LESLIE MELYIN THOMPSON, B*A* A THESIS IN ENGLISH …
Transcript of LESLIE MELYIN THOMPSON, B*A* A THESIS IN ENGLISH …
TRAGIC CONFLICT AND THE PARADOX OF FAITH
b y
LESLIE MELYIN THOMPSON, B*A*
A THESIS
IN
ENGLISH
Submitted to the Graduate Faculty of Texas Technological College In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for
the Degree of
MASTER OF ARTS
Approved
June, 1963
ACKN0Vn[.EDOEMENTS
Q _ , C f vi I (r-^^
Appreciation Is gratefully aolmovledged to Professor J* T* McCullen for his kindly help and scholarly guidance In directing this thesis* Acknovledgement of gratitude Is also extended to the members of the Texas Technological College Library staff for their generous cooperation*
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter Page
I* INTHODIJCTION * I
II* THE ESSENCE OF TRAGEDY AND THE POWER
OF FAITH * 8
III* MEDIEVAL AND RENAISSANCE RELIGIOUS l^AMA* • k6
IV* THE ELIZABETHAN VORLD AND THE MATURITY OF TRAGEDY* * * 62
Y* THE WHEEL GOES FULL CIRCLE 75 CONCLUSION * * * * * * 107
BIBLIOOiiAPHY* • * * * * * • * * II3
i l l
Chapter I
Introduction
Tragedy plays an Integral part In the lives of men,
and perhaps man's Intimate acquaintance vlth tragedy helps
account for the unique position that It holds In the litera
ture of Western Civilisation* Since Aristotle first postu
lated his theory of tragedy, men have constantly evaluated
and re-evaluated dramatic tragedy; but despite this con
stant attention, a study of dramatic conflict Is still
Justifiable* The objective of this paper Is to re-examine
the origins and bases of Elizabethan tragedy* The purpose
Is not to postulate a new theory of Ellaabethan tragedy or
to even consider the gamut of tragic theory* Instead, this
study vlll concentrate on the element of conflict as one
of the essential components of tragedy and vlll attempt to
relate this vital element of tragedy to the equally vital
element of faith*
Both conflict and faith are necessary for the creation
of tragedy, but their place In tragedy has often been either
overlooked or neglected* Where faith Is nonexistent, It Is
Impossible for tragedy to develop; for man cannot reach
heroic or tragic proportions vhen he is buffeted about by
completely deterministic elements over vhlch he has no con
trol* He may, as in the case of Oedipus, be fated to come
to some dire end; but even such a seemingly deterministic
I
position as Oedipaa's presupposes an Ultimate Order as a
basis for faith* Indeed, Oedipus heroically meets his dis
aster; but eventually he Is reconciled vlth the gods, and
throughout his ordeal he retains his dignity and his faith
that life has some meaning*
When tragedy becomes pessimistic about the vorth and
meaning of man*s activity In this vorld, there quite ob
viously Is a limit beyond vhlch It cannot go and still be
tragedy* The tragic poet leaves the realm of tragedy vhen
he represents life as nBrev Justifying hope, yet Ironically
producing the momentary vlll to live and some consequent
struggle* Deeper pessimism vould lead only to apathy and
a cessation of straggle, and drama Is impossible vlthout a
struggle* Extreme pessimism, therefore, tends to be nothing
more than a diatribe against life and the apparently mean-
Ingless forces that overpover man*
On the other hand, faith may become so strong as to
preclude the possibility of tragedy* If man's faith Is
such that he Is destined to ultimate victory regardless of
idiat he does or vt9t happens to him In this vorld, then
tragedy cannot develop* Indeed, tragedy comes about as a
tenuous balance betveen optimism and pessimism, and the
Hrillard Famham, I]UL Medieval Harltaaa gf fUlNhlttin Tragedy (Oxford! Basil Blackford, 1956), pp* 8-9. Here-after cited as Famham, Medieval Heyitaaa.
slightest deviation In favor of either of these tvo points
of view rules out the possibility of tragedy.
Faith Is a vord subject to myriads of interpretations,
most of vhlch are contingent upon an understanding of the
religion or system of ethics upon vhlch the particular be
lief is based* The Greek concept of faith, for example,
presupposes an entirely different concept than does the
Christian* Great tragedy, hovever, has been created upon
the foundation of both concepts* In this paper, numerous
connotations and bases of faith vlll be discussed vlth
especial attention being focused upon Christian" faith*
Of course, even vlthln the confines of Christianity faith
assumes many facets, and one of the alms of this paper vlll
be to define the various attitudes tovard faith and to re
late these attitudes to the development and demise of tragedy
during the Klisabethan era*
The question may arise as to the validity of studying
only tvo facets, conflict and faith, of a subject so many-
sided as lllsabethan tragedy* It seems, hovever, that both
conflict and faith are omnipresent and necessary factors in
man's dally life$ and tragedy originates in man's search
for meaning in life* Conflict, like faith, comprises one
of the basic elements in tragedy; for it provides the basis
for the struggle that eventually makes or breaks the tragic
hero* The purpose of concentrating exclusively on these tvo
factors of Ellaabethan tragedy vlll be to point out the
fine line upon vhlch this tragedy vas created and to dis
close the essence of dramatic tragedy in the Elizabethan
or any era*
Man lives in a vorld of conflict* Beset as he is on
every side by divers voes, man seeks to ameliorate his
plight* Did Eve thus doom her progeny vhen first she par
took of that forbidden fruit, or vas it from Pandora's
fatal dowry that homo sapiens' sorrovs first emanated? Sages
from time immemorial have altercated, often vlth more heat
than light, upon this moot point; and man, too busy living
to engage in such dispute, has attempted to fathom meaning
from the velter of experiences, frustrations, sorrovs, and
tribulations called life.
Those elusive halcyon days that perpetually live in the
mind of man are mere dreams; for experience has taught him
the Impossibility of living a life free from manifold ob
structions. In all his endeavors, man finds himself opposed
by myriads of obstacles; and arising in the vake of all these
frustrations and struggles, vhether great or small, are the
conflicts that form such an integral part of this experience
called living. The gamut of mankind, from potentate to pavn,
has reacted, each in his ovn vay to man's common quandry;
for each living being, regardless of his goals, rank, or
milieu, aspires to evade or conquer the discord of life.
Man may never ascertain the Issues of existence, nor find
even one single tenet for hlch he can gain universal ad
herence; but as long as he probes the Issues and problems
that confront the individual man, hope still remains*
Being the inquisitive creature that he is, man has
alvays sought to search out and explore life's conflicts
in all their facets* His seeking spirit has taken such di
verse forms as religious ritual, superstitious incantations,
music, and literature* Of all man's Intellectual forays,
hovever, literature has probably most successfully plumbed
and portrayed life's conflicts; and drama, of all the art
forms, has most powerfully depicted man's predicament* Man
has an insatiable desire * to knov,^ and it is his questing
and probing that have led to an analysis of the bases and
relationships of dramatic conflict* Of course, man's
appetite for knovledge has not limited itself to a study of
human beings, and in the form of technology It has taken a
rather ominous turn; for his ability to invent and produce
has far outreaehed his ability to assimilate and comprehend*
In truth, man still vresties vlth the same problems
that have alvays confronted him* He still hates, fears,
kills, and envies; but on the other hand, he still loves,
sacrifices, and forgives, and these are the qualities that
revard the explorer of human characteristics* It is that
fragile thing called hoisan dignity, especially in the face
of defeat, that gives meaning to the conflict and tragedy
of drama* If Paradise still prevailed, then tragedy in
life vould be as impossible as that of religious drama;
but tragedy is an Integral part of this life, and i^ drama
it can, vlth varying degrees of complexity, be brought
about by veavlng together the various sources and kinds of
conflict* In certain small essentials, conflicts in drama
may differ from those in life; but the former is a product
of the latter and it derives its vitality, purpose, and
meaning from man's ovn experiences*
Any study dealing vlth the nature of tragedy must of
necessity rely heavily upon the definition of terms* Ac
cordingly, the first c3iapter of this paper vlll, for the
most part, concern Itself vlth the definition and clarif1-
cation of t«7m£. The discussion vlll center upon tvo major
points! the essence of tragedy and the pover of faith*
Tragedy vlll be considered vlth regard to its origins, its
primary elements and their use in drama, and the Middle
Age and Renaissance eonceptlons of tragedy* Faith llkevlse
vlll be regarded from several points of vlev* It vlll be
traced from its role in ancient myth and ritual, up through
the Ellaabethan era* Especial attention vlll be given to
the exclusive Catholic vlev of the Middle Ages and the human
istic and Protestant vlevpolnts of the Renaissance and Ref
ormation* As regards the discussion of faith, it vlll be
necessary to relate various forces that, during the Middle
Ages and Renaissance, strongly influenced or modified the
faith of the Catholic Church* The second chapter will sur
vey English drama from its origins in the Church in the
ninth century until its birth as a full grown literary
genre in the early Elizabethan era* The third chapter vlll
deal vlth the maturation of tragedy and the Elizabethan
vorld picture as it affected tragedy* The fourth chapter
will consist of an analysis of tvo plays - Marlove's
py* Faustus and Shakespeare's Timon fi£ Athens. These tvo
plays have been chosen for analysis because they seem to
typify Elizabethan tragedy In its ascent and its descent
respectively* The emphasis in these analyses vlll center
upon tragic conflict and faith vlth the aim of bringing
to focus the previous discussion of their origin and develop
ment* It is hoped that a concentration on these tvo plays
vlll underscore the vital part that conflict and faith played
In the birth and death of Elizabethan tragedy* The con
clusion vlll sum up the purpose, results, and Importance of
this study*
Chapter II
THE ESSENCE OF TRAGEDY AND THE POWER OF FAITH
Man has never been at peace in the vorld* He alvays
has some battle to fight or some mountain to climb* He
constantly finds himself embroiled in some conflict, and
his attempts to placate the moving force or forces behind
the universe have given birth to the tragic impulse in man*
Considerable scholarly debate centers around the question
concerning the origin of tragedy, but for the purpose of
this study certain clear lines of development can be ascer
tained* Before discussing them, hovever, it vlll be vorth-
vhlle to probe into the nature of conflict*
A pervasive dichotomy pervades the discussion of both
tragedy and conflict, for man has an innate tendency to
equate these elements as they are found In drama directly
vlth corresponding situations in life* Dramatic tragedy
neither proposes nor attempts to present a photographic
reproduction of life* The tragic elements in drama derive
their validity from the fact that they have their origin
in the conflict and tragedy of life itself; but by transcend
Ing the typical, the mundane, and the ordinary as ends In
themselves, dramatic tragedy attempts to fathom the deeper
meanings and purposes of life that run deep vlthln the
conscious and subconscious mind of man* Indeed, It treats
8
of the forces, both knovn and unknovn, that motivate man
in his search for meaning and purpose in life*
Conflict grovs out of the Interplay of the two oppos
ing forces In a plot, and it is conflict that provides the
elements of Interest and suspense in any form of fiction,
vhether it be drama, a novel, or a short story* At least
one of the opposing forces is usually a person, or, if an
animal or inanimate object, it is treated as thoui^ it vera
a person* There are many types of conflict in vhlch this
person, usually the protagonist, may be involved* There Is
conflict betveen man and man, man and society, man and the
forces of nature; or t%ro elements vlthln man may struggle
for mastery* A fifth possible kind of conflict is often
cited, the struggle against Fate or destiny; hovever, except
vhen the gods themselves actively appear, such a struggle is
realized throui^ the action of one or more of the four basic
conflicts.^
Physical conflict alone does not provide an adequate
basis for fiction* The term conflict implies the struggle
of a protagonist against someone or something, but it also
implies the existence of some motivation for the conflict •a
or some goal to be achieved by it**
^Cleaath Brooks and Robert Penn Warren, Understanding a (Hev York I Appleton-Century-Crofts, 19* 3 )t PP» 578-79. Fiction
William Flint Thrall* Addison Hlbbard, and Hugh Uolman, Literature p. lo?.
A Handbook to Literature (2d ed* rev*; Nev Yorki The Odyssey Press, 1960)7 P»
10
In very fev Instances does a person find a single
conflict in a plot, but rather a complex one partaking of
tvo or even all the elements mentioned above* Hamlet, for
example, is confronted by both external and internal con
flict* The basic conflict is vlthln Hamlet himself t can
he believe the ghost? can he afford to commit suicide?
can he afford to take revenge? But he also struggles
against his uncle as protagonists he demands here and nov
a vorld in which he can sort out good and evil* In great
art, the elements of conflict are so varied and skillfully
intervoven that the reader is often hardly cognizant of
them, but they eventually culminate and give purpose and
meaning to the plot* Indeed, conflict is the rav material
out of \dilch plot is constructed*
Men, from generation to generation, have attributed
the origin of conflict to numerous sources, and the explana
tions given for its origin in the vorld are directly tied
in vlth the origins of drama vhlch vlll be considered later*
Theories concerning the sources of conflict evidence the
Influence of the society in vhloh they vere promulgated,
and for this reason they often attribute conflict to diver
gent and antithetical sources* In vlev of these differences,
it is often felt necessary to differentiate betveen classical
drama, vhlch attributes human disaster to fate, and modem
II
tragedy, \iAU.oh attributes it to human character* D* D*
Raphael espouses the theory that all tragedy presents a
conflict, and that it is a conflict betveen man and in
evitable pover vhlch may be called necessity* He feels
that it is superficial to make the difference between clas
sical and Shakespearean tragedy turn on the distinction
betveen supernatural and psychological causes, for either
or both of the concepts could be held responsible for the
Inevitable defeat of the tragic heroes in both classical
and Elizabethan drama* Raphael points out, finally, that
the conflict is vlth necessity - Inevitable pover that is
bound to defeat any opposition*
For the most part, Raphael's theory is quite acceptable,
but In this paper it vlll be necessary to make some distinc
tion betveen the classical and Christian points of vlev;
for it is basically the Christian concept of the origin of
conflict that permeated the Elizabethan vorld and provided
the basis for its tragedy* Great tragedy has thrived on
the basis of both concepts, hovever, and the distinction
need not be a rigid one*
Much of the complexity of conflict derives from the
numerous levels at vhlch it may voxk* Running throughout
tragic conflict is a paradoxical element that intensifies
fllf Paradox of Traaedy (Bloomlngton, Indiana! Indiana University Press, 19o0), pp* 25-26*
12
the predicament of the tragic hero* On the natural plane,
the hero inevitably succumbs to the strength of his adversary;
vhereas on the spiritual plane the hero appears great in his
necessarily futile struggle* The greatness of the tragic
hero lies in his triumph on the spiritual plane. A study
of the origin of drama reveals the delicate relationship
that exists between conflict on the human level and the
origin of drama* Man, it seems, finds himself innately at
conflict with the forces that govern the world - both spiritual
and physical* The Christian tradition explains this conflict
as the natural result of man's disobedience in the Garden of
Eden* Boccaccio declares that all of man's miseries and
misfortunes entered the vorld through the Fall of Man."
Man's rash disobedience then subjected the vrorld to evil
forces against vhlch it is useless to struggle or strive to
understand. For reasons that vlll be discussed later, this
potentially tragic source of conflict failed to culminate
in tragic drama until it reached fruition during the Elizabethan
era* *'The Renaissance increasingly felt stresses and strains
betveen the parts of its soul, but it had to vait for
Shakespeare to achieve profound tragedy based upon inner
struggle or spiritual civil war*'*
^Ibid*. p* 28*
famham, l^fjlfy^l aaHias&f PP- 35-86*
'^llaia*. p« 51*
13
Renaissance humanism intensified the conflict that
raged la man's soul, for it brought into direct struggle the
othervorldliness of the Middle Ages and the vorldllness of
the Renaissance* Further development of tragic conflict vlll
be given later, but before dismissing this topic, attention
needs to be given to recent criticisms that hold forth the
possibility of tragedy vlthout conflict. William Archer
credits conflict vlth being one of the most dramatic elements
In life, and he concedes that many dramas - perhaps most -
turn upon strife of one sort or another* He feels, hovever,
that conflict is not indispensable to drama, and as examples
he cites the Balcony Scene in Romeo ua^ Juliet, the death
soene of Cleopatra, and the Banquet Scene in Macbeth. Archer
is speaking of drama in general and is considering conflict
as a clash of vllls* Nevertheless, he seems to overlook the
underlying conflict that forms the basis of each of these
scenes*
A muoh more Important modem theory of tragedy, vhlch
concerns Elizabethan tragedy at least, is that of Hegel as
explained by A. C. Bradley*^ Bradley points out that in
all tragedy there is some sort of collision or conflict -
^Play Making! A OSSML 9L Craftam^ahiii (Nev York! Dodd, Mead and Company, 1926), pp. 31-32*
9 A, C* Bradley, **Hegel'8 Theory of Tragedy," Criticiami
l^f foandatlons o^ isflftm Literary Judgment, ed* Mark Schorer, Josephina Miles, aad Gordon McKenzle (Nev York! Hareourt, Brace and Company, l^fS), pp* 55-66*
Ih
conflict of feelings, modes of thought, desires, wills,
purposes; conflict of persons with one another, or with
circumstances, or with themselves. The peculiarity set forth
by Hegel is that he does not stress the obvious suffering of
tragedy, but passes over it to emphasize the conflict or
action. Mere suffering is not tragic, but only the suffering
that comes of a special kind of action. Tragic conflict
appeals to the spirit because it is itself a conflict of
the spirit. It is a conflict, that is to say, between
powers that rule the world of man's will and action - his
ethical substanceI The family and the state, the bond of
parent and child, of brother and sister, of husband with
wife, of citizens and ruler, or citizen and citizen, with
the obligations and feelings appropriate to these bonds;
and again the powers of personal love and honor, or of
devotion to a great cause or an ideal interest like religion
or science or some kind of social welfare - such as the
forces exhibited in tragic action; not indeed alone, not
without others less affirmative and perhaps even evil, but
still in preponderating mass. And as they form the sub
stance of man, are common to all civilized men, and are
acknowledged as powers rightfully claiming human allegiance,
their eidiibition in tragedy has that interest, at once deep
and universal, which is essential to a great work of art.
