The Poetics of Milton
Part 3 - on Pythagoras
Last week, we read of Milton’s passion in his speech ‘Against the Scholastic Philosophy’, and now let’s return to follow his sense of humor with another of his oratorical exercises - ‘On the Music of the Spheres’. As he tells us – ‘regard these things as said in jest’.
And he again talks about the differences between Plato and Aristotle, this time concerning Pythagoras, and Pythagoras’s poetic idea of the harmony of the spheres – ‘that the heavens revolved with melodious charm’.
And Milton starts by asking us:
“now what sane man would have thought that Pythagoras … would ever have expressed in public an opinion so uncertainly unfounded?”
Milton answers first with ‘that most skilful interpreter of Mother Nature, Plato’ that Milton says was a follower of Pythagoras:
“since he affirms that certain sirens sit one upon each of the circles of the heavens and hold spell-bound gods and men by their most honey-sweet song.”
And Milton says that this idea could have been suggested to Pythagoras by Homer:
“by means of that famous golden chain of Jove hanging down from the heaven.”
But then Milton talks of Aristotle – ‘the envious and perpetual calumniator of Pythagoras and Plato’ who claimed that:
“this symphony of the heavens was unheard, and he imputed to Pythagoras the tunes of the spheres.”
Then the humble and humorous Milton follows through this argument, until he says that perhaps:
“the boldness of the thieving Prometheus seems to be the reason why we hear so little of this harmony”.
And we are left to wonder - if this music only existed inside the head of Pythagoras (as Aristotle claimed) or if it can be also heard by us mortals?
John Milton at age 20.
On the Music of the Spheres
If there is any place for a man of my poor powers, fellow students, after so many speakers of consequence have been heard today, I shall attempt even at this moment to express, in accordance with my small ability, how well I wish the established exercise of the present occasion; and I shall follow albeit far outdistanced, in the course of this day’s demonstration of eloquence. Accordingly, while I avoid and shun entirely those common and ordinary topics of discourse, the purpose of this day and likewise of those who, I suspected, would speak appropriately concerning matters fitted to the time, kindles and straightway rouses my mind to attempt with ardor some new theme. These two reasons are able to furnish incentives or keenness to one somewhat sluggish and for the most part possessed of a dull wit.
Wherefore, a few words at least suggest themselves to be pronounced, as they say, with open hand and with rhetorical embellishment, about that famous heavenly harmony, concerning which very shortly there is to be a disputation with the closed fist; consideration of the time being observed, which now presses me on and now restrains me. I would prefer, however, that you, my hearers, should regard these things as said in jest.
Now what sane man would have thought that Pythagoras, that god of the philosophers, at whose name all mortals of his age stood up in very sacred veneration; – who, I say, would have thought that he would ever have expressed in public an opinion so uncertainly unfounded? Surely, if indeed he taught the harmony of the spheres and that the heavens revolved with melodious charm, he wished to signify by it, in his wise way, the very loving and affectionate relations of the orbs and their eternally uniform revolutions according to the fixed laws of necessity. Certainly, in this he imitated either the poets or, what is almost the same thing, the divine oracles, by whom no secret and hidden mystery is exhibited in public, unless clad in some covering or garment.
That most skilful interpreter of Mother Nature, Plato, has followed him, since he affirms that certain sirens sit one upon each of the circles of the heavens and hold spell-bound gods and men by their most honey-sweet song. And finally, this agreement of things universal and this loving concord, which Pythagoras secretly introduced in poetic fashion by the term Harmony, Homer likewise suggested significantly and appropriately by means of that famous golden chain of Jove hanging down from the heaven.
Aristotle, the envious and perpetual calumniator of Pythagoras and Plato, out of the shattered opinions of these great men, paved a way to renown by claiming that this symphony of the heavens was unheard, and he imputed to Pythagoras the tunes of the spheres. But if either fate or necessity had decreed that your soul, Father Pythagoras, should have been translated into me, there would not have been lacking one who would easily have come to your rescue, however great the infamy under which you were laboring at the moment. Indeed, why should not the celestial bodies during their everlasting courses evolve musical sounds?
