THE PL‘LYWREGHT AS FREEST:
THE RELEGWUS AND PHILOSOPHICAL
SlGNIFiCANCE 0F DRAMATIC ART

Thesis for the Degree of Ph. D.
MLCHIGAN STATE UNIVERSLTY
CHARLES GARO ASHJIAN
1969

"him

This is to certify that the .

thesis entitled

THE PLAYWRIGHT AS PRIEST: THE RELIGIOUS
AND PHILOSOPHICAL SIGNIFICANCE OF
DRAMATIC ART

presented by

Charles Garo Ashjian

has been accepted towards fulfillment
of the requirements for

Ph. D. degree in Arts aNd LelCter’S

’\ , e ' .
,' l a

( ) Majol' professor\

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‘;f*¢uaxénarwnxanr As PRIEST:‘ THE RELIGIOUS
. ‘ '3 AND PHILOSOPHICAL SIGNIFICANCE or
'fg'f":- I DRAMATIC ART

By

0

Charles Garo AshJian

AN ABSTRACT OF A THESIS

Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulfillment of the requirements
for the degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
College of Arts and Letters

1969 1 j

  

.t‘53* ELIquus AND PHILOSOPHICAL
.1 ;.3..,-.9§?‘°' gItNIFIc‘ANOE ‘OF DRAMATIC ART

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n k l'.r;v~a.~.-, .
.ziifgfie'repeatedly encountered and repeatedly unamplified notion

< .', 0‘ -J "I”? . .

' nmaét Ehe poet or dramatic artist as an intermediary between
'4: 7. .

- N{g‘§mfit“has been termed the eternal and the temporal. Any
iiifiitiet who conducts his creative activity in such a manner

Oi: lgfidluith such an intent is rightfully regarded as a priest--
v;;" "_ ,I‘
;.9 géfid 1n the most literal sense. That the artist, especially

.. | " . ‘
'gfie dramatic artist, does participate in such a priestly
s . .

wsiftSlé'Lha‘s been a common assumption in many periods of

      
  
  
 
   
 
     

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,,y;§§istic creation and critical analysis. Significantly,
4" Jam ,
fizfitbuch periods have been the major ones in the history of

"'wg§amat1c art. These points evidence themselves throughout
'.‘.L. 7‘
. il'ehe'study. The following is the definition of the term

0 ,Sriest as employed throughout the study: the priest is

Awhéfie who leads a cult in an act of worship through the

7% ‘tual reenactment of a myth. An elaboration upon this

‘kainition and a clarification of the included terms and
. aili‘

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simytand redeeming sacrament. Finally, the religious,

.- The method of this study is through an appeal to the
1 " . .* .
. i tterances of various significant authorities. This study
v .

.

.T‘ Q iséconcerned primarily with the thoughts of other men and

M 2;;ir at times there is an apparent redundancy in ideas, it is
gli’flhe to a desire to corroborate specific points from the

i; Vantage points of various disciplines. The arguments and
Tflk. positions are, thus, made more conclusive. Such a method
lfldfi adequate and Justified since the purpose of this study

,_3 not to prove the initial problem or assertion but, rather,
to engage in an extended amplification and analysis. The
fi1as of this approach is that the presented viewpoint is
'ighe most valid one in any consideration of dramatic art.
.j$“fi0wever, this becomes irrelevant since the common but
y‘aihhelaborated doctrine of the playwright as a priest merits

%, {thalysis and elaboration for no other reason than that it
life a frequently declared one.

‘l%§“ The major findings of the study include the assertion

A rLat'the dramatic art and religion both embody the "invisible

ities." The objects of sense become the medium for

 

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jgggroup of mankind. Religion must resort to art

hihextricable and necessary for the fullest success
Tijthe',qther. Dramatic art is capable of attaining the
‘5 ~ature of the "holy object" which makes visible and
Vi. ngprehensible the quality and nature of the "divine."
‘c '5 ,Tpramatic art becomes a means for the achievement and par-
'.,;ticipation in what man has referred to as religion.
Lir;£§hilosophy, in turn, approaches a knowledge of the "divine"
,’ Ipy.the apprehension of the loftiest concepts. But rela—
u.§ively few human beings are capable of arriving at such a
5-'know1edge which requires the attainment and possession of
.‘LT a well—developed intellect. However, they may apprehend
“vbnch knowledge in an intuitive manner through the medium
|' of dramatic art which resorts to the use of symbols which
«are grounded in the concrete and, thus, more readily per-
‘qyjceived by a greater number of human beings. The task of

5 the significant dramatic artist is inextricable from the

‘ #

‘ <:oOncerns and conclusions of philosophy. Another quality

. dé and function of the drama is that it more readily presents
tthe insights of philosophy in addition to those of

1 ’ maligion. Thus, philosophy and dramatic art become

"{nextricable and necessary for the fullest success of the
v,,

 

 

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ii. t‘ ‘who;~assum‘es the priestly role camits .
"E; task of revealing the "divine" to mankind.

ia-erucial obligation of the playwright—priest. He

.. ?3nfiers an object to be used as an aid and route to divinity.
A r}. ' ‘ 47A ‘ '
“.gfihe‘material content of such an aid nullifies itself and

v ...'a..‘ .
‘ (firsts claim to prolonged attention by indicating the realm
:ffiasf the spirit. The playwright-priest, further, assumes the

.1' ;\..
:‘hgrqle of a prophet. Within the context of the drama for
a ~JT.I
3‘ “ubich,he bears responsibility is heralded a vision of the

'; :“Tfuture. Within this dramatic context, also, is an admoni—
i:i;tion for the audience to render their share in converting
g: iauch a vision to an actuality. Art as prophetic activity
gpis an illuminated depiction of what mankind "ought to

vfixubecome." Finally, the playwright—priest assumes the role

f?U§£ a pastor within his community. He is a spokesman and
2;:aflvocate of those moral truths and a revealer of those errors
L-éin conduct which impinge upon the daily and practical life

~ ‘?rbf man. The stage becomes a place whereupon living examples
I; are encountered within a context which comprehends and reveals
§;3he motives and norms and actions which yielded the viewed
-ifibtions. The stage grants understanding for utilization
Q scommon affairs. The playwright who assumes the priestly

.makes such an experience possible.

 

VJ? ’1‘?" 'va- ‘-

   
  

‘KND~PHILOSOPHICAL SIGNIFICANCE OF
DRAMATIC ART

By

mpharles Garo AshJian

A THESIS

Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulfillment of the requirements
for the degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
College of Arts and Letters

1969

    
     

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CHARLES GARO ASHJ IAN

   
   
  
  
    
   

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

_.'* Walsh .of- the Philosophy Department and, especially,
P mgor John Yunck of the English Department. Without
"tithei& (patience, encouragement, and understanding, I would
afflict have completed the requirements for the doctoral degree.

,7-1' In my estimate, they are teachers in every best sense of
”10.5 (the word.
III... if}.

’ . ,‘m
”My.

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  

 

'The typé‘of'the free workman is the artist, and
'the artist is, by definition, one who is concerned

I 31th the Absolute Beauty. The Absolute Beauty is

God. ,The artist is concerned with God. As the
fifiest brings God to the marriage the artist brings
God to the work. All free workmen are artists.

All workmen who are not artists are slaves.

GOD IS LOVE.

THE LOVE OF GOD IS SENSIBLE IN BEAUTY.

THE LOVE OF GOD IS MAN'S ESSENTIAL PERFECTION.

‘ BEAUTY IS AN ESSENTIAL PERFECTION OF MAN'S WORK.

(Eric Gill, Art Nonsense and Other

Essays, London, Cassell, 19595

iv

    
   

'IHE PIAYWRIGH'I‘ AS PRIEST: THE
RELIGIOUS AND PHILOSOPHICAL
SIGNIFICANCE OF DRAMATIC ART

Prophet
Pastor

CULTANDWORSHIP.......
RI'IUAL,SACRAME1\J'I',ANDMY'IH. .

THE RELIGIOUS AND PHILOSOPHICAL SIGNIFICANCE
OF DRAMATIC ART. . . . .

Religion and Dramatic Art
Philosophy and Dramatic Art

THE PLAYWRIGHT AS PRIEST.

'Ihe Playwright as Sacrif‘icer
'Ihe Playwright as Prophet
'Ihe Playwright as Pastor

ELIGIOUS RITUAL AND DRAMATIC PERFORMANCE .

Sacred and Profane Language

Sacred and Profane Place

Sacred and Profane Time

Audience and Worship

Audience and Cult

Ritual and Performance as Sacrament

30

53

68

88

10A

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Life Is A mean—Sacrificial Doctrine
— c Doctrine
Grea atre o the World—Pastoral

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CHAPTER I

   
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  

INTRODUCTION

The title of this study is The Playwright as Priest:
_Religious and Philosophical Significance of Dramatic

' The purpose of this Study is to consider and analyze
5 o the repeatedly encountered and repeatedly unamplified
‘fl-vnfibtiOn of the poet or dramatic artist as an intermediary
,rf, between what has been termed the eternal and the temporal.
4' ”; iny artist who conducts his creative activity in such a
fzfimnner and with such an intent is rightfully regarded as
v2.5? priest--and in the most literal sense. That the artist,
é;§;§§pécia11y the dramatic artist, does participate in such
2U§”priestly role has been a common assumption in many
Qeriods of artistic creation and critical analysis. Sig-
t fii-ficantly, such periods have been the major ones in the

‘ ”history of dramatic art. These points will evidence them-
I§1Ves throughout the study. The following will be the

‘5; éfinition of the term priest as herein established: the
triest is one who leads a cult in an act of worship through

“I, .
'g.e ritual reenactment of a myth. An elaboration upon this

Tinition and a clarification of the included terms and

.r.
G

     
   
    
    
    
 
 
 
 
  
  

1$1315:3.1.El'tis'oph'i'c, and aesthetic framework and. criterion

"J; V. lei-"B Established upon such a basis will be exemplified

I,fi"animusideration cf the dramatic art of Pedro Calderon

1

gm .

' .fiacla Ba‘rca--a major playwright of the Spanish Golden Age.

’ ""l The method of this study will be through an appeal

1% t-herutterances of various significant authorities. This

, I... ' S’Bfidy is concerned primarily with. the thoughts of other men
J _ 3nd Elf at times there is an apparent redundancy in ideas,

3417718 due to a desire to corroborate specific points from

the vantage points of various disciplines. The arguments

3~ 3 ". . ,afid'positions will, thus, be made more conclusive. Such

f ,3 method is adequate and Justified since the purpose of

' i351$ Study is not to prove the initial problem or assertion

em

5 rather, to engage in an extended amplification and

-;_\ L.

ahalysis. The bias of this approach is that the presented

5

"5-,,

ViéWpoint is the most valid one in any consideration of

hramatic art. However, this becomes irrelevant since the
j bouillon but unelaborated doctrine of the playwright as a

, _
.‘N p"'3‘-e_st merits analysis and elaboration for no other reason

I'.
' 5'
I'yt‘han that it is a frequently declared one. Any intellectual
' "‘°Vemen1; which strives toward the establishment of the

“lidity of such a viewpoint is merely apparent and due

5.- 3‘."— :. Ls...‘

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-#7 ’ifldicate the point and implication of such a statement.
If "v5
«fig The practice of genuine art is an attempt by the artist to
T-reconcile God or the hallowed eternal with Satan or the

‘.-3fi111ed temporal--what is permanent and good and light is

'E and evil and dark. The artist grasps at each domain in
order to draw them together once more. The total artistic
" ‘.T task is that noble and perverse. The artistic task entails

:} that much tension and strain——and to be the genuine artist

. I.
I 3' 1'.
5:" is to bear the burden of embroilment in such a situation.
“ 52' Nevertheless, to render a full and Just depiction of the

9 ,act of artistic creation and the ensuing art object would
7 entail a consideration of this entire scene. This study
is a narrow one in that it merely considers the hand of
the artist which is grasping God. Such a comprehension of
the artistic task and dilemma is far from being a strange
and alien one to the artist himself. Consider Blake:

‘Although Blake thought of a poet as a visionary,
he saw him also as a human, in whom the "contraries
battle." Blake himself was subject to fluctuation
between the visionary and the mundane, the tradi-
.,. tional Western duality. ". . . I am under the
direction of Messengers from Heaven, Daily &
g:d"'Nightly; but the nature of such things is not as
, , some suppose, without trouble or care. Temptations

tiare on the right hand & left; behind, the sea of
:time & space roars & follows swiftly, he who keeps

. *to be reconciled and interfused with that which is transient

l
__i

.. - J). 1-.

     
   

_ right onwards is lost. . . ." As a visionary
’ fie,poet must evade time and space and see into
filth :the Edenic realm of harmony.1

A ’ I

E; *d Kazantzakis:

'.q' I felt this was my sole duty: to reconcile the

- irreconcilables, to draw the thick ancestral
darkness out of my loins and transform it, to
the best of my ability, into light.2

And.Ibsen:

And what is it, then, that I have lived through
and that has inspired me? The range has been large.
In part I have been inspired by something which
only rarely and only in my best moments has stirred
vividly within me as something great and beautiful.
I have been inspired by that which, so to speak,

. V has stood higher than my everyday self, and I
. .: have been inspired by this because I wanted to
‘ , confront it and make it part of myself.

But I have also been inspired by the opposite,
by what appears on introspection as the dregs and
sediment of one's own nature. Writing has in this
case been to me like a bath from which I have
risen feeling cleaner, healthier, and freer.3

   
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
   
     

, ; T. S. Eliot once stated that his criticism was a
venture into a realm of interpretation which lent itself
neither to proof or refutation--so also is this study. In
the obvious absence of absolute knowledge, such a stance
is prudent rather than presumptuous. If this is to be

interpreted as an admission that one is presenting opinion

 

. lHayward Adams. "The Blakean Aesthetic," Journal of

‘ , Aesthetics and Art Criticism, XIII (December, lQSUi, p. 2MB.
2Nikos Kazantzakis, Report to Greco (New York: Bantam

Books, Inc., 1966), . l9.

 

3Henrik Ibsen, "The Task of the Poet, in Plavwrights
Pla writing, ed. by Toby Cole (New York: Hill and Wang,
.‘9 .'. ap- 3'

   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
    
  
 
   
  
    

  

of this study. In effect, what is being presented here is

,an aesthetic outlook which derives from that point wherein

art, religion, and philosophy converge. A major system
of religious belief entails certain necessary tenets. The
aesthetic outlook to be amplified in this study derives
directly from this set of necessary tenets. That such
major systems of belief do exist is evident and, further,
that such systems do coincide in matters of principle
doctrine, above and beyond the obfuscation and bias of
particular systems of imagery and mythology is evidenced

by Frithjof Schuon in The Transcendent Unity of Religions.

 

Schuon summarizes the main contention of the volume:

To come now to the main subject of this book,
it must be emphasized that the unity of the
different religions, or, more generally, of the
different traditional forms, is not only unrealiz—
able on the external level, that of the forms
themselves, but ought not to be realized at that
level, even were this possible, for in that case
the revealed forms would be deprived of their
sufficient reason. The very fact that they are
revealed shows that they are willed by the Divine
Word. If the expression 'transcendent unity' is
used, it means that the unity of the traditional
forms, whether they are religious or supra-
religious in their nature, must be realized in a
purely inward and spiritual way and without
prejudice to any particular form. The antagonisms
between these forms no more affect the one uni-
versal Truth than the antagonisms between oppos—
ing colours affect the transmission of the one
uncoloured light (to return to the illustration

    
   
  
  
  
   
   

a- used already). Just as every colour, by its

, negation of darkness and its affirmation of
-g,rllight, provides the possibility of discovering

’ ’ the ray which makes it visible and of tracing
this ray back to its luminous source, so all
forms, all symbols, all religions, all dogmas,
by their negation of error and their affirmation
of Truth, make it possible to follow the ray of
Revelation, which is none other than the ray of
the Intellect, back as far as its Divine Source.

And Blake makes a similar contention:

, Blake fully understood the risks and proceeded
with faith in that thing he called man's Universal
Poetic Genius. Blake believed each man capable of
spiritual regeneration through the power of this
Genius. When he states that "all had originally
one language, and one religion" he does not
hypothesize the original Indo—European language

of the philologists. He means that the vision of
all people is of the same pure form. That one pure
form is eternally "Imagination," pitted against

the mundane form called "Memory," which is a
product of the delusory finite world of Generation
and Vegetation, which builds up an opaque experience
of nature: "There Exist in that Eternal World

the Permanent Realities of Every Thing which we 5
see reflected in this Vegetable Class of Nature."

 

This study assumes the validity and, at least, the
value of such outlooks in a manner similar to that of
William James writing in Essays in Pragmatism. For James,
the absence of total proof in substantiation of a doctrine
does not necessitate the abandonment of such a doctrine--

"and, indeed, the further and possible life—fulfilling

value of the doctrine. This universal outlook which is

 

“Frithjof Schuon, The Transcendent Unity of Religions

(New York: Pantheon Books, Inc., 1953), p. 15.

5Adams, op. cit., p. 2H2.

most frequently and aptly been

 

Kfihtermed the "Perennial Philosophy." Aldous Huxley defines
it in this manner:

Philosophia Perrennis—-the phrase was coined by
Leibniz; but the thing—~the metaphysic that
recognizes a divine reality substantial to the
world of things and lives and minds; the psychology
that finds in the soul something similar to, or
even identical with, divine reality; the ethic

that places man‘s final end in the knowledge of

the immanent and transcendent ground 0% all being-—
the thing is immemorial and universal.

The framework of this study is a religious one.
There should be no mistake about this point. The sense in
'which the term "religion" is being considered has been
stated by Whitehead:

Religion is the vision of something which stands
behind and within the passing flux of immediate
things; something which is real, and yet waiting

i to be realized; something which is a remote
possibility and yet the greatest of present facts;
something that gives meaning to all that passes,
and yet eludes apprehension; something whose
possession is the final good and yet is beyond

all reach; something which is the ultimate ideal,
and the hopeless quest.7

    
 
 
  
    
 
 
  
      
  

 

The believer in the validity of such a religion or
the "religious man" has been described by Eliade:

Whatever the historical context in which he is
placed, homo religious always believes that there
is an absolute reality, the sacred, which
transcends this world but manifests itself in
this world, thereby sanctifying it and making it
real. He further believes that life has a sacred

 

6Aldous Huxley, The Perennial Philosophy (New York:
The World Publishing Co. , 1962), iv

7Alfred North Whitehead, Science and the Modern
world (New York: The Macmillan Co., 1927), p. 275.

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‘dprigin and that human existence realizes all
. ; bf its potentialities in proportion as it 138
’ :fuatreligious--that is, participates in reality.
"'.", Skeptics and literal minded people lacking suffi-
cient Spirituality will recoil at such assertions. They
"will, further, question the relevance of such assertions
Tin any consideration of art. Artists, they will say, have
little to do with such theory. Indeed, what does an
'artist, the creator of a concrete art object, care for
theories and concepts of any sort? These matters will be
'dealt with in a thorough manner. For the moment, consider
the remark of Herbert Read in considering the practice of
certain artists of the guattrocento in their desire to
realize the substantial existence of the external world.
He states:
For our present purpose it is sufficient to
note the perfection of this new dimension of
consciousness in Piero della Francesca, Alberti,
and Leonardo. All these artists left documentary
evidence of their views, in the form of treatises
or notebooks, and the fact that they were con-
scious theorists is perhaps their most significant
characteristic.9
Such examples may be accumulated for many of the
.significant epochs of artistic activity. Indeed, such is

the rule rather than the exception. That artists have

little comprehension of the status and nature of their own

 

Harper and Row, 1961),. 202.

9Herbert Read, Icon and Idea (New York: Schocken
ks, 1965), p. 99.

8Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane (New York;

 

c?
”L '35 tolerated and fostered by many artists for it is in

. their interest to engender discussion of a work rather
than end such discussion by an authoritative and conclusive
2 statement of their own. Further, in regarding the spiritual-
‘ and even mystical viewpoint of the artist, consider this
assertion by Paul Klee:

Presumptuous is the artist who does not follow
his road through to the end. But chosen are
those artists who penetrate to the region of
that secret place where primeval power nurtures
all evolution. There, where the powerhouse of
all time and space-—call it brain or heart of
creation-—activates every function: who is the

° artist who would not dwell there? In the womb
of nature, at the source of creation, where the
secret key to all lies guarded.lo

Friedrich Schlegel, along the same line, states
'"All artists are religious."11
And Thomas Mann states:

Every artist, simply in his character as artist,
may venture to call himself a religious man.12

   
  
   
 
   
  
   
  

Not only is great art--the art which meets the cri-
terion to be established here-—based on faith and a belief

in the divine, but so, also, is aesthetic theory. Consider

 

10As quoted by Read, ibid., p. 123.

11As quoted by Gerardus Van der Leeuw, Sacred and
_?rofane'Beaut (New York: Holt, Rinehart, and Winston Inc.,
‘Vv' ,19 3 . p. 1 7.
.i‘. ‘;' 12As quoted by Geraldine Trask, ed., Stor tellers
‘ Their Art (New York: Doubleday and Co., Inc., 1963),

 

  

 

Ehristian and Oriental aesthetic doctrine. Goomaraswamy

avers 2

It will not be out of place to say that I believe
what I have to expound--for the study of any
subject can live only to the extent.that the
student himself stands or falls by the life of
the subject-studied; the interdependence of faith
and understanding applying as much to the theory
of art as to any other doctrine.l3

And, also, Katherine Anne Porter states:

The arts . . . live continuously, and they
live literally by faith; their names and their
shapes and their uses and their basic meanings
survive unchanged in all that matters through
times of interruption, diminishment, neglect;
they outlive governments and creeds and the
societies, even the very civilizations that
produce them. They cannot be destroyed
altogether because they represent the substance
of faith and the only reality. They are what 1“
we find again when the ruins are cleared away.

The dramatic art to be described finds its true
place within this sphere of faith in the transcendent and
can only be composed beneath its light. There is a desired
and desirable realm which transcends both space and time—-
if for no other reason because men believe it to be so.

The ontological status of this transcendent sphere is
irrelevant and indeterminable. Nevertheless, this does not

disturb the validity of the outlook to any degree. The

 

l3Ananda Coomaraswamy, Christian and Oriental Philosophy
of Art (New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1956), p. 23.
1“As quoted by Lawrence J. Hatterer, The Artist in
§ociety (New York: Grove Press, Inc., 1966 , p. 9.

12

 

Absolute or God is worthy of total respect and worship
whether existent or not—-whether subjective or substantial.
William James states the matter thus:

The further limits of our being plunge into an
altogether different dimension of existence from
the sensible and merely 'understandable' world.
Name it the mystical or supernatural reason,
whichever you choose. Yet the unseen region
. . . produces effects in the world. When we
commune with it, work is actually done upon our
finite personality . . . . But that which pro-
duces effects within another reality must be
termed a reality itself, so I feel as if we had
no philosophic excuse for calling the unseen or
mystical world unreal . . . . Our normal working
consciousness . . . is but one special type of
consciousness, whilst all about it, parted from
it by the filmiest of screens, there lie potential
forms of consciousness entirely different. We may
go through life without suspecting their existence;
but apply the requisite stimulus, and at a touch,
they are there . . . . No account of the universe
. . . can be final which leaves these other forms
of consciousness disregarded . . . . If then there
be a wider world of being than that of our every—
day consciousness, if in it there be forces whose
effects on us are intermittent, if one condition
be the openness of the subliminal door . . . at
these places at least . . . it would seem as
though transmundane energies of God, if you will,
} produced immediate effects within the natural 15
world to which the rest of our experience belongs.
Artists do assume a coincident attitude even though

it may merely be in an unconscious or intuitive manner.

 

  
   
 
   

And again, the ontological status of the Absolute is
irrelevant to the contention of this study. It is no

problem affecting the possibility or impossibility of

 

15As quoted by A. Savill, Alexander the Great and
His Time (London: Rockliff Publishing Corp., 1955),
Dr 291.

 

13

 

1 creative activity—-be this activity philosOphical,

‘. religious, or artistic. The artist is perplexed but not
halted in the success of his endeavor. De Rougemont
states the surmountable predicament of the artist:

This problem, let us observe, torments not only
7 the artist, but also, and more consciously still,
the physicist of today. Do I invent, he says to
himself, or is it rather that I discover a reality?
{ Do I project into the cosmos the forms of my
spirit, or is it rather that I espouse by the
spirit some of the objective forms of the real?
And the man who receives a call sometimes sub-
sists in this doubt to the point of anguish. Do
I surrender to some obscure determination of my
desire, or is it rather that I really respond to
a summons received from somewhere else? Where
does the voice come from? Who speaks? Myself, or
the other? Such is the predicament which the inter—
vention of the Holy Spirit creates in man.1

De Rougemont continues to assert his own belief in
the substantial existence of this reality.

Similarly, consider this discussion of Lord Shaftes—
bury by Nahm:

"No poet, " wrote Shaftesbury in "A Letter Con-

cerning Enthusiasm, " ". . can do anything great
I in his own way without the imagination or suppo—
sition of a divine presence." Shaftesbury goes

to the root of the problem——the need is to trans—
port or inspire the mind, "with more than I feel
at ordinary hours." And he adds, sagely enough,
that whether the "divine presence" be spectual or
real is of no consequence.l7

 

 

   
  

l6Denis de Rougemont, "Religion and the Mission of the
Artist," in Spiritual Problems in Contemporary Literature
ed. by S. Hopper (New York: Harper and Row, 1965), p. 18*.

 

l7As quoted by Milton Nahm, The Artist as Creator
(Baltimore: The John Hopkins Press, 1956), p. 173

 

 

14

      
 

'bf§f¢When.Schlegel or Mann state that artists are
"3%, A: I‘
b .\giEMdgious in outlook, they must also be aware that artists

    

“can also be atheists. The resolution of this apparent
contradiction is found in the above remark by Shaftesbury.
‘In placing'this study within its proper context,
Vconsider a further implication or problem contingent upon
what has gOne before. Certainly many thinkers, whether
they be artists, clerics, or philosophers, in using the
t ' various terms such as Divine, God, Absolute, Mind, Spirit,
Logos, Nous, Being or whatever to signify the ultimate
ground and source of reality have not been using these
terms synonymously. To equate, for instance, the immanent
.9 and evolving "Mind" or "Absolute" of Hegel with the transcen-
dent and perfected "God" of Christianity would be falla—

cious to say the least. But an extensive inquiry into the

    
  
  
   
   
  
   
 
 

; nature of these and similar terms would show not so much

 

q, a difference in the conception of this entity but, rather,
y a difference in the ontological status of this entity. It
- has already been indicated that the ontological status of
the total and ultimate object or commonly, God, is irrele-
vagt to the act of artistic creation. Whether God is
idea] or real, subjective or objective is irrelevant. What
is relevant is the actual existence of God whether such
an actual existence is contingent upon the mind of man
'solely or contingent and, rather, intrinsic to the nature

{Sr
'f4if reality as the word "reality" suggests the cosmos or

 

 

15

  
 

5tver3e in its entirety. What is relevant, further, is

thét art be considered an overflow of or insight into the

v AbEblute—-even if such an Absolute is entirely contingent

’ Upon the mind of man. It is such a framework that is being
established. Schelling states:

My general view of art is that it constitutes
an efflux from the Absolute.18

t VFrom such a vantage point, whatever is can merely

and finally be a predicate of the Absolute. Thus, all

! branches of scholarly and artistic endeavor are merely con-

siderations of a single object from unique vantage points.

