Milton's "When I Consider How my Light is Spent" Optimistic Take

Lamp Half Full

In John Milton's "When I consider how my light is spent," the narrator, who is Milton himself, ruminates regretfully on his squandering of the gift God had given him: Specifically, the sense of sight. Milton allows the audience a peek into his mind, revealing his inner deliberation. This tension of Milton's personal struggle is concerning the subject of his life, and what manner he should live his life in light of what God requires of him. Milton's initial reaction to his loss of sight is selfish: In his despondency, he wonders if God actually requires anything from him, since he is rendered "useless" by his condition of blindness. Upon further evaluation, however, Milton remembers that God never needed him in the first place; it is he who needs God. Milton concludes that his service rendered to God will be the steadfast vigilance under God's easy yoke and light burden (Matt. 11:30, New American Standard Bible). Organic unity is evident throughout the poem in Milton's moral compulsion to serve God on the earth and therefore fulfill his personal need for vigilance in anticipation of the meeting of his Maker.

Milton's capacity for eyesight has been compromised, and he contemplates the prospect of serving God without the faculty of his sight. The connotative meaning in the first part of the poem is that of regret, as is shown immediately: "my light is spent / Ere half my days" (1, 2). This regret is quickly tempered with the indisputable religious urgency prompted by his conscience: The "one talent which is death to hide" (3) is an allusion to the "wicked, lazy slave" (Matt. 25:26) who wasted his talent, and this is once again in reference to Milton, and his waste of his gift that had been eyesight, and the subsequent tasks he had previously had the ability to perform with said eyesight. He should have employed himself in the service of God dutifully, but instead squandered his gift by chasing after other things.  Remorse is the stimulus prompting further action from Milton. This is again connected with Milton's imperative to fulfill God's requirement of service in the remainder of his life, no matter what God requires. 

On the other hand, Milton feels impotence in regards to the abilities he once possessed, and futility in the impending second half of his life, as is implied in line 4: "Lodged with me useless." Milton’s despair prompts him to seek God, and he is tempted to approach God in indignation due to the suffering he has undergone in his blindness ("Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?")(7). Milton's melancholy is internal, and he is in essence desirous of asking God: "but what can I possibly contribute?"

Biblical references strewn throughout "When I consider" indicate imperatives that, left unfulfilled, condemn the transgressor to the consequences of God's ire. Since Milton's "light is spent"(1) and "talent [is] / lodged with me useless" (3, 4), he corresponds to the foolish virgins, whose oil was spent, and to whom the bridegroom said: "Truly, I say to you, I do not know you" (Matt. 25: 12). Milton also corresponds to the man who had received one talent, to whom the master condemned: "and cast the worthless servant into the outer darkness. In that place there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth" (Matt. 25:30). Due to these dire consequences, Milton's despair is warranted, and the tension he feels is of vast significance.  The initial imagery in the poem does not sound as terrible as all of that, but the words “death” and “darkness” surface, highlighting Milton’s current distance from God.  While Milton views the problem through the lens of what is humanly possible, the situation is impossible, but when he allows God in, the truth of Isaiah 55:8 is salient:  “For My thoughts are not your thoughts, Nor are your ways My ways."   

Milton's essential tensions are: "if my light is used up, how will I watch," and "if my talent is used up, how will I work?" Milton's use of symbols consists of the employment of extremes throughout the poem, most notably the juxtaposition of "light" and "darkness." "How my light is spent" (line 1) is followed by "in this dark world" (2) implying the ultimatum that demands either light or darkness. This indicates the gravity of Milton's situation, and moreover connotates that complacency is not an option when there is a soul hanging in the cusp between light and darkness. "Though my soul more bent / To serve therewith my Maker" (4, 5), implies the remorse that Milton feels, indicating that he will begin his search for the resolving of the tension, rather than dwelling in self-pity as he had done previously.

In Milton's desire to serve God, he remembers that "God doth not need / Either man's work or his own gifts" (8). This line is the turning point of the poem, which is indicated by the change in rhyme-scheme, which shifts from abbaabba to cdecde. The change is further marked by the ambiguities in the third person pronouns in lines 9-11. The "he’s" and "his’s" in this section could be used to designate either God or Milton. It is a reminder that Milton is made in the image of God, and since it comes after Milton's agonizing deliberation, it is Milton's attempt at thinking God’s thoughts after Him. It takes Milton till line 11 to accomplish it, but he comes to recall God's promise: "For my yoke is easy, and My burden is light." (Matt. 11:30). This is a step in relieving the tension, because Milton initially had been only thoughts of himself and his self pity.