Does it not seem fair to you, O Aristotle? Truly, I hardly believe your intelligence would be able to endure with patience that sedentary toil of the rolling heavens for so many ages, unless that ineffable song of the stars had prevented your departure and by the charm of its melody had persuaded a delay. It would be as if you were to take away from heaven those beautiful little goddesses and should deliver the ministering gods to mere drudgery and to condemn them to the treadmill.
Nay indeed, Atlas himself long ago would have withdrawn his shoulders from a heaven that was about to fall, had not that sweet song soothed, with its most delightful charm, him, gasping and sweating under his great burden. In addition to these things the Dolphin, wearied of his constellation, would long ago have preferred his own seas to heaven, if he had not rightly been burning with the thought that the singing orbs of the sky excelled by far the sweetness of Arion’s lyre. Why, credible it is that the lark itself should fly right up to the clouds at early dawn, and that the nightingale should spend the whole lonely night in song, in order that they may adjust their strains to the harmonic mode of the sky, to which they listen attentively. Thus also from the very beginning of things the story has prevailed about the Muses dancing day and night around the altar of Jove; hence from remote antiquity skill with the lyre has been attributed to Phoebus; for this reason the ancients believed Harmonia ought to be regarded as the daughter of Jove and Electra, whom the whole choir of heaven is said to have lauded in song when she had been given to Cadmus in marriage.
But supposing no one on earth had ever heard this symphony of the stars, does it therefore follow that all has been silent beyond the circle of the moon, and lulled to sleep by the benumbing silence? Nay rather, let us blame our feeble ears which are not able, or are not worthy to overhear the songs and such sweet tones. But this melody of the sky is not really unheard; for who, O Arisotle, would have conceived of your constellations as dancing in the mid-region of the air, except that, when they hear the singing heavens clearly on account of their nearness, they cannot restrain themselves from performing a choral dance?
But Pythagoras alone of mortals is said to have heard this song; unless that good man was both some deity and native of the sky, who perchance by direction of the gods had descended for the purpose of instructing the minds of men with holy knowledge and of calling upon them to improve. Certainly he was a man who combined in himself the whole gamut of virtues and who was worthy to converse with the very gods like unto himself and to enjoy the company of the celestials. Therefore, I do not wonder that the gods, loving him very much, permitted him to take part in the most secret mysteries of Nature.
Moreover, the boldness of the thieving Prometheus seems to be the reason why we hear so little of this harmony, a deed which brought upon humanity so many ills and likewise took away this happiness from us, which we will never be permitted to enjoy so long as we remain brutish and overwhelmed by wicked animal desires; for how can those be susceptible of that heavenly sound whose souls, as Persius says, are bent toward the earth and absolutely devoid of celestial matters? But if we possessed hearts so pure, so spotless, so snowy, as once upon a time Pythagoras had, then indeed would our ears be made to resound and to be completely filled with that most delicious music of the revolving stars; and then all things would return immediately as it were to that golden age; then, at length, freed from miseries we would spend our time in peace, blessed and envied even by the gods.
At this moment, however, as it were in the midst of my speech, time has cut me off; and I suspect this has happened very opportunely indeed, lest I prove an obstacle to this whole occasion by a style, rude and quite lacking in rhythm compared with the harmony which I mentioned before; and lest I myself should be a hindrance, preventing you from hearing it. And so I am done.
[Latin to English translation by Bromley Smith]
And Milton ends with this fear, that so long as we remain brutish and overwhelmed by wicked animal desires, and so long as our souls are bent toward the earth and absolutely devoid of celestial matters, that we may not hear the music of the spheres. And I think that we should heed Milton’s warning - lest we ourselves should be a hindrance, preventing us from hearing it.
And perhaps, our feathered friends are merely trying to help us to listen for that music of the spheres, when they ‘warble their native wood-notes wild’!
[next week - part 4 - on Laughter (in Latin)]