From the Ashes: The Tragicomedy of Justice and Mercy in a Providential History, Pt. 1

Introduction

History is a tragicomedy, and this is best. Much ink has been spilt over the question of what literary genre is best and whether or not the best art will conform to life or is purely creative. We will take the position that art should conform to life at its root and that the genre is best which best conforms to reality. But the metaphysical question of reality's nature must be resolved before we can discuss how reality affects art. We shall thus deal with this question, seeking to paint the frame of reality and history in dramatic terms—as being a coherent plotline with crucial characters and an order and purpose derived from the intention of its Author. We shall then analyze it and demonstrate its effectiveness in affecting the human heart and soul for good, attempt to demonstrate that such a philosophy of life and art is necessary to the preservation of art and criticism, and that, in artistic terms, such a dramatic view of reality itself is at once biblically, philosophically, and artistically satisfying.

As we shall attempt to demonstrate, the drama of history best fits the form of a tragicomedy. The tragicomic drama relies for its effectiveness on the tension between justice and mercy, retribution and forgiveness. The struggle and synthesis of these in dramatic literature shall thus be analyzed, as well as how the drama of history exemplifies this, making the fundamental framework of ultimate reality a beautiful work of art itself and reinforcing the idea that art should be mimetic of life.

These two major points—analysis of tragicomedy and the conformity of reality to its form, and the dramatic form of history itself—shall be the focus of this essay.

Literature and Life

Should art conform to life? Can it? It is typical to be told, in Romantic fashion, that true art is spontaneously created. One cannot allow himself to be limited by forms and modes. To attempt to conform to reality is to limit one's creative abilities and submit to arbitrary conventions about the nature of reality. But this assumes a number of things about man and his abilities. The Romantic idea is based on the concept that man is truly the measure of all things; indeed, it goes beyond the Deism of the preceding Neoclassical period, in which Alexander Pope asserted that man should only be concerned with the mundane things which are proper to him, to the idea that man is barely, if at all, answerable to anything outside of himself. Further, his creative abilities are unbounded by “nature.” Nature is whatever proceeds from the writer, freely and spontaneously. Man has creative abilities without bounds and without an objective reference point.

But does this not ultimately end in an art without purpose, “a sound and fury, signifying nothing”? If each man is the measure of his own work, and if his creations have meaning as his creation of them grants purpose to them, then there is no transcendent order beyond himself. There is no reason for him to expect that it will impress anyone else with the same urgency or message that he meant for it. It implies a chaotic world with no transcendent order—that is, such a one in which literary conventions, if enforced, would be arbitrary of necessity. But this is to undermine all framework of dramatic and literary theory. If each author is the sole judge of his own work, then it follows as a corollary that no one else may dare presume to judge it. If no one may judge it on any level, then literary criticism is ended, and we have a mass of narcissists writing plays for themselves. Without order to drama, an author may elicit feeling in others—a grin or even grim laughter or despair—but no serious intellectual engagement; one may produce a melodrama or farce, but never a tragedy or comedy. The reason one may not interact with anything based in this literary theory is simply because one can neither ask nor answer the question which is most proper to literature, insofar as literature is a concrete manifestation and application of philosophy: “why?”


Sisyphus and Hell

But what if there is no transcendent order to the universe? What if life is chaotic and without meaning or direction, and one does not know and cannot answer “why?” On these grounds, wouldn't a dramatic theory reflecting this be appropriate? Some, such as Samuel Beckett, have applied this to such plays as Waiting for Godot. Godot is without a traditional plot structure and has a directionless story; the characters' end state is no different from their beginning state, despite the many things that happen in between. The events within the play have no effect on the characters or their situation. It would be a comic tragedy, a grim laughing in the face of despair, were there at least a downfall into darkness, but there is no tragic hero and no downfall. The characters begin as fallen and remain as fallen, with no lasting relief in the meantime. Eric Bentley puts it thus: “The motto of the movement is...that hell is the place we are already in.” (Bentley, 338) “The movement of a modern tragedy is all that Schiller's Mary Stuart is not: its movement is simply and steadily down to defeat.” (Bentley, 339)

