1 The Literary Cosmos: Symbol, Metaphor, and Reflection in the Medieval Universe by Kimberly Harrer 2 The mysteries of the cosmos have intrigued human kind for millennia. Much of our art
and literature reflects our attempt to understand human’s place within the cosmos, to sort out
what it means to exist in a vast realm of unknown space. Among many others, series such as
Star Trek and literature such as Frank Herbert’s Dune take us on futuristic journeys to other
planets, introduce us to new species, and often use time travel or inter-dimensional voyages to
illustrate our insignificance against the backdrop of infinity. These stories employ very modern
concepts of the universe in order to expand the reader’s/viewer’s sense of place within the
cosmos. What then of other, older expressions of these same puzzles? As cosmological thought
advances and expands from late antiquity, to the medieval period, and then into the Renaissance,
so, too does the space (literally and literarily) for the writer and reader in their explorations of
meaning and self. Writers and thinkers such as Boethius, Geoffrey Chaucer, and John Milton
explore the perceptible disconnect between the ordered nature of the divine and the chaos of
everyday human life in their respective works, The Consolation of Philosophy, The Canterbury
Tales, and Paradise Lost. They utilize cosmological symbol and metaphor to reflect the
universal structure known to them to make sense of this division, grasping for a greater
awareness of the place for human existence and meaning in an ever-expanding notion of the
universe.
In preparation for my argument, it will be helpful at this juncture to examine the
cosmological models these authors examined and accepted. In the medieval and early modern
periods, cosmology and astronomy (what would today be categorized as hard sciences) as well as
astrology (now a pseudo-science) were all included in a field of study known as ‘natural
philosophy’. Just as in modern-day scientific fields of this nature, this stretch of time is rich with
competing perspectives on the nature of the universe: its origins, its measurements, and its
3 overall structure. In stark contrast to our use of the scientific method, here evidence is required
to back religious belief. The most influential viewpoint on the structure of the universe during
this period, however, is based on the geocentric Ptolemaic and Aristotelian models of astronomy,
dating as far back as the first century, and accepted all the way into the 17th century. The entire
concept of this cosmological model is based on the notion of divine perfection in the form of
circles
The perspective that these models offer is one of a highly ordered system of motion.
Motion is afforded to a hierarchical arrangement of spheres. There is one sphere allotted to each
of the five planets known at the time (Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Venus, and Mercury). The moon,
the sun, and the fixed stars (celestial sphere, or firmament) each has its own sphere. Divine
power resides in the outermost sphere, the sphere of the Primus Mobile (Prime Mover), furthest
from Earth. Earth is made up of the elements earth, air, water, and fire. The spheres beyond
Earth are made up of the element ether, often associated with their motion. There was some
contention during this time among astronomers as to how many spheres exist in the scheme.
Although “all were agreed that the planets and fixed stars together accounted for at least eight
concentric orbs or heavens”, as observations of celestial movement become more detailed and
accurate, more ideas emerge about the existence of a greater number of spheres to account for
the sometimes inexplicable motions of celestial bodies and to maintain the evidence-supportingbelief principle (Grant 315).
As with so much in this field of scientific study, such a complex and unfamiliar structure
requires a visual aid to assist in understanding it. The image below shows the spheres (10 in all
for this particular rendering) with the Earth at the center made up of the four elements earth, air,
water, and fire (faculty.vassar.edu). Of note in this image is a space beyond the Primus Mobile.
4 Natural philosophers questioned whether there were more spheres, or anything at all, beyond that
boundary. There were many questions about the structure of the cosmos at the time which, for
the purposes of this paper, do not need to be detailed, merely mentioned to elaborate on the
complexities and variety of ideas regarding this subject which surface in the literature to be
discussed.
Though there were many variations of the idea of the spheres, each reflected its culture’s
need for harmony and order in all things. It was imperative that the heavens remain tidy and
regulated so as to reflect the perfection of God. A sphere is considered a ‘perfect’ shape which
provides regularity in its motion. Since God is perfection, all he creates must adhere to divine
standards of that perfection. Here lies the dilemma: the reality lived by humans “is incessant
change. . .things happened ‘on the whole’ or ‘for the most part’. . .but the world studied by
astronomy seemed quite different. . .celestial bodies were permanent. . .the more you studied
them, the more perfectly regular their movements seemed to be” (Lewis 3-4). Though the highly
ordered structure of the universe reflects the “bookish character of their culture” in its systematic
nature, there is a religious pursuit in this endeavour as well (Lewis 11). Thus, the directive of
astronomy within the field of natural philosophy was to reconcile everyday experience of
irregularity with observations of a highly structured and ordered system of divinely regulated
spheres; a system of spheres controlled by God.
Just one of the many ways in which this attempt manifests is through literature. Being
concerned with structure, order, and knowledge as learned through books, medieval writers
ascribe Plato’s philosophy of unity in form and content to their works. In other words, the
organization of their work reflects the meaning and ideology which it purports. They use the
very format of their writing to physically represent their ideas. ‘Ideas’ is the operative word in
5 the goal of literature from this period. The facts are not as important as the story. The mode of
writing for them suggests that “allegory and analogy were not for the Middle Ages a way of
abstracting, but rather a way of internalizing, making personal, and thus humanizing all that was
otherwise lost outside them. . .it was a process of mental incorporation” (Peck 33). These
methods show the inherent richness of literary work in this time period. They reveal the spiritual
and intellectual imperative contained within the frame of literature, and the space it allows the
reader and writer to inspect reality in terms of theology, thought, and observation through
narrative.
One literary figure whose work exemplifies these characteristics is Boethius (AD 480524). Though he had many works that can be referenced, consideration will be given here to his
Consolation of Philosophy. This text’s unique placement in time consists of a period between
late antique and early medieval, lending a unique cultural and historical perspective.
Commenting on its placement in history, Dr. Wendolyn Weber writes:
The Consolation of Philosophy may be one of the best examples of a text perfectly placed
and perfectly composed for longevity within a multitude of receptive possibilities. In
cultural and historical terms, the text balances on a critical nexus point, a meeting place
of classical and medieval, pagan and Christian worldviews. Perched on the crumbling
remains of the Roman Empire, standing at the edge of the classical era and on the cusp of
the medieval, it reaches in both directions.
(Weber 95)
The influence of this work reaches beyond its own time period, surviving many political,
cultural, spiritual, and scientific changes. One characteristic of its survival, examined in this
paper, is that the cultural and historical crossroads of time in which this text is found lends itself
to unique uses of cosmological symbol, metaphor, and allegory.
6 The Boethian figure of Lady Philosophy is one of these particularly important symbols.
When she first appears to Boethius in his prison cell, her form is difficult for him to comprehend
visually and intellectually. He says, “it was difficult to be sure of her height, for sometimes she
was of average human size, while at other times she seemed to touch the very sky with the top of
her head, and when she lifted herself even higher, she pierced it and was lost to human sight”
(Boethius 4). The cosmological model is key to establishing the symbolism of this character.