Bradley makes one particular amplification of Hegel's
theory that has special significance for the study of
15
Elizabethan tragedy* He brings forth the idea that tragedy
portrays a self-division and self-waste of spirit* The
implication is that on both sides in the conflict there is
a spiritual value* In other words, tragic conflict does not
merely pit good against evil but also poses good against
good - "good" here means aziythlng thAt has spiritual value,
not moral goodness alone, and "evil" has an equally wide
sense*^^ The value of this new dimension is that it adds
depth and meaning to such characters as Antigone and Macbeth*
The element of conflict, therefore, runs deep within the
human breast, and its many Internal and external ramifica
tions lend a tragic tenor to man's existence*
The role of conflict in the Elizabethan world and
especially in Elizabethan tragedy will be taken Into account
later; but for the present, attention vlll be focused on the
origins of tragedy* No inclusive, all encompassing theory
of the origins of tragedy has yet been established, although
many scholars concur in the belief that it evolved from
primitive myth and ritual* Certainly the element of conflict
is deep seated in human nature and stems from man's age old
struggle vlth the povers of this vorld* Elizabethan tragedy
ostensibly arose in the ritual of the Church of the Middle
Ages; yet the profound underlying currents of conflict that
motivated this conception are much older than the Church*
10 'llLUL*t P* 62*
16
As a means of elucidating their part in Elizabethan drama,
it is necessary to trace some of these currents to their
ancient sources*
To the average cultured, scientifically oriented person,
life is not the dark, foreboding, sinister form of existence
that it vas to his predecessors thousands or millions of
years ago* The same problems may exist, but dovn through
the centuries they have been refined and sophisticated*
Indeed, man's so-called "advances" may become the source of
a greater peril than has ever before confronted him* Never
theless, modern life does not have the day-to-day urgency
and perilousness that it did for our progenitors* Baffled
by the uncertainties and transcience that surrounds him,
ancient man sought, through myth and religious incantation
to placate the foreboding, hostile povers that plagued him*
From the dawn of creation, man has been at conflict with
himself and the world about him* Regardless of the source
of this conflict, and myriad accounts of its origin have
been given, man's attempts to satisfy the gods and his own
deeper sense of dignity formed fhe nucleus around which
tragedy eventually grew* At first, man performed these
rites as a purely life and death matter, but in the course
of time he began to plumb deeper into his own soul and vent
his own deeper longings and aspirations* In the classical
Greek era and later in the Elizabethan era, these aspirations
and despairs found expression in tragedy* The process by
17
vhlch this grovth took place cannot be precisely defined;
but the overall development is discernible in broad out
lines, and it is these general lines that vlll be followed
in this study*
Aristotle informs us that tragedy grew out of the
Dithyramb sung in honor of the god Dionysus* Gilbert
Murray and other English scholars developed the thesis
that the rites of Dionysus in turn grew out of the pre
historic ritual of the Year-Daemon, who annually died and
was reborn* These rites, which were at first pure magic,
were common throughout the Near East* They rested on the
belief that man could bend nature to his own causes by a
ritual enactment of the desired event* Man clung to these
practices because they seemed to work; the crops grew almost
every year as tangible, visible evidence of their effective
ness*^*"
Rituals gradually spread to other areas of human ex
perience* A ritual developed to assure the physical sur
vival of the community became a means of spiritual survival
for the individual* A human sacrifice took upon himself
the guilt and sin of the entire community and by his death
Insured life and prosperity for those who remained. Thus,
the scapegoat came to play a vital part in the welfare of
II Herbert J* Muller, Ibl, fifiiitlt Sl Tragedy (New Yorki
Alfred A. Knopf, 1956), ppT2»f-28*
I8
the community* As these practices became more refined, the
scapegoat was killed and resurrected symbolically* This
dying god finally gave birth to the mystery religions that
promised salvation both in this life and the life to come*
From these practices, Herbert Weislnger developed his theory
of the Fortunate Fall which, due to its Importance for the
consideration of Elizabethan tragedy, will be fully dis
cussed by itself*
Ceremonies were an absolute necessity for men who lived
in a vorld that vas a perpetual battlefield* Each day the
sun fought a battle vlth darkness and vlth the latter^s
apparent victory vlth the advent of night, superstitious
and Ignorant men could only hope that the sun vould rise
again* Other patterns of appearance and disappearance, of
victory and defeat, of hope and despair vere manifested
throughout life; and the story of the dying, resurrected
god came to embody the basic rhythm of nature, the cycle of
birth, death, and birth again*
The annual triumph of life over death may be interpreted as the triumph of light over darkness, of order over chaos, of good over evil* Llkevlse it supports man's stubborn refusal to accept the plain evidence of his senses, that death is the end for him*12
Ritual at first vorked on a merely cause and effect
basis and made no attempt to explain the universe* Myth,
^^Itll*, p. 26*
19
scholars nov believe, vas intimately interwoven into the
overall observance* It had no Independent existence and
vas nothing more tJian an explanation of the thing done*
Progressively it assumed a more important function and
presumed to Interpret the thing done; finally It embarked
on an Independent career* The Importance of this occur
rence to the study of tragedy is the myth of the hero*
Myth making correlates vlth man's propensity to imbue
the universe vltli his ovn characteristics* Ironically, man
himself is largely the author of his ovn predicament; for
the objects of his greatest conflict are of his ovn creation*
As primitive man struggled against the alien forces of the
universe, he inevitably endoved them vlth his ovn traits
and ascribed to them the pover to thvart his desires and
needs* As a potential source for dramatic development, this
ambivalent attraction has proved Invaluable* Parley A*
Christensen succinctly sums up the essence of the process!
Thus in an hour of unconscious but fateful pride, or hubris man began a spiritual invasion of the universe, first in the land, sea, and air of his environing vorld, and eventually in the limitless reaches of the cosmos* Into beings, real or Imaginary, he breathed the breath of his ovn life* His soul became the soul of the universe* * • • %ey vere alienated projections of man himself, before vhlch he began to kneel in veneration and supplication*i3
^Farley A* Christensen, "Tragedy As Religious Paradox,** llt^tSj^ aaaiaftUifti BiYiUL* X H (winter, 1958), ^1-^2.
20
The discussion above sums up in general the core from
vhlch Greek drama evolved, and conflict vas a moving force
behind the process* Neither the exact nature of tlie grovtii
nor the full scope of its influence can be definitely
ascertained, but for the purpose at hand it is sufficient
to say that Greek tragedy grew up in Athens around the annual lU
spring festivals in honor of Dionysus. The important
question is not how but why tragedy originated in these
rituals, for the same forces that gave birth to Greek tragedy
also gave birth to Ellzabetlian tragedy* A close examination
will reveal that conflict lies at tlie heart of the issue.
Of course, many forces combined to establish an environment
that was propitious to tiie birth of dramatic tragedy; and
one of the most important of these elements, faith, vlll be
discussed later.
*• Gilbert Murray postulated the theory that the ritual pattern of these annual festivala vas the kernel around vhlch tragedy developed* The follovlng quotation sums up the ritual pattern as Murray theorizes 1- ! **JhSL Bacchae is among tiie major exhibits for Gilbert Murray's theory of tlie ritual pattern underlying the form of Greek tragedy - tJie prehistoric pattern of tJie Year-Daemon* (The Greek daemon vas merely a spirit -not necessarily the evil spirit that it became In Hebrew and Christian usage*) An Agon or contest, of the Year against its enemyi a Pathios, of the death of the Year; a Messenger to announce this death; a Threnos or lamentation over tiie deatli; an Anagorisis or discovery of the slain Daemon, followed by his Resurrection or some glorious Epiphany, altogetlier constituting a Theophany - this, according to Murray, is the basic ritual form*" Muller, The Spirit pf IXflMilX, p* 3^.
21
Tragedy's close relationship vlth religious exercises
gives it an atmosphere of elevated seriousness* Thus
tragedy's close kinship is concisely summed up by l iaxwell
Anderson who says!
The theater originated in tvo complementary religious ceremonies, one celebrating the animal in man and one celebrating the god* Old Greek comedy vas dedicated to the spirits of lust and riot and earth, spirits vhlch are certainly necessary to the health and continuance of the race* Greek tragedy vas dedicated to his unending, blind attempt to lift himself above his lusts and his pure animalism into a vorld vhere^ there are other values than pleasure and survival.i^
It is appropriate that tragedy has a serious air about
it, for the tragic artist is concerned vlth the mystery of
suffering and is trying to probe that mystery in relation
to the universe as he conceives it.- ^ In tragedy as in life,
suffering abounds, but the suffering is a means to an end,
not the AXid in itself; for the aim of the tragic poet is to
probe into the deeper meanings of life in an attempt to
catch its tragic vision!
The tragic vision la in its first phase primal, or primitive, in that It calls up out of the depths the first (and last) of all questions, the question of existence! What does it mean to be? It recalls the original terror, harking back to a vorld that antedates the concec>tlon8 of philosophy^ the consolations of the late religions, and vhatever constructions the human mind had devised to persuade Itself that its universe is secure. It recalls
Maxwell Anderson, gjUL Broadway! ££iAX& Afrpttt £tUi » I W ) .
^ ^
Theater (Nev York! Wlli laa Sloane Associates, l^WIi P* 63* 16 ^George R* Coffman, "Tragedy and the Tragic ," Sevanee
£j>2ls2£, L (March, 19^2), 29*
22
the original un-reason, the terror of the irrational* It sees man as questioner, naked, unaccompanied, alone, facing mysterious, demonic forces in his ovn nature and outside, and the irreducible facts of suffering and death* Thus it is not for those vho cannot live with unsolved questions or unresolved doubts, whose bent of mind would reduce the fact of evil into something else or resolve it into some larger whole* Though no one is exempt from moments of tragic doubt or insight, the vision of life peculiar to the mystic, the pious, the propagandist, the confirmed optimist or the pesimist -or the confirmed anything - is not tragic* 17
Tvo of the many attempts to account for the origin of
tragedy are of especial interest* The first is that of
Sigmund Freud, vho sav behind the pattern of birth, death,
and rebirth the Oedipus complex stemming from the murder
of the primeval father* Resentful of the despotism of the
father, the sons killed him, and they and all their suc
cessors vere haunted by the crime* The cycle of birth,
death, and rebirth then became necessary to atone for this
act to the father vho gradually evolved into King, the Hero,
the God, and the only God* Fev historical scholars accept
this theory of an Oedipus complex, yet it has the value of
illumining a deep, common source of tension in art and
religion*i8
A more Important theory is Weislnger's Paradox of the
Fortunate Fall, Weislnger bases his theory on the cycle of
^^Rlchard B* Sevell, The Vision of Tragedy (Nev Haven! > 1959)7 PpHf-SV Yale University PresSj
^^Muller, p* 31.
23
birth, death, and rebirth. When, later in the pattern, the
scapegoat took upon himself the sins of the conimunity, his
death became a blessing for other members; for as he vas
reborn, eventually symbolically, he becanie an emblem of
life* Slovly this myth and ritual vas infused into the
religions of the ancient world, including Christianity* In
the case of Christ, however, death was not a tragedy but a
victory; and his "fall" could be considered as such only
paradoxically* Just as the primitive king or hero - and
later, the Savior - taking upon himself the sins of the
people, died sacrificially, was reborn and brought new
life, so the tragic hero in his pride, "sins," dies, and
brli'.iis as "new life*" Weislnger sees the secularization of
the paradox of the fortunate fall as "the substance out of
which tragedy, and particularly Shakespearean tragedy, is
made*"
The concept of the fortunate fall is fraught with
dramatic intensity* It not only fosters an ambivalence
necessary to tragedy, but it also strikes tragic cords that
lie deep vlthln the human heart* Ironically, vhen carried
to its logical end in Christianity, it is prohibitive of
tragedy; but its primary Impoartance Is that it underscores
the element of conflict In tragedy* It llkevlse sheds
light upon the strong religious tone in tragedy* Men and
^%erbert Weislnger, Tragedy and j ^ Paradox Qji the jQftift £lll (£s8t Lansing! Michigan State College Press,
953), p. W T
2h
vomen have been rooted in and nourished by a god-centered,
a religion-oriented universe, and the tragic cry in litera
ture as in life is the cry of those vho have been cosmically
uprooted, cosmically dispossessed. In poetry and in life, man
suffers more from his affair with the gods than he does from
his affair with his fellow men. "It is the macrocosm and
not the microcosm that crushes him. Man's tragedy is that
the imperatives of his universe are at eternal odds with the
imperatives of his own soul."
The preceding discussion has been an attempt to demonstrate
how conflict forms the underlying basis of tragedy. No
attempt has been made to discuss fully developed Greek
tragedy, for it is felt that all tragedy rests on the same
foundation and emanates from the same basic problems. Other
phases of Greek drama will be noted in the discussion of
faith. A great deal could be said about the many other aspects
of tragedy, but they are not directly pertinent to the topic
at hand and reference will be made to them only incidentally.
For the present, attention will be turned to "faith," and
the part that it plays in tragedy.
Man cannot live without faith! He may go through the
motions of existence, but unless he can have faith in some
one or something he cannot truly "live." In a world where
2Q Christensen, p. 5*
25
he finds himself In constant conflict with known and un
known forces, friendly and unfriendly fellow men, and the
deep forces within his own character, man must have faith
of some kind. Undoubtedly this feith need not be that of
the uncultured pagan who sees alien forces in most of the
aspects of nature, nor is it necessary for this faith to be
that of the Christian. But regardless of its source, it is
necessary that man anchor himself to some rock of faith; for
in a vorld in vhlch man finds himself acted upon and in vhlch
he himself acts and reacts an element of faith becomes impera
tive; othervlse man could hardly muster the courage to live.
In tragedy, faith assumes a place of absolute necessity,
and this point brings to light one of the differences betveen
tragedy in life and tragedy in drama. In drama, the tragic
hero must be a person of unusual qualities; for his tragic
potential derives from his ability to meet life at her vorst
and to emerge victorious* On the physical plane, he vlll
meet defeat; but on the spiritual plane, through the strength
of his indomitable vlll, he vlll refuse to be coved or admit
defeat and thus emerge the victor*
Tragedy, then, is more than a picture or photograph of
life; Instead, ve see in it a refined, condensed representa
tion of all man's longings, battles, hopes, and despairs,
concentrated in the epic struggle of the tragic hero and his
protagonist, and held up to be vleved as a panorama of all
man's deeper struggles* The incident upon which the tragedy
26
rests may be small, but the Issues are paramount, and if
the drama truly reaches tragic proportions, then new vistas
of Insight and understanding are opened for the spectator -
the audience participant* Faith, therefore, plays the lead
role in the forces that underlie tragedy, and tragedy as the
quintessence of life magnifies its significance*
Webster defines faith simply as! "unquestioning belief,"
or "unquestioning belief in God, religion, etc."^^ Such a
definition proves of little value as an aid to understanding
the relationship of faith and conflict. The logical start
ing point for an understanding of this relationship would be
vlth the first age that produced great tragedy - the Greek*
At this Juncture, hovever, several points merit amplifica
tion and clarification* First, this study does not propose
to insinuate that faith in the Elizabethan era carried over
directly from Greek civilisation; for Elizabethan drama
and the element of faith necessary for its birth had their
ovn distinct birth* Nevertheless, the fundamental Issues
are the same, for the faith that underglrds Elizabethan
tragedy felt the direct Influence of the Greek concept in
that It, to a large extent, vas a reaction against it* The
clash of the tvo oonoepts in Renaissance humanism, moreover,
opened the door for Elizabethan tragedy* Elizabethan tragedy
21 ''''Joseph H. Friend l i U^i Wffrgtty'g S t t HfiXU p^Qtionarv sJi j ^ American Language (Cleveland! The World Publishing Co*, I960), p* 522.
rf
llkevlse gains in meaning from contrast and comparison vlth
the Greek concept of faith* Secondly, at all times in this
paper, "faith" vlll indicate the general tenor of belief of
the people as a vhole or at least of a large segment of
people* Finally, the nature of this inquiry vlll reaffirm
the close correlation betveen religion and tragedy*
Ancient Greek myth and ritual formed the nucleus around
vhlch tragedy later developed, but to Homer must go the
plaudits for establishing an atmosphere in vhlch the embryo
could survive and eventually reach maturity* He infused a
strongly humanistic element into Greek society* He envisioned
the gods as still poverful, but they vere really only omni
potent, eternal projections of man, and as such they vere
subject to human emotions such as jealousy, love, and hate*
They still interfered in human affairs, and to a large ex
tent man payed respect to them; but like man they were sub
ject to fate* Man, therefore, had a certain innate dignity
that even the gods could not violate, and as long as he
retained faith in himself and the courage to live by it he
could conquer life on the spiritual plane* The Greek world
was not an easy one; for, unlike the later Christians, the
Greeks had no promise of a happy life in the hereafter; but
unlike the Hebrews the Greeks did not pretend that the gods
were alvays just* Man vas bom unto trouble and he must
pay homage to the gods, but the Greeks never concluded from
23
the trouble that they vere born unto that their vhole ai®
vas to serve the authors of their trouble* They vent about
their ovn vays, and in time they suffered such tragic ex
perience because of this spirit*
Greek faith resided in the hurrianlstic belief in the
dignity of man, and as long as the Greeks retained this
faith they could meet the vorld and produce great tragedy*
Gilbert Murray graphically portrays the Greek loss of faith
in his brilliant chapter in the E i a MiSMJ^ Ql SiISJ^ Usllilm
entitled "The Failure of Nerve.*' Anyone vho turns from the
great writers of the classical age to those of the Christian
era must be conscious of a great change in tone. There is a
complete change in the whole relationship of the writer and
the vorld around him. The nev quality is not specifically
Christian but rather an amalgani of many beliefs and concepts
%^loh evade description!
