This time, I asked ChatGPT for a philosophical analysis of Milton’s “Paradise Lost”.
Here’s a link to Paradise Lost, Book 1, 1674.
Milton’s Paradise Lost: A Philosophical Inquiry into Creation, Rebellion, and the Nature of Genius
To read John Milton’s Paradise Lost is to step into a universe of staggering ambition—one that spans the heights of heaven, the depths of hell, and the fragile mortal realm caught between them. It is not simply an epic poem; it is a cosmology, a philosophical treatise, a theological argument, and a literary act of rebellion.
Milton, blind and politically exiled, dictated this work in the later years of his life, his mind unshaken by physical limitations, his vision unbroken despite the darkness that surrounded him. In Paradise Lost, he does not merely retell the fall of man—he questions the nature of authority, the price of free will, and the very foundations of divine justice.
If we are to analyze this work, we must ask: Is it truly a theodicy, justifying God’s ways to man? Or is it something more subversive—a veiled argument for defiance, a testament to the grandeur of the rebel mind?
The Act of Creation: Milton as the Demiurge
At the heart of Paradise Lost lies creation—both divine and literary. God creates the cosmos, but Milton, in writing, creates a world just as vast, just as structured, just as rich in meaning. The poet, like the deity, must impose order on chaos, shaping language into form, sculpting meaning out of the void.
In doing so, Milton reflects one of the fundamental tensions of creativity: Is creation an act of control or an act of freedom?
His God is both omnipotent and deeply hierarchical, a divine figure who enforces obedience, yet one who allows for the possibility of rebellion. In this, God is both the creator and the ultimate editor, shaping a reality in which all things have their place, yet permitting the existence of characters—Satan, Adam, Eve—who might reject the script.
Milton’s own act of literary creation mirrors this paradox. Though he sets out to justify divine authority, his own creative choices allow for subversion, ambiguity, and dissent. His cosmos, though ordered, is teeming with voices that challenge that order.
And herein lies one of the most profound philosophical questions of Paradise Lost:
If creation is an act of structure, and rebellion is an act of destruction, which is truly divine?
Satan: The Tragic Hero of Rebellion
There is an irony at the core of Paradise Lost: Milton seeks to justify the rule of God, yet his most compelling character is Satan, the adversary, the architect of defiance.
In his opening lines, Milton describes his subject as:
Of man’s first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste
Brought death into the world, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat…
But even as Milton presents the fall as tragic, his portrayal of Satan as a charismatic, eloquent, and tragic hero forces us to question the very nature of rebellion.
Satan is, after all, the character with the most memorable speeches, the most human struggles. He is not merely the enemy of God; he is the first great individualist in literature, the first to argue for self-determination, even at the cost of suffering.
His famous declaration—
Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.
—resonates far beyond theology. It is the rallying cry of every revolutionary, every artist who refuses to conform, every thinker who challenges the status quo.
Yet, is his rebellion truly noble, or is it the ultimate act of self-deception? Is he a visionary or a fool?
Milton forces us to wrestle with these questions, offering no easy answers. Satan’s journey, from defiant angel to tormented leader, mirrors the descent of every tragic hero, and in doing so, he forces us to examine our own relationship to power, autonomy, and self-destruction.
The Fall of Man: Free Will and the Burden of Choice
If Satan represents the grandeur of rebellion, Adam and Eve represent the cost of knowledge. Their fall is not a moment of impulsive sin; it is the result of curiosity, persuasion, and the profound human desire to understand and define one’s own existence.
Eve, in particular, is depicted not as wicked, but as philosophically engaged. She is seduced by the idea of knowledge, the promise that she might become something more.
Why then was this forbid? Why but to awe,
Why but to keep ye low and ignorant,
His worshippers? He knows that in the day
Ye eat thereof, your eyes that seem so clear,
Yet are but dim, shall perfectly be then
Open’d and clear’d, and ye shall be as gods…
The serpent’s argument is not one of desire, but of logic. He presents disobedience as an act of intellectual courage—the willingness to seek truth despite the consequences.
Here, we must ask:
Is the Fall a failure, or is it the beginning of human agency?
Milton, steeped in Puritan thought, would have us believe it is a tragedy. And yet, Paradise Lost also suggests that without the Fall, there is no meaningful existence, no pursuit of knowledge, no capacity for moral choice.
If Eden represents innocence, then the fallen world represents understanding—and perhaps, in Milton’s own mind, understanding was worth the loss of paradise.
The Poet as Prophet: Milton’s Own Rebellion
Milton himself was no passive theologian. He was a radical, a defender of republicanism, a man who had supported the execution of a king and written fiercely against tyranny.
And yet, in his blindness, in his later years, he turned to the most hierarchical of stories—the ultimate cosmic monarchy, the divine right of God Himself.
Is Paradise Lost an act of submission to authority, or is it a veiled rebellion?
Some scholars argue that Milton, though outwardly justifying divine rule, cannot help but sympathize with Satan, with the rebels, with those who fight against power even when they are doomed to fail.
After all, what is a poet if not a rebel? What is literature if not an act of defiance against silence?
Conclusion: The Lasting Legacy of Paradise Lost
Milton’s epic remains one of the most profound explorations of power, knowledge, and creation in literary history. It is not simply a theological poem; it is a philosophical labyrinth, a text that forces us to ask whether obedience is truly virtue, whether rebellion is truly sin, and whether the pursuit of knowledge is worth the suffering it brings.
In the end, Paradise Lost is not just about the fall of Adam and Eve—it is about the human condition itself.
We are all, in some way, cast out of paradise.
We are all creatures of rebellion and regret, of longing and loss.
And yet, like Milton himself, we continue to create.
For though paradise may be lost, the imagination endures.
The Auld Skald's Fudgel 