The Astronomy of Milton's 'Paradise Lost', Thomas Nathaniel Orchard [best selling autobiographies .TXT] 📗

The numerous extracts contained in this volume impress upon one’s mind how largely astronomy enters into the composition of ‘Paradise Lost,’ and of how much assistance the knowledge of this science was to Milton in the elaboration of his poem. Indeed, it would be hard to imagine how such a work could have been written except by a poet who possessed a proficient and comprehensive knowledge of astronomy. The chief characteristic of Milton’s poetry is its sublimity, which is the natural outcome of the magnificence of his conceptions and of his own pure imaginative genius. Among all the fields of literature, science, and philosophy explored by him, he found none more congenial to his tastes, or that afforded his imagination more freedom for its loftiest flights, than the sublimest of sciences—astronomy. Whether we admire most the accuracy of his astronomical knowledge, or the wonderful creations of his poetic fancy, or his beautiful descriptions of the celestial orbs, it is apparent that in this domain of science, as a poet, he stands alone and without a rival. In his choice of the Ptolemaic cosmology Milton adopted a system with which he had been familiar from his youth—the same which his favourite poet Dante introduced into his poem, ‘The Divina Commedia,’ and which was well adapted for poetic description. The picturesque conception of ten revolving spheres, carrying along with them the orbs assigned to each, which, by their revolution round the steadfast Earth, brought about with unfailing regularity the successive alternation of day and night, and in every twenty-four hours exhibited the pleasing vicissitudes of dawn, of sunshine, of twilight, and of darkness, relieved by the soft effulgence of the nocturnal sky, afforded Milton a favourable basis upon which to construct a cosmical epic. The Copernican theory—with which he was equally conversant, and in the accuracy and truthfulness of which he believed—though less complicated than the Ptolemaic in its details, did not possess the same attractiveness for poetic description that belonged to the older system. According to this theory there is, surrounding us on all sides, a boundless uncircumscribed ocean of space, to which it is impossible to assign any conceivable limit; in every effort to comprehend its dimensions or fathom its depths, the mind recoils upon itself, baffled and discomfited, with a conscious feeling that there can be no nearer approach to the end when end there is none that can be conceived of. Interspersed throughout the regions of this azure vast of space is the stellar universe, which to our comprehension is as infinite as the abyss in which it exists. The solar system, though of magnificent dimensions, is but a unit in the astronomical whole, in which are embraced millions of other similar units—other solar systems, perhaps differing in construction from that of ours, with billions of miles of interstellar space intervening between each; yet so vast are the dimensions of the celestial sphere that those distances when measured upon it sink into utter insignificance. As the receding depths of space are penetrated by powerful telescopes, they are found to be pervaded with stars and starry archipelagoes, distributed in profusion over the circular immensity and extending away into abysmal depths, beyond the reach of visibility by any optical means which we possess. To the universe there is no known end—nowhere in imagination can its boundary be reached! This bewildering conception of the cosmos did not trouble the minds of pre-Copernican thinkers. They regarded the steadfast Earth as the most important body in the universe; nor were the celestial orbs which circled round it believed to be very far distant. Tycho Brahé imagined that the stars were not much more remote than the planets. Epicurus thought the stars were small crystal mirrors in the sky which reflected the solar rays, and the Venerable Bede remarked that they needed assistance from the Sun’s light in order to render them more luminous.

The adoption of the Ptolemaic system by Milton afforded greater scope for the exercise of his imaginative powers, and enabled him to bring within the mental grasp of his readers a conception of the universe which was not lost in the immensity associated with the Copernican view of things. Besides, it also furnished him with a distinctly defined basis upon which to erect the superstructure of his poem. Above the circumscribed universe was Heaven or the Empyrean; underneath it was Chaos, from which it had been reclaimed, and in the lowest depth of which Milton located the infernal world called Hell. These four regions embraced universal space; and in the elaboration of his great epic Milton relied upon his imaginative genius, his brilliant scholarship, his vast erudition, and the divine inspiration of the heavenly muse. With these, aided by the power and vigour of his intellect, he was enabled to produce a cosmical epic that surpassed all previous efforts of a similar kind, and which still remains without a parallel.

One of the distinguishing features of Milton’s mind was his wonderful imagination, and in its exercise he beheld those sublime celestial and terrestrial visions on which he reared fabrics of splendour and beauty, described in harmonious numbers with the fervid eloquence and charm of a true poet. An example of the loftiness and originality of his imagination is afforded us in his description of the Creation, the main facts of which he derived from the first two chapters of Genesis, and upon these he elaborated in full and striking detail his magnificent conception of the efforts of Divine Might, which in six successive creative acts called into existence the universe and all that it contains. The rising of the Earth out of Chaos; the creation of light and of the orbs of the firmament; the joyfulness associated with the onward career of the new-born Sun; the subdued illumination of the full-orbed Moon, and the thousand thousand stars that spangle the nocturnal sky—all these afforded Milton a rich field in which his imagination luxuriated, and in the description of which he found subject-matter worthy of his gifted intellect.

Milton gives an ampler and more detailed description of the new universe in his narration of Satan’s journey through space in search of this world, and brings more vividly before the imagination of his readers the glories of the celestial regions. The fiend, having emerged from the dark abyss of Chaos into a region of light, first beheld the new creation from such a distance that to his view it appeared as a star suspended by a golden chain from the Empyrean. This stellar conception of the poet’s harmonised with the views of the Ptolemaists, who believed that the universe was of limited extent, and though its dimensions were vast beyond comprehension, it was, nevertheless, enclosed by the tenth sphere or Primum Mobile. It was on the surface of this sphere that Satan alighted, and over which he wandered, until attracted by a beam of light that appeared through an opening at its zenith, where, by means of a stair or ladder, communication was maintained between the new universe and Heaven above. Hither the undaunted fiend hied, and, standing on the lower steps of this structure, momentarily paused to gaze upon the glorious sight which burst upon his view before directing his flight down into the newly created universe. Milton then describes his progress through the stellar regions, his landing in the Sun and what he saw there, and the termination of his journey when he descends from the ecliptic down to the Earth. In doing so the poet gives a wonderfully beautiful description of the starry universe, of the Sun, Moon, and Earth (Book III. 540-742), enhanced and adorned with his own poetic imaginings derived from fable, philosophy, and science.

Milton makes more frequent allusion to the Sun than to any of the other orbs of the firmament. This we should expect: the poet always gives the orb the precedence which is his due, and never fails, when the occasion requires it, to surround him with the ‘surpassing glory’ which marks his pre-eminence above all other occupants of the sky. The Moon, his consort—peerless in the subdued effulgence of her borrowed light; the beautiful star of evening, Hesperus; the sidereal heavens with their untold glories; the Galaxy, overpowering in the magnificence of its clouds and streams of stars—all these have their beauties and charms mirrored in the pages of this remarkable poem.

That the observation of the celestial orbs, their phases, and the varied phenomena which occur as a consequence of their motions, were to Milton an unfailing source of enjoyment and of meditative delight, is evident from the frequency with which he alludes to them. The following lines also testify to this:—