This is obviously an untenable literary theory for any Christian, and especially those who view all reality as constant evidence of a loving and providential God who is immanently involved in His creation. This shall be discussed further below. But it even seems internally inconsistent. If there is no meaning, then why bother to write drama and present it as drama? If there is no message, why bother to present something that transmits a message? There is substance to Bentley's analysis: “if a transcendence by beauty argues an unflinching courage, transcendence by courage argues a courage just as unflinching in the face of a world even more comfortless.” (Bentley, 339-340) To know that the world is meaningless and still to live on does argue a sort of courage. Most men would quail, and it takes a grand effort to overcome the despair resulting from such a reflection. But in the final analysis, the effort is still Sisyphian, and the world is still meaningless, and thus even the effort itself is ultimately meaningless and will make no impression on the plot of the world, or even on the character of the actor. Even his courage is worthless, and the Sisyphus who continues to roll the stone is of no more meaning than he who sits down and lets himself be crushed beneath its weight.

On the other hand, the fact that such courage does exist, and the fact of our admiration of it—when we do not cynically laugh at it—is evidence that the world is not as we think it is. If the author wishes courage to be admired, he is upholding courage as a transcendent good, or at least as something intrinsically valuable. And this is ultimately in defiance of his own worldview.

Community in the Silence of the Universe

Colin Cutler
DL Western Literature II
Professor Mark Filiatreau
15 May 2007


Edith Kern ends her essay “Drama Stripped for Inaction” with the assertion that “Beckett’s characters in this play glorify rather the all-surpassing power of human tenderness which alone makes bearable man’s long and ultimately futile wait for a redeemer and which, in fact, turns out itself to be the redeemer of man in his forlornness” (Kern 1954, 7). While her earlier analysis of the characters’ “confusion” is correct, she is incorrect to imagine that their community is any sort of redemption, or that Beckett intended it to be.

First, Kern’s earlier statement intended to support her assertion is self-contradictory. She writes “neither can get along for any length of time without the other’s tenderness which is alone capable of breaching momentarily the gap of loneliness that separates man from man” (Kern 1954, 4). To understand the contradiction in this statement, one must understand the nature of the “gap” of which Kern speaks in postmodern literature, including Beckett. This gap is one of alienation. Man cannot understand another man, and he cannot even understand himself; this gap is by definition unbreachable. Thus, if man is truly separated by such a gap of loneliness from another man, then the other man cannot reach him. Conversely, if a man is able to reach another by any means, then they were actually not separated by any such a gap. In the system which Beckett portrays, there is no room for any true redemption by other men; the best that the characters could hope for by this means is an alleviation of their misery. This alleviation itself, however, must be based on the subjective reception of that tenderness rather than on the tenderness itself. Thus, any ameliorative quality cannot be based in community, but in what a single person makes of that community; in any case, it cannot most certainly not be a full redemption, which is by nature excluded from this system.

Further, Beckett does not portray community as a redeemer. At best, he portrays it as a necessary evil. In Act II, when Estragon returns, Vladimir offers the tenderness which Kern noted, but Estragon recoils with “Don’t touch me! Don’t question me! Don’t speak to me! Stay with me!” (Beckett, 63) Estragon does not wish to be touched, but at the same time, he cannot bear to be alone. Further, Estragon is hurt that Vladimir could sing without Estragon’s presence. Vladimir says “I missed you…and at the same I was happy” (Beckett, 64). When Vladimir begins to wonder at this, he progresses from being “joyous” to being “gloomy” (64). The following lines are crucial to the argument (65):

Estragon: You see, you feel worse when I’m with you. I feel better alone, too.
Vladimir: (vexed) Then why do you always come crawling back?
Estragon: I don’t know.

They both feel a need for community and cannot get along without it, but at the same time it increases their pain. Beckett’s portrayal, then, is not one of redemption, but of a painful association which neither can live without.

Besides Beckett’s portrayal of the consequences of community, his portrayal of what community does not provide is also telling. The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language defines redeem as “to set free; to rescue or ransom…To make up for.” In contrast to Kern’s assertion of a “redemption,” Beckett’s characters remain in despair and pointlessness. They are most emphatically not set free or rescued from their aimlessness by community, nor is their despair made up for by their association. Far from being redeemed by their community, they resolve in the final lines of the play to hang themselves on the morrow, with only one event that could possibly redeem them from such a fate (Beckett 1954, 109):
Estragon: If we parted? That might be better for us.
Vladimir: We’ll hang ourselves to-morrow. (Pause.) Unless Godot comes.
Estragon: And if he comes?
Vladimir: We’ll be saved.