Vigilance is the strongest imperative in the poem, as is evident by its presence in the opening and closing lines. The effect of primacy and recency impose the remembrance of the first and last lines in the reader’s mind.  These lines highlight the watchfulness of the faithful and to the contrary, the complacency of the faithless. The opening line features "how my light is spent" (1) in reference to the parable of the ten virgins in Matthew 25. He wasted his light, when he should have heeded God's command to "watch therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour" (Matt. 25:13) Milton's lack of vigilance is therefore a point of tension in need of resolution. Milton concludes the poem with: "They also serve who only stand and wait" (14), with the implication that vigilance was Milton's resolution for the remainder of his life.

Tension in "When I Consider how my light is spent" is as powerful as it can be. The difference between "my yoke is easy," and "weeping and gnashing of teeth," although not directly stated, is what the implications are in this poem. Milton relieves tension by remembering God's faithfulness to those who love him, instead of dwelling on his past mistakes. The service rendered unto the Lord, along with the vigilance necessary to warrant an invitation to the wedding feast are both initially considered insurmountable concepts to the blindness-stricken Milton. However, when he recalls that he needed God in the first place, even before he went blind, he is able to stand firm, or: "bear his mild yoke" (11), which is the fulfilling of his duty to "stand and wait" (14). While Milton must forget his own agenda, which was futile anyhow, he attains solidarity of mind by standing on God's promise.

Milton's "When I Consider How my Light is Spent" Pessimistic Take

Standin’ and Waitin’ with the Best of ‘em

John Milton, in “When I Consider How my Light is Spent,” makes readers everywhere privy to his own interpersonal conference, which ostensibly occurs after he has moved past the denial phase of his newly acquired blindness.  Initially, it appears that Milton will eventually bring these thoughts before God, and his thoughts would translate into something that is not only innerly persuasive, but also externally adaptable in his service to God in this lifetime.  At first glance, it appeared as if Milton would be able to find peace in his capacity to serve God while “standing” and “waiting” (14).  However, it is difficult to believe in Milton’s ability to “stand and wait” (14) when his mind contradicts this statement by running in multiple directions. Furthermore, when viewing Milton’s poetry, it is easy to hold a view of God as a transcendental signified.  If this fallacy is removed, there are binaries that had been previously operating in an advantaged state, but must be reevaluated based on the removal of the transcendental signified.  For instance, the presence of God provides a binary between Milton’s personal ambition verses the divine will of God.  The divine will of God has classically had the privileged position over the self.  However, if one is to view this sonnet definitively, the trustworthiness of the narrator must be considered in light of the personal ambition binary being elevated above the will of God:   this viewpoint yields an open-minded look with many possible forks in the interpretation of this sonnet. 

Milton’s interpersonal conference reveals the palaver of his psyche to be largely capricious, as the sonnet unfolds to present a view of Milton’s brain panorama as it undergoes severe remodeling.  Milton is, in essence, talking or thinking to himself throughout the poem, as is evidenced by the quotation marks he utilizes. Initially, he feels despair upon the loss of eyesight that has evidently occurred recently.  The prospect of Milton’s unstable mindset at a time when he has just lost his eyesight and is apparently very bitter brings to mind his lack of ethos at the time his writing of this piece.  The volatile nature of his ruminations is indicative of a lack of a certain lucidity which is the hallmark of Miltonic poetry.  This lack of lucidity acts as a cautionary measure to those desirous of taking Milton’s words at face value.  The logical progression of a mind trying to answer one of life’s fundamental questions is necessarily altered in a situation such as Milton’s, and therefore it is inadvisable to put serious stake in the words he writes.    

Milton begins his sonnet ruminating about the requirements of God regarding man's purpose in life. "Doth God exact day labor, light denied?" (Milton 7). The answer to that question is in question throughout the rest of the sonnet. Milton, in his distress upon the loss of his eyesight, may discern that God owes him something in exchange for the calamity that has befallen him. In Milton’s mind, it seems that he, through his “patience” (8), has come to a new method of fulfillment. The service that he had once been able to render has been compromised on the dismissal of his eyesight. Milton must now find a new way to replace the use of faculties that had once been so readily available. There is a veiled enthymeme throughout the poem: I can't serve in my blindness. God doesn't need my service.  With these two premises, Milton ostensibly comes to the conclusion that he should try to get whatever he can out of life.  “God doth not need [Milton]” (9) and therefore Milton should try to get what he can out of God.

Examination of third person pronouns reveals a very different meaning in Sonnet XIX.  Many of these pronouns could be flipped without the loss of their syntactic spot to yield very different results semantically.  For instance:

‘God doth not need

Either man’s work or his [God’s] own gifts:  who best

Bear his [God’s] mild yoke, they serve him [man] best. His [man’s] state

Is kingly; thousands at his [man’s] bidding speed’ (9-12)

If we were to look at Milton’s mindset as a Christian, we would be urged to remember the biblical truth that reminds Milton in Matthew 20:16:  “The last shall be first.”  This would “serve [Milton] best” (11) in the way that he, without his abilities, would be last, making the “thousands at his bidding speed” concept not only serve God but equally serve Milton.   

