Observer: Fiona Maddocks

“Mind-blowing is one of those expressions best allowed out every five years at most. This quinquennial airing greets the UK premiere of Alfred Schnittke’s extraordinary The History of D Johann Faustus, part of the London Philharmonic Orchestra’s Between Two Worlds festival lovingly devised by conductor Vladimir Jurowski.”

Evening Standard: Barry Millington

“Many are the treatments of Faust I’ve encountered. But no Gretchen and two Mephistopheles – a vampish Marlene Dietrich figure and a countertenor with high heels and no trousers?

This is the conception of Alfred Schnittke, however, whose bizarre imagination leads him up many an unconventional path in his opera The History of Dr Johann Faustus.”

Opera Brittania

Classical Source

This is the prologue of Faustus, my own stab at Goethe’s Faust, which I first started writing over a year ago. I hope to come back to it sometime.

A play for five actors, three men and two women

A large, black space, with five chairs spaced evenly SL. Two costume rails DSL and DSR, full of elaborate costumes, as described within the text, with various extraneous costumes to bulk them out. In between them a table and three chairs.

PROLOGUE

I: The Director’s Welcome

A director enters, wearing a beret.

DIRECTOR

You’ve come to see the fall of Faustus, a man in search of knowledge and by knowledge damn’d. Before you join us in his self-wrought demise, remember: You are now not yourselves. For this next short time, react individually and severally. Forfeit your own selves: you are now witness to Faust’s demise; you are now an audience member. So, switch off your mobile phones, note your exits, and please refrain from smoking.

You know as well as I that this is not real, but think as if it was. Believe what you see, engage; this will take effort on your part, you are not passive. Accept the magic and the myths, and above all, engage.

Gods and demons, times and places, scenes and situations will flit before your eyes on this journey of Faustus and the demon Mephistopheles.

He bows elaborately and exits.

II: The Argument in the Theatre

The Manager, Artist, and Buffoon enter.

MANAGER

See, I told you, full house! More money for the theatre coffers! Another successful investment.

ARTIST

It’s always about the money for you, isn’t it? All of this artistry is nothing compared to the chink of coins in a purse.

MANAGER

Well, yes, this is all money.

ARTIST

Absolutely not! This is about art, the art of theatre, the passion of actors, the blend of artifice and real, human emotions!

MANAGER

What does all that matter without money?

BUFFOON

Surely both are equally valuable?

MANAGER/ARTIST

No!

They are annoyed that they are in agreement.

BUFFOON

Everyone needs the money to live, but they only way you will get the money is through the talent and passion of actors and writers, right?

MANAGER

Not at all, the money is the crucial aspect of the endeavour. And all you need for that is good marketing.

ARTIST

Who cares about all that? The artist lives for art, it is his raison d’etre!

BUFFOON

So you don’t think that you need each other, that art and management cannot work together, or at least have similar goals.

MANAGER/ARTIST

No!

Again, they are annoyed at their agreement.

BUFFOON

Well, Artist, I suppose that if one doesn’t have money, one cannot live!

MANAGER

Exactly!

ARTIST

But the art!

BUFFOON

What use is art alone? Can art feed your family? Can art pay your bills? Can art pay your television licence?

ARTIST

No.

MANAGER

Exactly.

BUFFOON

On the other hand, Manager, what do you gain from money alone?

MANAGER

I eat well, I drink well, I want for nothing.

BUFFOON

But do you enjoy your spending? Does not every moment of your life revolve earning money?

MANAGER

Yes.

ARTIST

But what about your soul?

BUFFOON

Exactly. To what depths do you sink to be rich? Are you happy?

MANAGER

No.

BUFFOON

Neither of you can survive on your own. Your blind desires leave you with nothing. Your single-mindedness defeats you.

Colm O’Reilly Slays As the Bad Doctor

Theatre Oobleck presents:

An Apology for the Course and Outcome of Certain Events
Delivered by Doctor John Faustus on This His Final Evening

by Mickle Maher
thru October 24th (reserve tickets)

reviewed by Paige Listerud

It was 9 years ago, at the Berger Park coach house, when I first encountered Mickle Maher’s play, An Apology for the Course and Outcome of Certain Events Delivered by Doctor John Faustus on This His Final Evening. The coach house set an eerie gothic tone, as did the robes that swathed Colm O’Reilly as Mephistopheles–out from under which Mickle Maher crawled to play the bad doctor. That opening moment, complete with a candle balanced silently on Mephistopheles’ head, sealed the suggestion of magic, the transcendence of time and space, that dominates the legendary pact between Dr. Faustus and the Devil. It also seemed to suggest from the start Faustus’ subjugation to Mephistopheles. Maher’s performance was light, mercurial; he played for laughs and there are plenty of them–laughter against impending darkness.

In Theatre Oobleck’s current revival, Colm O’Reilly’s interpretation of Dr. Faustus already starts darker and weightier than Maher’s. But then the stage setting in Chopin Theatre’s basement studio lends itself to a leaner, darker, and more modern tone. The basement is utterly black; the closing of the room’s long black sliding door implies that audience and cast are being sealed in hell. Only two hanging pendant lamps provide lighting—and, oh yes, the Exit sign. The audience is set up in two opposing rows, giving the stage the look a fashion runway, with Mephistopheles (David Shapiro) planted silently at one end.

Memory is a curse, particularly when it cannot allow for the introduction of new impressions. The trouble is that, back at the coach house, O’Reilly’s Mephistopheles was so superb. Positioned at the center of dramatic space, with nary a single word or gesture, he fully embodied the Hell of Maher’s text:

Hell . . . where it’s said there is no Time, that the infinity of Time is snuffed by a larger infinity, a Time so vast it swallows our miniscule eternity, swallows even Heaven’s eternity . . . An infinity just too, too excessive. Excessive to the point of unholy meaninglessness.

It was around O’Reilly’s centralizing void that Maher’s Dr. Faustus could only dance.

At best, Shapiro’s Mephistopheles seems a perverse tabula rasa upon which Faustus projects his own evil. And project he does. Nothing in the production chills more than the voice O’Reilly switches to when relaying how he and the Devil supposedly conversed throughout Faustus’ last day. I say supposedly, because it’s implied that all conversations—indeed, all events, time travel, and wondrous discoveries—are occurring only in the depths of Faustus’ mind. If that is the intention, it is one that shifts this play toward the modern, in that it banishes magic from the play.

By magic, I only mean the Supernatural. More than enough magic abounds from O’Reilly’s performance. I don’t know how many have tired yet of critics comparing O’Reilly with Orson Welles. But where that comparison works in the play’s favor is in his ability to portray a genius utterly absorbed with his own self-importance. The darkness O’Reilly brings to the role doesn’t just lend gravity to Faustus’ outbursts, but creates with them an inexorably magnetic pull toward madness. “I don’t need to apologize to the whole world. I’m sick of the world,” says Faustus. Lines that could sound like clichéd world-weariness from another actor emerge from O’Reilly like a black vortex of futility, making his Faustus the evil of which he speaks. It’s a performance that unifies the Devil and the Devil’s prey.

