University of Virginia Library

ARTICLE V. — MILTON'S ANGELS.

IN an article on the Plan of Paradise Lost, published in this periodical, March, 1883, the writer had occasion to speak of certain characteristics of Milton's supernatural beings. A systematic account of these beings did not come within the scope of that paper, but the interest of the subject may perhaps make its separate treatment from a new standpoint not unwelcome. Other writers have considered Milton's angels mainly as products of literary art; I wish to examine them as products of thought, giving attention to the inner meaning rather than to the outward form. Convinced that there has already been too much unintelligent criticism, I venture upon the far more difficult and in some respects perilous task of interpretation. With little to say about the soundness or the propriety of the poet's methods and opinions, I shall content myself with inquiring what they are.

A glance at the first drafts of Paradise Lost, when the subject was still under consideration for dramatic treatment, will discover among the dramatis personæa large preponderance of what are known as allegorical characters, such as Conscience, Death, Ignorance, Justice, Faith, Hope, and Wisdom. There is a noticeable tendency, as the work progresses, towards a substitution of what may be called real for allegorical characters — a translation of the abstract into the concrete. The substitution is not complete even in the finished epic, as we see in the presence of such characters as Sin, Death, Chaos, and Night. Hence have arisen the criticisms of Addison, Landor and others condemning the mixture of allegory and plain fact.

The original abstractions, however, do not disappear from the stage, but remain under the forms and names of the pagan gods of western Asia and southern Europe. The spirits who meet and contend in battle are the virtues and vices that wage perpetual war in man's moral nature and by sympathy cause disorder and ruin even in the external world. The gods of the heathen had their origin in ideas. Men did not grossly worship

the rudely carved or moulded masses of wood, stone, and metal, but they offered devotion to an idea which the image merely brought to mind. Mars was honored by every nation that delighted in war for its own sake; Minerva was reverenced wherever philosophy was made the chief end of life. The ceremonies with which at special times the divinity was worshiped were mere external signs of the inward life of the people. Starting with this spiritual conception of the gods of old — gods still at the present day, though not openly acknowledged — Milton was able to give his descriptions, a verisimilitude which perhaps could have been gained in no other way, and at the same time to proceed with that confidence and positiveness which come only from the consciousness of stating unassailable truth.

With a little careful thought it is possible in most cases to determine with certainty what moral quality each of Milton's characters is intended to represent. The form, stature, attire, words and actions of each are always consistent with its central nature. Each is also associated with some force, agent, or phenomenon in the material world which suggests and illustrates it. Besides, the gods of the Orient and those of the Occident were essentially the same, so that while the poet commonly prefers the Biblical names and descriptions, his spirits may and do reappear in the lines of Homer and Virgil. This fact often gives us the advantage of two sets of examples to fix the precise nature of each spirit. Even when a spirit is merely named, and that but once, we have usually the means of finding the reasons for its introduction. Let us examine some of the results which a course of study under the guidance of these principles has given.

To avoid the confusion which would come from an attempt to carry on all the parts of the subject together, I propose to notice first the moral qualities which the spirits represent, then the external forms in which they appear, and afterward the relation of Milton's characters to Homer's and Virgil's. The moral part may be regarded as the essential nature of the characters which the external form is intended to manifest and illustrate to human sense; while the identification of his characters with those of the epic writers of old, gives Milton a literary authority which cannot be spoken against.

