[Milton-L] Leaving the Milton listserv

Carol Barton, PhD, CPCM cbartonphd1 at verizon.net
Sat Nov 4 18:26:49 EDT 2017


On the other hand . . . perhaps this is the month for incendiaries.

I would say, “Please don’t burn the Guy (he was framed, and he’s suffered enough)”—but you might think I meant the subject of this evening’s discussions.


On the Fifth of November <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C>,
At the age of seventeen

Now came pious James from the far north <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C> and began his reign over the people descended from Troy <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C> and Albion <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C>'s wide domain. And now an inviolable bond had united the Scots of Caledonia and the English sceptre. Happy and prosperous, the peace-maker was seated on his new throne, secure from enemy or secret threat. Then the fierce tyrant <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C> who rules Acheron's fiery flood <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C>, who is father of the Furies, a wanderer in exile from ethereal Olympus, had gone roaming over earth's vast orb. He was numbering his companions in crime and his faithful slaves by birth <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C>, those doomed to share his kingdom after their own miserable burials. Here he stirs up frightful storms in the middle air, there he sows hatred between like-minded friends. He arms invincible nations for intestine struggle, and overturns kingdoms once flourishing under the olive-branch of peace. He is especially keen to recruit to his power any lovers of pure virtue he can find. Master of deception, he does his best to poison the heart untouched by sin. He sets his secret traps, and stretches hidden nets to catch the unwary, just as the Caspian tigress stalks her trembling prey through trackless wastes in a moonless night while stars wink drowsily. So Summanus <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C>, shrouded in a smoking whirlwind of blue flame, falls upon nations and cities. And now appear the white cliffs <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C> and surf-beaten rocks, the land that delights the god of the sea; the land which long ago, was named for Neptune's son <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C>; that son who, having crossed the ocean, did not shrink from challenging Amphitryon's terrifying son <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C> to fearful combat, before the cruel days of Troy's demise.

As soon as he spies this land, blessed with properity and joyful peace, its fields replete with Ceres <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C>' gifts, and--what stung him even more--its people worshipping the sacred glory of the true God, he breaks out in sighs that stink of Tartarean flames and yellow sulphur, sighs like those the monstrous Tiphoeus <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C>, imprisoned by Jove under Trinacrian Aetna, blasts from his noxious mouth. His eyes flash fire; his adamantine teeth, all in a row, gnash out a noise like the din of arms, like spear grinding against spear. "I have wandered the whole world," he says, "and here I have found the only cause for tears: these are the only people to rebel against me, scorn my rule, these alone have power greater than my arts. Yet if my efforts have any effect, not long shall they continue unpunished." With that, he floats through the liquid air on pitch-black wings. Wherever he flies adverse winds rush in before him, clouds thicken, and frequent lightning flashes. 

And now he had flown swiftly over the snow-capped Alps, and reached the Ausonian <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C> frontier. To his left were the cloud-capped Apennines and the ancient Sabine land; to his right, Etruria, notorious for its sorcerers. Nor did he miss seeing where the Tiber steals kisses from Thetis. Then he alighted on the citadel of Quirinus <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C>, son of Mars.
Now when the evening dusk had returned its dubious light, the Triple Crown <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C> makes the round of the whole city, borne on men's shoulders and carrying his Gods made of bread <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C>. Before him crawl kings on submissive knees, and there is a long procession of mendicant friars <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C>. And in their hands they carry wax tapers, for they were born, and drag out their lives, in Cimmerian <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C> darkness. They proceed into churches ablaze with many candles (it was St Peter's Eve <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C>), and over and again the wailing of the chanters fills the empty domes and vacant spaces. They wail like Bromius <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C> and his crew howling and chanting orgiastic hymns on Echionian Aracynthus <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C>, while astonished Asopus <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C> shudders beneath his glassy waves and even distant Cithaeron echoes the din from its hollow cliff.