Rating: ««««

Faustus!  He’s back, he’s got one night left on Earth, he’s had a little to drink and a lot on his mind.  Seeing as this icon of hubris pre-dated the talk show circuit, he’ll just have to spew his long self-serving rant one-on-one to Mephistopholes, his manservant and captive audience.  That’s the general premise of Theatre Oobleck’s An Apology for the Course & Outcome of Certain Events Delivered by Doctor John Faustus on This His Final Evening, which opens Friday.

Here’s my preview in Cheeky.

Oobleck’s on my list for Saturday, however, because this Friday 9/25 I’ll be at the darkroom for Equalizer Chicago, of course.  Not just saying this because I help with the event: I’m super excited about seeing Mayer Hawthorne, Buff1 with 14KT and JC Brooks and the Uptown Sound all in the same line-up.  Could not ask for a better line-up on my birthday!  Yep, it’s a soul / hip hop Equalizer on my birthday.  Plus Matt and I have reservations at Japonais beforehand.  Shaping up to be a pretty great Chicago birthday — my sixth one here. That’s right. I’m six.

but I deleted that post by accident. Subconsciously being possessed by Patrick Swayze? Nah. Started reading the Tragical History of Doctor Faustus by Marlowe. Man, Mephistophilis is one nice demon; he actually tries to dissuade Faustus from selling his soul. The whole time I was thinking: no wonder Lucifer doesn’t care if you go off to serve this jackass 24/7 for 24 years. You ain’t EVIL ENOUGH.

If we assume, as this theory does, that the Voynich Manuscript could be an “artifact of fiction”, this still does not give a specific reason for it’s creation. I mean, the theory surmises a “what”, but not a “why”. Of course the motivation for creation is of great interest, but lack of one does not detract… mostly because the motivation could be one of several known to have driven the creation of other faux books. Among the types of books are:

1. Prop books from stage (…and film, much later of course!), used to lend reality to a performance.
2. Books made to look as though they came from a fictional work of literature (whether or not the actual book is represented in the literature)
3. Hoax books meant to cheat someone for profit in some way, or simply play a trick.
4. Art books, representing no literature, created for their own beauty. .

This list of purposes may differ from the Wikipedia definition of “fictional books”, which do not actually need to exist. Obviously, the Voynich exists. Perhaps it’s purpose may cross into the “False Documents” category, as explained, “A false document is a form of verisimilitude that attempts to create a sense of authenticity beyond the normal and expected suspension of disbelief for a work of art. The goal of a false document is to fool an audience into thinking that what is being presented is actually a fact…” .

One of the more common uses of a fake book is as a stage prop. The great playwright, Christopher Marlow, wrote The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus about 1594. It quickly became a very popular play, and created some controversy for it’s themes of demonic worship. It was first published in printed form in 1604. Key to the play are the books of Faust… most specifically, the book given him by Mephistophilis. The first actors and producers of this play must have used a prop representation of this book, because Marlow’s stage direction is clear:

MEPHIS (to Faustus): Hold, take this book, peruse it thoroughly:

[Gives book.]

The play continues:

FAUSTUS. Now would I have a book where I might see all characters and planets of the heavens, that I might know their motions and dispositions.

MEPHIST. Here they are too. [Turns to them.]

FAUSTUS. Nay, let me have one book more,–and then I have done,– wherein I might see all plants, herbs, and trees, that grow upon the earth.

and later:

Enter ROBIN the Ostler, with a book in his hand.

ROBIN. O, this is admirable! here I ha’ stolen one of Doctor Faustus’ conjuring-books, and, i’faith, I mean to search some circles for my own use. Now will I make all the maidens in our parish dance at my pleasure, stark naked, before me; and so by that means I shall see more than e’er I felt or saw yet.

So it is clear that the play required prop books of some kind. We do not know what these books were like, of course. But if they were created accurately, one or more would certainly have contained mysterious and arcane images of “…all characters and planets of the heavens…”, their “…motions”. They may have contained the prop-maker’s interpretive illustrations of “…all plants, herbs, and trees, that grow upon the earth…”.

In Ben Jonson’s 1610 play The Alchemist, the concept of ancient books of arcane lore and alchemy resurface. Jonson does not specify that a prop book be used in the performance, but we already know the concept would not be unfamiliar. The form of such a book takes here at least two forms, although perhaps, none were ever used or seen. First, as a “Book of Solomon”, much as the tomes on Bensalem were envisioned by Bacon:

“MAM. Pertinax, [my] Surly, Will you believe antiquity? records? I’ll shew you a book where Moses and his sister, And Solomon have written of the art; Ay, and a treatise penn’d by Adam –

SUR. How!

MAM. Of the philosopher’s stone, and in High Dutch.

SUR. Did Adam write, sir, in High Dutch?

MAM. He did; Which proves it was the primitive tongue. And also, as a book of alchemy, on vellum:

MAM. ‘Tis like your Irish wood, ‘Gainst cob-webs. I have a piece of Jason’s fleece, too, Which was no other than a book of alchemy, Writ in large sheep-skin, a good fat ram-vellum.

The above seems to indicate that Jonson, well versed in Greek mythology, was an adherent of Palaephatus’s argument that the Golden Fleece represented a book of alchemy. I would also make note of the fact that the character of the alchemist, Subtle, is believed based on Cornelis Drebbel. I have also read, but not been able to verify or track down the source, that some believe Drebbel may have been a prop-maker. Ben Jonson certainly knew of Drebbel and his works, and probably knew the man, personally. Jonson was one of Francis Bacon’s scribes for a time, and Bacon also knew Drebbel. In another play, Jonson makes reference to Drebbel’s perpetual motion machine at Eltham Palace. So it is interesting to me, of course, that my first suspect for a Voynich author (less so, but still on the list) was Drebbel. I do not feel he would have created it as a notebook any longer, but as a prop?

Sir John Geilgud as Prospero... with prop book

So by the time Shakespeare wrote the Tempest, and by the time the Tempest was performed, first in 1611, then at the 1613 wedding of Princess Elizabeth and Frederick V… the concept of a prop book would certainly be a familiar one. One can speculate that such a book was “any old” book picked up for such a purpose, or that it would be blank, or none used at all… and believe me, these arguments have been presented (sometimes quite heatedly!) to me over the years. I’ve been told that it would be too expensive to create the Voynich for this purpose, for one thing. But I think the cost, if great (and I do not necessarily allow that the cost of the Voynich would have been all that great, in any case, and will have a post on this subject), I would not consider it a problem. There were vast expenditures for props and costumes for the masques and plays of the time, some with dresses costing upwards of a thousand pounds… and the great Inigo Jones designing some of them, and the sets. Francis Bacon himself arranged for his Gray’s Inn to back and support several performances. I would suggest that it would not have been at all unlikely that some effort and cost would have been put into such a prop book. But what of the books of Prospero then, in these first performances of the Tempest?

