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Justin Chen Paper 1—Sonnet XVI: An Exercise in Patience Milton begins his “Sonnet XVI” (better known by its first line, “When I consider how my light is spent”) with a sense of deep confliction about his own life’s work. While scholars disagree on the exact date of the poem’s publication, it is generally believed to have been produced after Milton’s blindness had set in (CSP, 332) (1) but before he had completed his great epic, Paradise Lost. In that sense, the sonnet can be considered as a lament on either a lack of poetic inspiration or on the fleeting nature of youth. Yet by the last lines, Milton manages to reverse the gloomy sentimentality of the poem’s beginning, and with the help of his particular interpretation of scripture, he manages to find a redemptive justification for his non-action. Throughout it all, Milton makes use of the sonnet’s syntax and other formal elements to enrich the rigid form that he has chosen for his work. Beginning with a confused and hesitating set of verses that often progress in a counterintuitive manner, he introduces a strong break midway through the poem with the intervention—both literal and syntactic—of Patience, and ends with a clear, uplifting message rendered in straightforward speech. Thus, by having the form of the poem mirror its content, Milton implicates the reader in his verse, and he demonstrates a remarkable ability to utilize poetic structure to strengthen his arguments. The sonnet begins with a rapid series of syntactically complex clauses that all seem to muddle the arc of the verse, resulting in a somewhat confused opening. The lead statement, “When I consider how my light is spent,” is immediately modified by the phrase “Ere half my days,” which is in turn closely followed by “in this dark world and wide” (CSP, 332, 1-2). One consequence of this constant revision is an overall sense of hesitation, almost as if Milton, in describing his own life, finds himself forced to explain or justify his words, whether it be to God or the reader. Milton’s word choice is also significant in these opening lines—his evocation of the world’s darkness shortly after his introduction of the concept of “spent light” lends the poem’s opening an overall gloomy cast. The complexity of Milton’s thoughts continues into the next lines. Whereas the reader might logically expect a dependent clause to follow the opening “When” statement (i.e. “When I consider how my light is spent… I think to myself… etc.). Yet Milton instead adjoins an “and” clause—“And that one talent, which is death to hide” (CSP, 333, 3). In addition to coming as somewhat of a surprise to the reader, this line introduces a whole new set of thoughts and allusions that again slow the poem’s pace. The first place that a reader would turn to understand the line, of course, would be the parable of the talents in the gospel of Matthew, in which the last servant is deemed “wicked and slothful” by his master and is cast out into the “outer darkness” for having buried the talent he was given rather than investing it and returning a profit (Matthew 25:26, 29). The implications of this parable for Milton are well-documented—in his famous “letter to a friend,” Milton describes the “solid good flowing from due & tymely obedience to that comand in the gospel set out by the terrible seasing of him that hid the talent” (CPW, 320). (2) This statement reflects Milton’s understanding of the need to act quickly, a necessity that certainly contributes a great deal to his inner anxiety. The introduction of the talents also brings along a number of implications that augment these biblical undercurrents. The word “talent” itself possesses multiple meanings, the most important of which in the parable seems to be as a measure of money. But for Milton, who strongly believed that it was his charge to write the great English epic, and who described in detail the ascetic lifestyle that the poet must inflict upon himself to produce a work worthy of divinity (“let this poet live frugally…and let herbs provide his harmless diet…his youth must be chaste and free from crime, his morals strict and his hand unstained” (CSP, 122), the concept of talent as a God-granted ability and gift must have weighed much more heavily. Because Milton did not fulfill his calling and produce his monumental epic until late in his life, he must have been troubled at the time of this sonnet by misgivings about his ability to fulfill his calling. This self-doubt is mirrored in the belabored and second-guessing form of the poem’s opening lines. Despite the greater applicability of this reading of the word “talent,” Milton continues to play with the monetary imagery of the parable. His phrase “lodged with me useless” (CSP, 333, 4) conjures up images of the silver talent buried unprofitably in the ground, in addition to reinforcing the concept of a God-given poetic ability going unused in Milton’s own life. Additionally, the wording “present / My true account” (CSP, 333, 5-6) also contains a monetary tinge, as of debts being reckoned. Continuing his technique of enjambment of seemingly disparate