The good and the evil spirits, then, represent respectively the virtues and the vices in the moral constitution of the world. On one side are arrayed right principles, noble aspirations, and pure affections; on the other, wrong ambitions, headstrong passions, and debasing lusts. It is certain, to begin with, that the seven spirits who rise singly after Satan and Beelzebub from the burning lake, are intended to personate the Seven Deadly Sins so much celebrated in early English poetry. There is clear reason for bringing them out in the order in which they come, — Murder, Lust, Pride, Envy, Covetousness, Gluttony, and Idleness. Murder and Lust are the first recorded sins resulting from the Fall of Man; hence Moloch and Chemosh are the first to respond to Satan's call. There is no difficulty in recognizing the spirit of Murder or War in the grim features and the blood-stained form of Moloch. The instruments of martial music (the poet calls it "noise") and the tears of parents for slain sons are inseparably associated with him who is worshiped in Rabbath (Contention). Nor are we left in doubt as to the identity of Chemosh in "the flowery dale of Sibma clad with vines," revelling in obscenity and scandal, in wanton rites and lustful orgies. Astarte is crowned with a crescent moon, whose horns are the symbol of haughtiness, and she is the tutelary divinity of Tyre and Sidon, cities repeatedly denounced in prophecy for their excessive Pride. Astarte is followed by Thammuz, as Pride is followed by Envy. Thammuz is wounded by the prosperity of others, just as the snows on Lebanon melt away and stain with the color of blood the swollen Adonis under the beneficent heat of the summer sun. After Envy, and closely related, comes Covetousness, typified in Dagon, the god of fertility and thrift, whose temple was in Azotus (Theft). After the spirit of Covetousness has secured the bounties and luxuries of this life, the "sottish" Ahaz (Possessor) turns to the worship of Rimmon (Pomegranate), a god of agriculture and the fit representative of Gluttony. It was precisely at the point of transition from the worship of Covetousness to the worship of Gluttony that the rich fool of the parable was arrested by the hand of death (Luke xii. 15-20). Rimmon is accompanied by the Egyptian gods of brutish form, to signify that Gluttony is akin to all sorts of Bestiality.

Belial, the spirit of Idleness, which is called the sin of Sodom and her daughters (Ezek. xvi. 59), fitly comes last of the seven chief devils. When Belial takes possession of the magistrates in church or State, the filthiness of Sodom is sure to follow.

Satan is the embodiment of Ambition, which is the best expression in a single word of "the spirit that now worketh in the children of disobedience." There is a hint of its wandering, unsettled nature in the very word. Among men it is seen aspiring sometimes to military glory, sometimes to wealth, and sometimes to regal power, and descending to the lowest arts to gain its end. Hence Satan may act in the spirit of Moloch, of Mammon, or of Belial, and is fitly called the head of the whole body of demons. He is the principle of evil in general and the adversary of all good. Before the truth-loving Uriel he represents Hypocrisy; before the wise Gabriel, Folly; before the faithful Abdiel, Skepticism; before the righteous Michael, the lifeless Letter of the Law. In the colloquy with Gabriel his acts and words are in every respect those ascribed in Proverbs to the fool, scorner, and wicked person, while Gabriel opposes him with the words and acts of the wise and faithful man who is contrasted with the fool. The breaking up of the colloquy is exceedingly significant. It is decided by the appearance of the heavenly balance in which are two weights, — "the sequel each of parting and of fight." The two weights are nothing else than the two consecutive proverbs: "Answer not a fool according to his folly, lest thou also be like unto him," and "Answer a fool according to his folly, lest he be wise in his own conceit." To answer the fool, that is, to continue the dispute, would be an act of useless folly on the part of the censor; to cease answering, that is, to part, would leave the fool to his folly; but there would then be only one fool instead of two, as in the other case. The latter, namely parting, is therefore to the eye of Wisdom the weightier, making its scale of the balance descend, and Gabriel brings the dispute to a close.

Michael, the select Scriptural antagonist of Satan, is the impersonation of Justice or Righteousness. In one of the original drafts of Paradise Lost we find one of the characters set down as "Michael or Moses," a hint that the two are somehow

very nearly akin, if not identical, in meaning. Moses is the lawgiver, and the divine Law is the very embodiment of Justice. When Michael contends with Satan about the body of Moses (Jude 9), the dispute is over the law which Moses gave. There was such a dispute when Satan tempted Christ in the wilderness and quoted Scripture to gain his ends. There was many a dispute like it afterwards, when the lawyers at Jerusalem attempted to condemn Christ with the letter of the Law and were by him confounded with its spirit. In all these cases Christ represented Michael defending the Law against its enemy. This, too, is the meaning of that victory of Michael over Satan in the Heavenly War; and throughout the poem every act of the martial angel is consistent with the central idea of Justice.

Beelzebub on the part of the apostates and Gabriel on the part of the saints are spirits of Wisdom; the first that which resides in the children of this world, the second that in the children of light. Both spirits are distinguished by their calm deliberation and self-restraint; and fitly therefore in the celestial strife is Gabriel opposed to the furious Moloch. Both are associated with Strength; Beelzebub by his "Atlantean shoulders fit to bear the weight of mightiest monarchies," Gabriel by having joined with himself Uzziel (Strength of God) as his second in command.

