I remain a fan of the 17th century English poet who, I have to mention here, penned his arguably greatest work, Paradise Lost, after he had lost sight in both eyes. You heard me correctly. Milton was blind when he dictated to his daughters the story of the fall of mankind. The poetry was composed entirely in his head; he simply spoke it out loud. Books have been written on Milton’s Paradise Lost, and it is not the place here to go into a deep dive into its many complex interpretations. I do, however, want to offer a couple of thoughts about one of its more famous scenes: the part when Satan, having been cast out of heaven after his failed rebellion, manages to infiltrate the Garden of Eden. Scholars have long argued that Milton’s Satan is particularly dangerous because he is portrayed as, if you can imagine, a sympathetic character. He presents himself as misunderstood – a tragic character who simply pursued his ambition. In short, Milton’s Satan is relatable, which is precisely Milton’s purpose. Evil, he seems to be saying, can be appealing. At first, it sneaks up on us. It seems to be harmless. But when it is upon us, it does untold damage. In our midst, it unmasks itself and no longer pretends to be anything other than what it is: our enemy, the thing that hates us most. Amazingly, Milton employs a particular technique in poetry: the acrostic. An acrostic spells out vertically a message just as the poem itself is doing the same thing horizontally. Done correctly, the effect can be brilliant, and Milton, dear readers, certainly does this well.
The evil one slips like a snake into the Garden with nothing but hatred in his heart. Milton describes the scene as such:
Hee with Olympias, this with her who bore
Scipio the highth of Rome. With tract oblique [ 510 ]
At first, as one who sought access, but feard
To interrupt, side-long he works his way.
As when a Ship by skilful Stearsman wrought
Nigh Rivers mouth or Foreland, where the Wind
Veres oft, as oft so steers, and shifts her Saile; [ 515 ]
So varied hee, and of his tortuous Traine
Scipio: S / At: A / To: T / As: A / Nigh: N
Savvy readers detect the truth of his character – can see the vertical message – while others fail to see what really just snuck into sacred space. The acrostic, thus, is a dire warning. It is oftentimes difficult to identify sin and Satan. We convince ourselves that we have it all under control – that we are safe, protected, vigilant, and prepared – but sin and Satan are wilier than we care to believe. Indeed, Milton cleverly sets up his readers to receive this critical message in how he portrays the one who gathered a third of the hosts of heaven – a third of heaven’s army – and rebelled against God and fought against Saint Michael: Lucifer, the morning star, to be sure, the bearer of light. But not now. Never again. He has fallen, and he is on a mission to get others to do the same. Untold numbers of readers have wrestled with this particular scene in Paradise Lost. It surprises as much as it startles. We are jolted by the message. We were suckered into feeling sympathy for a creature that feels immeasurable antipathy toward us. Milton is issuing a great warning because, after Satan gets into the Garden, his true character is revealed. And those of us who know the story know that he prevails. Eve and then Adam succumb to temptation. They see their nakedness. They have fallen from grace. And God evicts them while at the same time beginning His work to redeem humankind with the skins of animals killed for the occasion. Animals that didn’t have to die but did because someone failed to see the wider picture, the serpent in their midst, the acrostic that, sadly, sometimes gets the best of us. This is the world in which we all live. The nature of the battle. The reality we cannot run from. Thanks be to God that another death and the resurrection that followed gives us a way out.