It la a rise of asceticism, of rAysticism, in a sense of pessimism; a loss of self-confidence, of hope in this life and of faith in normal hisnan effort; a despair of patient inquiry, a cry for infallible revelation; an Indifference to the velfare of the state, a conversion of the soul to God* It is an atmosphere in vhlch the aim of the good man is not so much to live justly, to help the society to yhieh he belongs end enjoy the esteem of his fellow creatures; but rather, by means of a burning faith, by contempt of the vorld and its standards, by ecstasy, suffering, and martyrdom, to be granted pardon for his unspeakable unvorthiness, his Immeasurable sins* There is an intensifying of a certain spiritual emotions; an Increase of sensitiveness, a failure of nerve*22
- Oilbert Murray, Fi2& iiiMM StL SiSiSJL gfiLUlfiJl (Garden City! Doubleday and Company, 1955)i P* 119*
29
For the Greeks, the very act of living entailed a
great deal of faith; but this faith crumbled vhen tunnels
of doubt began to undermine the assumption that the world
was something that man could handle effectively, even though
he could neYex understand it completely. Intellectual and
emotional despair began to show themselves. Men lost the
faith to take risks, and "great actions, the kind about
which tragedies vere written, involved great risks." -
Contemporaneous with the Greek loss of nerve, Christian
ity had its bii*th. Many years lapsed, however, before it
became a dominant power in Western Civilization, and the
vacuum created by the loss of confidence remained practically
unfilled. Myriads of mystery religions and philosophies
abounded, but none gained universal adherence, and none
inculcated a faith productive of tragedy. Stoicism, one
of the more prominent philosophies, gained wide acceptance
among some circles in the Roman world, but its rigid
determinism is self-defeating to tragedy.
In tragedy the only struggle which a Stoic could consistently make would be the effort to know that evil did not exista that he ought to remain calm because his misfortunes were in no sense true misfortunes - in short, that the tragedy in which he was participating was no tragedy at all.2M-
^^Sewell, p* 36*
^^arnham^ Medieval Herita.ge. p. iB.
30
A new basis for universal faith come into the vorld
with the birth of Christianity. The simple faith espoused
i* ^« filblft id not remain unchanged, and by the time of
the Middle Ages it had taken on many new connotations. Faith
indeed became the center of Christian doctrine. The Encvclo-
Pf<liLfl Qt Religion s£^ MiliU says that!
From the outset of the Christian community, faith was related to a doctrinal eonstructlon of Christ's person and work. Alvays it implied belief in his pover and dignity as Messiah and Lord, and in the reality of his redemption . . • . It still made its appeal less to the Intellect than to the heart and conscience.^^
Faith's reign as a thing of the heart died a young death,
and soon the Church Fathers began to represent it as a pro
duct of the intellect. Not only vas faith intellectuallzedf
it vas conceived in the main as an act not of insight and
independent conviction but of Intellectual submission. By
the early Middle Ages, the Intellectuallzation of faith vas
almost completed. Faith, in the Catholic conception of it,
is authority - faith and the authority that guaranteed the
truth of the doctrines vas, in the last resort, the Church*^^
The Age of Faith vas very literal in its faith* God
vas alvays in the right; man alvays in the vrong. "They took
their pesslBilsm and their optimism straigtht, in alternation.
^^. Morgan, "Christian Faith," SafiZglfiMfli&.St, { ^ jgion §sA SlblSJlf sd* <rame8 Hastings, IV (1951) • 690.
^^Ibid
31
vlth little sense of paradox*"^ Faith, in fact. Inspired
men to prodigious feats of energy and valor on crusades
against the heathen or in battle against fellov Christians*
The hero, moreover, vas greatly admired during the Middle
Ages, but during this era no tragic hero ever reached the
proportions of Prometheus or Oedipus. Men suffered, and
they learned by their suffering, but what they invariably
learned was the unvorthiness of man and God's beneficence
in bestoving His blessings on such an Ingrate as man.
In the llteralness of the faith of the Middle Ages
lies one of its paradoxes. True faith, especially that of
the early Christian movem^it, implies a confidence, belief,
or trust in that which is unknown or at best only partially
perceived. The fiibla, for example, states! "Nov faith is
the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things
not seen*"28 Faith in ancient ritual definitely hinged upon
a belief or confidence in the unknown* That tragic moment
in vhlch the Hero King or scapegoat offered up his life
called for a maximum faith in entirely unknovn povers; for
In the event that he did not complete the cycle by being
resurrected man vould have to suffer the consequences! crop
failure, calamities, and possibly even death*
^Muller, p* 139.
^®Heb* II!l*
32
Greek humanism llkevlse rested upon a belief in un
knovn elements* The gods vere unpredictable, and the Greeks
never pretended to understand human nature, much less the
complete macrocosm* The only cornerstone on vhlch they
could build a faith that glorified the dignity of the indivi
dual vas on a complete confidence and submission to unknovn
elements*
The Church of the Middle Ages stripped the unknovn ele
ment from faith, and it thereby gave rise to the ironic
spectacle of knovledge masquerading in the guise of faith.
Faith became a matter of the Intellect, and vhen anything be
comes a proven, established fact beyond vhlch there can be
no disputation, then faith becomes knovledge. Paradoxically,
the Age of Faith vhlch proved so inimical to tragedy vas not
really an era of faith at all, and Luther and other leaders
of the Reformation later rebelled against Intellectualized
"faith."
The faith of the Church proved hostile to the production
of tragedy during the Middle Ages* Western Civilization vas
so completely controlled by the Christian concept that there
vas no question as to an ordered universe and the Justice of
God. "The struggles from a philosophic and ethical - and
theological - point of vlev centered around the question of
hov goodness. Justice, and righteousness prevailed - not
vhether they did*"^^ The medieval mind seems to have been
^Coffman, pp* 29-30*
33
controlled by hierarchical authority and maintained by
faith and ceremony.^^
The far-reaching faith of the Church of the Middle Ages
did not obviate the existence of strong currents of doubt.
Modem scholarship completely refutes the erstvhile theory
that mental lethargy paralyzed the Middle Ages, and it
proves to the contrary that the era vas a beehive of mental
activity. Crosswlnds of pessimism and heresy blew constant
ly; and although many remained only gentle zephyrs, others
swept down the halls of faith and blew away the weak founda
tions of many a cherished belief. Gothic art in its in
stability reflects the tension of medieval man. He had to
live in two worlds. On the one hand, he was a member of
the City of God as represented by the Church and the Holy
Roman Empire; on the other hand, he was a resident of the
City of the Earth vhlch vas characterized by perpetual strife
and conflict* As an individual, he vas also split in half*
Created a little lover than the angels, he had an immortal
soul vhlch could hope for eternal bliss vlth its Creator;
but as a fallen creature of the flesh he lived next to the
beast in a vorld corrupted by sin, and he had much reason to
believe that the best he could hope for vould be a life of
^^Hardln Craig, M&Hsik RftUgJOMg SlBSmjlL JiM MMISL fpea (London! Oxford University Press, p. 15.
3»*
eternal torment* Both of these elements combined to drive
medieval man to reckless immoderation, violent extremes in
piety and blasphemy, asceticism and sensuality, chivalry and
atrocity* Yet the Middle Ages, for reasons to be discussed
later, vrote no tragedy Itself.
Even vlthln the Church itself vere many forces that vere
prohibitive of faith* Theologians vrangled over reason and
the part that it should play in Christianity. Pride became
a besetting sin that eventually led many of the faithful to
despair* A prevalent contempt for the vorld llkevlse yielded
a rich harvest of conflict and loss of faith* In spite of
the strong Influence of the Church, the average person in
the Middle Ages had a strong lust for life* Death and the
corruption of the grave became anathemas to be avoided at •..
all costs* During this period, in fact, the skull and cross
bones and the Dance of Death became popular symbols* For
the Christian, vho vas taught to scorn the present vorld,
this duality of interests proved to be an extreme test of
faith* These factors, most of vhlch died vlth the Renaissance,
are not Important in themselves; but they are Important in
that they contributed to the breakdovn of the all inclusive
concept of faith that gripped the Middle Ages*
Most of the doctrines and beliefs that assailed the
Middle Ages' Castle of Faith deserve no mention, but a fev
of them vere highly influential both in breaking dovn faith
and In paving the vay for Ellaabethan tragedy. One of the
35
most far-reaching of these concepts vas that of the Goddess
Fortune* Although belief in Fortune never achieved the
status of a formal religion, it did lend itself to numerous
theories treating on tragedy and the misfortunes of man*
Faith in Fortune gained a vide adherence in the Roman Empire
that later carried over into the Middle /.ges* During the
Middle Ages, the concept arose that she vas in the service
of God; but for the most part to the Church she remained an
enemy vho could be defeated by virtue* The early Church
Fathers did much to deny the existence of Fortune, for above
all else they aimed to establish God's omniscience and omni
potence* But for good medieval Christians it was in the
main sufficient to have simple faith, or to prove meta
physically that ultimately all vas order, and it wa£ un
necessary to demonstrate scientifically that some of this
order vas manifest on earth*
Fortune is probably best knovn as she is represented by
her Wheel* Numerous dravlngs from the era depict men cling
ing precariously to the perimeter of a vheel vhlch Fortune
herself from time to time rotated, sending those In high
estate at the top pltt»etlng to the bottom* "Since this
change in man's fortune is vhAt really eonstltutes the medi
eval ideal of tragedy, ve may call this the 'tragic theme.'"^^
^^ovard R. Patch, t]UL flstdfltU laiimL iXk MidiftXil Mt^rature (Cambridge, Mass.lCambridge University Press, !927). p. 68»
36
Fickleness characterized Fortune, and her noves were sudden
and, of course, unexpected. Belief in Fortima injected a
strong strain of determinism into the age, which freed man
from responsibility for his shortcomings. Of course tragedy,
vhlch depends upon free vlll, could not be produced when such
a doctrine prevailed; and trust in Fortune, indeed, was one
of the strongest forces in precluding the vrlting of tragedy
in the Middle Ages.
Fortuna entered into many areas of life and accordingly
belief in her became both general and deep seated. Howard
R. Patch sums up her powers ast
She is queen; she frequents the court; she controls all mundane affairs and gives all worldly gifts; she is responsible for tragedy in the higher as well as in the more primitive sense of the word; she threatens to dominate the Fates.32
Although faith in Fortuna proved adverse to the produc
tion of tragedy, some good eventually came from it; for its
deterministic qualities aided in undermining faith and intro
ducing an ambivalence that eventually contributed immensely
to Elizabethan tragedy.
The "tragic theme" as derived from Fortuna found several
notable exponents who modified the idea and passed it down
to the Elizabethan Age. Boccaccio in his SSL Casibus attempts
to account for the fell of numerous historical personages.
Tragedy, he declares, originated with the fall of Adam and
32iii4., p. 80.
37
Eve, and their fall subjected the world to irrational
forces and made possible sudden reversals of Fortune. He
finally concludes that men who do not struggle for anything
in the way of worldly revard are not subject to Fortune and
that those vho embark upon the life of action are fairly
asking for misfortune. He approaches but does not imply
the operation of human responsibility and a tragic flav,
but in his vork are vestiges of the artistic realization of
dignity in human character and moral action upon which the
best dramatic tragedy of a later age was built.
In his query into the ways and purposes of Fortuna,
Boccaccio aided bha battle to revive free will. The Church
Fathers, in the early years of the Christian movement,
tenaciously held to the belief in man's freedom of will as
opposed to pagan fatalism* In reality they only succeeded
in substituting divine determinism for pagan fatalism*^^
Boccaccio's Implication that man himself may be responsible
for his own misfortune played an Important part in eventually
re-establishing free vlll*
Tvo notable successors of Boccaccio perpetuated his
concept of the fall of people of high estate* In the Cante-
burv ZjSlAft, the Mohk claims that he vlll tell a hundred
tragical stories* Of the promised one hundred, he tells
seventeen; but they demonstrate little advancement over the
tales of Boccaccio* In the early fifteenth century, John
33Famham, ijfiflliiai SiXiiAgftt pp* 116-2V.
38
Lydgate translated. Interpreted, and amplified Boccaccio's
2ft £ftlil2U and called his work the Fall fi£ Princes. In his
work, Lydgate expands upon Boccaccio's argument that tragedy
ensues from sudden reversals of Fortune, but he was prone
to make sin the apparent cause of tragedy. Boccaccio and
Chaucer often have praiseworthy perception for the subtleties
of tragedy; but Lydgate is almost always incapable of a view
of tragedy which gives suffering some traceable cause in
human character without making the cause a simple sin easily
classified, or which mingles and balances traceable cause
vlth impenetrable fate.^^
The nebulous Middle Ages' concept of tragedy falls far
short of true dramatic tragedy, but it does shov an interest
in heroic subject matters and ethical problems vhlch vere
destined to gain imminence at a later time. The 2ft Casibu^
tragedy vas given nev Impetus by the sixteenth century col
lection, the W l r r 9 m lax l^ftglfftygs^gi shout which it is only
necessary to say that it more clearly differentiated between
fate and human responsibility than did its predecessors.
For many years it ran parallel to stage tragedy, and it re
tained Its popularity until well into the seventeenth cen
tury. Under the scrutiny of Renaissance humanism and em
piricism, Fortuna vas more and more plainly made to surrender
the mystery of her vays and to vork according to lavs \dilch
men could analyze and understand*
3lf ItLLA*t p. 168*
39
Faith, although she had many rivals, reigned supreme
during the Middle Ages* There vas no place for tragedy vhlch
"is the product of scepticism and faith together, of faith
saeptical enough to question and of scepticism faithful
enough to believe*"35 Medieval Christendom, fearing heresy,
failed to give freedom of movement to the element of doubt
in the pattern; the small amount of despair vhen it is un
certain vhlch vay the scales are going to tip vas so hedged
round vlth safeguards, the certainty of the victory of Christ
vas so veil secured, that tragedy could not break through the
vail of faith*
Medieval othervorldliness vas as fatal to tragedy as
the classical "loss of nerve*" The religion of the Bible is
inimical to tragedy on tvo basic points* First, it is opti-
mistle and trusts that evil is alvays a necessary means to
greater good; and secondly it abases man before the sublimity
of God*3 Both of these points spell death for tragedy, iidilch
entails at least a modicum of doubt and vhlch elevates man in
his struggle vlth necessity*
The Renaissance and Reformation profoundly affected the
doctrines of the Church, and the result vas a religious and
intellectual atmosphere conducive to the vrlting of tragedy*
Elizabethan tragedy had its origins in the liturgy of the
3Weislnger, p* 10*
^^aphael, p* 51.
ho
Medieval Church, but before tracing and commenting upon its
birth and early life, it is necessary to dvell briefly upon
some of the forces at vork during these active and tempestuous
times.
Luther and other leaders of the Reformation made the
first direct assault upon the Church. Luther insisted that
faith vas the essential principal of the Christian life.
"Against the Roman doctrine of Justification by works he
set the Pauline doctrine of Justification by faith alone."37
The leaders of the Reformation cast aside many of the doc
trines of the Catholic Church and returned to the £lt^ as
the basis for their belief.^^ Faith, to them, was not the
intellectualized reason of the Middle Ages, but was instead
a eomplete confidence and trust in a God that could be knovn
only by such complete reliance.
The Reformation, then, broui^t to light one of the
paradoxes of faith* During the Middle Ages, knovledge and
reason, under the guise of faith, vere largely responsible
for creating an atmosphere that vas antagonistic to the vrlt
ing of tragedy* Luther and other leaders of the Reformation
removed the shackles from faith and returned it to its pro
per basis, but at the very moment they vere doing so there
vas being bom the humanism and scientific spirit that vould
^7 -^'Morgan, p* 691* 38ae • ^Oeorge PaA Fisher, History ^I |bft Ghrietien fibSLCfitl
(Nev York! Charles Scribner's Sons, 1915)• P» *^23.
kl
•ventually break the grip of faith* Thus, after many cen
turies of inactivity. Christian faith vas reborn only to be
killed while still in its infancy. Certainly faith did not
die completely, but since the Renaissance and Reformation
faith has never again regained the mass hold that it once
held over Western Civilization; and the ensuing years since
the Renaissance have witnessed a steadily rising wave of
pessimism that gives no indication of subsiding. Loss of
faith accounted for another paradox during the late Eliza
bethan period! that of the death of tragedy due to extreme
pessimism.
The rebirth of learning during the fourteenth and fif
teenth centuries spearheaded another force that made a frontal
assault on the Church. The seeds that culminated in the Renais
sance flowering had been germinating for centuries vaiting
for a propitious time to blossom forth. One of the most
prominent forces behind the Renaissance vas humanism. It
had been present throughout the Middle Ages, but it vas not
until the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries that it burst
forth with nev energy to assume a role in human affairs com
parable to that vhith it had played in Greek civilization*
Those vho knov most about the Middle Ages nov assure us that humanism and a belief in the present life vere poverful by the tvelfth century, and that exhortations to contemn the vorld vere themselTf s poverful at that time for that very reason.^^
l \ ^•J^* Tillymrda Zbt gligrttfeftfl UftlU £ifiifi£ft (Nev York! The Maemlllsn Company, l9Mf), p* 2*
k2
As humanism became more prevalent, the focus of man's
attention began to shift from the other vorld to the here
and nov. Men once again asserted the dignity of man, and
they began to glory in the vast potentials of mankind. "It
is not so much that humanism tends to the greater stability
of society that makes its worth abiding, but that it tencis
to the greater dignity of man."^ This new faith in man
is best summarized in Hamlet's statement! "What a piece of
work is manl"^i
On the surface, the Middle Ages gave the appearance of
being static, and quite probably a feeling that the universe
was secure held vide acceptance. The Renaissance, hovever,
stripped off the veneer of security and sought to find the
truth* The universe seems secure only to those who do not
question too far, and much of the sense of security of the
Middle Ages was a false security into which men had been
lulled because they questioned very little or not at all.