thoughts, Milton goes on to revise his discussion of his buried talent by tacking on the phrase, “Though my soul more bent / To serve therewith my maker” (CSP, 333, 4-5). Syntactically, this addition fits well with the general trend of counterintuitive (or surprising) linkages employed thus far in the poem. The use of the negating “though” phrase acts with a sort of diverting motion, slowing any progress that might have been made by the introduction of the parable of the talents and once again forcing the reader’s attention to turn, this time from Milton’s untapped abilities to the very state of his soul. Anyone hoping to find a clear outline of Milton’s thoughts on his advancing age would be fairly frustrated by this point, as indeed the narrative voice of the sonnet itself seems to be. One final confusing use of syntax can be found in the following: “Lest he returning chide, / Doth God exact day-labour, light denied, / I fondly ask” (CSP, 333, 6-8). Here it is actually the punctuation and not necessarily the choice of lines that is unclear. An alternative that seems much more reasonable would involve placing a period after the word “chide,” since it is clear upon reconsideration that the question, “Doth God exact day-labour, light denied” begins a new thought. As it currently stands with the comma following “chide,” the rather ambiguous question could be posed either by the subject of the pronoun “he” (ostensibly Milton’s “maker” in line 5), or it could belong to Milton himself, which is in fact the case. Either way, this ambiguity again reinforces the hesitating and self-revising manner of the first half of the sonnet. Along these lines, and of more general interest to the overall form of the poem itself, is the steadily building imagery of darkness and enclosure set in place by these introductory verses. The phrase “death to hide” introduces all the many implications of human mortality that must accompany Milton’s regret over his life’s unfinished work while at the same time deftly couching those dark thoughts in terms that are appropriate for the parable of the talents. Furthermore, the words “hide,” “lodged,” and “bent” all possess a certain withdrawing and inward-seeking feeling that further augment the presentation of Milton’s inner torment. The phrase “soul more bent” in particular seems to stand in direct opposition to the “upright heart and pure” that Milton claims the Holy Spirit “prefer[s] / Before all temples” (PL, I.17-8). (3) That is, although Milton suggests that his efforts are all intended to please God (“to serve therewith my maker, lest he returning chide”), it seems evident that there is some disparity between these intentions and what is actually accomplished. The fact that Milton’s soul is incorrectly bent to satisfy his master contributes to the mental chaos that he experiences while attempting to reflect upon how his light is spent. Indeed, examples of Milton’s Puritan-like conception of personal anguish can be found in several of his other works. In Masque Presented at Ludlow Castle, the older brothers asserts, “But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts / Benighted walks under the midday sun; / Himself is his own dungeon” (CSP, 199, 382-384). (4) Similarly, in Paradise Lost, Milton describes Satan’s condition thus: “Horror and doubt distract / His troubled thoughts, and from the bottom stir / The hell within him, for within him hell / He brings, and round about him, not from hell / One step no more than from himself can fly” (PL, IV.18-22). Satan himself laments, “Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell” (IV.74-5). The torture that Satan faces comes not from without but from within his own soul. These descriptions of a self-created confinement that incite doubt and confusion are directly reflected in the form that Milton gives to his sonnet. The peritactic opening to the poem can be seen as conveying a mental or spiritual separation from God that results in Milton’s own internal dilemma. That is, the confused, almost muddled verses seem to parallel the inner torment that evidently plagues those who hide a “dark soul.” This is not to say that Milton should be compared to Satan or even Comus (though perhaps an argument could be made for either), but rather to highlight a possible way in which Milton may be using the poetic form of his sonnet to demonstrate how his obsession with coming to terms with the parable of the talents may be leading him away from the true calling ordained for him by God. Fortunately, before the reader can get too bogged down in line after line of counterintuitive verse, Patience intercedes “to prevent / That murmur” (333, 8-9). This development is of course ironic, since Patience is not a quality that one would normally associate with an active intervention, and this particular moment seems to represent the culmination of the various counterintuitive switches that have been accumulating throughout the poem. Indeed, after this point, the poem suddenly becomes remarkably straightforward—even programmatic—as if Patience is directly addressing Milton’s self-doubting mind. The few concluding verses of the