As I pointed out in the post, “The Aura of the Ancient Tome, circa 1611″, it is not known if such a prop book existed for these first Tempest performances. Shakespeare, unlike Marlowe, did not specify their inclusion. But it is also clear that the books are central to the theme of the play. Many modern performances of the Tempest have included such prop books. So I would also suggest that it would not be unlikely to find such a book in the 1611/13 performances, which some have also suggested included the actor Shakespeare in the semi-autobiographical role of Prospero. Did Shakespeare himself read the lines of Prospero, and hold in his hands a faux book, filled with faux magical symbols, plants, and other fantasy drawings? What would he have done with this book, after the performance? I do not know the earliest performance of the Tempest which included a prop Propero’s book, but there are many examples of modern ones.

Michael Hordern as Propero... with a prop book again

But of course we do not know if Bacon, Shakespeare, or anyone, had conceived of a play or masque to represent The New Atlantis, so I would not suggest as a first choice that the Voynich is a prop book for that fiction. If not a prop for an unknown performance of New Atlantis, we can look at other motivations. One of these would be a hoax. I don’t favor this idea, because I have not seen any evidence that the New Atlantis mythology was ever intended to fool anyone. I would doubt that such a book would have been created to convince anyone that Bensalem was a real place… although I think the Voynich, presented as such, would have done a fairly convincing job at the time. Of course the Voynich could be a hoax created for some other purpose, or some other time, as has been suggested. But that is not within the scope of my investigation, so I leave it to others to prove or disprove.

Next I’ll move to “artifact as a tribute”, as an inspirational art form, to accompany the story. Perhaps as a gift, to Bacon or other (Elizabeth at her wedding?). Such fictional books as tributes are not unheard of in history, although I have not been able to find examples contemporary to my theories. There have been many faux Necromicrons made in deference to H.P. Lovecraft’s mythology, but these come centuries later.

Faux Necronomicon Prop Book

And I found an interesting modern example of an inspired, tribute, book, created by one “Derek the Bard“. It seems to be inspired by a PC video game. Derek writes,

“Below are the first few pages I’ve completed in a prop book for my Camarilla Awakening PC, Abraxas. Its done in the style of John Winchester’s journal from, Supernatural, although I’ve written it almost entirely in gibberish Sanskrit. Most of the pictures are from a book on Chinese astrology, which I’ve altered slightly with the addition off odd symbols and the like.”

Derek the Bard's Faux Grimoire

Recently, as an artifact from her own modern mythology, J.K. Rowling created The Tales of Beedle the Bard. This was a book at first only described in her stories, but then created, “in the flesh”, as she envisioned it would look. It is possible to purchase a copy of this, in fact. Here is part of a review of the original, from Amazon:

“…let’s just start with one word: “Whoa.” The very fact of its existence (an artifact pulled straight out of a novel) is magical…”

I was stunned by the line, “an artifact pulled straight out of a novel”, as this had been exactly how I was envisioning the creation of the Voynich, if inspired by the fictional books in Bacon’s work. This example, of course, 400 years later… but the motivation would be virtually identical.

Faux book, "Beedle the Bard"

Even without the inspiration of a specific novel, or mythos, people seem to have a liking to the idea of a mysterious book, filled with the promise of lost knowledge, cultures, religions, sciences. Take a walk over to the blank notebook section of your local bookstore today, and you will see countless examples of faux-aged, leather covered and thong secured books, meant to evoke an ancient text or even, grimoire. Some even have alchemal symbols stamped on their covers. Never-mind that they will mostly end up with scrawled shopping lists, notes of business meeting and class schedules… the value is the rich impressions which they exude. The fascination with the mystery of ancient tomes was certainly just as prevalent in “my” time frame of 1610 to 1620, as clearly shown by the many inclusions of them in the literature and plays of the time, and the success of the fictional book, “The Chymical Wedding”. But would anyone have created the Voynich as a stand-alone work of art, a “just because”? I don’t doubt it would have been possible. As for today, there are many interesting examples of books being created as a stand-alone art form. Some more can be found here.

Books by Tim from Cali

So in answer to the question “why?”, which I have so often been asked, I can with confidence answer, “Because of this, this, this, or this… take your pick.” It is clear to me, that for a very long time, the look and feel and content of mysterious books has pervaded art, theatre, and literature. And it is also clear that for various reasons, from the purely practical to the whimsical and imaginative, people will and have put a great deal of effort into creating faux books, as one-off, beautiful works of art. Based on the Voynich’s look and content, combined with the knowledge that in the time frame of my theories, and human nature’s long passion for “the art of the book”… it would have been perfectly reasonable to expect it, or a book just like it, to have been made for one or more of the purposes I have outlined. H. Rich SantaColoma.

Star Trek TNG prop book: Try explaining THIS in 400 years!

I haven’t had the best of luck with Russian novels. Or Russian movies (Solaris is just very difficult for me to endure, despite also enjoying it). I loved Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment, though it also took me a few years to trudge through it. There is just something about Russian writing or, perhaps more accurately, translations of Russian writing that just  bog me down. It makes me feel like I am reading Hawthorne. I know it’s great, I enjoy it, but I also feel like I am trying to walk through mud that pulls at each attempted step.

Bulgakov’s Master and Margarita is remarkably free of this. It moves with an ease that belies its translation. Without further research, I wonder if this isn’t a possible reflection of a bit of influence by Western literature or by Western life in general than other Russian writers that I have read. A quick look at Bulgakov’s history shows that he served in the miliary (medic, WWI), and that his family moved to France when the Revolution hit. While this isn’t to suggest that other Russian/Soviet writers weren’t “worldly” in views and thought, it appears that Bulgakov had a significant amount of first hand knowledge along with an impressive education.

The novel itself is a clear satire of the burgeoning Soviet society. In a text with constant references to MASOLIT and with a near omnipresent government force constantly attempting to nip at the heels of Woland (Satan) and his compatriot’s heels, it continually invoked Orwell’s masterpiece, 1984.

The only trouble the novel runs into is what nearly any novel dealing with Satan falls into and that’s simply not being impressive enough with many of Satan’s hijinks. Though, this could also be part of Bulgakov’s plan. To the reader, the outcome of the show Woland, Fagot and Behemoth put on seems pretty clear, which makes the blind following of the audience all the more stark.

What is most interesting about Master and Margarita is that the classic portrayal of the Devil is absent. Rather than the tempter into sin and damnnation of the Mephistopheles of Marlow’s Faustus, Bulgakov’s Woland seems more interested in exposing the decadence and faults of people and their society rather than taking advantage of them. The whole thing seems to be more of a grand experiment for him than anything.

All in all, a wonderful, and highly recommended, read.