There is a binary opposition between the concepts of service, and on the other hand, the reception of said services.  Viewing these binaries in conjunction with similar binaries between the personal ambition of Milton and the opposing divine will of God is indicative of a more advantageous end for Milton.  It is clear by the context, such as the multiple references to the Bible in the sonnet that God is normally assigned a position as the transcendental signified.  This is tied to the fruit of Spirit (of God) in “Patience” (8).  In Galatians 5:22, it is revealed that patience is a fruit of the spirit, but directly prior to the fruits listed in Galatians, in verses 19 and 20, there is a list of the binaries:  ” the acts of the sinful nature are obvious: … selfish ambition” (NIV)

Patience’s binary would be that of disquietude in this instance.  Disquietude is exuded by Milton through the diction within his earlier ruminations.  If patience did not warrant the proverbial top spot in this binary, the disquietude exhibited by Milton could point the reader to more exotic conclusions, such as the personal ambition of Milton trumping the divine will of God in the way that “thousands at his bidding [will] speed” (12).  Since the relative dependability of Milton’s words at the time of his writing is at the very least in a suspect position, the ostensibly obvious conclusion is that disquietude should be the lens in which “When I Consider” is viewed.

Milton’s poetry can be differentiated with that of the psalmists if we disaffiliate Milton with God (as a transcendental signified) and begin to examine the binary of selfish ambition as the privileged one.  Many of the Psalms begin with the psalmist’s despair, at which point they would cry out to the Lord.  However, all of the Psalms are part of an authoritative text that can only be subjected to minimal interpretation.  There is a pattern of God saving the psalmists from their instances of disquietude.  For instance, “Why art thou cast down, O my soul? And why art thou disquieted within me? Hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God” (Psalm 42:11 NKJ).  Milton, however, does not carry the authoritative nature of the Bible along with him, because his poetry is not divinely inspired.  If the disquietude of Milton is the binary that receives dominant consideration in this case, we must subsequently derive a considerably less honorable motive behind Milton’s inner-deliberations in this sonnet.  Deliberations leading him in his attempt to further his own ends, rather than the conventional method of putting his hope in God.

            John Milton, one of the greatest artists of all time, was indubitably a man of great faith.  However, it seems arrogant to suppose that every moment of his life was one lived in complete faith in the providence of God.  There are struggles for all, and Milton is no different.  He must have dealt with the limitations placed under him as such an unrivalled intellectual, placing him in an intellectual cave, leaving his mind to batter against itself time and again.  It is naïve to suppose that some of his struggling would not reveal itself through his poetry.  To impose such narrow-minded limitations on poetry as rich as Milton’s is to cripple it, essentially blinding the reader from other possibilities within it.       

Inasane Mise En Scene in Elia Kazan's East of Eden

Insane Mise-En-Scene

Elia Kazan’s representation of John Steinbeck’s “East of Eden,” although widely repudiated by critics upon its inception in 1954, took off about six months later, fueled largely by the death of James Dean, the star of the movie, who died at the young age of twenty-four.  In Steinbeck’s 20^th century depiction of the biblical Cain and Abel story, James Dean plays Cal (Cain).  He is a troubled youth who has been overshadowed by his brother Aron (Abel), played by Richard Davalos.  One of the rich themes in the movie is that Cal is “bad,” and that Aron is “good”.  The simplicity of this theme and their representative traits is contrasted by complexity in regards to dealing with one another.  Both of the boys live on a lettuce farm in Salinas Valley California with their father Adam Trask (Raymond Massey).  His father’s recent idea of using ice to refrigerate lettuce on train cars has failed, and the family has lost a lot of money, but this is not the focus of the story.  Aron possesses that which Cal has never had:  Respect and love from his father along with the admiration of Aron’s girlfriend, Abra (Julie Harris).  As Cal vies for the positive attention of his father, he must undergo a moral and psychological struggle that defines his indefinable and constantly changing character.  Kazan uses a variety of methods to portray the tension between the characters, including his brilliant use of mise-en-scene.  Kazan further employs shots with a tilted camera angle to influence the perception of his audience, and to make them feel the pins and needles of the Trask family and Cal’s place at the height of the anxiety.

Elia Kazan is known for being an “actor’s director,” and is noted as being largely responsible for the discovery and early influence of both Marlon Brando and James Dean.  Kazan uses the standard Stanislavskian practice using this motto:  “The key to defining a character’s spine is to use an infinitive word or phrase, usually with an object on the end” (Jones, 140).  Kazan spent time with his cast outside the realm of the particular set of the movie in order to learn their mannerisms in real life, and to use that to enhance their stage performance.  Throughout “East of Eden,” James Dean as Cal has a few possibilities in the definition of his spine:  “to find out why I’m bad,” or “to gain the respect of my father,” or “to give something to my father to make him love me.”     

