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The Choices We Make MeiMei Liu Winning Piece, Whittier College English Department Scholarly Writing Contest 2018 “Heroes are made by the paths they choose, not the powers they are graced with.” (Ashton, Everneath) Contemporary writer, Brodi Ashton, whose young adult novel, Everneath, debuted in 2012 – thousands of years after Homer – is still concerned with the theme of epic heroes. Not so ironically – in our own very cynical times – Brodi is writing in the shadow of Milton. Her heroes, in this case the heroine of her novel Everneath, is defined not by her power or by some larger-than-life singular character trait, but instead by the choices she makes. Milton expanded the classical epic and redefined the epic hero in Paradise Lost by putting forth first and foremost the idea of character as defined by free choice – a legacy from which few writers have since escaped. No matter the age, no matter the changes through time, Milton’s innovations still prevail. Certainly Achilles, Odysseus, Aeneas, Beowulf, and the Red Crosse Knight all made choices – but they did so under duress. In Paradise Lost, however, the heroes often take paths of their own choosing when they are not forced to do so by being thrust into crises. These choices may, thereby, appear less dramatic at first but they prove to be more meaningful. Before it gave way to the novel, Dryden and Pope paid tribute to the epic poem by inverting the form – which had reached its pinnacle in Milton – in the service of personal and public satire. Both poets not only adopted epic form – with all its trappings – but also Milton’s theme that choice is paramount to the definition of the hero – for better or for worse. Milton expanded the larger than life classical hero to include all of humanity, not by using medieval allegory in which a single character, such as The Red Crosse Knight from Spencer’s Fairie Queene, stands in for the concept of humanity, nor by using a group of protagonists as Homer did in the Iliad, but rather by fragmenting the epic hero into multiple
2 protagonists: Satan, the Son of God, Adam, and Eve. Only by placing humanity itself at the center of the epic can Milton drive home his theme that our choices make us who we are and that those choices arise from free will, granting them greater weight than if they had been made for us. Milton believed that humanity was not a mere reflection of God’s image, but that humanity had, indeed, inherited some part of God’s divinity. To demonstrate humanity’s divinity Milton begins with four divine characters whose choices define their nature. Their divinity, however, does not define their choices, as illustrated by the contrast between Satan and the Son of God. Much has been made of the Romantic poets’ admiration of Satan as the epic hero of Paradise Lost. However, any reading of the epic beyond the first several books reveals that the dramatic purpose of Satan as a character is not only to serve as a foil to God the Father and his Son but, moreover, to serve in juxtaposition to the latter’s motives and choices. Both characters are given the utmost freedom – by God the Father – to choose their own paths, and thereby, reveal which, in fact, has true heroic intentions and actions. Initially, Satan appears to be an epic hero of old, described in epic similes. Milton paints Satan in the colors of the classical Greek and Roman war heroes. Like the old heroes he is physically larger than life. He is compared in size to the Titans who waged war on Zeus of Greek mythology: “in bulk as huge/As whom the fables name of monstrous size,/Titanian, or Earth-born, that warred on Jove” (I. 196-198). Satan is compared to a sea monster so large it was mistaken by ancient sailors for an island: “Leviathan, which God of all his works/Created hugest that swim th’ocean stream” (I 200-202). These comparisons, while appearing to praise Satan’s prowess, are ironic: the Leviathan is a creature of deception and the Titans were defeated by the Olympians. From the beginning, Milton sets out to undermine Satan’s apparent majesty. Satan is portrayed as a military leader, and like the ancient Greek and Roman warriors, Satan is equipped with a shield so vast it can only be compared to the moon: “the broad