Firstly, Lady Philosophy introduces herself as inherently liminal. She has the ability to alter her
height, allowing her to move freely in between the divine and the earthly. In addition to the
capability of moving in between these spaces, she is able to penetrate the divine realm. She is
able to move beyond the sphere of the fixed stars and into the unknown sphere of the Primus
Mobile. Her growth spans all spheres and thus her character as a symbol encompasses all of
space and time and all ideas about space and time. All questions, theories, beliefs, and
intellectual pursuits are unified under the umbrella of philosophy through her act in traveling the
distance between all spheres.
This act of shape shifting also reflects the notion of the time period that understanding the
universe through reflection, contemplation, and through scientific inquiry is a means to
understanding God in the order of His creation. The mind as a means to divine comprehension is
a continuing theme directed by Lady Philosophy. Shortly after he encounters her, she
acknowledges the philosopher’s sad and distorted state of mind, pointing out that a mind filled
with earthly cares cannot contemplate the questions of the universe: “so sinks the mind in deep
despair/and sight grows dim; when storms of life/inflate the weight of earthly care/the mind
forgets its inward light/and turns in trust to the dark without” (Boethius 5). This statement shows
7 the cultural importance of cosmological scrutiny and divine understanding by suggesting that
when one loses the ability to probe the cosmos, one loses connection with divine knowledge.
This verse also introduces the complexity of the mind as a tool for understanding the
cosmos. Not only does the mind hold the capability to comprehend the universe, it also has the
ability to work against itself. It can compromise an individual’s intellectual pursuit by disrupting
the harmony among mind, spirit, and the divine. It can clog itself with worries of mortal being,
thus distracting one from divine being. The mind, which is internal, is the light. All that is
external is “darkness” (Boethius 5). This idea suggests that the universe is an internal
experience. The divine is the universe, knowledge is divine, and the mind, being internal, is
what is used to seek and acquire knowledge. The universe is explored with the mind which can
perceive divine order, thus internalizing the “light” of divine knowledge (Boethius 5).
Lady Philosophy is quick to expound upon the importance of utilizing mental faculties to
investigate the world. She reminds the prisoner, herself, and the reader of what he once had the
capacity for:
This was the man who once was free
To climb the sky with zeal devout
To contemplate the crimson sun
The frozen fairness of the moon –
Astronomer once used in joy
To comprehend and to commune
With planets on their wandering ways.
This man, this man sought out the source
Of storms that roar and rouse the seas
The spirit that rotates the world
The cause that translocates the sun
8 From shining East to watery West
(Boethius 5)
Boethius was once able to consider the mysteries of the universe. Through his quest for
knowledge, divine order came to life for him. The planets came to life. He could “commune”
with them and follow them on their path through the heavens (Boethius 5). His pursuit allowed
him to traverse the incline of the spheres as a hiker climbing a mountain, the summit being the
realm of the Primus Mobile, referred to in this verse as “the spirit that rotates the world”
(Boethius 5).
There is much emphasis on the fact that Boethius is a man, a mortal. Knowledge permits
him the opportunity as a human to explore and interpret divine order in the universe. He has
access to each sphere, inferred by his following of the planets, and just as Lady Philosophy, he
can move freely through each sphere. Though he cannot penetrate the divine sphere of the
Primus Mobile, by engaging his mental faculties, he is allowed to approach it. This ability
establishes liminality within the pursuit of knowledge. It allows one to bridge the divide
between divine and human, the unknown and the known. Thought in essence is a spiritual
journey through the physical world, collapsing the separation between the two areas in order to
gain divine knowledge. Understanding the universe is intrinsically linked to human knowledge
of the divine.
Just as the cosmos is used to acquire divine knowledge, it is also used as a metaphor for
knowledge itself through the use of simile. In verse III of Book I, Boethius illustrates the
experience he has in regaining his sight (faculties of mind, i.e., the ability to pursue knowledge)
through the assistance of Lady Philosophy’s initiative in wiping his eyes with her dress. He
says:
9 The night was put to flight, the darkness fled
And to my eyes their former strength returned
Like when the wild west wind accumulates
Black clouds and stormy darkness fills the sky
The sun lies hid before the hour the stars
Should shine, and night envelops all the earth
But should the North wind forth from his Thracian cave
Lash at the darkness and loose the prisoner day
Out shines the sun with sudden light suffused
And dazzles with its rays and blinking eye.
(Boethius 7)
Night and darkness are both here used as symbols for state of mind, one in which an individual
embeds himself in ignorance or refusal to gain knowledge. It is essentially a state of
immobility—immobility of mind through paralyzing one’s momentum on the path through the
cosmic spheres (i.e., knowledge). The lack of momentum also freezes the movement of the
spheres and darkness obscures the sun. In other words, it obscures God, divine knowledge,
human understanding, and capability of obtaining that knowledge. Darkness and ambiguity
swallow up the light of the stars and all of the earth, making it impossible to see the spheres
beyond. They hold knowledge prisoner until one comes to his senses, letting go of earthly
concerns, liberating himself to begin again the journey of understanding. He scatters the clouds
letting the sun through which illuminates the motion of the spheres, and allows him to resume his
pursuit of dazzling divine knowledge (Boethius 7).
Once again, the external universe metaphorizes an internal mindscape. The individual
has the capability to hide himself from knowledge, to hide himself from the divine truth found in
the cosmic system through focusing on everyday conflicts and concerns of earthly nature,
through isolating himself from the deep connection to the universe. Human understanding is in
10 this passage equated with cosmic understanding. The mind, just as the highly ordered system of
spheres, has periods of darkness and light, obscurity and clarity. Figuring out the divine order of
the world, opening oneself up to the lessons of it permits one to comprehend the universe in
terms of divine knowledge and the human’s place in the divine plan in terms of the structure of
the cosmos.
Cosmology in The Consolation of Philosophy also serves as a means of reconciling
human reality (chaos) with the divine structure or plan (order). Boethius in Book I voices his
observations of disorder and general tumult in the reality of human life around him. In order to
elucidate the matter, he makes the point that criminals are found to be innocent of crimes while
the innocent are found guilty of others crimes. This reality has become such that ones who
commit crimes in fact expect to be found innocent, while those who obey the laws expect to be
found guilty of something at some point. It appears to Boethius that there is a palpable
disconnect between the divine order of the world and his human experiences. Prompted by his
convictions about this subject, he makes a plea to God saying, “thy power turns the moving
sky/and makes the stars obey fixed laws. . .thou Evening Star dost make/rise cold and clear in
early night. . .all things obey their ancient laws”, illustrating the systematic motion provided by
divine power (Boethius 15). Yet again the human mind is put into cosmic terms with his
statement “bright virtue lies in dark eclipse/by clouds obscured”, reiterating ignorance as a selfinflicted separation from the world, this time not as an individual, but as a society at large
(Boethius 16). He asks that God secure the motions of human kind as he does “with the bond
thou rul’st the stars” (Boeithius 16).