Uriel in his station at the sun, whence he views the whole creation, is the angel of Truth, and furnishes Gabriel with the information necessary to the fulfillment of his charge. Sharpsighted as he is, he cannot discern the hypocrisy in the heart of the zealous-seeming Satan any more than the wise men of the East could of themselves discover the deceit of the murderous Herod. In battle he defeats Adrammelech, who prob-ably stands for Ignorance and is a truly formidable foe. To vanquish the ignorance of men and with the light of truth to dispel their superstitions is one of the most important aims of Christianity.

Raphael, the sensitive and sympathetic spirit of Love, overcomes in Heaven the stolid and cruel Asmadai who probably represents Indolence. In accordance with his nature as the angel of Love, Raphael is known as "the sociable spirit" and

is selected by Heaven to bear to earth a message of pity and warning. Like the Beloved in the Song of Songs, when coming into the Garden, he takes his way, himself a dispenser of "heavenly fragrance," "through groves of myrrh and flowering odors, cassia, nard, and balm." He hears in the evening of that blissful day in Paradise Adam's avowal of love for Eve and the inquiry about love among the angels in Heaven. The question innocently drawn at a venture touched the innermost nature of Raphael and caused that smile "which glowed celestial rosy-red, love's proper hue" to mantle the angel's countenance at leave-taking.

Of the remaining spirits Azazel, the ensign-bearer, represents Fame, proud, fickle as the winds, brief as a meteor flash. Mammon is the spirit of Worldliness; Mulciber of Art and Industry, commendable when holding the place of a servant in Heaven, but destined to overthrow when assuming to be himself a god and making his works an end instead of a means. Ithuriel is Memory, and the spear in his hand is the Divine command to Adam and Eve; Zephon is Conscience: both Conscience and the Word of God are declared to be searchers of the heart of man (Prov. xx. 27; Heb. iv. 12). Abdiel is Faith, and a blow from his sword staggers the skeptical Satan, or in Scriptural metaphor removes the mountain into the sea (vi. 193-198). Nisroch is Selfishness; Zophiel the Modesty which blushes and is offended at the sight of whatever is shameful.

The three days of war in Heaven symbolize three distinct phases of the conflict between good and evil in the history of the world and in the life of man. On the first day, as has been hinted, the contest is over the Law, the Spirit of which dwells in Michael while the Letter is usurped by Satan. The perfect order and discipline in the loyal army, the equipment of the least member of it with the force of all the elements, and the possession by each legion of the fighting strength of the whole army are not merely rhetorical flights but profoundly significant truths. The perfect consistency and completeness of the Law, the fact that the smallest jot or tittle has a greater validity than the course of nature, and that one commandment cannot be broken without violating the whole Law, are some of the Scriptural principles embodied. The armor

of the saints is the inviolable panoply spoken of in the letters of St. Paul (Eph. vi. 10-18), while the spears, arrows, and swords are the precepts of the Divine Word. It will be remembered that in the Song of Songs (iv. 4) the neck of the Bride is compared to a tower "builded for an armory." This is a part of the same figure setting forth that the Divine precepts are proclaimed by the true church in opposition to the dictates of injustice, wrong, and violence disguised under the show of reason and justice. We are thus led to see that this conflict between the spirit and the letter of the law is essentially the same as Milton means when he speaks elsewhere of the grap-ple of truth and falsehood.