Men of the Renaissance questioned all things, and their
optimistic probing eventually led to pessimism.
Men have always puzzled themselves with change and flux,
but mutability especially fascinated the Renaissance mind.
^^* McBachran, "The Roots of Tragedy," Bookman. LXXI (April, 1930), 136.
^Hrillian Allan Neilson and Charles Jarvis Hill (eds.), eare (Cam-Hereafter brldge!The Riverside Press, 19^2), p. 1062^
cited as Neilson, Shakespeare>
3
and the study of It reached new heights during this era.
Interest in mutability was founded on more than casual
Interest, for in a world that was changing at an unprecendent-
ed rate men needed an abiding, unchanging source of strength*
The unusual Interest in mutability and the part she played
in the writing and thought of the Renaissance will be touched
upon in a later chapter dealing with the Elizabethan world.
The purpose of this chapter has been to explore the
bases and origins of tragedy with particular emphasis on
the elements of conflict and faith. Man, it has been observed,
finds himself Innately at conflict with the world, the gods,
his fellow men, and consequently with himself. This con
flict expresses itself in myth and ritual that go as far
back as human history; and drama itself grew out of these
ancient ceremonies. Conflict in life, to be sure, does not
explicitly parallel that in drama, but it does form the
basis for that of drama and give purpose and significance
to its culmination in tragedy. Conflict in tragedy can
be of a varied nature and complexity depending upon the
skill and purpose of the dramatist, but alvays it provides
the motivation behind the tragic action* Men of the Middle
Ages found many great areas of conflict not the least of
vhlch vas their ovn souls, torn as they vere betveen tvo
vorlds* A comparison of Greek and Gothic art reveals the
difference in temperament of the tvo eras and the nature of
the medieval conscience* Greek art reflects the belief in
a humane universe, and medieval art reflects the conflict
that is inherent in medieval faith*^^ Conditions at this
time, hovever, vere such that tragedy could not be vrltten,
and one of the most antagonistic forces to the production
of tragedy vas the "faith" of the Catholic Church*
Great tragedy cannot exist vlthout some element of
faith, but, conversely, it cannot exist vhen faith becomes so
great that it casts aside all doubt and assures the be
liever of certain victory In attalnlni everlasting life in
the vorld to come* The faith essential for tragedy need
not be that of Christianity, but regardless of its basis
it is a necessary ingredient both for tragedy and for life*
In classical Greek society, faith rested on a belief in
the dignity and vorth of man* Underlying this trust in
man vas a deeper faith in the gods, but a strong current
of seaptlcisffi also characterized Greek thought* This com
bination of faith and doubt culminated in that rare mixture
that is productive of tragedy*
h'mn have alvays doubted and scepticism pops up in
mrmiy age, but the Middle Ages and Renaissance vere eras
vhen the tenor of the times vas at least that of sceptical
faith* Tragedy e m be vrltten or understood only Auin
society as a vhole has some basis for faith, for "a tragic
^^A* R* Thompson, Thf toitftfflY. kt ^TWI^ (Bezkley! tbilv«rslty of California Presst 1 9 W , p* 166*
h5
outlook there must be not merely a creative vriter, but
also an audience vhlch comprehends the standards %dilch
are put forvard."^3
Fifth century Greece and Elizabethan England vere
both ages of faith; faith in the justice of the gods in
one and faith in God in the other* Both vere extremely
religious periods; yet, at the same time, both ages were
equally sceptical* New doctrines swept through both ages,
and dramatists reconciled and fused the new beliefs with
the old* Herbert Weislnger comments that!
In both the Athenian and Elizabethan climates of ideas, tragedy emerges vhen vhat is dead in the old is eliminated and vhat is good retained, vhen vhat is viable in the nev is kept and vhat is extreme rejected, and vhen the fusion of the best in each is effected In a nev synthesis on a plane more ethically satisfying than either taken singly* Tragedy, therefore, cannot exist vhere there is no faith; conversely, it cannot exist vhere there is no doubt; It can exist only In an atmosphere of sceptical faithj. The protagonist must be free to choose* • * .^^
''McSachran, p* 133*
Weislnger, pp. 267-68*
Chapter III
MEDIEVAL AND RENAISSANCE RELIGIOUS DRAMA
During the Middle Ages, the term tragedy did not refer
to drama. At this time, it adverted to any narrative vhlch
recounted how a person of high rank, through his own vice or
error or his ill fortune, fell from high to low estate. In
stances of such tragedies are Chaucer's "Monk's Tale," Lydgate*s
Fall QL Princes, or the Renaissance collection, 21ift Mirrour
£ft£ MigJlgtynt^g' Tragedy, moreover, was impossible while
the concept of Fortune's Wheel prevailed; for what chance
was there for it to develop when a man fell not because of
some tragic flaw in his character but because of the whim
of dame Fortune, who at any given time might turn her wheel
and send plummeting to the depths of despair those who had
previously been clinging precariously at the top? Renais
sance humanists destroyed this concept; for as man began to
shift his attention from the other world to this world, he
sought to "know himself." An earth-centered, man-oriented
philosophy attributed freedom of choice to man. Individual
responsibility became paramount! any deviation from the
accepted code of conduct, therefore, was solely the re
sponsibility of the individual. This concept gained wide
acceptance at approximately the same time that drama was
shaking off the last vestiges of its religious background.
k6
h7
Thus, In the sixteenth century, drama found itself freed
from the two concepts that had precluded the full develop
ment of tragedy! the concept of Fortune's i^eel and a purely
Christian drama in which death was not tragedy but victory.
This chapter will trace the rise and development of
conflict in the liturgical drama of the medieval Church*
The emphasis, however, will be on conflict as it relates to
tragedy, and the conflict of comedy will be discussed only
vhen it contains elements, mechanical or othervlse, that are
equally applicable to tragic conflict* No attempt vlll be
made to include all of the major plays* Instead, the em
phasis vlll be on representative plays that exemplify cer
tain definite stages of development* The discussion vlll
commence vlth the origin of drama in Church liturgy and
follov the development of conflict from this crude begin
ning until the time in the sixteenth century vhen drama left
the Church and became basically secular in Intent*
Greek and Roman drama had certain definite Influences
on Elizabethan drama, but drama of the Elizabethan era is
not a prototype of either Greek or Roman drama* Elizabethan
drama had its ovn distinct origins in the liturgy of the
Church of the Middle Ages, and its immediate debt to Greco-
Roman drama is very small* Performance of serious Greek and
Roman plays ceased long before the fall of Rome in the fifth
century, and from this time until sometime during the ninth
century drama vas almost a forgotten art form* The decline
kS
of formal drama, hovever, did not mean that all traces of
dramatic representation had been obliterated* Strolling
mimes, minstrels, and troubadours, vho gave recitations
from classical and medieval narratives, aided in perpetuat
ing the theory of drama* Other binding links vere folk-
plays, a vigorous pulpit literature, and even some of the
classical plays themselves vere knovn and studied* For
the most part, hovever, medieval religious drama vas an
outgrovth of the liturgical services of the Church*
Drama arose in the Church quite by accident* Christian
ity has an Inherent tragic potential, vividly portrayed in
the Mass and in other ritual and ceremony of the Church;
and drama originated vhen certain churches began to exploit
this potential for the purpose of religious edification*
It must be remembered that for the early Middle Ages religion
filled much the place that education fills today! the
Church vas the gatevay to all learning*^ Medieval religious
drama, then, had its birth and existed primarily to give
religious instruction, establish faith, and encourage piety*
It did not exist as free artistic enterprise as did the
Elizabethan drama, the French classical drama, or drama in
the modem vorld * ^
^^C* F* Tucker Brooke, Jht JuflSit fi£9M (Cambridge, Mass*! The Riverside Press, 1911)• p. 2*
Craig, p* 15*
9
Compared to the tlrrr-- onored theories dating back to
the time of Aristotle, religious dramc was crude and could
be considered as drama only in the remct-est sense. Even
in the sixteenth century, when rivaled by secular drama,
church drama retained its backwardness; for the technique of
the mystery and miracle plays and of the main current of
English popular drama consisted merely in telling a story on
a stage by means of dialogue, impersonation, and action. '
Religious drama, moreover, had its o%ni purposes and standards,
and it cannot be fairly judged on the basis of the "technique
of drama."
Medieval religious drama did not arise and grow to matur
ity in a unified sequential development. Although every stage
of theoretical completeness is to be found, this completeness
was not achieved by gradual development, in which each more
advanced stage grew out of an immediately preceding less ad
vanced stage. Some of the simplest forms seem to be of very
late provenience, and some highly developed forms are certain
ly very early. The ensuing survey will study the sequential
development of medieval religious drama from the standpoint
of the body of data regarded as a whole; which thereby allows
an orderly development from crudest to most complex forms.
The first vestiges of drama began to appear during the
ninth century. During the Easter service, certain monastic
" Ibid.. p. 9.
TEXAS TE:CH l-Cr:rAL ccw^^^^ L . U *- -.•- '•-'i "w, ' --•'• -• • <
LI3'.-iAFiY -
50
communities began to protract the last syllable of the
Alleluia. For a time, this trope remained a wordless musi
cal ornamentation, but before long, words were added to the
embellishment. At first, these lines were sung antiphonally
by the two parts of the choir, but later they were sung or
spoken by priests who Impersonated the two angels and the
three Marys in the scene at the tomb of Christ. By degrees,
this trope was elaborated into full-length dialogue, and those
Impersonating the Marys actually went through the motions of
visiting the tomb. In later versions of the "Quem Quaeritis
Trope," the Marys spoke Latin and then paraphrased their lines
in English. New scenes were added! the appearance of Christ
to Mary Magdalene and the race of Peter and John to the tomb.
Similar tropes developed during the Christmas service, and by
a process of amplification comparable to that of Easter, the
Christmas trope grew Into scenes and plays centering upon
the Nativity. By a similar process, tropes and plays grew
up around other religious holidays.
By implication, the death of Christ provided the slight
conflict of these plays. Of course, it must be remembered
that these tropes were written solely for the purpose of en
hancing religious instruction, and no conscious effort was
being made to write drama. As they developed more fully,
however, some of the beD l< rum began to entp.il additional
elements of coxifllct. This elemental conflict expressed
51
itself as an outgrowth of an antipathy for the Jews that
had killed Christ, and such lines as the following began
to appear!
AlasI vile race of Jews, Whom a dire madness^makes frenzied.
Detestable people!^"
Further conflict supervened from the plight of the three
Marys, who were unable to remove the stone from the entrance
of Christ's tomb. Mary Magdalene afforded the greatest pos
sibility for internal conflict in these plays; for she vas
one to whom much had been given, and she lamented the fact
that even Christ's body had been taken away.
The nativity plays offered a favorite stage character
in the person of the colorful Herod. Herod, being a villain,
offered the possibility of greater latitude in treatment. In
a twelfth century play from France, Herod finds a book pro-
phseying the coming of Christ, hurls it to the floor in a
fit of rage and brandishes his sword menacingly. This rant
ing Herod became an extremely popular figure in medieval
Nativity plays, and he evolved into the blood-and-thunder
characters who roared their way across the Elizabethan stage.
Inner conflict motivates Herod's violent action, for he hears
reports of a newborn king whom he fears will eventually usurp
Kg Joseph Quincy Adams (ed.), Chief Pre-Shakesoearean
Dramas (Cambridge! The Riverside Press, 192^), p. 15.All references to plays in the remainder of this chapter will be from Adams and will be listed only by page numbers.
52
him. Inability to find his adversary infuriates Herod and
leads him to slaughter all the children in Israel under two
years of age. Although rudimentary, the conflict in the
plays centering around Herod attains a greater complexity
than that of any of the early liturgical plays dealing with
the life of Christ*
The use of dramatic method for the purpose of making
vivid religious rites and instruction underwent further im
portant changes, the stages of which cannot now be exactly
traced, and eventually moved out of the churches and came
under the jurisdiction of the laity* These plays eventually
became known as mystery plays, those based on a scriptural
subject, and miracle plays, those based on a Saint's life*
These plays were rarely ever performed individually, but
Instead they were combined as long series called cycles.
The irrlters of these plays used far greetar liberties in
handling of material than did the authors of the first
tropes, and in some Instances they reach a high degree of
eoBiplexity*
Christianity has an inherent tiCi^^tQ potential, but
the triumpihant Christ precludes the possibility of any real
tragedy; for death is an ultimate victory for the Christian.
Church drama, then, vas circumscribed vlthln definite limits
above tdiieh it conld not rise* A fourteenth century play,
y^e Sacrifice of Isaac, points up both the strengths and veak-
nesses of religious drama*
53
Isaac, the child of promise, vas the pride of Abraham's
life; but as a test of loyalty, God commanded Abraham to
sacrifice him. Abraham, shortly before receiving this com
mand, had thanked God for this son yrhom he loved more than
any other person or thing except God himself. God's fiat
initiated a tremendous conflict in Abraham's mind. As a
father, he loved his son and vas unvilling to part vlth him;
but he realized that he must obey God, and he soon concluded!
I love my chyld as my lyffe;
But yit I love God myche more. (p. Il8)
The fact that Abraham himself was commanded to sacrifice
Isaac enhanced the conflict.
Isaac, who was unaware of God's injunction, increased
Abraham's torment by his innocent questions. In a cry of
anguish, Abraham finally crieds
A! Lord, my hart bredyth on tweyn,
Thys chyldes wordes, they be so tender, (p. 119)
The rapidly increasing conflict culminated when Isaac in
nocently remarked that both fire and wood were ready but
that there was no live beast.
Isaac, vhen he discovered that he vas to be the sacrifice,
accepted the verdict as the unbreakable vlll of God, but he
also displayed his human veaknesses* He wished that his mother
were present to save him, and he protested that he was only
an Innocent child who had done nothing worthy of death* The
conflict within his mind resulted in his protestations which
further Increased Abraham's anguish* The incident had all
5^
the potentialities of a bona fide tragedy, but at the last
moment an angel stayed Abraham's hand. If Abraham had chosen
to assert himself and disobey God, or if Isaac had refused
to be a willing sacrifice, then a tragedy could have developed
Neither of these possibilities came about, however, and the
potentially tragic incident remained only a tensely dramatic
scene.
The play, vhose other strengths and weaknesses are not
pertinent to the discussion at hand, emphasizes the limita
tions of liturgical drama. Conflict plays an essential role
in these plays, but either divine intervention or divine
decree prevent the conflict from culminating in tragedy.
A rather late development in medieval drama was the
morality play. The origins of the type are not easily traced,
but it may have developed, in part at least, out of the live
ly pulpit literature of the Middle Ages. The fabliau or
folk play also Influenced the morality, and a more recent
hypothesis postulates that the morality represents the dra
matic treatment of the celebrated Dance of Death. The moral
ity is dramatized allegory in which the abstract virtues and
vices like Mercy, Conscience, Perseverance, and Shame, or
generalized classes such as Everyman, King, and Bishop appear
in personified form, the good and the bad usually being en
gaged in a struggle for the soul of man. Characteristic
themes treated allegorically distinguish the morality - the
55
summons of Death, the conflict of vices and virtues for
supremacy in man's life, or the question of his ultimate
fate as debated by the Four Daughters of God. The morality
may be defined briefly ass a play which presents allegorical
ly some object lesson or warning by means of abstract charac
ters or generalized types for man's spiritual good.^^
The use of allegory for the purpose of instruction was
not a new device; for the allegorical was the most commonly
accepted medieval method of approaching profound reality,
not for the intellectual man alone, but for the common man also.
The application of allegorical representation to church drama
marked a notable advance in the tragic potentialities of
drama; consequently, the morality expedited the fruition of
the tragic spirit. Earlier plays had contented themselves
with unquestioning presentation of those matters which are
of gravest import for man and which make for tragedy. Here
the dramatist did not vivify e. Scriptural or traditional story,
but shaped a story more or less of his own and gave it mean
ing, thereby providing implicit comment upon life. The logi
cal protagonist of the moral drama, furthermore, was man -
not perfect or saintly man, but simple man - placed in the
world of stresses and strains between good and evil where
humanity by reason of its freedom of choice shapes character.^^
^9Albert C. Baugh (ed.), ^ Literary History of England (New York! Appleton-Century-Crofts, 19^8), p. 28MT
^^Farnham, M <aigv l Heritage, p. 177.
56
The most valuable contribution of the morality to the
development of tragedy was that it served as a vehicle
through which free choice once again entered into the stream
of dramatic tragedy. Freedom of choice, an imperative for
the consummation of great tragedy, remained a dominating
characteristic of the morality, which was essentially pre
paration for Elizabethan tragedy. Elizabethan drama, indeed,
was built upon the concept of man's ability to make his own
choices.
The Pride of Life, the first play of this type, dates
from about 1^0; and the greatest of the moralities, Everyman,
dates from around 1500. In Everyman, conflict is both compli
cated and significant. A brief prologue introduces the theme
of the play, then God dispatches His servant Death to get
Everyman ready for a pilgrimage "which he in no wyse may
escape." (p. 289) Quite naturally Everyman is oblivious to
the imminence of Death. In fact, Death observes that!
Full lytell he thynketh on my comynget
His mynde is on fleshely lustes, and his treasure, (p. 289)
When Everyman learns the identify of the messenger who has
come for him, the change in his attitude is striking!