Beckett’s characters are trapped and waiting for someone to give them meaning; alone, they can only make stabs in the dark. Far from redeeming them from their dilemma, their association with each other only slightly alleviates this despair, while simultaneously accentuating it. Thus, Kern’s exaltation of community to the status of their “redeemer” is incorrect; the hope of Beckett’s characters lay not in each other, but in Godot.


Reference List
Beckett, Samuel. Waiting for Godot. 1954. New York: Grove Press, Inc.

Kern, Edith. 1954. Drama Stripped for Inaction: Beckett's Godot. Yale French Studies 14,
M O T L E Y Today's French Theatre: 41-47. http://links.jstor.org/sici?sici=00440078%281954%290%3A14%3C41%3ADSFIBG%3E2.0.CO%3B2-X

Jaques the Melancholy: Post-Modern Philosophy in "As You Like It"

By Colin Cutler

Literary Criticism For
Literature 210 DL (Dr. Hake)
DL Western Literature I
5 December 2006

Francis Schaeffer, in his How Should We Then Live?, explored the dilemma of post-modern man: how does one reconcile the particular with the universal—how does one endue facts with true meaning without depriving the facts of actual being? Schaeffer asserts that only Christianity can satisfactorily reconcile them; many non-Christian philosophers have attempted to give meaning to facts without losing them, but find that it is impossible for their humanistic philosophy. This has led to the dichotomy of pessimistic rationalism and optimistic irrationality, with one choice giving up hope of meaning and reducing life to mere facts, and the other living in a denial of reality and hoping to create its own meaning. Neither can be simultaneously true, nor can man totally deny either meaning or reality, so the two are held in everlasting tension (Schaeffer 2005, 174). Jaques the Melancholy, of Shakespeare’s As You Like It, is an example of this dilemma.

Jaques exemplifies the post-modern philosophical position perfectly. He alternates between these two opposing views: at times he is obsessed with the apparent facts and sardonically derides anyone who he believes ignores these facts. At other times, he voices a hope of escape, but only in madness or in solitude.

In Scene II, Jaques told the Duke of a jester whom he had met in the forest (As You Like It, II.vii.). The jester looked upon a time-piece and remarked, “And so, from hour to hour, we rot and rot; and thereby hangs a tale.” The jester spoke of how human life passes with no visible benefit; the fool was bound by the particular and could give no meaning to it, for there was nothing outside of himself that could do so. Jaques heartily approved the jester’s sentiments, which spoke of life as far as anyone could see it with his natural eyes: the jester presupposed that there was nothing beyond his own life and experience—that death was the ultimate end.
The famous “Seven Ages of Man” speech (As You Like It, II.vii.) examines the periods of a man’s life, concluding with old age, which Jaques says “is second childishness and mere oblivion, sans teeth, sans eyes, sans everything.” In other words, life goes on and then one dies—that is the end. Further, he opens the soliloquy with the words “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players,” which expounds upon the Duke’s fatalistic attitude in the preceding lines (As You Like It, II.vii.135-138). This is the rationalistic theory of man as a machine, as a mere particular. He exists, but whatever he does has no eternal meaning. Small wonder then that Jaques is apathetic toward the world and man’s place in it!

Convinced of the hopelessness and meaninglessness of life, Jaques ridicules those who do not think as he does, whom he perceives as blind optimists and fools. As the couples are arriving for the marriage ceremony, he speaks of them as “very strange beasts, which in every tongue are called fools” (As You Like It, V.iv.36). Though this is said specifically at the entrance of Touchstone and Audrey, who would certainly deserve the description, it does refer to all the lovers, as shown by Jaques’ reference to “another flood” (As You Like It, V.iv.36).