In defense of the divine, Lady Philosophy reminds Boethius that human kind is also a
part of God’s creation along with the cosmos. There is no difference between the movement of
11 the heavens and his experience on Earth. She discusses this idea in terms of seasons, crops, and
harvests, all of which are intricately associated with the movement of the stars and of the sun.
The Lady then says, “for God has fixed the seasons’ tasks/and each receives its own/no power is
free to disarray/the order God has shown/should then some being precipitate/aspire to quit its
place/the Lord would not allow success/its mutiny to grace” (Boethius 18-19). She implores
Boethius to remember his belief that the universe is run on rational movement and that nothing
happens irrationally because God is a rational being.
Recalling that a sphere is a perfect and therefore divine shape, rational movement is
associated with circular motion. Fortune is given as a symbol of rational motion in the
circularity of her wheel which reflects the circularity of celestial motion of the spheres. The
philosopher discusses Fortune in terms of the turmoil and unfairness described earlier. She is
simultaneously credited with happiness and the upheaval of said happiness. From the human
perspective, her purpose, indeed her very essence, is chaos. Lady Philosophy, however, counters
this argument by putting Fortune’s motion in terms of the cosmic scheme: “change is her normal
behavior, her true nature. . .in the very act of changing she has preserved her own particular kind
of constancy towards you” (Boethius 23). Fortune herself says “I never cease to play as I turn
my wheel in its ever changing circle”, restating the importance of circular motion (Boethius 25).
The seemingly irrational motion of this cycle in the human experience is rationalized in
Lady Philosophy’s statement that “the world stays rarely the same/so great its instability. . .in
law eternal it lies decreed/that naught from change is ever freed” (Boethius 29). What this
statement from the Lady achieves is placing human reality in terms of divine motion. What
seems to be mayhem and disorder from a human perspective is in actuality an intricate, and not
12 separate, part of the divine plan. Just as the cosmos have a very particular pattern or cycle, so,
too does life on Earth, preserving God’s stability and divine harmony.
Further connecting human experience to the divine structure of the universe, Lady
Philosophy uses the grand scheme of the cosmos compared to the size of the Earth to make a
point about ethical living; in particular, to make a point about the inconsequentiality of fame. It
is important here to pause for a moment in order to briefly resurrect and expand on an important
function of literature during the medieval period mentioned before in this paper. According to
C.S. Lewis, there is little to no mention of the cosmological structure by spiritual writers. He
says that, “spiritual books are wholly practical in purpose, addressed to those who ask direction. .
.only the order of Grace is relevant”, meaning that narrative is the main source of any type of
deep exploration into the meaning of the universe and its divine structure as related to human
experience (Lewis 114). Understanding is essentially derived from the middle ground between
science and theology that story provides. Instead of mere externalized instruction, the reader’s
mind is engaged in a narrative and encouraged to internalize its message which is almost always
spiritual/ethical in nature and is a major goal of medieval narrative. It makes sense then that
Boethius would turn to literary devices such as symbol, metaphor, and allegory in order to teach
important lessons and encourage profound reflection in his readers. It follows logically that he
would discuss human reality in terms of cosmological structure to explore the connection among
Earthly and divine realms. This example of the futility of fame as described by Lady Philosophy
is no exception.
Humans, according to her, seem to be under the impression that fame provides one with
immortality and unchallenged importance. She identifies this notion as a fallacy by the very
structure of the universe which includes time. Earth’s time is finite and so cannot be compared
13 to divine time, which is eternal. She says, “if you think of the infinite recesses of eternity you
have little cause to take pleasure in any continuation of your name. . .a single second can be
compared with ten thousand years. . .but ten thousand years. . .cannot be compared with
unending eternity” to illustrate the futility of fame and thus narcissism (Boethius 42). She
continues, “however protracted the life of your fame, when compared with unending eternity it is
shown to be not just little, but nothing at all” (Boethius 42). This explanation provided by the
Lady is a guide to ethical, humble living. Gaining fame is a waste of time in terms of eternity.
The cosmological model used in the Consolation supplies the distance required for the
different experiences of time between Earth and Heaven. On Earth, finite time is the reality in
which humans live. Each sphere beyond the Earth pushes farther and farther into the vast and
largely unknown distances of this period. The sphere of the Primus Mobile is the farthest realm
and can only be detected through the motions of the descending spheres (if the sky moves, it
follows logically that there must be something initiating that motion). This position in the
farthest realm grants God ample height from which to view all things. Time for God is thus:
eternal, not perpetual. Strictly speaking, He never ‘foresees’ He simply sees. Your
‘future’ is only an area, and only for us a special area, of His infinite Now. He sees (not
remembers) your yesterday’s acts because yesterday is still ‘there’ for Him; he sees (not
foresees) your tomorrow’s acts because He is already in tomorrow.
As a human
spectator, by watching my present act, does not at all infringe its freedom, so I am none
the less free to act as I choose in the future because God, in that future (His present)
watches me acting.
(Lewis 89)
Eternity can only be experienced at a great distance from finite time. The order of the spheres is
able to maintain the large gap necessary for keeping such a long distance between Earth and
14 Heaven. This distance also, as seen in the quote above from C.S. Lewis, provides humans with
free will. Through the structure of the cosmos, the distance from humans with which it provides
God (the spheres stand between them), ethical reasoning manifests itself in this literature by
means of illustrating the consequences of human narcissism as fame in terms of finite time. It
also manifests in an ethical God who remains as such by providing free will through the distance
existent in the universe between human and divine, He is “a spectator from on high of all things”
(Boethius 137).
Boethius also recognizes the role, if not the responsibility, of human kind to be spectators
as well, not on the same level as God is a spectator, but on the level of viewing the world through
our mental faculties that are thought to be God-given. It is through observation of the movement
of the spheres that Boethius propounds Aristotelian “love” cosmology. This idea of love arises
from the problem of motion astronomers contend with at the time. They believed firmly in the
Primus Mobile, but still the question remained of how the sphere of the unmovable mover caused
motion in all descending spheres. It is argued that the Primus Mobile is also in motion, but this
has its own inherent problem. If the Primus Mobile is in motion, there must be some other
sphere beyond it causing it to move, ad infinitum, spiraling out of control into an endless series
of moving spheres. Thus, Aristotle proposes that there is indeed a final sphere, the Primus
Mobile, which does not move, but coaxes the spheres below it into motion. One might ask how
Aristotle would explain the way this task is accomplished:
Aristotle distinguished two immaterial substances associated with each celestial orb: a
soul and a separate intelligence. The former is an integral part of its orb, whereas the
latter is distinct from its orb. . .it follows that as each orb moves around with uniform
circular motion, its soul also moves around with it. Hence the soul of a celestial orb is
necessarily in motion. But the soul of an orb is not the direct cause of the orb’s motion.
15 Motion arises because of the soul’s intellectual desire and love for the separate
intelligence that is also associated with the same orb. The direct cause of motion is
therefore the separate intelligence, which causes the soul to love and desire it so that the
soul will move its orb around and around.