The scene I have chosen to analyze is a 15 second clip, about one fifth of the way into the film, from 20:56 to 21:11.  This scene takes place directly after Cal, in a fit of anger, has just deliberately thrown multiple massive ice-cubes down the chute of the farm elevator into the back of a dump truck, causing the cubes to break apart, and probably costing his father quite a sum of money.  Adam forgives his son Cal, but prompts Cal to read a section of Psalm 32 so that God will also forgive him.  This is where the scene starts.

Cal is the sole character in this shot, although the viewer knows that his father and brother are also with him at the table.  Cal is presented with a medium close-up shot.  He is near the center on the screen, but slightly off to the left side.  He is sitting at the end of a table, his head pointed down to read from the enormous Bible in front of him on the table.  To the far left of the screen there is an open door to another room in the house.  The only thing visible in that room is an unoccupied wooden chair that is just above Cal’s shoulder level relative to the view from the camera.  In the top center of the screen, barely above Cal’s head, is a crystal fruit bowl that looks to be comprised of apples.  On the table, in front of Cal and directly in front of the Bible is an oil lamp stand with three glass wicks protruding out the top of it.

That Cal is the only character in this shot is significant, as are the use of the props he is surrounded with.  Kazan is ostensibly using the props to relate the conflict happening within Cal’s mind.  It is possible Kazan used the Bible in front of him to illustrate the influence of his father, who (although out of the shot) is seated in front of him.  The chair sitting empty in the separate room is potentially used to show his inherently evil conscience speaking evil over his shoulder.  The bowl of fruit on Cal’s other side seems to be a reminder of the fall of man, described in Genesis 3, the chapter right before the story of Cain and Abel in the Bible.  The oil lamp with three wicks is possibly employed by Kazan as a way to describe the family situation for the man and his two sons, and the fire that Cal has started among them through his backward ways and antisocial behavior.

The lighting used in this first shot is predominantly to the front of Cal.  Cal’s light grey shirt is a contrast to the background of brown in the majority of the shot.  Grey is often used to depict indecision, or a character that is unsure of his surroundings, which is Cal’s case.  The white pages of the Bible reflect the light from the overhead light onto Cal’s downward-looking face, showing the forces of “good” presenting themselves or trying to get through to Cal.  This lighting also slightly illuminates the crystal of the fruit bowl, bringing this to higher attention.  There is only a small amount of light anywhere else in this shot, and it comes from the other room with the empty chair in it, signifying the forces of evil that are also constantly at work in him.

            The Camera does not move.  The camera shot of Cal is shot at a downward angle, as if the eye of the Camera is standing while Cal is sitting.  This is most likely used to represent Cal in the presence of authority, most notably his father, and also the Bible, used to remind the audience subtly of Adam as an allegorical picture of God.  To further add to the confusion, the camera is tilted to the left at approximately 20 degrees.  Kazan’s manipulation of perception adds to the general feeling that something is wrong, and it must be fixed.  The eyes of the audience try to tilt the screen back upright in their mind, and are able to sense the unease that Cal is feeling in response to the judgment from his father.  Cal is experiencing a battle going on between “good” and “bad” inside his mind, and he is represented as having little say in regards to the outcome of the battle.  Tension is achieved by the tilted camera along with the downward shot illustrate in a small way the struggle for the soul of Cal.

            The only sound at this part of the shot is Cal saying “7,” as he looks up at his father.  He paused before he said this, indicating that saying this is in defiance of what his father has just told him: “You don’t have to read the verse numbers.”  As Cal looks up at his father, the view of the camera changes to show Aron and his father sitting at the other end of the table.  The camera is still tilted in the same way, just facing the other direction.  The camera is at eye level with both Aron and Adam.           