When at length the wonted rites were complete, silent Night slipped from old Erebus' embrace and, with her goading whip, urged to a headlong pace her team of horses: blind Typhlon <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C>, fierce Melanchaetes, torpid Siope, sired by an Acherontean steed, and shaggy Phrix with bristling mane.
Meanwhile the king-tamer <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C>, the heir of Phlegeton, enters his bower (this secret adulterer never spends barren nights without some sweet whore). But scarcely had sleep closed his peaceful eyes when the dark lord of shadows <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C>, and the ruler of the silent shades who preys upon men, appeared at his bedside in a false shape. His temples gleamed with false grey hair, a long beard covers his chest, his ash-coloured gown sweeps the floor with its trailing hem; a cowl dangles from his tonsured head, and to complete his disguise he has bound a hempen rope round his lecherous loins and fastened latticed sandals to his slow old feet. Francis <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C>, so the story goes, looked like this when he wandered alone in the waste wilderness and among the filthy dens of wild animals and, impious himself, carried the pious words of salvation to woodland folk, and tamed the wolves and Libyan lions.
Thus disguised, the crafty serpent parted his foul lips and uttered these words: "Do you sleep, my son? Does slumber overcome even your limbs? O unmindful of the faith and neglectful of your flocks, while a barbarous nation born beneath the Hyperborean sky ridicules your venerable throne and triple diadem; and while the British archers scorn your rights. Arise, come on, rise up, you sluggard! You whom the Roman Emperor worships, you for whom the unlocked gate of heaven's vault lies open—break their swelling spirits and insolent pride, and let these sacrilegious know the power of your curse, and what the keeper of the Apostolic key <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C> can do. Remember to avenge the scattered Hesperian fleet <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C>, and the Iberian ensigns sunk in the deep, and the bodies of so many saints nailed to the shameful cross during the Thermodontean virgin <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C>'s recent reign. But if you prefer to lie torpid in your soft bed, and refuse to crush your enemy's growing strength, he will fill the Tyrrhenian Sea with his numerous host, and plant his glittering standards on the Aventine hill. He will smash your ancient relics and burn them on the pyre, and trample your holy neck beneath his profane feet - you whose shoes kings once rejoiced to kiss! But do not challenge him to war or open conflict: that would be wasted labor; a master of deceit uses guile. Against heretics no subterfuge is disallowed.
"And now their great king calls to parliament patricians from the remotest parts of their country, the high-born men and venerable fathers in gowns and white hair. These you may scatter in the air, tear limb from limb, and burn to ashes if you ignite gunpowder under the foundations of the building in which they are assembled. Warn at once, therefore, any of the faithful still in England of this plan of action. Are there any among your followers who will hear the supreme Papal commands and fail to act? When the people are still stunned and panicked by the blast, let the fierce Frenchman or the savage Spaniard invade, returning Britain to the age of Mary, and you, once again, will rule over the warlike English. And lest you prove timid, understand that all the gods and goddesses support you, all those deities you worship on your feast-days." So spoke the deceiver, and putting off his disguise, fled to Lethe, his unspeakably joyless kingdom.

Now Tithonia's rosy spouse <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C> opens the eastern gates and dresses the gilded earth with returning light and, still mourning the sad death of her black son, she sprinkles the mountaintops with ambrosial drops. Then the doorkeeper of the starry court shook off his slumber, and rolled away the sweet dreams and visions of night.

There is a place, shut up in eternal darkness and night, once the vast foundation of a ruined pile, now the den of fierce-eyed Murder and fork-tongued Treachery, both born at once from fell Discord. Here among the rubble and jagged rocks lie unburied skeletons, and cadavers thrust through with iron. Forever here, dark and cross-eyed, sits Guile; and here are seen Strife and Calumny, her jaws armed with fangs. Here are seen Fury, a thousand kinds of death, and Fear, and bloodless Horror flying around, and ghosts slide unceasingly through the voiceless silences. And the sentient earth wails and rots in blood. Even Murder and Treachery themselves cower in the depths of that cave and, though no one pursues them through the cave (a horrible cave, jagged with rocks and black with deathly shadows) they retreat guiltily, ever looking backward. The Babylonian priest <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C> summons these champions of Rome, loyal to her through ages long, and this he says: "On the world's western edge, surrounded by the sea there dwells a people hateful to me. Prudent Nature refused to connect them to our continent because they were unworthy. Thither bend your course with all celerity--such is my command--and let the King and all his nobles, the whole wicked brood, be blown into the air by Tartarean powder. And enlist in this plot any who are fired with zeal for the true faith as ministers of the work." He ended and the fell pair eagerly obeyed him.