} - Thus, Hegel has stated that philosophy is the conceptual
apprehension of the Absolute; religion is the symbolic
apprehension of the Absolute; and art is the intuitive appre-

, hension of the Absolute. To speak of conceptual apprehen-

sion is to refer to those conclusions that are expressed

   
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
  

 

in an imageless fashion and which are the result of an
abstractive process by the intellect. To speak of symbolic
apprehension is to refer to those conclusions that are
expressed through imagery which is reemployed without a
significant change in referent or meaning. To speak of
intuitive apprehension is to refer to those conclusions
that are expressed through changing imagery without a sig—

nificant change in referent or meaning. Hegel, also,

 

;‘ quoted by E. D. Hirsch, Jr. Wordsworth and
- .§chelling (New Haven: Yale University Press, l§665, p. 121.

 

 

refers to the "ideas" of Mind or the permanent structures
which permeate reality due to the processes of Mind. It
is even as the Christian who refers to the "eternal
verities of God which display themselves in nature."

Hegel reiterates the single object of the various areas of
scholarly, religious, and artistic endeavor. He states:

Fine art is not real art till it is in this
sense free, and only achieves its highest task
when it has taken its place in the same sphere
with religion and philosophy, and has become
simply a mode of revealing to consciousness and
bringing to utterance the Divine Nature, the
deepest interests of humanity, and the most
comprehensive truths of the mind.19

And again:

This is an attribute which art shares with
religion and philosophy, only in this peculiar
mode, that it represents even the highest ideas
in sensuous forms, thereby bringing them nearer
to the character of natural phenomena, to the
senses, and to feeling.20

The convergence of art, philosophy, and theology has
been expressed, also, by a twentieth century philosopher.
Wilhelm Dilthey states:

Both philosophy and theology express a
Weltanschauung based on actual, vital experience.

The same is true of art, especially of literature.
All three of them must ultimately correspond.21

 

19F. W. Hegel, Philosophy of Fine Art (London:
Kegan Paul, Trench and Co., 1886), I, p. 12.

2oIbid., p. 13.

21As quoted by Hirsch, op. cit., p. 7.

 

 

 

  

17

 

Such ideas as those employed by Hegel and Dilthey
have also been repeatedly voiced throughout the ages by
such thinkers as Plato, Aristotle, Plotinus, Dionysius,
Augustine, Bonaventure, Aquinas, Fichte, Schelling,
Schopenhauer, Kierkegaard, and Heidegger. This is merely
an incomplete list. Nevertheless, consider the following
corroborative recapitulations of the aesthetic doctrines
of Heidegger, Plato, and Kierkegaard. Versenyi, in com-
paring both Hegel and Heidegger, asserts:

In both Heidegger and Hegel "great art and its
works are great in their historical emergence

and being only because they accomplish a decisive
task within the historical existence of man—-
they reveal, in the manner of the work, what all
that is is, and they preserve the revelation in
the work. Art and its work are necessary only as
a way and as an abode of man, in which the truth
of all that is, i.e., the Unconditional, the
Absolute, discloses itself."22

Versenyi continues with his summary of Heidegger's
aesthetic doctrine:

What has happened? What is at work in the work
of art? Revelation, aletheia, truth. A work of
art does not so much reveal what this or that
individual thing is as it discloses to us the
essential nature and structure of a whole world.
The simpler, the purer, the more primordial and
unadorned the work, the more immediately and
inevitably it does so. "In its way, the work of
art opens up the Being of what is." This opening
up or disclosure is the happening of truth. The
essence of the work of art is thus the unfolding
of truth. "Art is truth at work."23

 

22L. Versenyi, Heidegger, Being, and Truth (New
Haven: Yale University Press, 1965), p.102.

 

231b1d., p. 92.

18

   

Thus, intellect and affection seek the same end.
Art becomes a means for attaining this end. Versenyi
continues the discussion of Heidegger's aesthetic theory
by showing its concurrence with the doctrine of Plato.
He presents Heidegger as follows:

Plato was right when he held that "it is beauty's
fate alone to be ekphanestaton (that which most
shines forth) and erasmiotaton (that which is
most to be loved)" (Phaedrus 250D). For "as

the beautiful lets Being light up, and is as the
beautiful the most attractive it transports man
out of and beyond himself to Being."2u

Crites, in relating the doctrine of Kierkegaard,
shows the identical aesthetic conclusions of this philosopher
with those of Hegel. As with Hegel, Kierkegaard concludes
that philosophy is a synthesis of the ideal and the real
in the sphere of ideality and art is a synthesis of the
ideal and the real in the sphere of sensuality——Kierkegaard
states, according to Crites:

But philosophy, as Hegel argued, is the ultimate
medium for the idea, since thought is the idea's
} own pure element; so philosophy is able to grasp
in pure ideality what art had first expressed in
a material medium, and what a natural science could
grasp only for a limited purpose and within a
limited frame of reference. This does not mean
that speculative philosophy could simply replace
art or science. A particular idea cannot come
to expression at all apart from its appropriate
medium, and it can never come to satisfy the whole
man in the austere medium of pure thought with the
same intensity as in the sensuous media of art.
But Hegel tried to show that philosophy can grasp
ideas, once given, in their purity and in their
necessary relation to one another as logical

 

 

2uIbid., p. 9M.

 

19

 

moments in the absolute idea. To Kierkegaard
‘this meant at least that it is possible to
approach art philosophically, and at most that
speculative philosophy might Justly claim to be
the supreme intellectual realization of the
aesthetic standpoint in genera1.25

One conclusion which certainly may be drawn from
this passage is that the subject and source of art and
beauty is God as God is the source and constitution of the
absolute idea. Those who consider art must not hesitate
to say as much. Theodore Spencer, referring to the drama,
states:
Great drama has to admit the unforgivable; it
has, in other words, if it is to express man's
spiritual awareness, to recognize the existence
of a force which needs no name but which has
been called "fate," or "destiny"; in religious
terms, "God"; or, metaphysically speaking, "a
power under God."26

It is the attitude of Coomaraswamy, also, who states:
Let us tell them (the audience) what these works
of art are about and not merely tell them things
about these works of art. Let us tell them the
painful truth, that most of these works of art
are about God, whom we never mention in polite
society.27

Again, the criterion for this "most" will be

established. Evelyn Underhill, in quoting St. John of the

 

 
   
  

25From the introduction by D. Crites to Soren
Kierkegaard, Crisis in the Life of an Actress (New York:
Harper and Row, 1965), p. 23.

26Theodore Spencer, "Man's Spiritual Situation as
Reflected in Modern Drama," in Hopper, op. cit., p. A6.

27

 

 

Coomaraswamy, op. cit., p. 20.

 

 
 

 

as the source and ground of all beauty. Underhill states:

"God," says St. John of the Cross again,

"passes through the thicket of the world, and

wherever His glance falls He turns all things

to beauty."2

Within the synoptic frame that has been established,

consider the more specific manner in which art and the
artist function in order to gain the intended and already
designated end. Kaminsky, in his study of the Hegelian
aesthetic doctrine, reiterates the philosopher thus:

It is the function of art "to expunge the

divergence between the purely natural and the

spiritual, to exalt the external bodily appear-

ance to a form of beauty, that is, a form

throughout deminated and suffused with the

animation of spirit.29

Hegel, in the Philosophy of Fine Art evidences the

 

conviction that phenomenal appearance places as a Hindu
might say, a "veil of illusion" over that which is
ultimately real and born of Mind and the Divine. The
appearances of art as the appearances of ordinary experience
point beyond themselves to that sphere of ultimate value
and reality. Hegel states:

Art liberates the real import of appearances

from the semblance and deception of this bad
and fleeting world and imparts to phenomenal

 

28As quoted by Evelyn Underhill, Worship (New York:

Harper and Row, 1936), p.

29Jack Kaminsky, Hegel on Art (New York: University
Publishers, Inc., 1962), p. .

x
a“

21

 

semblances a higher reality, born of mind. The
appearances of art, therefore, far from being
mere semblances, have the higher reality and
the more genuine existence in comparison with
the realities of common life.3

And Pope Pius XII asserts accordingly:

The function of all art lies in fact in
breaking through the narrow and tortuous
enclosure of the finite, in which man is
immersed while living here below, and in
providing a window on the infinite for his
hungry soul.3l

And, again, James Gillis:

Art is revelation. If a painting shows only
what is there, it is not art. Art like fine
music or high literature must carry the
beholder beyond this world and all that appears
in it, transport him to the shores of the
eternal world and enable him to see and hear
the things not given to the tongue of man to
utter.32

That this ultimate referant of art is meant for
intellectual apprehension or intended for the "mind's
eye" is evidenced by this further statement of Hegel:

Again, the mode of appearance of the shapes pro-
duced by art may be called a deception in
comparison with philosophic thought, with
religious or moral principles. Beyond a doubt
' the mode of revelation which a content attains in
the realm of thought is the truest reality; but
in comparison with the show or semblance of
immediate sensuous existence or of historical
narrative, the artistic semblance has the

 

 

30Hegel, op. cit., p. 15.

31As quoted by Ralph L. Woods, ed., The World
Treasury of Religious Quotations (New York: Hawthorn
Books, Inc., 1966), p. 27.

  
 

 

32Ibid., p. 26.

.p-

 

~..

 

22

 

adVantage that in itself it points beyond itself,
and refers us away from itself to something
‘.‘spir1tua1 which it is meant to bring before
. the mind's eye.33

We shall encounter similar assertions below. What
is presumed, however, in such a view is that the ultimate
object or referant of art is some "concept" (e.g., Hegel),
or "idea" (e.g., Plato), or "universal" (e.g., Augustine)
having its ground in the Absolute. Ultimate art points
to a spiritual realm. Granted there are other modes of
artistic expression but these are considered deficient
when an encounter with God and the spiritual may be
attained instead. It is admitted that other modes of
artistic expression have value also-~but, it need hardly
be emphasized, the concern here is the ultimate in
artistic apprehension and expression.

This desired and ultimate type of contact between
the spiritual and the sensuous is most cogently expressed
in the following remarks of Hegel:

In art, these sensuous shapes and sounds present
themselves, not simply for their own sake and for
that of their immediate structure, but with the
purpose of affording in that shape satisfaction
to higher spiritual interests, seeing that they
are powerful to call forth a response and echo

in the mind from all the depths of consciousness.
It is thus that, in art, the sensuous is

spiritualized, ihe., the spiritual appears in
sensuous shape.3

 

33Hegel, op. cit., p. 16.

3"Ib1d., p. 73.

 

 

23

  

Kaminsky, in his study, reasserts the role of the
artist as envisioned by Hegel and whose goal is the
revelation of the concept or type within Mind which
underlies the phenomena of sense perception. Kaminsky
summarizes:

The role of the artist is now quite clear. What
makes him an artist is his ability to organize
sense objects in such a way that they will serve
to call attention to the indicative nature of
sense perception. If the artist succeeds, then
the observer of his work will suddenly see more
than the mere imagery; he will also see in an
intellectual sense the underlying concept of
which the imagery is supposed to be a manifesta—
tion. If the artist fails, then no underlying
concept has appeared.35

Again, Kaminsky states:

The great artist, Hegel concluded, will always
be able to lift "the soul high above all its
painful perglexity into the ordered limits of
the real."3

Schiller, also, states that the form or the idea or
the archetype within the mind of God is what gives light
and life to a work of art. He states:

Therefore, the real artistic secret of the master
consists in his annihilating the material by means
of the form, and the more imposing, arrogant and
alluring the material is in itself, the more auto-
cratically it obtrudes itself in its operation,
and the more inclined the beholder is to engage
immediately with the material, the more triumphant
is the art which forces back material and asserts

 

 

35
36

Kaminsky, op. cit., p. 27.
Ibid., p. 103.

  

37F. Schiller, On the Aesthetic Education of Man

 

f . (New York: Ungar Publishing Co., 1965), p. 106.

24

 

its mastery over form. The nature of the man
who sees or hears the work must remain com-
pletely free and inviolate, it must go forth
from the magic circle of the artist pure and
perfect as from the Creator's hands.37

The material element in art, though never ignored or
omitted, must finally be destroyed so that an artist or
l _participant may gain the clarified proximity and vision
of the source of being. Art unfolds or unmasks the ideal.
When it fails to do so it may only be considered as being
good, defective, or mediocre. Hegel, again, states:

Concrete reality is so overburdened with the
phenomenal, that is incidental or accidental
detail, that we frequently cannot see the forest
for the trees, and often the most important fact
slips by us as a thing of common or daily occur-
rence. It is the indwelling insight and genius
of the artist which first adds the quality of
greatness to events or actions, presenting them
fully in a truly historical composition, which
rejects what is purely external, and only brings
into prominence that through which that ideal
substance is vitally unfolded. 8

And summarily Hegel states:

And, therefore, what the particular arts realize
in individual works of art, are according to

their abstract conception simply the universal
types which constitute the self-unfolding Idea of
beauty. It is as the external realization of this
Idea that the wide Pantheon of art is being
erected, whose architect and builder is the spirit
of beauty as it awakens to self-knowledge, and to
complete which the history of the world will need
its evolution of ages.39

Any contention that such is the esoteric doctrine of

   

 

a theoretical philosopher with no real or provable

 

38As quoted by Kaminsky, op. cit., p. 113.

39Hegel, op. cit., p. 175.

 

 

25

 

application in art is easily refuted. Martin Lings, in

Shakespeare in the Light of Sacred Art, adheres to a

 

coincident aesthetic system. Hegel as Lings, it should be

indicated, in the Philosophy of Fine Art also considers

 

Medieval Art to have been the ultimate exemplification of
proper artistic practice. Lings, continuing in the cited
‘study, establishes that a principal reason for the unique
status of Shakespeare amongst his fellow playwrights was
due to a faithful and prolonged adherance to the Medieval
outlook. Ling states:

In the form of his drama Shakespeare belongs to

his age. Marlowe's “Dr. Faustus" is outwardly in

some respects more medieval than anything Shake-

speare wrote. But in outlook Marlowe was

altogether a man of the Renaissance, as were Ben

Johnson and Webster, whereas Shakespeare seems in

a sense to go back as time goes forward and by

the turn of the century he had become, unlike

any of his fellow dramatists, the continuer and

the summer-up of the past, the last outpost of a

quickly vanishing age.

Lings, further, considers Shakespeare as a Medieval.
artist and presents his explanation, in a manner similar to
that of Hegel, for the general superiority of Medieval and
Oriental Art in contrast to the art of epochs wherein the
transcendent sphere was not acknowledged or sought after
so avidly by the individual artist. He states:

The reason why Medieval art can bear comparison
with Oriental Art as no other Western art can
is undoubtedly that the Medieval outlook, like

 

quartin Lings, Shakespeare in the Light of Sacred
'Art (New York: Humanities Press, Inc., 1966), p. 17.

 

 

 

 

 

 

26

that of the Oriental civilizations, was intellectual.
It considered this world above all as the shadow or
symbol of the next, man as the shadow or symbol of
God; and such an attitude, to be operative, pre-
supposes the presence of intellectuals, for earthly
things can only be referred back to their spiritual
archetypes through the faculty of intellectual
perception, the insight which pierces through the
symbol to the universal reality that lies beyond.
In the theocratic civilizations, if an artist
himself was not an intellectual, he none the less
obeyed the canons of art which had been established
on an intellectual basis.

A medieval portrait is above all a portrait of
the Spirit shining from behind a human veil. In
other words, it is as a window opening from the
particular on to the universal, and while being
enshrined in its own age and civilization as
eminently typical of a particular period and place,
it has at the same time, in virtue of this opening,
something that is neither of the East nor the West,
nor of anyone age more than another. 1

It is contended that great drama is the ultimate

mode for manifesting the Absolute through artistic practice.

Hegel states as much:

The drama is the synthesis of lyric and epic
poetry. It combines the best elements in both

art forms and produces a poetry that indicates
man's highest endeavor to uncover all that is
ideal in human existence. The drama more than

any other art form can finally convey to us how
the Idea, the Absolute, makes its appearance among
human beings.

And it is contended that the greatest playwrights,

as Shakespeare described by Lings, are similarly religious
in their outlook. Kitto, to cite another authority,
assumes the literary greatness and stature of Aeschylus and

Sophocles and states:

 

ulIbid., p. 12.
”2

As quoted by Kaminsky, op. cit., p. 156.

 

,.._..—,

 

27

We have examined in detail the structure and
style of certain classical Greek plays. We
assumed that Aeschylus and Sophocles were in
complete command of their own art, and had very
good reasons for shaping their plays as they

did; and we have, I think, found nothing to
disturb that assumption. From this examination
there has emerged the conception of "religious"
drama, a form of drama in which the real focus

is not the Tragic Hero but the divine background.

The focus of such religious drama is again the

divine background. It is the "ethereal world" described

by Rosenheim who concurs:

For it is that same ethereal world wherein all we
do and suffer while on earth gets written in the
"Book of Wisdom" kept by the Eternal Justice. And
it is from these exalted "records of eternity"
that every genuine poet derives his initiation
when he strives for his pertinent imaginations and
creative inspirations. To them he owes his primal
insight into the consonance of man's terrestrial
fate with his eternal destiny, which his genius
then breaks down into his own peculiar code of
rhythm, harmony and melos. Thus he translates

the wonders of the universe into a language com—
prehensible to the receptive hearts and ears of
all who listen to what he has read and captured
from the eternal chronicle.

It is in the "eternal chronicle" or the "records of

eternity" that literary art gains its own proper words.
And such words, when manifested in the manner of dramatic

art, reveal themselves within the mold of the highest form

 

   

”3H. D. F. Kitto, "Religious Drama and Its Inter-

pretation," in Tragedy, ed. by L. Michel and R. Sewall
(Englewood Cliff, N.J.: Prentice Hall, Inc., 1963), p. 1A7.

uuRichard Rosenheim, The Eternal Drama (New York:

 

The Philosophical Library, 1952), p. 124.

28

 

of dramatic art or what Rosenheim refers to as the
"Mystery Drama." He states:

The term "Mystery Drama," used in its proper
. sense, refers exclusively to that highest and
purest form of drama which, inspired by super—
sensory experience, aims at a vigorous inner
transformation of the beholder.
By presenting before his eyes of the mind the
divine counterpart of his own fate, the genuine
I Mystery Drama tends to re—unite his soul once more
( with the harmonious world of pure spirit from whose
precincts he, as a member of the world of sense-
experience and brain bound intellect, has been
tragically barred. If one looks from this exclu-
sive point of view upon the dramatic output of all
times and gones, it seems quite obvious that
the true Mystery Drama is fundamentally character—
‘ ized by three marks of quality by means of which it
automatically protects itself against being con—
fused with any sort of drama which simply treats
worldly matters in a mysterious, or mysterious
matters in a worldly fashion. They are——

1. The genuine Mystery Drama always contains and
reveals in one or another kind of concentrated pre-
sentation the basic fact of Spiritual Creation. It
always reflects in some way the eternal will of the
loving Creator for continuous creative transforma—
tion of the world. It always points to harmony in
metamorphosis——

2. For the accomplishment of this uplifting purpose
the genuine Mystery Drama employs as appointed media
the visible music of the inspired human body and the
audible music of the inspired human word. By force
| of their combined assistance it offers to those who
earnestly seek for absolute truth the miracle key
opening their eyes to conscious realization of the
eternal interdependence of the Creator and His
Creation in order that by passing through the purga—
tory of reverence and compassion he might attain to
a better and deeper understanding of his own being
and becoming.

3. This key, however, the genuine Mystery Drama
offers only to humanity in strict accordance with
the degree of maturity reached at a certain time by
a certain part of the human family in a certain
region of the earth. It always is both test and

 

 

29

proof of a new stage of spiritual and moral
progress achieved byupumanity on its organic
course of evolution.
The playwright who attempts to render such a
"Mystery Drama" within the purposeful and worshipful con-
text of the religious and philosophical background which

has, so far, been presented is rightly considered to be a

priest.

 

"51b1d., p. 103.

 

  

 

CHAPTER II

PRIEST

A consideration of the priestly role and its various
functions will be presented now. The role, as described,
will be broad enough to encompass the functions of the
priest irrespective of any distinctive or unique quality
1a particular creed may impose upon these functions.
Further, the description will be definitive enough so as
to render an adequate designation of the unique character—
istics of each of these functions.

Initially, let us designate the accord between the
artistic and priestly function. The commensurable relation
of the artist and the priest——indeed, the necessary con-
nection between the endeavors has been acknowledged, also,
from the vantage point of religious thought. Cardinal
Suhard, writing in Priests Among Men, designates this
quality and relation of the priest:

In order that "the growth of the Church," a pre-
requisite of universal redemption, take place

without deviating from the true "meaning of God,"
a divine artisan is required: the priest.1

 

. 1Emmanual Cardinal Suhard, Priests Amon Men
(Notre Dame: Fides Publishers, Inc., 1951), p. 9.

3O

31

 

Here the metaphor which opened this study should be
reconsidered. The artist as priest stands as mediator
between the eternal and temporal or the infinite and

f finite. The strain and tension of such an attempt at

| reconciliation is enormous and ultimately destructive of
the bearer. This priestly task and burden has been empha—
{ sized, also, by Suhard who quotes Charmot:

But the priest is not a hybrid. Neither is he
F neutral, that is to say, in the etymological sense
of the word, "neither one thing or another." He is
remote from any colorless indifference. Rather he
intensely partakes of both sides of his nature at
the same time. Christ is Mediator because He is
at once Man and God; "He first effected the junction
between the finite and the infinite . . . . Priests,
like Christ, reconcile in themselves, as two natures,
God and man." The priest must not limit himself to
communicating God's gifts and word, nor to chanel-
ling the prayers of mankind, but he must make his
own the matter of their salvation to the point of
feeling the anguish of their redemption more keenly
than they do. And here lies the mystery of the
priest. What he unites in himself is what tears him
} apart. At every moment of his life he must answer

 

two callings and entirely satisfy each of them

without ever sacrificing either. Those two ten—
dencies seem contradictory. They are at least

1 opposed to one another and import to one's nature
a kind of violent and painful tension which can end
only in death. The priesthood resembles martyrdom.

That such a stance is an act of love and charity——
and not an act of self—seeking is understood. Cardinal

Montini, later Pope Paul VI, writing in The Priest, states

 

the proper motive for the assumption of such a martyrous

    

position. He states:

 

2Ibid., p. 36.

 

  

32

 

The priesthood, we know, is not dignity and
power for him on whom it is bestowed; it is a
work of mediation between God and man; on the
one hand its end is the glory of God, on the
other, as its proximate end, the care of souls.
Charity toward God and neighbor are of the
essence of the priesthood.

This "care of souls" is a duty assumed in order to
meet the demand of a humanity which senses its own weak-
ness and the contrasting power of the eternal upon which
it can draw in order to overcome such weakness. Gunnar

Landtmann, writing in the Encyclopedia of Religion and

 

Ethics, designates the origin of the priesthood thus:

Priesthood, broadly speaking, owes its origin to
the universal need felt by mankind of superhuman
assistance in the struggle of life. Among all
peoples the belief exists that, under certain
circumstances, advantages of some kind or other
are obtainable from the supernatural world.“

E. 0. James, likewise, recognizes this strength
rendering function of the priest. James states:

In short, in a precarious, unpredictable and
hazardous environment the institution of priest—
hood has enabled struggling humanity to advance
on life's pilgrimage with hope and confidence
and with a sense of security by supplying a
power to help and to heal, to renew and to
reassure, to cohere and to conserve.5

He, further, renders this broad description of the

priesthood:

 

3Giovanni Battista Cardinal Montini, The Priest
(Baltimore: Helicon Press, Inc., 1965), p. 39.

”Gunnar Landtmann, "Priest and Priesthood," Encyclo-
pedia of Religion and Ethics, ed. by James Hastings, X
(1921), 278.

 

5E. 0. James, The Nature and Function of Priesthood
._ (New York: Barnes and Noble, Inc., 1955), p. 209.

 

 

 

33

Priesthoods are the duly accredited and spiritually
endowed official instruments and representatives of
God or the gods under whom they serve and on whose
behalf they exercise their office in its several
capacities. They are set apart for the specific
purpose of establishing, maintaining and restoring
intercourse and adjustment between the sacred and
the secular spheres, theistically interpreted in
terms of a personal Deity at once transcendent and
immanent. As this very delicate equilibrium is
always liable to be disturbed, either inadvertently
or through human frailty, perverseness and inability
to refuse the evil and choose the good, the function
of the priesthood consists in restoring the balance,
as and when required, and in strengthening the bond
by the prescribed techniques and ministrations. As
occasion demands the priest has to mediate, expiate
and absolve; reveal, conserve and guard sacred
learning and knowledge; administer and maintain the
hierarchic organization in relation to the social
structure; and above all to stand between heaven
and earth at the altar as the master of sacrifice.

These "several capacities" of the priest are, again,

reiterated by Suhard:

His priesthood is all—embracing . . . . He assumes
simultaneously all the mediating functions—-which
in His mysterious character cannot be dissociated
from each other—-the roles of Moses, Aaron, Abraham,
Melchisedech. Because Christ is Mediator by all
that He is, all the functions He exercised whether
in His hidden life or during His public life are

to find their place and be renewed in the life of
the priest. He is to be spiritual director, pastor,
preacher of the kingdom, benefactor of men, contem-
plative servant of the Father. Everything which flows
from Christ's role as Mediator ought to be present
at least to some degree in His continuers, the
priests throughout the world.7

Such varied and apparently disparate functions have

been aptly delineated in the traditional analysis of the

 

6Ibid., p. 293.

7Suhard, op. cit., p. 19.

 

"— 3

~-_.

 

 

34

priestly role. The entire priestly role may be considered
in terms of three functions, 1. e., the sacrificial,
prophetic, and pastoral functions. The sacrificial func-
tion of the priest entails the negation of individuality
for the sake of the eternal and Absolute. The prophetic
function entails the presentation and promulgation of
"divine" knowledge and a qualified acceptance of the
present for the sake of a more desirable and future state
of existence. The pastoral function entails the minister-
ing to the temporal needs and goals of a people. Obviously,
there is an overlap and continuity in these functions——
after all, they are merely functions of a single endeavor
and borne, hopefully, by a single priest. Nonetheless,
the essential characteristics of each function may be
designated.

Drawing upon the Christian context where Christ as
the ultimate priest remains the ultimate model for any
priest, Bishop Emile--Joseph de Smedt states the threefold
mission of the priest:

As we have seen, Jesus is priest, prophet, and
king. He has been sent among men to redeem them
by His sacrifice, to teach them in truth, to
accomplish the Kingdom of God in them. The
glorious Christ wishes this threefold mission to
continue on earth. Since this work still remains
to be done, He appeals for the collaboration of
his priestly people. Hence, our vocation. We
must live in union with Jesus who lives visibly in

the midst of his people: (1) In union with Christ,
offering sacrifice in the midst of His people;

 

 

 

3S

(2) In union with Christ teaching in the midst of
his people; (3) In union with Christ ruling in

'the midst of His people.8

role

(3)

‘Again he defines the three functions of the priestly
, i.e., (1) the sacrificial, (2) the prophetic, and
the pastoral. He states:

1. In the Service of Christ Offering Sacrifice
In the Midst of His People

Through the ministerial priesthood Christ makes
it possible for His people to have access to the
sacramental offering of His redeeming sacrifice
and the graces that flow therefrom.