This shot lasts for only about two seconds, and the camera remains still for its duration.  Adam and Aron’s upper body from the waist up is shown, making it a medium close-up shot.  The only light in the room if over the center of the table, almost directly above Aron’s head, relative to the camera.  Brown is the dominant color of this side of the room as well, in various shades.  Clothing of the two men is in sharp contrast with the vapid earth-colored room.  Aron is wearing a white button-up with a checkered tie and the sons’ father is wearing a black suit, also with a tie.  These clothing selections provoke the imagination to contrast of Cal, whose shirt is far simpler and less formal.  Adam and Aron are both sitting up in their chairs straight, facing forward.  Aron’s eyes are looking toward the off-screen Cal, and his face displays that he seems worried that Cal will upset their father.  Adam’s hand are folded together on the tabletop, and he leans in at Cal, slight agitation revealing itself through his look and tone of voice, and he says, “not the numbers, Cal.“
             Light is most heavily settled on Aron, who is the son in his father’s good graces.  The presence of the light on Aron is contrasted with the darkness of the rest of the shot, which is significant because of his uncorrupted, lily-white character.  Adam’s black suit could conceivably relate to his present role as the arbiter of justice, which is antagonistic pertaining to Cal.  The upright sitting positions of Adam and Aron reflect the integrity of their respective characters, and can be contrasted with the earlier shot of Cal slouching in his own chair, putting his unfavorable disposition on display in a new light.  Aron’s look of concern toward his brother Cal is displayed by a turn of the eyes, but not a turn of the body.  This may be presumptuous to assert, but I believe this is profound revelation into the character of Aron.  Aron, who has always been the “good” son, shows unselfish real concern for his brother’s impertinence to his father.  However, his consideration only extends itself as far as his propriety will let it go.  His limited moral compass and dedication to the instruction of his father roadblock him from interfering any farther than turning his eyes toward Cal.  Adam’s folding of his hands on the table seems to be a self-containment of his rising anger below the surface.  His hands rested on the table give a sense of non-combative negotiation with the capricious nature of his wayward son Cal.

Kazan employs the shot/reverse shot technique to recognize the presence of multiple characters in dialogic interaction.  The camera returns the audience to Cal, to the same slanted shot of him at the opposite end of the table, and the opposite end of the moral spectrum between “good” and “bad.”  Cal’s look has returned to the Bible, and he reads Psalm 32:7: “Thou art my hiding place, thou shalt preserve me from trouble; thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance.  Selah.”  There is also an extremely subtle but nonetheless noticeable wavering of the camera’s position during this line.

Riposte to Cal with the same medium/close-up, camera-tilted shot of him reading the Bible brings more observation of Cal’s position in the midst of the forbidden fruit, the devil whispering over his shoulder from the empty chair, and the Bible in front of him.  The juxtaposition of the respective images of the fruit, chair, and Bible are in reference to Cal’s present choices.  The Bible tells him to listen to his father, who is allegorically God.  “Hiding place,” spoken of in the psalm, also has special meaning to Cal.  Up till this point in the film, he has been constantly in the background, behind hedges or looking through cracks in the barn.  Cal has not been confrontational up to this point.  The devil tells him to take the fruit.  As before, he is slouched in his seat, and is also sitting at an angle in it, inclined slightly to the way of the fruit.  His body being turned already toward the fruit is a subtle precursor of the choice he will make.  His predisposition to be “bad” is only being strengthened by his father’s fatalistically pragmatic propensities.  While the camera’s wobbling may have simply been a mistake, it seems arrogant to suppose that an artist such as Elia Kazan would use the shaking camera without an intentional meaning.  The camera’s instability is probably representative of the building tension between father and son, and Cal’s subsequent struggle to keep his anger from boiling over.  Cal’s reading of the word “Selah,” from the psalm, may also be an indication of his unfamiliarity with the Bible, as “Selah” is traditionally left out of the oral reading.  However, the meaning of “Selah” taken from the Amplified Bible is ”pause, and think of that.”  Cal pauses from his reading.  He keeps his head turned down, but looks up at his father, (probably) in the eye, and with a look of rebellious depravity, he says, “eight,“ delivered deliberately with an over pronunciation of the word.  Cal’s unpolished rebellion is predeterminately used to raise the ire of his father, and Cal’s allegorical tasting of the forbidden fruit is complete.

The following shot is a long shot in which the entire room is visible.  The camera is slightly above the seated characters, looking a little down on them.  Cal is on the left side of the screen with the fruit bowl situated just behind him a little higher.  Aron is in the middle of the screen and at the center of the table, and also in between Cal and his father.  Adam is on the right side of the table, now unfolding his hands.  The table, now fully visible, is a rectangle, with the camera shot taken from one of the longer sides.  There are four chairs at the table, but the one nearest the camera is empty.  The light is in the top center of the shot, creating on ovaloid of light that encompasses the three characters, but moves barely outside of the oval of the three family members.  The light is directly situated above the head of Aron.  The only sound is the exclamation of Cal’s father:  “You have no repentance!  You’re bad!“

  Exclusion of the fourth chair around the table is an allusion to the absence of Cal’s mother, who is where he supposes he got his “bad” genes from.  Her would-be chair is in the middle of the table, making her presence the intermediary force between Cal and his father.  However, since she is gone, and Aron is instead the one who sits as the only one in between Cal and his father.  He is right above her empty chair and right below the light that overhangs the table.  These two items are in conflict.  Aron is in the light of his father’s good will and pride.  On the other hand, his dedication to his father cripples him from doing anything in defense of Cal, and he looks down at the table in impotence.  The empty chair that would have been Cal’s mother is a representation of a balance that is not there.  Cal is lost, and his lifeline to his true identity, his mother, is lost as well.  His definition of himself is one of a fragile and changing identity.  The imbalance is portrayed through the tilt of the screen on the previous shot, and by the “bad” being outnumbered by the “good.”     