Meanwhile the Lord who turns the heavens' great sphere, and sends the lightning from his ethereal citadel, looks down and laughs at the vain attempts of the wicked crew, and will defend his people's cause himself. There is, men say, a place that looks out on Lake Mareotis, which separates the Asian continent from fertile Europe. Here stands the high tower of Fame <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C>, daughter of the Titaness, brazen, broad, full of noise and nearer to the twinkling stars than Athos, or Pelion piled upon Ossa. A thousand doors and entrances stand open, and as many windows, and the spacious halls within shine through the thin walls. Here a swarming crowd sends up a confused murmur, like the buzzing of flies around the milking pails or through the wattled sheepfolds when the Dog Star scales the steeps of heaven to its summer height. Fame herself, her mother's avenger, sits at the topmost pinnacle, and raises her head studded all round with countless ears; with these she can detect even the tiniest sounds and catch the faintest whisper from the remotest corners of the globe. Not even you, son of Arestor <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C>, cruel guardian of the heifer Isis, had so many eyes rolling in your cruel face as she—eyes that never doze in silent sleep, eyes that sweep, far and wide, over the lands below. With these she often penetrates unlighted places, where even the sun's rays cannot go. Then, her thousand tongues wagging, she carelessly divulges all she has heard and seen to anyone. Now with lies she dilutes the truth, and sometimes she embellishes it with her own confections.
But still, Fame, you have deserved praise in our song for one good report, and there was never a rumor more truly honest. You are worthy of our song, and I shall never regret having commemorated you at such length in my verse. We English, who were plainly saved by your good offices, wandering goddess, render to you just thanks. God who tends the eternal fires in their motions, hurled down a thunderbolt and then, the earth still trembling, addressed you: "Are you silent, Fame? Is this band of impious Papists hidden from your sight, this crew that has conspired against me and my Britons, and this novel kind of murder been planned against King James?”

No more said he, but she responded at once to the Thunderer's commands, and, though swift of flight before, now she puts on creaking wings and covers her thin body with parti-coloured plumes. In her right hand she takes a sonorous Temesaean trumpet <applewebdata://95BAC0BA-AF50-4FA9-8239-60DF9B79AE9C>. Without delay, she beats the yielding air with her wings. And not content to outstrip the rushing clouds, she soon leaves behind her the winds and the horses of the sun. As usual she first spreads ambiguous rumours and vague rumors throughout the English towns, and then in a clear voice she makes public the plots and foul deeds of treason, unspeakably horrible; and she even names the authors of the crime. Nor does her garrulity conceal the places prepared for this ambush. Her news amazes young men, frightened girls and weak old men alike. People of all ages are suddenly struck to the heart by the sense of so great a disaster.
But meanwhile the heavenly father looked down from above with pity on his people, and thwarted the Papists' cruel attempt. They are seized and taken off to severe punishments. Sacred incense is burned and grateful honours paid to God. All the joyous crossroads smoke with genial fumes; the young people dance in crowds, for in all the year there is no day more celebrated than the fifth of November.

Carol Barton, PhD, CPCM
cbartonphd1 at verizon.net

A THOUGHT FOR TODAY:
I have lived in this world just long enough to look carefully the second time into things that I am most certain of the first time. -Josh Billings, columnist and humorist (21 Apr 1818-1885)