Amazon Price: $10.19 (but, as always, you can get it far more affordably used)

Adjunct Faculty and Illustration Alum R. Sikoryak has new book coming out in September and Time Out NY gave a sneak peak slideshow awhile back. Above and below are a couple of choice visual excerpts and here is the official description of the book:

Masterpiece Comics, a new book that reimagines classic literature in the style of well-known comics (including Shakespeare’s Macbeth in the style of old newspaper strip Mary Worth)

You can see the whole slideshow here–it’s worth it!  Additionally, Bob was interviewed on WFMU back in April  You can listen to the podcast over in the WFMU Speakeasy archives.  He talks about his new book as well as his work with Carousel, a ongoing series of cartoon slide shows & other projected pictures presented by a glittering array of artists, performers, graphic novelists, & other characters.

Congratulations, Mr. Sikoryak–can’t wait for the book!

Ugghhh in a little over an hour my last final (Literature & Writing) starts. It’s not hard, just fucking annoying. There’s gonna be three questions – the first will have to do with the texts we read this semester (The Odyssey, Dante’s Inferno, Doctor Faustus, and Hamlet), the second question will be some kind of concept question relating to the texts I think, and then the last question is a personal opinion question. We have to write short essays for all three questions. -_- FML. This is definitely not what I wanna do first thing in the morning…

On the bright side, it’s my last Literature & Writing class ever! Definitely a good thing.

i was born in a small town in the county of rhineland-palatine where they eat pig’s neck: imagine, grown men sitting on one of the town’s squares their shirt sleeves rolled up and their ties thrown over the shoulder, biting in the springy animal flesh. this gets to me.

buried now below an overpass, an old house leans against a wall like a man too old to let go of life in conscience. he wants to be carried away to the land of the dead but nobody seems to notice. this is supposedly the house of the original dr faustus who made a deal with the devil for happiness, more than five-hundred years ago. i believe this story with all my heart.

the oldest market in town is egg market. i walked across it many times looking for traces of chicken crime: broken shells, yellow stains, the limp of a gentle woman who collided with a cage, cawed at by the fowl flying in all directions. i did this because there had not been an actual market for many years now – but my father told me about it. this story i did not need to believe in: the street sign said “egg market” and this was a german town. things were in order.

the different squares were connected by roads – they were of medieval making, too, and it was said that there wasn’t a straight path from any one place to any other. even the small river whose name sounded like the german word for “near”, the Nahe, ran around itself in circles. it would made you dizzy.

a friend of my father’s owned a flat in a bridge house. that’s a house built on the bridge. there were two of these houses and they were the oldest ones apart from dr faustus’ den. state money had gone into saving them from falling over. but if a house wants to go, nothing’s going to stop it, and you could see that these house were getting ready to topple, to take the leap in the water, hoping perhaps for another existence elsewhere down the river.

my father’s friend was a journalist. his paper was local, which meant that anything beyond ms meyers having let the cows out and losing one of them in the hills was worth reporting. during summer, you might find even a picture of that lost cow in the paper, with the caption “loulou, the cow ms myers said to have lost, as seen in the neighbouring town of F.” the journalist was not without aspirations – he did eventually make it to the tabloid for the region. he would now report on lost otherthings.

the journalist had a son with a french woman, michelle. the son’s name was gerard. i thought both names were beautiful. they stuck out in a ancestral landscape littered with the names of families having fled in the wake of wars – refugees in the small town whose streets were as untidy and quirky as their stories and subterfuges. “where did your folks come from?” was a frequent question, not infrequently answered by “from everywhere”.

i was born in a small town but I was made of my mother’s backbone. i reckon an angel cut me from it like eve was cut from adam’s rib. she had plenty of backbone for her entire life, but she wasn’t from that town – that weakened her. since i was nervous tissue from her own, i knew how to make her laugh. my wit tickled her senses and helped her forget that she was in the wrong place.

when i grow up, i want to live in dr faustus house, and i hope the devil still comes to visit. i’d love to ask the old fellow one thing or two. the stuff that you never read about: life and death and all that.

© 2009 finnegan flawnt

Okay, I had so much fun doing the last search results post, That Brought You Here?!? That I wanted to do another.

When I was scrolling down my stats page, one of the search terms caught my eye, and I wondered if enough time had passed to post another.  It’s been over a week so… YuP!  Here goes.  The search terms are in bold, btw.

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bad effects of eating your boogers ~ Nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, diarrhea… yeah!

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spray cheese ~ on cracker… eat immediately.

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sex with sleeping doll ~ I believe this is illegal, and you knowChatty Cathy’s watching and’ll tell everyone…

.

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william shakespeare (dr. faustus) ~ Dr. Faustus, meet William Shakespeare

compare anne frank to the book thief! ~ NO! I don’t wanna!

invention of “invisible shirt”~ Yeah, I’m selling them out of my invisible store, and they come with an invisible receipt. I guarantee all eyes will be on you when you wear the matching invisible pants. I’ll sell both to you and throw in a pair of invisible Nikes all for a visible $20 bill.

gary larsen plant comics~ Personally, I plant vegetables and herbs, maybe a few annuals, but hey… to each his own. I wonder if any of his comics have been famous? Tom Arnold must of been a bad year for the old winyard, eh?

isabel ice custard ~ It’s the movie version of Custard the Dragon. When Isabel, Ink, Wink, Mustard and Custard are flying over the Andes on their way to a rugby match, the plane crashes and they are forced to do the unthinkable to survive. Custard kept crying for his nice safe cage, until Isabel couldn’t take it anymore and turned him into Dragon tartar.

half-blood prince’s comments on love pot ~ He said, “Dude… DUDE… duuuuuude…. ya gotta try this pot…. one long drag and you like… totally love everyone. *puff.. puff… blow* DuuUuuuUuDe! I love you, man!”

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Then there are a few Vampire ones:

where can i read vampire kisses blood~ Anywhere you want, dawg, as long as you buy something every couple hours so the don’t think you’re loitering, home slice.

cheap: vampire kisses: blood relatives ~ This would be the Redneck family reunion slash speed dating slash wedding version.

read vampire kisses vol 2 free ~ Dude… it’s called the LIBRARY.  If that’s not free enough for you, I don’t know what to tell ya.  Get the audio book?  Except it’s a manga book.  Have someone read it for you, then transfer the memory into your brain…  It’d probably have horrible side-effects, and you’d probably grow a tail and develop a tic, but it’d be free.

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And… of course… there are all of the BOOGER searches, some of which made me swallow my tongue…

is it dangerous to eat your boogers?  Yes, that’s why you look left, then right, then left again before taking a nibble… oh, wait, that’s crossing the street.

how to eat boogers ~ Now… mind you, I’m no expert on this, but it seems fairly straight forward…  freshly picked, breaded and deep-fried and served with marinara sauce, right?

cure smelly boogers ~ Dude!  Stop sniffing your gym shoes!  Get some Odor-Eaters or something!

im 18 and still eat boogers, and 20 years old and eats boogers why~ Seriously, an even better question is WHY did GOOGLE think I knew the answers?!

throw poo ~ okay… here you go…

What are some of the weird search terms that have led people to your blog? Or what’s the oddest search you’ve ever done?