3 circumference/Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb/Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views/At evening from the top of Fesole” (I 286-9). Satan’s spear is so tall, hewn from the densest Norwegian forests, it is fit for the mast of an admiral’s tall ship (I 292-293). Satan has earned his leadership role by virtue of his superiority over his peers, for he far surpasses them in divine power: “Thus far these beyond/compare of mortal prowess, yet observed/their dread commander; he above the rest/In shape and gesture proudly eminent/Stood like a tow’r, his form had yet not lost/All her original brightness” (I 587-90). Satan is also portrayed as a political ruler, not just a commander but an emperor, hailed as grand and godlike: “th’antagonist of Heav’n, nor less/than Hell’s dread emperor with pomp supreme,/And godlike imitated state” (II 508–11). Satan is shown to capably lead his “men” into battle, to rouse his soldiers with inspiring rhetoric, and to politically manipulate those beneath him to enable him to pursue his personal plan of action. Milton intentionally evokes admiration for Satan to challenge his readers to question why martial prowess and ambition are admired. Milton’s aim is to contrast these marital values to the Christian virtues of patience, obedience, humility, and sacrifice. For all the outer accouterment of the epic hero, Satan is plagued by inner conflict: his “dauntless courage” (I 603) and “wonted pride” (I 527), which drive his ambition, are thwarted by his inability to accept his station in Heaven’s hierarchy, causing him to be “racked with deep despair” (I 122). Satan is not just banished by God the Father to Hell, his mental torment is a Hell he carries with him wherever he goes: “The Hell within him, for within him Hell/he brings, and round about him, nor from Hell/One step no more than from himself can fly/by change of place: now conscience wakes despair” (IV 20-24). Worse yet, and for this he garnered the respect of the Romantics, Satan is all too aware of his existential angst: “which way shall I fly/Infinite wrath, and infinite despair?/Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell” (IV 73-4). Milton’s portrayal of Satan in Book IV, in which Satan portrays
4 himself as an outcast and an exile, in which he attempts to cope with his perceived rejection and despair (IV 85-112), arouses the reader’s sympathy – as this dramatic moment is meant to do. However, Milton by no means intends to extol Satan; instead he intends to show the reader how insidious and tempting is the evil of the devil. The scene plays with pathos but is intended as a warning. Milton has used his poetic and dramatic skill to make Satan “appear” to be the hero of the epic. However, Satan’s motives and choices throughout the poem reveal his true character – which is the antithesis of a hero. Satan performs heroic fetes of what appear to be bravery such as flying through the vastness of the cosmos and the dangers of chaos to at last arrive on earth. Satan’s journey seems to echo the cunning of Odysseus with his clever plots to overthrow and destroy God. However, ultimately Satan’s motives are revealed to be selfish and vain. Satan repeatedly states that his only aim is the destruction of God’s creation and disruption of God’s divine plan. Given opportunities to do things differently, he declares that he would choose to repeat his choices. In Satan’s long soliloquy in the opening of Book IV, he states that God had not wronged him, nor was his service hard, and indeed he should have been grateful for God having created him (IV 42-25). Instead, raised high in Heaven’s hierarchy, Satan’s ambition only grew (IV 58-62). His choice to rebel is made not from a position of crisis, but instead, ironically, from one of prestige and luxury, from Heaven itself. Satan even recognizes that free will was his long before the rebellion began (IV 66). Lying on the lake of fire, Satan considers asking God for forgiveness, but only in passing. Instead he chooses to rebel yet again. Defeated by Michael and the Son of God, Satan again considers repentance and instead chooses revenge. In Eden, smitten with the beauty of God’s creation, with Eve’s grace, Satan considers one last time the notion of contrition, but once more decides against it. In none of these instances, in which Satan makes his choices to pursue evil, is Satan under duress. He is not at war, embroiled in a battle, nor in an argument; he is not confronted by
5 God or judge. Instead – at his leisure – Satan chooses evil and destruction. He even argues against reason and logic when he convinces himself that God would not forgive his transgressions, when, in fact, God by definition is merciful.
