Milton and the God Complex

Milton’s Paradise Lost includes many aspects of the epic poem, and while there are those who would argue otherwise, I propose that the most evident aspect of his epic that seems to follow in the steps of others which I’ve read (especially Dante’s Inferno) is the overwhelming God Complex the author demonstrates in his message. As does Inferno, Paradise Lost has a highly predominant and religious message, in which the text (Book 1, especially) attempts to persuade that power trumps righteousness.

Let’s begin with Book 1, where Milton clearly sets up his entire thematic message, and (rather inadvertently) demonstrates that he has a huge God complex that he’s incapable of writing around or omitting from anything he puts on paper. In fact, within the first thirty lines of the epic, Milton states, “… to the heighth of this great argument/ I may assert Eternal Providence/ and justify the ways of God to men” (1.24-26). Essentially, in this very brief section of Milton’s opening aside, he declares his all-knowingness of God’s work. Additionally, the fact that he did this in an aside makes this even more potent. Milton sets the stage for the entire epic in this one sentence. He writes not about Adam and Eve, not about Satan, not about good and evil, or even the bible. All of these concepts are present, yes, but in reality, Milton writes this epic for the sake of showing off his knowledge of God, and to persuade everyone who reads Paradise Lost that Milton’s opinions and positions on God, creation, paradise, and anything and everything else biblical are to be taken as of the highest regard. And, Milton declares this directly to his audience, without the mask of dialogue, distraction of setting, or confusion of characters. Milton clearly thinks himself greater than man. While Milton may be righteous in his actions, his intent is to demonstrate his – as opposed to His – power.

Milton’s persuasion that power overrides morality goes even further when, through Satan, Milton states, “To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell: / Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven!” (1.263-64). Satan, and through him Milton, admits that though Hell is indeed a terrible place, the power allowed for the fallen angels in Hell poses a better option than any form of servitude in Heaven. Now, for most Christian people, this statement would make absolutely zero sense. In the Christian faith, one’s purpose in life is to serve God and be saved after death, resulting in an eternity serving God in Heaven. Milton completely discounts one of the founding ideals of the Christian faith, instead substituting that servitude, no matter how righteous, is lesser compared to any form of power. The idea of serving in heaven, regardless of the glory and grandeur and other generally positive perks, is so repulsive to Satan, that Milton would go so far as to raise Hell above Heaven in an effort to push home that power is the ultimate goal, even when power involves denouncing God and righteousness, and turning to sin.

Interestingly enough, the concept of power overriding a person’s sense of morality and righteousness aligns well with the Italian philosopher Machiavelli’s ideas on power and the corruptness of so-called “Divine Right.” Niccolo Machiavelli was born in Florence, Italy, during 1469, and today people consider him to be the father of modern political theory. In essence, his book The Prince, written in 1532, outlined the flaws in the justification of the monarchy’s actions. He said that monarchs (and leaders in general) can and will resort to any means for the establishment and preservation of their authority, using the end to justify the means. He also stated that most often, a ruler often justifies his worst acts by citing wickedness and treachery of his subjects. In essence, Machiavelli stated that “Divine Right” was often used as a means to gain power, a ruler could say that God put him in place to fix the corruptness of the people, then that selfsame ruler would be corrupt in himself. The only real goal is power. The same idea comes into play with Satan, Milton, and the relationship that each of them has with God (because Satan’s relationship with heaven runs parallel to, but is different from, Milton’s own relationship to God and Heaven). Satan purposefully steps away from the designated path of righteousness to gain a measure of power which he wanted but couldn’t have as a slave of Heaven; Milton professes his power through Satan, claiming that he (Milton) really is an all-knowing authority on God. In a way, Satan is the personification of Milton: both step away from Heaven to demonstrate their power, with a disregard for the fact that this action takes them away from the coveted righteousness and into a place of power and greed for more, acting not unlike Machiavelli’s concepts of the ruler with a false concept of “Divine Right.”

So, the question to ask is, does Milton really believe he is the foremost authority on God, even equal to one in knowledge, and close in power, or is he portraying himself and Satan in a light that would cause others to exercise caution in the realm of self-promotion and power-grabbing? Does he do this to call a change in human nature, or is he simply an arrogant person with a God complex, writing an epic in the same way that countless other men suffering from the infamous God complex have? Your choice. Choose wisely.

Kreis, Steven. "Niccolo Machiavelli, 1469-1527." The History Guide. N.p., 13 Apr. 2012. Web. 27 Sept. 2013. <http://www.historyguide.org/intellect/machiavelli.html>. 

Beauty, From the Eyes of the Beholder

Hello, again!! I do know that my blog last week was quite formal, and I’ve decided to change it up a bit, and post something a little more personal and fun for our British Lit blog this week.