And:

2. In the Service Of Christ Teaching In the Midst
of His People

Through the authorized ministers of His Word,
Christ makes it possible for His people, and
gives them the right to attain revealed truth
without fear of error, as it has been preserved
in the Bible, apostolic tradition, and the teach—
ing of the Church. This Magisterium is a living
organism that has the assistance and the authority
of Christ Himself.10

And:

3. In the Service of Christ Ruling In the Midst
of His People

In the person of the members of the clergy,
Christ the King wishes to guarantee to the faithful
His light and His encouragement for the accomplish—
ment in justice and in charity, of the work of
humanizing, spiritualizing, and consecrating the
world——in view of its final destiny.11

 

8Bishop Emile—-Joseph de Smedt, The Priesthood of the

Faithful (New York: Paulist Press, 1962), p. 25.

 

9Ibid., p. 77.

loIbid., p. 85.

11Ibid., p. 92.

 

..«\

 

  

36

 

(We shall consider each of these in detail. E. 0.
James, writing in the Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics,
defines sacrifice thus:

Sacrifice may be defined generally as a rite in
the course of which something is forfeited or
destroyed, its object being to establish relations
between a source of spiritual strength and one in
need of such strength, for the benefit of the
latter.12

And again, James states:

In its broader interpretation 'Sacrifice' (from
the Latin sacrificium; sacer, 'holy' and facere,
'to make') involves the destruction of a victim
for the purpose of maintaining or restoring a
right relationship of man to the sacred order.

It may effect a bond of union with the divinity

to whom it is offered, or constitute a piacular
expiation and propitiation to 'cover', 'wipe out',
neutralize or carry away evil and guilt contracted
wittingly or unwittingly.13

And Hubert and Mauss, in their volume Sacrifice:

Its Nature and Function, state in accord:

 

Sacrifice is a religious act which, through the
consecration of a victim, modifies the condition
of the moral person who accomplishes it or that
of certain objects with which he is concerned.l”
The purposes of sacrifice are stated by Yerkes in
Sacrifice in Greek and Roman Religions and Early Judaism.

In this comparative study, he concludes:

 

12E. 0. James, "Sacrifice," Encyclopedia of Religion
and Ethics, ed. by James Hastings, XI (1921), 1.

13E. 0. James, Sacrifice and Sacrament (New York:
Barnes and Noble, Inc., 1962), p. 13.

l“Henri Hubert and Marcel Mauss, Sacrifice: Its
Nature and Function (Chicago: The University of Chicago
Press, 196”), p. 13.

37

These four purposes, therefore, were eXpressed
in sacrifice:

1) To learn the will of God.
2) To cooperate with God and do that will.

3) To rely upon God for protection when doing
his will.

A) To surrender oneself entirely to God and
his wi11.15

The motive force for such purposes has been stated

by Evelyn Underhill. She states:

. . . --those three great motives of sacrifice
which the ancient rituals express--the deep
sense of sin and penitence, the need and long-
ing; for communion, the impulse to that total
self—giving which is the preparation of
sanctity-—are all found Operative in the most
profound experiences of the sou1.l6

These motives engendering their own purposes fulfill

the three great functions of sacrifice. Again, Underhill

states them thus:

For in sacrifice something is given voluntarily
and unconditionally to God, in defiance of the
inveterate possessiveness and claimfulness of man;
and this gesture of generosity is felt to be the
best that we can do (a) to atone for our short—
comings in other respects, (b) as a means of

that approach to God which is an essential element
in worship, (0) as an earnest of devotedness . . .
Cost is always essential to it. Thus wild animals
and fruits are never used by agricultural peeples
for the purposes of sacrifice. They must give
something into which they have put their own life

 

15Royden Keith Yerkes, Sacrifice in Greek and Roman
Religions and Early Judaism (NEW York: Charles Scribner's
Sens, 1952?, p. 201.

l6Underhill, op. cit., p. 59.

 

 

38

and work; for within that total, visible offer-
ing which is ritual sacrifice, is always implied
the total invisible offering of the self, and
everything the self best loves.l7

The intermediary of such sacrifice is the priest.
It is the priest who stands as the link between the sacred
and the profane. Without his assistance, participation,
and leadership such sacrifice may not be rendered effective.
Again, Hubert and Mauss emphasize the point:

There are sacrifices in which there are no other
participants than the sacrificer (i.e. the sub-
ject to whom the benefits of sacrifice accrue or
who undergoes its effect) and the victim. But
generally one does not venture to approach

sacred things directly and alone; they are too
lofty and serious a matter. An intermediary,

or at the very least a guide, is necessary.

This is the priest. More familiar with the world
of the gods, in which he is partly involved
through a previous consecration, he can approach
it more closely and with less fear than the
layman, who is perhaps sullied by unknown
blemishes. At the same time he prevents the
sacrificer from committing fatal errors. Some-
times the profane person is even formally ex-
cluded from the sanctuary and the sacrifice. In
this case the priest becomes, on the one hand,
the mandatory of the sacrificer, whose condition
he shares and whose sins he bears. On the other
hand, however, he is sealed with a divine seal.
He bears the name, the title or the role of his
god. He is his minister, even his incarnate
presence, or at the very least the repository of
his power. He is the visible agent of consecra—
tion in the sacrifice. In short, he stands on
the threshold of the sacred and the profane world
and represents them both at one and the same time.
They are linked in him.18

 

17Ibid., p. 50.

18Hubert and Mauss, op. cit., p. 22.

 

 

an.

39

This priest bears the paradoxical burden of being
both the sacrificed and the sacrificer. Again, drawing

on the priestly and paradigmatic model of Christ, Suhard

states:

At the altar, the priest, like Christ, is the
victim. But he is also the sacrificer; he is
then the dreadful man, the one who works death,
the one who kills sin and burns it, the one who
is crucified and who crucifies, the one who
cannot save the world, nor will consent to its
salvation save through nailing it to the Cross.
"Without the shedding of blood there is no
redemption."l9

Montini reiterates the priestly paradox and the
necessity of such. Addressing other priests, he states:

The drama of Christ will then come to its
fulfillment in you. You know that the
mysterious greatness of the sacrifice of Christ
lies in the identification of priest and victim,
of the one who offers and the one who is
offered, the one who represents the hidden
will--the ancients would have said the fatal
destiny-~that is above the rite to be performed;
an irresistible will, a great will that over—
comes our limited human wills. Lord take from
me this chalice; but not my will but yours be
done. And the priest is the minister of this
will that descends from heaven and that arises
from the tragedy of sin. There is need of
sacrifice; and the priest performs it.20

The tragedy of sin which Montini speaks of has its
own palliation and compensation when a rightful relationship

to God is maintained. This rightful relationship manifests

 

19Suhard, op. cit., p. 83.

2OMontini, op. cit., p. 66.

40

itself in the sacrificial act. Such a rightful relation-
ship can only lead to a lifegiving joy. Thus, sacrifice
is ultimately an act of joyful revification and renewed
unity with what is holy and enduring--or God. Jane

Ellen Harrison, in Ancient Art and Ritual, asserts this

 

implication of the sacrificial act. She states:

We are so accustomed to think of sacrifice as
the death, the giving up, the renouncing of
something. But sacrifice does not mean "death"
at all. It means making holy, sanctifying; and
holiness was to primitive man just special
strength and life.21

Antoine De Saint Exupery, a literary artist, states
this life renewing function of sacrifice also. He states:
Sacrifice signifies neither amputation nor
repentance. It is, in essence, an act. It is
the gift of oneself to the being of which one
forms a part.22
This sacrificial return "to the being of which one

forms a part" was recognized by Saint Thomas Aquinas.

Boylan, in The Spiritual Life of the Priest, quotes him

 

thus:

. . and St. Thomas insists: "The sacrifice which
is offered externally, represents the inward
spiritual sacrifice by which the soul offers
itself to God" . . . . The outward sacrifice is
the manifestation of the inward sacrifice by which
"a man offers himself to god, as the principle of
his activity and the object of his beatitude,"

(cf. Cont. Gen. iii. l20).23
21Jane Ellen Harrison, Ancient Art and Ritual (London:

Oxford University Press, 19A8), p. 90.
22As quoted by Woods, op. cit., p. 873.

23Eugene Boylan, The Spiritual Life of the Priest
(Westminister: The Newman Press, 1959), p.7A7.

 

 

 

41

This total surrender to God, this denial of any
personal claim to ascendance, is in the manner of the
crucial and salient sacrifice of the Christian tradition.
Boylan refers to this sacrifice of Christ as the model
for any further sacrificial endeavor. He states:

It must here suffice to draw attention to Our
Lord's example. His whole humanity was com-
pletely subject to the will of God. He emptied
Himself, laying down all initiative, all use of
His own powers. He summed it up Himself: I am
in the Father and the Father in Me. The words I
speak to you I speak not of myself. But the
Father who abideth in Me, He doth the works,
(John XIV, 10). There is our model. If the Son
of God can so completely deny His own self, empty
His own self, deliver His own self--surely we
must go and do likewise—-sure1y we must go and
die with him!24

To continue, the prOphetic function of the priestly
role will be considered. The prophet bears the tidings of
God. He acts as an intermediary, a voice, between mankind
and God. This prophetic or daemonic mission has been
described in dialogue by Plato speaking through Diotima

in the Symposium. He states:

 

"What special powers," I said, "belong to this
order of beings?"

"They act," she said, "as interpreters and con—
veyors of human things to the gods, of divine things
to men: they carry the prayers and sacrifices of
men, the commandments of the gods and their responses

 

29. Ibid., p. 93.

42

I

to the sacrifices: occupying a place between the
two, they fill up a gap, and cause the whole uni-
verse to be a coherent whole. A11 divination
takes place by their means, the art of sacrifices
and mystical rites and incantations; in a word,
all divining and magic. A god has no immediate
relation with a man; all converse between men

and gods; whether in a waking state or in sleep
takes place through the daemon-kind." (202 e).25

The prOphet will render his message irrespective of
the desire of a peOple whom he may encounter. The prOphet
often stands in Opposition to those whom he would influence.
The prophet disrupts and disturbs but he has no other
choice as greater allegiance is due to the divine than
the temporal. But it is only for the reason that he
would draw the temporal closer to the divine that the
prophet arouses and withstands the enmity of a peeple. An
apparent act of hostility is really an embrace of love.

E. 0. James asserts:

The prophet, however, as the spokesman and
interpreter of the divine will exercises his
functions as an individual who is in personal
contact with the supernatural order and the
recipient of a revelational self—disclosure.

He may or may not be a member of a cult organiza-
tion, but he must be capable of becoming en
rapport with the spiritual world and of receiving
divine inspiration. Only so long as this relation-
ship is maintained does he prophesy, but when he
is filled with the prophetic afflatus he is com—
pelled to deliver his message whether the people
will hear or whether they will forebear.26

 

25As quoted by Edwyn Bevan, Sibyls and Seers (London:
Allen and Unwin, Ltd., 1928), p. 158.

 

26James, The Nature . . . , p. 101.

 

43

The prophet is not his own spokesman——indeed his own
self must count for little. His words are grounded in
eternity and the prophet is but the feeble instrument of

a mighty musician beyond. Philo, in the Quis Rerum Divin-

 

arum Haeres, comments:

 

This describes what happens to the man who goes
into the state of enthusiasm, the state of being
carried away by God. The sacred scripture bears
witness that it is to every virtuous man that
prophecy belongs, for a prophet utters nothing of
his own; in all his words there is to be discerned
the voice of Another. It would not be lawful for
any not-virtuous man to become the interpreter
of God, so that by the fitness of things no vicious
man is capable of the state of enthusiasm. Such
things belong to the wise alone, because the wise
man alone is the sounding instrument of God, struck
and played by God after an invisible sort.

. . . How beautiful then is the indication Moses
gives of the God-possessed man by the phrase "About
the going-down of the sun, an ecstasy fell!" By
the sun he denotes, in a symbol, our human mind,
for thought in us has a function analogous to that
of the sun in the cosmos. Each gives light. The
sun sends forth to the universe a radiancy per-
ceived by the senses: the thought in us sheds
intellectual day through our apprehensions of
truth. Now so long as our mind spreads its light
abroad in us and is concerned with our persons,
pouring, as it were, a noonday radiance into every
part of the soul, we remain within ourselves, we
cannot be occupied by God. But when this sun
declines to its setting, it may well be that
ecstasy falls upon us, possession by God, the divine
madness. For wherever the divine light dawns, the
human light sets: when the divine light sets, the
human light arises and ascends. To the fellowship
of prophets this is what often happens: the mind
in us is dispossessed of its abode at the coming
of the divine spirit: when the divine spirit
withdraws, the human mind again comes into occupa—
tion of its house. It would not be lawful for the
mortal and the immortal to be housemates together.
Hence the setting of the human reason, a darkness
in reSpect of the reason, produced (in Abraham)
ecstasy, the madness which is a rapture by God.

the

44

And what followed the Scripture goes on to declare:
"It was said unto Abraham." Yes, the prophet,

even when he seems to be speaking, is in truth
quiescent: it is Another who uses his vocal organs,
his mouth and tongue, to show forth whatsoever he
desires. This Other plays on these instruments

by an invisible art of consummate music, and so
achieves an utterance fair—sounding, harmonious,
full of all possible symphony.27

Saint Justin Martyr, a second—century Apologist of
Christian Church,speaks of the prophets:

There were long ago men more ancient than any of
the philosophers now in repute, men who were
happy, upright, and beloved of God, who spoke

by the Divine Spirit and gave oracles of the
future which are now coming to pass. These men
are called prephets.2

This vision of the future, of "divine and heavenly

things," is reiterated by Justin:

Neither by nature nor by human thoughts is it
possible for men to know things so great and
divine, but by the gift which descended from
above upon the holy men of old. They needed no
art of words or skill in disputation; they
needed but to offer themselves pure to the
energy of the Divine Spirit, so that the

Divine plectrum itself, coming down from heaven,
and using those righteous men as a sort of
musical instrument, harp or lyre, might reveal
to us the knowledge of divine and heavenly
things.29

And Athenagoras, another second-century Apologist

of the Christian Church, concurs in the instrumentality

of the prophets. He states:

 

27As quoted by Bevan, op. cit., p. 168.

28As quoted by Woods, op. cit., p. 789.

29As quoted by Bevan, op. cit., p. 173.

45

The prophets, after their own processes of mind
had been eliminated by ecstasy, were moved by
the divine Spirit, and so uttered the things
which His energy made them utter, the Spirit
using them just as a flute—player does the
flute into which he breathes.30

The prophet is a witness to the beyond or the eternal
event. He is a sign and a proof that such a sphere is
real and thus a goal worthy of all endeavor. His very
nature and conduct is a monument to the reality of such a
sphere. The prophet is a witness for the eternal. Suhard
declares as much:

A reflection, a sign, a proof, and a presence;
all of these are realized in the person of the
priest. Since he is consecrated to his finger—
tips, even his movements are and should be no
longer secular. Everything he touches is, as
it were, exorcised and blessed. By everything
that he does or is he must convey the sense of
sacredness. His very presence posits the exist—
ence of an order of invisible and superhuman
values to a world which does not understand, or
fights against the evidence. He makes the
infinity of God tangible, as it were, reflect-
ing the mystery of it in his own person.3l

The priest as prOphet is a breeder of revolt. His
is a discontent with the temporal for the sake of the
eternal. His concern is not with the law of men but with
the law of God. The revolution of the prOphet is for the
sake of enhanced greatness-—for the sake of God. The
prOphet is an "artisan of the future." Suhard states the

task cogently:

 

301bid.

31Suhard, op. cit., p. U1.

46

The revolt which the priest must advocate is the
insurrection of consciences, the order which he
comes to disturb is the apparent calm which covers
up disorders and hatreds. Like the hero and the
saint, the priest in human society is not a passive
docile citizen, he is not of common calibre. His
own way of being a good citizen is to be, in most
sincere obedience to legitimate authority, eternally
unsatisfied, not so as to upset social peace but so
as to foster continually a higher goal for mankind.
A paradoxical function: as prOphet of the consummate
Being, he reflects the supreme peace and stability
thereof in passing civilizations; as prOphet of the
living God, he rejects the calm which means death.
He has to be the artisan of the future, of the new
order that is developing within the souls of in-
dividual men, as well as in the stream of history.
So it can be said without contradiction that his
way of bringing about order is to start a ferment.
His way of obeying the laws of men is to appeal
unceasingly to the Law of God.32

And when the prophetic voice is silenced, the
religious body falters in its vitality and true purpose
which is contingent upon the responsive relationship with
God which the active prophet makes possible. Kung
cautions thus:

What becomes of a Church in which the prophets
are silent? What becomes of a Church in which there
is no one who gives direct expression in words to
the promptings of the Spirit, even if in a dif-
ferent form from the prophets of Paul's time; a
Church in which there is no one with a conviction
of his calling and responsibility to illuminate
the Church's path in both present and future in a
particular situation? A Church in which prOphets
have to keep silent declines, and becomes a spirit-
less organization. Outwardly everything may seem
all right, things will run smoothly, according to
plan and along ordered paths, situations will be
weighed up in advance and all unforeseen things

 

 

32Ibid.

47

will have been allowed for or will simply be left
on one side; but inwardly it will be a place

where the Spirit can no longer blow when and where
he wills, where the Spirit, given the smooth
running machinery, is no longer needed and would
be at best a disturbing influence, where the
ecclesiastical way of life is a way without

real life.33

If the priest as prOphet is concerned with the
arousal of ferment in the life of man, then the priest as
pastor is concerned with the restoration of peace and calm.
It is no contradiction that both functions may cooperate
in a single human being. On the contrary, since the
priest is borne forth by an all-embracing love for God in
his entirety, thus including all of His creation; it
would only be a contradiction if these apparently disparate
functions did not coexist in such a manner. The priest is
also a pastor and it is this function of the priestly
role which shall be considered here.

Karl Rahner, the noted Jesuit philos0pher, after
defining "pastoral theology" states, that taken literally,
this term only refers to the pastoral activity of the
individual pastor. He states:

In contrast with basic ecclesiology, which

deals principally with the enduring transcendental
and sacramental nature of the Church, pastoral
theology deals with the Church as a dynamic
entity, with a communal structure and subject to

the vicissitudes of history; an entity that must
express itself here and now in present actuality

 

33Hans Kung, The Church (New York: Sheed and Ward,
1967), p. ”33.

 

48

in order to be concretely what it ought to be,
and to do concretely what it ought to do.3

The priest as pastor is concerned with the "here and
now." If sacrifice is necessary, it is primarily for the
sake of the eternal. If prophecy is necessary, it is
primarily for the presentation of doctrine and knowledge
required for the proper guidance of the "here and now"
or the concrete, temporal, and historical. If temporal
creation is of God, then such a creation is worthy of
care and concern. Accordingly, the pastor finds his task
and duty. Montini directs the new priest to his pastoral
end thus:

To be of help you will have to join the peOple,
know them, become their friends. The apostolate
must become capillary, and whatever worth it has
will be determined by the living and personal
relationship extended to all those to whom you
will preach the kingdom and the grace of God.
Without this personal giving of oneself, today's
pastoral life will leave no imprint. This work,
too, of course, requires great effort and great
delicacy. It is not, though, an unbearable load.
It implies above all that our great authority,
our high dignity, becomes what the Lord wished

it to be--service to others, humility, a friend-
ship which becomes dialogue, heart speaking to
heart, person to person. Learn this work and you
will be truly pastors and teachers, guides of
souls; and if you do not, you will be an empty
"bleating voice" heard by no one.35

The pastor must give understanding and love, strength

and affection. He must arouse, share, and sustain the

 

3“Karl Rahner, ed., The Pastoral Mission of the Church

 

(Glen Rock: Paulist Press, 1965), p. 8.

35Montini, op. cit., p. 3“.

49

strength which is requisite for the conduct and fruition
Of temporal life. The pastor is concerned with the
present growth and welfare of a peOple. He creates the
necessary and present conditions for the attainment Of

God. Wise, in Pastoral Counseling, states:

 

The central element in pastoral counseling, as

in all pastoral care, is the relationship that

the pastor creates with his people. His ministry
stands or falls on this. Through his relationship
the pastor may give a great deal that is vital to
the growth, welfare and salvation Of persons. He
may give an understanding of the painful and
disturbing aSpects of life as well as the positive
creative side. He may give reality to a reverence
for persons, a faith in persons and a love toward
persons. In this way, he not only ministers in the
name of God: he brings God to men in a real way.
He makes the spirit Of Christ a living resource
for others. He does not try to become God; he
rather tries tO create conditions through which
the grace of God can Operate to produce healing
and growth. His is a humble service for which
mankind today stands in great need.36

The priest, also, must never forget his own
humanity. Indeed, as pastor, he must also minister tO his
own needs. In his work is personal salvation, tOO. He is
in need of strength, repentance, and forgiveness for his
own weakness and transgression also. At least this much
has been acknowledged by Montini in advising the new priest.

He states:

 

36Carroll A. Wise, Pastoral Counseling (New York:
Harper and Brothers, 1951), p. 221.

 

50

All this is well known, I repeat; but we are
consoled by the knowledge that in our pastoral
activity we can find instances Of the most
meritorious penance preparing the way for the
kingdom 01 God . . . . St. John Berchmans said
Of himself, "My greatest penance is community
life;" and we ought to be able tO say Of our—
selves: "My greatest penance is pastoral life."
Our basic asceticism is our faithfulness tO our
daily pastoral work-taking care Of children, Of
young people, Of immigrants, the poor, the sick,
and Of all the unforeseeable circumstances.

We spend our life in the confessional, in admin—
istering baptisms, weddings, funerals, preaching
at sacred functions, a sublime and exhausting
penance that our patron St. Charles, among others,
taught us, and which must be the backbone Of

our sacerdotal life.37

The priest, finally, is concerned with love——its
ground and source, its growth and extension. The priest
is a victim and bearer Of love so that, in the end, love
may reign triumphant over the whole. Suhard states:

In the light Of Love everything about the
priest is clarified. Others in the "human city"
have chosen glory, wealth or pleasure. Still
others have elected to devote their lives tO
knowledge, power, or conquest. As for the
priest, he has relinquished everything, abandoned
all, given all. He waives all possessions, he
renounces his own self. But there is one thing
which he retains and which nothing can make him
relinquish, a gOOd which he tenaciously desires
for himself; in the human community he has chosen
Love. He has elected it in preference tO every-
thing else. He wants it for the sake Of his
brethren who are his only heirs.38

 

In the beginning there was Love——and in the end there
shall be love because Of the priest who acts in love using

Love as the source Of all accomplishment.

 

37Montini, Op. cit., p. 207.

38Suhard, Op. cit., p. 112.

51

Summary

TO summarize the chapter, the priest stands as a
mediator between God and man or between the eternal and
temporal. The task and focus Of the priest is a dual
faceted one but priority must be given to GOd and that
which strengthens and exalts the triumph Of God. The priest
is motivated by a pure love and devotion to God and nature
which is contingent for its well-being upon this God. The
priest assumes his noble task in response to a universal
need and demand by mankind in its temporal striving for the
transcendent and eternal. The task Of the priest and Of
the artist is compatible and convergent, at least, in this
crucial and necessary concern. The priestly role may be
considered in terms Of three functions, i.e., the sacri—
ficial, prophetic, and pastoral functions. The sacrificial
function Of the priest entails the negation of individuality
and materiality for the sake Of the eternal and Absolute.

In order to sustain and renew life, that which is Of value
is subordinated or relinquished for the sake Of an entity Of
greater value and priority. The prophetic function entails
the presentation and promulgation Of "divine" knowledge and
a qualified acceptance Of the present for the sake Of a

more desirable and future state Of existence. The prophet
presents a vision Of the future or a vision Of "divine and
heavenly things." The prophet stands as an "artisan Of the

future" as he renders a salient witness to the eternal. The

52

prophet may disrupt or disturb his environment but this
apparent act Of harshness is the result Of a greater
allegiance tO God which may justifiably be imposed on others.
The pastoral function entails the ministering to the
temporal needs and goals Of a peOple. The pastor acts in
order to convert the "here and now" tO becoming "concretely
what it ought to be." In all matters, the priest acts in
love so as tO expand that domain Of love which finds its

beginning and end in God.

 

wig

 

 

CHAPTER III

CULT AND WORSHIP

A priest is the leader of a cult. The cult is a
grouping Of people united by a shared and hallowed set of
beliefs and aspirations. Commonly, such beliefs and
aSpirations are embodied within the activity Of ritual.

A cult renders worship to that which it discerns as
ultimate and, therefore, worthy of respect and homage
through the medium Of such ritual. The term cult, itself,
is an ambiguous one. On occasion, the usage Of the term
emphasizes the signs, symbols, and formalized activities
Of the group rather than the poeple who constitute such a
group. Primarily, however, the term emphasizes the members
Of the group and the signs, symbols, and formalized
activities Of the group are considered as the elements

of ritual. It is in this latter sense that the term cult
will be considered in this study. Gould and Kolb contend
that such is the consensus among "most anthropologists"
who consider the term cult in the following manner.

Most anthrOpologists define cult as a body Of

religious beliefs and practices associated with

a particular god or set Of gods, constituting a
Specialized part Of the religious institutions Of

53

54

a society. By inclusion the Officiants and
practitioners in such a part of the religious
structure Of a society are sometimes called a
cult.1

The Royal Anthropological Institute Of Great Britain

and Ireland, further, defines the cult in such a manner

also:

A cult is the sum total Of organized beliefs and
ritual concerned with a specific spirit or spirits,
generally associated with particular Objects and
places, together with the ritual worship and
Officiants.2

In accord and most pertinent to this study, Klapp
defines the cult thus:
. . . cult is the group aspect Of ritual;
or, following the definition Of Wach, a body Of
peOple rather durably united by ritual and its
appropriate beliefs. A wide variety Of groups,
then, can properly be called cults: nations,
tribes, clans, families, communities, associa-
tions--tO the extent that they are organized
by ritual in common.3
Later in this study, the audience at a theatrical
performance will be included among the "wide variety Of
groups" which may be designated as a cult. Here, however,
let it be reemphasized that the approach Of this study can

only be described as a religious one--and in the manner

already defined. Thus the cult, as the bearer Of the

 

1Julius Gould and William Kolb, eds., A Dictionary of
the Social Sciences (New York: Macmillan CO., 1963), p. 151.

 

 

2

Royal Anthropological Institute Of Great Britain and
Ireland, Notes and Queries on AnthrOpology (London: Routledge
and Kegan Paul, 1951), p. 180.

3Orin E. Klapp, Ritual and Cult (Washington: Public
Affairs Press, 1956), p. 1H.