sonnet are clear and almost imperative, as typified by the following lines: “God doth not need / Either man’s work or his own gifts, who best / Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best” (333, 9-11). Patience seems to have taken on the role of prophet, instructing both Milton and the reader in plainly inspired words that immediate action is not necessary required. In terms of form, then, the intervention of Patience brings along a sense of order and calm to the poem that had not been present at the outset, even bringing with it the first period in this comma-ridden poem (after “his state / Is kingly”). Furthermore, the idea of a heavenly virtue such as Patience swooping down to earth to help Milton with his internal struggle very much fits with the outward vs. inward structure described above. That is, God has sent a messenger to dust away the cobwebs of self-doubt that plague Milton’s mind and replace them with the bright assurance of a Christian message. No longer entrapped within the struggles of his own thoughts, Milton has now been exposed to a heavenly mystery that does not tolerate the sort of hesitation and uncertainty that so dogged him at the sonnet’s beginning. Indeed, Patience seems to all but reject the parable of the talents that Milton found so difficult in favor of a more Protestant program of salvation through faith alone that does not require immediate action or spending of one’s “talents.” Milton himself would appear to support this reading of the poem. In his letter to a friend, shortly after his speculation about the parable of the talents, he writes, “It is more probable therfore that not the endlesse delight of speculation but this very consideration of that great comandment does not presse forward as soone as may be to underg[o] but keeps off with a sacred reverence & religious advisement how best to undergoe[,] not taking thought of beeing late so it give advantage to be more fit, for those that were latest lost nothing when the maister of the vinyard came to give each one his hire” (CPW, 320). Here in his letter, just as in the sonnet’s conclusion, Milton expresses a strong belief in the virtue of patient waiting. Thus, while he still clearly believes that the message of the parable of the talents still holds, and that one must use one’s abilities rather than hoard them, he seems to subjugate that particular message to the lessons he takes away from the parable of the vineyard, in which the master of the vineyard says, “I will give unto this last, even as unto thee” (Matthew 20:14). The sonnet ends with the assurance, “They also serve who only stand and wait” (CSP, 333, 14). This is the first complete thought that is presented in a single line—that is, it does not anticipate any further movement by the poem—and it therefore sounds almost like an injunction. The irony of being told to “stand and wait”—not the most active of commands—parallels the “soon reply” of Patience—not traditionally the most active of virtues—in line 9. Furthermore, the tone of this last sentiment generalizes the command to encompass the sonnet’s audience as well as Milton himself. That is, upon reconsideration of the poem as a whole, the reader realizes that only patience is required to fully understand Milton’s verse—rather than becoming confused or bogged down in the agitation of the opening lines, the wise reader should come to the end and realize that such inner turmoil is unnecessary because it has been rejected by the parable of the vineyard. The audible peacefulness and assurance present in the closing lines thus mirror the calm faith advocated by the poem itself. Finally, the phrase “stand and wait” stands in stark opposition to the “soul more bent” of line 4—again, the binary opposition of outward and inward, open and closed, is strongly evident. Thus, Milton’s poem ends in quite a different manner than that in which it began. As opposed to the sense of turmoil and doubt that characterized Milton’s reflections on the talent lodged within him, these final verses are reassuringly direct and simple, as is the message that they contain. The encompassing of the reader within this conclusion seems to imply that when considering God’s plans for one’s life or simply the sonnet of a blind poet, patience is the key to understanding. It is this Christian value of calm acceptance that radiates from Milton’s poem, both in its carefully considered biblical content and in the very formal elements themselves that make up the poetry itself.
Sources Cited 1. Milton, John. “Sonnet XVI.” Complete Shorter Poems, Second Edition (Ed.: John Carey). Pearson Education Ltd. Essex, England. 1997.
2. Milton, John. “Letter 5, to a Friend, 1633.” The Complete Prose Works of John Milton, Vol. 1 (Ed.: Don M. Wolfe). Yale University Press. New Haven, CT. 1953-1982.
3. Milton, John. Paradise Lost (Ed.: Alastair Fowler, 2nd edition). Addison Wesley Longman Inc. New York, NY. 1998.
4. Milton, John. “A Masque Presented at Ludlow Castle, 1634 [Comus].” Complete Shorter Poems, Second Edition (Ed.: John Carey). Pearson Education Ltd. Essex, England. 1997.
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