Satan is evil, because he
repeatedly chooses evil, and chooses to identify and define himself as evil. The choice is and has been his all along. Satan condemns himself in the reader’s eyes not only by his words, in his repeated refusal to repent and desist from God and man’s destruction, but also in the dramatic portrayal of his physical deterioration. Satan’s physical form is a neo–Platonic reflection of his interior deterioration; therefore, his moral decent is reflected in his ever-increasing physical depravity. In Book I Satan is described as a “huge” heroic figure, but in Book III he disguises himself by shrinking down to the size of a cherub – the lowest level of angel. He then takes the form of a mere bird, a cormorant, to spy in Eden. He takes the form of a lowly toad to further his reconnaissance. And lastly, he chooses not to transform himself into a snake, but to actually violate a snake, in essence to rape the creature, by taking over its body in order to seduce Eve into eating from the Tree of Knowledge. Satan’s “heroic” journey is one of decent, in which his choices to pursue evil for the selfish sake of flattering his vanity and pride are physicalized in the external revelation of the inner degradation of his character. The dramatic significance of Satan is the contrast of the character to that of the Son of God, who choses to become human in order to save humanity. The Son accepts the weakness of the flesh, in contrast to Satan who abhors weakness of any kind. Satan is the sort of epic hero found in the ancient epics, but Milton does not elevate this type of warrior. Instead Milton condemns Satan for his vanity, pride, and selfishness. Unlike Odysseus, who learns humility and forgoes his hubris so that he can finally return home, Satan repeatedly refuses to make the choices that could redeem him, the choices that would – for Milton – truly elevate him to the status of the hero. Instead, Milton offers the reader an alternative hero: humankind
6 as embodied in the Son of God. The Son of God is all that is good in God the Father – and then some. God the Father is omniscient and omnipresent; the Son of God is not. God the Father created the Son and gave him free will just as he did mankind. Milton differentiates the Son from the Father by imbuing the Son with very particular qualities, foremost of which is love: “Beyond compare the Son of God was seen/Most glorious, in him all his Father shone/Substantially expressed, and in his face/Divine compassion visibly appeared,/Love without end” (III 138-142).
The depiction of the Son, unlike God the Father, is
anthropomorphized, not only in the character’s name, but also in his description, for his divinity is expressed in terms of a human body part: the face. Milton wants to make clear the humanity in the divine in his portrayal of the Son, as he will later make clear the divine in humanity in his depiction of Adam and Eve. The Son of God engages in a series of epic deeds far grander than those of Satan. Not only does the Son put down the second rebellion of the fallen angels, he is given the task of creation itself. Milton does not skim over creation, but instead expands upon the brief description in Genesis. Each and every act of creation is shown to be an act of the Son’s divine love. Each miracle of creation is portrayed as a heroic deed in which the act of creation becomes an epic itself. After the Fall, the Son of God is assigned by the Father to become the judge of Satan, Adam, Eve, and the Serpent. The Son pities Adam and Eve and gives them clothing to lessen their shame, an act of love and compassion. The Son’s decision to volunteer to die for humankind dramatizes his dedication and selflessness. He gains no personal reward for such sacrifice; his only aim is to aid his father and to show compassion for mankind: Behold me then, me for him, life for life I offer, on me let thine anger fall; Account me man; I for his sake will leave Thy bosom, and this glory next to thee Freely put off, and for him lastly die Well pleased, on me let Death wreak all his rage;
7 Under his gloomy power I shall not long Lie vanquished. (III 237-243) The son is not only willing to die to provide a means of salvation for humankind, but is willing to take God the Father’s wrath upon himself, and, as the passage makes clear, he does so “freely” by his own choice – not in obedience to God the Father, but of his own free will. Through the character of the Son, Milton portrays the highest good of humankind, not only the choice to sacrifice but to do so without reward – earthly or heavenly – only because it is the right thing to do: the choice to do good for the sake of good. Furthermore, the choice is not one that arises from crisis. The Son only hears the Father foretell the future of Adam and Even, and is so moved by the impending tragedy that his virtue drives him to sacrifice his life for the good of humanity. For his freely given sacrifice, God the Father exalts the Son, but the Son had no way of knowing such would occur prior to committing himself to the sacrifice. The Father tells the Son thou “hast been found/By merit more than birthright Son of God,/Found worthiest to be so by being good,/Far more than great or high; because in thee/Love hath abounded more than glory abounds./Therefore thy humiliation shall exalt/With thee thy manhood also to this throne" (III 308-314). The Son is the epic hero not just because he is the son of God but because he is the greatest good. And that in turn is because he has freely chosen good. This is the lesson Milton hopes to inspire in his readers. The heroic quality that Milton expresses in the character of the Son is not physical prowess, not vanity, not ambition (as exemplified in Satan) but instead bravery, mercy, obedience, self-sacrifice, and choosing good over evil. It will, therefore, be the Son who in becoming human, suffering crucifixion, and dying that God the Father will reward with resurrection, thereby becoming the one who defeats Satan by defeating Death. The Son, therefore, is the true hero of Milton’s epic.
