The Tragical History of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus: Week 5

The Reversal

[Old man seated and writing in a book, an angel at right looking over his shoulder, after Reni (?), print, anonymous, after (?) Guido Reni (MET, 26.70.4(150)]

Let’s look at Scenes 5 and 6 of Dr. Faustus together because it is here where the pattern established in the first half of the play breaks.

As we expect, Scene 5 is a serious scene (a very serious scene) centered on Faustus as he moves forward in his bargain with Lucifer (via Mephistopheles). But Scene 6, instead of being a comic scene featuring servants or low figures, continues on with Faustus. He has become the low (not comic, but low, very low) figure.

The other thing to pay attention to is how both of these scenes intermingle passages written in prose and passages in poetry. The serious, elevated moments are presented in verse, the low in prose—regardless of who is speaking at this point.

In terms of major plot points, it is in Scene 5 that Faustus seals the deal—with his own blood, no less. That’s important, of course, but the devil is in the details (heh).

Taking these two scenes together, I think the most overwhelming theme that emerges is how Faustus is being pulled in two directions—by his own internal struggle, by the Good Angel and the Evil Angel¹ (who are characters in the play, but who also represent that internal struggle as well as the larger, very real, external struggle for Faustus’ soul), and by Lucifer and his henchmen who do all they can to distract Faustus from turning back and crying out to the Lord for salvation. Over and over, Faustus is offered the opportunity to repent, but he does not.

It is significant that when Scene 5 opens, it is Faustus himself who tells himself that he is damned and can’t be saved—a lie later repeated by the Evil Angel and Lucifer, who says (in Scene 6), “Christ cannot save thy soul, for he is just.”

Isn’t this the lie that Satan uses with all who suffer under the weight of guilt, shame, and self-condemnation? What theological and psychological insight Marlowe illuminates in this play!

Even Faustus’s own body recoils against his act: his blood congeals to prevent the flow that would allow him to sign his contract. And a mystical sign or stigmata appears on his arm urging him to flee: HOMO, FUGE (Fly, man)! Not only does our body “keep the score,”² but often our body knows before our thoughts do what the truth is.

Another idea that continues to be developed is Mephistopheles’s honesty about what damnation is like. When Faustus asks what good his soul will do Lucifer, Mephistopheles answers, frankly, “Enlarge his kingdom.” Then comes one of the most famous lines from the play, one you may have recognized. It’s found in these lines, wherein Mephistopheles answers Faustus’s question, “Where is the place that men call hell?” (which he says he doesn’t even believe in). Mephistopheles answers:

Within the bowels of these elements,

     Where we are tortur’d and remain for ever:

     Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscrib’d

     In one self 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 shall be purified,

     All places shall be hell that are not heaven.

Whatever your beliefs about hell are, I think the truth of these words cannot be denied. Nevertheless, Faustus clearly continues to be in denial and says he will “willingly be damned here.”

There is a bit of dark humor—as well as theological truth—when Faustus’s request that Mephistopheles fetch him a wife brings him instead a devil dressed like a woman. In performance, this part of the scene is quite funny. The stage directions state that the devil is accompanied by fireworks—and an interesting fact about Marlowe is that he is credited with being the first to employ such special effects in the theater.

But beyond the spectacle and the humor is the serious truth that Satan cannot bring about marriage. He can only bring about its substitutes and semblances because marriage was created and is ordained by God.

By the scene’s end, Faustus’s demands have deteriorated, as has his speech, now spoken in prose.

Lucifer enters the stage for the first time in Scene 6. He enters just after Faustus—convinced by the Good Angel that he can still repent—cries out:

                                     Ah, Christ, my Saviour

                                     Seek to save distressed Faustus’ soul.

Immediately Lucifer appears. His first words are those quoted above in which he tells Faustus that Christ cannot save him.

For the first time, upon sight of the terrible Lucifer, Faustus panics. But he turns back to Lucifer, vowing never to speak of Christ again. Lucifer rewards him with a pageant of the Seven Deadly Sins. (Here is another element of medieval drama that Marlowe draws upon for his play.)

This pageant is a bit of meta-drama in the sense that the parade of sins personified entertains both Faustus in the play and the audience watching (or reading) the play. These guys are to be played (and read) comically. And notice, of course, that this passage is written entirely in prose.

But then things turn dark again when Faustus says of witnessing these sins, “This feeds my soul.” And Lucifer tantalizes him even more by replying, “Tut, Faustus, in hell is all manner of delight.”

Lucifer again rewards Faustus, this time by giving him instructions on how to turn into any shape he likes.

And to continue with the reversals these scenes bring, Scene 6 closes with the entry of Wagner, the servant, who speaks in poetry, and tells us what will happen next.

"Absolutely unmixed attention is prayer.” – Simone Weil³

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BOOK NOTE:

I’m a relative latecomer to the excellent novels by Leif Enger. Peace Like a River is a fan favorite, and that was the first book of his I read. It was in many ways unlike my usual reading in having a faith element to it.⁴ But that faith element was not what I expect from a faith element—which translated into my liking the book a lot. There was, too, a bit of magical realism (which I also tend not to like), but in this case it was this combination—the faith and the magical realism—that made me like the novel so much. I have Virgil Wander on my shelf but haven’t gotten to it yet. I’ve heard some say they like it even better than Peace Like a River. I will have to see.

In the meantime, I was lucky enough to get an advance copy of Enger’s newly published novel, I Cheerfully Refuse. (What an enticing title!) This was a book that took awhile for me to settle into—for one reason and one reason only. Among other things, it’s a nautical tale, and there was a lot of boating jargon and geographical imagery that I didn’t quite get. But that is a minor thing, really. (Totally a me thing, too. What I didn’t like about Harry Potter was all the quidditch.)

I Cheerfully Refuse—again, a novel like no other I’ve read until and except Peace Like a River—proves that Enger is a novelist like no other. There’s something so gentle and loving about the way he can challenge so much that is wrong with the world, so subtly, so artfully that you don’t even realize at first that that’s (in part) what he’s doing. I say in part because what he’s really doing is showing what’s right in the world—or what can be right if we refuse the wrong, refuse its very terms, and pursue what is good and right, one step at a time as the choices present themselves to us. Not on any grand terms or grandiose schemes, but merely in ordinary decisions based in ordinary love for other ordinary fellow human beings. In a dystopian world run by evildoers—like the one in the novel and like our own—that’s all we can do. Innocence in the modern world (not to mention modern literature) is always surprising. And innocence is always taken by surprise.

1. The Good Angel and Evil (or Bad) Angel are long standing figures in art and literature, not inventions of Marlowe. They still exist in our collective imaginations, though I’ve not heard reference to them for a long time. I’m curious, dear readers, have you?

2. Here is the famous book of that title: https://www.besselvanderkolk.com/resources/the-body-keeps-the-score

3. Simone Weil, Gravity and Grace, trans. By Emma Crawford and Mario von der Ruhr (London: Routledge, 2002), 117.

4. Of course, most of what I read has a “faith element” to it, including Dr. Faustus! What I mean is a book that is a Christian book, though I don’t know how that is defined. It is often defined simply by being written by a Christian, published by a Christian publisher, and read by Christians (largely). This doesn’t describe Enger’s work. But I suppose because I heard about it from Christian readers who see it as a Christian book, that’s what made me see it that way. I don’t have room or time to expand here, but I don’t trust “Christian” literary taste very much. Maybe that will be a future post. Or not, haha.