The Rigged Debate in Hell
by Julian Darius
 The debate of fallen angels in Pandæmonium, comprising the first half of Book II, offers an incarnation of an epic convention of such councils, usually after military losses. Yet in Paradise Lost, this military loss is the first in history -- and it was to God himself. One wouldn’t know this, though, from the tone Satan strikes as the council convenes. He sits on a royal throne, mimicking God. Through this obvious mimicking of God in Heaven, Milton demonstrates that any monarch but God is idolatrous. Satan has indeed risen through “merit” (II.5), but “bad” merit (II.6) -- as a prince of evil. Morality is inversed here: monarchy, good for God, is bad for Satan and all others; merit, good for good deeds, is bad for demons and the demonic.
Satan begins by stating, absurdly, “I give not Heav’n for lost” (II.14). From this strong opening, he quickly slides into arguing for the fortune of the angels’ fall. First, he argues by way of contrast, pointing out that regaining Heaven would be “More glorious ... then from no fall” (II.16). He further praises Hell as a “safe” haven (II.23), and argues that it may be a place of “union” (II.36) and egalitarianism, since “none, whose portion is so small / Of present pain, that with ambitious mind / Will covet more” (II.33-35). He then opens, appropriately, a supposedly democratic debate.
Of course, we know that all of this is a farce. We have seen, in Book I, that Satan is “rakt with deep despare” (I.126). His arguments soothe the troubled heart but not the soul: as soon as one looks around, seeing Hell itself, his claims of the fortune of their fall hold no weight. Satan is offering consolatory rhetoric, all of which he knows to be manifestly incorrect -- or, at least, knows in his self-conscious moments. The irony of such democratic debate before Satan on a throne should not go unnoticed, though it only reproduces the split between rhetoric and reality that is present in the debate itself.
Four demons will offer viewpoints, each of them different, each of them personifying a character type. While Milton’s casting of these types in such an abstract or even absurd setting is humorous, the gravitas of the debate should not escape us. These are intriguing arguments, and the imagination of Milton staggers in his creation of these varying psychological responses to the tragedy of falling from God’s grace.
Moloc -- “the strongest and the fiercest Spirit / That fought in Heav’n” (II.44-45) -- first stands and gives a military proposal, beginning, “My sentence is for open Warr” (II.51). We can -- and I think should -- laugh at this absurdly strong declaration of military intent, coming from a caricature of a hawkish military commander. Moloc belongs to Dr. Strangelove. He characterizes Hell as a “Prison of his Tyranny” (II.59), its acceptance one of “Insulting” (II.79) defeat and of God’s supremacy. Such thoughts cannot be tolerated to such a military -- and proud -- mentality. His emphasis on their dejected state allows him to argue that they have nothing to lose: the worst God can do is destroy them next time (II.84), since “what can be worse / Then to dwell here” (II.85-86), “without hope” (II.89) yet having “eternal being” (II.98)? For all his caricatured nature, Moloc makes a point here: the fallen angels are in Hell, and Moloc’s philosophy would demand resistance even if it means death. Lest we dismiss this too quickly, history is filled with heroes who have adopted this stance: we might think of Sparticus and other revolts by slaves and the oppressed -- though this philosophy is here spoken by someone well-deserving of his oppressive circumstances.
Belial -- the most “humane” and dignified of all who “lost ... Heav’n” (II.109-111) and whose rhetoric “pleas’d the ear” (II.117) but was “false and hollow” (II.112) -- next rises to argue boldly for inaction. If Moloc is a military hawk, Belial is an academic. He denounces Moloc’s plan for impotent and self-destructive resistance, preferring the continued existence, “Though full of pain, [of] this intellectual being” (II.146-147) -- in other words, the mind, the phenomenon of thinking consciousness, is something of value even while suffering. He points out that there is worse than Hell, and he proceeds to frighten all present with some imaginative -- and hilarious -- scenarios. Thus, war against such a powerful foe does have horrible risks, even beyond outright annihilation. While acknowledging its unpleasantness, Belial characterizes Hell as a “refuge” (II.168), a “shelter” (II.167). He points out, essentially, that there are many unknowns in the new state in which they find themselves, and conjectures that “Our Supream Foe in time may much remit / His anger” (II.210-211), “satisfi’d / With what is punish’t” (II.212-213). This is not unreasonable, however hypothetical: the fallen angels do not have the benefit of hindsight. Moreover, Belial suggests they might grow used to Hell, “to the place conformd” (II.217) so that they “receive / Familiar the fierce heat” (II.218-219): thus, “This horror will grow milde, this darkness light” (II.220). Chill man, he seems to be saying, we’ll get used to it. He thus suggests, as is commonly put, that one can become acclimated to anything -- even Hell. From this relativism, he concludes by pointing out that their lot is “for ill not worst” (II.224) and that action entails risk.