(Grant 516-517)
Boethius, reflecting the goal of medieval narrative to encourage the reader to absorb
spiritual lessons, describes the motion of the cosmos. In doing so, he also creates a space for
science and theology to intermingle. The source of cosmic motion, as stated above, is love; love
for the divine intelligence inherent in each sphere which finds its origins in God. He calls Love
the ruler of the sky and explains how inexorably linked it is to unity and harmony of all things:
“if Love relaxed the reins/all things that now keep peace/would wage continual war/and wreck
the great machine/which unity maintains/with motions beautiful” (Boethius 45). Again, the
activity of the spheres is closely associated with the activity of humans. The chaos that would
ensue if love did not exist within the spheres to motivate them is put into terms of human warfare
that exists in the absence of love on Earth. He goes on to relate law, marriage, and international
agreements, all human institutions and ideas, to the harmony of the spheres, and thus to love,
further establishing the connection between humans and the universe; between humans and the
divine.
All human experience in this text is interpreted through a cosmic lens and all cosmic
experience is interpreted through a human lens. These two perspectives substitute one another
with a frequency that suggests they are not different perspectives (excepting God’s perspective).
The form thus is unified with the content of the text. Whether it is describing an eclipse of
understanding or the Love that bonds humans in friendship, literary devices such as symbol,
metaphor, and simile operate to represent the human experience as a cosmic structure and vise
versa.
16 Structure and message are also unified in this text by its reflecting the circularity with
which the universe moves. As Lady Philosophy says in Book I, the beginning of all things is
God and “the end purpose of things and the goal to which the whole of Nature is directed” is
God (Boethius 19). Boethius is visited by the Lady in the beginning because he has lost his
ability to be mindful of the universe and therefore has lost the ability to attain knowledge of the
divine. The book ends with the philosopher regaining his mental faculties and reaching a point
in his re-growth, as facilitated by Lady Philosophy, where he can again have access to that
knowledge of the divine. The text’s interpretation of circularity shows its awareness in reflecting
the cosmos. Circularity, for this text, does not mean coming back around to the beginning and
starting again. It means coming around to a point that positions you to continue moving forward,
each circular motion building off of the previous one; a kind of spiral.
This idea of building off of what came before is important to medieval literary culture.
The “bookish or clerkly character” of medieval society as described by C.S. Lewis is full of
writers who respond culturally to manuscripts: “every writer, if he possibly can, bases himself on
an earlier writer, follows an auctour” as books are of such great importance to this medieval
culture (Lewis 5). Taking a story and thinking about it not in terms of what it means, but what it
could mean is a technique adopted by the writers of this period. Boethius is certainly an example
of a writer who uses this technique. His cosmology and philosophy have a clear foundation in
Plato and Aristotle.
Writers of a previous age also influence subsequent ages of writers through the
translation of their work. Geoffrey Chaucer, who translated Boethius’ Consolation (entitled
Boece) is a perfect example. As stated before, medieval authors explore meaning in the stories
of writers before, often creating their own understanding of a text that is influenced by their
present-day culture, politics, religion, and education. A translation in the medieval period,
17 therefore, is not necessarily a verbatim transcript of a work; it is more of an interpretation of that
work. Chaucer’s Boece is no exception. In his article, “Method and Medieval Translation: The
Example of Chaucer’s Boece”, Tim Machan posits:
Though Chaucer referred to his composition as a “translacion of Boece de
Consolacione,” his actual method involved. . .translating from what might be called the
Consolation tradition. . .to the Middle Ages, the Consolation was a work of moral
philosophy, and then as now any intelligent and knowledgeable individual had a personal
stake in moral philosophy. . .medieval readers grew less interested in the form of the
Consolatio than in its content and that the content of “Boece de Consolacione” came to
include a variety of reworkings of and commentaries and glosses on Boethius’ thought. .
.Chaucer clearly was interested in understanding Boethius’ ideas and in exploring
language. . .
(Machan 190-91)
Since Chaucer translated, or rather interpreted, Boethius’ Consolation, it is no surprise to find the
Ptolemaic-Aristotelian cosmological model functioning literarily throughout a good many of his
works.
His treatise on astronomy, Astrolabe, is his more scientific endeavour; his literal
translation of the movements of stars and planets and discussion of the mathematics behind the
exploration of the heavens. Where his understanding of the cosmos particularly shines, however,
is in his stories. Troilus and Criseyde, The Book of the Duchess, and The Canterbury Tales, for
example, all contain astronomical and astrological allusions to enliven their narratives through
cosmological symbol and metaphor.
The Canterbury Tales has the cosmological structure embedded into the very fabric of its
design. In this work, the spheres of the celestial realm are reflected in the stories through the
metaphorical and allegorical uses of the planets and stars and the spheres themselves. They also
influence the structure of the text in its hierarchy of characters and tales, all culminating in the
author, Geoffrey Chaucer, as the Primus Mobile of his own universe. In order to properly
18 explore these cosmological ideas, representations, and influences in The Canterbury Tales, it is
important to start small; to start within the spheres of the stories and characters within the frame
tale, moving on later to the overall structure of the tales as a whole.
Beginning with the small, there are several passages in “The Man of Law’s Tale” that
prove the story to be a microcosm of everyday human experience. The tale highlights an
existential problem discussed earlier as addressed by Boethius: there is a profoundly deep
division between the order of the spheres and the harmony inherent in them, and the chaotic and
random reality observed by individuals of the earth.
In this particular tale, Chaucer uses
astrology, its symbols a system of divine language, as a means to understanding divine
knowledge. Understanding that knowledge also allows the characters to gain a sense of place
within the divine order of the cosmos amid utter mayhem.
The orderly linguistic scheme of the stars spells out the Sultan’s fate in this tale. Having
fallen in love with Custance, a Christian, he seeks advice as to whether or not he should convert
from Islam to Christianity in order to marry her. Our storyteller waxes cosmological, saying “. . .
in thilke large book/which that men clepe the hevene ywriten was/with sterres, whan that he his
birthe took/that he for love sholde han his deeth”, foreshadowing the death of the Sultan in his
decision to side with love (MLT, 190-3). In the context of plot, this sidereal language from the
storyteller is portentous, warning the reader of future happenings in the story. Giving small
details of the story’s outcome, however, does not serve the plot alone. By likening the heavens
to a book and the arrangement of the stars to that of words with prescient qualities, the Man of
Law deems the Sultan’s fate part of God’s ultimate, divine plan. These words, unlike those of
Earthly books, cannot be erased or changed, being in the sphere of the fixed stars, the canvas of
the divine. Though this Sultan’s fate seems to be harsh, absurd even, its permanence brings forth
stability to an otherwise chaotic situation. That it is known places his fate within the context of a
19 greater, divine plan which replaces disorder with order. The division between human and divine
experience garners attention here and is reconciled in God’s terms by way of the divine language
of the fixed stars.
To further express fate in terms of a divinely sidereal language, the Man of Law
continues: “for in the sterres, clerer than is glas/is writen, God woot, whoso koude it rede/the
deeth of everyman, withouten drede” (MLT, 194-6). Fate is here, too, concretized in astral
tongue. The fate that is written in the stars, however, is not exclusive to any one individual.