As Adam speaks his outburst at Cal, he unfolds his hands and is on his feet by the time he is finished saying:  “You’re bad!“  Kazan is probably using the father’s departure from the table to depict the end of the diplomatic negotiation between father and son.  Adam’s consternation has been triggered, and his authoritative statement is the final piece of his acknowledgement that his son is a lost cause.  

Adam slams his fist on the table simultaneously with, and to emphasize the word “bad.“  Also at the same instant, the oil in the lamp sloshes around visibly through its glass.  Three wicks of the lamp could have been used to mean the three remaining Trask family members together at the table.  However, it also could have been an allusion to the three chances Cal got when he was reading the psalm.  Each time, against the wishes of his father, he obstinately proclaimed the number of the verse.  Now that his chances are over, the oil is threatening to boil over as both Cal and his father’s tempers have.  One could venture to guess that through this particular scene, Cal’s character spine can be characterized as:  “To show my father the reality of who I am,” or “to hope that he can still accept me,” or “to find my place in relation to my father and brother.”

This is simply a clip from this film.  If a picture is worth a thousand words, one has to ask about the quality of the words.  One further has to ask the value of film, given the constant fluctuation of image coupled with the dialogue in context.  Kazan has mastered this art, and this much is evident simply by observing a few pictures among the thousands wrought together to make up this film.  Elia Kazan uses a variety of objects, lighting, character positioning, and relative places on the screen to produce a stunning perceptual effects.  The subtleties of his work seem endless, when one looks to the smaller details put into the production, and each one of his little props is there to signify something of importance in relation to the characters and plot.  He meticulously paints a canvas of relationships that is rich with significance and meaning.  Kazan’s use of mise-en-scene to depict the psychological and moral struggles of Cal in “East of Eden“ is hardly something that can be put into words.  His manipulation of the audience’s attention, perception, and imagination is such that one can feel the tension in the characters, and wants to help them make choices.  Rich imagery rivals the beauty of the lilies, only Kazan gives the lilies a touch of the bad.     

On Walker Percy's The Second Coming

Ambagitory Ambiguity?

Those focusing their critical attentions on The Second Coming, and Walker Percy in general, seem bent on exposing Percy’s disinclination to spoon-feed the answers to readers.  At the end of The Second Coming, there is an openendedness, which, to the humanistic disambiguation lobbyist, is unacceptable.  Kieran Quinlan’s altercation is with the lack of authority behind Will’s conviction:  “With this ending, Will Barrett has at last arrived home…Yet it is a willed conclusion” (172), and others such as Doreen Fowler take a still more unforgiving assessment:  “Given a multiple choice question, Percy would have to answer ‘both of the above.’  Each answer is valid; neither is complete without the other, yet each seems to deny the other” (22).  Fowler’s assessment of the ending in The Second Coming indicates a circular lifestyle, implying that Will and Allison must return to the start as they invent their respective places within the world they have been estranged from hitherto.  The ending is often viewed as an  up-ended can of worms implicating too many choices on the crossroads to be coherent or copacetic as a completed work.  The resounding answer that literary common sense dictates is that a degree of ambiguity is necessary in The Second Coming, and the questions that Percy left unanswered were not the focus of the novel as he desired it.  There is a sense of a circular lifestyle at first glance; however, this is deliberately in place to disassociate Will and Allison from the rest of society, with the implication that they found “a more excellent way.”

“The first sign that something had gone wrong manifested itself while he was playing golf” (Percy 3).  As the novel’s first line informs the reader, there is a definite problem to resolve:  how can Will Barrett fix what went wrong?  Will’s slice cannot be the problem.  The slice seems to reflect the discursive disparity between him and the rest of the world around him, specifically the farcical portion of his golf foursome.  He drifts off the fairway of the golf course and similarly must chart a new pathway in his life, preferably a pathway that doesn’t lead Will to self-destruct; “an idea which he entertained ironically” (Percy 4).  This conflict is seemingly the largest problem, and therefore the overriding question in need of answering.  John Desmond highlights Albert Camus’ influence on Percy, and it seems that Percy is tackling a philosophy which Camus began:  “Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question in philosophy” (qtd. in Desmond 58).  The slice is a device to drive him outside the normal boundaries of society at large, so that he can both find Allison and himself in order to answer the fundamental question provoked by the aforementioned philosophy.  This is the ordeal that Will is faced with, and its gravity supersedes many of the other facetious questions that could be asked at the close of The Second Coming.