As Milton explains in Book IX, he has
intentionally rejected the warrior and the knight as his epic hero finding the unsung fortitude of patience and “heroic martyrdom” a more worthy subject (IX 32). The actions of the Son,
8 in Milton’s eyes, are far more grand, impressive, and magnificent, than those who triumphed in petty battles for kingdom, riches, and glory. Milton’s epic is epic, and it would have been insufficient for him to leave the depiction of the epic hero to only one portrayal. Instead, Milton further expands the epic hero – humanity itself – as embodied in the heroic qualities of the divine Son of God, by also depicting those heroic qualities, in perhaps the least likely of places – in the human Adam and Eve. Christian tradition emphasizes Adam and Eve’s sinful nature. Milton, however, chooses to begin in a different direction. In Paradise Lost Adam and Eve are, in fact, godlike: “Two of far nobler shape erect and tall,/Godlike erect, with native honor clad/In naked majesty seemed lords of all/And worthy seemed, for in their looks divine/the image of their glorious Maker shone” (IV 288-292). Adam and Eve are not merely divine in their appearance; they also embody divine qualities. Before the fall they are immortal, immune to death; they rule all of Eden and its inhabitants and want for nothing. Moreover, they are portrayed as virtuous: “So hand in hand they passed, the loveliest pair/That ever since in love’s embraces met,/Adam the goodliest man of men since born/His sons, the fairest of her daughter Eve” (IV 321-324). Adam and Even are both virtuous and innocent, yet they are not ignorant. They discuss many intellectual pursuits, have great knowledge of the natural world and are, actually, thirsty for more knowledge. They are already aware of right and wrong, for they know God has forbidden, disobedience defining wrong, eating of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. It is only after the fall that Adam and Eve become human in a manner familiar to most readers: petty, accusatory, lustful, argumentative, jealous, and fearful. How they redeem themselves after the fall, however, how they emulate those qualities found in the Son of God, is what interests Milton and what becomes central to his argument in the epic. Milton uses the “parents” of humanity, Adam and Eve, male and female, to represent all of humankind in
9 an allegory of fallen humanity who must triumph over the ultimate adversity – the expulsion from God’s grace represented by the expulsion from the garden. Initially, they appear to be perfect human specimens, but Satan preys upon their weaknesses: Eve’s vanity, and Adam’s love of Eve. Eve, in particular, shows surprising fortitude in ignoring and refusing Satan’s clever rhetoric. Although she ultimately becomes a victim of Satan’s sophistry, she nevertheless chooses to taste the apple by her own free will, thus precipitating her fall. And Adam, for love of Eve, falls soon after. Immediately after the fall the characters exhibit anything but heroic behavior. What is perhaps surprising, and certainly dramatically innovative, is the fallen couple’s quick recovery – which defines their heroism. They could have chosen to continue to bicker and argue and blame, to indulge in sensual pleasures and leave off their responsibilities. Instead, it is Eve who first emulates the traits of the Son of God by offering up her love to Adam, amid her tears, after he has berated her without end: “Forsake me not thus, Adam, witness Heav’n/What love sincere, and reverence in my heart/I bear thee . . . While yet we live, scarce one short hour perhaps,/Between us two let there be peace” ( X 915-924). Eve admits her sin against Adam and against God and offers to take all the blame upon herself: “On me, sole cause to thee of all this woe,/Me me only just object of his ire” (X 935-936). By virtue of Eve’s example Adam comes to his senses telling her he shares in the blame and realizing that they must work together to “light’n/Each other’s burden in our share of woe” (X 960-961). Eve suggests that she not bear any children lest they be burdened with sin. Finding the solution insufficient she suggests suicide, at which Adam realizes they must return to the scene of their crime and beg for God’s forgiveness. Together, and only together, can they avoid despair. They choose life over death, hope over despair, unity over division – an act of free will, a choice of good over evil. Together the couple save humanity through their team work. Their cooperation allows them to transcend their tragic exile and to redeem
10 future generations by rising above their doubts, their mistakes, and their sins, in order to survive, and flourish – though the work will be hard. Adam and Eve are transformed from perfect specimens – god like in that way – to imperfect humans who chose to triumph over adversity and choose good. Allegorically, Adam and Eve are not just the first humans but represent all humans. Their epic heroism is encapsulated in their ability to transcend adversity – the worst imaginable adversity – indeed an epic adversity – through patience and love, the same traits which define the epic heroism of the Son of God, and thereby give hope to all humanity that by exercising free will for good, each of us can become the heroes of our own exile and redemption. Adam and Eve’s contrition is rewarded several fold: they are granted their lives, they are clothed and sent forth to beget humanity; but before they go Adam is granted a vision of the future from the birth of his sons through the resurrection of Christ. The archangel Michael reveals a panorama of human heroes – as well as a few villains – to both inspire and forewarn Adam of his legacy to mankind.
