Does my life have meaning? Have I made something out of my existence? These are some of the existential questions that the man who told us Paradise is lost and subsequently told it is regained, asked himself as his life’s work became suddenly jeopardized by ill health. In “When I Consider How My Light Is Spent,” famed 17th century poet John Milton explores the religious complications that ensue when one believes him/herself unable to serve. Through this poetry, Milton, a Puritan himself, examines and critiques the accepted Puritan notion that salvation is solely the reward of “hard work.”
The form Milton employs as a vehicle to convey his assertions is the Petrarchan/Italian sonnet popular at the time. This style of sonnet is characterized by its division into an eight-line octave and a six-line sestet—a division marked by the volta, a change in tone or the author’s attitude towards the subject at hand. Milton’s diction is of note because it is somewhat reminiscent of religious discourse (i.e. a preacher’s sermon). Such a connection does not seem unreasonable considering Milton was a well-versed in theology and a practitioner of religious discourse himself.
Regarding the identity of the speaker, it is not hard to associate it with Milton himself, when Milton’s personal history is factored in. The “light” referred to in both the title and the repetitive first line can be read as an individual’s available time to do work, whatever said work may be. More specifically, contextualizing this time to do work with regards to Milton, the light spent is his career as a poet and in general, a writer. Eyes are merely an organic optical device that reflect light for neural processing, thus an individual with failing eyesight has his/her light drastically limited. The second line, “Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide” supports the assumption that Milton himself is the speaker was blind for half of his life after completing his studies at Cambridge.
If we are to assume that Milton is the speaker of the poem, then he conveys a deep sense of anxiety over his future. The future of his “one talent,” his superior poetic ability, is rendered uncertain by the exhaustion of his light, causing him to feel as though this talent is “log’d with [him] useless.” The word talent—and the ensuing lines through “My true account”—is significant because it not only refers to Milton’s literal talent but also is a biblical allusion to the Parable of the Talents—a didactic tale that has been interpreted to mean responsibly carrying out one’s duties results in future blessings—“For to everyone who has will be given, and he will have abundance, but from him who doesn’t have, even that which he has will be taken away.” The speaker frantically imagines himself as the “wicked and lazy” servant of the parable who hid the one talent, an ancient measure of currency, his Master gave him instead of growing it into more talents when he states, “my soul more bent to serve therewith my Maker…lest he returning chide.” The line “the one talent which is death to hide” not only alludes to the Master’s throwing out the servant who hid his one talent but also refers to the speaker’s spiritual death; hiding one’s talent, in the case of Milton his literary genius, whether involuntarily or voluntarily, theologically damns an individual. The speaker’s words express his immense dissatisfaction with his inability to correlate his actions with his intentions. Unfortunately for him, his Master happens to be the Supreme Being, leaving the speaker to pose a singular question: “Doth God exact labour, light-denied?”
The poem takes a turn, a characteristic element of the Petrarchan sonnet, however, after the speaker silently poses his ultimate question for the personification Patience interrupts to “prevent that murmur.” Firstly, though, consider the speaker’s statement. Reading the word exact as to require, the speaker asks whether God requires work from those unable to provide it—the speaker’s ultimate fear. But the speaker does not ask this question; the deity of patience stops him. Why? To be blunt, he asked a stupid question; the speaker admits that fact through his use of the word “fondly,” which means foolishly in this context. Milton uses the personification of patience as an instrument of exposition, to convey a theological message. The understanding that only the hardest-working are truly serving God is a fallacy for not only “who best / Bear his mild yoke” serve him best, but also “thousands at his bidding…also serve who only stand and wait.” Thus, those who only stand and wait, as an obedient servant would do, are no less worthy than those who actively serve. The last line of the poem provides reassuring comfort for the speaker because his being “light-denied” will not be the end of him.
Milton’s fears must not have been too colossal for he wrote his, arguably, greatest works, Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained, after he had become completely blind. Is the association between Milton and the speaker misleading? Or is the poem merely a transient expression of Milton’s apprehension? Even if Milton did not intend for himself to be the speaker, his personal experiences nevertheless permeate this description of a general human concern. The fear of unfaithful execution of service is not misplaced when it comes to one’s Maker.