With unanswered questions in question, Doreen Fowler alludes to Percy’s statement: “I’m convinced that in The Second Coming there’s a definite advance, a resolution of the ambiguity” (qtd. in Fowler 13).  Fowler proceeds to rip into The Second Coming, stating that “Percy’s very manner of presentation frequently seems either to defuse or to invalidate his answers…his answers are often contradicted by opposing suggestions in the novel, creating a precarious balance of opposites” (13).  It is ironic and counterproductive to her case that Fowler would remind her readers that The Second Coming is a novel as she contrives to expose Percy’s invalidation of answers, simply because this very ambiguity is what designates the novel a novel, as Bakhtin is obliged to inform the literary world:

Salient features of this novelization…free and flexible, their language renews itself by incorporating extraliterary heteroglossia and the “novelistic” layers of literary language…a certain semantic openendedness, a living contact with unfinished, still-evolving contemporary reality (Bakhtin 6-7).

Perhaps Doreen Fowler is only concerned with her own questions being answered, and not those of Percy.  It is possible that Percy avoids spelling the answer out because he does not want his novel to become a philosophy textbook.  He uses novelistic form to put philosophical ideas into more cultural relevance, by finding “fault lines in the terrain, small clues that something strange is going on, a telltale sign here and there…that things have gotten very queer without anyone seeming to notice it” (qtd. in Sitman and Smith 21). 

Fowler returns for a second helping of critical beef to the tune of a solemn divulgence that she may have had to filch from Walker Percy’s fictitious secret diary:  “Percy’s solution is clear:  man must eschew escape and live among the human community, fostering and supporting man’s instructions” (16).  “Fostering and supporting man’s instructions” is a stretch of the imagination at best, and an outright contradiction at worst.  Both Will and Allison have been dogged by the plans of those around them for the majority of novel, and one of the definitive resolutions of the novel is the shift in plan-making.  Using Bakhtin’s model on novelistic discourse, Allison and Will, in their respective ways, broke from the authoritative discourse of other people’s plans.  Allison’s “instructions from myself to myself,” is her first move away from her parents’ discourse, closer to her “Sirius self.”  When Allison’s innerly persuasive discourse is actualized, she subsequently becomes content to make Will content.  Kitty’s discourse, on the other hand, is exposed as farcical when “In the very act of uttering her ultimate truths, she was too bored to listen” (Percy 328). 

Will correspondingly finds freedom from his father’s discourse, which is rank with the love of death.  This freedom is reflected by his disposal of the Greener and the Luger, in the ultimate show of emancipation from the authoritative discourse of his father’s memory.  Will is under no circumstances submitting to the provincial life of those around him:  “Instead of joining hands with the folks and bowing his head in prayer, the truth seeker sits in an empty chair as invisible as Banquo’s ghost, yelling at the top of his voice… At least protest” (Percy 314).  This discursive outburst is a staple characteristic of Kierkegaard’s, as highlighted by Desmond, “one form of despairing “suicide” is silence before reality, which he termed “shut-up-ness” (60).  He might be in the world but he is most pointedly not of it, whether or not his conversion to Christianity is genuine.  This protest, in dissimilitude with Fowler view of “fostering and supporting man’s instructions”  is in keeping with Will’s estrangement from the “Californians” throughout, and the consequence is that he remains unfettered by the societal ties that dictate the lives of the golfers and Episcopalians.

Instead of the “Californians,” Will caters to the needs of the outcasts in society, and not those rich and powerful characters who have tried to corner him formerly. These reprobates such as Mr. Arnold and Mr. Ryan have been the ones society spit out.  Ryan and Arnold have also been living under the bondage of other people’s plans, most notably the plans to keep them holed up in St. Mark’s (Like Allison at Valleyhead).  Will frees them from the fate that society had prepared for them.  

There is ambiguity laden throughout the novel, but that ambiguity represents the freedom of Will and Allison.  Near the end of the novel, Will is able to identify the right question:  “To know the secret answer, you must know the secret question.  The question is, who is the enemy?” (Percy 311).  Will goes on to illustrate his freedom:  “The name of the enemy is death…Not the death of dying but the living death” (311).    Ann Croce is sufficiently adroit to comply with a certain degree of ambiguity at the close of The Second Coming, but she informs the reader that there are also resolutions:  “the absence of an answer leads to a discovery” (218), in reference to Allison.  Is it really necessary for God to blast a spate of lightning from the sky to answer Will’s question?  Or should the educated reader be able to puzzle out that Allie is at least part of the answer?  Another indication of God’s “nonanswer” is the toothache, which may have been God’s way of telling Will that the answer was not going to reveal itself while he was holed up in the cave, like a mad-man, as the narrator suggests.  Drastic idealistic measures are not the pathway to “living life,” instead, it is necessary for Will to participate in society in a new way.       