Money-grubbing Mammon then argues for capitalistic individualistic freedom. He begins by denouncing Belial, saying there’s no going back. To this end, he invites the assembled to imagine “warbl’d Hymns” (II.242), “Forc’t Halleluiah’s” (II.243), “servile offerings” (II.246), and “wearisom / Eternity ... spent in worship paid / To whom we hate” (II.247-249). We might well laugh, but his point is not without basis: short of actually reforming, Heaven would not be a heaven for them. Explicitly using the language of rugged self-reliance, he prefers that they
... seek
Our own good from our selves, ...
Live to our selves, ...
Free, and to none accountable, preferring
Hard liberty before the easie yoke
Of servile Pomp. (II.252-257)
He thus argues for a nation-building effort, pointing out that Hell possesses natural resources ready for exploitation: “The Desart soile / Wants not her hidden lustre, Gemms and Gold” (II.270-272).
His argument is thus similar to Belial’s -- and Satan’s public statements -- in accepting or praising Hell, but his vision is less one of passive acceptance than constructive growth. The subject of debate has expanded from Satan’s definition of it in his opening address -- the polarity of “open Warr or covert guile” (II.41), the terms of classical rhetoric on war. War itself has been largely taken off the table by the last two arguments; moreover, the previously indifferent audience now applauds Mammon’s self-reliant nation-building scheme greatly (II.290).
At this point, Beelzebub, regal and second only to Satan himself, rises. He rejects the peace advocated by the last two speakers as a fantasy, as already lost, and imagines that God may “over Hell extend / His empire” (II.326-327). Though more unlikely perhaps than God’s forgiveness, in the ambiguity of this unprecedented situation, this remains a realistic possibility. Yet, acknowledging the impossibility of storming Heaven, Beelzebub suggests another field of battle which “may lye expos’d” (II.360), recalling word in Heaven of “another World, the happy seat / Of some new Race call’d Man, about this time / To be created” (II.347-349). He proposes an espionage mission “to learn / What creatures there inhabit” (II.354-355) “And where thir weakness” (II.357). He contemplates several possible options:
- laying “waste” to Earth (II.265),
- annexing it and exiling “The punie habitants” (II.267), as God did them, and
- annexing it and converting them “to our Party” (II.268).
The casual nature of this horror appalls us as it amuses us. “This,” asserts Beelzebub, “would surpass / Common revenge” (II.370-371).
Beelzebub, slyly, concludes modestly, but the Epic Voice reveals that the argument was “first devis’d / By Satan, and in part propos’d” (II.379-380). It is not exactly clear when such planning took place during Book I, but this chronological flaw or lack of foreshadowing should not distract from the manipulative genius of Satan’s rhetorical scheme. Indeed, Satan’s polarity of “open Warr or covert guile” -- lost in the previous two suggestions, the second of which seemed to have found support -- has been restored by Beelzebub -- who, in collusion with Satan, has distinctly chosen guile, open war being futile. Beyond convincing the assembled fallen angels that democracy really has taken place, this collusion has the benefit of exhausting the rhetoric of these deceived demons, who exhaust their time and mental energy responding to each other. The debate has progressed in a circle, beginning and ending in Satan.
The assembly votes entirely in favor of this policy (II.388-389), leading Beelzebub to praise them -- always a good political tactic -- and then ask what brave soul would venture through the unknown and dangerous path to Earth. When none volunteer, Satan does so, his speech emphasizing the dangers he faces in doing so. The crowd praises him (II.480, 520) and the council dissolves (II.506). All has been duplicitous, masterfully rigged by Satan himself.
NOTES
This essay was first made available at persiancaesar.com on 24 February 2003.
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