> On Nov 4, 2017, at 5:59 PM, Brendan Prawdzik <brendanprawdzik at gmail.com> wrote:
> 
> Dear all,
> 
> It saddens me that the posts of one individual and the responses to those posts have so much damaged the general perception of this list.  In my time on this list, the conversation has been degraded through the bizarre infestations of two individuals; nothing has degraded the conversation as much as the intellectually vacuous malevolence that we have seen recently.
> 
> We can look nostalgically toward days of more civil and enriching discussion, but in truth, I have read so many enriching posts on this list in the last few years that it seems unfair to judge the list itself or to suggest that the many gracious, thoughtful, and careful contributors of recent years represent some kind of diminished age.  The list has been abused at times, and this abuse has caused frustration, which itself has only rendered the abuse more injurious.
> 
> Certainly, the entire list suffers discredit from plagiarized postings alone.  I think that we have been too kind in humoring the idea that this plagiarism was accidental or the  product of ignorance.  When I pointed out that he was a plagiarist (one who willfully plagiarizes), we received a craven response replete with the type of eye-rolling excuses and falsehoods with which most of us our familiar, from deluded, self-abasing, or simply unethical students (however few they might be).  It's the lowest form of intellectual debate.  To forebear because of a loosely conceived sense of freedom of speech or freedom of intellectual expression - neither of which is at stake here - seems to me naive.  
> 
> The most notorious exception to freedom of the press in Areopagitica has, of course, to do with Catholics.  The reason why Milton excepts Catholic writing from his general argument is that, he claims, it actively seeks to undermine the very freedoms that would countenance it.  Of course, the Milton list is not the public sphere and does not represent the public sphere.  Regardless of his intent, the man who continues to troll this list continues to stir a debate that merely serves to undermine the discourse.  He should be blocked from this list, and I see no reason to regret his exclusion.  There are endless venues where he can try to voice his incoherent and racist views.  However, those venues will have their own standards and limits of tolerance.  Few venues other than an email listserv (or a self-published blog) would permit the incessant self-publishing of lazy and malicious writing.  Anyone with fingers and access to email can contaminate such a list as this, can stir it into an embarrassing chaos.  Let this person publish elsewhere, even if from self-carried soap box, to his own shame and humiliation.  
> 
> When I referred to "many stripes and colors" (an admittedly silly phrase) in my previous post, I was simply gesturing to the fact that the intellectual (and political) diversity of this list has been savagely misrepresented.  And the discussion that has emerged has only deepened the impression that we are one body, one voice, against an increasingly self-martyrizing antagonist.  Let us reclaim our intellectual and political diversity and continue to make each other better.
> 
> Carl's suggestion that we "ignore him to oblivion" is wise.  Nonetheless, we are still subject to incessant and cheap provocations that will further discredit this list, will compel more conversant to turn away, and will discourage others (esp. emergent scholars) from joining. 
> 
> My own abhorrence of our troll has nothing to do with politics.  It has to do with personal insults, ignorance, lazy writing, plagiarism, self-aggrandizement, and, above all, the willful degrading of intellectual discussion.  Let us get back to genuine conversation. I ask the moderator to ban this person and hope that no version of such reappears.
> 
> Best to all, 
> 
> Brendan
> 
> 
> On Sat, Nov 4, 2017 at 5:02 PM, Brandon Taylor <thenewpulp at gmail.com <mailto:thenewpulp at gmail.com>> wrote:
> Hello, everyone. I have yet to reply to this list for any number of reasons, but I feel compelled to do so now. I am a PhD student in Milton Studies and I have been following this list for some time. I must say regrettably that I am firmly in agreement with Ryan Paul that the openness of this list is incredibly useful but it should also be managed carefully, at least with respect to explicit trolling, self-aggrandizement, or content that could easily be deemed as inflammatory. 
> 
> All of these boxes have been firmly checked by the Terrance Lindall and I believe some measures should be taken to exclude said person from the email list to the benefit of the greater Milton community. When it comes to the argument of free speech, particularly in the case of belligerence, I am reminded of this quotation from Milton's Areopagitica: "Give me the liberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely according to conscience, above all liberties." We must pay particular attention to Milton's qualification: according to conscience. Given the relative silence on this list, and the very well articulated points brought forward by Ryan Paul, I think the collective conscience of this group knows what measures must be taken, but we must find the courage to do so.