 

 

 

55

elements Of religion, becomes a significant Object for
consideration. The cult occupies a central place in the
life Of religion. Vogt states:

The cult is central in religion not only

historically but also logically. This is

because it is the cult which contains, organ-

izes and ives effect tO all the elements of
religion.

Religion, through the activity Of the cult is a
celebration Of the "God Of All Reality." Through the
religious life and activity Of the cult, man acquires
understanding Of life and reality in its broadest dimen-
sion and an admonition and command toward the moral life.
Vogt asserts accordingly:

It is a moving and revolutionizing faith

tO hold that all existence is somehow one
reality with unity and wholeness, that
throughout all that existence there is
unceasing movement and power, forming indi-
viduals and structures Of order. It is the
religious task Of the cult tO celebrate this
God Of All Reality. It is the religious work
Of the individual to find his dependence and
his freedom within this cosmic whole, and
accept the moral tasks implied.5

Through the cult, man acquires a recognition Of his
inextricable unity and relationship with God, nature, and
his fellow—man. Vogt again emphasizes the harmony and

accord which is engendered by a participation in the

 

“Von Ogden Vogt, Cult and Culture (New York: The
Macmillan CO., 1951), p. 159.

 

51bid., p. 2AA.

 

rt,

1,
vs.

a;

 

56

activity and brotherhood Of the cult:

In the rituals Of true worship, all things are
celebrated in their togetherness as all things,
and in their several functions as separate
things. The public cult of religion celebrates
the works of nature or God and the works of man.
That celebration imparts to men the creative
urge. The proper cult Of religion stirs men tO
fruitful living, in commerce and in all else.
It is in the culture of religion that men are
brought to that accord with all things by which
they become partners with one another, with
nature and with God én the perpetual works Of
creative providence.

Emphatically, the cult fosters and actualizes the
principles Of morality. The members Of the cult, through
participation in cultic activity, are made aware and,
subsequently, loyal to the principles Of right conduct.
Through the cult, the activity Of man toward his God and
the nature about him becomes reverent and noble. Through
participation and loyalty to the cult and its endeavors,
man engages in actions toward his fellow-man which are
more tolerant, fruitful, and wholesome. Man acquires a
loving attitude toward humankind through his membership
in the cult. According to Vogt:

The moral principles are inculcated by the cult.
It is the cult which gives them both definition
and social force. By the awesome action of the
cult, the sense of Obligation is lodged deeply
within the individual consciousness. The cele—
brations Of the cult reveal the worthful

realities and stir the motions Of acceptance and
loyalty.7

 

6Ibid., p. 103.

71bid., p. 238.

57

Vogt summarizes the efficacy and attraction and power
of the cult in the following manner:

What then is it that gives the cult its power?

. . . First Of all, the ritual acts Of the cult

have or are thought to have actual Objective

practical effects . . . . Secondly, it is

in the cult that all the factors Of men's life

are surveyed for appraisal and relative arrange-

ment . . . . Thirdly, it is by and through the

cult that religious ideas and moral ideals are

given popular force and currency . . . .

Fourthly, the cult has power because it is enjoyed
. . . Lastly, the cult is powerful in society

because it produces for the individual that

inner spiritual order which is necessary to

outer political order. The great cultures Of

history have had outer order and beauty and

wholeness because a great cult has afforded

inner spiritual order and integrity tO the

people . . . . The cult is itself a spiritual

order, its intellectual, moral and esthetic com-

ponents harmonized. When any Of these parts fails

Of vitality, the order is jeopardized and society

itself falls into confusion.8

The cult renders a constant call tO its members for
an active engagement with the life Of spirit. Through
such an engagement, the life Of the individual and his
community are enhanced and ennobled. Through the cult,
man acquires a proper attitude and orientation toward God.
Through the cult, man is led tO the worship Of God.

If there is any quality which characterizes the cult,
it is the necessity tO express and ennoble its communal
vision in the profound and reverent act Of worship. Thus,
it is necessary that worship or the act Of veneration

directed toward, in this instance, a supernatural power or

 

8Ibid., p. 161.

 

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58

divine being be considered in a more thorough manner.
The religious exercise or ritual which lends concrete
structure tO the worshipful act will be considered in a
later discussion.

That worship is a necessity Of life can hardly be
denied. Mankind, from the earliest days onward, has
expressed an awesome and reverential confrontation with
the world through the act Of worship. It has proven a
necessity in the struggle of life. Without worship,
societies crumble and individuals deteriorate. The
quality Of life is diminished and profanity and commoness
flourish as worship no longer remains an integral and
significant facet Of life. The significance and quality
Of worship in the life Of a society is a measure Of the
maturity Of this same society. The same is true Of the
individual life. Without reverence for the divine as
manifested in worship, life becomes banal and disorientated.
When worship is absent, it is a sign that a society has
lost its center, its point Of significant meaning and,
thus, the common focus which makes for real community.
There is no true community or cult without the vital
necessity Of worship. Guy Allen Tawney addresses himself
to this matter:

Worship is like a breathing spell in a long
and arduous foot race, or the hour Of roll
call in a prolonged and hard fought battle:

it is altogether indispensable to sane
and wholesome living--it is important enough

 

re“
luv-l
115‘“)
,,. ll
aokv'
‘4

nus

C .IU

59

in life to warrant the erection Of classical
temples and Gothic cathedrals. It is indeed

so important that one finds one's self some-
times wondering how any Of us can afford to

do anything but educate ourselves in this art

. . . . TO be effectively a person and thereby
help others to be persons is the sum of the
abiding satisfactions of life. Worship in the
sense Of this aim is natural and necessary, and
in the Great Community all mature men worship.9

It is noteworthy that Tawney has chosen tO speak
not only Of the necessity Of worship but, also, Of the
naturalness Of this act. It is as if such a necessity to
worship is intrinsic to the constitution Of man. Indeed,
it is as if an instinct--a permanent and universal
impulse-~insures the prOper direction and persistent
return Of the physical tO the spiritual. Worship is the
steady tendency Of the natural toward the supernatural
or absolute. Underhill does not hesitate tO assert as
much:

For worship is an acknowledgment Of Transcendence;
that is to say, of a Reality independent Of the
worshipper, which is always more or less deeply
coloured by mystery, and which is there first

. . . since humanity's universal instinct tO
worship cannot be accounted for, if naturalism
tells the whole truth about life. That instinct
means the latent recognition Of a metaphysical
reality, standing over against physical reality,

which men are driven to adore, and long to
apprehend.10

 

9A3 quoted by Von Ogden Vogt, Modern Worship (New
Haven: Yale University Press, 1927), p. 2.

10

 

Underhill, Op. cit., p. 3.

r/z

priy‘
,.

LN.“

 

60

This "metaphysical reality" or the goal Of worship
has been called God or spirit. Worship is a sanctifying
thrust toward GOd—-an attempt to enter the realm Of spirit.
Worship is effective and meaningful in so far as it
succeeds in this endeavor. TO worship truly and fruit-
fully is tO draw nearer the presence Of God. Ehrensperger
makes this point also:

Dramatically effective worship succeeds in lifting
the worshiper out Of himself and in bringing him
into the spirit or presence Of something higher
than himself. This may be from a source within
himself or from something he feels outside him—
self. True worship establishes a relationship
with this presence or spirit. The enduring
quality Of the relationship and the intensity Of
the reality are tests of the validity Of the
experience. In this sense, then, true worship is
the recognition, identification, and relationship
to the noblest, the highest, and the best that one
can conceive. It is a coming into the presence

Of God and remaining there.1

What Ehrensperger has referred to as the enduring
quality Of the relationship to God displays itself in the
enhanced quality Of life. Life, after an encounter with
spirit, is revitalized and sanctified. It acquires
greater value and newer meaning. The Old is freshened and
matured by the sacred encounter——and it is through the act
Of worship that such access to the source Of greater

strength and further growth is acquired. Henry Nelson

Wiemann states:

 

'llHarold Ehrensperger, Religious Drama: Ends and

Means (New York: Abingdon Press, 1962), p. 107.

 

61

It would seem that worship is one of the sources out

Of which new creations in the art Of living arise.

It is in worship that new paths Open up; worship

is the only suitable preparation for the greatest

creative artistry in all the world, the art

Of reshaping the total vital process of living.12

This "total vital process Of living" certainly

asserts itself in the heightened individual life. Worship
arouses the divine in man. It renders a new awareness and
a greater pride. As pride is aroused so, also, is self—
esteem and, accordingly, the quality Of the individual
human life. Worship elevates man by showing the kinship
Of humanity to God. It is the vital process, the active
engagement that reminds man Of his own godliness. Worship
is the path to the divine. One can only recognize the
outer divinity because Of a direct experience Of the
divinity which resides within and is encountered only when
unveiled. It is through worship and a more personal
meeting with the holy that man heightens the quality Of
life and reveals divinity tO himself. Underhill asserts:

Thus worship purifies, enlightens, and at last

transforms, every life submitted to its influence—-

and this is not merely in the ethical or devotional

sense. It does all this, because it wakes up and

liberates that "seed" Of supernatural life, in

virtue Of which we are spiritual beings, capable of

responding tO that God who is Spirit; and which

indeed gives tO humanity a certain mysterious

kinship with Him. Worship is therefore in the

deepest sense creative and redemptive. Keeping us
in constant rememberance Of the Unchanging and the

12As quoted by Vogt, Modern . . . , p. 56.

 

PL.

No

62

Holy, it cleanses us Of subjectivism, releases
us from "use and want" and makes us realists.
God's invitation to it and man's response,
however limited, crude or mistaken this

response may be, are the appointed means whereby
we move towards our true destiny.l3

Man performs a duty toward God and gains the appro-
priate reward. Man reaches his truest destiny. Man per-
forms his Obligation in a reverential and sincere manner
and gains the benefit Of a life which is transformed
by the presence and enhanced attainment Of God. The
individual life, in turn, is exalted in a very specific
manner. This, tOO, has been described by Underhill who
refers to the individual worshipper:

TO worship well is tO live well. His whole being,
physical, mental, and spiritual, is required tO

be subject to the transforming action Of God, and
it is his privilege tO OOOperate in this redemp-
tive task. His prayer tOO must contribute to that
end. Humble supplication, passive self-abandonment,
and loving adoration will all play this part;

for Christian worship is in itself a purifying
force. Entering it, we enter a tide Of the Spirit
which sets Godwards; and sanctification is
accomplished in the soul in proportion tO the
extent in which it is self-given tO that movement
Of love. Man is pressed towards the worship Of the
Holy, so that bit by bit he may be transformed by
the Spirit into the likeness Of that which he
adores, and take his place in the Communion Of
Saints-—pot for his own sake, but for the Glory

Of God.1

Spirit acts not only upon the individual but, finally,

upon the society Of which this individual is a part.

 

l3Underhill, Op. cit., p. 18.

lulbid., p. 79. '

63

Through prOper and sincere worship, rapport is established
in individuals until rapport and harmony must establish
themselves within the totality Of a society constituted
Of these same individuals. Reverence for self due tO an
awareness Of the divinity within leads to a reverance for
others and a cooperation and a love rendered toward these
others. Through worship, not only the individual, but the
society is reconstituted and transformed for the better.
Through worship and communion with God, the broader society
Of man is elevated. Vogt states:

But endowed with this spirit, religion may

declare its own necessary power and unique

function. The mandates Of the spirit cannot

achieve composure for persons or order for

society until they are harmonized and univer-

salized. The only discipline which performs

this great Office is the discipline Of worship.

The art Of worship is the supreme composition.

Its spiritual form composes and celebrates all

the vital mental and moral and aesthetic values

Of life, mingles their mutual influences, and

makes them pathways to the final apprehension——

communion with the Most High.15

Thus far a significant element Of the art Of worship

has received inadequate attention-~name1y, the inextricable
relationship and dependence Of worship upon artistic crea-
tion and aesthetic experience. The act Of worship renders

itself appropriate to the sight Of God by immersing itself

in external and internal beauty. Worship is not primarily

 

15Von Ogden Vogt, Art and Religion (Boston: Beacon
Press, 1948), p. 252.

 

64

an activity Of intellect but a motion Of soul toward
Spirit. Aesthetic experience is the primary vehicle for
such a motion. Man has prOper and intense love aroused
more readily by his capacity tO recognize beauty than by
his capacity tO recognize truth. Certainly such beauty
must encompass truth-~but truth must be attractive before
it is sought or attained. Thus art, with its greater and
broader appeal, becomes the most effective and appropriate

medium for the act Of worship. MacGregor, in Aesthetic

 

Experience in Religion, states:

 

In corporate worship we are especially aware Of
a peculiar manipulation Of aesthetic experience.
As art, such worship has a special motif of its
own, varying considerably with the individual
culture, but always making use Of aesthetic
experience as an essential basis for a special
activity not ostensibly mystical in character
but having, indeed, a mystical direction.15

Art, again, becomes the apprOpriate basis for worship
due tO its capacity tO arouse a greater and more total
response from human nature. Art, further, has the capacity
to arouse a vaster body Of human beings. Some men are
capable of discerning unadorned truth but most men are
only capable Of responding to a truth which, whatever the
disadvantages, is adorned in beauty. Vogt makes this point:

The art Of worship is the all-comprehending

art. NO other art can satisfy the demand
Of human nature for an all—inclusive experience.

 

16Geddes MacGregor, Aesthetic Experience in Religion

(London: Macmillan and CO., Ltd., 1997), p. 230.

 

65

Nor can the conditions favorable to that
experience be ever freshlg reproduced without
the aid Of all the arts.1

And Vogt again:

The art Of worship is the combination Of all
the arts; the experience Of worship is the
consummation Of all experience, whether Of
beauty or Of goodness or of truth.18

Further, this most suitable intermingling of worship
and artistic experience-—this implicit and symbolic
characteristic Of art, its appropriateness, in relation
to its referent has been well-asserted by Underhill:

When man enters the world Of worship, he enters a
world which has many Of the characteristics Of an
artistic creation. Much crude and unedifying
controversy would die away, were this fact com-
monly admitted; and the poetry and music which
enter so largely into expressive worship were
recognized as indications Of its essential
character. The true Object Of our worship cannot
be directly apprehended by us. "NO man hath seen
God at any time." The representative pattern,
the suggestive symbol, the imaginative projection
tOO—-a11 these must be called into play and their
limitations humbly accepted if the limited creature
is to enter into communion with the Holg and SO
develop his capacity for adoring love.l

One final point is necessary. This pertains tO the
character and sincerity Of the leader Of worship or the
priest. His sincerity should be impeccable. The depth
Of his committment to the Object Of worship must be Of

the profoundest order. His love must be total. He must

 

 

l7Vogt, Art . . . , p. A.
18Ibid., p. 6.
19

Underhill, Op. cit., p. 29.

66

always maintain the capacity to project the totality and
depth of his love and vision. Less than this is to
deprive the participating community or cult Of a necessary
and life-giving experience. Without the sincere and total
eXperience and leadership Of the priest, the cult which
worships is deprived Of its total source Of strength. The
experience Of the cult can be no greater or worthier than
the experience Of its priest. Ehrensperger states thus:
Unless the leader Of worship himself is having
the experience Of worship there can be little
hope for a worship experience on the part Of an
individual being lead. The leader must, therefore,
feel genuinely everything he does. Through the
experience he transmits his own feeling. He is
not playing a role; he is not assuming a position.
He is worshiping. He is part Of a total process.20
Worship can reach no greater height than the stature
Of the priest will allow. The Obligation Of the priest
is enormous. Without the faithful adherence Of the
priest to this Obligation, the cult falters in the approach

to God and salvation.

Summary
TO summarize the chapter, a cult is a grouping Of
people united by a Shared and hallowed set of beliefs. Such
a cult renders worship through a ritual performance——indced,
cult is the group aspect Of ritual. A cult actualizes

itself tO the extent that it is organized and united by a

 

2OEhrensperger, Op. cit., p. 108.

67

common ritual and achieves its power due to its facilitation
Of practical effects within the life Of the participants.
Through the cult, the factors which impinge upon the lives
Of men are Objectivized and analyzed, thereby, leading to
the establishment Of an inner order within these same lives.
A cult fosters moral ideals and actualizes these principles Of
morality within the communal life Of the cult. A cult is
bound by a necessity to express and ennoble its communal
vision in the profound and reverent act Of worship. Such
worship is necessary tO the well-being and fruition Of a
group or society and such benefits are derived from a
necessity tO acknowledge transcendence and God. Indeed,
worship by a cult is a coming into the presence Of God.
Through worship, the cult member derives purification,
enlightenment, and transformation. Thus, the individual and
society derive great and required benefits. PrOper worship
is inextricably entwined with aesthetic experience. Such
worship is made appropriate for God and the participant by
immersion in external and internal beauty. Love is aroused
more readily by affection and beauty than by cognition and
truth, thus, worship which engenders the love Of God is

most properly adorned in experience and construct which may
best be described and attained through the finest resultants

Of aesthetic doctrine.

CHAPTER IV

RITUAL, SACRAMENT, AND MYTH

The tangible form of worship occurs in the ritual
which is established either by tradition or priestly pre-
scription. Accordingly, ritual becomes a necessary com-
ponent Of the religious life. It is through ritual that
worship acquires its place as a social function. Without
ritual, the cult fails to embody, make permanent, and exalt its
own common creed and aspiration. It is through ritual,
further, that a cult externalizes and, thus, makes more
available the essential qualities Of its particular
system Of beliefs. In the ritual display, the cult attains
a level Of spiritual self-consciousness which would other—
wise be unattainable. The conduct Of ritual is the
necessary foundation for the religious life Of a community.
ROSS states:

The other necessary element in religion, in
many ways the basic one, is ritual, the pre—
scribed and formal acting out Of a ceremony,
usually repeated in exactly the same way on
specified occasions. A system Of belief,

even one that has a place for God, is a
philosophy, not a religion, unless it explains,
or is expressed in a ritual. But a ritual

without a system Of belief may still be a
religion. And it is in ritua1--especia11y in

68

R\~

69

ritual as symbolic—-that much Of the social
function of religion can be found.1

The highest wisdom, truth, and experience of a cult
is embodied in the ritual. It is a means for making per—
manent the accumulated knowledge and aspiration Of the
cult. In the ritual form is permified the spiritual
doctrine Of a society. The ritual attains a level Of
significance in the religious life which must not be
underestimated. According to E. 0. James:

All the deepest emotions, experiences and
evaluations of human beings in every state Of
culture and in all religions find expression in
actions, Objects and external rites believed
to be the vehicles conveying spiritual benefits
to the recipients, so that 'inward' and 'Outward'
experience meet in a higher unity.2

Underhill renders a precise and noteworthy defini-
tion of the religious ritual. She states:

A religious ritual is an agreed pattern Of
ceremonial movements, sounds, and verbal
formulas, creating a framework within which
corporate religious action can take place. If
human worship is to be other than a series Of
solitary undertakings, some such device is
plainly essential to it. We cannot do things
together without some general agreement as tO
what is going to be done; and some willing sub-
ordination tO accepted routing . . . . Its
greatest creations--e.g., the Eucharistic
liturgy-—are sacred dramas, in which the mystery
of salvation is re—enacted and re-experienced by
the worshipping groups.3

 

lRalph Ross, Symbols and Civilization (New York:
Harcourt, Brace, and World, Inc., 1963), p. 183.

2E. 0. James, Sacrifice and . . . , p. 233.
3 .

 

 

Underhill, op. cit., p. 32.

70

What is presented in the ritual is a set of coor-
dinated and vital symbols. These symbols are laden with
implications for the cult. They are quite firmly PI‘BSGI’VEd
by their inclusion and repeated performance in the ritual
form and are transmitted to all the members Of a cult and
their succeeding generations. The nature of the symbol and
its advantages over the conceptual mode of presentation
will eventually be considered. However, let it suffice
tO emphasize at this point that the vital function of the
ritual finds its means in the symbolic mode Of presentation.
Klapp asserts:

The central function of ritual socially is to

give living immediacy to certain vital ideas on
which society is based. The means for this are
mostly symbolic. Perhaps the most effective way
to evoke a living idea is to dramatize Or per-
sonify it, as does the priest at mass OE the

genial gentleman who plays Santa Claus.

Ross, in Symbols and Civilization, makes this point

 

also:

In ritual something Of significance to the
communicants is performed, like an act in a play;
sometimes the event is imitated directly, some-
times it is symbolized by a dramatic action

that is not imitative, sometimes it is a little
Of both.5

The implications Of the symbols included with the

ritual form are usually restricted to the understanding Of

 

“Klapp, Op. cit., p. 12.

5Ross, Op. cit., p. 18A.

71

the cult and its members who have been initiated. The
symbols arouse meaning and understanding within this loyal
and indoctrinated body. The symbol-bearing ritual addresses
the members Of the aligned cult. Klapp, again, states:

Whatever else it may seem, all ritual is
symbolic and inherently communicative. It
speaks to those who know how to listen.6

The significant ritua1--the religious ritual-—
achieves its ultimate fulfillment in the acknowledgement
Of God. Ritual embodies the permanent and abiding faith
Of man in a universe which is orderly and ordered. As
divinity exists, ritual becomes necessary. As ritual
symbolizes divinity, it becomes religious and significant.
Underhill indicates the same:

Here we Obtain a clue to the real significance

Of those rituals and ceremonies common to almost
every creed, which expresses the deep human
conviction that none of the serial events and
experiences Of human life are rightly met, unless
brought into relation with the Transcendent--that
all have more than a natural meaning, and must be
sanctified by reference to the unseen Powers.7

Underhill elaborates with greater cogence:

Ritual weaves speech, gesture, rhythm and agreed
ceremonial into the worshipping action Of man;
and thus at its best can unite his physical,
mental and emotional being in a single response
to the Unseen. The use Of symbols and images—-
which is, in some form or degree, a feature Of
every cultus--is again forced on him by his own

 

6Klapp, Op. cit., p. 7.
7Underhill, Op. cit., p. 11.

«PL

72

psychological peculiarities; the fact that all

his thinking and feeling is intimately related

to that world Of things in which he lives. It

is to the apprehension Of these that his mind

and senses are trained—~it is by the responses

they wake up in him that he becomes aware Of an

external world, independent Of himself and impos-

ing its conditions upon him . . . . It is only by

recourse to our image—making faculty or by some

reference-~direct, or Oblique--to the things that

are seen, that we can ever give concrete form to

our intuition Of that which is unseen.8

Another major dimension Of the ritual has, thus,
been revealed and deserves further e1aboration-—namely, the
emotional dimension Of the ritual. Man responds more
readily to felt or emotional experience rather than to
thought or intellectual experience. A committment to an
idea can only be a shallow one unless emotion accompanies
this committment. The strength Of the ritual resides
in the fact that it cloaks its idea in a manner designed
to arouse the utmost Of feeling within the members Of a
cult, who respond tO the particular ritual. Ritual
engages the entire man--not merely the intellectual
faculty Of man. Ritual engenders thought which is also
felt and by the greatest possible number, thereby, achiev-
ing its profound social significance. Ross states.
Ritual action has the same richness Of
ambiguity and evokes intensity Of emotion in
the same way as Objects that are social symbols.

. . . We may, in a given ritual, dedicate our-
selves tO the service Of our country, and the

 

81bid., p. 37.

73

idea of what we are doing may move us
emotionally, but the familiarity of the
ritual, the others who perform it at the
same time, the feeling that we are connected
with something larger than ourselves, that
we are accepted, that we have a place where
we belong--these concomitants of ritual are
in some ways the most important things about
them.9

That ritual operates primarily on a "non—rational"
level within the human psyche has been reiterated by Klapp.
He states:

In short, a goal must be intellectually in View

for behavior to be rational; yet it can be highly
functional without an end in view. Indeed, one
ought not think too much in an intellectual way
to appreciate a ghost-seance, magic, or a play

at the theatre. The idea is to identify with the
thing, not sit back and analyze it. Thus, ritual
functions typically at the non-rational level.

It is due to this characteristic of the ritual that
it becomes dependent upon and intertwined with aesthetic
experience. It is only in aesthetic experience that cog-
nition can be bypassed and yet, paradoxically, still
encompassed and maintained. In aesthetic experience, truth
is met with beauty. Such a broader encounter is within the
capability of art and the artist. Thus, ritual resorts
to art in order to fulfill a special task and achieve its

unique status. Underhill makes the point also:

 

9Ross, op. cit., p. 169.

10Klapp, Op. cit., p. 16.

 

She

74

Nor must we be too quick in assuming that
improvement in the ritual of worship always
consists in the triumph of words over tune;

for we are concerned with an action and an
experience which transcend the logical levels
of the mind, and demand an artistic rather than
an intellectual form of expression.11

illuminates the point further:

Liturgical worship shares with all ritual action
the character of a work of art. Entering upon it,
we leave the lower realism of daily life for the
higher realism of a successive action which
expresses and interprets eternal truth by the
deliberate use of poetic and symbolic material.

A liturgical service should therefore possess a
structural unity; its general form and movement,
and each of its parts, being determined by the
significance of the whole. By its successive pre-
sentation of all the phases of the soul's response
to the Holy, its alternative use of history and
oratory, drama and rhythm, its appeals to feeling,
thought, and will, the individual is educated

and gathered into the great movement of the Church.
Here intellect as well as emotion has its part to
play in stirring to activity the deeper levels of
the soul; for liturgy, being in its nature a
corporate and stylized acknowledgment of the most
august realities of our experience, must be informed
by disciplined thought——again in this exhibiting its
likeness to great art.12

To participate in the religious ritual is to partake

of a sacrament. If ritual provides a means for directing

and solidifying the worship which is directed toward God,

then sacrament—-or participation in the holy which is made

concrete and rewarding—~becomes the tangible medium by

which the cult acquires the temporal benefit of this contact

with God. Through sacrament, the cult acquires strength

 

llUnderhill, op. cit., p. 33.

12Ibid., p. 111.

7S

and sanctification. The element of the ritual or,
possibly, the whole of the ritual as it focuses upon the
exaltation of the cult member rather than the exaltation
of God is to be regarded as sacramental. Further, sacra-
ment does not occur outside of religious ritual. The two
are inextricable. Ritual is sacramental and sacrament is
ritualistic. Piault, speaking from the Christian context,
states the relation:

A sacrament is a tangible sign for men, for
their union and sanctification. It is a rite
to be understood by faith, faith which awakens
and initiates us into the manifold aspects of
the mystery which is Christ. When it bestows
the grade it signifies it sets us forth on a new
way of life in Christ.l3

Underhill renders a specific and authoritative defi-
nition of the sacrament. She states:

A sacrament is a significant deed, a particular
use of temporal things, which gives to them the
value of eternal things and thus incorporates and
conveys spiritual reality. Hence sacraments
involve an incarnational philosophy; a belief
that the Supernatural draws near to man in and
through the natural.1“

Piault presents a similar definition:

A sacrament is a mystery, not in the sense of
something unintelligible but a sacred reality, a
sign in the physical world that points to God
and in pointing unites . . . . A sacrament makes
use of some created reality; there is nothing in
that reality which blocks God's passage.15

 

13Bernard Piault, What is a Sacrament? (New York:
Hawthorn Books, Inc., 1963), p. 6?.

l"Underhill, Op. cit., p. A2.