The villains, Cain and Nimrod, echo the
selfishness and hubris of Satan. The heroes follow in the medieval tradition of typology or prefiguration, found in the English Mystery Cycles, in which Old Testament characters symbolize and predict New Testament characters, thereby linking the fall of humankind to its redemption. Adam, as well as Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses and David, all prefigure Christ. In her final speech Eve prefigures Ruth’s dedication to Naomi – “for wither thou goest, I will go” – when she pledges to follow Adam: “but now lead on;/In me is no delay; with thee to go” (XII 614-616). Ruth’s devotion to Naomi is an enduring symbol of filial piety and cultural unity, a further expression of Milton’s philosophy that humanity must stand together in community to triumph over evil. Eve also prefigures Mary, who becomes a second Eve, giving birth to the savior as Eve gave birth to humanity. As sin and death come
11 to earth out of Eve’s actions, through Mary to Christ sin and death are redeemed. Christ is then seen as the “second Adam,” who redeems Adam and Eve’s sin through the resurrection. Milton’s telescoping of multiple biblical figures further expands the epic hero to be inclusive of all humanity – past, present, and future. The dramatic device furthers Milton’s epic theme: humanity has the power to choose virtue over evil, to defeat death and find salvation. The opening line of John Dryden’s mock epic poem, “Mac Flecknoe,” is “All human things are subject to decay.” Writing just several years after the second publication of Milton’s Paradise Lost, Dryden employed the form, and much of the content, of Milton’s masterpiece to skewer playwright and poet Thomas Shadwell, whom Dryden singled out as an example of the woes of contemporary poesy. Dryden ridicules Shadwell using the devices of the mock epic, in which lofty heroic couplets and ridiculous hyperbole are presented in solemn juxtaposition to descriptions of Shadwell’s lack of merits, resulting in a comic incongruity between subject and style in the service of biting satire. To deride Shadwell Dryden makes him an epic hero of utterly trivial intellectual proportions. Dryden subverts the larger-than-life tradition of epic hero – epitomized by Milton’s description of the faux epic hero, Satan, who is as large as a sea monster, strong as a Titan, a warrior armed with a vast shield and pine tree tall spear – by praising the width of Shadwell’s waistline. Only by virtue of his fatness, “a tun of man” who is large in bulk (195), is Shadwell larger than life. Shadwell’s singular trait or virtue is not bravery, like that of Achilles, not piety like that of Aeneas, not cunning like that of Odysseus, not compassion, mercy, and self-sacrifice, like that of the Son of God, but is instead dullness: “for anointed dullness he was made” (63); for he was deemed “Mature in dullness from his tender years” (16). In addition to his primary trait of dullness, Shadwell is a self-described “thoughtless . . . dunce” (27, 31) who surpasses his father in stupidity. Described as never making sense, no bit of light (enlightenment or knowledge) falls upon Shadwell; instead “fog prevail[s] upon
12 the day” such that Shadwell has not one iota of intelligence as he is forever in “genuine night” (23-24). Milton placed humanity at the core of his epic; Dryden pared down his hero into one man. Using inversion Dryden makes his epic hero the very worst of men – worse yet, one who wages war on high art. The domain of such a warrior is not Heaven, or Earth, or even Rome, but is instead the realm of Nonsense. Dryden, true to his love of neo-classical unity, has whittled down the epic action to a single event: the coronation of the next king of Nonsense. From among the king’s apparent plethora of illegitimate sons, and possible heirs, Flecknoe selects Shadwell for inheritance not based on birthright, or merit, but simply by virtue of his son’s resemblance to the king in terms of stupidity and dullness: “Tis resolved; for nature pleads that he/ Should only rule, who most resembles me,/Sh ____ alone my perfect image bears,/Mature in dullness from his tender years:/Sh_____ alone, of all my sons, is he/Who stands confirmed in full stupidity” (14-18). Flecknoe’s speech is undoubtedly meant to echo God the Father’s speech to the Son, in which he is told that it is his virtue, love, compassion, and willingness to sacrifice his very life, that has earned him his inheritance of God the Father’s throne. Dryden does not mean to ridicule Milton, but instead to use Milton’s well-known scene of virtue rewarded to undermine the unwarranted elevation Shadwell has received for his endeavors. Allusions to Milton’s God the Father and the Son reverberate throughout Dryden’s short work. Dryden takes the relationship of a king (God the Father as king of the universe) and his son (the Son of God who inherits his domain) from Paradise Lost and uses it as a foundation from which to dramatize the relationship between Flecknoe and Shadwell by mimicking Milton’s inheritance scene.