Yay!!! Spring Break is here and two of my three lovelies have flown away to daddy’s for the week.  I still have Gwen, but without Maggie to fight with she’s rather tame.  She’s made plans to have sleep-over parties with her friends this week, too, so it’s going to quiet this week.

Our library will be having several movie events this week, including Twilight, which never did show at our theater.  I’ll have to take Gwen to it and do some other special things with her since she so rarely has me to herself.  She’s the middle child, so she’s often waiting on the side for her turn.  She always enjoys vacation times when the other two are gone.

I finished reading The Book Thief on Tuesday, but my brain has yet to put it down.  My mind wanders back to it often, even while reading one of the five books I’m currently working on. It’s now my favorite book, and I highly recommend anyone who hasn’t read it yet to do so.  It’s a beautifully written and haunting tale.

I’ve finally gotten around to picking up the sixth Harry Potter book, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, and am almost halfway through it.  It’s fun and okay, but somewhere along the way I’ve lost the wonder for the series I once had.  It’s the same book over and over again.  Harry knows some deep dark truth and no one believes him.   Even his best friends think he’s off his nuttter.  Then a horrible thing happens that proves Harry was right all along.  Sorries are said, forgiveness given, and everyone leaves Hogwarts with smiles and looking forward to next year…. when they’ll repeat the cycle all over again.  Add to all that pimples and crushes and love potions, and you get the gist of HP and the HBP.   Meh.   The Goblet of Fire has been my favorite so far.

I stopped into the Catholic thrift store here in town to check out their books and left with Christopher Marlowe’s play Doctor Faustus.  It’s okay, and the thought occurred to me while reading it, “Would Marlowe have been more widely known if Shakespeare’s plays were never wrote down?”  It’s an interesting thought, and makes me wonder about authors today.

What modern authors would be read more but for the mega-star writers like Patterson, Clancy, Grisham, King, and more?

- Panie – rzekł czort, kłaniając się nisko – niektóre dokumenty można podpisać tylko własną krwią.

 Możesz dostać wszelkie ziemskie bogactwa, seks, sławę. Nawet młodość. Miłość. Jeśli będziesz się dobrze targować – wiedzę i nadnaturalną moc. Zostaniesz gwiazdą, multimilionerem, cesarzem, magiem. Kimkolwiek chcesz. Cena jest jedna i niezmienna. Twoja dusza.

 Tylko dlaczego niby ma być ona tyle warta? Dlaczego Szatan jest w stanie za nią tak dużo zapłacić? Czy to nie kolejny przejaw naszego egocentryzmu? Człowiek – centrum wszechświata. Nawet jeden z miliardów tak ważny, tak wartościowy. Inaczej – po co w ogóle Diabłu nasza dusza?

 Co ciekawe duża część (z całego tłumu przecież) autorów wydaje się zupełnie nie dostrzegać tego problemu. Nie zastanawiać, ot – dogmat. W najlepszym razie pojawia się jakiś bełkotliwy fragment o zawodach między siłami światła i ciemności. Kto więcej. Goooool. Bzdura, przynajmniej w kontekście kosztów uzyskania jednego punktu przez moce piekielne.

 Christopher Marlowe w „Tragicznej Historii Doktora Fausta” udziela innej odpowiedzi. Przyjmując koncepcję piekła jako braku obecności Boga nie ogranicza go do konkretnego miejsca, zdejmuje z niego Dantejskie ramy i mówi:

Faust. Zaczekaj, powiedz, Mephistophilisie,

Dlaczego pan twój pragnie mieć mą duszę?

Meph. Ażeby jego królestwo zwiększyła.

Faust. I to dlatego kusi nas w ten sposób?

Meph. Solamen miseris socios habuisse Doloris *.

Faust. Jak to, wy, którzy tak innych męczycie,

Cierpicie także męczarnie?

Meph. Te same,

Jakich doznają dusze potępionych.

 

*Towarzysz boleści jest pociechą dla nieszczęśnika.

 Lucyfer, który obcował z Doskonałością, nagle ją utracił  i ta strata jest największym cierpieniem świata. To melancholijna koncepcja samotnego Diabła, który szuka towarzyszy niedoli (Przez ogród mój szatan szedł smutny śmiertelnie). Companions In woe. Co tłumaczy pośrednio kuszenie jednostek wybitnych, a nie sprzątaczek i handlarzy ryb. Z drugiej strony można interpretować ten fragment jako szatańską (acz jakże ludzką) zawiść: skoro ja cierpię, niech inni też cierpią. Tymbardziej. A może oba naraz?

Marlowe zmusza do refleksji, tak jak w innych swoich wielkich dramatach.  Śnie nocy letniej, Burzy czy Hamlecie. Nie wierzycie  chyba, że niejaki Shakespeare cokolwiek napisał? 

The name I use for the blog is a play on my ‘maiden’ name. My grandparents came from Germany and their family name was Faust (which they changed to Fast – ugh). Fast, in German means ‘almost’. Gods what a mistake! Anyway I sometimes use the original monicker for fun (and making deals with the devil(s)).

Most of us must have heard the English song by the title CHE SERA SERA, sung and popularized by Doris Day in the Hollywood flick by name THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH, by Alfred Hitchcock and made in 1956. But most of us know very little about the origin of the title or its original meaning- as it appeared in the text.

In English it could be averred authentically that it was in the play DR.FAUSTUS (putative authorship ascribed to Marlowe, a contemporary of Shakespeare) that the very same letters were used. For the benefit of those who want to know the context, i’ve excerpted the part wherein it appears below:-

If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and there
is no truth in us. Why, then, belike we must sin, and so
consequently die:
Ay, we must die an everlasting death.
What doctrine call you this, Che sera, sera,
What will be, shall be? Divinity, adieu!

Che sera, sera is an unhappy phrase as there is a mix up of Latin and Spanish, but the spelling has stuck to the context of the Hollywood song by that Title. Dr. Faustus utters the lines excerpted above, when he debunks DIVINITY as a subject.

The Hollywood song goes WHEN I WAS JUST A LITTLE GIRL.… It is shown as a song sung by the young mother while playing to party gathering and montaged with she dressing up her boy. The song is REALISTIC and goes on to show how one can’t be certain about the future and the anxieties about looking good, earning well, being happy are all beyond man’s ken and it should not be preponed but snuffed out with the thought WHATEVER WILL BE, WILL BE! For readers who are eager to know the lyrics, i’ve reproduced the same here:

When I was just a little girl
I asked my mother, what will I be
Will I be pretty, will I be rich
Here’s what she said to me.

Che Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future’s not ours, to see
Che Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.

When I was young, I fell in love
I asked my sweetheart what lies ahead
Will we have rainbows, day after day
Here’s what my sweetheart said.

Che Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future’s not ours, to see
Che Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.

Now I have children of my own
They ask their mother, what will I be
Will I be handsome, will I be rich
I tell them tenderly.

Che Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future’s not ours, to see
Che Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.