15Piault, op. cit., p. 170.

76

And E. 0. James, in an epitomization of Thomistic
doctrine, concurs as follows:

Thus, St. Thomas Aquinas says that anything
that is called sacred may be called sacramentum.
From being that which is made sacred by consecra-
tion, a sacrament may readily become an 'effective
sign' of that which has been sanctified and made
efficacious by virtue of Dominical institution,
becoming the bearer of supernatural power or divine
grace and thus a bond of union between God and
man. With such natural actions as eating, drink-
ing, lustration, nuptial intercourse, and ritual
techniques regarded as 'means of grace' and the
pledge of a covenant relationship with the sacred
order, the two worlds can be brought into con-
junction. In this way the material becomes the
vehicle of the spiritual through the agency of
'outward and visible signs.‘1

The sacrament has, thus, been termed a "bearer of
supernatural power or divine grace." This is the purpose,
effect, and essence of sacramental participation. This
salient and noteworthy characteristic has, also, been
claimed by Underhill. She asserts:

A valid sacrament, therefore, always leaves the
situation different from what it was before.

By means of the natural needs and actions of men,
it effects a communication of the Wholly Other,
over against men; and it is a fundamental part of
worship, because it is an acknowledgment of the
presence and priority of the divine, and is 17
directed towards the sanctification of life.

However, to state that a sacrament focuses on the

exaltation of the cult member and that a ritual, in its

part or entirety, may be considered sacramental is not to

 

16E. 0. James, Sacrifice and . . . , p. 15.

 

17Underhill, Op. cit., p. A3.

77

conclude that sacrament is the sole or primary purpose of
ritual. Indeed, whenever the alternatives, as in ritual,
are the exaltation of God or man-—then God must prevail.
Nevertheless, ritual is still characterized by its
exaltation of both the spiritual and temporal--of God and
man. However, the ritual concern with God is prior to
whatever welfare may, finally, accrue to man. Thus, the
ritual as a vehicle for the religious myth must be con—
sidered. It is through the religious use of myth,
ultimately, that the cult designates and venerates God.
Ritual embodies such myth and myth points toward God or
the greater reality. Ritual concerns itself firstly with
God—-then man. Loew designates the connection between
ritual and myth. He states:
. the mythical forces in a culture
are expressed on archaic level in rites
that are symbolic actions.l8
But Bronislow Malinowski, the noted anthropologist,

makes the point in a more cogent and knowledgeable manner.
He states:

. . . I maintain that there exists a special

class of stories, regarded as sacred, embodied

in rituals, morals, and social organization, and

which form an integral and active part of primi—

tive culture. These stories live not by idle

interest, not as fictitious or even as true narra-

tives; but are to the natives a statement of a

primeval, greater, and more relevant reality by

which the present life, fates, and activities of
mankind are determined, the knowledge of which

 

18Cornelius Loew, Myth, Sacred History, and PhilOSOphy
(Harcourt, Brace, and World, Inc., 1967), p. 270.

78

supplies man with the motive for ritual and
moral actions, as well as with indications as
to how to perform them.

The connection between ritual and myth has been drawn.
It is, accordingly, apprOpriate to consider the nature of
myth in a more thorough manner. In order to do so prOperly,
it is first necessary to consider the nature of the symbol——
the element which in combination goes to constitute the
myth. Coomaraswamy states:

Symbols in combination form an iconography or
myth. Symbols are the universal language of art;
an international language with merely dialectic
variations, current once in all milieus and always
intrinsically intelligible, though now no longer
understood by educated men, and only to be seen

or heard in the art of peasants. The content of
symbols is metaphysical.2O

That symbols in a dramatized association yield the
myth is restated by May, also, who concludes:

The story of Oedipus is a myth rather than a
symbol, but the two are very closely related.
Symbols are specific acts or figures, . . . while
myths develop and elaborate these symbols into a
story which contains characters and several epi—
sodes. The myth is thus more inclusive. But

both symbol and myth have the same function
psychologically; they are man's way of express—
ing the quintessence of his experience-~his way

of seeing his life, his self-image and his rela-
tions to the world of his fellow men and of nature-—
in a total figure which at the same mSTent carries
the vital meaning of this experience.

 

19

20

As quoted by Loew, Ibid., p. “3.

Coomaraswamy, op. cit., p. 78.

21Rollo May, "The Significance of Symbols," in Symbolism
in Religion and Literature, ed. by R. May (New York: George
Braziller, Inc., 19605, p. 3“.

 

 

79

The characteristics which distinguish the symbol have
been designated by Tillich:

The first and basic characteristic of the
symbol is its figurative quality. This implies
that the inner attitude which is oriented to
the symbol does not have the symbol itself in
view but rather that which is symbolized in it.
. . The second characteristic of the symbol
is its perceptibility. This implies that some—
thing that is intrinsically invisible, ideal, or
transcendent is made perceptible in the symbol
and is in this way given objectivity . . .
The third characteristic of the symbol is its
innate power. This implies that the symbol has
a power inherent within it that distinguishes it
from the mere sign which is impotent in itself.
This characteristic is the most important one.
. . The fourth characteristic of the symbol
is its acceptability as such. This implies that
the symbol is socially rooted and socially
supported.22

At this point one may ask what distinguishes the
symbol from the concept. Are not concepts symbolic also?
On the contrary, the concept is apprehended by the intel-
lect initially and then implications are gathered. The
symbol, however, is apprehended by the senses initially
and then implications are gathered. Goethe defines
symbolism accordingly:

We may speak of true symbolism, when the particular
represents the more general not as a dream, or

shadow, but as a living instantaneous revelation
of the inscrutable.23

 

22Paul Tillich, "The Religious Symbol," Ibid., pp.
75-77.

23As quoted by E. Kohler, "The Nature of the Symbol,"
Ibid., p. 71.

LJ.

 

80

And Coleridge states essentially the same:

. . a symbol is nothing but an abstraction
from objects of the senses . . . a symbol is
characterized by a translucence of the special
(the species) in the individual, or of the
general (genus) in the special . . . ; above
all by the translucence of the eternal through
and in the temporal.2“

The symbol allows for the eternal to manifest itself
in the temporal, thereby, elevating the concrete to the
sphere of the metaphysical-—or the sphere wherein ulti-
mate reality is discerned. The symbol is the focal point
wherein the physical and metaphysical are joined. Underhill,

referring to the symbol, states also:

In a general, not a technical sense, it has
become a "sensible means of grace"; and the

first step has been taken on the road to
sacramental worship. For the symbol, or sig-
nificant image, is not, as its unfriendly critics
suppose, a substitute for spiritual worship. It
is rather the point where physical and meta—
physical meet--a half-way house, where the world
of things and world of spirit unite, and produce
a new thing possessed of sensible and supra-
sensible reality. And man, who partakes himself
of this double character finds in it the natural
means of access to God.26

And Eliade concurs in designating the metaphysical

dimension of the symbol:

For it is through symbols that man finds his way
out of his particular situation and "Opens
himself" to the general and the universal.

 

21"Ibici.

25Underhill, 0p. cit., p. U0.

81

Symbols awaken individual experience and
transmute it into a spiritual act, into
metaphysical comprehension of the world.26

Bachofen, as a final but necessary point pertaining
to the nature of the symbol, states the advantage and
efficacy of the symbol in contrast with the bland "language
of abstraction" or concept. He states:

The symbol (i.e. mythological symbolism) awakens
intuition where the language of abstraction can
only offer rational explanation. The symbol
addresses every side of the human spirit, whereas
the language of abstraction is bound to confine
itself to a single thought. The symbol strikes

a chord in the very depths of the soul, whereas
the language of abstraction touches only the
surface of the mind like a passing breeze. The
one is directed inwards, the other outwards. Only
the symbol can combine a wide variety of notions
into a single total impression; the language of
abstraction, on the other hand, arranges them in
succession and presents them to the mind piecemeal,
whereas they ought to be presented to the soul at
a single glance. Words reduce the infinite to
finitude, symbols lead the spirit beyond the
bounds of the finite into the infinite world of
abiding truth.27

Now the nature of the myth may be considered directly.

Bultmann describes myth:

Myth is an expression of man's conviction that the
origin and purpose of the world in which he lives
are to be sought not within it but beyond it--that
is, beyond the realm of known and tangiblerality-—
and that this realm is perpetually dominated and
menaced by those mysterious powers which are its
source and limit. Myth is also an expression of

 

26Eliade, op. cit., p. 211.

27As quoted by H. Thielicke, "The Restatement of New
Testament Theology," in Kerygma and Myth, ed. by H. Bartsch
(New York: Harper and Row, 1961), p. 159.

82

man's awareness that he is not lord of his own

being. It expresses his sense of dependence not

only within the visible world, but more eSpecially

on those forces which hold sway beyond the con—

fines of the known. Finally, myth expresses man's
belief that in this state of dependence he can be
delivered from the forces within the visible world.28

Weisinger designates the characteristics of the
myth. He presents the following:

Myth is the product Of a mode of thought which
has the following characteristics. It is, first
Of all, analogical in its mode of Operation; it
proceeds by the perception, not of quantities as
in mathematics, but of likenesses. In conse-
quence, it is metaphoric, that is, it concretizes
perception into image; the likeness of things to
each other gives them a value and meaning to the
things related far greater than the things
separated and in themselves; they relate in the
deepest signification of that term. Mythopoeic
thought is emotional in that it involves the
fundamental feelings and needs of the individual;
the drama of myth is enacted by him and for him
and for the purposes of his ultimate concern; in
myth, he is projected into and immersed in the
action on a level below, around, and outside the
logic of reason and language and he is thus
forced to express himself in the mode of metaphor
and symbol. Yet, at the same time, it is social
in nature, that is, it demands an interdependence
of responsibility between the individual and the
group both in conviction and in Operation; the
welfare of the group is no less dependent on the
efficacy with which the group performs its assigned
part than on the efficacy Of the individual per-
forming his. And finally, it is dramatistic, that
is, it is action at whose end there is achieved a
victory not guaranteed at its beginning; it is,
par excellence, a process which must be gone
through.29

 

28R. Bultmann, "Kerygma and Myth," Ibid., p. 110.

29Herbert Weisinger, "The Proper Study of Myth,"
The Centennial Review, XII, No. 3 (Summer, 1968), p. 2U7.

83

However, the most exhaustive and descriptive

definition of myth has been formulated by Murray. He

states:

1.

Formal, descriptive definition. A myth
manifestly consists of the essential features
of an important, more or less natural/pre-
ternatural situation or event (that has a basic
theme) in which at least one extraordinary,
more or less natural/preternatural psychic
entity is involved--all this is as sensibly
represented in one channel or another.

Referential definition.

2.1. Phenomenal reference. The manifest
components of a myth——the represented situations,
events, and actors--may mean what they literally
appear to mean or may stand for anything else
that is conceivable by man.

2.2 Temporal reference. Myths are the essen-
tial features of imagined situations or events
(a) that occurred once upon a time in the past,
(b) that are destined to occur in the future, or
(c) that are now recurring, or have recurred and
will continue to recur at regular intervals

or in chronological order.

Functional definition. A myth is an influential
representation whose powers may be estimated in
terms of the social scope, the temporal span,
and the average intensity of its effects, these
effects being of five classes: (a) cynosural -
emotional - memorable - inspirational, (b) con—
victional, (c) evaluational, (d) conational, and
(e) integrational.

Conditional definition. A ritual myth is an
imagined event represented in words spoken by

an appointed agent (e.g. shaman, priest, medicine
man) during the event's ceremonial enaction at a
prescribed place and time. Not all veritable
myths are of this type.

.

«5.5.. x.

84

5. Causal definition. A myth is a product of
imaginations oriented and sustained by one or
more basic needs and feelings (dynamic psychic
determinants) in response to a critical situa-
tion (instigational determinant) which is
experienced, consciously or unconsciously, by
the society as a whole, by members of a certain
class, or by numerous individuals as persons.

Eventually. this study will establish the relation
between the playwright and the priest. If the priest
leads a cult through its participation in a mythic
presentation-~then, the playwright leads an audience
through its participation in a dramatic presentation.
Sacred drama-~the possible creation of the playwright who
assumes the priestly role--must attain the quality and
stature of the myth. That myth may provide a pattern and
criterion for dramatic composition is indicated by
Weisinger:

Such, then, is the paradigmatic nature of myth;
it provides a pattern or, if you will, a metaphor
in the shape of an action, which is to say, a
drama of reaffirmation secured at the expense
of suffering. And it is precisely because it is
able to assume new forms that the myth pattern
is capable of transforming itself from primitive
belief to religious ritual to Christian faith to
its secular use in tragedy, for as I argued,
tragedy owes to the myth and ritual pattern a
double heritage: its structure, from the succession
of acts in the movement Of the myth and ritual
drama: and its content, from the purpose of the
myth and ritual pattern, the triumph Of life
through suffering over deagp, the two being
fused into a single shape.

 

3OHenry Murray, "Definitions of Myth," in The Making
Of Myth, ed. by H. Ohmann (New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons,

19627: pp. 7-37.
31

 

 

Weisinger, Op. cit., p. 2M1.

 

85

Indeed, Weisinger goes furtherp—he would apply the

myth paradigm to the whole of literature as a standard of

analysis and a norm for imaginative achievement. This

would certainly encompass the drama which is the concern

of this study. He states:

I should argue that the architecture of a
work of imagination, taken, as I said before,
in its widest sense, reproduces the scenario
of the drama of the myth and ritual pattern.
In parallel fashion, I should say that the
ideology of a work of imagination, again as
just defined, likewise reproduces the ideology
of the drama of the myth and ritual pattern.
And if these propositions are viable, I should
finally prOpose that our response to works of
imagination, that is, the ultimate reason
they have the power to grip and to hold us at
what we feel to be the deepest levels of our
being, Often in spite of ourselves, is our
recognition of and response to the architecture
and ideology of the myth and ritual pattern
taken together. I dare not argue, however,
that the myth and ritual pattern is omnipresent,
nor dare I argue--fatal admission-~that its
presence is a necessary guarantee of artistic
value. Nevertheless, this much can surely be
said, that the myth and ritual pattern provides a
constant, a norm, a shape of significance,
against which works of imagination can be placed
and thereby examined and evaluated.32

Weisinger, significantly, states that adherance to

this standard is not a guarantee Of artistic excellence.

It is the important recognition of this study, also, that

the artist as playwright is not merely a priest or seeker

and describer of the eternal through mythic participation.

 

32Ibid., p. 251.

 

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86

Where the artist as priest is engaged with the source of
good——the artist in his entire role is engaged with the
source of evil as well. Accordingly, it was the earlier
contention of this study that the priestly function of
the artist is merely a facet of the total artistic task.
An artist who merely emulates the priest is not capable
of achieving the standard of great art as already

designated herein.

Summary

To summarize the chapter, tangible worship occurs
within the ritual framework. Such ritual is an agreed
pattern of ceremonial movements and sounds within which cor-
porate religious action may take place. Ritual embodies,
Objectivizes and exalts the finest aspirations of a cult
grouping. The ritual form permifies the spiritual doctrine
of a society. A ritual is a composition of symbols unified
by a design in space and time. Such symbols cloak ideas in
a manner contrived to arouse the utmost Of feeling within
the membership Of a cult. To participate in ritual is to
partake Of a sacrament which is the holy made concrete and
rewarding. Such a sacrament yields strength and sanctifica-
tion in the participant through its transmission Of super-
natural power or divine grace. Such a sacrament is the

vehicle of the spiritual through the agency of the material.

87

A ritual is sacramental and a sacrament is ritualistic.

The symbols of ritual when considered in their entirety con-
stitute a myth. Where a symbol is a species pointing to

the general or the spiritual through means of significant
images, the mythic resultant of a combination of integrated
symbols is that ultimate category of conception wherein the
physical and metaphysical meet in the completest and most
revealing manner. Such mythic construction is a necessary
paradigm for the mOst significant products of literary art--
however, such a paradigm does not solely constitute a

sufficient basis for such products.

CHAPTER V

THE RELIGIOUS AND PHILOSOPHICAL

SIGNIFICANCE OF DRAMATIC ART

Repeating the Hegelian premise of this study-—art,
religion, and philosophy concern themselves with the
depiction of God or the Absolute. However, each
discipline does so in its own unique and special manner—-
art depicts God in an intuitive manner, religion in a
symbolic manner, and philosophy in a conceptual manner.
Here the concern is with the relation between religion and
art or, specifically, dramatic art. Van der Leeuw, also,
assumes the position that the ultimate referent of religion
and art is God. He states:
In silence, religion and art meet and
interpenetrate. Religion and art are
parallel lines which intersect only at
infinity, and meet in God.1

Vogt takes a similar position also:

Art and Religion belong together by identities
of Origin, Subject Matter, and Inner Experience.

VOgt continues and emphasizes that the creation and per-
ception of beauty is to attain an intimate relationship

with Divinity. He asserts:

¥

1Van der Leeuw, Op. cit., p. 333.

2Vogt, Art . . . , p. 18.
88

 

89

The unity of religion and art is more profoundly
discovered in our own consciousness. It is the
unity of eXperience itself . . . . To perceive
beauty is to be moved by something of the same
emotional course as attends on the perception of
Divinity. And to create beauty is in some sense
to participate in the character of Divinity.3

Paul Green, the distinguished American playwright,
reiterates the position that a great work of art conveys
the participant to an ennobling confrontation with the
goodness of the absolute. He states:

In an honest search of ourselves we will find the
old truth—-that a good or noble work of art
heightens our pleasure in and adherance to the
Good; that is, each one under its appeal re—affirms
in himself the desire and finer purpose of his
life, and stands even stronger in the gripping
certainty of an absolute reality and meaning to
his existence and that of others like him and in
the determination-—in Aeschylean phrase--that the
right shall prevail. In this, art and religion
are one and stand opposed to the pessimisms of
any science whatsoever.

Art and religion both embody the "invisible realities."
The objects of sense become the medium for conveying the
apparently indiscernible to the otherwise incapable group
of mankind. Religion must resort to art in order to ful-
fill its task and, thus, religion and art become inextricable

and necessary to each other. The use of art in religious

worship is to facilitate the task and revelation of God

‘

3Ibid., p. 21.

“Paul Green, Drama and the Weathep (New York:
Samuel French, Inc., 1958), p. 151.

90

and, also, to pay homage to this God. Underhill, speaking

from the Christian context, states:

Because the historic Incarnation assures us
that the most mysterious of invisible facts

can become sensible to the soul, man is called
to continue the divine work of translating into
artistic and other symbols the mystery of the
transcendental. Therefore the use of art in
worship is not a mere imitation of the creative
work of God, nor is it only a homage rendered to
Christ; by giving an embodiment to invisible
realigies, it continues the Incarnation Of the
Word.

Dramatic art is capable of attaining the stature of

the "holy Object" which makes visible and apprehensible

the quality and nature of the divine. Dramatic art

becomes a means for the achievement and participation in

what man has referred to as religion. Van der Leeuw

states:

When we ask ourselves what men, from the primitive
to the most "modern" have meant by "religion," we
find it again and again brought into conjunction
with the visible. What conveys the power that is
sought for is a holy object, holy food, a holy
action, a holy man. I can neither write poetry
nor preach without addressing myself to the whole,
bodily man. I can produce no drama, administer

no sacrament, without depending on hearing and
sight. In this respect, religion and art are fully
alike.6

To state the matter more succinctly, consider the

contention of Jane Ellen Harrison who states:

_

SUnderhill, op. cit., p. 71

6Van der Leeuw, Op. cit., p. 180.

 

91

It is at the outset one and the same impulse 7
that sends a man to church and to the theatre.

And, again, Van der Leeuw from the Christian vantage

point:

From the Christian point of View, the movements
and countermovements from which drama grows have
their origin in the movement and counger—movement
of man to God, in the holy encounter.

The drama of man has encompassed his religious
inclination from the very beginnings of significant theatre
in the time of the Greeks and, ironically, into the
apparently secular and profane theatre of the present
twentieth century. Ross describes the theatre of the
Greeks:

Of course, the art and literature of ancient
peoples, their public ceremonies, and their
special customs set them off from each other as
members of individual cultures. Yet all these
things were either religious in themselves or

were connected with religion. The content of
Greek tragedy in the classical period, for
example, was religious. Religion, then, permeated
the entire culture of a nation and gave it its
special character.9

The other highpoints in the intervening history of
the theatre also characterize themselves by the intimate

relationship between religion and drama.10 Even in the

7Harrison, Op. cit., p. 9.

8Van der Leeuw, Op. cit., p. 110.

9Ross, Op. cit., p. 177.

10Richard Rosenheim, in the already cited volume The

Eggrnal Drama, presents a history of the theatre with the
Successful intention of emphasizing and elaborating upon
this very point.

 

92

apparently secular and "Godless" drama of the Twentieth
Century, the sacred continues to reveal itself in spite

Of whatever may be the stated aims of various dramatic
artists. Successful drama, regardless of the intention of
the dramatic artist, must necessarily participate to

some extent in the nature of divinity. Watts, describing
the contemporary theatre, notes:

At least, the current plunge into the depths
harbored by comedy and tragedy may indicate that
the sacred resembles proverbial truth—-crushed to
earth at a particular point, it rises vigorously
elsewhere. But what would St. Augustine and other
foes of secular spectacle think if they were to
learn that a quasi-sacred light shines behind the
theatrical proscenium?ll

And Watts again:

And some of us find that the real sacred (if indeed
it does exist) flourishes in an activity that men
used confidently to regard as secular; we find the
sacred in music or art or-—as here—~the drama with
its power to light up our existence, to criticize
or transform our secular boredom . . . . The tra-
ditional sacred is gone or--we suspect with varying
emotions-~is on the point of leaving us. We
discover with relief that what we are about to lose
is "really" available to us elsewhere--in the drama,
for example.12

Ehrensperger, a modern critic, defines the religious
drama which embodies the sacred thus:

Drama is truly religious when it shows meanings
and purposes in life that grow from the revelation

 

 

11Harold Watts, "Myth and Drama," ed. by L. Michel
and R. Sewall, Op. cit., p. 88.

12Ibid., p. 85.

 

93

of the highest values conceivable. It seeks to
relate man to the totality of his being. When
these values are translated into living situations
which cause conflicts with lesser meanings and
purposes, then religiously effective drama may
occur. When life situations are filtered through
dramatic imagination they may be presented in

terms of the perspective of the ultimate concerns
and purposes of men or they may be presented merely
as experiences in a laboratory Of life. The former
is likely to be the framework of religious drama,
the latter that of realism which may or may not
have religious meaning.13

Another manner in which the foregoing may be stated
is in the assertion that religion and art, finally, present
the knowledge of absolute reality which is also apprehended
by philosophy or, specifically, with the ultimate discipline
of philosophy designated as metaphysics—-that branch of
philosophy which deals with essential, ultimate, and
permanent reality. Art, in presenting metaphysical knowl-
edge, fulfills its highest purpose. Art enriches society
and man by indicating the eternal. Art, as metaphysics,
orientates man by directing his attention to God. Lawler
indicates:

If we must assign some social end to the arts,

this would be the place to do it; they put man

in his proper metaphysical stance, they perfect
him as person.l

Among the other philosophers already cited who harbor such

a vieWpoint, let this description and elaboration upon the

‘

l3

l”Justus Lawler, The Christian Image (Pittsburgh:
DUQuesne University Press, 1966), p. 77.

Ehrensperger, Op. cit., p. 67.

 

94

position of Schopenhauer by Gardiner suffice to reemphasize
the point for the sake of the immediate discussion.
Gardiner states:

And, however this may be, it is anyway true that
the idea of there being important connexions
between philosophy and art was one that from the
first pressed itself upon him. In the early
notebooks which he kept, he suggested that the
reason philosophy had so often in the past appeared
to engage in fruitless endeavour lay in its having
been pursued in the manner of a science rather than
as a form of art, the philosopher being in one way
a kind of artist; and somewhat similar notions,
though expressed in a more qualified and guarded
fashion, are to be found in his main work. The
view that in some—-though not all--of its aspects
the metaphysicians' activity may fruitfully be
compared with that of the artist has been put
forward on a number of occasions in more recent
times, and is consequently now a fairly familiar
one. 5

Art makes its final and end appeal to the intellect
and though it may do so through means of the emotions--
the means should not be confused in primacy or significance
with the end. Art "surveys the world" with the object of
viewing that which is above the particular and the
individual. Arnett concludes:

Art, it seems, differs from these activities
essentially in the fact that it is intellectual,
reflective, cognitive; it is burdened with
meanings, not with feelings; it is once removed
from the spontaneous, non-purposive, effusive
overflowing that is prOperly called the expression
of emotion. A painting does not suggest simply
that someone felt like painting and consequently
applied the brush to canvas and got interesting

15P. Gardiner, Schopenhauer (Baltimore: Penguin
Books, Inc., 1963), p. 31.

 

95

results. It suggests rather that here is some—
thing to be seen, to be intellectually grasped,

to be contemplated for what it reveals about the
nature of the universe of which man is part.
Therefore, the work of art is not to be understood
in terms of the internal processes or motivations
which in the artist give rise to it, nor in terms
of a stimulus to, or process of making, certain
adjustments to a world which the artist finds
hateful or distasteful. Rather, like a work of
science, a work of art is to be understood in

terms of what it is, in terms of an Objective con—
text, in terms of what and how well it enables

the spectator to see and know that which is
essentially external to both artist and spectator.
Art is a perspective, not a stimulant; it is a view
of things, an interpretation, not an intoxication.
Art is a product of the intellect which surveys

the world from whatever heights or depths the
emotional involvements of the subjects may create
or demand. Emotion is perhaps necessary for art,
but art is not primarily emotional. The emotion
modifies the art in the way light modifies for a
camera; it illuminates, intensifies, even distorts.
But it is not light that is intensified or illumin-
ated or distorted. It is the object.16

Science does not perform the same task as art since
the conclusions of science are subject to refutation. The
ultimate task of religion, philosophy, and art differs
from science in that the conclusions which are finally
attained are neither provable nor refutable.

Harrison draws the following connection between the
philosopher and the artist:

Still, the philosopher, like the artist, lives in

a world of his own, with a spell of its own near
akin to beauty, and the secret of that spell is

l6Willard E. Arnett, "Poetry and Science," Journal of

 

Agsthetics and Art Criticism, XIV (June, 1956), p. HUS.

 

96

the same detachment from the tyranny of
practical life. The essence of art, says
Santayana, is "the steady contemplation of
things in their order and worth." He might
have been defining philosophy.l7

That which has the most order and the most worth is
God. The essence of art and philosophy becomes the con-
templation of GOd——the ground of the "eternal realities."
Man contemplates the most worthy and orderly of objects
through the power Of intellect. Coomaraswamy emphasizes
this assertion:

The imitation of anything and everything is
despicable; it is the actions of Gods and Heroes,
not the artist's feelings or the natures of men
who are all too human like himself, that are the
legitimate theme of art. If a poet cannot imitate
the eternal realities, but only the vagaries of
human character, there can be no place for him in
an ideal society, however true or intriguing his
representations may be. The Assyriologist Andrae
is speaking in perfect accord with Plato when he
says, in connection with pottery, that "It is the
business of art to grasp the primordial truth, to
make the inaudible audible, to enunciate the pri-
mordial word, to reproduce the primordial images—-
or it is not art." In other words, a real art is
one of symbolic and significant representation; a
representation Of things that cannot be seen except
by the intellect.18

Where Coomaraswamy has spoken of the artistic task
as an enunciation of the primordial word, Santayana
di;rects the poet to speak in the language Of the gods.