This stellar language lends itself to a communal sentiment in its position as a memento mori; it
reminds us of our own individual mortality, but also reminds us that mortality is something we
all share. Death is thus an equalizer of humanity in its ineluctability. The language in which
one’s death is read also serves to bridge the divide between earthly and heavenly realms,
bringing the divine meaning of life to the masses for us to interpret for ourselves. In this way,
the symbols provided by the stars synchronize the disorder of human existence with the tidiness
of the divine.
Along with its service to reconcile the incongruent experiences of the divine and the
earthly, the divinely ordered cosmos of this particular story can function as both a literal and
figurative reading. For instance, in one circumstance Custance releases such dreadful cries upon
the news that she must wed the Sultan that the Man of Law incorporates his own pleas to God for
her sake in his tale: “O firste moevyng . . . with thy diurnal sweigh that . . . hurlest al from est to
occident/that naturelly wolde holde another way” (MLT, 295-98). This plea has a dual function
of literal and figurative nature, as stated above. The storyteller’s words can be read as allegorical
for the immovability of the Heavens through human force. The steady force comes from the
sphere of the Primus Mobile (the ‘firste moevyng’). This immovability extends to the scheme of
20 the divine plan. No matter the fervor with which an individual protests against the fate ascribed
them by God, the plan cannot be altered. Just as the Heavens move strictly in one direction, so
too does human life have a strict adherence to the divine plan. This reading is the figurative
interpretation. In the same vein as Boethius, Chaucer decides to deepen the meaning of place
within the universe and thicken the consistency of this story by tending to interpret the human
experience through a cosmological lens and vise versa.
This interchangeability of lenses is revealed by the simultaneously existant literal
interpretation of the plea from our Man of Law. The complexity of the then believed motions of
the spheres in relation to the text is as follows:
The Primum Mobile revolves from east to west, completing its circle every twenty-four
hours. The lower spheres have. . .a far slower revolution from west to east, which takes
36,000 years to complete. But the daily impulse of the Primum Mobile forces them daily
back, as with its wash or current, so that their actual movement is westward but at a speed
retarded by their struggle to move in the opposite direction.
(Lewis 102)
Hence, the same resistance to divine motion experienced by the spheres under the pressure of the
momentum provided by the Primus Mobile is tantamount to the defiance of humans to adhere to
the divine plan when faced with their fate. Try as one might to be unmovable, the motion of the
universe, the divine plan, is ultimately the victor. Here, Chaucer uses the external universe in its
literal form to inform the reader of a deeper, internal resistance on the human level: the
resistance of human free will. Just as the opposition to universal motion is the reality of the
spheres, according to Chaucer, refusal of a divine plan is the reality of human experience.
Permitting the cosmos to further express human reality, our author makes use of simile to
evaluate the vicissitudes of existence in terms of the ocean’s tides. The Man of Law says, “but
21 litel while it lasteth, I yow heete/joye of this world, for tyme wol nat abyde/fro day to nyght it
changeth as the tyde” (MLT, 1132-34). Our storyteller, through his cosmological link between
human life and the changing of the tides, reminds us that just as the tides are pulled and pushed
by the moon, so too are human lives powerlessly directed by other forces. For the medieval time
period in particular, they are other divine forces. The tide may be chaotic, wild, and dangerous,
or it may be calm and comforting. Regardless of how hectic or tranquil, there is a reason for it
and constancy in it (reminiscent of Fortunes wheel in the Consolation). The apparent disorder of
this reality is in fact part of the order of the heavenly spheres. The internal figurative universe
and the external literal universe are each a part of a greater, more organized arrangement which
consoles the mind that observes the chaos in everyday reality.
In much the same way as “The Man of Law’s Tale”, “The Knight’s Tale” acknowledges
divine order through the internal-external cosmological interchangeability of which Boethius and
Chaucer are so greatly fond. This tale also harbors a direct link from Chaucer to Boethius
through his use of the Aristotelian love cosmology discussed earlier, though it is used within a
different framework in this story. To begin, Theseus, after Arcite is killed during a battle against
his brother to win Emelye, presents the Prime Mover (Firste Moevere in Middle English) and
celestial motion as an allegory for the ebbs and flows of human life. As in Boethius, Aristotle’s
Love cosmology becomes a focus of reasoning. He says:
For with that faire cheyne of love he bond
The fyr, the eyr, the water, and the lond
In certeyn boundes, that they may nat flee.
That same Prince and that Moevere, quod he,
“hath stablissed in this wrecched world adoun
Certeyn dayes and duracioun
To al that is engendred in this place
22 Over the whiche day they may nat pace
Al mowe they yet tho dayes wel abregge
(KT ln 2991-2999) By establishing the order of the cosmos, the order of divine creation, Theseus rationalizes
Arcite’s death and also his next action as a character and ruler. Love bonds the very foundation
of human existence: the elements earth, air, fire, and water. It also has the power to form, as
seen in the above passage, the days, their duration, and thus wields control over all beings who
must submit to the motions of the sun and stars out of necessity. Obedience to these divine
movements is vital to maintaining their harmony. So vital in fact that if one should try to meddle
with the regular motions of the spheres, the spheres will only shorten the days, thus making time
move faster, and thus shortening the human life span.
Theseus’ use of celestial motion is for a far more egocentric means than for that of
Boethius’ use. This ruler compares the divine structure of the cosmos and the role of the Primus
Mobile to his kingdom and to himself as a ruler respectively. He wants for his people to view
themselves as a “part dirryveth from his hool” for “no partie or cantel of a thyng/but of a thyng
that parfit is and stable”, suggesting that they are created by him and therefore subject to his
every whim (KT ln 3006-3009).
To be sure, his subjects are not the only ones to be dominated under his rule. His own
daughter, Emelye, is forced to marry Arcite’s brother, Palamoun. Neither party is consulted,
naturally. Emelye is denied the space for an opinion about her future marriage. Since Palamoun
has been pursuing her for quite some time, and in fact fought Arcite for her, Theseus knows that
he will not refuse the opportunity to take vows with Emelye even if given the option for refusal.
Theseus does not only assume that this marriage will take place, he decrees it. His stern rule is
like that of the motions of the spheres, unending and unchallengeable. His message is almost
23 threatening. It is more like a warning to his subjects to not disrupt the order he has established.
In this tale, the celestial motions are here related to Theseus’ very human position as a leader in
an allegorical function to serve him, rather to serve his power, as a rational justification for his
rule and the control he wields through that ruling power.
Using the heavenly spheres as an allegory for tyrannical rule and vice versa provides an
interesting arena in which to explore and personify the meaning of the cosmos and God’s rule
over it. Though this exploration may seem heretical given the time period, authorities of the day
would have welcomed the challenge. Rather, they would have welcomed it to a point. In 1272,
it was decreed by university authorities in Paris (and later spreading throughout Europe,
ultimately effecting Galileo and his findings in 1633) that no one had the right to assume the
responsibility of asking theological questions by employing the vehicle of natural philosophy.