The movie (The Man Who Knew Too Much) was made in 1956, there appears to have been an earlier version to the movie in the 1930’s, but the Doris Day song Che sera, sera appeared in the ‘56 movie. The interesting thing is that a TAMIL movie by name AARAVALLI was made in 1957 and there is song sung by Jikki and A.M.Rajah which goes by the name CHINNA PENNANA PODHILE, which adopts the tune of the Doris Day, Che sera, sera and an interesting translation of the song except for the fatalistic statement WHAT WILL BE, SHALL BE!

I had the opportunity of listening to that song in Tamil once, but before i could replay the song, the mechanism of asking for my credit card and consequently the collection, popped up and, as I do not subscribe to downloading songs from internet, i abandoned the idea. I shall be much obliged if anyone could tell me where this CD wud be available, so that i could buy a copy.

One can hear the song in the following link-

http://www.tfmpage.com/cgi-bin/stream.pl?url=http://www.dhool.com/sotd/chinnappen.rm

One can compare the Tamil copy with the original English song from the various links available on internet.

Che sera, sera!

Encore un mois passé à toute vitesse, mais non sans quelques découvertes / confirmations:

Boom Pam: Puerto Rican nights (MA1471): ou si Dick Dale (et sa guitare surf) s’était aventuré dans les Balkans et en Méditerranée. Avec un bon gros son de tuba pour ponctuer le tout.

Tagaq: Auk/blood (MD3476): bientôt dans la Sélec 3, chant de gorge inuit contemporain. Album viscéral et aux ambiances fantomatiques.

Lydia Mendoza: The best of. La alondra de la frontera (MD9178): la reine de la musique tejano, aux sonoritésmexicaines un peu rétro.

Yom: New king of klezmer clarinet (MN8937): un pochette digne d’une star de rock ou de techno, un clin d’oeil en fait à la personnalité excentrique et extravagante du clarinettiste klezmer Naftule Brandwein.

Erwan Keravec: Urban pipes (MP2242): expérimentation sur les sons de la cornemuse, dévoilant toutes ses facettes.

Murat Aydemir: Murat Aydemir (MY8264): solo de tanbur, dans des compositions et dans l’interprétation de grands maîtres.

Deux albums montrant la vitalité du folk anglais actuel: Faustus: Faustus (MQ1783) et Spiers & Boden: Vagabond (MQ3919), tous deux sur l’excellent nouveau label Navigator. Nouvelle chanson traditionnelle anglaise.

Deux albums fantastiques pour la musique et pour les informations dans les livrets (et accessoirement pour leurs titres à rallonge): Orchestre Poly-Rythmo de Cotonou: The vodoun effect 1972-1975. Funk & sato from Benin’s obscure labels (Analog Africa No.4) (MK4282): afro funk du Bénin basé sur des rythmes vaudous et Franco & le TPOK Jazz: Francophonic. Africa’s greatest. A retrospective vol. 1: 1953-1980 (MM6472): Franco et la rumba africaine dans toute sa splendeur.

Une mention spéciale pour le label japonais King Records: une importante collection d’enregistrements du monde existait déjà dans les collections de la Médiathèque; le label a réédité tous ces disques et propose une série de nouveautés. Une première partie de ces disques est en route vers les centres de prêt, une soixantaine d’autres suivront dans les prochains mois.

La déception du mois:

Calypso Rose: Calypso Rose (MF7705): annoncé comme le Buena Vista Social Club (aïe) du calypso, c’est finalement un album trop produit qui est bien plus reggae, ska ou soul que calypso.

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Author: Martha Cummings Date: Tuesday, November 7, 2006 5:31pm

Adam,
 
This is just superb.  It is so good that I had to read it to my husband who howled with 
laughter.  You really know how to turn a phrase and write a powerful dialogue.  With 
some editing, this can be a masterpiece.
 
Thank you for this wonderful piece that receives 96 points.
 
Dr. C
 
In message 490 on Monday, November 6, 2006 11:22pm, Adam Schaeffer writes:
>
>Create a dialogue between Dr. Faustus and two other characters in the play.
>
>Characters:Dr. Faustus
>                 Mephastophilis
>                 Lucifer
>
>Scene:  Dr. Faustus is beseeching Mephastophilis and Lucifer to give him
>more time on Earth.
>
>Faustus:  Great Lucifer, most unclean, I beseech you and in your wisdom
>to grant me four and twenty more years as an addendum to my previous
>contract, as I am not yet ready to be gone from this world.
>
>Mephastophilis:  I'm sorry Faustus, but the time alloted is over and my
>master is here to collect.  Put your affairs in order, it is time to leave.
>
>Faustus:  Mighty Lucifer, the little horn, my affairs need more time to
>come to a satisfactory conclusion.  Think of poor Wagner.
>
>Lucifer:  Shutup.
>
>Mephastophilis:  Dear Dr. Faustus, you are making him angry.
>
>Faustus:  Please forgive me mighty lord, but I have not used the power
>of Mephastophilis to the full potential.  I have so many new ideas.  I
>could do so much for your cause.
>
>Lucifer:  Speak further of this.
>
>Faustus:  A new country has been discovered on the other side of the
>vast ocean.  I could go there, and with the help of Mephastophilis win
>you many more souls.  Imagine a whole continent of worshipers chanting
>your praises during their hethen ceremonies.
>
>Lucifer:  I want something.
>
>Faustus:  My lord?
>
>Mephastophilis:  He wants insurance that you will do as you say. 
>Something dear to you, something that you will want back at all costs. 
>Something that you would be sore put to get back from Jove if you repented.
>
>Faustus:  What does he have in mind?
>
>Lucifer:   Your pants.
>
>Faustus:  My lord!?
>
>Mephastophilis:  He wants something that will remind you that you are to
>have no other pleasure than that of bringing him souls.  Your instrument
>shall be taken from you for the four and twenty years you ask for, and
>returned when the bargain is complete.
>
>Faustus:  My lord, anything but that.  What about my eyes?  I get much
>pleasure observing the world through my eyes.  Or my legs, I enjoy
>walking?  Not having them would be misery.
>
>Lucifer:  Shutup.
>
>Mephastophilis:  You are making him angry again dear Dr. Faustus.
>
>Faustus:  I am sorry my lords, but I cannot part with something so dear
>to me.  Let us forget the supposed arrangement and proceed with the
>extraction of my soul.  
>
>Lucifer:  Say goodbye.
>
>Mephastophilis:  Is there anything you would like to say before he rips
>your soul from your body and jails it in hell for a frozen eternity of
>damnation?
>
>Faustus:  This was a bad idea...
>
>Lucifer:  I agree.
>
>Faustus:  ...AAAAAAHHHHHHHh.....................
>
>Mephastophilis:  I didn't think he would ever shutup.
>
>Lucifer:  Hubris.
>
>THE END.

The Devil’s Good Deal—Read the Fine Print

Topic Chosen by the Winning Bidder of the 2007 Service & Talent Auction Fundraiser         

Reading              from Meditations of the Heart, by Howard Thurman (1953)

I seek the strength to overcome evil.