Santayana states:

‘

l7Harrison, op. cit., p. 220.

l8Coomaraswamy, Op. cit., p. 11.

97

As in a supreme dramatic crisis all our life seems
to be focused in the present, and used in colouring
our consciousness and:shaping our decisions, so for
each philOSOphic poet the whole world of man is
gathered together; and he is never so much a poet
as when, in a single cry, he summons all that has
affinity to him in the universe, and salutes his
ultimate destiny. It is the acme of life to
understand life. The height of poetry is to speak
the language of the gods.l9

And where Coomaraswamy, the philosopher, has
directed the artist to imitate the "eternal realities";
Michelangelo, the artist, accedes in advocating the "COpy
Of the perfections Of God" which are the only eternal
realities. He states:

. for fine painting is nothing other than

a copy of the perfections of God and a remembrance
of his painting, and lastly a music and melody
which only the intelletto is capable Of hearing,
with great difficulty.20

The same music and melody which the painter describes
as heard by the intellect is the source and inspiration
of poetic art also. Carlyle contends:

Poetry, therefore, we will call musical thought.
The Poet is he who thinks in that manner. At
bottom, it turns still on power of intellect;
it is a man's sincerity and depth of vision that
makes him a Poet. See deep enough, and you see
musically; the heart Of Nature being everywhere
music; if you can only reach it.21

 

19George Santayana, Three Philosophical Poets (New
York: Doubleday and CO., 1910), p. 20.

 

20As quoted by Robert J. Clements, Michelangelo's
Theory of Art (New York: Gramercy Publishing CO., 1961),
p. 18.

21Thomas Carlyle. ngges and Hero Worship (Chicago:
The Henneberry CO., n.p., n.d.), p. 18.

 

 

 

98

The "ideal world" as apprehended by the intellect
and referred to, also, by Coleridge determines the task
of the inspired storyteller. According to Coleridge,
the task is one:

. . . of spreading the tone, the atmosphere, and

with it the depth and height of the ideal world
around forms, incidents and situations, of which,

for the common view, custom had bedimmed all the
lustre, had dried up the sparkle and the dew drOps.22

This ideal world which Coleridge refers to as "bedimmed"
by custom and, following, Hegel describes as relegated
to "obscurity" and "confusion" determines the task and
obligation of the dramatic artist also. The dramatic
artist must "unfold" the "eternal" and "essential" and
clarify its "vital truth." Kaminsky cites Hegel accord-
ingly:

Furthermore, he (the artist) must have a sense

of the order that is often implicit in what to

ordinary vision is "the ascendency of obscurity,

chance, and confusion." In short, the dramatic

poet "must in the profoundest sense make himself

master of the essential significance of human

action and the divine order of the world and

along with this of a power to unfold this eternal

and essential foundation Of all human characters,

passions, and destinies in its clarity as also in

its vital truth."23

As with religion, the history of the theatre is

characterized by a similar relationship with philosophy.

 

22Nathan Scott, "The Broken Center," ed. by May,
Op. cit., p. 189.

23Kaminsky, Op. cit., p. 159.

99

However, if philOSOphy, religion, and dramatic art are
each concerned, finally, with a knowledge of God--are not
their activities either redundant or superfluous?
Definitely not—-for though their ends are identical, their
means and the advantages which accrue to a respective set
of means are different. In religious worship and ritual
the imagery is fixed and constant and, after long and
repeated exposure before an audience, become tedious and
commonplace. The dramatic event has the advantage of
freshness and change and the capability of renewing the
interest of an audience by resort to different plays and,
thereby, a constantly changing and stimulating imagery
which may still have the same eternal referent as the
religious ritual. PhilOSOphy, in turn, approaches the
knowledge Of God by the apprehension of the loftiest con-
cepts. But relatively few human beings are capable of
arriving at such a knowledge which requires the attainment
and possession of a well-developed intellect. However,
they may apprehend such knowledge in an intuitive manner
through the medium of dramatic art which resorts to the
use of symbols which are grounded in the concrete and,
thus, more readily perceived by a greater number of human
beings.

Nevertheless, the task of the significant dramatic
artist is inextricable from the concerns and conclusions

of philosophy. That drama presents the insights Of

 

 

 

100

philOSOphy, in addition to those of religion, has been
one of its added qualities and functions from the time
of the Greeks to the present day. Kitto describes
Aeschylus and Sophocles thus:

. . . Aeschylus and Sophocles were considerable
philosophers, but philosophers who gave out the
results, not the processes, of thought, and
expressed them in their art.2

And Kitto again:

In the first place, both these poets were philosophers
enough to believe in a world order—-even though
Sophocles at least knew that it is not given to man

to understand it fully. Both poets "believed in the
gods"; and though this does not mean-~though it
certainly does not exclude--that they were endowed
with a personal piety, it does mean that they

believed in a universe which is ultimately rational.25

Such descriptions of dramatic artists as being
heavily reliant upon philosophical doctrine and finding
such doctrine necessary for the success of their art is
not the mere groundless conjecture of the literary critic.
Indeed, the dramatic artist, also, repeatedly engages in
comparable assertions. From the modern theatre, consider
this description of Shaw by Albert who states:

Certainly Shaw took the "singing" Of his phiIOSOphy
seriously. He regarded himself as an "artist
philosopher" and contended that "the artist philos-

ophers are the only sort Of artist I take quite
seriously." Moreover, not the least among his

 

2“H. D. F. Kitto, "Religious Drama and Its Interpre-

tation," ed. by Michel and Sewall, op. cit., p. 15A.

25Ibid., p. 152.

101

accomplishments was the demonstration that--
formalistic aesthetic doctrines to the contrary
notwithstanding-~a considerable amount of
philosophical content may be so skillfully
incorporated in a drama as to enhance, rather
than to impair, its dramatic interest. He
fully exploited the drama, and comedy, of
ideas. His work includes dramatic philoSOphy
as well as philosophical drama.2

And a final elaborating description of Shaw:

For he is a philOSOpher with a mission, a moral

and religious mission, and art is for him its means
of implementation. To consider his ends merely,
ignoring their integral and essential connection
with the means he employed, is to misunderstand

his trtistic function, if not his actual meaning.
His speculation, however metaphysical, reconnoiters
for changes in a factual world. "The philOSOpher,"
he tells us, "is Nature's pilot." And when Shaw
contemplates a universal, he recognizes that it

may look different from opposing points of view;

in other words, he contemplates it dramatically.

A case can be made for the fact that his best
philOSOphy is in his plays, not his prefaces.

For there he puts his philOSOphy to work in human
situations--however fanciful-—and the working is
the important thing.2

As mentioned, Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Shaw are but
three of the several great dramatists who have adhered
to the standard of great art as described herein. The
quality and intent of their creations justify the conten—
tion that these playwrights assumed the priestly role in
the practice of their art. The priestly role as assumed

by the playwright now warrants closer attention.

 

26Sidney P. Albert, "Bernard Shaw: The Artist as
Philosopher," Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism,
XIV (June, l956),p . 319.

 

27Ibid., p. A20.

102

Summary
To summarize the chapter, philos0phy, religion,

and art concern themselves with the depiction of God or

the Absolute. However, each discipline does so in its own
unique and special manner--philOSOphy depicts God in a
conceptual manner, religion depicts God in a symbolic
manner, and art in an intuitive manner. Each discipline,

in comparison with another, has its own unique advantages
and disadvantages in regard to the common goal. Art and
religion both embody the "invisible realities." The objects
of sense become the medium for conveying the apparently
indiscernible to the otherwise incapable group of mankind.
Religion must resort to art in order to fulfill its task
and, thus, religion and art become inextricable and necessary
to each other. It is the same aspiration which sends a

man to a church or theatre. Art, as religion, is "the
steady contemplation of things in their order and worth."
Further, the task of the significant dramatic artist is
inextricable from the concerns and conclusions of philOSOphy.
That drama presents the insights of philosophy, in addition
to those of religion, has been one Of its added qualities
and functions from the time of the Greeks, and even earlier,
to the present day. Dramatic artists remain heavily

reliant upon philosophical doctrine and find such doctrine
necessary for the success of their art. The quality and

manner of the works created by the greatest dramatic artists

103

justifies the contention that these artists assumed the

priestly role in the practice of their art.

CHAPTER VI

THE PLAYWRIGHT AS PRIEST

The playwright who assumes the priestly role commits
himself to the task of revealing the divine to mankind.
His successful creation and performance is an incitation
to the life of religion. Through his art, such a play—
wright-priest stimulates and engenders the vision of God
and succeeds in the exaltation of humanity. The theatre,
under the guidance of this playwright-priest, becomes "a
cathedral of the spirit" and a place where mankind attains
the capacity and strength for achieving the level and
stature of spirit. The theatre, under the aegis of such
an artist, presents both a call and a challenge to the
attainment of the holy life--thereby, inspiring the nobility
and sanctity of men and the purification of life and
environment. Maxwell Anderson professes:

I believe with Goethe that dramatic poetry is

man's greatest achievement on his earth so far,

and I believe with the early Bernard Shaw that the
theatre is essentially a cathedral of the spirit,
devoted to the exaltation of men, and boasting an
apostolic succession of inspired high priests which

extends further into the pasi than the Christian
line founded by Saint Peter.

 

1Maxwell Anderson, "Poetry in the Theatre," in
American Playwrights on Drama, ed. by Horst Frenz (New York:
Hill and Wang, 1965), p. 17.

104

 

105

Such ideas are not the special bias of a particular
breed of dramatic artist nor are they merely theardwdc
residue Of bygone days. Even in the twentieth century-—a
century wherein such approaches to literature have been
disfavored--PP1nCiPa1 aestheticians and philOSOphers
still strive to remind the public of the validity of such
an outlook. For instance, Santayana asserts:

Such is poetry as a literary form; but if we drop
the limitation to verbal expression, and think of
poetry as that subtle fire and inward light which
seems at times to shine through the world and to
touch the images in our minds with ineffable beauty,
then poetry is a momentary harmony in the soul
amid stagnation or conflict,--a glimpse of the
divine and an incitation to a religious life.2

And Heidegger, as described by Will, refers to the
poet in a similar manner. Will describes as follows:

This paradox takes us far into Heidegger's thought.
Already in Sein und Zeit he made it clear that

he believes Being, or the lasting, must be

revealed in order to exist. One way to understand——
if not necessarily to agree with--this point is to
see that Being has no past. It is only the revealed.
"What remains will therefore never be drawn from the
transitory." It is the job Of the poet, particularly,
to "found" the lasting over and over again. Poetry,
consequently, is "real" in the highest sense, and

the poet is the priest of the rea1.3

 

 

In fact, Heidegger goes so far as to pursue his own

significant philOSOphical endeavor in a manner which does

 

2George Santayana, Integpretations of Poetry and
Religion (New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1957), p. 289.

 

 

3Frederic Will, Literature Inside Out (Cleveland:
Press of Western Reserve University, 1966), p. 27.

 

106

no less than emulate the endeavor Of the dramatic artist.
Ironically, as in the cited example of SchOpenhauer,
Heidegger adopts the method and goal of the artist.
Versenyi describes and cites Heidegger thus:

It is in this manner that Heidegger now understands
his own mission as hermeneus--the mission consists
in "making manifest that which is Wholly Other,

and is only darkly, if not confusedly, divined" by
man. This is what the Greek poets engaged in in
the theatre of Dionysus--it was in their "saying
itself that the approach Of the god came to pass.
The saying itself made manifest what the sayers
beheld (and they beheld it) because it had
beforehand already cast an eye upon them." If
Heidegger occasionally succeeds in this mission,

so that traces of that which is Wholly Other can be
discerned in his writing, this is not his accom-
plishment; he merely finds these traces-~"I merely
find them, for they do not stem from me and are

but seldom perceptible, like the scattered echoes
of a far-away call." "All I did was to follow the
indefinite traces of a road; but (at least) I
followed." Erring on this road "through the realm
of the Word" is the errand of the thinker and sayer
—-soothsayer in the literal sense of the word.
Following the "call that wakens the saying; the
sayer of truth is moved by the "spirit whose gentle
breath insinuates itself into the soul." Like the
apostles (literally--messengers), on whose heads
tongues of flame descended so that they spoke "in
another tongue," i.e. with the voice of the "Holy
Spirit", Heidegger now brings us the Word. "Think—
ing is thanking", a prayer as it were, whose source
and destination remain a mystery. With this last
metamorphosis of the meaning of hermeneutic,
Heidegger has finally yielded to Heidegger the
prophet, apostle, and soothsayer, the ecstatic
bearer of the Word, the enthusiastic, inspired--
possessed instrument, the occasional, temporary
dwelling--place and fleeting incarnation of the
Voice of Being.“

 

“Versenyi, op. cit., p. 135.

107

Again emphasizing the special mission of the theatre;
consider Ibsen, a playwright rarely thought of in terms
of religion, whose work is rightfully depicted as an
inroad to "the drama of God." Van der Leeuw describes
Ibsen thus:

Today's generation maintains that Ibsen's age

is past. But he can wait; he does not belong

to a particular period. His genius was able to
express general and symbolic truth, not only
typologically, but through the finest psycho—
logical analyses of character. He anticipated
Freud and Adler, but he did not remain stuck in
psychology; he understood how to create from it
and with its help a series of eternal symbols.
Since he could serve, he belongs among the greatest
geniuses of all. The religious meaning of Ibsen's
work does not reside in religious or philOSOphical
generalities, certainly not in the so—called
"Christian" element of the oldest portions of his
work. It is in the overwhelming power, in the
disconcerting pathos of his plots, which make

us realize that here there is something quite
ordinary happening, something which could also
take place in our own lives; but here it is si-
multaneously the bearer of world-wide signifi-
cance, eternal powers. And to us it seems as
though, with the help of Ibsen's dramas, we might
cast an eye upon the drama of God.5

And Van der Leeuw continues:

As long as drama springs from the unity Of life,
remaining sacer ludus, it does not represent the
movement of individuals, but of types, the ideal
representatives of the movement of life. To this
extent drama is always a marionette theatre. A
man who can breathe the life of movement and
countermovement into ideal types fascinates, indeed
terrifies, his audience. It is not unusual to
see yourself in a mirror; but to see your own spirit,
your own representative, in a strange world, that
is extraordinarily absorbing. This has immediate

 

5Van der Leeuw, op. cit., p. 109.

the

the

108

significance for our relationship with religion.
The holy does not stand in a relationship with
humans who speak for themselves, but only repre—
sentatives. The holy demands priests, servants,
and therefore can be expressed only by an art
which demands the same.

In the novel Broome Stages, Clarence Dane renders

 

precise and sought attitude in a salient manner when
fictional theatre artist admonishes:

You are the priests of a temple——and likewise-—
for this is a unique ancient Office-—the prosti-
tutes of a temple, and you serve God both with
your body and with your soul. Your duty is
undivided service; and I warn you now that if
you turn aside from this service, either out of
ambition or for the sake of money or in a love
affair, God will punish you . . . we, the priests
of the most ancient temple, do we not have our
God and our divine, holy book? I say holy .

we of the theatre are a peculiar people. The
world comes to us to see itself, but we do not
go out into the world to see ourselves. We have
no selves, we are only the mouth of God . . .
For me there shall be no other God.7

Nearer still, America's greatest playwright

envisions drama as an establishment and depiction of the

relationship between man and God. It is Eugene O'Neill's

mission and the mission of his drama to establish and

clarify this relationship--whether God is, finally, merely

a reflection of "the laws of his own being" or whether

God is "the universe itself." O'Neill states:

6Ibid., p. 86.

7As quoted by Van der Leeuw, ibid., p. 108.

109

Most modern plays are concerned with the relation
between man and man, but that does not interest

me at all. I am interested only in the relation
between man and God: that is to say: to some-
thing outside himself, whether this something is

the universe itself or merely the laws of his own
being which is independent of local or temporary
conditions. But the would be writer of tragedy
today labors under an almost insuperable difficulty.
He lives in a society most of whose members are
either confused and uncertain or explicitly deny
that any such relationship between man and God
exists: that there are any problems to solve

except problems to be faced by men so entirely

the product Of temporary conditions, that even their
past is no more to them than a ghost which it is
their Business to lead astray as promptly as pos-
sible.

Tyrone Guthrie, foremost of theatrical directors,
asserts:

When you are there, when you "assist", as the
French so rightly express it, as a violinist
gives a great account of a masterpiece or as an
actor transforms himself into Hamlet, Harpagon,
Faust or Peer Gynt, it is as though you were

there when God said, "Let there be light." Indeed
God, through his minister, is saying, "Let there
be light."

The principle "minister" in the theatre is the play—
wright. And the greatest playwright of all times,
Shakespeare, was no less than a priest and bearer of the
holy--a bearer of the light and vision of God. Carlyle

describes Shakespeare accordingly:

 

8A3 quoted by Rosenheim, Op. cit., p. 217.

9Tyrone Guthrie, "SO Long as the Theatre Can DO
Miracles," in Edge of Awareness, ed. by N. HOOpes (New
York: Dell Publishing CO., 1966), p. 163.

 

110

But call it worship, call it what you will, is

it not a right glorious thing, and set of things,
this that Shakespeare has brought us? For myself,
I feel that there is actually a kind of sacred-
ness in the fact of such a man being sent into
this earth. Is he not an eye to us all a

blessed heaven—-sent Bringer of Light?16

Such have been the broader depictions of the priestly
role of the dramatic artist by philosophers, religious
thinkers, and artists themselves. Specifically, the role
of the playwright will now be considered in terms of the
three facets of this priestly role-—namely the sacri-
ficial, the prOphetic, and the pastoral.

The act of sacrifice is the crucial Obligation of
the playwright-priest. It is a necessary condition in the
creation of the drama which is designated as sacred. In
sacrifice, the artist relinquishes that which is apparently
of most value--namely, the self. There is no personal
claim, no elevation of self, no regard for personal
interest and gain--what is important to such an artist
is the glorification of God. Whatever earthly benefit may
be derived is incidental to the artistic endeavor. The
artist through means of his creation becomes a "way." In
the manner of the priest, he renders an object to be used
as an aid and route to divinity. The material content of

such an aid nullifies itself and its claim to prolonged

attention by indicating the realm of the spirit. The

—¥

loCarlyle, Op. cit., p. 157.

111

establishment and indication of such a realm is the
primary purpose of an art object. In comparison with God,
all else is insignificant. In the same order of dis-
cussion, the artist as individual, rather than as
reflection and participant in the divine, may make no
claim to eminence. The artist, the playwright-priest,
negates all personal c1aim--he engages in the ultimate
sacrifice for the sake of God. Coomaraswamy refers to

the traditional artist who did not hesitate to exercise
such proper humility. He states:

In all respects the traditional artist devotes
himself to the good of the work to be done.

The Operation is a rite, the celebrant neither
intentionally nor even consciously expressing
himself. It is by no accident of time, but in
accordance with a governing concept of the
meaning Of life, of which the goal is implied in
St. Paul's Vino autem jam non ego, that works of
traditional art, whether Christian, oriental or
folk art, are hardly ever signed; the artist is
anonymous, or if a name has survived, we know
little or nothing of the man. This is true as
much for literary as for plastic artefacts. In
traditional arts it is never Who said? but only
What was said? that concerns us; for "all that
is true, by whomsoever it has been said, has its
origin in the Spirit."11

Such is the position of the playwright-priest who
worships God properly. The dramatist who creates in such
a manner engages in an act of worship just as does the
participant or audience for the resultant dramatic creation.

The playwright—priest, in addition to the audience member,

 

llCoomaraswamy, op. cit., p. 39.

112

seeks to, finally, "be rid of the world" in order to
achieve communion with God. It is even in the manner
of the worshipper described by Vogt:

One brings all his goods to the temple, but
there is a door of leaving behind, where he must
be rid of his many goods as he desires to be rid
of his many loads, if he is to find the one
supreme Good. Is the temple stuffed with all his
worldly goods? Yes, and with the goods of all
other men, and the immeasurable goods that are
where no man is. Here are the corded bales of
every man's good and the shards and ashes of every
man's bad. Here is all in the world that he has
loved and all that he has ignored. He comes to
be rid of the world and to find God. But here he
finds all the world he has left behind-~and behold!
it is God.12

Or in the manner described by the modern mystic,
Thomas Merton:

Day after day I am more and more conscious of
being nothing but that self I find every day at
the altar-—this awareness is in reality a sense
of substitution. I am replaced by a Being in
whom I am fully real. Another has taken my
identity or has revealed it to me, and this
Other is a terrible infancy. I am at the altar
(forgive my language, these words should not be
extraordinary), I am at the altar with my eyes
raised in the light that is eternity, and I
become one who is reborn, never to grow old
again.15

There is only the slightest distance between such
an attitude and that of the knowledgeable theatre prac-
titioner who, also, seeks to be "reborn" through the loss
of self. Jean-Louis Barrault, the former manager of the

Theatre de France, states:

 

l2Vogt, Modern . . . , p. 28.

 

l3As quoted by Montini, op. cit., p. 25.

113

The "bourgeois spirit" at every level of society
consists in looking into the mirror, striking

a pose to confirm one's social personality and
thereby to keep what one has. Our aim, in front
of that same mirror, is to obliterate ourselves
daily in order to be reborn, to recover our
virginity in order to be able to give more.1“

Great art is a release from the self. If, finally,
it leads to contemplation-~it can only be the contempla—
tion of God. Harrison indicates thus:

When an artist claims that expression is the

aim of art he is too apt to mean self—eXpression
only--utterance of individual emotion. Utterance
of individual emotion is very closely neighboured
by, is almost identical with, self-enhancement.
What should be a generous, and in part altruistic,
exaltation becomes mere megalomania. This egotism
is, of course, a danger inherent in all art. .
Art, said Zola, is "the world seen through a
temperament." But this suspension is, not that

he should turn inward to feed on his own Vitals,
but rather to free him for comtemplation. All
great art releases from self.15

 

Kazantzakis, also, seeks to go beyond the mere self.
For this great novelist and dramatist, matter must be
routed and an end which transcends the individual must be

sought. In other writings, notably The Saviours of God,

 

he refers to such an end as God or the One even while
admitting that this God or One is only a formulation Of
the human mind. In the manner of a Shaftesbury or an

O'Neill, the existence or non—existence of God becomes

 

l“Jean-Louis Barrault, "What Makes Men Free," Atlas

Magazine, XVI (December, 1968), p. 57.
15

 

Harrison, Op. cit., p. 2A1.

114

irrelevant. Whether God is real or unreal, they deem

God worthy of worship even to the point of relinquish-

ing any claim to personal consideration. The self is con-
stantly subordinated to God. Kazantzakis states:

When I read Cervantes, still later, his hero
Don Quixote seemed to me a great saint and martyr
who had left amidst jeering and laughter to
discover, beyond our humble everyday life, the
essence which hides in back of appearances. What
essence? I did not know at the time; I learned
later. There is only one essence, always the
same. As yet, man has found no other means to
elevate himself--none but the routing of matter
and the submission of the individual to an end
which transcends the individual, even though that
end be chimerical. When the heart believes and
loves, nothing chimerical exists; nothing exists
but courage, trust, and fruitful action.

Years have passed. I tried to establish order
over the chaos of my imagination, but this essence,
the same that presented itself to me still hazily
when I was a child, has always struck me as the
very heart of truth. It is our duty to set our—
selves an end beyond our individual concerns,
beyond our convenient, agreeable habits, higher
than our own selves and disdaining laughter,
hunger, even death, to toil night and day to
attain that end. No, not to attain it. The self—
respecting soul as soon as he reaches his goal,
places it still further away. Not to attain it,
but never to halt in the ascent. Only thus does
life acquire nobility and oneness.16

Undergirding all such sacrificial notions is a
profound mystic doctrine and aspiration. There is an
ever-imposing sense of the eternal and the divine. In
the individual, there is a feeling of participation or an
Opportunity for participation in such a divine reality.

With the playwright—priest, the feeling becomes a

 

l6Kazantzakis, op. cit., p. 73.

115

compulsive motive leading to the incessant creation of
newer and finer dramas--each one, hOpefully, a step
further toward the attainment of an eternal sphere and
ground. As with the Dante of the Paradiso, the ultimate
attainment entails the loss of self in and through the
love of God. The ultimate accompliShment is personal
surrender and sacrifice to the vision of God. It is the
quest of the genuine artist. One aesthetician has stated
that all aesthetic theory finally reduces to mysticism.17
This is another way of stating that all aesthetic theory
reduces to mystery. Art itself reduces to mystery, thus,
it is not surprising that the doctrine which attempts to
comprehend art should reach the same end. And the drama,
especially, dissolves in such mystery. Underhill concurs
and cites Nietzsche. She states:

Drama itself, as Nietzsche showed, "hankers after

dissolution into mystery. Shakespeare would

occasionally knock the back out of the stage

with a window opening on the 'cloud—capp'd

towers.'"18

The playwright-priest, further, assumes the role of

a prOphet. Within the context of the drama for which he
bears responsibility is heralded a vision of the future.

Within this dramatic context, also, is an admonition for

 

17The aesthetic experience as a mystic experience is
discussed, for example, by Vogt on page 127 of the already
cited volume, Cult and Culture.

18

 

Harrison, Op. cit., p. 201.

116

the audience to render their share in converting such a
vision to an actuality. The most significant truths and
insights are rendered by this prOphet. The ultimate of
these truths being that vision of God and the sphere of
ideals in so far as they may be apprehended through con-
ceptualization. In a manner, the vision of the idealized
future is no less than a vision of God toward which
mankind must move. The earthly environment must be
elevated and spiritualized through and beneath the light
of such a Godly vision. The prOphet demands endeavor and
effort from his audience. His presentation is a call and
challenge--even a demand. What exists is imperfect and
to be recognized as such. Perfection is the emulation of
God and his truth. The prophet commands his audience to
move nearer and nearer to God. Art as prophetic activity
is an illuminated depiction of what mankind "ought to
become." Kaminsky, in discussing Hegel, depicts art thus:
Science describes what nature is: the artist
seeks to present what nature is a sign of. The
scientist describes mankind; the artist depicts
what mankind is trying to become. For this reason
the aim of the artist is never one of imitation of
existential entities. Art, according to Hegel, is
superior to nature. It tries to indicate the goals
at which nature is aiming. Art is the instrument
by which insight is attained into what it means to
be a man. The artist can shape for us the kind of
human being we ought to become. In short, the

artist tries to show men what kind Of man would be
the fullest expression of the Idea.1

19Kaminsky, Op. cit., p. 30.