So, I’ve just recently finished reading a few of Shakespeare’s many sonnets, and a specific one stood out to me. Sonnet 18, to be exact. Now, it didn’t stand out because of its beautiful language, or lovely message, or any literary component at all, which might strike some as odd (especially because I spent two years being trained to only see the literary qualities of works of literary merit). In truth, this particular sonnet struck me because of the television show Doctor Who. In rather a funny turn of events, the show makes out that Shakespeare wrote the sonnet for the lovely Martha Jones, a 21^st century doctor who travels with the actual Doctor for a period of time, meeting Shakespeare in the process. And that’s the only reason I really recognized the sonnet.

However, upon reading further into the sonnet, I realized how pure and true the sonnet is in regards to falling in love with something. It especially came through for me in that the sonnet perfectly describes the feeling of knowing you’ll always be in love with something, no matter how old either party gets. Shakespeare says, “… thy eternal summer shall not fade”, which somehow perfectly elucidates that when someone loves something (or someone), that love never really goes away, if it’s a true, pure love (like the season of summer) (Shakespeare, 9). As most people would tend to agree, this particular sonnet definitely pervades with the theme that love conquers all.

Even, as Shakespeare says, “Nor shall Death brag thou wandr’st in his shade,” demonstrating the everlasting idea that death can’t claim love or beauty for his own (11). Evidently, though Shakespeare sees the imminence of this mysterious love of his leaving (or, for those Doctor Who fans, Martha Jones taking the TARDIS away with the Doctor), he knows she will be beautiful for all of time, and so his love will last with her everlasting beauty. 

Although this really is quite a sappy ideal, and in most cases I might scoff, and say that no person is that good, this really gets to me, because the wording is so romantic and idealistic. The use of a summer day to symbolize the woman’s beauty is quite apt, in my opinion. I feel that, beyond the fact that this is Shakespeare, and recognized all over the world as one of the most romantic poems in all of history, there is a purity and sincerity behind the words that simply can’t be explained.

In many ways, this sonnet is one of the best ways I could explain something I love, such as cheerleading. There never was anything I loved more, and Shakespeare’s words explain the depth of love so perfectly. He says towards the end, “So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, / So long lives this, and this gives life to thee” (13-14). In the end, his love for this woman and her beauty conquered everything else for Shakespeare, just as my love for cheerleading has always (and will always) last. Often, in both people and things, there’s a beauty that others can’t often see, unless they love that person or thing the same as you. And the beauty within the thing or person gives it immortality, just as Shakespeare’s woman’s beauty gives her everlasting life (in his eyes). But, explaining this beauty can be very difficult. For example, if I just give you these videos (please watch them, they’re less than 3 minutes apiece), and told you they were beautiful, you wouldn’t understand.

But, to a seasoned veteran of cheerleading, they each epitomize what the sport is about. The first, a video of the Top Gun Jags from Worlds this spring, is essentially a tribute to their teammate, Omar, who died last year. Every person in that stadium is with the team and cheering for the team, even the ones competing with a rival team. The Jags did worlds for Omar, and even though it’s the highest honor to even make it to Worlds, they stick the entire routine like their cheer careers depend on it, as if this world title could be their last gift to Omar. And it’s beautiful. In all the ways a person could never express beauty, the Jags routine from Worlds 2013 is absolutely, totally, unequivocally beautiful. It’s beautiful in the same way Shakespeare’s mysterious woman is beautiful, “more lovely and more temperate” than the most beautiful thing Shakespeare could possibly imagine, a summer’s day (2).

The second video I threw in is of the Lady Bullets from Worlds this year. They take beautiful to a completely different place than the Jags did. The Bullets are just… well, gorgeous. They all take such pride in their routine, and put their whole selves into the routine (as it should be). You can tell that they wouldn't want to be anywhere else but on that floor, and that excitement and drive and passion alone makes the routine beautiful. Then, they top it off by being nearly perfect, technically.

In both cases, it’s a beauty not well explained or told, and can only be experienced, as they say, in the eye of the beholder. But, isn't that what beauty is? Hasn't every classical author since the dawn of time tried valiantly to explain the beauty of something, only to fail because the words just didn't exist?

So, my parting question to you: If it really is beautiful, is there ever a way to adequately describe it so someone else can see the same beauty as us? I could try for several thousand more words to explain the beauty of the Jags and the Bullets, and goodness knows I’d fail fantastically. Could Shakespeare ever really show us just how beautiful his mysterious woman was, how deep his love was because of her beauty? Or are real beauty and true love two things that we may never find words to adequately describe? 

I Have Me, But I Am Not Me

French theorist Guy Debord once said, “Behind the masks of total choice, different forms of the same alienation confront each other.” Through characterization, syntax, and imagery, William Shakespeare’s The Tempest callously demonstrates that an individual who is alienated from society and power will futilely attempt to re-connect to society and their previously-known power.