0 Dethl thou comest whan I had ye leest in myndel In thy power it lyeth me to saue; Yet of my good wyl I gyue ye, yf thou wyl be kynde: Ye, a thousande pounde shalte thou haue. And (thou) dyfferre this mater tyll an other daye. (p. 290)
51
Conflict arises in Everyman's mind because he knows
that he is not ready to die. Everyman, who is very human,
does not realize that Death may be neither bribed nor fore
stalled; and he vainly pleads for twelve years in which to
build up his moral account* Everyman tries to fight off
Death as a concrete, personal enemy* Although the conclusion
of the conflict is known in advance, the author maintains
tension and Interest with his vivid portrait of Everyman
dashing quickly from one to another of the expedients by
means of which human beings always greet or try to evade the
unpleasant! Incredulousness, the desire for delay, efforts
to bribe, desire to do other things first, the naive hope
that maybe it will not be so bad after all, the hope for
company, the final direct plea for grace. - His dejection
increases when he realizes that there can be no dalliance
with Death; and In utter desperation he asks! "Shall I
haue no company fro this vale terestryall of myne acqueyn-
(taun)ce that vay me to lede?" (p. 290) Death somevhat
allays his mental torture by permitting him to take any of
his lifelong associates vlth him - provided, of course, that
they are vllllng to make the Journey.
Much to his disappointment and sorrov, Everyman makes
the painful discovery that none of his former companions vlll
accompany him. Fellovship, Kindred, Cousin, and Goods, forsake
51 Cleanth Brooks and Robert B. Heilman, Understanding
gjjafiaa (J sw York! Henry Holt and Company, 19^5). p. 105*
5S
him in turn, and Everyman finds himself progressively isolated.
The tone of isolation enhances the rising conflict; for as
each of Everyman's associates refuses to accompany him, the
intensity of the character struggle increases. Everyman's
personal conflict reaches its zenith in the brilliant scene
vlth Goods. Everyman pinned all his hopes on the fellovship
of his former consorts and was dismayed by their refusals;
but when he perceived the emptiness of men's promises of love,
he turned, as a last resort, to Goods, whom he had adored
more than all else in life. Not only does Goods bluntly
turn his back on Everyman, but Everyman discovers that it is
his devotion to Goods that has most spoiled his record. Goods,
therefore, would only jeopardize Everyman's future bliss. He
tells Everyman!
For, and I wente with thee. Thou shouldes fare much the worse for me; For bycause on my thou dyd set thy mynde. Thy rekenynge I haue made blotted and blynde. That thyne accounte thou can not make truly-
And that hast thou for the loue of meI (p. 29^)
Bereft of his last great hope, Everyman despairs and cries:
"0, to whome shall I make my mone for to go with me in that
hauy journaye?" (p. 295) Everyman's despair not only indi
cates the struggle within his mind, but also marks the near
est approach that the play makes to tragedy. A deep-seated
conflict drives Everyman to despair, and despair ultimately
destroys faith. For the Christian, moreover, the loss of
faith entails a tragedy of the grandest proportions. Everyman
accepts his fate, however, and thus averts tragedy. "Thus,
at the very moment of his defeat, is Everyman triumphant.
Christ, Adam, Everyman - each suffers, yet each is triumphant;
and in the wings stands Eamlet."^^ The latter part of the
play deals vlth the way in which Everyman can achieve salva
tion; consequently, the intensity of the play lessens and the
role of conflict diminishes.
The author of the play enhances the conflict by adroitly
employing irony. Everyman turns to his best help. Good Deeds,
only after he has been repulsed everywhere else; and his ac
tion here is typical of humanity's confusion about values*
The author further sustains the conflict by not allowing Good
Deeds to immediately rescue lilveryman from his plight. In
fact. Good Deeds is fettered and can be of assistance to
Everyman only after these fetters have been removed.^^
Like Itift Sq gytflgft Stt ImSSL* Everyman shows the impos
sibility of tragedy in full Christian drama. The conflict in
this play, nevertheless, is far more complicated than that of
earlier drama. Death provides the motivation behind the ac
tion and gives purpose and meaning to the conflict. The
strains of cdnfllot themselves are varied and well integrated.
Everyman first of all comes into conflict with Death, and
after his failure to bribe him, he must pay the consequences
of his lifelong rebellion against God* In addition, his
^Sfelsinger, p* 2l8*
53juui., p. 106*
60
rejection by his worldly comrades poses another aspect of
the overall conflict. All of these strains of discord focus
upon the conflict that takes place in Everyman's mind, and
the result is one of the most graphic examples of the use of
conflict in Christian drama.
The tendency toward secularization of drama has been
noted in its movement from the Church to inn yards and city
courtyards. The morality had an Increasingly temporal pro
pensity, and by the latter part of the fifteenth century the
religious element in the moralities had become secondary to
that of entertainment. The evolvement of the interlude in
the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries augmented
the tendency toward secularization and expedited the growth
of realistic comedy. As regards this study, the importance
of the interlude lies in the fact that it shifted the focus
of drama from abstractions of the universal medieval Church
to the typical, the mundane, and the aristocratic. The
shift from religious to mundane interests freed drama from
the restrictions of the Church and for the first time made
possible truly tragic conflict.
Religious drama, for reasons discussed above, failed
to produce tragedy; yet in the Church arose the drama that
provided the framework on which later tragedy was to build.
The Church and Christianity, however, did more than provide
a mere framework for dramatic presentation! they added new
depth and tragic potential to drama. Christ ostensibly
61
brought a nev hope and overcame tragedy. The Gospels pro
mised to remove the tragedy from human life, but subsequent
history behaved in the old tragic vays, the only difference
being that the stakes vere higher. For one thing, man vas
presented vlth a great new dilemma! to believe or not to
believe, a choice charged with terror. Not to believe
meant to face, alone and unaccommodated, a void of meaning-
lessness to which the revelations of Christainity had added
the ultimate terrori infinity.^
Thus, by the end of the sixteenth century, English drama
had developed an ability to focus upon human character as a
progressive shaper of unhappy destiny. By probing the human
mind and soul, it had found a way leading out of the shallow
and toward the depths of tragedy. Several forces converged
in the sixteenth century to make possible the first English
tragedy and pave the way for the high status attained by
the genre under Shakespeare. We move then to the Elizabethan
vorld.
5^ ' Sevell, pp* 50-51.
Chapter IV
THE ELIZABETHAN WORLD AND THE MATURITY OF TRAGEDY
English tragedy reached Its apogee in the so-called
Elizabethan era, a tis^ including the years of Elizabeth's
reign and the first years of the Stuart reign. The roots
that made this floverlng of tragic genius possible extended
far back into the Middle Ages. Numerous forces converged to
form a climate suitable for the grovth of the seed of tragedy;
and vatered by the spirit of genius of Mar love, Shakespeare,
Webster, and others, it germinated, grev, bloomed, and died
in one short season of violent grovth. In this chapter,
attention vlll be centered upon the vorld in vhlch tragedy
lived and died. What fostered its gro%rth? With vhat does
it concern Itself? Why did it die such a young death?
Some of these questions have been partially ansvered by
the discussions in chapters I and II, and others vlll be
held up to scrutiny in the succeeding discussion* All of
these problems vlll point to the grovth of tragedy, vlth
particular reference to the parts played by faith and tragedy
in its development*
In dealing vlth eras such as the Elizabethan, it is
often easy to look upon them as entirely nev societies acted
upon by totally novel povers* Civilizations and different
periods of the history of people, hovever, do not so easily
cut themselves off from their past; and those vho look upon
62
63
Elizabethan England as the epitome of a nev age for men,
overlook the fact that the ii lizabethan era had its roots in
the past. The major sources of conflict in the era, in fact,
originated in the clash of old vorld philosophies and new
vorld Ideals and concepts. Humanism did not limit itself to
the literary vorld, but to the contrary the humanistic spirit
permeated ^rmTy area of human endeavor and indeed contributed
to the general advancement of human knovledge.
The old vorld fortresses constantly found themselves
under barrage from humanism's artillery, and the new spirit
soon marshalled many troops to strengthen its cause. Copernicus
spearheaded a wave of scientific advancement that threatened
to subdue all of men's cherished beliefs and completely crush
his earth-oriented systems of philosophy, psychology, and
religion. Geographical discoveries, new theories of educa
tion, religious reform, and a belief in the perfectability
of man further strengthened the driving force of humanism.
These startling advances, hovever, failed to destroy all
former customs and dogmas. The old vays of thinking still
persisted and in some vays vere strengthened by their fight
against a nev foe. The glory of the Elizabethan Age lies in
the fact that vlthln the old framevork of beliefs and philoso
phies it could encompass such overvhelmlng forces as those
that the Renaissance and Reformation brought to bear upon
it. The clash betveen the old and the nev vas constant and
conflict vas the keynote of the time.
6k
Elizabethan England inherited from the Middle Ages the
concept of a double vision of the vorld. Its origins, like
those of the vorld order considered separately, go back to
"Genesis" and Plato's H M f i M ss brought together by the
hellenlalng Jevs of Alexandria. "Genesis" asserts that
vhen God created the vorld He found it good; but man fell
from his state of grace and by so doing corrupted both
himself and the vorld. Man did not become completely
enmeshed in the corruption of the vorld, for it vas general
ly agreed that some vestiges of his original virtue remained.
The Platonic doctrine bore the same general interpretation.
The demiurge created the universe after the divine idea,
and consequently it vas good; but since it was only a copy
it vas removed from the idea and vas thereby corrupted from
perfection. The value of this system is that it admits of
sufficient optimism and sufficient pessimism to satisfy the
different tastes of varied types of men and the genius for
inconsistency and contradiction that distinguishes the single
human mlnd.^^ E. M. W. Tlllyard points out that!
It vas then through an Intense realization of this double vision that the Elizabethans could combine such extremes of optimism and pessimism about the order of the present vorld. The possibilities of great range vere the greater because there vas no tyranny of general opinion one vay or another*56
^%illyard, p. 19*
^^Ifeti., p. 20.
6!;
The legacy from the Middle Ages, then, had that vlthln
it vhlch vould make allovances for the conflicts of the
time, and the conflicts were legion. The empirical method
of scientific investigation, as much as anything else, vas
a cause for conflict betveen the old and the new* Under the
leadership of men such as Francis Bacon, the empirical
method became the basis for scientific research; but the
old beliefs vere slov in dying, and for many years both
superstition and science vere equally poverful forces in the
lives of men* For all the rapid advances, hovever, the
average man of the Ellsabethan vorld vas extremely super
stitious* In O u IdUUti Edmund, vho is the modem empiricist,
scoffs at the beliefs of Gloucester!
This is the excellent foppery of the vorld* that, vhen ve are sick in fortune, oft«Q the surfeit of our ovn behaviour, ve make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the starsf as if ve vere villains on necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaveSf thieves, and treachers by spherical predominance t drunkards, liars# and adulterers by an enforc'd obedience of planetary Influence; and all that ve are evil in, by a divine thrusting on. An admirable evasion of vhoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a starl My father compounded vlth my mother under Ursa Major, so that it follovs I am rough and lecherous* Fat) I should have been that I am, had the malden-llestL.»*«P i» ^ ^ firmament tvinkled on my bastardls-lai*57
Mutability had alvays been a cause for study and con
cern for thouifhtful men, but it became especially Important
57 '^^Nellson, Shakespeare, p. llMf.
66
to the Elizabethan. The mutability of things, the brevity
of life, the inevitable end of human beauty and greatness,
haunted the Middle Ages;^^ and men regarded any form of
transcience as a formidable antagonist. A major source
of conflict throughout the era vas that betveen mutability
and Christianity, and the vorks of theologians and Christian
scholars are replete with such statements as the following
one by Richard Hooker! "The lav vhereby He vorketh is
eternal, and therefore can have no shov or colour of rautabll-
ity."-' Mutability llkevlse permeated other areas of human
activity and thought, and countless references to it are
to be found in the vrlting of the time. So many signs of
change evidenced themselves that man could not help but
believe that change must Inexorably triumph. In spite of
all that reason may allege, human sense recoils at the re
morseless lav of nature forbidding human survival and seem
ingly upholding the universal reign of Mutability.^
58 ' W* L* Renvlck, MmM MsXk&SJL^ M fiftMY aik Renaissance
Poetry. (London! Edvard Arnold and Co., 1925), p. 169. ^^John Kebel ( e d . ) , I M \tSJSUk 9L That Learned SX^
Judicious SJjOfiLft MM. fsi^t^^T^ ilfii2kfi£> MlUk M,^9g9ttfitf SL His liJXft ifi^ iZftftill hZ Isasc M&UifilL* Vol. I l l (6th ed.; Oxford! The Clarendon Press, 187^), p* 20^.
60„ B* E* C. Davis, Mmoi £fifiaiS£> A CrUlgi l MudY
(London! Cambridge University Press, 1933)• P. 230.
67
The Elizabethans envisioned a vorld of natural order
in vhlch everything had its place. Belief in a natural
chain of being existed in the Middle Ages, but the concept
found its greatest currency among the Elizabethans vho con
sidered it as the source of all order in the universe.
Mutability, vhlch threatened to destroy order, militated
against the chain of being and led to chaos. E. M. W.
Tlllyard says of the Elizabethans!
They vere obsessed by the fear of chaos and the fact of mutability; and the obsession vas poverful in proportion as their faith in the cosmic order vas strong. To us chaos means hardly more than confusion on a large scale; to an Elizabethan it meant the cosmic anarchy before creation and the vholesale dissolution that vould result if the pressure of Providence relaxed and alloved the lav of nature to cease functioning.61
Amid all the enthusiasm and activity of the Renaissance,
faith retained its hold on the minds of men, but certain
distinctions are necessary to qualify this statement. The
Middle Ages - The Age of Faith - vas an epoch vhen faith
mcai/o at least a nominal belief in Christ. The Renaissance
did not completely destroy this faith, but it did diversify
the meaning of the vord. In the religious realm alone,
faith took on many nev connotations. For Luther, it came
to mean an absolute trust in the teaching of Christ as set
dovn in the Bible, and from religious group to religious
group the concept of faith varied* On the vhole, the re
ligious concept of faith remained that of a confidence in
^^illyard, p. 13.
68
the fact that God still controlled the universe and had
the pover to save men and grant them eternal bliss. Drama,
hovever, received its greatest influence from the humanistic
faith in the dignity of man*
Faith characterized the Renaissance in Its early stages!
faith in the perfectability of man, faith in the new scienti
fic discoveries, faith in man's ability to subdue the vorld.
As men probed deeper into the vorld around them, they began
to lose their faith, and eventually their enthusiasm vaned
into pessimism* They became disillusioned vlth Renaissance
ideals and in those fev short years when they vavered be
tveen faith and pessimism the conditions vere ripe for the
vrlting of tragedy.
A Christian concept of faith, completely lacking in
the vorld of Greek civilization, pervaded the Elizabethan
%rorld* Of course, the Greeks believed in the gods, but the
element of faith in relation to the supreme povers did not
have the urgency that it did to a Christian* Greek tragedy
evolved from a faith in the dignity of man, and Englleh
tragedy llkevlse could be vrltten only \^en the shackles of
a self abasing, absolute Christian faith vere removed. Christ*
Ian faith calls for debasement of man before the omnipotent
Creator as veil as a complete confidence in the ability of
God to "save** man regardless of i^at befalls hln in this
vorld. In as far as Christian faith promotes a belief in
jastice in the vorld, the free vlll of man, and man's ability
69
to meet and survive the vorst that life can offer, then it
is in accordance vlth the faith productive of tragedy.
Stripped dovn to these aspects, however, faith loses many
of its strictly Christian connotations, an occurrence which
leads to the conclusion that in the Elizabethan world it
was a faith in Christian ethics and not the Christian faith
in God that contributed to the writing of great tragedy.
Two not entirely compatible faiths ran throughout the
Elizabethan era - the Christian faith in God and the human
ist faith in man - and the great tragedy of the era depended
upon a combination of these concepts. The humanist faith
in man freed Christianity from much of its determinism, and
faith in the Christian ethic that ascribed order and mean
ing to the universe made possible a tragic hero who could
have confidence in the fact that he could exercise his free
vlll and vlth dignity meet the vorst that life could offer.
The Important point to remember about both the Christian
and humanistic concepts of faith is not that they formed
tvo readily discernible streasis of thought, only one of
vhlch must be accepted, but that they were underlying cur
rents that shaped thinking in general* The faith necessary
for tragedy is not just that faith vhlch the characters
themselves profess, but it is that deeper faith upon vhlch
the play as a vhole rests*
Nov, the Renaissance individualist thus produced vas
bound to get into trouble* Even if he vas not vorsted by
70
other individualists, he vould in time discover the limits
of his povers; frustration or disillusion vas his natural
fate.°2 5»ji most evident stimulus of Elizabethan tragedy
vas the tensions of an age of transition; the conflicts be
tveen the old faiths and the nev enthusiasms, vhlch led to
disillusionment and brought back the old fears. By pictur
ing man's position betveen beast and angel, the Renais
sance gave a nev intensity to the old conflict of man's
place in the vorld, and the conflicts of mature Shakespearean
tragedy are those betveen the passions and reason. But Shake-
speare animates these conflicts vhether vlth angel and
beast or vlth the lovely or violent manifestations of Inanimate
nature.^^ As long as they had faith, men vere able to cope
vlth these conflicts; but as the vave of pessimism deepened,
they began to doubt themselves. At first, this pessimism
made possible the doubts that contributed to the production
of the great Elizabethan tragedies, but in the course of
time it became so deep-seated that it killed tragedy. Man
could not be pessimistic about himself and be tragic, for
a heroic tragedy vas the outcome of a vlev perhaps pessi
mistic about things in general but alvays optimistic about
virtue in individuals.
^%uller, p* iMf.
^^Tlllyard, p. 70.
^^hompson, p. 287.
71
The happy combination in the sixteenth century of
classical tragedy, particularly Senecan Tragedy, vlth the
most notable elements of medieval drama resulted in the
first English tragedy. Seneca made a strong appeal to the
vriters of the Renaissance. His strong Stoic scorn of
fortune was not hard to tune to the surviving medieval
tradition of contempt for the world. The Senecan contribu
tions to Elizabethan drama are numerous, and a few of the
more important ones will be mentioned briefly. In the first
place, like Seneca the first English tragedies emphasized
the rhetorical element, and they had a penchant for sen
tentious moralizing and declamation. Secondly, he intro
duced characters of high estate who were free to make their
own choices vhen they acted but vho vere responsible for
their acts. From Seneca also came a proclivity for didactic
drama bent on illustrating the vages of sin. Finally, Seneca
brought to Elizabethan drama! the monologue, the ghost,
supernatural machinery, the theme of revenge, the villain
vho freely declares his villainy, the glut of horror for
its ovn sake.