The only exception at the time was if “perchance a question should be considered that touched
both philosophy and faith, the question had to be resolved in favor of the faith” (Grant 50). If it
appeared that a question was not going to be resolved in favor of the faith, the inventor of the
question had to renounce his findings and “concede that they were absolutely false” (Grant 50).
Being an artistic endeavour and not officially one of natural philosophy, it is unlikely that The
Canterbury Tales would have been perceived as profane against divinity, particularly due to the
fact that the text does not make an attempt to renounce faith or God, but merely offers striking
social commentary on the church, its congregation, and belief. Snarky, yes. Heretical, no.
Heresy aside, examining the structure of the spheres as used in allegory for tyrannical
rule in “The Knight’s Tale” lays nice groundwork with which to ascend into the outermost
sphere: the sphere of the Primus Mobile, the sphere of Geoffrey Chaucer as author. Some of the
most vital participants in this literary structure of the spheres are, of course, the storytellers; the
24 characters that bring the tales to life for the reader in their service to the author and indeed
establish the author in the outermost sphere.
Looking down from the position of Chaucer the author, one can see a sphere for each
character. Each serves its own purpose as a fabliau, a morality tale, a courtly romance, and so
on, while their movements, order, humor, and alignment are dictated by the author himself. Each
character seems alive as the spheres in Aristotelian cosmology, moving about one another,
harmonious in their circular progression. Chaucer, though seated securely outside the realm of
their individual spheres, emanates through the language and structure of the text, using the
characters as catalysts for his inspiration; catalysts for movement. Each story has been written
by him, each character a product of his imagination. He is essentially the divinity of this
universe of which he is the Creator.
The two key characters of his creation are the Host and the Narrator. The Host’s sphere
is placed beyond the other characters’ (save the Narrator’s) spheres. He does not engage in
storytelling himself, but in fact directs the others to tell their tales (all the while being directed
himself by Chaucer the author), interrupting a telling if the need arises. On the other hand,
although the Narrator does engage in storytelling (albeit unsuccessfully), he is an observer of the
pilgrimage. It is through his perspective that the reader gets to know the other characters.
Thorough him it is revealed that the reader, too, has his or her own respective sphere, for it is
through the Narrator’s words and perspective that the reader is moved; moved to laugh, moved to
speculate, moved to cringe, moved to another story, or whatever the case may be. He is
essentially the embodiment of the realm of the fixed stars. He is this sphere as depicted in “The
Man of Law’s Tale”. His language, through its origins in Chaucer the author, is what we as
25 readers of the text interpret just as the language of the stars, through its origins in the Primus
Mobile, is what Custance and the Sultan interpret as readers of a heavenly text.
Though the narrator’s name is Chaucer, I do not think that the author and the character
are the same person. Caroline D. Eckhardt disagrees. She employs the assumption that Chaucer
the narrator is Chaucer the author, pointing to a moment in the General Prologue when the
narrator miscounts the number of pilgrims in the troupe. The Narrator counts “nyne and twenty
in a compaignye”, but in the end there are 33 pilgrims in all (GP ln 24). For her there is no
distinction between the author and the narrator. The narrator’s miscount is the author’s
miscount. As this work is unfinished, she speculates that this inconsistency boils down to either
numerology, more specifically the numerological meaning behind the number of tales told and
the number of pilgrims, or Chaucer’s sense of humor:
He [Harry Bailly] has before him a group of thirty-one pilgrims. Since he does
not know that the Canon’s Yeoman will be joining them later, he must be
understood as proposing a total of 124 tales. By implication, the Host is playing
God, is planning to direct an entire Creation, since the sum of the integers of 124
is seven, the number of universality or of Creation itself.
(Eckhardt 176)
Eckhardt continues to draw on this idea, finally concluding that the reason for the inconsistency
is Chaucer’s sense of humor. It develops the character of the Narrator (who is not distinguished
from the author) as fallible and one to make hasty judgments, developing a more relatable, yet
unreliable narrator while it positions the Host as a Creator figure.
While there is no doubt that numerology plays a key role in the literature of this time
period (i.e., Dante), and indeed in Chaucer’s literature, it may be that it has a smaller part to play
in this instance. This theory, as stated before, though not explicitly in the quote used, is based on
26 the idea that Chaucer the author and Chaucer the Narrator are the same character/person. The
confusion comes out of this assumption: why would Chaucer purposefully (or accidentally,
which is hard to believe) miscount the number of pilgrims in his own tale? I would here like to
further expound on the idea of Chaucer the author as Primus Mobile of the literarily
cosmological system of The Canterbury Tales.
The Narrator as a fallible character only serves to increasingly distinguish him from the
author. Residing within the frame tale, the Narrator is only a part of the whole of the text,
whereas the author stands outside of it. Chaucer the author, through distinction between him and
the Narrator, allots himself space beyond the characters and stories he has created; he creates
distance between himself and his creations. He essentially establishes himself as the Primus
Mobile surrounding the universe of The Canterbury Tales.
Inserting his own name as a character serves a means for Chaucer to divide the character
from the author instead of conflate them. Seeing Chaucer’s name as a pilgrim distracts a reader
of the Tales from thinking about an author function that lies beyond the parameters and
momentum of the work. Just as the Primus Mobile, Chaucer the author is unknowable and is not
seen by the characters in the book. They merely move in reaction to him and to each other in a
manner reflective of the cosmic model. Imagining each character, as earlier, moving in his
respective spheres instead of the planets, the hierarchical system of characters with the Host and
Narrator in the outermost spheres, and finally Chaucer the author present as the Immoveable
Mover beyond them all helps to illuminate the cosmologically reflective nature of the text. The
structure of this frame tale is born out of the cosmological model.
Another reason to think of the structure of The Canterbury Tales in this manner is that in
the medieval period, it is important to create art not only for the eyes of man, but for the eyes of
27 God; “if no one else saw a devotional detail, God did” (Eckhardt 179). The characters created by
Chaucer are often in a social position where honesty, integrity, and ethical standards are expected
of them and are rarely ever executed appropriately by them. Members of the clergy, for
example, and people who work in the legal system who are supposed to be the most upstanding
citizens are in reality the most corrupt; a profound, ironic, and humorous commentary on society.
Through reflection on societal hypocrisy and structuring the Tales after the model of the spheres,
Chaucer is creating a space for deep examination on the part of a reader and also showing God
that he can see through the corruptibility of human beings. In unifying form and content, he is
servicing both God and the literate community.
Engaging in this same service to God and community, though through a very different
storytelling form, is John Milton in his Paradise Lost. Though this author enters the literary
scene a good amount of time after Chaucer, around 200 years after, in fact, and a great deal
longer than that after Boethius, he is important to an examination of the function of cosmology in
literature because of the time period in which his epic poem was written. His work occupies a
unique position in history where scientific inquiry is beginning to shift. What is known about the
universe is transformed thanks to the Copernican Revolution which moves the cosmological
model from a geocentric model of the universe to a heliocentric model. Knowledge about the
cosmos expands greatly in this period between the 16th and 17th centuries, deepening our
understanding of place within the universe.