William Shakespeare expertly employs direct characterization in his portrayal of Prospero to elucidate Prospero’s alienation and desperation to return to his previous power. When Prospero tells his daughter, Miranda, of the wrongs he suffered so many years ago, he states, “… he was/ The ivy which had hid my princely trunk/ and sucked my verdure out” (Shakespeare I, II 85-88). In speaking with such venom, Prospero shows his anger over losing his power, and his desperation to get it back. He specifically blames one person (His brother, Antonio), and quite obviously sets the stage for some sort of plan, which ensues as the play proceeds. Because Prospero so vehemently desires power, he consequently becomes very dangerous. When speaking to, (or rather, threatening) his slave Ariel, Prospero declares, “If thou more murmur’st, I will rend an oak/ And peg thee in his knotty entrails till/ Thou hast howled away twelve winters” (Shakespeare I, II 294-296). Ariel really didn’t do anything to warrant such a threat, and yet Prospero sees to it that if his exact orders aren’t followed, he will not hesitate to carry out a punishment. Prospero doesn’t care whether or not people are hurt, scared, or otherwise harmed during his plot to regain power, as long as his end is met. In this, he is possibly the most dangerous and terrifying monster any character from the play could encounter during their stint on the island. Prospero is the monster to end all monsters. Thus, through direct characterization, Shakespeare establishes an individual alienated from power will proceed to become dangerous in his quest to regain power.

Because Prospero feels the need to do anything in his power to regain status and subvert his alienation from so many years ago, he proceeds to use the most valuable asset he has: his cunning. Shakespeare exposes this cunning through equally cunning use of syntax through punctuation. Whilst Prospero is plotting, he uses his slave Ariel most cunningly, and quite often. While planning a trick to further the wedding plans between Ferdinand and Miranda, Prospero tells Ariel, “I must use you/ In such another trick,” thus stating clearly his deceit (Shakespeare IV, I 36-37). The lack of punctuation in the statement demonstrates a clear and simple understanding of the implications of his actions. He knows that he deceives the King, his brother, and even his own daughter. Since Prospero has reduced himself to straight manipulation in order to reach his endpoint, he stops at nothing, deceiving even his own blood. As he observes Ferdinand and Miranda falling in love, he slyly states, “… this swift/ Business I must uneasy make, lest too light winning/ Make the prize light” (Shakespeare I, II 448-450). Prospero, so caught up in his desperation to regain power, will not even stop at deceiving his family. At a time when family was very important to not only the people of England, but people all over the Western world, this is shocking. In his quest to return from alienation, he alienates himself from the only support he has (as demonstrated from the use of comma, as if to try to regain structure where it is slipping away), and begins to lose himself. Thus, through punctuation in syntax, Shakespeare demonstrates the beginning of a loss of self as a result of alienation.

As a direct result of allowing himself to lose his closest support, Prospero experiences a loss of self, finally demonstrating that alienation from power drives the individual to attempt (unsuccessfully) to regain that power. This is done through selective word choice on Mr. Shakespeare’s part. The first aspect of Prospero is one of loving, doting even, over his daughter, as shown when he says, “O, a cherubin/ Thou wast that did preserve me” (Shakespeare I, II 152-153). He clearly loves his daughter, and would do anything for her. This is his first “face,” if you will. He calls her a “cherubin,” a noun which has a connotation of love, and happiness. Having her trust, he is happy. Because he essentially loses her, through such deceit (in his own mind, maybe not in hers), he becomes a completely different person. In his epilogue, he states, “my project fails, / which was to please… /and my ending is despair” (Shakespeare epilogue 13-15). Using the words “fails” and “despair” Prospero clearly shows his loss of self. Though he achieved his end, he no longer lives an honest life (as he asked those who wronged him to do). He is, for all intent and purpose, a completely different man, lost. In this, his final statement, we see the difference between the loving man from the first act and the angry, vengeful one from the end. Truly, he loses himself, his daughter, and his purpose in his attempt to return from alienation. Thus, with imagery through word choice, Shakespeare demonstrates that a successful return from alienation does not come without cost.

Finally, Shakespeare uses characterization, syntax, and imagery to demonstrate that though man is often alienated and attempts to return to the state previous to alienation, often the person loses himself in the process. The process to return from an alienated state is long and requires a person to do things they may not do in an ordinary situation. Thus, the man attempting to become “un-alienated,” if you will, is not the same in his return.

So, I leave you with this parting thought: is it not better to remain alienated with a person or group who loves you and will always stand with you than it is to attempt to regain a past state, but in the process lose the core of who you are, and become someone who would be less-than-liked, despised, even (a monster, if you will)? Is it not better to retain who you are than to prove something to someone else, just for the sake of making a point?