In 1559» the first Senecan tragedy vas translated into
English; and in 1662, Thomas Norton and Thomas Sackville
vrote Gorboduc. the first regular English tragedy. The
play, vhlch is vrltten in an admirable blank verse, makes
use of such devises as! dumb ;»hovs, chorus, five act
structure. Thomas Sackville also vrote parts of the Mirrour
72
£ ^ Magistrates> and the play is Itself a mirror for magis
trates! It varns the young Queen against the danger of
sedition and divided sovereignty.
The sources of conflict in Gorboduc are varied, and
being free to run their natural course, they consummate in
tragedy. Contrary to the advice of some of his counsellors,
Gorboduc divides his kingdom between his two sons. This
purely gratuitous act precipitates a chain of tragic events
that eventually bring anarchy and death to the kingdom.
Gorboduc himself initiates the conflict by flagrantly vio
lating the laws of Natural Order in the division of his king
dom. The other tvo major themes of the play, revenge and
the uzmatural killing of a child by a parent, have their
rise in this foolish act.
Gorboduc's counsellor varns him that "vlthln one land
one single rule is best; / Divided reigns do make divided
hartes." dtllt 259-60) The sagacity of this counsel becomes
apparent vhen Porrex kills his brother Ferrex and vhen Ferrex
is in turn killed by his mother. Ferrex felt that he had been
deprived of a due right, and he set out to regain the lost
portion of his inheritance. Porrex, on the other hand, used
self defense as a motive for killing Ferrex and thereby ad
vancing his ovn vaulting ambitions. Of course, Ferrex's
death introduces the motive for revenge vhlch further compli
cates the conflict. Vldena commits the most unnatural of acts
73
and kills her ovn child! Gorboduc's subjects, repulsed by
the horror of this deed, slay both the King and Queen. Re
venge, then, leads to the most unnatural murders of! brother
by brother, child by parent, and monarch by subject. Only
anarchy can ensue from acts of such dire consequence; and
for fifty years tumult, rebellion, and civil var engulf the
kingdom*
The major conflict in Gorboduc. the violation of Natural
Order, Increases in scope, complexity, and intensity as one
violent act leads to another. The breakdovn of Natural
Order opens the door for hatred, fear, suspicion, revenge,
ambition, and greed; and each of these elements further
complicates and Intensifies the conflict. The calamitous
results of such a course of action is a collapse of society
itself. The breakdown of society in Gorboduc does not
approximate that of King Itftsz; nevertheless, vestiges of
collapse are discernible throughout the entire social struc
tural political breakdovn in the state; domestic breakdovn
vlth children against children, parents against children,
and husband against vlfe; and society Itself in chaos.
C^rbodnc strongly echoes the Ml££2iiU: £fi£ WMArtrfttftfft
and the chorus at the end of the first act serves notice that
fiQvbodue!
A myrrour shall become to Princes all. To leame to shunne the cause of suche a fall. (I, Chorus, 23-2H)
7h
The tragedy hangs, however, upon the well-considered and
wholly responsible act of Gorboduc. He acts unwisely and
must suffer for it. The lesson is that the misfortunes of
the King and his realm could have been avoided by right
action. The play has much to say about "climbing pride"
and "lust to reign," but Gorboduc is no more guided by them
than Shakespeare's Lear. By his lack of wisdom and scorn
for the advice of his counsellors he releases these powers
in others.
Gorboduc poignantly emphasized the course that conflict
could take when freed from the restraints of religious drama;
for in it conflict culminated not in victory but in tragedy.
The elements of conflict are by no means utilized to their
fullest extent; but at this juncture, drama had reached
such a point of maturity that the only limitation to future
production would be the inability of the individual artist
to utilize his materials. Gorboduc tends to leave a person
filled with a sense of terror or horror, and whatever
catharsis it achieves is very rudimentary. Tragedy made
rapid strides, however, and in the great tragedies of Shake
speare it reached its zenith.
Chapter V
THE WHEEL GOES FULL CIKCL ^
Two plays, Christopher Marlowe's J^ Faustus and
Shakespeare's Timon of Athens, clearly indicate the course
taken by Elizabethan tragedy in both its ascent and in its
decline* Neither of these plays attains the realm of tragic
greatness, but a study of their strengths and weaknesses
points out both the nature of Elizabethan tragedy and the
part that conflict and faith played in it*
It is not easy to account for a flowering of tragic
genius as short-lived as that of Elizabethan tragedy* Its
roots, as the previous chapters disclosed, go far back into
the past, and its demise can be ascribed to a multiplicity
of factors* A fev threads of thought, hovever, stand out
quite vividly in the rich tapestry of Elizabethan tragedy;
and they can, vlth a certain amount of authority, be un
ravelled and held up for scrutiny. Tvo of these threads,
conflict and faith, are especially salient; and the follovlng
analyses of SXJL Faustus and Timon ££ AltibftCUl vlll be focused
primarily upon these tvo elements*
The Renaissance vas a time of questioning. The in
fusion of a nev scientific spirit and the breakdovn of the
povers of the Church opened the door for the investigation
of nev vistas and the re-evaluation of old beliefs. Whole
nev panoramas of thought opened up for the thinking man, and
75
76
many tlsie-honored customs, dogmas, and Ideals succumbed to
taie relentless nev spirit* Drama definitely reflected
these changes, and Christopher Marlove In his play Sju Faustus
attempted that vhlch vould have been unthinkable to drama
tists of the medieval Church! he challenged God* In many
respects, Dr* Faustus represents the plight of the Renais
sance man* He is the divided soul, torn betveen the desire
to eaq;>lolt its nev mastery and freedom and the desire to
retain the old teachings, vhlch to defy meant guilt and a
grovlng sense of alienation* Faustus is tragic because he
recognised the dilemma as real* Even as he boasts that his
soul la his ovn, to dlsi>ose of as he vlll, he hears the
fearful echoes thundering in his ears*^^
JLCjb Fauslfus does not enter the realm of great tragedy,
but the fault lies In the artistic handling and not in the
subject matter* Dr. Faustus deals vlth a subject, the loss
of a soul, that could be truly tragic; and the play is one
of the first to exploit the tragic potential that Christianity
made possible* Faustus' veaknesses vere not unique, for he
folloved the line that led many a Renaissance man to despair*"^^
65 ^Sevell, p* 59*
^^Pretesteat doctrine on faith and Renaissance freedom of inquiry combined to make despair a vldespread occurrence* Lily B* Campbell ^Doetor Faustusi A Case of Conscience," j>MLA. LXVII (March, 1952). pp. 219-239^7 cites the true case history af Francis Splra (Francesco Spiera) o , as a "case of oonscienee," finally succumbed to despair* This case took prscedenee as the most influential and videly disseminated In Protestant Europe and England*
71
Miss Campbell's article, because of its direct bear
ing upon conflict and faith, merits special consideration.
Miss Campbell points out that Faustus' tragical history can
be understood only against the background of sixteenth-
century thought and story from vhence it came, and parti
cularly against the background of religious thinking vhlch
it so clearly reflects. When Marlowe's play is considered
in this way it becomes apparent that Dr. Faustus is represent
ed as commiting two mortal sins. The first sin culminates
in the compact whereby he gives his soul to the devil in
return for twenty-four years of voluptuous living. The
seriousness of Faustus' sin lies in the emphasis on justifi
cation by faith which was one of the great dividing doc
trines by which Protestantism came to be distinguished from
Roman Catholicism. "By adjuring God and alienating his soul
from God, Faustus had committed the sin of sins from which
all the good works prescribed by the apostle James or by
Goethe could not save hlm."^^
Faustus' initial sin is not conclusive and fatal. What
ultimately dooms him, body and soul, is that, stun.» by qualms
of conscience, he yields to the sin of despair and so is led
to reject the proffered mercy of God made manifest in Christ.
The conflict and suspense of the play emanate from the con
tinuing struggle of conscience, the conflict between hope and
Campbell, p. 223.
7^
despair, where hope would lead him to God again, despair
would keep him from salvation.
The play as a whole hinges upon the author's effective
use of the elements of faith and conflict. Faith operates
at several levels to heighten the dramatic effect. The
nature of Faustus' dilemma is such as would contribute pri
marily to internal conflict, and the use of external con
flict is somewhat limited. Marlowe, nevertheless, weaves
the various facets of conflict into a variegated complex.
It has been customary among scholars to consider Dr.
Faustua as a play of revolt; but Joseph T. McCullen^^ con
vincingly points out that it is just as reasonable to con
sider Dr. Faustus a moral play. Dr. McCullen convincingly
maintains that Dr. Faustus brings tragedy upon himself be
cause of his limited and defective knowledge. A few note-
vosrthy principles governed the Elizabethan concept of learn
ing, and these vere thought to embrace everything that vould
contribute to happy living. These principles included the
pursuit of self knovledge, faith in man's spiritual conduct,
the acceptance of social responsibility, and proof of visdom
in conduct* The pursuit of knc^edge, moreover, vas inti
mately related to man's spiritual destiny; and Faustus re
veals his lack of "true" knovledge by the fact that he has
68 "Dr. Faustus and Renaissance Learning," Modern Language
fi^gviev. LI (Jan., 1956), pp. 6-16. This article presents a good survey of Renaissance learning, and it likewise gives keen insight into the nature of Faustus' tragic conflict.
79
not mastered any of the aims of learning sufficiently to
make it a guiding principle of his life.
Dr. Faustus has supposedly mastered all the fields of
learning known to men of the Renaissance - theology, law,
philosophy, medicine - and at the beginning of the play he
appears to be a man of visdom and renovn. His insatiable
appetite for knovledge and pover cannot be stayed by normal
means, and in a bit of devious sophistry he rejects all the
fields of learning as insufficient. Faustus finally over
throws all the honored fields of human endeavor, turns to
magic, and makes a pact with the devil,
Faustus* rejection of the major fields of learning not
only initiates the conflict but also reveals the nature of
his character. Philosophy he finds as below his dignity,
and he contemptuously exclaims that "a greater subject fitteth
Faustus' wlt."^ He decries law as fit for "a mercenary
drudge" who aims at nothing but "external trash." The re
jection of medicine and theology most vividly reveal the
superficiality of Faustus' knowledge and his besetting sin
of pride. He recounts the .achievements of medicine and his
mastery of it, but he laments that he is "still but Faustus
and a man." (51, p. 1^7) If medicine could:
^^C* F* Tucker Brooke (ed.), T M Works QI <il^vU%9\iii^I i rJlQve (Oxford! The Clarendon Press, 19^6), p. IH7. All further references to Dr. Faustus vlll be cited by line and page numbers only.
80
* * • make men to Hue eternally? Or, being dead, raise them to life again?
Then this profession vere to be esteemed* (53-55f p. 1^7)
Faustua, then rejects medicine as insufficient to grant him
his real goal - immortality.
The sophistry and half-truth employed in the rejection
of theology underscore Faustus' lack of the true scholarly
or scientific attitude. He clinches his devious line of
reasoning by reading from Jerome's Bible scripture vhlch
avers that the revard of sin is death! "If we say that ve
have no sin, ve deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in
us."'^ He therefore concludes that ve must sin and con
sequently die, so vhat merit ensues from a belief in theology?
By extracting scripture from context, Faustus quotes only
those verses vhlch support his rationalizations* The verse
contains a threat and a promise, but he reads only the
threat and omits the promise vhlch concludes! "If \f con
fess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our 71
sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness*"
When he embraces necromancy, Faustus reveals the
nature of his character and sets the stage for the tragic
conflict* Contrary to his statement, Faustus is not seeking
knovladge or visdomi he is seeking pover and deity* He has
become the victim of an Inordinate, Intellectual pride, and
^^Jn* l!8*
- Jn* l!9.
81
he vants his immortality here and now. The main conflict,
then, is that within the mind of Faustus. In fact, the intel
lectual conflict in Faustus' mind is the only unifying theme
of the play.
Ironically, all Faustus' claims to knowledge only expose
his pride, the very attitude against which erudition was
supposed to fortify him. He is fully cognizant of Lucifer's
status as a fallen angel; for in answer to a query,
Mephlstophills tells him that Lucifer himself fell because
of "aspiring pride and insolence." (303, p. 155) Faustus
fails to discern that he is following in Lucifer's foot
tracks. Furthermore, he signs the pact with Satan because
he Goes not have the wisdom to heed God's sign of warning.
Faustus' pride brings him into conflict with God and with
God's angels and messengers who come to warn him.' On oc
casion, Faustus' pride and the resultant struggle with good
and evil are reminiscent of the morality, to which Dr. Faustus
is strongly.akin. In the play, good and evil angels play
much the same role as those of the morality, and Faustus
himself is little more than a personalized Everyman. Marlowe
uses the debates of the good and evil angels and the other
warnings given to Faustus as devices for heightening the
conflict. Conflict stems from both the Intellectual and the
^^he arguments of the angels reflect the Reformation just as many of the speeches of Mephistophiles reflect the Renaissance.
82
spiritual aspects, and the warnings of the Angels, and the
Old Man symbolize the prompting of his heart and his intel
lect respectively.^3
Early in the play, the Good Angel warns Faustus to
"lay that damned book aside." (98, p. 1^9) Faustus, however,
heeds the advice of the Evil Angel who counsels him tot
Be thou on earth, as Jove is in the skie.
Lord and commaunder of these Elements." (lOW-5, p. 1^9)
The intensifying conflict and Faustus' augmenting pride be
come apparent when he later dismisses the Good Angel's admoni
tion to repent with the comment! "My heart's so hardened
I cannot repent." (629, p. 166) After the Old Man leaves,
Faustus once more acknowledges the conflict in his soul: Hell strives with grace for conquest in my breast. What shal I do to shun the snares of death? (1302-3j p. 188)
He finally completely rejects the Old Kan's advice and then
he commits the most damning of all acts of pride by proclaim
ing! "But Faustus' offence can nere be pardoned. The ser
pent that tempted Eve may be saved, but not Faustus." (1371-
72, p. 191) This final pronouncement on the part of Faustus
consummates his conflict with God and leaves despair and the
loss of faith as his only recourse.
^^Philip Henderson, Christopher Marlowe (London! Longman's, Green and Co., 1952), p. 129.
83
In certain lucid moments, Faustus doubts the validity
of the course that he is pursuing. Once, while in his study,
Faustus muses! "Now Faustus must thou nodes be damnd, and
canst thou not be saved?" ( 33-3 , p. 158) When his blood
congeals while he is signing the pact vith Lucifer, Faustus
seriously reflects upon his predicament, but he finally con
cludes vlth the question, "Why shouldst thou not? is not thy
soule thine ovne?" (500, p. 161) As a counter to these in
clinations tovard faith, Mephlstophills attempts to divert
Faustus' mind by amusing him vlth divers kinds of pleasure.
On one occasion, Lucifer entertains Faustus by calling forth
the Seven Deadly Sins. Faustus' enjoyment of a spectacle
that should have served as a vamlng to him shovs the de
pravity of his mind. His lingering faith and Mephlstophills'
attempts to surmount it form a spiral of conflict that eventu
ally culminates in utter despair and eternal alienation for
Faustus*
Faustus, furthermore, commits the sin of sloth (sloth
of omission) - he does not gain the true knovledge necessary
for the salvation of his soul* His search for immortality
completely subjugates his ostensible thirst for knovledge*
Wagner, vhen serving as a Chorus for Scene VII, best sums up
Faustus' true Intent!
Learned Faustus, To knov the secrets of Astronomy Graven in the book of Jove's hie firmament* Did mount hlmselfe to scale Olympus' top* (792-95j p* 172)
/
8if
If he were truly interested in knowledge, Faustus would
attempt to scale Parnassus. Instead, he essays to mount
Olympus, the home of the gods. His spurious knowledge and
the pact with Satan, therefore, form part of the irony which
pervades the play. This irony, which plays an important
part in the development of conflict, comes about as part
of the process from ignorance to enlightenment.
Faustus' pride blinds him to the fact that Imm.ortality
is not the merited lot of man. Christ gained immortality
as a man; but He did so by willingly sacrificing His life in
ignominious death on a cross. By magic, Faustus hopes to
duplicate this act of love; therefore, he consummates a pact
with Satan who, like Faustus, possesses iiAsolent pride. As
soon as he has signed the pact, Faustus says, "Consummatum
est-this bill is ended." What an insight into the twisted
mind of the magician! Christ at great sacrifice lived among
men, and as the supreme sacrifice He freely gave His own
life to redeem men. Truly He could say, "It is finished."^^
Faustus, on the other hand, has given nothing; yet he exacts
immortality as a right. Audaciously and ironically, then,
does he blasphemously exclaim; "It is finished." The irony
here is twofold. In the first place, the bargain succeeds
only in thwarting Faustus' attempts to gain that which he
has coveted the most. Secondly, Faustus' hopes for salvation
vere not finished; only his subsequent thinking made it so.
7h Jn. 19t 30.
85
Pride, when conjured up for Faustus' entertainment,
boasts that he disdains "to have any parents." (72^, p. 169)
By Implying that he has no beginning or end, he claims im
mortality. This boast parallels that of Faustus, and graphi
cally emphasizes the irony of his situation. Pride, who con
trols Faustus, likewise Inspired Lucifer to rebel and lose
his divinity. His brazen assertion of immortality, therefore,
underscores the futility and fatality of the course that
Faustus pursues.
When confronted with the beautiful Helen of Troy, Faustus
asks of her, "Sweete Helen, make me immortal with a klsse."
(1330, p. 189) Faustus knows that the spirit before him is
only a devil who has taken the form of Helen. Intercourse
with devils damns the soul, and Faustus' request succeeds only
in further alienating him from God and thereby fitting his
soul for Hell. Ironically, his soul Is already immortal,
but he wants Immediate proof of that fact. The kiss does
not make Faustus Immortal - a fact already accomplished -
but it does aid in determining his everlasting existence in
Hell, a place whose reality he refuses to admit.