Illustrating that expansion in Paradise Lost, Milton employs different ideas about space
and how it can be used as a literary device. Space, the cosmos, for this author is viewed as a
geographical place, a personified figure (Chaos), and a psychological phenomenon, widening the
potential for use of the cosmos as symbol, metaphor, and allegory. Along with the scientific
28 implications, the spiritual implications of this shift are also numerous and are reflected in
Milton’s verse. He is able to blend these very different ideas together in order to glorify the
Christian god. Adding Milton into the mix helps to illustrate the complexity of this area of
interest. This work is a fitting addition to the previous two texts discussed here in that although
it is incorporating more ideas and newer ideas of the universe, the cosmos’ purpose within the
literature remains just as rich and just as important, arguably even more so. Before examination
of the cosmos in Paradise Lost can begin, a brief overview of the astronomy of Nicolaus
Copernicus and what it did for scientific study is in order.
Before the 16th century, the universe was understood to be a geocentric structure. The
Earth was seated at the center of all things celestial. Rotation of stars, planets, and the sun
occurred around it. Copernicus, with the publication of his De revolutionibus orbium coelestium
in 1543, uprooted the foundation of what was then modern astronomy with a heliocentric model
of the universe. The sun usurped Earth’s position and was placed at the center with the planets
and stars, Earth among them, rotating around it: the solar system. This idea displaced Earth and
humans from the center of divine rotation of the spheres and instead included us in that rotation.
The diagrams below show the shift from pre-Copernican/Aristotelian cosmos to post-Copernican
cosmos:
29 Circular motion is still in play for the Copernican model, the only change being the placement of
the Earth and sun. Though it seems like a small and logical step toward cosmological
understanding, the Ptolemaic model is, at this point in history, the dominant model and has been
for 1500 years. A slight shift in this case causes a huge wave and Copernicus’ shift in
cosmological thinking kick-started the scientific revolution of the 16th century.
From this heliocentric model, the work by Tycho Brahe and Johannes Kepler helped to
clarify the movement of the stars and the orbital motion of the planets (Kepler’s Three Laws of
Planetary Motion), effectively eradicating the Ptolemaic-Aristotelian model and its celestial
spheres for good. Unlike the medieval period, the post-revolution scientific challenge is found to
not be reconciling everyday chaos with divine order, but instead reconciling the descriptions of
the universe and creation in the Bible with the observations of a universe that vastly differs from
those descriptions. Planets do not move in a perfect circle, the Earth is not at the center of God’s
creation which leaves room to question his perfection: if God is perfection and his creations are
perfect because they are created by him, what does the reality of “imperfections” observed in the
cosmos say about perfect divinity? An expanded idea of the universe “may arouse terror, or
bewilderment or vague reverie” causing these perturbing questions to arise (Lewis 99). The
cosmos is much larger and uncertain here than in the medieval period where “the spheres of the
old present us with an object in which the mind can rest, overwhelming in its greatness but
satisfying in its harmony” (Lewis 99). This new, vastly expanded notion of space is anxietyproducing for a public that is accustomed to an orderly worldview.
Expanding the idea of space also expands the opportunities for its literary usage. These
changes in cosmological thought leave a great amount of material as fodder for a writer like John
Milton who takes it upon himself to “assert Eternal Providence/and justify the ways of God to
30 men” in an effort to resolve the division between observation and scripture (Milton I; 25-26).
They allow him to amalgamate the old ideas with the new and create exciting possibilities for the
design of the cosmos, and eventually, its origins.
Not seen in the Consolation or in the Tales, the creation of the universe is of particular
importance to Paradise Lost. Milton uses different characters to introduce different ideas about
creation and the universe. In Book III, Uriel addresses this issue in surprisingly theoretically
modern terms. He says “I saw when at his Word the formless mass / this world’s material mold,
came to a heap” (Milton III; 708-9). These lines suggest that the universe was not created out of
nothing. There was something already existent from which God brought forth the vast expanse
of space. Although these ideas have been debated for some time at this point in scientific
history, they have not yet been addressed in quite the same way through narrative. This notion
of something out of something simultaneously challenges common belief of the time and
smoothes over any conflict. For example, one may be tempted to think that Milton is suggesting
that God was not the only thing in existence at the time of creation (he created something out of
something instead of something out of nothing). This suggestion would certainly be
controversial in his time. In Biblical terms, nothing precedes God. However, in defense of the
omnipotence of God, Milton dates Heaven’s creation before the time of the universe and sets its
location outside of the universe (reminiscent of the position of the Primus Mobile). Heaven is a
separate creation altogether, which has allowed for Uriel to be witness to the creation of the
universe with Earth in it.
What Milton retains in his idea of the origin of the universe is the importance of
humankind as God’s creation. The universe, in this case, is essentially created for human
31 existence to be possible. In the chaotic explosion of creation, God creates a fully functional
space which is conducive to human life:
Confusion heard His voice and Wild uproar
stood ruled, stood Vast Infinitude confined
till at His second bidding darkness fled
light shone, and order from disorder sprung
(Milton III 710-13).
Having a 1,500 year old cosmological model that positions humans at the center of god’s
creation challenged by a model that depicts the sun as the center of God’s creation can be
disorienting both physically and spiritually. Milton thus cleverly employs multiple ideas at once
in order to soothe those spiritual fears. God can still confine infinity and does in fact create and
maintain order. The shift in cosmological thinking, in other words, does not change God’s
divinity, control, or love for the human race.
God’s divine authority is also maintained through the use of Uriel’s description of the rift
between how human beings can physically view or comprehend space and how God and the
Heavenly beings can view it. He says
this ethereal quintessence of Heav’n
flew upward, spirited with various forms
that rolled orbicular and turned to stars
numberless, as thou seest, and how they move
(Milton III; 716-19).
Being situated within the universe that God has just created, human beings’ perception of it is a
seemingly infinite space. Their size is miniscule compared to the size of the physical universe.
The inability to see boundaries from the inside creates the illusion of infinity and places God at
the helm of creation in the unreachable distance. This sentiment is echoed in Adam’s
questioning of creation:
32 When I behold this goodly frame, this world
of heav’n and earth consisting and compute
their magnitudes, this earth a spot, a grain
an atom with the firmament compared
and all her numbered stars that seem to roll
spaces incomprehensible…”
(Milton VIII; 15-20).
He is expressing the perception of someone looking out from the interior. God is positioned
outside of the human universe (realm) and can see its boundaries, while the human eye cannot
see the boundaries of the universe, effectively blending older cosmology, Ptolemaic and
Aristotelian specifically, with the new Copernican view. The dual perspectives of the universe
are relative to the observer’s position in relation to the universe.
Although these new ideas of spacial surroundings may seem chaotic, there is a purpose, a
divine order in all things, still reminiscent of the old cosmology:
He [Milton] invented a most ingenious device for retaining the old glories of the
builded and finite universe yet also expressing the new consciousness of space.
