through the world w i t h h i s lady e r r a n t . \" I t i s no longer subject to dispute or debate to say that Satan i s not M i l t o n ' s hero i n Paradise L o s t , but the controversy over M i l t o n ' s p a r t i c u l a r idea of what makes men heroes has h a r d l y lessened i n i n t e n s i t y since Dryden's time. This essay, by f o c u s i n g on M i l t o n ' s C h r i s t i a n i t y , has attempted to show that M i l t o n ' s r e l i g i o u s b e l i e f provided him w i t h what he conceived to be a new and enlarged scope f o r the d e l i n e a t i o n of h e r o i c v i r t u e . I have t r i e d to demonstrate M i l t o n ' s grounds f o r c o n s i d e r i n g h i s own C h r i s t i a n hero supe r i o r to any of the heroes whose careers antedated Paradise L o s t . Accepting magnanimity as the s i n g l e v i r t u e that most c l o s e l y corresponds to h e r o i c v i r t u e , I have attempted to show how M i l t o n points out the i n f e r i o r c o n d i t i o n i n which men l i v e d before the advent of C h r i s t . M i l t o n , I have contended, makes i t p a t e n t l y c l e a r that complete or p e r f e c t heroism i s p o s s i b l e only w i t h the coming of C h r i s t . . P r e - l a p s a r i a n man, man l i v i n g i n a s t a t e of innocence, was incap-able of r e a l i z i n g h i s highest human p o t e n t i a l i t i e s . His innocence i n f a c t precluded heroism because he could not have an a c t i v e r o l e to play i n the cosmic s t r u g g l e against e v i l . That i s , he d i d not know that i t was i n h i s power to prevent the existence of e v i l . In a d d i t i o n , innocent 145 man's p a r t i c u l a r p o s i t i o n i n c r e a t i o n d i d not lend i t s e l f to h i s f u l f i l -ment of the contemplative aspect of h i s being. His heroism, as a r e s u l t , was what I have c a l l e d a f u g i t i v e and c l o i s t e r e d heroism. For man l i v i n g i n a s t a t e of s i n , p r e - C h r i s t i a n man, p e r f e c t or i d e a l heroism was a l s o a manifest i m p o s s i b i l i t y . That i s , men recognized e v i l only as i t was understood as that which was c o n t r a r y to the law. M i l t o n ' s Samson must thus destroy the P h i l i s t i n e s to r e a l i z e h i s h e r o i c p o t e n t i a l i t i e s , and M i l t o n makes i t very c l e a r that Samson's heroism i s improperly understood by h i s f e l l o w s . Real heroism was conceivably p o s s i b l e f o r only a chosen few, f o r those e x p r e s s l y chosen by God, because the masses of men were not aware of the w i l l of God except as i t had been revealed to them by the prophets and the w r i t t e n law.. They could not thus see themselves as agents i n God's b a t t l e against e v i l , and, moreover, could not a s p i r e to knowledge of God except i n the l i f e a f t e r . Real heroism, what I have c a l l e d M i l t o n ' s concept of heroism, could not be u n t i l the advent of C h r i s t . Complete and p e r f e c t magnanimity was p o s s i b l e only when Jesus manifested h i m s e l f , f o r the Messiah showed to men the way they could be s o l d i e r s i n the army of God, and showed them the means to a t t a i n e t e r n a l happiness. What t h i s meant was that a l l men could now see the importance of any one i n d i v i d u a l ' s l i f e , and could see that each man could be e i t h e r f o r or against God. Thus, a l l C h r i s t i a n s could l e g i t i m a t e l y pursue the honour and g l o r y of the d i v i n e . In a d d i t i o n , the C h r i s t i a n was capable of contemplation. Whereas p r e - C h r i s t i a n man's l i f e and v i r t u e were measured only by obedience to the law, the C h r i s t i a n possessed f a i t h . His f a i t h enabled 146 him to acquire an imperfect knowledge of God while on e a r t h . Insofar as the Holy S p i r i t was w i t h him (the r e s u l t of man's b e l i e f that the S p i r i t was i n f a c t w i t h him) he could be a contemplative being. For M i l t o n , then, the true wayfaring C h r i s t i a n was a hero, inasmuch as he demonstrated h i s a b i l i t y to pursue the cause of t r u t h \u00E2\u0080\u0094 r e g a r d l e s s of the d i f f i c u l t i e s he encountered en route. The true b e l i e v e r saw himse l f as a s o l d i e r i n God's army and he was d i g n i f i e d by h i s f a i t h f u l s e r v i c e to God. His l i f e was a perpetual proving-ground, a continuous s t r u g g l e i n which he had to s t r i v e f o r mastery of h i m s e l f , and of which the goal was \"to stand approv'd i n s i g h t of God.