117

Art, according to De Rougemont, is the recovery of

a "lost harmony." To the extent that man has moved away
from God, he must strive to reestablish himself in the
presence Of God. Art becomes a reminder and a view of
the Godly kingdom. Art becomes a prayer which reminds
and reestablishes the future in the mind of an audience.
Art becomes the prOphetic vision which seeks to reactualize
itself throughout the whole of life. It is a prayer and
struggle for the perfection Of eternity. De Rougemont
states:

Art is an exercise of the whole being of man,

not to compete with God, but to coincide better

with the order of creation, to love it better,

and to reestablish ourselves in it. Thus art

would appear to be like an invocation (more Often

than not unconscious) to the lost harmony, like a

prayer (more often than not confused), correspond-

ing to the second petition of the Lord's prayer--

"Thy Kingdom come."20

For many members of an audience, the vision of the

future is a new one of which they were previously unaware.
They had no real understanding or feeling of their loss
and predicament. The artist expands the consciousness of
an audience. He reveals the nature and character of the
loss. In arousing this needed sense of loss, he thereby
fosters a movement toward recovery and fulfillment by

and in behalf Of the audience. The experience and aware-

ness of men becomes greater and, thus, men themselves

 

20De Rougemont, Op. cit., p. 186.

118

become greater and more powerful. Men, after the manner
Of the artist, become "conquistadors" and move beyond the
relative imperfection of the present toward the future of

God and spirit. Read asserts:

In our time we have had great painters and
sculptors, great poets and musicians, and they

are precious witnesses to the continued develop-
ment of human consciousness. I believe that such
artists have been representative, and that a
Wordsworth, a Proust, a Cezanne, a Klee, a Mondrian,
a Schoenberg, and a Stravinsky do make conquests of
consciousness that are afterwards occupied by the
mind in widest commonalty. Perhaps that was

always the way--perhaps great artists like Phidras
and Praxiteles were also lonely pioneers. But I
prefer to regard artists as great conquistadors

who lead their people into new dimensions of
reality . . . . l

Santayana, also, in treating of literature, asserts
that the advantage of encountering such great works is in
the ability they have to help men "become" something--
to capture the enhanced future. Santayana states:

The sole advantage in possessing great works of
literature lies in what they can help us to become.
In themselves, as feats performed by their authors,
they would have forfeited none of their truth or
greatness if they had perished before our day .

It is this continual digestion of the substance
supplied by the poet that alone renders the in—
sights Of the past still potent in the present
and for the future.22

Further, Santayana evaluates the prophetic role of
the artist. He refers to the prophetic function as the

"ultimate function" or the "highest mission" of the poet:

 

21Read, Op. cit., p. 138.

22Santayana, Three . . . , p. 11.

119

In this same manner, where poetry rises from
its elementary and detached expressions in
rhythm, euphuism, characterization, and story—
telling, and comes to the consciousness of its
highest function, that of portraying the ideals
of experience and destiny, then the poet becomes
aware that he is essentially a prophet, and either
devotes himself, like Homer or Dante, to the loving
expression of the religion that exists, or like
Lucretius or Wordsworth, to the heralding of one
which he believes to be possible. Such poets are
aware of their highest mission; others, whatever
the energy of their genius, have not conceived
their ultimate function as poets.23

Blake, too, assumed the disparity between the earthly

state of man and his divine one. For Blake, the artistic

task entailed the destruction of the finite sphere of

existence for the sake of an eternal one. Spiritual forms

which have fallen into materiality must be elevated. The

realm of materiality must be uplifted also. Art is a
disclosure of the true structure of human life--and a
prophetic and religious call for a repatterning of life
in accord with such a structure. Adams, in an essay
entitled "The Blakean Aesthetic," indicates accordingly:

In Blake's Edenic realm God and Man were one.
And they still are, except that corporeal illusion
now often prevents us from the realization of that
Unity. The visionary instinctively knows the fact
of Unity, and the great works of art are assertions
of it. The Poetic Genius may overthrow the bonds
of "finite organical perception." The artist in
society strives to regain Eden for all men to leave
behind that state of delusion characterized by
Lockeian nature and spiritual forms fallen into
material. Art is thus prophetic in the religious
sense. It does not predict, but it does disclose
the true central form, the pattern of human life.

 

23Santayana, Interpretations . . . , p. 286.

 

120

And it does this not by viewing the grain of

sand, and then by means of abstract reason con-
sidering its relation to a greater controlling
deity, but by visualizing that grain of sand as
symbol of tpe deity itself, as the central form in
microcosm.2

Kazantzakis, in more recent times, assumed the
prophetic responsibility in his life and literature also.
Literary activity becomes the proclamation of a "state
of mobilization" and a command and challenge for men to
"surpass the beast" of the present condition and to move
forward to an idealized future. He states:

Writing may have been a game in other ages, in
times of equilibrium. Today it is a grave duty.
Its purpose is not to entertain the mind with

fairy tales and make it forget, but to proclaim

a state of mobilization to all the luminous forces
still surviving in our age of transition, and to
urge men to do their utmost to surpass the beast.25

And again the artist, in his life and work, sub-
ordinates or rejects the present for the sake of an
ennobled future. Further, Kazantzakis states:

One morning I got up and the bird's name gleamed
unforeseen and terrible in the air. It was not

a bird, it was a cry from innumerable mouths.

All at once I recognized it. This cry was what
I had been hunting--the Cry of the future. I was
tormenting myself and making war for its sake, I
had been born for its sake. All the rest--my
joys and sorrows, my journeys, my virtues and
vices—-were nothing more than my progress toward
this Cry.25

 

2”Adams, op. cit., p. 2A0.

25
26

Kazantzakis, Op. cit., p. A35.

Ibid., p. A53.

121

Great drama is a call to similar conduct and respon-
sibility. Such drama, too, presents a vision of the
future and a command to the audience to transcend present
imperfection for the state of future perfection.
Ehrensperger asserts:

Drama shows us what ought to be. It is on the
move toward perfection of the individual and the
social order. It presents the will of man in
conflict with the yet-to—be-created or the already—
created which is destroying man. This is also its
miracle. By way of dramatic experience we can have
a sense of fulfillment and delight. It can be so
powerful and so wonderful we are jolted when the
curtain comes down and the spell is broken. This
hypnotic experience of how life could be or what
it is yet to be, despite its being made today
frequently in negative statements, can carry us
off into constructive or destructive fantasy-
making. Drama can fill or empty us. No other art
form can so bewitch or inspire us.27

Maxwell Anderson, most cogently and significantly,
cites the responsibility of the playwright—priest to assume
the prophetic stance. The theatre, through the prOphetic
voice of the great dramatic artist determines what man-
kind will and must become. Anderson declares:

Unless I am greatly mistaken, many members of
the theatre audience have anticipated this con-
clusion by one of those intuitional short-cuts
which confound the devotees of pure reason, and
are not only ready but impatient for plays which
will take up again the consideration of man's place
and destiny in prophetic rather than prosaic terms.
It is incumbent on the poet to be prOphet, dreamer,
and interpreter of the social dream. Men have come
a long way from the salt water in the millions of
years that lie behind them, and have a long way to

 

27Ehrensperger, op. cit., p. 22.

122

go in the millions of years that lie ahead. We

shall not always be as we are—-but what we are

to become depends on what we dream and desire.

The theatre, more than any other art, has the

power to weld and determine what the race dreams

into what the race will become.28

Thus, drama becomes a public dream-~a communal
wish-~through which an audience, through the effort of a
playwright-priest, achieves a vision and consciousness
of its deepest and sometimes hidden aspirations. The
drama becomes a vital vehicle for the progression of
mankind.
The playwright-priest, finally, assumes the role of

a pastor within his community. He is a spokesman and
advocate of those moral truths and a revealer of those
errors in conduct which impinge upon the daily and practi-
cal life of man. The stage becomes a place wherein living
examples are encountered. Love, affection, grief, anguish,
and hatred--all of those emotions which beset the daily
life of man are encountered within a context which com-
prehends and reveals the motives and norms and actions
which yielded these emotions. The stage yields under-
standing for utilization in common affairs. When human
beings are benefitted-—the norms which yielded such bene-
fits are discernible. When human beings are mistreated,

the norms which led to such mistreatment are also discern-

ible. Man attains a consciousness of the reasons behind

 

28Anderson, Op. cit., p. 19.

123

his joys and sorrows. Made aware with such an enhanced
consciousness, man acquires a precondition for the pallia-
tion of these same sorrows. The pastor voices the grief
of his audience-~even before they themselves have acquired
a consciousness of the reasons behind such grief. The
pastor shares in this same grief. The playwright-priest
who assumes the role of the pastor gives the audience
hope and consolation and strength by depicting those
behavioral examples which lead to the dissipation of such
grief. Pastoral knowledge becomes knowledge about the
ordinary situations of life—~man leaves the theatre after
such an encounter with the ability to understand the
grief of his fellow—man and, further, in possession of a
set of norms and examples by which to abide in order to
refrain from contributing to this toll of grief. Man is,
as Aristotle discerned, purged of his pity and fear
and granted the possession of compassion and courage. Man,
through the salient exemplars of the drama, prepares and
strengthens and ennobles himself for the conduct of his
normal and earthly existence. In accord, Santayana, in
referring to the "great dramatists," concludes:

They have also known how to select and reconstruct

their mythology so as to make it a true inter—

pretation of moral life. When we read the maxims

of Iago, Falstaff, or Hamlet, we are delighted if

the thought strikes us as true, but we are not less

delighted if it strikes us as false. These

characters are not presented to us in order to

enlarge our capacities of passion nor in order to
justify themselves as processes of redemption; they

124

are there, clothed in poetry and imbedded in
plot, to entertain us with their imaginable
feelings and their interesting errors. The poet,
without being especially a philosopher, stands by
virtue of his superlative genius on the plane Of
universal reason, far above the passionate
experience which he overlooks and on which he
reflects; and he raises us for the moment to his
own level, to send us back again, if not better
endowed for practical life, at least not
unacquainted with speculation.29

Art is the presentation of the consciousness and
spirit of the time through the utilization of a material
medium. As the individual requires self-awareness and
self-knowledge in order to give purpose and direction to
his activity so, also, does a society require the same
for its activity. Artistic expression is a primary method
by which a society acquires such a description of itself.
Vogt states:

The arts constitute the description of the world
as an age or a people apprehends it. The
spiritual life of a time is depicted with unes-
capable exactness in its artistry. A spiritual
movement that does not find expression in the

arts cannot attain self-consciousness or dominance
or survival.30

Art, importantly, lends voice to the sorrow of the
time. The playwright-priest as pastor must voice and
expose such sorrow before there is any possibility for the

alleviation of this sorrow. Indeed, the sorrow of the

artist and the society which he reflects and the subsequent

 

29
30

Santayana, Interpretations . . . , p. 192.

 

Vogt, Art . . . , p. 9.

 

125

need to vent such sorrow is a principle factor and
motive in the creative act. Van der Leeuw asserts:

Schopenhauer once made the following malicious
remark about this connection between poetry

and life: "If Petrarch's passion had been
satisfied, from that moment on his song would
have fallen silent, like that of a bird which
has just laid its eggs." But that turns the
story of man unjustly into the story of nature.
The man who is a true poet sings because he is
never satisfied, even when the eggs have been
laid. His song is more powerful than he himself.
This is beautifully clear in a prototype Of
Goethe's poem which is found among the Ewe Of
West Africa. There, when something happens to a
person that is too terrible to remain hidden
within the heart, he says: "Sing me my suffer—
ing." He then goes to people "to whom song
speaks," who can express what we vainly try to
clothe with words. Upon them "song has fallen."
And they sing:

Not Of myself did I become a singer,
What is too heavy to be borne—-
That is the singer.3l

The following is a fuller passage from the poem of

Goethe to which Van der Leeuw refers:

And when the man fell silent in his pain, a god
gave words to tell my suffering.32

Unanuno, the great Spanish philosopher novelist, and

playwright, reiterates the need for sorrowful expression.

The theatre, certainly, is a "temple" such as the one to

which Unamuno refers:

 

31
32

Van der Leeuw, op. cit., p. 125.

As quoted by Van der Leeuw, ibid., p. 125.

126

And I am convinced that we should solve many
things if we all went out into the streets and
uncovered our griefs, which perhaps would prOve
to be but one sole common grief, and joined
together in beweeping them and crying aloud to
the heavens and calling upon God. And this, even
though God should hear us not; but He would hear
us. The chiefest sanctity of a temple is that

it is a place to which men go to weep in common.
A miserere sung in common by a multitude tormented
by destiny has as much value as a philosophy. It
is not enough to cure the plague-~we must learn
to weep for it. Yes, we must learn to weep.
Perhaps that is the supreme Wisdom.33

In the temple of the theatre, it is the voice of the
playwright—priest acting in the pastoral role which lends
exposure and articulation to the suffering of mankind,
thus, rendering the possibility of palliation. The
dramatic presentation or the "ceremony of the priest"
allows men to express the innermost passions. Vogt
emphasizes this task of the priest as pastor:

A ceremony of the priest is precisely like a
poem or other work of art in that it enables us
to say to each other what we should otherwise
leaveunsaid or conceal. . . . The form of the
verse is a cloak partly concealing the passion
beneath, yet enabling its release and expres-
sion. So are we all reticent, bearing in
silence what we cannot speak save with tears,
not wishing to wear our hearts upon our sleeves.
The ceremony speaks for us. We cannot utter all
or a part of that majesty Of respect we feel for
a human life that has left its house of clay, or
that solicitude and love with which we would
follow lives newly wedded, nor can we willingly
keep silence. The ceremony speaks for us, its
cloak of form at once concealing and expressing
our inner passion.3"

33Miguel de Unamuno, "The Man of Flesh and Bone," in
L. Michel and R. Sewall, eds., Op. cit., p. A.

3A

 

Vogt, Art . . . , p. 8A.

 

127

Moral truth and moral action incorporated into the
lives of those who encounter the sacred art-object is the
certain path by which human misery may be dissipated. The
strength of noble truth and the incitement to proper con—
duct is the legacy of an encounter With such an art-object.
In the broader field of literature, Wayne Booth in Tpp

Rhetoric of Fiction refers to the art of the novelist:

 

What I am saying here may seem like mere
tautology: interesting narrators are interesting.
But there is much more to it than that: some
interesting narrators perform a kind of function
in their works that nothing else could perform.
They are not simply appropriate to a context,
though that is essential. They originally
succeeded and still succeed by persuading the
reader to accept them as living oracles. They
are reliable guides not only to the world of the
novels in which they appear but also to the moral
truths of the world outside the book.35

Again, dealing directly with the theatre and the
playwright, such pastoral functions as mentioned have been
clearly stated and acknowledged. Ernst Toller, the great
German playwright, refers to the mission and obligation of
the theatre to "create examples." He states:

Art reaches further than reason, it firmly
establishes the emotion. It supplies the
established emotion with rational legitimacy.

I believe, therefore, that the artist should
not prove a thesis but create examples. Art
belongs among those rare spiritual means of
stirring up buried instincts, of training brave
attitudes, of deepening Spontaneous feeling for
humanity, freedom, and beauty.3

 

35Wayne Booth, The Rhetoric of Fiction (Chicago: The
University of Chicago Press, 1961), p. 220.

36Ernst Toller, "Hoppla, Such is Life!" ed. by T.
Cole, op. cit., p. 226.

 

128

And Frederico Garcia Lorca, the great Spanish play—
wright, refers to the mission and Obligation of the
theatre to "explain the eternal norms." He states:

The theatre is a school of weeping and laughter,
a rostrum where men are free to expose old and
equivocal standards of conduct, and explain with
living examples the eternal norms of the heart
and feelings of man.37

And August Strindberg, the great Swedish playwright,
refers, finally, to the playwright as a "lay preacher"
presenting "the ideas Of his time." He states:

Theatre has long seemed to me--in common with
much other art--a Biblia Pauperum, a Bible in
pictures for those who cannot read what is
written or printed; and I see the playwright

as a lay preacher peddling the ideas Of his time
in popular form, pOpular enough for the middle
classes, mainstay of theatre audiences, to

grasp the gist Of the matter without troubling
their brains too much.38

The theatre is no less than a Bible in pictures and
the playwright-priest bears the full burden and responsi—
bility for its authorship-~with the help and permission

of God.

 

37Frederico Garcia Lorca, "The Authority of the
Theatre," ibid., p. 59.

38August Strindberg, "Miss Julie," ibid., p. 171.

129

Summary

To summarize the chapter, the playwright who assumes
the priestly role commits himself to the task of revealing
the divine to mankind. His successful creation and per-
formance is an invitation to the life of religion. Through
his art, such a playwright-priest stimulates and engenders
the vision of God and succeeds in the exaltation of
humanity. The theatre, under the guidance of this play—
wright-priest, becomes "a cathedral of the spirit" and a
place where mankind attains the capacity and strength for
achieving the level and stature of spirit. The theatre
under the aegis of such an artist, presents both a call
and a challenge to the attainment of the holy life--thereby
inspiring the nobility and sanctity of men and the purifica—
tion of life and environment. The act Of sacrifice is a
crucial obligation of the playwright-priest. It is a
necessary condition in the creation of the drama which is
designated as sacred. In sacrifice, the artist relinquishes
that which is apparently of most value-—namely, the self.
Such an artist through the means of his creation becomes
a "way." In the manner of the priest, he renders an
object to be used as an aid and route to divinity. The
material content of such an aid nullifies itself and its
claim to prolonged attention by indicating the realm of
spirit. The playwright-priest, further, assumes the role
of a prOphet. Within the context of the drama for which

he bears responsibility is heralded a vision of the future.

130

Within this dramatic context, also, is an admonition for
the audience to render their share in converting such a
vision to an actuality. The prophet demands endeavor

and effort from his audience. His presentation is a call
and challenge--even a demand. What exists is imperfect
and to be recognized as such. Perfection is the emulation
of God and his truth. The prophet commands his audience
to move nearer and nearer to God. The playwright—priest,
finally, assumes the role of a pastor within his community.
He is a spokesman and advocate of those moral truths and

a revealer Of those errors in conduct which impinge upon
the daily and practical life of man. The stage becomes

a place whereupon living examples are encountered. Love,
affection, grief, anguish, and hatred——all Of those
emotions which beset the daily life of man are encountered
within a context which comprehends and reveals the motives
and norms and actions which yielded these emotions. The
stage, thus, yields understanding for utilization in
common affairs. Man, through the salient exemplars of

the drama, prepares and strengthens and ennobles himself
for the most prOper conduct of his normal and earthly

existence.

CHAPTER VII
RELIGIOUS RITUAL AND DRAMATIC PERFORMANCE

In the foregoing chapters, issues and implications
have been raised which now bear consideration in order to
complete and fulfill the major assertions of this study.

The playwright as priest creates and employs a special sort
of language occurring in a-Special sort of place and time.
The language employed is sacred language--as Opposed to
profane language--and it occurs in a sacred place and time--
as Opposed to a profane place and time. Further, such a
playwright-priest regards a theatre audience as a worshipping
cult which participates in the conduct of a ritual perform-
ance and, also, derives the special benefits that such
participation entails.

It is profane language which focuses upon those matters
which originate and are resolved within the spatiO—temporal
environment. The commerce Of everyday life, practical
affairs, are administered and designated by such language.
Men participate in the ordinary through the usage of profane
language. In contrast, there is a body of language regarded
as sacred which is grounded in a transnatural realm and which

seeks to describe this same realm. Through the usage Of such

131

132

language men participate in the extraordinary. It is this
language which describes or indicates the external or the
sphere of "things which do not exist." The poet—-certainly
to include the dramatic poet-~becomes the medium for the
presentation and usage of such language. The poet, as the
voice of God, becomes the bearer and principal spokesman of
such sacred language. Van der Leeuw asserts:

A word is sound, rhythm, and image. It drags
everything along, but also sets boundaries; it con-
strains and it frees. By fencing Off a portion of
the world, giving form to a little bit of reality,
it creates; by being rhythm and sound, it arouses.

The poet calls into being things which do not exist.

Therein lies his divine mission. And when he

becomes aware that God stands behind him and breathes
into him his creative spirit, he turns and sings his

most beautiful song in God's presence, and in praise

of him who put it into his mouth.1

Men cannot live the truly human life without an

awareness of the eternal. Men cannot recognize what is beau-
tiful and good without the message of language which is
sacred. Men require the poet—-the witness of the spirit--to
attain the fullest fruition of their lives. According to

Maritain writing in The Responsibility of the Artist:

 

Man cannot live a genuine human life except by
participating to some extent in the supra—human life
of the spirit, or of what is eternal in him. He
needs all the more desperately poets and poetry as
they keep aloof from the sad business and standards
of the rational animal's maintenance and guidance,
and give testimony to the freedom of the spirit.

It is precisely to the extent to which poetry is
useless and disengaged that poetry is necessary,

 

1Van der Leeuw, pp. cit., p. 1A9.

 

133

because it brings to men a vision of reality-~beyond——

reality, an experience of the secret meanings of things,
an obscure insight into the universe of beauty, ,
without which men could neither live nor live morally.“

Men encounter the being of God through poetry. Whatever

is essential is brought to the consciousness of the human mind

through that poetry which is the manifestation of the divine

poet

func

1.

that

ry or Logos of God. Heidegger states:

Poetry is the establishment of being by means of
the word. . . poetry is the inaugural meaning given to
being. . . not just any speech, but that particular
kind which for the first time brings into the Open
(into consciousness, that is to say) the essence of
things--all that wg can then discuss and deal with in
everyday language.

Underhill, in specific elaboration states the three
tions of the sacred poetic word:
It is the carrying-medium of something which other-
wise wholly eludes representation, the soul's deep
and awestruck apprehension Of the numinous.
It can universalize particulars; giving an eternal
reference to those things of time in and through
which God speaks to men.
It is a powerful stimulant of the transcendental
sense--a function in which the anciept hymns
embodied in the Greek liturgy excel.

The sacred word deals with the essence of reality--

in reality which partakes of God and the eternal. The

sacred word deals with what "is"--or that which is permanent

and

disc

entails the significant which endures. Watts, in a

ussion of the drama, asserts accordingly:

 

2Jacques Maritain, The Responsibility of the Artist (New

 

York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1960), p. 85.

3

“Underhill, pp, cit., p. 112.

As quoted by Read, pp. git., p. 18.

134

What is the sacred if we define it (as we now
try to) not in terms of a church or a lapsed tra-
dition? One ought to be able to define the sacred
in terms of human action, or at least attempt to.
The sacred is "created"——exists for us and probably
becomes available to other persons who are in any
way like us--by any gesture or word which makes a
total assertion. Any word or gesture which Offers,
to our own awareness and the awarenesses that we
are able to reach, some insight about what existence
collectively i§-—this is a sacred word or announce—
ment rather than a secular one. In contrast, a
secular utterance concerns itself with some smaller
portion of eXperience; neither actually nor by impli-
cation does it describe some aspect of the total act
of existing. It is concerned with conveying facts,
practical procedures under certain eXplicit circum—
stances, or--at its most ambitious--short-range
predictions.5

Within the bounds of such a conceptual frame--a
frame and description in accord with those other cited
authorities-~Watts continues and designates the drama as an
art which "abounds" in the usage of language rightfully
designated as being sacred. He concludes:

Drama, let us concede, abounds in the sacred as

here defined; it is indeed a sacred that can be
studied in relation to the sacred of rite and myth.

6

Not only is the drama a vehicle for the revelation of
sacred language, but the place wherein such language reveals
itself becomes sacred also. Religious man not only dis—
tinguishes between sacred and profane language, but between

sacred and profane place or space. That place as on the

theatre stage where the mystery or sacred drama unfolds

 

5Watts, pp. cit., p. 86.
6

 

Ibid., p. 89.

135

itself to reveal "an absolute reality" is rightfully desig—
nated as sacred. Wherever God reveals himself is sacred and
holy ground. Eliade states:

For religious man, space is not homogeneous; he
experiences interruptions, breaks in it; some parts
of space are qualitatively different from others.
"Draw not nigh bitter," says the Lord to Moses;

"put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place
whereon thou standest is holy ground" (Exodus, 3,5).
There is, then, a sacred space, and hence a strong,
significant space; there are other spaces that are
not sacred and so are without structure or consis-
tency, amorphous. . . When the sacred manifests
itself in any hierOphany, there is not only a break
in the homogeneity of space; there is also revelation
of an absolute reality, opposgd to the nonreality of
the vast surrounding eXpanse.

On such "holy ground," man acquires a relationship and
orientation toward the absolute. At such a place, man is
elevated and removed from the sphere Of the ordinary and
granted the possession of a "revelation" pertaining to the
extraordinary reality or God. Holy and sacred place provides
the ground for man's access to God. Eliade continues:

Revelation of a sacred space makes it possible to
Obtain a fixed point and hence to acquire orienta-
tion in the chaos Of homogeneity, to "found the world"
and to live in a real sense. The profane eXperience,
on the contrary, maintains the homogeneity and hence
the relativity of space. No true orientation is now
possible, for the fixed point no longer enjoys a
unique ontological status; it appears and disappears
in accordance with the needs of the day.

. Even for the most frankly nonreligious man, all
these places still retain an exceptional, a unique
quality; they are the "holy places" of his private
universe, as if it were in such spots that he had

 

7Eliade, pp. cit., p. 20.

 

136

received the revelation of a reality other than
that in whigh he participates through his ordinary
daily life.

Eliade, further, summarizes the notion of sacred
space:

If we should attempt to summarize the result of
the descriptions that have been presented . . . we
could say that the eXperience Of sacred Space makes
possible the "founding of the world": where the
sacred manifests itself in space, the real unveils
itself, the world comes into existence. But the
irruption of the sacred does not only project a
fixed point into the formless fluidity of profane
Space, a center into chaos; it also effects a break
in plane, that is, it Opens communication between
the cosmic planes (between earth and heaven) and
makes possible ontological passage from one mode of
being to another. It is such a break in the heter—
ogeneity of profane Space that creates the center
through which communication with the transmundane
is established, that, consequently, founds the 9
world, for the center renders orientation possible.

The theatre as ministered by the playwright—priest
becomes such a sacred bearing place. The theatre, too,
Opens communication between earth and heaven. The theatre,
too, provides a center and place through which communication
with the transmundane is established.

Further, the time in which the dramatic presentation
occurs is rightfully designated as sacred also. That time
in which eternity reveals itself is sacred. It is a time
removed from the ordinary for in it all time or eternity

occurs. The drama which is sacred, accordingly, occurs in

 

Ibid., p. 23.

9Ibid., p. 63.

137

such sacred time or the time of "religious festival." Eliade
depicts such time:

For religious man time too, like space, is neither
homogeneous nor continuous. On the one hand there
are the intervals of sacred time, the time of
festivals (by far the greater part of which are
periodical); on the other there is profane time,
ordinary temporal duration, in which acts without
religious meaning have their setting . . . by its
very nature sacred time is reversible in the sense
that properly speaking, it is a primordial mythical
time made present. Every religious festival, any
liturgical time, represents the reactualization of
a sacred event that took place in a mythical past
"in the beginning." Religious participation in a
festival implies emerging from ordinary temporal
duration and reintegration of the mythical time
reactualized by the festival itself. Hence sacred
time is indiginitely recoverable, indefinitely
repeatable.