In addition, Dryden imbues his short epic with
biblical references. Flecknoe is presented as a John the Baptist to Shadwell’s Christ: “Even I, a dunce of more renown than they,/Was sent before but to prepare thy way . . . came/to teach
13 the nations in their greater name” (31-34). Any notion that Shadwell’s poetry could be thought of as a lesson to the nations, however, is strictly ironic. At the passing of the mantle ceremony to instate Shadwell, Dryden recalls the biblical story of Elijah and Elisha, in which Elijah rises to heaven and drops his cloak, or mantle, upon his inheritor’s shoulders. The biblical passage is meant to instill awe and wonder as Elisha witnesses a divine miracle. Dryden turns the inspiring scene on its head, trivializing the praise Shadwell has received by taking on a mantle not sent from heaven, but instead, received from Hell. Instead of an apotheosis, Flecknoe descends into a trap door, like one found upon the Restoration stage, which was both called and recognized to represent Hell: “For Bruce and Longville had a trap prepared,/And down they sent the yet declaiming bard,/Sinking he left his drugget robe behind,/Borne upwards by a subterranean wind./The mantle fell to the young prophet’s part,/With double portion of his father’s art” (212-217). The scene resonates with visual references to Hell, thereby linking, if only by a wink, Shadwell to Satan, as portrayed in Milton’s epic. The humor of the scene arises not only from the unexpected and ironic decent of Flecknoe but in the scatological reference to the “double portion of his father’s art” inferring not only to the nonsense of his poetry but to both feces and gas, and thereby indicting both Flecknoe and Shadwell’s poetic efforts as not only so much hot air, but also as excrement. Dryden is saying poetry “has gone to hell” and the ending of his epic is a graphic illustration of the art of sinking poetry. References to excrement abound in Dryden’s short mock epic. Shadwell has been raised on a throne of excrement: “Here Flecknoe, as a place to fame well known,/Ambitiously design’d his Sh____’s throne . . . that in this pile would reign a mighty prince,/Born for a scrouge of wit, and flail of sense” (84-88). “The hoary prince in majesty appeared/High on a throne of his own labors reared” (106). The play on the words “piles,” “labors,” and “rear” make the scatological references unmistakable. The path of the
14 coronation route, in which Shadwell is meant to be perceived as a military commander akin to the classical epic heroes, is strewn with the litter of the "scatter'd limbs of mangled poets" (99) that Shadwell has apparently defeated in poetic battle; that is, Shadwell has risen to his new position at the expense of better writers. Also littering the route are “reliques of the bum,” the work of bad poets whose work has been reduced to toilet paper and discarded. And although Shadwell is compared to Ascanius of the Aeneid, Romulus the founder of Rome, and Augustus the founder of the Roman Empire, his name is repeatedly associated with excrement. In one of Dryden’s more clever literary satires the subject of the satire’s name is concealed by providing only the first two letters of the surname. It is no coincidence that the common expletive for excrement bears the same abbreviation, thereby, subtly but directly, accusing Shadwell and his writing of being excrement. Dryden characterizes his epic hero as not merely falling into royal position by circumstance or birthright, but by choosing this path of stupidity. Shadwell actively chooses to “wage immortal war with wit” (12). “So Sh___ swore, nor should his vow be vain,/That he till death true dullness would maintain;/ And, in his father’s right, and realm’s defense,/ Ne’er to have peace with wit, nor truce with sense” (114-117).