On the second day the battle-ground is shifted by the defeated rebels from the intellect to the affections. In the preceding night-council Nisroch, the spirit of Selfishness, had complained of the pain suffered from wounds and exertion, and had called for an easier mode of warfare. Satan then proposed a plan which, when stripped of its allegorical dress, means the enlistment of fleshly lusts against the Divine Spirit. Entertainment of these lusts in the heart soon renders it callous — "past feeling" as Paul expresses it — and thus secures Nisroch's wished-for painlessness. The presence of these same lusts, as is shown by the experience of Lot in Sodom, is exceedingly offensive to the pure sensibilities of the good. Hence the significance of the modest Zephiel, turning his back to the gross array of the enemy, and warning his friends to shield their eyes and hearts against the coming attack. Hence, too, the prominence into which the idle Belial rises in the other host, and the low wit that brings confusion upon the good. The weapon of the satanic host now is laughter propelled from callous hearts filled with lust. The saints throw away their armor; it is worse than useless to offer spiritual truth to imbruted natures — to cast pearls before swine. They hurl mountains upon the devilish engines and upon the devisers of the same. In like manner upon earth the laughter of drunkards and libertines is overwhelmed by wide-spread sorrow and disaster, inflicted either by retributive justice, or as the inevitable consequence of self-indulgence. "The end of that mirth is heaviness." The good suffer somewhat in this last

encounter, but, unlike their adversaries, are not impeded in their movements by any armor. So too when heavy calamities fall upon the earth, the righteous, unwedded to worldly pleasures and riches, escape with scarcely a sigh, while the pleasure-loving, bound to their material possessions, release themselves with many a groan.

The third is a "sacred" day upon which, under the visible captaincy of the Messiah, the saints are finally victorious. The Divine Leader is arrayed in the majesty and terror of the last judgment. He rides on the clouds (cherubs), and his chariot moves with the sound of a whirlwind reminding those who have sown the wind that the time for reaping has now come. He calls his faithful warriors, approves their fidelity, unites them with his attendant angels, and makes them one host. He proposes to test the physical strength of his enemies, just as at the last day, when he comes to judge men, he will try their works, not their creeds. The thunder which he hurls is the Divine laughter at the folly of creatures made reasonable, and is essentially that of wisdom: "I also will laugh at your calamity; I will mock when your fear cometh." It is in exact harmony with what has recently been designated as "the laughter of the soul at itself."

A more minute interpretation of the points in this description would be fitting, if we were annotating Milton's text, but enough has been given to establish our proposition as to the allegorical significance of the angels of Paradise Lost. Let us inquire, in the next place, how the poet represents these beings to the natural sense. What are those "corporal forms" (v. 571-574) in which he expresses spiritual things?

Hints of external form for the angels, though somewhat indefinite, are not rare in the Scriptures. Satan is not only the spirit that works in the children of disobedience; he is also "the prince of the power of the air." What meaning Milton took from this and other expressions of a similar kind is apparent in a hundred lines of the second book (528-628), which contain a classification of the demons on the basis of their physical nature. In this passage, while the subdivisions are variously marked, the word "part" is used with great exactness to distinguish the main classes. The first use of the

word "part" is to introduce the spirits of Water who hurry through the air on wings as clouds or run fleetly over the land on foot as mists. The second "part" includes spirits of Fire, celestial and terrestrial, heat-producing and light-giving.[*] The third "part" embraces spirits of Air, whether gentle as in rambling breezes, or violent as in tempest ("velut agmine facto") waging war against whatever stands erect. The Winds, four in number, Boreas, Eurus, Notus, and Zephyrus, take up their "flying march" (through the air as in flight and along the ground as in marching) to search for rest every vale and highland in that world of darkness.

From this may be understood the broad and important distinction between Cherubim and Seraphim. The quality of luminosity is the foundation of the distinction. The Seraphim are bright and furnish light as original sources; the Cherubim may be either bright or dark, but their brightness is always reflected. Angels of heat and light are Seraphim; those of air and vapor are Cherubim. Uriel, regent of the sun, is a Seraph; Gabriel, regent of the moon and the air is a Cherub. According to the same rule Raphael and Abdiel are Seraphim, while Beelzebub and Azazel, Zephon and Zophiel are Cherubim. When Satan is at one time enclosed with "a globe of fiery Seraphim," and at another "with flaming Cherubim and golden shields," there is the same difference between the scenes as between the sun in a clear sky encircled with his dazzling rays, and the same luminary at another time surrounded with golden-edged clouds.