\" The t r u l y v i r t u o u s man thus represents a synthesis of a c t i v e and contemplative modes of being. To l i v e a v i r t u o u s l i f e was to answer one side of one's nature; to a s p i r e to the p e r f e c t knowledge of God, the other. T h e o r e t i c a l l y , the C h r i s t i a n d i s p e n s a t i o n made i t p o s s i b l e f o r a l l men to be heroes. But M i l t o n ' s p e r f e c t hero was not merely v i r t u o u s . He was a crusader. I t i s true a l l men could g l o r i f y God by t h e i r v i r t u o u s behaviour, but the magnanimous man d i d more. He was, indeed, minded to do some great a c t . The g r e a t e s t , the supreme act of magnanimity, was to g i v e , and M i l t o n ' s p e r f e c t hero o f f e r e d h i s l i f e as a g i f t . Magnanimity, the s p i r i t by which every true C h r i s t i a n \" i s guided i n h i s estimate of h i m s e l f , \" i s the sense of c o n v i c t i o n that enables a man's reach to exceed h i s grasp. The C h r i s t i a n hero, M i l t o n ' s magnanimous man, has that very opportunity. How w e l l he understands h i m s e l f , h i s own h e r o i c p o t e n t i a l , and how w e l l he conducts h i s p r i v a t e war against e v i l are e n t i r e l y up to him, and serve, i n the f i n a l a n a l y s i s , as the only b a s i s f o r judging him. And, indeed, what more can we f a i r l y demand of any man, or any hero? SOURCES CONSULTED Adams, Robert M a r t i n . Ikon: John M i l t o n and the Modern C r i t i c s . I t h i c a , New York: C o r n e l l U n i v e r s i t y Press, 1955. Aquinas. The \"Summa Theologica\" of Thomas Aquinas, t r a n s . Fathers of the E n g l i s h Dominican Province. 22 v o l s . London: Burns Oates u)aiLbco,-*e C-fd. t JUS. A r i o s t o . A r i o s t o ' s \"Orlando F u r i o s o \" S e l e c t i o n s from the T r a n s l a t i o n of S i r John H a r r i n g t o n , ed. Rudolf Gotstftred. Bloomington: Indiana U n i v e r s i t y Press, 1963. A r i s t o t l e . The E t h i c s of A r i s t o t l e The \"Nicomachean E t h i c s \" Translated, t r a n s . J.A.K. Thomson. Hammondsworth: Penguin Books, 1959. Augustine. \"The C i t y of God\" by S a i n t Augustine, t r a n s . Marcus Dodds. New York: The Modern L i b r a r y , 1950. Barker, Arthur E., ed. M i l t o n : Modern Essays i n C r i t i c i s m . New York: Oxford U n i v e r s i t y Press, 1965. Bowra, C.M. From V i r g i l to M i l t o n . London: MacMillan & Co. L t d . , 1963. . Heroic Poetry. London: MacMillan & Co. L t d . , 1964. Bush, Douglas. E n g l i s h L i t e r a t u r e i n the E a r l i e r Seventeenth Century 1600-1660. Oxford; The Clarendon Press, 1963. . The Renaissance and E n g l i s h Humanism. Toronto: The U n i v e r s i t y of Toronto Press, 1965. C i c e r o . Cicero on Moral O b l i g a t i o n A New T r a n s l a t i o n of Cicero's \"De O f f i c i i s \" , t r a n s . John Higginbotham. Berkeley: The U n i v e r s i t y of C a l i f o r n i a Press, 1967. Cowley, Abraham. \"Davideis, A Sacred Poem of the Troubles of David\" i n The E n g l i s h W r i t i n g s of Abraham Cowley, ed. A.R. W a l l e r . Cambridge: The U n i v e r s i t y Press, 1905. D a n i e l l s , Roy. M i l t o n , Mannerism and Baroque. Toronto: The U n i v e r s i t y of Toronto Press, 1963. i i Dante. The Comedy of Dante A l i g h i e r i The Florentine, trans. Dorothy Sayers and Barbara Reynolds. 3 vols. Hammondsworth: Penguin Books, 1967. de Vries, Jan. Heroic Song and Heroic Legend, trans. B.J. Timmer. London: Oxford University Press, 1963. Dixon, W. Macneile. English Epic and Heroic Poetry. London: J.M. Dent & Sons Ltd., 1912. Elyot, Thomas. The Book Named the Governor, ed. S.E. Lehmberg. London: J.M. Dent & Sons Ltd., 1962. Hanford, James Holly. A Milton Handbook. New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts, Inc., 1961. Homer. The \" I l i a d \" of Homer, trans. Richmond Lattimore. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1962. . Homer \"The Odyssey\", trans. Robert Fitzgerald. London: William Heinemann, Ltd., 1962. Hughes, Mer r i t t Y. Ten Perspectives on Milton. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1965. Jones, H.S.V. \"The Faerie Queene and the Medieval A r i s t o t e l i a n Tradition,\" JEGP, XXV (1926), 290-301. . \"Magnanimity i n Spenser's Legend of Holiness,\" SP, XXIX (1932), 290-206. Ker, W.P. Epic and Romance Essays on Medieval Literature. New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1957. Kermode, Frank., ed. The Living Milton, Essays by Various Hands. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1960. . \"Milton's Hero,\" RES, n.s. IV (1953), 317-330. Krouse, F. Michael. Milton's Samson and the Christian Tradition. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1949. Kurth, Burton 0. Milton and Christian Heroism B i b l i c a l and Epic Themes and Forms i n Seventeenth-Century England. Hamden, Connecticut: Archon Books, 1966. Lewis, C.S. The Allegory of Love A Study i n Medieval Tradition. New York: Oxford University Press, 1958. i i i Lewis, C.S. A Preface to Paradise L o s t \" . London: Oxford University-Press, 1965. McNamee, Maurice B. Honor and the Epic Hero A Study of the S h i f t i n g Concept of Magnanimity i n Philosophy and Epic Poetry. New York: H o l t , Rinehart and Winston, Inc., 1960. M i l t o n , John. Complete Poems and Major Prose, ed. M e r r i t t Y. Hughes. New York: The Odyssey Press, 1957. . The Works of . . . , ed. Frank A l l e n Patterson and others. 21 v o l s . New York: Columbia U n i v e r s i t y Press, 1931-1938. P a t r i d e s , C.A. M i l t o n and the C h r i s t i a n T r a d i t i o n . Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1965. Raglan, Lord. The Hero A Study i n T r a d i t i o n , Myth, and Drama. London: Methuen & Co. L t d . , 1936. Robson, W.W. \"The Better F o r t i t u d e \" i n The L i v i n g M i l t o n . See entry under \"Kermode, Frank., ed.\" Saurat, Denis. M i l t o n Man and Thinker. London: J.M. Dent & Sons L t d . , 1944. Sewell, A r t h u r . A Study i n M i l t o n ' s C h r i s t i a n Doctrine. London; Oxford U n i v e r s i t y Press, 1939. Spenser, Edmund. Spenser's \"Faerie Queene\", ed. J.C. Smith. 2 v o l s . Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1964. Stetdman, John M. \" F a i t h f u l Champion\": The Th e o l o g i c a l Basis of M i l t o n ' s Hero of F a i t h \" i n M i l t o n : Modern Essays. See entry under \"Barker, Arthur E., ed.\" . M i l t o n and the Renaissance Hero. Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1967. Tasso, Torquato. Jerusalem D e l i v e r e d , t r a n s . Edward F a i r f a x , ed. Henry Morley. London: The C o l o n i a l Press, 1901. T i l l y a r d , E.M.W. The E n g l i s h Epic and I t s Background. New York: Oxford U n i v e r s i t y Press, 1966. . M i l t o n . London: Chatto & Windus, 1956. Studies i n M i l t o n . London: Chatto & Windus, 1955. V i r g i l . The \"Aeneid\" of V i r g i l , t r a n s . C. Day Lewis. New York: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1953. i v Waldock, A.J.A. \"Paradise L o s t \" and I t s C r i t i c s . Cambridge: The U n i v e r s i t y Press, 1964. W i l l e y , B a s i l . The Seventeenth Century Background. New York: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1953. Woodhouse, A.S.P. \"Tragic E f f e c t i n Samson Ag o n i s t e s \" i n M i l t o n : Modern Essays. See entry under \"Barker, Arthur E., ed.\" "@en . "Thesis/Dissertation"@en . "10.14288/1.0102260"@en . "eng"@en . "English"@en . "Vancouver : University of British Columbia Library"@en . "University of British Columbia"@en . "For non-commercial purposes only, such as research, private study and education. Additional conditions apply, see Terms of Use https://open.library.ubc.ca/terms_of_use."@en . "Graduate"@en . "Magnanimity : Milton's concept of heroic man"@en . "Text"@en . "http://hdl.handle.net/2429/35635"@en .