A couple of years ago, I was on a Milton panel at a conference, and for some reason I can't quite recall, I asked one of my fellow panelists about Intelligent Design theory and what Milton might've made about the recent debates about it. This panelist declared (somewhat unsurprisingly) that he thought Milton would've endorsed Intelligent Design, and then went on to proclaim (more surprisingly) that atheism would be proven but a minor blip in the history of ideas. Another panelist was sufficiently taken aback by this claim to point out that the Intelligent Design party is so very stupid (his word) and that Milton was enough of an intellectual snob to dissociate himself from such a crowd.

I recall this minor exchange because it raises, in my mind, a silly question with big consequences: if we could resurrect Milton and give him a few years to catch up on the last several centuries worth of history, would he remain a devout Christian or would he become an atheist? A silly question, of course, because it's a playgroundish bit of impossible what-if thinking. But I think it's important because our answer reveals what kind of Milton we imagine. Answers to this question aren't simply black-and-white, since we have to allow for a suppler definition of what it means to be a devout Christian. Still, I think that divergent answers to this question will ultimately point to a belief in the different Miltons that John Rumrich has described: either a doctrinaire Milton who knows the answers to the big questions, or a Milton who asks the big questions sincerely, in a spirit of genuine interrogation. (And, yes, I am simply assuming that developments in history--intellectual and otherwise--between Milton's time and our own have pointed to atheism as the more reasonable position.)

As much as my sympathies lie with Rumrich's claim for the open-ended Milton, it's also clear that the capacious or "progressive" attitudes that we find in Milton all have clearly defined limits. Familiar examples abound: belief in intellectual/spiritual compability as essential to marriage encounters a limit in adherence to patriarchy, so that only a husband should be able to seek divorce; the claim against censorship and for freedom in publication and enquiry does not extend to Roman Catholics. It seems simply true that theism itself would be such a limit: sincere intellectual enquiry might only be sanctioned insofar as it upholds rather than challenges a basic belief in God. The Chorus in Samson Agonistes, echoing the Psalmist, declares that if atheists even exist, "they walk obscure, / For of such doctrine never was there school / But the heart of the fool." And Adam's first waking experience is a kind of Intelligent Design fantasy, as his unaided reason quickly reaches the conclusion that "some great Maker" must have made the nature around him as well as himself. (Eve, on the other hand, reaches no such conclusion on her own.)

I do want to leave some wiggle room for the flexible Milton, the one who might allow even a belief as seemingly non-negotiable as theism to be shaken by debate and reason. Much of Milton's appeal as a thinker stems from his unending struggle toward the truth, from his quest to constantly refine his ideas about God, self, and world. On the other hand, much of his appeal as an artist stems from clashes and fundamental impasses, from the intensity of his effort to balance principles and commitments that prove simply incompatible.

Maybe a present-day Milton would remain a devout Christian, but would internalize so many challenges to his belief system as to undercut it severely. Maybe Milton would quit himself like Milton by being in the camp of foolish atheists without ever admitting it to himself.