As might be inferred from this, the activity of the spirits always conforms to that of the elements in nature. In the first book the account telling of the formation of the devils from a disordered mass into a perfect phalanx serves almost equally well as a poetical description of sunrise in a deeply clouded sky. The obscure, doubtful glimpse of dawn at the discovery of Satan's hopefulness, the meteor-gleam at the unfurling of the imperial ensign, the orient colors of the waving banners,

the rays of light in the bristling spears, the dazzling arms, the half-eclipsed, new-risen sun, and finally the blaze of brightness signalizing the birth of new enterprise, form a succession of scenes like those attending the growth of the faintest glimmer of morning into perfect day. In the fourth book, the capture of Satan in Paradise and his expulsion therefrom are described under figures implying the generation of a night-cloud which blots the clear sky, interferes with the moonlight, threatens disorder and ruin, but is dissipated at the coming of day. In the tenth book, the transformation of the devils into serpents like those sprung from the blood of Gorgon (the storm cloud) is suggested by the condensation of clouds into rain fallen and winding about in brooks and rivers.

The sixth book affords further illustrations. The prophet Ezekiel (xxxviii. 9) tells of enemies of God's people to come out of the North, like a storm and like a cloud, to overspread and lay waste the land of the faithful. To this central idea Milton most carefully conforms in describing the celestial wars to human sense.

The engagement of the first day is founded upon the idea of a storm — a struggle between the adverse powers of heat and cold. There is a premonition of it during the previous night, when "in a flame of zeal severe" Abdiel "opposed the current" of rebellious fury. The army of apostates on its march, "hasting with furious expedition," was like a wind from the North. In contrast with this disorderly haste moved the faithful host, —

A preliminary single combat took place between the zealous, flaming Abdiel and the skeptical ruler of the North, haughty and cold, fresh from his icy mountain palace. When general battle was joined,

While many of the citable expressions might be used metaphorically in describing an earthly battle, we have the best authority, that of Milton himself, for saying that they are not

to be so understood. On the other hand, when corporeal objects are mentioned, they must be etherealized to reach the truth. The spears, darts, swords, shields and helmets, used by the contending hosts, are nothing grosser than beams of light, rays of heat, flashes of flame, and masses of cloud. Spirits of cold, as well as spirits of heat may hurl fiery darts, for intense cold produces the same sensation as intense heat (ii. 595).

Some of the individual powers who are active in the conflict are easily recognized as embodiments of elemental phenomena. Calm and Bluster, Heat and Cold, Light and Darkness, meet and contend in the persons of Gabriel and Moloch, Raphael and Asmadai, Uriel and Adrammelech. The spirits of Heat and Light are victorious in the first encounter, and the defeated forces withdraw to reorganize during the night for another struggle. Nisroch rises in the council "with cloudy aspect;" or, in other words, the North Wind changes countenance and proposes a different mode of warfare for which preparation is at once made.

The second stage of the struggle spoken of by Ezekiel is reached. The enemies of the saints next come "like a cloud." They dig down through the heavenly mould and bring instruments of offence from "the Deep." They prepare to counterfeit the thunderbolts of the Almighty. They approach the field of battle on the next morning with less haste, but threateningly, like a cloud laden with hail. The coming is heralded by Zophiel, a loyal scout, the Iris of Paradise Lost, the spirit of the Morning Red. He is the swiftest of Cherubim, flies in mid-air, announces the coming of the enemy as a thick cloud and admonishes his friends to bear their shields,

The enemy approaches "gross and huge," "with heavy pace," and with "shadowing squadrons deep." The rattling hailstones begin to fall, benumbing whomever they touch. But the angry heat of the loyal host soon puts an end to the storm of hail, and the struggle goes on, under the ever deepening cloud-masses, to the end of the day and through the night, until at day-break of the third day the Messiah appears with thunderbolts,

and a rainbow, and the clear sky, and the sunlight — all at his command. Order is restored throughout the Empyrean, the horizon wall is broken only where the defeated rebels are retreating, and the scattered rear of the fleeing host is disappearing like a frightened flock of goats.

Enough has now been said to show the blunder of the many who, following Dr. Johnson, down to the present time, have laughed at

Whether this exposition of his method will cause a greater admiration of Milton is an entirely distinct question. The present age, if I read it aright, has little taste for allegory, and there may even be a feeling of disappointment at the discovery that Milton's descriptions are not light products of fancy with no deeper meaning than lies on the surface. My present purpose, however, is not to commend Milton to men of this generation; it is only to reach a firm basis from which to judge his work; though it must be evident from what is to follow that if allegory can be charged as a fault against Milton the charge will lie equally against Homer and Virgil, his models in epic poetry.