If the answer is not in the cave, and there is no obvious supernatural revelation, it would seem that the experiment failed.  Will and Allison return to the lives of normal society, continuing to pander to the 10 AM tee-time and live in the house on the cul-de-sac, is that it?    To illustrate the aversion from the circular existence, Will supplies:  “No.  We don’t have to go in the cave.  The cave is over and done with…How would you like to begin your life?” (378). This is the underlined signature of the removal from “death in life,” as opposed to the removal from only life.  As opposed to the life of the Associate, who does isometrics (exercises performed against an immovable object or against oneself), the circular nature of Will and Allison’s lives do not bring them back to the same place.  In the beginning of the novel, Will was living a “normal” life filled with golfing and good deeds, and was miserable.  He returns to a normal lifestyle after his experimental search for God in the cave, but it is different this time around.  “God may be good, family and marriage and children and home may be good…all the folks healthy and happy, but something is missing…God?  Find him!” (Percy 313-314).  The way to live was not through theological experiments, but through the fulfillment of the cultural mandate to subdue the earth, along with his love for Allison.  This is a pointed distinction from the farcical existence of the other super-Christians in North Carolina.  “Death in the guise of God and America and the happy life of home and family and friends is not going to prevail over me” (Percy 312), but maybe life in the reality of these things would prove more likely to find a place in Will’s world.

Fowler’s takes exception with Percy’s mode of resolution:  “The empiricists are right, but so are the visionaries.  Neither answer satisfies Percy without the other” (22).  The problem with this is determination is that Will has transcended “isms” and “asms:”  “Death in the forms of isms and asms shall not prevail over me…for an ism is only another way of despairing of the truth” (Percy 313).  There is always a temptation to point to the isms and asms to wrap our heads around The Second Coming, but the problem with that analysis is that it is far too narrow.  Fowler is pointing her telescope at a shooting star while there is a lunar eclipse on the opposite horizon.  What she fails to see is that Percy is answering a question far from farcical; Percy is addressing the “collapse of meaning of all traditional ethical values.  The question that interested Percy, then, is how to live, day to day and hour to hour, in this collapse of values” (Desmond 59).  Perhaps visionaries and empiricists shouldn’t be empiricalized into categories that are polar opposites; Will and Allison seem to bridge that gap.  The ambiguity is the antidote for life among the one-track minded citizens of small town North Carolina.  Will Barrett exposes Fowler’s narrow view at the end of the novel:  “Am I crazy to want both, her and Him?  No, not want, must have.  And will have” (411).  This ambiguity summons back Bakhtin’s idea of “openendedness,” and its necessity in novels.    

Quinlan’s scruple on the means of conclusion in The Second Coming has to do with Will willing a conclusion, which is ostensibly too provisional for his taste.  To Quinlan, this lacks authority, and therefore a significant resolution.  On the contrary, it is imperative that Will wills a way to live before he can deliberate on it.  This novel is about Will Barrett, character driven, with Allison interludes, from start to finish.  Therefore, the course of time and events in the story will be affected by Will’s character, as opposed to vice versa.  It is necessary for Will to come to the point of possessing this Will, in order to raise the ceiling that restricted him in his prior existence.  Sue Michelle Crowley highlights the impending consummation that Will’s will will achieve.  “Percy’s Kierkegaardian man of infinite possibilities has “willed,” he has chosen, and he is on the brink of the religious stage…signs of the Second Coming are being revealed to him” (Crowley 241).  This is the accomplishment of the objective, because the objective is not objective, it is subjective.  Will Barrett must come to the right place, as opposed to everything coming together to mollycoddle Will.

Allie, of course, is instrumental in helping Will to an unimpeded view of truth, as it regards to the course of life and relationships with others.  If there is no concrete resolution as Fowler suggests, what can be deduced is that Allison will be there for what is on the horizon.  David Werning take is:  God through Allison.  “If Will wants to know God, he will have to reject Lawyer Barrett’s humanism and rely on Allie’s way of knowing:  through words shared with another through intersubjectivity” (252-253).  The break from his father’s memory is complete with the guns gone, and the intersubjectivity is evident from the first, as Will is the only evident person who can understand Allison’s language, and she seems to be the only one who can understand his tendency to fall and accept it.  However, she won’t let him stay down on himself as he searches for answers:  “She was a hoister, not a dragger” (Percy 234). 

If you ask a poor question, you will get a poor answer.  Ostensibly ambagious is the resolution of Will Barrett, seeming to bring him back to the beginning.  Upon further evaluation, however, there is ambiguity in the end.  Will will have Allie, they will not be living a death in life, and they will participate in society but not let society rule them:  questions answered.  Will is able to answer the questions, which opens the floodgates of possibility, with more questions to be asked.    “God’s non-answer creates a purely open universe for Will,” (Croce 220).  Although he has gone through a metaphorical resurrection from the dead and is now ostensibly come full circle or “back to normal,” in reality, everything has changed.  Concerning Doreen Fowler, I would hope that she removed her multiple choice questions from her Walker Percy evaluations and considered introducing some essays instead.