> 
> When I read the wonderful and engaging contributions of John Leonard or Richard Strier, I see very clearly the potential for this list. We should strive to do better.
> 
> With that in mind, I am not leaving this list. However, I am firmly and resolutely recommending that we no longer allow Terrance Lindall to circulate messages on this platform.
> 
> I am hoping that others agree and, if so, they will speak up.
> 
> Thanks,
> Brandon Taylor
> 
> On Sat, Nov 4, 2017 at 4:21 PM, Carol Barton, PhD, CPCM <cbartonphd1 at verizon.net <mailto:cbartonphd1 at verizon.net>> wrote:
> I, for one, am sorry to see you both go—and I’m sorry for the quasi-“tolerance” among some members of the present-day Milton list that condones, even abets, this sort of thing.
> 
> One of the most endearing accomplishments of the Milton list, and indeed, the Miltonic community, until recent years was its civility, its genial embrace of *all* members (not just those with hefty OUP or CUP publications under their arms), and its abiding decency. I remember taking Tom Kranidas to his first Murfreesboro conference. He was astonished to be unable to tell the accomplished scholars from the newcomers by the way they engaged with or treated one another . . .  and when the likes of Kris and Charley and JTS and Stella Revard and ALabriola and Derek Wood and Bill Hunter and Balanchandra Rajan and the others of their generation (forgive me, any old friends whose names I’ve missed) were the constellations, every thread was a “must read.”
> 
> That isn’t the case, in recent years, and it’s sad.
> 
> I wish you both all the best, Katie and Ryan, and I’m sorry that I can’t say something more encouraging to convince you to stay. To do so would be hypocritical. I feel marginalized myself.
> 
> Best to all,
> 
>  
> Carol Barton
> 
> 
>> On Nov 4, 2017, at 4:08 PM, Katie Calloway <Katie_Calloway at baylor.edu <mailto:Katie_Calloway at baylor.edu>> wrote:
>> 
>> Hello, list,
>> 
>> While I’ve enjoyed listening in on the discussions down the years, I will be following Ryan Paul off the listserv in solidarity.  (I realize this is not great loss as I’ve contributed maybe twice!)  
>> 
>> Best,
>> 
>> Katie Calloway
>> 
>> Katherine Calloway
>> Postdoctoral Fellow
>> Department of English
>> Baylor University
>> One Bear Place #97404
>> Waco, TX  76798-7404
>> (254) 710-6883 <tel:(254)%20710-6883>
>> Katie_Calloway at baylor.edu <mailto:Katie_Calloway at baylor.edu>
>> 
>> 
>> 
>> 
>>> On Nov 4, 2017, at 2:43 PM, Ryan Paul <ryanspaul at gmail.com <mailto:ryanspaul at gmail.com>> wrote:
>>> 
>>> Dear All,
>>> 
>>> This is a note to say that I am leaving the Milton listerv.
>>> 
>>> I'm not a Miltonist per se, and I don't contribute often to the discussion, so my departure from the list probably won't mean much to many of you. But I think I at least have to make a small statement about why I'm leaving.
>>> 
>>> This list could be a lively, fascinating, and educational venue for us to share ideas. It is full of brilliant scholars with great minds. But, it has been hijacked by a troll spouting thinly veiled white supremacist rhetoric and self-promoting his two-bit, hack "artwork." 
>>> 
>>> I appreciate the devotion to a Miltonic belief in the free exchange of controversial ideas that many of you have espoused. It is admirable, particularly in these days of acrimonious division. But I think your faith in our troll's better nature is misplaced. 
>>> 
>>> Perhaps if you haven't spent much time in the dark underbelly of the internet, you don't recognize trolling for what it is. It is fairly clear, to me at least, that Terrance Lindall has no abiding interest in Milton, Milton studies, or in promoting collegial intellectual discourse. His only interests are self-promotion and spreading hatred; maybe there's a third rail there too: the sick pleasure trolls get from pushing people's buttons and making the marginalized feel even more so. 
>>> 
>>> It seems that at least 50% of the emails I get from this list are about Lindall and his nonsense: whether to ban him, whether he's racist, whether or not Milton would approve. This does nothing to improve my understanding of Milton or 17th century poetry or any other related subject. All it does is fill my inbox with more free advertising for a quasi-fascist of very, very minor talents. 
>>> 
>>> I know no one wants to play the role of Empson's God and moderate this listserv, but chaos and racist nonsense is not conducive to the pursuit of truth. As a Renaissance scholar and a person of color, I expected and hoped for much better from an academic community. I hope that this community will organize itself, bounce the alt right trolling with a permanent ban, and turn its attention to important, meaningful matters related to Milton. Until then, I'm out.
>>> 
>>> Peace and love to all of you, 
>>> And may Terrance Lindall one day be cured of the hatred that motivates him.
>>> 
>>> Ryan Paul
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>>> 
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> 
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> 
> 
> -- 
> Dr. Brendan Prawdzik
> 
> 
> BA Rutgers University, 2001
> PhD The University of California, Berkeley, 2009
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