I seek the strength to overcome the tendency to evil in my own heart.  I recognize the tendency to do the unkind thing when the mood of retaliation or revenge rides high in my spirit; I recognize the tendency to make of others a means to my own ends; I recognize the tendency to yield to fear and cowardice when fearlessness and courage seem to fit easily into the pattern of my security.  I seek the strength to overcome the tendency to evil in my own heart.

I seek the strength to overcome the evil that is present all about me.  I recognize the evil in much of the organized life about me; I recognize the evil in the will to power as found in groups, institutions and individuals; I recognize the terrible havoc of hate and bitterness which makes for fear and panic in the common life.  I seek the strength to overcome the evil that is present all about me.

I seek the strength to overcome evil; I must not be overcome by evil.  I seek the purification of my own heart, the purging of my own motives; I seek the strength to withstand the logic of bitterness, the terrible divisiveness of hate, the demonic triumph of the conquest of others.

What I seek for myself I desire with all my heart for friend and foe alike.

I seek the strength to overcome evil.

Sermon

In the late 1700s, a new movement of Christian Universalism caught fire in the new United States.  Imported from England to our East Coast, the Universalist gospel converted thousands of people; whole congregations changed their message and mission. This movement grew in number and influence not by making vivid threats of punishment but by proclaiming the life-giving promise of universal salvation. Circuit riding preachers went throughout New England to spread the good news that a loving God would not create human beings only to end up torturing some of us forever and calling only an elect few of us up to heaven.  

This is our Universalist heritage.  In recent years, I’ve heard and read similar theological statements from moderate, Mainline Protestant preachers and even from the Roman Catholic Church.  Following our lead, many modern theologians now affirm that hell is not a place; it’s a condition. 

We do not have to go to hell, but many of us carry hell around with us.  It weighs us down, stunts our growth.  Furthermore, we human beings continue inflicting hell on one another, here on earth.

Two months ago in this pulpit we heard from a tall, slender 26-year-old black man named Simon, who was born in Southern Sudan.  He’s called one of the “Lost Boys,” one of thousands of boys who fled from the attacks of genocidal killers, and then walked thousands of miles to Nigeria and Kenya.   He told us of companions who collapsed on the way or died crossing a river because they could not swim or were attacked by crocodiles.  Simon said he avoided the crocodiles by swimming under them.  Thousands of Sudanese children and adults remain in refugee camps in neighboring countries.  In Western Sudan’s Darfur region, wide-scale murder and brutality are raging right now.  I imagine that those maimed or traumatized victims and the many grieving families must feel that they are in hell, even now, in the relative safety of a refugee camp. 

And what about the perpetrators—their oppressors and killers?  What does it mean to be so far from a sense of human kinship or the universal care of God?  What is it like to be in thrall to ignorance, irrationality, and fear? What is it like to be driven by vengeance and hatred?  It must be hell. 

Gil Fronsdal is a teacher of Buddhist insight meditation in Redwood City.  He writes that the three roots of suffering are greed, hate and delusion—they are like fevers, burning our souls.  The Buddha, giving his Fire Sermon, said this about suffering:

Everything is on fire; the eyes are on fire; … visual perception is on fire…; the ears are on fire…; the nose is on fire…; the tongue is on fire…; the body is on fire…;  the mind is on fire… .  They are on fire with greed, hate and delusion. 

In Buddhism the freedom from suffering is called nirvana, an ancient word from India.  Fronsdal notes that the literal meaning of this word is “‘to go out’—like a fire—and ‘to cool.’”  Freedom is like the cooling of our mental fevers. 

            Such feverish and flaming images remind me of literary and artistic depictions of hell in the Christian tradition.  Because such images have such a strong hold on our imaginations, many Christian churches continue to see hell as a real place with real fire, and the devil as a real being—he is evil personified.  He’s bad, and being so bad, he is compelling. 

            It’s been said that in literature the good characters are boring and the evil characters appealing, because there are many more interesting ways to be bad than good.

A. E. Stallings has written this poem: 

Why should the Devil get all the good tunes,

The booze and the neon and Saturday night,

The swaying in darkness, the lovers like spoons?

Why should the Devil get all the good tunes?

Does he hum them to while away sad afternoons

And the long, lonesome Sundays?  Or sing them for spite?

Why should the Devil get all the good tunes,

The booze and the neon and Saturday night?

In Christopher Marlowe’s play, The Tragical History of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus, the most interesting character is not the devil, but a man who sells his soul to the devil.  The play is about the struggle between evil and good–a struggle not played out between people, but within our own hearts. Christopher Marlowe was born in England in 1564, the same year as William Shakespeare. He was irreverent young man, and he hung around with a rough crowd.  He would have been arrested for spreading atheistic views, but he was stabbed in a tavern brawl. He died in 1593, at age 29.  Marlowe wrote the play Doctor Faustus in the 1580s.

            In the play, Johann Faustus is a professor at the University of Wittenberg, Germany, a man learned in several fields, including medicine, philosophy, and theology.  But he’s not satisfied.  He’s bored and restless.  He wants to know more, to get richer and more famous, and even to gain control over nature. Faustus offers to sell his soul if he can live just 24 more years and be granted his every wish.  In part, he wants to learn to practice necromancy—an occult mixture of magic, astrology, and Satanism. Faustus wants to be able to conjure spirits to fly around the world and bring back riches for him.

He makes this offer to Mephistopheles, who is one of the Devil’s key agents.  Another servant of hell making an appearance in this play is named Beelzebub.  It’s Lucifer who’s the devil in charge, the king of hell.  The legend is that Lucifer was originally one of God’s first angels, but he became ambitious, proud and insolent, “for which God threw him from the face of heaven (Doctor Faustus, I.ii.70-72).”  He picked himself up, dusted himself off, and created a place of eternal damnation.

Faustus asks:  Why does it matter to Lucifer to expand his kingdom of hell with people like me?  In Latin, Mephistopheles replies:  “Misery loves company (I.ii.72-80).”

Faustus asks for an explanation of Mephistopheles and Beelzebub’s identity. What are you guys? (in other words).   He’s one of many “unhappy spirits,” Mephistopheles replies. Since you’re   here and not in hell, Faustus asks him, “Where are you damned?” Faustus asks.  Oh, I’m in hell, he says.  I’m always there.  I’m always suffering, because I am separated from God.  In other words, hell is not so much a place as it is a state of mind, the state of separation from the love and presence of God.

            The play includes comical moments and adventurous episodes as the years pass away and the deadline approaches.  At first, Faustus is in denial of the horror of the deal he’s making.  He says that true damnation for him would be to spend eternity… with a bunch of philosophers.  With his new powers and privileges, he asks Mephistopheles to get him a wife.  Mephistopheles balks.  Of course, marriage is a holy sacrament in the Christian church, and a savvy devil steers clear of the sacraments. 

            Instead of finding Faustus a wife, Mephistopheles brings to him a devil dressed in women’s drag, but Faustus can see through this trick.  They argue and then compromise:  Faustus accepts the promise of an unending supply of women to have sex with.