In Milton, for example, the victory of Gabriel over Moloch is clearly intended to teach the superiority of Wisdom to brute Force, or of self-restraint to fury; but precisely the same moral is taught in Homer by the victories of Pallas over Mars. Besides, Pallas had among the Grecian heroes at Troy two special favorites, Diomed and Ulysses: Milton's Gabriel, the wisest of the angels, is copied chiefly from the former; while Beelzebub, the wisest of the devils, is copied from the latter. Gabriel has a subordinate in Uzziel (Strength of God), and Diomed's second in command is Sthenelus (Strength). The strength of Beelzebub is shown in his "Atlantean shoulders;" the strength of Ulysses also is in his broad shoulders. The moral of both poets is that wisdom is strong (Prov. viii. 14), and moreover that it is better than strength (Eccl. ix. 16).

The nature of true Peace and Love is shown in Raphael, of false Peace and Love in Belial; but Homer has set forth the same in his Mercury and Juno. The difference is that Homer has distinguished by his two characters between Peace and Love, naming the former Mercury and the latter Juno; while Milton has united Peace and Love, but has divided the pure from the impure characteristics in each, giving the former to Raphael and the latter to Belial. When Raphael, attired like Juno on her mission of reconciliation to the distracted household of Oceanus (Il. xiv. 178-189), is coming from Heaven, the earth appears to him among the stars as Delos or Samos to a pilot among the Cyclades. Juno regarded Samos with special favor as the place where she was worshiped as the goddess of marriage and birth, while she looked upon Delos with abhorrence as the place that had given shelter to her rival Latona (Death). To Raphael the primitive earth might appear either a Samos or a Delos, a place of either favor or abhorrence, as it would prove a harbor of life or of death.

Mammon, "the god of this world," is the ancient Jupiter who overthrew his father Saturn (Time), and who is the patron deity of old men like Nestor — conquerors of Time in outliving the natural age of man. The relation to old men will give a reason for the bent form of Mammon; and his identity with Jupiter will account for almost every sentiment of his speech in the council. Moloch is Mars with the same blustering and furious temper. Satan is Apollo, manifesting the characteristics of that god and of the men whom he inspires, chiefly Hector, but also Paris, Sarpedon, and others. Michael, the spirit of retributive Justice, is governed by the same impulses as the swift-footed Achilles (Pitiless), the son of the sea-deity Thetis (Law). The first day's battle in Heaven closely resembles the contest of the Greeks and the Trojans over the dead body of Patroclus; and the meeting of Michael and Satan has many striking points of likeness to that of Achilles and Hector, one of the most important being that Satan, like Hector, fights in armor belonging rightfully to his adversary.

The characters with English names follow the same law of resemblance. Sin in her attractive beauty has the characteristics of Venus; in her power over the heart those of Hecate,

the goddess of witchcraft; in her deceitfulness those of the Palladium of Troy, which, strange as it may seem, is the representative of falsehood. Death is like Neptune, the dark-haired ruler of the seas. He has the same god-like, terrible stride that shakes the earth, the same trident, the same skill with horses, the same power to quiet turbulent waves — human society being the waters over which he rules. Chaos is the same as Saturn, or Pluto, timid, irresolute, guarding with jealous care the secrets and riches of his anarchy, and swallowing up almost instantaneously the children which he begets. Mulciber for good reasons has a Latin name; but reversing our process we easily identify him with the Baal of the east, who in the contest of his prophets with the prophet of the true God also fell "From morn to noon, from noon to dewy eve, a summer's day." (1 Kings xviii. 26, 29).