Shadwell swears an oath to
maintain his dullness, to wage war on sense and wit; he vows, like the epic heroes of old to be a scourge upon his enemies, which are in this case wit and sense (89). Absurdity and frivolity aside, Dryden perceives Shadwell, and other inferior, yet lauded, poets like him, as a serious threat to high art. Dryden instructs the mock epic’s hero to focus his literary efforts on acrostics, anagrams, and songs, and leave the high art of drama and poetry, indeed of the epic, in the hands of men better equipped to do service to the art. Like Dryden, Alexander Pope engaged the mock epic, but not to deride an individual or his cohorts in bad poetry. Instead Pope uses the mock epic to lament the deterioration of heroic ideals by critiquing fashionable eighteenth-century society, governed by artificial rules
15 of decorum, which had led to the sublimation of genuine emotion. Pope simultaneously satirized the trivialities of a society that has distorted moral values and given way to vanity. Like Dryden, to mock his “heroes” Pope reduces them in size. As he describes in the opening, his epic is of “little men” and “soft bosoms” (I 11-12). Moreover, his heroes’ concerns and passions are based on the trivial. In “The Rape of the Lock,” Belinda is a woman wronged at a social event by the shearing of a lock of her hair by one of her suitors. Despite the triviality of the central dramatic event, Belinda, like the epic heroes on which she is based, is made to appear larger than life. Although portrayed as an ancient classical warrior by virtue of the rituals she partakes in and “battles” she must wage, at heart Belinda has more in common with Milton’s characterization of Satan in Paradise Lost than with Achilles or Odysseus. In the mock epic’s opening sequence Belinda is preparing to do battle; her battlefield is the salon. However, despite the feminine nature of her field of play, in order to emulate the traditional epic hero, Belinda is described in male terms: heroism, war, and wrath. She is portrayed as a warrior preparing for battle, a cunning general reviewing the troops, and a wronged lover bellowing in rage. Pope reimagines Belinda’s morning routine as the hero’s ritualized preparation before battle. The religious ritual of the toilette commences in praise of the goddess. Belinda becomes the image of that goddess, reflected in her mirror, as her lady’s maid becomes the priestess at the altar of worship: “And now, unveiled, the toilet stands displayed. . . A heavenly image in the glass appears:/To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears./The inferior priestess, at her altar’s side,/Trembling begins the sacred rites of Pride./Unnumbered treasures ope at once . . . And decks the goddess with the glittering spoil” (I 121-132). With the ceremony complete, Belinda begins to adorn herself as the warrior hero would have ritualized putting on his arms. The accouterment of the toilette – the combs, pins, “puffs, powders, [and] patches” – become the weapons and armor of the hero as “awful
16 Beauty puts on all its arms” (138-139). Belinda is not only portrayed as a warrior hero but is also characterized as a goddess – a divine being, not unlike Achilles. Pope continues the military metaphor by describing Belinda’s ability to attract admirers as a trap meant to ensnare enemies. Like other epic heroes who are adorned with enormous shields, sacred bows, and the like, Belinda is also replete with appropriate “weapons” for battle. Her curls, her locks, which grace her ivory neck are: “Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains,/And mighty hearts are held in slender chains” (II 23-24). Her hair has become an object of worship for her beaux, the Baron, whose devotion is dramatized by the literal construction of an altar to Belinda’s beauty. However, the coquette must not only draw the enemy in, she must erect a fortress to protect her virtue. The petticoat is Belinda’s fortress, and is it depicted on a grand scale, for it has no less than seven formidable layers. Belinda’s white breast is also adorned with a “sparkling cross” which inspires further worship of her beauty. However, like the raiment of Satan that on the surface appears to praise his prowess, Belinda’s cross is not a symbol of her piety, nor does it inspire piety in others. The cross is described as one that “Jews might kiss” and “infidels adore” (II 7-8); that is, it is a mere ornament, not a symbol of faith, but instead a symbol of vanity. Furthermore, Pope undermines the sanctity of the cross by placing it so prominently on Belinda’s breast. Pope subverts a symbol of Belinda’s chastity, meant to be one of her heroic virtues, by showing society’s willingness to value appearance over morality.