Jaques the Melancholy also sensibly describes Touchstone and Audrey’s marriage as unsure; their “loving voyage is but two months victuall’d” (As You Like It, V.iv). Touchstone had already mentioned the possibility of getting out of marriage at some time (As You Like It, III.iii). Their marriage was based on nothing more than a whim and feelings and had no basis in real vows or reason; this perspective could be identified with the optimistic irrationality which is diametrically opposed to Jaques’ rationalistic thinking.

In Scene II, one of the Duke’s courtiers related a story of Jaques’ moralizing on the plight of a wounded deer (As You Like It, II.i.47-59). Jaques drew three lessons from this situation. First, he compares the deer’s “weeping into the needless stream…giving thy sum of more to that which had too much” to human nature. Two interpretations are possible: that men are often sad and add copious tears to the infinite pain of the world, or that too many men are already in the world and the addition of more only adds to the misery. Either way, Jaques emphasizes the pain of living and the utter meaninglessness of attempting to contribute to something whose measure is full.

Second, he notes that the deer seeks solitude for his suffering. This also lends itself to a comparison with human nature. Those who suffer wish to suffer alone—“thus misery doth part the flux of company.” In isolation, one is free to brood upon his suffering without interruption either by those who would attempt to cheer him or by those who would mock or superciliously ignore him.

Third, Jaques delivers a bitter speech against the herd that ignored their suffering fellow, which “is just the fashion”—it is typical of human nature, as well. He compares the herd of deer to wealthy men who ignore the plight of the needy—or, by extension, those who ignore the dire warnings of pessimists or are unable to answer their questions. Jaques despises these men, who are complacent in their opulence and pass by without regard for their suffering neighbors whom they could assist with financial or spiritual generosity.

Jaques sees no hope for the human condition. He clearly identifies the difficulty in which humanistic man finds himself, but he can offer no remedy. Thus, he finds his solace only in perpetual melancholy and in the hope of madness. He says to Rosalind that he loves melancholy “better than laughing” (As You Like It, IV.i.3). Further, he takes pride in his own melancholy, for it is not mere imitation, but “is a melancholy of mine own” (As You Like It, IV.i). This is his chief reason for his pride: that the melancholy is his own invention, a conglomeration of those ideas he believes best fit his standards.

Jaques may see a possible escape in madness. After describing the fool’s discussion of time and meaninglessness, he cries “O noble fool! A worthy fool! Motley’s the only wear” (As You Like It, II.vii.33-34). Jesters and fools of medieval times were usually considered to be either mentally weak or mad, and they were thus given free rein to speak their minds. Jaques certainly desired this freedom to speak his mind without restraint or moral liability. He may have even hoped to actually fall into madness in an escape from the pessimism and melancholy of his realistic thinking.

This is the irrational optimism of which Francis Schaeffer speaks. Post-modern man is unable to live with the meaninglessness of his particularistic worldview, so he seeks escape in creating his own meaning, however absurd. This meaning may be madness or unrestrained freedom to voice one’s beliefs or even isolation, all of which Jaques advocates. The common thread in these is that their value stems from Jaques’s own mind: he grants them meaning, and thus they have meaning. He never answers the question, however, of whether they really have meaning, or if they only have meaning in his own mind.

This leads us to the last point of Jaques’s philosophy: he is selfish. He points out others’ foibles not to reform them, but to please himself with the satisfaction of calling them foolish. He focuses on his own melancholy without attempting to touch others. Indeed, when invited to dance, Jaques scoffs and declares that he will spend the rest of his life in a solitary cave (As You Like It, V.iv).

Jaques clearly exhibits the post-modern philosophy in his worldview: he is cynical and jaded, and derisive towards anyone who looks only at positive things. Further, his only source of hope is in his own definition of meaning. He creates hope out of nothing, yet he lives in constant tension because he knows that he cannot live in pure melancholy, nor can he accept pure optimism—thus he cannot settle on a solid foundation and must hope for madness to relieve him. Long before Nietzsche and Sartre, Shakespeare had already created Jaques as an archetype of the post-modern man—brooding, despairing, and absurd.


Reference List
Schaeffer, Francis A. How Should We Then Live?, 50th L’Abri Anniversary Ed., 2005.
Wheaton: Crossway Books.

Shakespeare, William. As You Like It, 1998. Mineola, New York: Dover Publications,
Inc.