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*

11

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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