Faustus slovly becomes avare of his plight, but pride
prevents him from accepting his only salvation - God's gift
of mercy. In utter hopelessness, he finally cries, "Damnd
art thou, Faustus, damnd, dispaire and Die." (1286, p. 188)
His complete despair kept him from (tod's saving grace. He
had truthfully but unwittingly declared that it vas finished.
n
86
and prophetically Mephlstophills and his devils come to
carry his soul to Hell. As they carry him away, Faustus
makes the most l3Ponlc of all his statements! "I'll burne
my books," he explains. (l^77» p. 19^) Unfortunately, this
proposition comes too late; for despair has already sealed
his fate.
Faustus' conflict vlth God and that within his ovn soul
culminate In defeat on tvo levels. He demands from Mephlsto
phills the solution of the great problems raised by the des
tiny of man. Mephlstophills can not or vlll not comply
vith such a request, and Faustus still fails to understand
the order of the universe. He has made a losing bargain.
Even at the price of his soul, he cannot acquire the in
finite knovledge that he covets. On a lover level, Faustus
defeats himself in that he fails to understand that Christ
can save him in spite of the pact with Satan. He also falls
to realize that Mephlstophills himself renders the pact null
and void by his failure to live up to his part of the bargain*
The iiC%XoTk of Wagner and the clowns forms a sub-plot
that in some ways detracts from the main action, but in many
aspects it underscores the irony and futility of Faustus'
compact with the devil. After signing the pact, Faustus dis
covers to his amazement that Wagner possesses both the know
ledge that he (Faustus) has given his soul to attain, and the
pover to command spirits. The bargain by vhlch the dovn
agrees to serve Wagner for seven years parodies the contract
87
by vhlch Mephlstophills assents to minister to Faustus
for tventy-four years.
The conflict in Dr. Faustus attains a complex and
meaningful plane. For one thing, it pertains to the ac
quisition and application of knovledge; and it points out
that the employment of learning affects not only the posses
sor but also those around him. The conflict also relates
to the more Important question of the life and death of
the soul. Dr. Faustu^ meets these problems head on, and
unlike the moralities, divine intervention does not prevent
the elements of conflict from reaching fruition in tragedy.
The conflict, of necessity, remains essentially Internal;
but this reality should not obscure the fact that in great
tragedy conflict can and does work at many levels both in
ternally and externally. King Lear, for example, finds him
self in conflict with his own baser self and with even the
elements of Nature. Externally, he finds himself in con
flict vith Gronerll, Regan, and others. The numerous rami
fications of all these areas of conflict are intricately
Intervoven into a pattern that culminates in great tragedy.
In ELI. Faustua, as in all great tragedy, faith gives mean
ing to the conflict.
Faith operates at tvo distinct levels in QCJ^ Faustus,
The play as a vhole is based on the Christian faith that
ascribes eternal value to the soul. If this belief in the
eternal soul bound for either heaven or hell vere not present.
88
Faustus' struggle vould be meaningless. A play, hovever,
need not be circumscribed vlthln such narrov limits. It
can also be founded upon either the Christian ethic vhlch
ascribes order and meaning in the vorld or the humanistic
faith in the dignity of man. In any case, hovever, tragedy
must be based upon some faith that vlll give meaning and
purpose to the tragic conflict.
On another level is the faith or lack of it in Dr.
Faustus and Mephlstophills. Of course, the conflict of the
play centers around Faustus' lack of faith. There can be
no doubt but that Marlove intended faith to be accepted as
Important and Faustus' rejection of it as a tragic flav.
Even MephiLtoi;i*illis believes in hell, for he knovs it as a
reality; he therefore counsels Faustus that he vould be vise
to exercise a strong faith as regards its reality. In ansver
to Faustus' question as to vhy he is out of hell, Mephlstophi
lls anevers!
Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it; Thinkst thou that I vho saw the face of God, And tasted the eternal joyes of heaven Am not tormented with ten thousand hels. In being deprived of everlasting blisse? Faustus, leave these frivolous demaunds. Which strike a terror in my fainting soule. (312-18, p. 155)
Faustus later questions Mephlstophills again about hell, and
Mephlstophills once more reiterates his awareness of its
whereabouts and reality. The follovlng dialogue sums up the
nature of Mephlstophills' vamlng and Faustus' rejection of
it!
89
Meph. . . . Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscrib'd In one selfe place, for where we are is hell And where hell is there must we ever be; And to conclude, when all the world dissolves And every creature shalbe purified. All places shall be hell that is not heaven.
Faust. Come, I thlnke hell's a fable. Meph. I, thlnke so, still, till experience change
thy minde. (553-60, p. 163)
Despite his domineering pride, Faustus by exercising
faith could have defeated Satan. At one point, Mephlstophills
even despairs of gaining Faustus' soul, and he exclaims!
His faith is great; I cannot touch his soule. But what I may afflict his body with I wil attempt, which is but little worth. (I3I6-I8, p. 187)
Because he cannot muster the faith necessary to accept
Christ's grace, Faustus loses his soul. The play, neverthe
less, rests on a strong basis of faith.
Marlowe's contributions to the development of drama,
most of which can be seen in Dr. Faustus. prepared the way
for the great tragedies of Shakespeare. One of Marlowe's
major contributions was that of the towering hero ruled by
a dominant passion or flaw. Faustus approaches the stature
of a truly tragic hero, and the major weakness of the play
is his failure to attain the potential adumbrated by his
auspicious beginning. His lack of wisdom and self-knowledge
and the pride that he takes in his "assumed knowledge" are
the flaws that govern his actions.
During the middle portion of the play, however, he
diminishes his stature by using his powers to produce grapes
90
during the winter, to play tricks on the Pope, and to trick
a country bumpkin. With a strong beginning and a strong
ending, the play has a nugatory middle.''^ It is only vhen
he again faces his dilemma at the end of the play that he
regains some of his heroic proportions.
Marlove also employed and exalted blank verse. He vas
not the first to use blank verse, but he made it into an
elevated form of expression vorthy of a Shakespeare. Such
exquisite lines as the follovlng vould be a credit to any
artist!
Was this the face that lancht a thousand shlppes? And burnt the topless Towers of Ilium? Sweete Helen, make me immortal vith a klsse. (1328-30, p. 189)
Marlove likewise employed drama as an effective means
for plumbing the deeper human emotions and problems. By
freeing drama from the stigma of propaganda and religious
controversy, he lifted it above the realm of mere enter
tainment and gave it a dignity worthy to be associated with
man's highest aspirations and his deepest sorrows. In ad
dition, he Introduced free will as an integral part of drama.
Faustus, for example, has complete freedom to choose the path
that he vlll take, and such freedom is imperative to the pro
duction of tragedy.
There is some doubt as to vhether Dr. Faustus achieves
catharsis; nevertheless it seems that he attains this purga
tion. Faustus, despite his sometimes trivial use of knov-
^5j, jA. Robertson, Marlovf! ^ Conspectus (London! George Routledge and L ons, 1931), p. 71.
91
ledge, is a vorthy protagonist vith a tragic flav. During
the course of the play, his gradual enlightenment progres
sively intensifies the conflict. Faustus does not complete
ly disregard the varnings sent to him; he becomes more
acutely avare of the danger of the course that he pursues
but pride precludes him from mustering the faith necessary
to accept salvation. He llkevlse cannot surmount his fear
of bodily harm. The hope of salvation remains to the very
end, but vhen Faustus becomes convinced of his ovn im
mortality and of God's mercy it is too late. Faustus may
not reach the point of submission, acceptance, and humility
usually deemed necessary for true catharsis; yet he is en
lightened, and after he becomes assured of his Immortality
and of the reality of his condition he says that he will
burn his books. There is a notable difference between the
disillusioned scholar in the first scene and the agonizing,
ecstatic figure of the final scene. He enters with the
scholars; and for the first time in the play he has normal,
compassionate discourse with his fellows. He is humble and
repentant and vould pray and veep, but in his despair he
imagines that devils drav in his tears and hold his hands
as he vould lift them up. Happily, the resolution of this
question need not affect this paper, for S£j. Faustus does
foreshadow the great Shakespearean tragedies; and vhat is
more Important, it not only clearly indicates the path that
tragedy folloved in its rise to greatness, but it also
92
emphasizes the vital and necessary role that conflict and
faith play in tragedy.
The final Chorus laments the tragedy of Dr. Faustus!
"Cut is the branch that might have grovne ful straight."
(1^78, p. 19^) Yet, vith all the horror of the closing scene,
of the tvo tragic purgative emotions, pity and fear, it is
the former that has the chief mastery over us at the end.
It is the note of pity that is heard in the three first lines
of the epilogue.^^ The pity of Dr. Faustus is that it had
to be this vay vhen it might have ended othervlse.^'^ Faustus
far transcends both the strict theological basis of the play
and the many vestiges of the morality that characterize it.
Faustus in thought and action, brooding, philosophizing, dis
puting, conjuring, defying God, and risking all vlth a
flourish does not suggest so much the figure of the morali
ties as he does the defiant hero of the Greek tradition - a
Prometheus. Faustus, like Francis Bacon, vorships knovledge
as pover, specifically as a means of controlling nature*
In a broader vlev, he symbolizes the restless, villful, dyna
mic spirit that has led it to seek to convert and control,
explore and exploit the vhole vorld, and has made its history
a series of revolutions! religious, political, scientific,
and Industrial* "In either vlev, Faustus anticipates the
76 ^ Frederick S. Boas, Christopher M££ls}C&! A gjogra^Phjlgfll
^ d g??itical Study (Nev York! Oxford University Press, 19HO), PP 77 Sevel l , p. 57.
93
tragedy of our century. Science has conjured up a pover
that surpasses his dreams, and now gives us nightmares.
The Faustlan spirit has brought on world wars and worlc
revolutions, which may destroy the West."^
The ascendency of tragedy, initiated by Marlowe, cul
minated in the writing of Shakespeare and then declined
until it had completely died by the middle of the seventeenth
century. The decline of tragedy can be accounted for in part
by the absence of a genius comparable to Shakespeare to per
petuate the tragic spirit. Its demise, however, is due more
to the spirit of the times than to the absence of competent
dramatists. John Webster and John Ford both wrote commend
able tragedies, but they worked in an era that was becoming
increasingly hostile to the tragic spirit.
No one factor can possibly account for the death of
tragedy, but one of the most prominent elements was the in
creasing pessimism of the age. Despite the centrifugal,
disruptive forces at %iork in the Renaissance, what remained
deep in the Imagination of western man was the sense that in
spite of appearances, there was order in the universe that
could find its counterpart in the ordered life of man on
earth. The "great chain of being" made possible an ordered
existence compatible with the ordered life. In man, reason
was king and the passions were its subjects. Man soon dis-
7 Muller, p. 162.
9k
covered that reason could be confounded vlth reason, and the
ideal of the ordered state and the perfectibility of man
lave vay to disillusionment vlth Renalesance Ideals. The
pessimism of Shakespeare'a Tlaion j i Athena. Webster, Ford,
and others "signified a loss of faith rather than a re-as-
sertlon of the traditional faith, and so took the form of
a violent revulsion."79
The decline In tragedy emphasises its dependenee upon
faith, for the time of Its decline reflects, not an era of
inereaslBf order and security, but rather an era of heightened
tension* Political, religious, and economic strife culminat
ed in the beheading of Charles I, and in the vorld of thought
men vere beginning to feel the effects of vhat Galileo had
discovered vlth his telescope. Conflict Indeed permeated
society, but a dominating pessimism slovly killed the tragic
spirit*
fiShstkespeare himself reflects this spirit of decadence*
In his great tragedies, Shakespeare maintains a delicate
balonee betveen the optimistic and the pessimistic* If the
good cannot be said to triumph, neither can evil* A balance. So
however precarious, is maintained* The tragic heroes in
Shakespeare*s last tragedies are deeply flawed* "No one of
them is a doer of duty, like Brutus or Hamlet, or an unselfish
^'iMl.t p. 199.
^Sevell, p* 79*
95
81 repenter for vrong done, like Othello or Lear*" Timon,
Macbeth, Antony, and Coriolanus all have the pover to drav
from us videly varied reactions that range from sympathy
to antipathy* These tJ*agic heroes portray greatness strong
ly intermixed vlth deep human flavs, and their greatness
lies In the fact that they could represent serious short-
cominf» as apparently inseparable from the heroic greatness
for vhlch it had sympathy, yet vlthout letting its sympathy
mlnlmlie the ohortcoalngs* Wlllard Famham describes this
area of tragedy as the "tragic frontier." Here Shakespeare
finds "aunrohes of the mind beyond vhlch he cannot go vlthout
a.Mrtla« tr„.4y.-e2 l^fl fit m « U i i-t onlr rtclrt. th.
borderline of the "tragic frontier," but it also Indicates
both the course taken by tragedy in its decline and the im-
posrtanee of conflict and faith to great tragedy.
XlOltfl fill i£biU is not a great tragedy. The tragedy of
the aisanthrope has neither the dramatic vitality nor the
human significaiice i^lch inspires Shakespeare's great tragedies.
Timon's character is too narrov and too artificial* The vhole
play, im fact, lacks an air of reality* Other plays of Shake-
speaare harbor notorious inprobablllties, yet Shakespeare vas
abla to override them by making his characters convincingly
8: Vlllard Famham, Shakeypeare'a Tragic Frontier! The
rrmBBf l9?5Tf pp* 7-8* Hereafter cited as Famham, Tragic
^^Ifcli^i P. 2.
96
^'' 'ii* liafiHt hovever, fails to achieve the illusion of
reality• His one admirable quality, generosity, is supplant-
a<) by misanthropy* He hardens his heart against everything
human, and by so doing he forfeits most of the sympathy
that might othervlse be accorded him* "There is no exalta
tion in the tragedy of Timon; he is in no vay magnified
through suffering, is in no manner redeemed* There is, on
the contrary, only degeneration*"®^
XililL, vhlch pictures man as little more than a debased
animal, is inculcated vlth a tone of unmitigated pessimism*
The ploy abounds vith imprecations against man* These execra«
tions, furthermore, make the gamut of all classes of society*
Act I, soene 1 establishes the tone and brings into play most
of the fojrces that operate throughout the play* The scene
as a i iole contains elements strongly reminiscent of the
Middle Ages' concept of tragedy* The Poet ex;pounds at length
upon "feign'd Fortune*^ He eaeplains to the Painter that he
conceives Fortune to be throned upon a high and pleasant
hill. At the base of the hill are racked people of every
ooneeivable merit and nature that labor to propagate their
state on the earth* Chief among those vho have their eyes
fixed on the goddess Fortune is Timon, and follovlng in his
atrides are all of his supposed friends* Then the Poet ex-
plainsi
83 Neilson, Shakeaoeare. p. 121H*
97
When Fortune in her shift and change of mood Spurns dovn her late beloved, all his dependants Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top Even on their knees and hands, let him (slip) dovn. Not one accompanying his declining foot. (I, 1, Bh^B)
Fortuna, as mentioned, remained a strong force until veil
past the Renaissance, but it Is somevhat surprising to find
her ploying such a prominent role in a late Shakespearean
play* Nevertheless, the mention of her by the Poet is more
than an incidental remark* His exposition presages Timon's
fall, and the nature of the fall strikingly parallels that
of the tragedies from Boccaccio's M Caslbu^. The Painter
recounters that!
Tis comsion* A thousand moral paintings I con shov That ! hiall demonstrate these quick blovs of Fortune's More piregnoiitly than vords* Yet you do veil to shov Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen Ihc foot above the head* (I, 1, 89-9^)
f iifton does act of his ovn volition, but the play has
an air of determinism about lt| for the baseness of the
people vith whom he associates circumscribes his freedom of
action* Even Tision's g^merosity emanates from on innate
self love* Tijson and his vorld are adequately summed up by
the Painter, vho describes his picture as "a pretty mocking
of the life*" (I, i, 35) The Renaissance Ideals of the
ordered life and the perfectibility of man run amuck in the
field of experience* Reason becomes not only the ennobling
faotor in man, but a source of conflict and doubt* Tixe
humanist belief in the dignity of man slovly gave vay to the
98
belief that man vas either bass or at best strongly Inclined
to evil. Fortuna, therefore, symbolizes the determinism
rampant in the vorld of reason and science. Timon, i io is
unable to understand the true nature of his "friends," is
able to say of the picture!
The painting is almost the natural man; For since dishonour traffics vlth man's nature. He is but outside! these penclll'd figures are Even such as they give out* (I, 1, 155-60)
If Timon had had the ability to judge as astutely of men as
of the Painter's etching, he could have averted his ultimate
despair in hiaaanlty* From the "vmry first scene, then, Timon
emphasizes the reign of Fortuna and the falseness of man*
The latter of these traits is further emja:iasl8ed by Timon's
desire for flattery and by the pervasive bestial Imagery*
2JjiSt& Brakes a fjrontal attack on the concepts of a per-
feotible man guided by reason*^ Man instead is pictured
as little better than an animal* He is repeatedly compared
tot flies, bears, tigers, volves, dragons, monsters, beasts,
and dogs* On one oocasi^si, Apemantus pronounces that
There should be small love 'mongst these sweet knaves And all this courtesy I The strain of man's brod out into baboon and monkey* (I, 11, 2^-60)
\iifiSa shows a striking relationship to King LsUBHf especially in the bestial imagery and in the study of human ingratitude* "Under the impact of human beastliness Lear does not himself become a beast, but Timon does* Lear has In him that i^ich allovs regeneration through suffering, )>ut Timon has not* Here ve find a profound difference l^tveen the tvo Shakespearean tragedies that are built upon monstfoas human ingratitude*" Famham, Tragic Frontier, p* ^5«
99
After his disillusionment, Timon uses even stronger Invectives
to describe the common lot of men!