He enclosed his cosmos in a spherical envelope from which all could be light and
order, and hung it from the floor of Heaven. Outside that, he had Chaos, the
‘infinite abyss’, the ‘unessential Night’, where ‘length, breadth and highth And
time and place are lost.
(Lewis 100)
This divine order, as pointed to in Milton by C.S. Lewis above, clearly has its roots in
Aristotelian cosmology. Milton’s God made sure that “swift to their several quarters hasted then
/ the cumbrous elements, earth, flood, air, fire” (Milton ). God has already planned out a proper
place for everything, placing him in the position of an architect who must place everything just
so in order to ensure safety of a structure’s inhabitants, and also to give the structure a distinctive
look that is distinctly his. God is leaving his particular mark on the structure of space by
33 “partitioning and delimiting…space into more intelligible places…Boundaries, limits and
enclosures are essential to facilitate knowledge and growth in god’s creatures” (Theis 4).
This partitioning and ordering harkens back to the structure of the celestial spheres.
Every celestial body had its place in the heavens, instituting harmony in creation and in the
motions of the stars. That the spaces created are more intelligible also speaks to Aristotle’s
model in that each sphere had its own intelligence whose movements were encouraged by its
love of the Creator. It is “a complex task to enclose spaces in a way that makes the intelligible
places yet still encourages the potential for growth and change found in larger, chaotic spaces”
(Theis 5). God is the only one who can possibly accomplish this task, therefore there must be a
God and order must be maintained.
Not only are the spaces created more intelligible, as in Aristotelian cosmology, they are
also not vacuous. The universe in Paradise Lost has substance and density. The elements of
earth, wind, fire, and air that are the makeup of the universe exploded outward in the creation
from Chaos. It is described as a “fluid mass” through which God pushed “vital warmth” (Milton
VII; 236-37). Chaos is essentially the substance from which the universe was made, surprisingly
similar to the modern day Big Bang Theory. It was already a prominent part of the heavenly
cosmos pre-human universe, and within its energy and volatility lies its creative capacity.
34 The universe’s creation out of Chaos also functions as a symbol for reconciling the
inconsistencies between the Biblical universe and human observation. It creates a cycle of order
and chaos, beginning and ending with order. To clarify, God, or divinity, precedes chaos and in
fact imposes order on it through the creation of Earth and man—order, disorder, order. Human
experience of existence seems chaotic, but has a divine origin; it has its roots in divine structure.
Positioning Chaos as a vital link in a divinely organized chain of order and disorder smoothes out
the irregularities in the scripture vs. human observation debacle, addressing the spiritual fears of
society at large as mentioned earlier.
Milton’s character, Raphael, also serves this same purpose. In Book VIII, he describes to
Adam the cosmos in terms of human observation and the fallibility of human knowledge. He
says first:
To ask or search I blame thee not for heav’n
Is as the book of God before thee set
. . .the Great Architect
Did wisely to conceal and not divulge
His secrets to be scanned by them who ought
Rather admire
(Milton VIII; 66-75)
Humans, according to Raphael, are an innately curious species. They were in fact created by
God to be as such. However, they are not permitted the capacity to comprehend the divine plan.
This plan is as concealed as the sphere of the Primus Mobile. This point highlights yet another
major difference between Paradise Lost and the previous two works discussed. For both The
Consolation of Philosophy and The Canterbury Tales, gaining knowledge about the universe
leads you closer to, though never arriving at, divine knowledge. It is a pathway to understanding
the mind of God and His divine plan.
35 With Milton’s work, God’s mind is so unknowable to the human race that any attempt to
understand their surroundings is laughable. Raphael conveys this idea with:
. . .If they list to try
Conjecture He his fabric of the heav’ns
Hath left to their disputes perhaps to move
His laughter at their quaint opinions wide
Hereafter when they come to model heav’n
And calculate the stars, how they will wield
The mighty frame, how build, unbuild, contrive
To save appearances, how grid the sphere
With centric and eccentric scribbled o’er
Cycle and epicycle, orb in orb.
(Milton VIII; 75-84)
Seen in this passage are very different ideas of the cosmos. Orbs and spheres (older cosmology)
are pitted against cycles and epicycles (newer cosmology). Both ideas, however, are placed on a
level field through this idea of the unattainable quality of divine knowledge. Though
astronomical endeavours are an expression of that inherent human curiosity touched on
previously by Raphael, astronomers are specifically ridiculed by him as the builders of
cosmological models that have no foundation in divine knowledge. Any model developed by a
human therefore lacks credibility and makes a mockery of the divine plan. Human observation is
thus innately flawed. No matter what we humans see or experience for ourselves, the Biblical
universe reigns supreme as it is the word and work of God which is unknowable to the mortal
world. Humans can rest assured that divine order rules all in face of the chaos of human reality.
Although the reality of the universe of Paradise Lost is unknowable to humans, the
expansion of the very concept of space is reflected in how it is utilized outside of its
36 geographical characteristic. In other words, the universe is not only a geographical element in
which life can cultivate, it is also a psychological phenomena. Satan creates a space for Hell
within himself which is separate from the physical place of Hell where he is banished to from
Heaven. He laments, “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, nor from Hell / one
step no more than from himself can fly / by change of place” (Milton IV; 18-22). The space of
Hell within him is a place from which he cannot escape. It is all-consuming. Though he is away
from the physical location of Hell, the suffering is so much his that even distance cannot offer
him respite. His rebellion has corrupted him internally and so he must carry the space of Hell
within him at all times.
Of great importance to this mental space of Hell within Satan’s form is that it has the
capacity to stretch infinitely. He says, “now conscience wakes despair / that slumbered, wakes
the bitter memory / of what he was, what is, and what must be / worse: of worse deeds, worse
suffering must ensue” (Milton IV; 23-26). With each worse deed that he engages in, the space
within him expands. It is a space that he can go farther into, but can never navigate a way out of.
Satan’s mind is more powerful than what he seems able to control. It is able to create a
psychological space which precludes boundaries – it is essentially infinite. The interior,
psychological Hell he experiences has the very real potential to grow larger than the Hell in
which he physically lives. The mind in this case is a reflection of how advances in cosmological
modeling effect its symbolic uses in literature. Having an expanding concept of the universe
widens the variety of ways the cosmos is expressed through symbol and metaphor within a text.
The universe’s appearance within works of literature reflects our continual intrigue with
its existence and what meaning we can gain about our own existence from our knowledge of it.
Modern cosmology has expanded such that our art grapples with what it means to exist within
37 the enormity of infinity. Older cosmologies of Ptolemy and Aristotle emerge slightly differently
in literature as a means to reconcile the chaos of human experience with the divinely ordered
structure of the cosmic spheres. Later on with the Copernican model of the universe, the cosmos
manifests in literature as symbol in order to quell the existential fears of disconnect between
divinity and humanity. Some of the most perceptive and probing expressions of these ideas
come from Boethius, Geoffrey Chaucer, and John Milton. Their works, as explored in this
paper, are charged with the directive of making sense of this perceived disconnect in order to
gain a better understanding of the meaning of human existence within an ever-expanding concept
of the cosmos.
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