In so doing Pope
undermines Belinda’s heroic role much as Milton’s unsettling similes describing Satan’s prowess undermined his heroic role. Like Satan, Belinda has made her choices in repose, not under duress. She has chosen to play society’s game of artifice. She has chosen to put her efforts into her appearance, perhaps at the expense of her education, moral or otherwise. She has chosen to place the
17 symbol of her faith so prominently on her breast aware of the message it sends. She has chosen to favor the superficial instead of the meaningful. The epic’s centerpiece is the game of cards, described as a combat on a velvet plain (III 44), a verdant field (III 52) upon which the turn of the hand is couched in battle terms. Belinda is confident and aggressive on this battlefield, hopeful for the social advantage beating the Baron at cards will garner her. The whole purpose of the game, for Belinda, is a quest for fame, which fans the flames of her vanity: “Belinda now, whom thirst of fame invites” (III 25). Belinda just barely wins the last hand, which puts her off guard and makes her vulnerable to the “rape” or dastardly shearing of her curl.
Belinda reacts to the
transgression like a goddess scorned: “Then flashed the living lightning from her eyes,/And screams of horror rend the affrighted skies” (III 155-156). Belinda’s goddess-like wrath further links her to Milton’s depiction of Satan, whose response to the defeat of the rebellion against God the Father is overblown in its self-righteous indignation: “Her eyes dejected and her hair unbound . . . Belinda burns with more than mortal ire . . . ‘Oh wretched maid!’ (IV 90 – 95). Belinda feels herself “forever cursed” (IV 147) and languishing in “rage, resentment, and despair” echoes Satan’s throes of despair upon the lake of fire. Like Satan, Belinda’s only means to cool her ire is to sublimate it into revenge. Although that revenge ends in vindication, and an apotheosis among the stars, it is at best bittersweet. For, in fact, Belinda loves the Baron: “[Ariel] watched the ideas rising in her mind,/Sudden he viewed, in spite of all her art,/An earthly lover lurking at her heart” (III 142144). Unfortunately, however, her rage and rash behavior during the mêlée forfeit the Baron and his love. Like Satan, Belinda chooses, freely, a path that does not serve her ultimate goals.
Unlike Eve, who was able to swallow her pride and take the blame of the fall upon
herself, Belinda remains steadfast in her pride. Unlike Eve – who assuaged Adam’s anger, and ultimately the Son of God’s, by forgiving and asking for forgiveness – Belinda may not
18 lose all, but she loses more than she bargained for. Accordingly, Pope uses Belinda in much the same way as Milton uses Satan: he elevates her character, but only to show that her vanity, artificiality, and focus on the trivial have undermined her moral base revealing a fragility and vulnerability that identifies her as a fallen hero. Dryden and Pope chose not to write serious epics, not so much because the epic had fallen out of style, after all Dryden was writing only a few years after the second edition of Paradise Lost was published. However, after Milton had placed humanity at the heart of his epic, what hero with a single defining characteristic, what historical or fictional story, could equal the history of humankind? Instead the later poets paid homage to Milton by alluding to and referencing his triumph to suit their own purposes – the satire. In doing so, though they deliver their critiques in comic form, their commentary – on matters important to them – is serious and sobering. The state of high art or the artificiality of high society, may seem trivial against the vast canvas of creation and the fall, but Dryden and Pope already knew that. Both later poets not only employed the form and trapping of classical epic but both also framed their heroes choices as their own, and thereby defined those heroes by their choices. Perhaps this is Milton’s real legacy: the recognition that we are the choices we make and that those choices reflect our values on every front.
Work Cited: M.H. Abrams, et. al., eds. The Norton Anthology of English Literature: The Major Authors, 9th Edition. New York: Norton, 2013.