Most^amlllag, smooth, detested parasites. It bean
flies.
«w»v wMXi.ioa, wnooxn, cexestec parasites. Courteous destroyers, affable volves, meek bears. You fool's of fortune, trencher-friends, time's Cap-and-knee slaves, vapours, and minute-JacksI Of man and beast the infinite malady Crust you o«erl (III, vl, lOit-09)
The play implies that man, through mleapplication of virtue,
has degenerated into a state comparable to that of the lov-
est animal. Man and society are further conceived as being
in a state of complete physical decadence and decay. Man as
a beast vallovs in filth and vermin, plagued by disease and
rot* Flamlnlus, while bewailing the condition of his master,
also depicts man's general condition!
Thou disease of a friend, and not himself I Has friendship such a faint and milky heart. It turns in less than tvo nights? 0 you gods, I feel my master's passlonl This slave. Unto honour, has my lord's meat in him; Why should it thrive and turn to nutriment When he is turn'd to poison? 0, may diseases only voxk upon'tl And, vhen he's sick to death, let not that part of nature Which my lord paid for, be of ^mj pover To expel sickness, but prolong his hourl (III, 11, 56-66)
After having been reviled by Timon, Phrynia vishes that his
"lips rot off*" (IV, ill, 63) Timon replies, "I vlll not
kiss thee; then the rot returns to thine ovn lips again*"
(IV, ill, 6^-65) He then admonishes Alchibiades' other
mistress, Tinandra tot
• • * be a idiore still* They love thee not that use thee; Give them diseases, leaving vith thee their lust* Meke use of thy salt hours; season the slaves For tubs and baths; bring rose-cheek'd youth To the tub-fast and the diet* (IV, ill, 8W-88)
100
Apemantus and Timon rail at each other vith such terms as!
laprosy rot, plague, aplt, infection, and filth*
The Imagery and maledictions form a systematic attack
on man end society* First, roan is compared to beasts, but
this injunction soon gives vay to the picture of man in a
state of complete decadence. Timon curses man and vishes
that he might be "set into confounding odds, that beasts /
May have the vorld in empire!" (IV, ill, 392-93) Timon had
previously indicated that even the beasts vere subject to
subordination and corruption. In reply to Apemantus, vho
would give the vorld to the beasts and become one of them,
Tiit n replies!
A beastly ambition, vhlch the gods grant thee t' attain to I If thou vere the lion, the fox vould beguile thee. If thou vert the lamb, the fox vould eat thee. If thou vert the fox, the lion would suspect thee, dien peradventure thou wert accus'd by the ass. If thou wert the ass, thy dulness would torment thee, and still thou llv'dst but as a breakfast to the wolf* If thou wert the wolf, 1 ^ greediness vould afflict thee, and oft thou s iouidst haoard thy life for dinner* Wert thou the unicorn, pride and vrath vould confound thee and moke thine ovn self the conquest of thy fury. if Tt thou a bear, thou vould st be klll'd by the horse* Wert thou a horse, thou vould st be sels'd by the leopard, thou vert germane to the lion, and the spots of thy kindred vera Junors on thy life; all thy safety vere remotlon and thy defence absence. What beast could st thou be, that vere not subject to a beast? (IV, ill, 328.»f7)
Man, therefore. Is unfit for the vorld in any capacity*
The deeper currents that run through the play are those
of depravity end abjection, and even Timon at his best does
littlo to refute the poignant pessimism that underlies the
lOl
play* The pessimism militates against both society and
natural lav* Apemantus, the friend of no man, is a mls-
•nthropist by nature. The faithlessness of society, on the
other hand drives Timon to misanthropy. His early optimism
turns to bitter pessimism and his misanthropy thus converges
vith that of Apemantus to make complete the gamut of pessimism.
Grace offered by the tvo at different times in the play in
dicates tkimiT complete loss of faith in life. Early in the
ploy, Apemantus praysi
Immortal gods, I crave no pelf; I prey for no man but myself. Grant I may never prove so fond To trust man on his oath or bond; Or a harlot for her veeplngt Or a dog that seems a-sleeping| Or a keeper vith my freedom; Or my friends, if I should n9e6 'em. Amen (I, 11, 63-71)
At a banquet that he has prepared for his false friends,
Timon prays!
You great benefactors, sprlhkle our society vith thankfulness. For your ovn gifts make yourselves prais'df but TMB9Tve still to give, lest your dietles be despised. LonA to each man enough, that one need not lend to another; for, vere your godheads to borrow of man, men vould forsake the gods* A>ake the meat be more beloved than the man that gives it* Let no assembly of tventy be vlthout a score of villains; if there sit tvelve vomen at a table, let a dosen of them be - as they are* The rest of your (foes), 0 gods - the senators of Athens, together vith the common (lag) of people -vhat is amiss in thma you gods, make suitable for destruetion* For these my present friends, as they are to aw nothing, so in nothing bless them and to nothing are they velcome* (III, vi, 79-9^)
102
Apemantus directly Initiates the pessimistic strain and sus
tains i t until Timon Join* him, at vhlch time i t becomes al l
inclusive*
TtoQfi pictures corruption in all relationships, in e l l
values, and la al l classes of society* Poets, painters,
phllosoj^iers, j^yslclans, and senators are scrutinized and
found venting* The strongest injunction i s that against
false friendship, and Timon himself unwittingly pronounces
against i t men he advises his guests that!
* • * ceremony vas but devis'd at f irst To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollov velcontes. Recanting goodness, sorry ere ' t i s shown; But vhere there i s true friendship, there needs none*
(I, 11, 15-lS)
A world as pessimistic as Timon's naturally lacks in com
passion and mercy* Oaiie of the Athenian Senators expresses
the prevailing attitude vlth his commentary that "nothing
emboldens sin so much as mercy*" (III, v, 2) The scramble
for money and glib, meaningless promising are likevise
satirised* Aleiblades varns the Senate that they would be
vise to banish usury instead of banishing him* He adds
further! I have kept back their foes. While they have told their money and let out Their coin upon large interest, I myself Rich only in large hurts* All those for this? Is this the balsam that the asuring Senate Pours into captain's vounds? BanlshmentI (III, vi, 106-11)
The painter mokes a trenchant comsient on the art of promising!
Promising is the very vit o' th* time; it opens the eyes of expectation* Performance is ever the duller for this act; and, but in the plainer end simpler kind of people, the deed of saying is quite out of use*
103
To promise Is most courtly end fashionable; perfornance is a kind of vlll or testament vhlch argues a great sickness in his Judgement that mokes it* (V, i, A-31)
Tlaion is not a great tragic hero* His only nobility
is sheerly paradoxical, for he is truly heroic only vhen
ho poors the lava of his hate upon the evils of the vorld*
Willard Famham thinks that!
It is Timon the man-hater that has the finest poetry of the play, and it is in this Timon, obviously, that Shakespeare found most inspiration as he shaped the tragedy* The paradox of Timon's nobility of spirit really lies in the fact that as a lover of good he lacks grandeur, but he Is magnificent as a hater of evil, and that he^becomes a hater of evil only by becoming evil*85
Nevertheless, he never seems to be completely real, and his
actions, even at the best, n%ir9T Justify our complete sym
pathy* Various characters speak of him as "kind," "noble,"
and "generous" Tlsion} but n^st of these adulations originate
from some ulterior motive on the part of the speaker*
Timon's one great virtue of generosity emanates more from
self esteem and the love of flattery than it does from pure
compassion* Apmaontus recognizes Timon's true nature and
mocks him! "0, that men's ears should be / To counsel deaf,
but not to flatteryl" (I, 11, 256-57) Timon himself de
clares that "uavisely, not ignobly, have I given*" (II, 11,
183) His sudden conversion into a misanthrope, hovever,
smacks of iasineerity, and leaves the impression that the
latter state is Timon's true one* He curses mankind so loud
""Famham, TraglA Frontier, p, h7.
lOW
•nd 80 long that vhon Aleiblades speaks of the death of
"noble Tiaon" and of hl» "faults forgiven," our acquiescence
is reluctant*
Conflict operates both internally and externally vlthln
ligffiA, but the play as a vhole is relatively static* The
conflict during the first tvo acts arises mainly from the
insights of Flamlnlus, yAaa understands Timon's flnaoeial pro
digality, and from Apemantus, the man-hater vho recognizes
the irony of Timon's lavishness. The primary conflict stems
from a thoroughgoing revolt against society and its institu
tions* Apemantus by nature sustains this conflict, but it
comes to Tlaion only after his cataclysmic experience vlth his
false friends* His inability to distinguish betveen appear
ance and reality leads him into conflict vith both Flamlnlus
and Apemantus* Once Timon's friends are revealed for the
hypocrites that they are, he comes into direct conflict vith
them* His antipathy, hovever, far transcends the realm of
hatred for those vho have abused and beguiled him, and it
developes into a conflict vlth all of society* Timon rails
against everything associated vith man, but the conflict does
not end even here* le even reviles the forces of nature end
admonishes them to vent all their povers against nan*
The conflict in the sob-plot serves as a source of con
trast and comparison for that of the main plot* Aleiblades
oomes into conflict vlth the Athenian Senate end suffers
banishment* Instead of resorting to misanthropy, he resolves
105
to regain his rights by force* He eventually regains his
former position by a combination of strength and reconcilia
tion, a course that Timon refused to take* Timon curses roan
until the time of his death, and his adamant and prolonged
condemnation of man only exemplifies his inability to rocon-
cile the eonf Hot that rages vlthln his mind. His inability
to recognlzo true values perpetuates both the internal and
external eonf Hot* If he had been able to see his "friends"
for irtiat they vove, Timon might have been able to prevent
the violent change in his character* Timon's love of flattery
poses another facet of the conflict* When he lost the means
to gain attention and vhen he discovered that men vould not
reciprocate his favors, he vas unable to retain his erstvhile
optimistic outlook on life*
The elements of conflict in fj^n lose much of their
meaning and vitality in the maelstrom of curses and maledic
tions* The complete absence of faith vhlch characterizes
the play makes tragedy impossible* Indeed, the play demonstrates
the fine line of belief and unbelief necessary for great tragedy*
TiKon himself loses all faith in man, and the play as a idiole
militates against every basis of faith on vhlch it could be
founded* Christian faith is missing, as is the humanist
faith in the dignity of man. In fact, many of the Renais
sance ideals are seen In their deeper light as being capable
of bringing despair* Even Fortuna is reintroduced to guide
the affairs of men* Tision considers himself in the grasp of
106
Fortune; for vhen he argues vith Apemantus he sneers.
Thou art a slave, vhom Fortune's tender arm With favour never clasp*d, but bred a dog* (IV, ill, 250)
Timon, then, completes the circle from absolute faith to
absolute pessimism* fi]^ EftttfiiUft stands near the beginning
of this cycle end JJtett near the end* Neither of these
plays is a great tragedy, but they emi^asize the vital part
that conflict and faith play in groat tragedy. They stand,
moreover, as landmai^s on each side of the narrov road in
vhlch tragedy must travel*
CONCLUSION
Tragedy arose from Man's attempt to ascertain meaning
in life* The germ of tragedy undoubtedly originated in primi
tive religious rites, but many forces contributed to its
development* The cycle of birth, death, and rebirth, the
festivals honoring Dionysus, and man's inquiring spirit all
made their contribution to the rise of trafedy; but under
lying all of these components is man's insatiable desire to
oompreheiid his vorld, himself, and the povers that control
the universe* Greek drama blossomed, died, and for a thou
sand years vas practically forgotten* During these years
of silence, a nev dramatic force vas slowly taking root*
This nev beginning found expression in the liturgy of the
medieval Church, but it ultimately for transcended this hugible
beginning and developed into great tragedy during the Elizabethan
era* Elizabethan tragedy grew within an entirely different
framevork than its Greek predecessor, but the fundamental
issues vere the same* Teohaiques differed! methods of presenta
tion varied; terms assumed nev connotations! but the problem
rMaained that of probing the issues of life*
All great tragedy, regardless of its origin, pecularitles,
or scope, resides on certain unlversel tenets* Tvo of these
tenets, conflict end faith, hold places of paramount impor
tance, for both are vital to the life of tragedy* Conflict
107
108
indeed is the rev material from vhlch tragedy developes*
It not only provides the motivation for all action but like
wise forms an Integral part of the tragedy* Conflict does
not alvays culminate in tragedy! in religious drama, divine
intervention prevents tragedy, and in comedy either the
circuiastances precludes the development of tragedy or the
author prevents it by controlling the situation* Conflict
does, hovever, provide the motivation for action that, under
the right conditions, can result in tragedy*
Faith plays a vital but somevhat nebulous role in tragedy*
For one thing, there are many bases of faith* Tragedy may
be based on the humanist belief in the dignity of man* On
the other hand, it may reside on the Christian ethic,%fhlch
maintains that there Is a controlling force in the universe
that gives purpose and meaning to life* Further, any faith
must leave man free to moke his ovn decisions; for if man has
no choice in determining the course of his life and if he is
buffeted about by completely mechanistic forces, then all
action %rould be futile end there vould be no basis for either
heroic action or tragedy* Faith entails many paradoxes* Al
though the characters themselves may lack faith, the play as
a vhole must rest on some basis of faith; for people as a
vhole must have some foundation of faith on vhlch to measure
the play* That is not to say that %r9Ty person must have the
Christian faith In God or any one single faith; but if the
audienee for any play has no faith at all, then the play
109
vill bo Bieanliigless regardless of its potential*
Faith likevise can become so strong as to prevent
tragedy* The Christian faith of tho Middle Ages vas Inimical
to tragedy, for death or the vorst that life could offer did
not prevent the Christian from attaining victory* The faith
of this era did not allov questioning, and tragedy must
question. The drama of the Church had tragic potential,
but it vas not tragic. The Middle Ages, moreover, presented
another of the many paradoxes of faith. What passed for
faith in this era vas nothing more than reason in disguise,
but at the very tloM that Luther and others vere turning
to the true basis of Christian faith, forces vere at vork
that vere to eviMitually lead many to despair* The faith
needed for tragedy resides in a fine line betveen faith
and doubt* There must be faith enough to believe that life
has meaning, but doubt enough to question* In the fev short
years In v/hieh the Renaissance offered just these conditions,
Slisabethon tragedy flourished* Renaissance optimism and
Idealism soon gave vay to despair and pessimism* As men
surnmdered the vorld to naturalistic, mechanistic forces,
they killed the spirit of tragedy; for "naturalism is hostile
to Idealism, inlmieal to the noble exercise of the vlll - In
short, it excludes significant choice, vlthout vhlch no 86
eheraoter can attain tragic stature*"
^'"Sverre Arested, "Ibsen's Concept of Tragedy," ^SiJUaL LftUIUULft Asaoc ia t lon , LXXIV (June, 1 9 5 9 ) ,
no
The Renaissance vas not only a tlzko of faith and doubt,
)>ttt also a time of many conflicts* Geographic discoveries,
solentif le inventions, and nev theological and philosophical
theories engendered myriads of conflicts* Christopher
Marlowe's MM.tMSUllmJlU the first notevorthy tragedy of the
era, is charaoteriaed by both strong faith and tiie Renais
sance spirit of revolt and thirst for knovledge* It is re
plete vith veaknesses! nevertheless it represents Elizabethan
drama on the aeeendency. aii^espeare's Timon ^ Athena, vhlch
depicts tragedy in its descent, is characterized by the
pessimism and determinism that cut short the tragic spirit*
These ploys, hovever, stand on the frontier of the narrov
field vithin which the flover of tragedy can grow. Betveen
them tover Othell^o^ Uiii^ ksm.* SftSlkfti* Macbeth, and the
Other great Shakespearean tragedies* Bach of them rests
on its oim unique basis of faith, and the conflict vlthln
each is varied mk& e<»Rplioated« "By a course of its ovn,
then, Shakespearean tragic drama attains delicate balanoe
betveen on overwhelming assault upon man's proud by imperfect
moral seeurity and a stimulating ehallenge to his faith in
ttoral existence*"®''
Tragedy is a eondensatlon of life. It epitomioes and
drasiatizes man's struggle in the vorld* We rarely, if ever.
81 Famham, Medieval Her i tage . pp« M^2-^3.
Ill
obtain from the so-called tragedies of life the satlsfae-
tlon that ve gain from tragic drama. In life, ve are on
the same level as those vho suffer, ve are fellov human
beliiga* Tragedy in drama occurs vhen by the fall of a man
of strong oharooter ve are avare of something greater than
that man or even mankind; ve seem to have a nev and truer
vision of the universe* Admittedly the tragic hero suffers^
for his hubris and ve, the spectators, suffer too, but ve
are villing to suffer! indeed, ve take pleasure in the suf
fering. If only that oof faring be made IntelligibU to us*^^
Tragedy is a highly religious fom of art* It is a religious
affirmation, an age-old rite restating and reassuring man's
belief in his ovn destiny and his ultimate hope*
The theater is much older than the doctrine of evolutioa, but its one faith, asseverated again and again for every age and every year, is a faith in evolution, in the reaching and the climb of men tovard distant goals, glimpsed hot xi^rmr seen, pei^iaps nmr^r achieved, or aohleved only to be passed impatiently on the vay to a more distant horison*^
Tragedy, as an integral part of man's existence, merits
ell the attimtion and study that con be lavished upon it.
Dr«Bka, more than any other form of literature, can most nearly
approxisMite man*s situation, and by so doing it opens for
exploration the ga»ut of mon^s aspirations and ambitions*
®\eisinger, p* 266*
112
^ 0 bases of tragedy may never be completely ascertained;
in fact, they vlll alvays be open for evaluation and
re-evaluation* The importance of tragedy, hovever, cannot
be overestittatedf for it gives !&an the opportunity to vlev
and possibly to act upon his predicament* Indeed, tragedy
gives men the opportunity to study himself; and in this
vorld in vhlch man possesses vast pover and external
knovledge he, as never before, needs to "knov himself*"
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