Faustus gets a visit from the Seven Deadly Sins, in person.  Each one introduces itself, with a suitable costume and attitude to match.  Then he takes a journey in the sky on a chariot pulled by dragons; from the top of Mount Olympus he can look down on the world and look up into space. After Mephistopheles uses a magic wand to make Faustus invisible, the Doctor visits the Vatican while the Pope is having dinner with a political ally.  He swipes meat off the Pope’s plate and takes his wine glass too, causing laughable consternation.  Back in Germany he’s become famous, and Charles the Fifth, the Holy Roman Emperor, has Faustus to a feast.  People pepper Faustus with questions there, and he dazzles them with his power and knowledge.

            Two characters make brief but frequent appearances to Faustus in this play: Bad Angel and Good Angel.  These guys remind me of two familiar cartoon characters: a good little angel hovering near a person’s head and whispering in his or her ear, while a little devil hovers near the other ear, urging the person to give in to temptation.  When Faustus first makes his promise to Mephistopheles, Good Angel says:  “Sweet Faustus, think of heaven and heavenly things!”  Bad Angel:  “No, Faustus, think of honor and of wealth.” Later, Mephistopheles demands a written contract, a “deed of gift” of the soul in question, signed in blood. Good Angel pleads to Faustus:  It’s not too late to change!  Bad Angel:  No, it is too late.  Faustus wavers and worries about his fateful choice, but then he stabs his arm and begins to write his name.  At first, even his blood resists this deal, by congealing so that it won’t make a signature. Near the cut on his arm, the Doctor reads the words, Flee, o man!  But he stays, and seals the deal.

This deal with the devil was his own idea.  Faustus is the one who has proposed it!  In fact, Mephistopheles has tried to turn him down, has begged Faustus to stop while he still can.  Later on he gives the Doctor another chance–thereby showing himself to be an unenthusiastic sales rep for Lucifer!  

Mephistopheles is a doomed and unhappy soul, an agent of the devil.  Yet he fears for Faustus and tries to turn him away.  Even though Mephistopheles has fallen about as low as you can go, he retains a measure of compassion and altruism.  He shows care for another person’s fate.  You know, it is common and so easy for us to write off other people as evil or depraved; it is also common for us to write off ourselves as worthless, bad, hopeless.  Yet, here we have the devil’s lieutenant, showing enough compassion to plead, Don’t let yourself end up like me!  There is still some human dignity, some source of worth in him.  Even a wretch like him can step out of the role in which others have cast him and which he has taken up as his eternal occupation. 

            What might this mean for those of us who sometimes carry hell around with us?–those of us who now and then feel worthless, of no good, no use, and no hope?  Or what might it mean for those whose hell is the anguish of a mental affliction, a disease that separates a person from oneself and from other people?  When we behold the wretched of the earth, or when we feel that we are the wretches—we must remind ourselves that there is hope.  There is still goodness in us—worth and dignity, and the potential for new acts of kindness, for helping others and caring about them.  Perhaps it is that we carry our goodness and our blessedness around with us.  Perhaps it carries us, and will not let us go.

            “Misery loves company,” according to Mephistopheles.  Does it really?  Is it not the case that misery and compassion can coexist?  We can be kind, even at our lowest, even when we feel so near to giving in and giving up.           

On the day Doctor Faustus must enter hell after 24 years of enjoying super-human powers, he does two things.  His last wish is to have a quick romp with the gorgeous Helen of Troy, and Mephistopheles brings her to him, or something like a hologram of her.  Yet the Doctor admits that he makes this request not because he appreciates her beauty, but to take his mind off the deal he’s made.  He says:  “One good thing… let me crave of thee:  to glut the longing of my heart’s desire (V.i.90).”

Good Angel and Bad Angel come by.  You should have listened to me, Good Angel says to him:  You would have sat “In resplendent glory…/ In yonder throne, like those bright shining saints (V.ii.109-110).  Bad Angel says:  Yeah, you should have listened to him.

His final act is to make a will.  He bequeaths all he owns to his loyal assistant.  Even as he faces the terror of his damnation, Faustus is able to think generously about another person.  He appreciates the man’s goodness, and rewards him for it.  As midnight approaches, two of his sympathetic colleagues are visiting Faustus, trying to give moral support.  As the clock chimes, he sends them away:  “Talk not of me, but save yourselves and depart (V.ii.74).”

No matter how low we can go, we can make use of the goodness, kindness and generosity that we carry around with us, the worthiness that nothing and nobody can take away from us.  We still carry around with us our goodness and our blessedness—and it carries us, it never lets us go.

            Devils come for Faustus, and he tries last-minute bargaining.  It doesn’t work.  Taken off stage, he screams in agony as the devils tear him apart.  The next day, his colleagues find only his mangled arms.  Even though Faustus damned his own soul by selling it, these men wish to honor his early work as a teacher and scholar as well as his basic humanity.  With two arms as his only remains, they give him a “due burial (V.iii.15-16).”

            Earlier in the play, Faustus asks Mephistopheles for books about spells and incantations, about the stars and planets, and one about “plants, herbs and trees that grow upon the earth (II.i.166-177).”  What simple requests!    Surely the Wittenberg University library has books like this—or books about astronomy and botany, at the least. Maybe he wants to see books that humans have not yet written, because we have more to discover and learn bout nature.  He wants to know in advance.  Perhaps, if he were willing to plunge himself into the work of scientific discovery, he wouldn’t be bored to death with his academic life.  He lets himself be bored.

He wants a wife too—even though, as an accomplished physician and professor, he should be a good catch.  After selling his soul, he finds the devil won’t allow him a Christian marriage.  He plays pranks on people as an invisible man —but he could have been playful as an ordinary one—you don’t need a magic wand to play a practical joke.  He wants riches—more than he has now, but he ends up realizing “you can’t take it with you.” Faustus was in hell already when he made his deal with the devil.  In his grasping and striving, he carried hell around with him.  We can do this too, when we try to flee from our experience in the present moment, when we ignore the blessings all around us.

Faustus was in hell when he gave up his sense of wonder at the world’s incomprehensibility.  His hell is the unwillingness to delight in the discovery of new things and the challenges of life’s unending mysteries.  He has lost any sense of the abundance of life, and of life’s ordinary blessings.  University of Chicago professor Jean Bethke Elshtain says an attitude of abundance was articulated best by her two-year old grandson as she was “swinging him in the back yard on a sunny, crisp day as a slight breeze stirred the leaves in the trees.  [He said:]  ‘Everything is everywhere.’”  Everything is everywhere!

In grasping for more, Faustus forgets the abundance that’s all around him.  So can we.  In striving for unreasonable goals for ourselves, we ignore the blessings of life.  No matter how low down we might feel we have gone, let us remember the gifts of our lives and the gifts that we bring.  Let us realize the good that we can do, for ourselves and for others.  Even in those times when we deny our own dignity and worth, it is with us. Our blessedness remains with us.  We carry our blessedness with us, and it carries us.  It does not let us go. 

So may we live.  Amen.