Occasionally, or indeed frequently, a resemblance to Homer or an allusion to mythology has attracted the attention of commentators; but no one, not even Patrick Hume, seems to have suspected how far the resemblance is carried, or how different from mere chance and whim has been its determining motive. Most of the points of likeness do not lie on the surface, but they are easily discovered when we know the underlying law that regulates them. It is in virtue of the existence of the same moral quality — ambition, wisdom, hate, love, or truth — in Milton's characters and in Homer's that they act and speak alike. Beelzebub never expresses the sentiments of Mars, nor Moloch those of Minerva. If we were to find these opposite spirits using the same expressions in speech, we should infer that it came from accident. When the identity of Moloch with Mars has once been discovered, the field of classical investigation in his case becomes very limited. It is useless to look anywhere except at the words and acts of the war-god and of the men whom he inspires. And so of all the rest. Hence it is evident that the spirits cannot exchange places in the poem, that Zephon and Ithuriel or Nisroch and Azazel cannot perform each other's tasks. The nature of the spirits, Homeric and Miltonic, is simple; their activity manifests itself in but one direction. However true it is that one of them

may overpower and dominate a man, yet one man has the capacity of legions of spirits.

One more important point of likeness between Homer's deities and Milton's angels remains to be noticed. It consists in the fact that both kinds may become tutelary divinities of nations and places and therefore have a representative function. Jupiter was the special deity of Elis, Juno of Argos, Minerva of Athens, Apollo of Lycia, and Venus of Cyprus. Certain angels have a like office assigned to them by the prophet Daniel. The closing part of the first book of Paradise Lost cannot be fully understood unless the representative function of some of the angels is kept in mind. Those who are summoned to the council in Pandemonium "by place or choice the worthiest," have such an office, and gather, like members of a legislative body, to consult for the common welfare. But in the case before us they are wholly subordinated to the greater powers who retain their own colossal dimensions in the council. The representative spirits, summoned "from every band and squared regiment," find the council hall too small for their admittance in their natural size; and for the privilege of going within they submit to a reduction to "less than smallest dwarfs." Unique as the scene is, it is intended, like every other in the poem, to set forth a fact in human history. It proceeds upon the idea that since the Spirit of Antichrist is the same, his operations are the same in Hell as in this world. The volcanic mountain, the plain near by with its busy industries, the sluice from the burning lake, and lastly, the capital "city and proud seat of Lucifer," strongly suggest to us Mount Vesuvius, the Campania, Agrippa's sluice from Lake Avernus and imperial Rome. The council-hall itself is modeled upon the Roman Pantheon, both in name and in architecture. The thousand demigods in their "secret conclave" represent to the Puritan poet the evil powers and proud tyrannies that had their seats at Rome (Rev. xviii. 2). The spirits summoned from without represent the nations, tribes, and municipalities of Europe. The ambition of the emperors and then of the popes, reaching out over the nations of Christendom, reduced to insignificance the authority and dignity of their rulers. The comparison of the representative

spirits to apes (the "Pygmæan race beyond the Indian mount")[*] is the satire of a patriot who always despised submission to a foreign potentate and all imitation of the antics of a corrupt hierarchy. During the Dark Ages there arose in Europe a belief in a class of spirits known as fairies, whose diminutive size compared with the heroic stature of the gods of old well sets forth the difference between the real and the nominal power of civil governments under the supremacy of Rome. The representatives of national dignity, intent upon their trifling pleasures and unconscious of their littleness are compared to the fairies dancing under the eye of the peasant who views them with mingled joy and fear — joy that the tyranny of his home rulers is broken, and fear lest the foreign tyranny is about to be something worse, or at least more degrading.

A natural question arises here, Did Milton, then, reject entirely the doctrine of Angels as real beings in the economy of the spirit world? Much as he has to say about spirits in Paradise Lost, the facts here brought to view might indicate that the angels have no substantial, independent existence and are not believed by the poet to have any. It looks as though the characters of the poem were mere forms of thought, the creation not of God but of man. In the examination of Milton's prose writings, however, we find this theory failing. In the Christian Doctrine the angels are treated as independent essences, living before the creation of man and acting first upon him instead of being originated by him. We must not imagine, either, that they are one thing in prose and another in verse. Whether in prose or verse, the prominent aim of Milton was truth. The invocation of the Holy Spirit at the

beginning of his greatest poem would be unintelligible, if it did not preface a reverent expression of divinely revealed truth. We are, then, shut up, apparently, to the conclusion that Milton intends to treat what we know as abstractions, the virtues and the vices of our moral constitution, as actual, independent beings in the invisible world. The world of spirits, at least it is evident, is on the same plan as the world of spirit which we may become acquainted with by the study of our own higher, immortal nature.