Such festivals or dramas occurring in sacred time are
"recoverable." The holy conditions may be repeated because
what is depicted is ritualized and formulated. By resort to
such ritual, man can remove himself from the passage Of
history and thrust himself into the "mythical present" of
the time which is sacred. Eternity, through ritual and
drama, is always accessible. Man preserves a ready and
appropriate means for returning to God. Eliade further
states:

Hence religious man lives in two kinds of time, of
which the more important, sacred time, appears under
the paradoxical aspect of a circular time, reversible
and recoverable, a sort of eternal mythical present
that is periodically reintegrated by means of rites.

This attitude in regard to time suffices to dis—
tinguish religious from nonreligious man; the former

 

10Ibid., pp. 68—69.

138

refuses to live solely in what, in modern terms, is
called the historical present; he attempts to regain
a sacred time that, from one point Of view, can be
homologized to eternity.ll
Schiller, in discussing the formal or aesthetic
impulse, depicts the art-object as a medium through which
man can transcend time and harbor the completed and infinite
time which is sacred eternity. The particularity of the
individual is diminished and the universality of God is
approached. Schiller asserts:
When therefore the formal impulse holds sway,
and the pure object acts within us, there is the
highest eXpansion of being, all barriers disappear,
and from being the unit of magnitude to which the
needy sense confined him, Man has risen to a unit
of idea embracing the whole realm of phenomena. By
this Operation we are no more in time, but time,
with its complete and infinite succession, is in
us. We are no longer individuals, but species; the
judgment of all spirits is expressed by our own, thS
choice of all hearts is represented by our action.l
Art--especially dramatic art-—becomes a form which
embodies the worship of God. The audience forms a society
gathered together to render homage and devotion to the
divine. Drama which is sacred and holy becomes as the
religious ritual dedicated to the enhancement of God and
the worshipper. Drama, as it symbolizes divinity, yields
a significant mode of worship for a theatre audience. That

art, generally, is utilized in such a manner has been

indicated by Freemantle:

 

11Ibid., p. 70.

l2Schiller, pp. cit., p. 67.

 

139

Art becomes a binding link between men and draws
them together toward God. It forms a society which
must prOperly be called a Church. Its yearning
toward the ideal is worship, a prayer. The sharing
in artistic impressions is a genuine form of wor-
ship. It is destined to occupy no gean place in
the full redemption of human life.1

The point has been reemphasized by Vogt:
Moreover, forms in worship have always been used
to vivify ideas and to rekindle ideals. They are
vehicles of truth, vessels of communication,
channels of deliverance. They have served not only
as direct appeals to the senses, assisting the mind
to develop its own thoughts, but also as symbols
for the conveyance of thoughts. The idea without
form is a timid tOpping that does not rouse the sleepy
householder; clad in good form it blows a bugle at the
gates of the soul. Religion has always used abstract
forms, prOportions, shapes, colors, sounds, for the
direct appeal to the senses. It has also set forth
definite conceptions clothed in many kinds of
symbolic forms.l
Man does worship the absolute in the theatre. It is
a point of mutual function and interaction between the
church and the theatre. Whether the essential appeal of
the theatre is recognized as conducive to a recognition and
homage directed toward the absolute by the audience is not
so important. Instinctively or intuitively or consciously,
the theatre audience, in confrontation with great dramatic
art or sacred dramatic art, finds within the theatre an
Opportunity for rendering worship and homage to whatever is
revealed in the drama and which, also, participates in

eternity. The theatre is a place of worship, whether

 

l3As quoted by Vogt, Art . . ., p. 25.

 

l“Vogt, Moderp_. . . , p. 18.

 

140

recognized as such or not, and the audience is drawn to the
theatre in order to participate in this worship. Such was
true in the past as it is still true in the present.
Referring especially to the art of the theatre, Van der
Leeuw elaborates on the writings of Hoffmann:

Ernst Theodor Hoffmann has said much Of importance
about this in a little-known article. Young cultures,
he asserts, bind man directly to the absolute. In
more ancient cultures, on the other hand, man seeks
the absolute, the background to his life, in the
theater. Thus is eXplained the mutual interaction
of Church and theater, their natural affinity and
their enmity. "In the Church, from the very beginning,
there lives much of the theater." In the theater, on
the other hand, there still reside many relics of the
Church. Even in the worst trash there is still a
"faltering breath which reminds one of the absolute."
In great dramatic art this absolute comes clearly to
light.15

Engaged in such worship, the audience becomes as a
community or cult. Such sacred drama is created in order
to engender a common devotional attitude toward the divine
and to bind the audience by a common love for the divine.
Sacred drama is inSpired by the love of God and is success—
ful to the extent that it arouses and preserves, within the
members of the audience-cult, such a love of God. Recently,
the Religious Drama Project of the American Educational
Theatre Association formulated the following definition:

Religious drama includes not only a literature but

also a body of acts and skills religiously inspired

and motivated. Religious drama, as literature, is
based upon a centrally religious theme and has a

 

15Van der Leeuw, pp. cit., p. 101.

 

141

religious impact upon its participants and witnesses.
This may include eXperiences Of worship, plays for
entertainment, educational drama, and creative
dramatics. It is not concerned exclusively with
propaganda and/or edification. It is not limited to
acts of worship and chancel drama, although it may

be of these things. Religious drama is written,
produced, and performed in a spirit of reverence and
with concern for the enrichment of its participants,
church, and community.1

Indeed, Greek drama was established as a cult insti—
tution. It was a community endeavor focused upon the divine
and conceived so as to arouse a common acknowledgment Of
divinity. Loew indicates:

From its beginning, tragedy was established as

a cult institution of the people . . . The
dramatists who competed with one another in
teaching the Athenians "who they were" resurrected
the rich tradition of myth that all the peOple held
in common and through a free manipulation of familiar
themes they contributed more than any other group
to the Great Awakening.l
This is not merely the esoteric stance of an ancient

society, but a living attitude existing in contemporary

society also. Klapp, in a recent study entitled Ritual and

 

Cult, emphasizes this matter. He states:

In symbolizing ritual ideas for society, the priest
or magician, like the stage-player, acts "for" others,
i.e., plays a part with which they can identify. His
role, thus, is dramatic because it is performed for
an audience—-if only an audience of one . . . The
peOple who watch are part of the audience and of the
ritual, to the extent that they understand it. Even
though not physically acging, they are members, one
might say, of the cult.1

 

16As quoted by Ehrensperger, pp. cit., p. 69

17Loew, pp, cit., p. 239.

 

l8Klapp, pp, cit., p. 12.

 

142

The performance of a sacred or mystery play--the play
written by the p1aywright-priest-—is ritualistic. Its
design in space and time and its broad conception is
patterned after the ritual presentation of religion. The
sacred drama is a dynamic passage in time of those symbolic
images founded upon the concrete reality of existence and
designating a transmundane sphere of eternal reality.
Dramatic art is not merely the depiction of nature but a
guidepost designating the eternal. It is a ritual created
in time and pointing to God. Van der Leeuw indicates the
ritual character of the drama. He states:

The actor does not play the role of a man, but
the role of a role. Art is not imitation, but
reduction of everything to a single principle.
Dramatic art is ritual.

Historically, the theatre has been characterized by
its ritual nature. Ross, a philosopher, has described the

Greek theatre thus:

The drama of ancient Greece was occasional art
which contained the ritual forms but developed
them in original ways. It was performed at religious
festivals which included the entire community, but
new plays were written every year; Greek drama was
like a ritual created afresh annually by individual
artists. The dramatic poet was highly individuated,
but he had a function in the community, which was
for the sake of the community. Even if he was
critical of his own land, like the tragic poet
Euripedes or the comic poet AristOphanes, it was to
instruct the community, of which he felt himself
fully a member.20

 

19Van der Leeuw, pp, cit., p. 89.

.2OROSS, pp. cit., p. 232-

_—

143

And Maxwell Anderson, the playwright, testifies that
the ritual character of the drama is essential and intrinsic
to the nature of dramatic art--irrespective Of epoch or
milieu. Anderson states:

The forms of both tragedy and comedy have changed
a good deal in nonessentials, but in essentials——
and eSpecially in the core of meaning which they
must have for audiences--they are in the main the
same religious rites which grew up around the altars
of Attica long ago.

Paradoxically, even an atheist such as Jean Paul
Sartre presents similar testimony:
To us a play should not seem too familiar. Its
greatness derives from its social and, in a certain

Sense, religious functions: it must remain a
rite. . 2

 

It has been shown earlier that ritual is an affirmation
and, further, a sacrament for the participant. So, also,
is the dramatic presentation a sacrament for the participant.
Participation in dramatic ritual is an acknowledgment of the
absolute and a source of strength and hope. Man renews his
confidence and character through the theatre and acquires
understanding and orientation for his life. Through the
sacrament of theatre and sacred drama, man is purified and
strengthened. Through such participation and attendance,
man acquires a vision of the future and the motive power

requisite for altering his present self and environment in

 

21Anderson, pp. cit., p. A9.

22Jean Paul Sartre, "Forgers of Myths." T. Cole
(ed.), pp, cit., p. 123.

144

order to attain such a future. The theatre as sacrament is
a basis for the rejuvenation of mankind. It is acknowledged
that art in general has such a power. Vogt states:

And the artist not only creates new forms Of
material beauty but also new persons. The very
essence of the thing that happens to people when
they are impressed by beauty, either Of nature or
of art, is increased vitality. They are literally
remade, increased in strength of body and strength
of mind.2

And it is recognized that theatre art has such a
function also. Anderson, again, states:

They are evidence to me that the theatre at its
best is a religious affirmation, an age-old rite
restating and reassuring man's belief in his own
destiny and his ultimate hope. The theatre is
much older than the doctrine of evolution, but its
one faith, asseverated again and again for every age
and every year, is a faith in evolution, in the
reaching and the climb of men toward distant goals,
glimpsed but never seen, perhaps never achieved, or
achieved only to be passed impatiently on the way
to a more distant horizon.2

Indeed, the cathartic power of the theatre was the
great dramatic insight of Aristotle. Man divests himself of
pity and fear and replaces them with compassion and courage--
each Of these last two qualities being contingent upon an
enhanced understanding. Kitto refers to the religious
drama and comments on Aristotle. Kitto states:

In fact, what this religious drama gives us is

rather Awe and Understanding. Its true Catharsis

arises from this, that when we have seen terrible
things happening in the play, we understand, as we

 

23Vogt, Art . . . , p. 26.

 

2“Anderson, pp, cit., p. 50.

145

cannot always do in life, ppy they have happened;
or, if not so much as that, at least we see that
they have not happened by chance, without any sig-
nificance. We are given the feeling that the
Universe is coherent, even though we may not
understand it completely.2

And Ehrensperger emphasizes the rejuvenating and
sacramental nature of the drama. He asserts:

The efficacy of the play is derived from the depth
and extent of the sharing of the performance. The
member Of the audience leaves the theater as a re-
created human being. Because of the creative work
of the dramatist and performers the audience becomes
changed human beings. Participants have been re-
created, and the power and permanence of this re—
creation is the yardstick for the meaggrement of the
greatness of the dramatic eXperience.

It is drama which orients man in its own special manner.
It is drama which cautions man about his mistakes so that
man can avoid such mistakes in the future. It is drama
which redeems human life. Ehrensperger, again, indicates:

Drama then, like other arts, is that which keeps
us from wasting our minds, energies, and lives.
It shows us a way to a better way and puts us to
work saving what is worthy of being saved that we
and others possess. Because the dramatic experience
has shown how the redemption of life takes place we
are saved from the stupidities and losses of our
past selves. Drama, both in and out of the theater,
can lay its stern and uncompromising reality upon
us, irritating and arousing us to the realization
of the way we must go in doing our duty to fulf§%l
our destinies. This is a religious experience.

 

25H. D. F. Kitto, Form and Meaning in Drama (New York:
Barnes and Noble, Inc., 1960), p. 235.

 

26Ehrensperger, pp, cit., p. 18.

27Ibid., p. 21.

146

The ritual of the sacred drama is a pathway through
which human destiny is fulfilled. In any finer sense of the
word, drama is rightfully termed a religious experience.

In the broader realm of art, it is the paradigmatic form
of the religious experience. And, finally, it is the play-

wright as priest who makes such an experience possible.

Summary

To summarize the chapter, the playwright as priest
creates and employs a special sort of language occurring in
a special sort of place and time. The language employed is
sacred 1anguage--as Opposed to profane language--and it
occurs in a sacred place and time--as opposed to a profane
place and time. Further, such a playwright—priest regards
a theatre audience as a worshipping cult which participates
in the conduct of a ritual performance and, also, derives
the special benefits that such participation entails.
Again, there is a body of language regarded as sacred which
is grounded in a transnatural realm and which seeks to
describe this same realm. Through the usage of such language
men participate in the extraordinary. It is this language
which describes or indicates the eternal or the sphere of
"things which do not exist." Not only is the drama a vehicle
for the revelation of sacred language, but the place wherein
such language reveals itself becomes sacred also. Religious
man not only distinguishes between sacred and profane language,

but between sacred and profane place or space. That place

147

as on the theatre stage where the mystery or sacred drama
unfolds itself to reveal "an absolute reality" is right-
fully designated as sacred. Wherever God reveals himself

is sacred and holy ground. Further, the time in which

such a dramatic presentation occurs is rightfully designated
as sacred also. That time in which eternity reveals

itself is sacred. It is a time removed from the ordinary
for in it all time or eternity occurs. The audience at

such a theatrical presentation forms a society gathered
together to render homage and devotion to the divine.

Drama which is sacred and holy becomes as the religious
ritual dedicated to the enhancement Of God and the worshipper.
Drama, as it symbolizes divinity, yields a significant

mode of worship for a theatre audience. Engaged in such
worship, the audience becomes as a community or cult. The
performance of a sacred or mystery play--the play written

by the playwright-priest-—is ritualistic. Its design in
space and time and its broad conception is patterned

after the ritual presentation of religion. Such ritual is
an affirmation and, further, a sacrament for the participant.
Participation in a dramatic ritual is an acknowledgment of
the absolute and a source of strength and hope. Man renews
his confidence and character through the theatre and
acquires understanding and orientation for his life.

Through the sacrament Of theatre and sacred drama, man is

purified and strengthened. The theatre as sacrament becomes

148

a basis for the rejuvenation of mankind. The playwright

as priest makes such a sacrament and experience possible.

[1" 17111:.Iil1 ll

 

 

 

PART II

CALDERON: A PLAYWRIGHT—PRIEST

149

CHAPTER I
Introduction

In this second section, the dramatic work of
Pedro Calderdh de la Barca will be considered in order
to exemplify and analyze the actual artistic practice
and tangible literary production of the playwright
who assumes the priestly role. In this introduction,
the historical context will be reviewed in order to
establish the physical, psychological and spiritual
background of the playwright with special emphasis
being directed toward the relationship of Calderon
to the aesthetic doctrine of the time.1
The Golden Age Of Spain is generally conceded

to span the period from lA79, with the union of Ferdinand

 

1The following historical and biographical material is

drawn from the following: Martin Hume, Court of Philip
IV (London: Eveleigh Nash and Grayson, Limited, NO
publication date); John A. Crow, Spain: The Root and
The Flower (New York: Harper and Row CO., 1963);
R. Trevor Davies, Spain In Decline: 1621-1700 (London:
Macmillan and CO., Ltd., 1957); J. H. Elliott, Imperial
Spain: lA69—1716 (New York: The New American Library,
1966); R. Trevor Davies, The Golden Century Of Spain:
1501-1621 (New York: Harper and Row CO., 1965);
Everett W. Hesse, Calderon de la Barca (New York:
Twayne Publishers, Inc. 1967); George Ticknor, History
of Spanish Literature (New York: Ungar Publishing CO.,
18A9, Republished 1965), Vol. II; and Richard E. Chandler
and Kessel Schwartz, A New History of Spanish Literature
(Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1961).
150

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

151

of Aragon and Isabella of Castile, to the year 1681

and the assumption of the Spanish crown by Philip IV.
Thereafter, and to the end of the Seventeenth Century,
Spain suffered a steady and lasting decline in its
national and international power and prosperity. Note-
worthy occurences during the reign Of Ferdinand and
Isabella were the discovery Of America in 1A92 and,

in the same year, the conquest of Granada ending the
Moorish presence in Spain (711-1A92). Also, in the same
year, Spanish pride, envy and excessive ethnocentrism
resulted in the expulsion of the Jews from the country.
In 150A, Spain conquered Naples, thus, extending its
influence and dominion to Italy. In this same year,
Isabella died leaving the country under the regency

Of King Ferdinand who died, himself, in 1516. This
period of solitary rule is marked by the founding Of
the University of Alcala——one of the foremost universities
during the period of the Golden Age. In 1516 and until
1556, Charles I held the Spanish throne. Under his
rulership and in accord with the impetus originally
engendered by Ferdinand and Isabella, exploration and
conquest resulting in enormous sources of gold and

wealth for Spain was fostered. In 1519, Cortes entered

Mexico and by 1521 had conquered the country. In 1531,
Pizarro entered Peru and by 1532 had conquered this
country also. The enormous store of wealth derived for

Spain by these conquests was rapidly diminished by

152

inflation, corruption and the profligacy Of the Spanish
ruling class. In this same period, Luther in Germany

was advocating reform within the Catholic Church leading
to his excommunication from the Church in 1521. The

most significant opposition to the power of the Catholic
Church within a period Of over a thousand years had

taken place. The opposition was to grow in power,
influence and success until its effects were even felt

in distant Spain. Catholicism was forced into a defensive
and self-justifying stance. In Spain, the most notable
reaction was the founding of the Society of Jesus or

the Jesuits by Ignatius Loyola, thus, lending the Church

a militant force with which to combat the new radicalism
and heresy. Dogma had been successfully challenged and
the first inroads into the confidence and assurance

of Catholic nations such as Spain, which were heretofore
spiritually and psychologically unimpaired, were surely
being made. In 1556, Charles V who was also beset

with political and economic problems abdicated

the throne. Philip II assumed the throne until 1598,

but could not restore the troubled economy to stability

or placate the growing hostilities of other European
powers. Political reaction and recrimination were
commonplace as exemplified by a law promulgated in

1559 forbidding Spaniards to study at foreign universities.
In 1562, Lope de Vega, another great playwright of

the period, was born. The tremulous international

 

L...

 

153

situation had not abated itself and in 1568 the Inquis—
ition in a grave gesture and for religious and economic
reasons condemned all the people of Flanders to death.

In 1571, Don John Of Austria defeated the Turks, longtime
enemies of Spain, in a naval battle at Lepanto thereby
granting the Spaniards a long sought bit of good fortune
amidst the constant dismay Of the time. In 1588, however,
the ”Invincible Armada" suffered defeat and disaster during
a conflict with England. Spain lost its former stature as
an international power and was forced to curb its slighted
ambitions to the bounds of its own borders. In 1598,

and until 1621, Philip III was King Of Spain. In 1599,
Velazquez, the greatest painter of the period, was born.

In 1605, Cervantes wrote the first part Of Don Quixopp.

 

CalderOn was born on January 17 of the year 1600. In
1608, and until 1613, CalderOn attended the Colegio
Imperial, a Jesuit school in Madrid. From 161A to

1620, he divided his time between the University of
Alcala and the University Of Salamanca where he received
a degree in canonical law, which along with theology,
scholastic philosophy and logic, was his favorite subject.
It was during this period in the year 1616 that both
Cervantes and Shakespeare died. In the year 1620,
CalderOn entered a literary competition held at Madrid
in honor of the canonization Of San Isidro and won
prizes for his poetry and praise from the judge Lope

de Vega. In the year 1621 and until 1665, Philip IV

154

was the King Of Spain. In 1623, CalderOn wrote his

first play, Love, Honor and Power, which was performed

 

during the same year in Madrid. The years from 1630 to
1650 were those of his most productive dramatic output.
Under the reign of Philip IV, a great theatre was
established in the Palace Of the Buen Retiro at the
Spanish court in Madrid. Here, Lope de Vega was a prominent
playwright until 1635 when he died. The position was then
assumed by CalderOn who remained a part of the insulated
and ornamented court life until his death. In 1651,
CalderOn was ordained a priest following the death of two
brothers and a mistress. He then served as a royal
chaplain to the King. In 1665, Philip IV died and left
the kingdom to his son, Charles II, who ruled until 1700.
Spain had already seen its best days. Elliott has
described the state of the country which was bequeathed

to Charles II. He states:

The Castile bequeathed by Philip IV to his four—
year—Old son was a nation awaiting a saviour.

It had suffered defeat and humiliation at the hands
of its traditional enemies, the French. It had

lost the last vestiges of its political hegemony
over Europe, and seen some of its most valuable
overseas possessions fall into the hands of the
heretical English and Dutch. Its currency was
chaotic, its industry in ruins, its population
demoralized and diminished. Burgos and Seville,
formerly the twin motors of the Castilian economy,
had both fallen on evil times: the population of
Burgos, which had been about 13,000 in the 1590's,
was down to a mere 3,000 by 16A6, and Seville lost
60,000 inhabitants—~ha1f its population—~in the
terrible plague of 16A9. While the rival city of
Cadiz gradually arrogated to itself the position

in the American trade previously enjoyed by Seville,
the trade itself was now largely controlled by foreign
merchants, who had secured numerous concessions

 

IV..- _. f _

 

155

from the Spanish Crown. Castile was dying, both
economically and politically; and as the hopeful
foreign mourners gathereg at the death-bed, their
agents rifled the house.
From the vantage point of the art historian and
most relevant to the purpose of this study, the period
has best been described by Emile Male in his study

entitled Religious Art. Male States:

 

We must endeavor to conceive what took place in
the minds and hearts of a Spanish nun or an Italian
mendicant friar when they were told by travelers
from the North that Protestants were demolishing
statues of the Virgin, burning crucifixes, trans-
piercing with their swords the images of saints.

In a picture of the Crucifixion Christ had been torn
to shreds, while with diabolical irony the figure
of the bad thief had been left intact. In a reredos
devoted to Saint Michael, the archangel had been
destroyed while the demon at his feet was spared.

In Germany and Switzerland Holy Mass was derided,
the Real Presence denied, the Virgin defamed.
Brentius said: "She was not without sin"; "Nor
was she a virgin," declared Lucas Sternberg. Another
repeated a sarcastic remark of Constantine Copronymus:
"When she bore Christ within her womb, she was like
a purse filled with gold. But after giving birth
she was no more than an empty purse." "Those who
recite the Ave Maria in her honor," said Weygandus,
"commit the crime of idolatry, for they make a
goddess Of a woman. And Luther: ""If you believe
in Christ, you are as holy as she.

Ignatius Loyola, unable to convince one of his
traveling companions Of Mary's virginity, was tempted
to make use Of his dagger. A few days later he
hung the weapon in the Church of Montserrat and
dedicated it to the Virgin.

The same dismay which gripped the hearts of a
soldier on the roads of Spain and of a nun in her cell
took possession Of the entire Catholic Church.

From the height of the Castel Sant'AngelO Clement
VII, most unfortunate of popes, saw Rome ravaged

and plundered by roving bands of Lutherans. Denmark,
Norway, Sweden, England all broke away from the
Church. The Turks invaded the Christian kingdom

of Hungary and Solyman appeared before the walls

 

2Elliott, op. cit., p. 355.

156

of Vienna. A medal which Clement ordered struck

at the time shows Christ bound to the column, and
underneath the somber device: Post multa, plurima
restant. The profound sadness of the time was echoed
by Michelangelo in the tombs Of the Medici; all

hope seems lost for these figures as they contemplate
life with scorn or turn from it to sleep. Clement
believed that the dreadful prophecies of the Apoc—
alypse were about to come true, that the end of the
world was at hand. Accordingly, shortly before his
death, he asked Michelangelo to paint the Last
Judgment in the Sistine Chapel. The great work was
conceived in these tragic years.

It is not our place here to tell how the Church
found within herself the saving faith and love; how
She affirmed her dogmas at the Council of Trent;
how she reformed herself and undertook, with the
aid of the religious orders, the Jesuits in partic—
ular, to reconquer Europe. We can only say that for
a century and a half the struggle against Protes—
tantism was her constant preoccupation. In the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries not only the—
ology but, as we shall see, art itself was affected
by the controversy and sometimes even became one
Of the forms assumed by the controversy. Thus the
art of the Counter Reformation defends all the dogmas
attacked by the Protestants.

The term Baroque is commonly used in designating
such art Of the Counter Reformation. Baroque art is
characterized by high measures of emotion, passion
and vitality both in its content and manner of expression.
Such art, further, seems to strive toward the infinite
and eternal using asymetrical design with an excessive
reliance upon curved configuration and almost ceaseless
ornamentation. Baroque art stands in reactive Opposition
to the Classicism of the early Sixteenth Century Ren—

aissance.LI Benet, in The Reader's Encyclopedia, defines

 

 

3Emile Male, Religigus Art (New York: Farrar, Straus

and CO., 19A9), pp. 167—168.

“A most significant study establishing five sets of
descriptive categories for the distinguishing of Renais—

157

the term Baroque as follows:

A term applied to certain tendencies in European
art in the latter 16th, the 17th, and the first
half of the 18th centuries. Initially, and still
primarily, the term referred to a free, exuberant
style of architecture which supplanted the restrained
and balanced style of the earlier Renaissance, but
it was later applied to Similar tendencies in paint—
ing, music, sculpture, and literature. The baroque
style was dramatic, grandiose, ornate, full of motifs
and forms expressive of conflict and energy.
Originating in Italy and Spain, it spread throughout
Europe, but is closely identified, especially in
architecture, with Catholic EurOpe and was virtually
the official style of the Counter Reformation. In
literature the baroque spirit manifested itself in
such movements as MARINISM in Italy, GONGORISM in
Spain, and EUPHUISM in England.5

The Baroque style, often considered as merely a
designation for the plastic arts, had its definite
manifestation and influence within the literature of

the period.6 Such a Baroque style in literature has

 

sance from Baroque Art is contained in the book by
Heinrich Wolfflin entitled Principles of Art History
(New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1932).

5William Rose Benet, The Reader's Encyclopedia (New
York: Thomas Growell CO., 1965), pp. 80-81.

 

 

6The parallel influence and relationship between
Baroque painting and Baroque literature has been estab—
lished in many studies. The most authoritative nexus
between the two has been established by Rene Wellek in
an article entitled "The Concept Of Baroque in Literary
Scholarship," Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism,
V (19A6), 80 ff. The study analyzes the usage of the
term Baroque and the fact of its prOper reference to
literature. In a lengthy appendix to the study, Wellek
lists dozens of volumes and articles wherein the term
has been applied to literature. Two noteworthy studies
relate the drama of Calder6n, specifically, to the paint—
ing of the period. First, Everett W. Hesse, in an
article entitled "CalderOn and Velazquez," Hispania, XXV
(1952), 7A-82, establishes "the similarity Of certain
aspects of theme, style, technique, and attitudes in the
works of Calder6n and Velazquez." Second, Eunice Gates,
in an article entitled "CalderOn's Interest in Art,"
Philological Quarterly, XL (1961), 53—67, concludes that

"It is evident then that Ca1der6n's interest in

 

 

158

been described by Richard Alewyn, the noted German

crit

he s

and

the

to t

10. Writing in The Dictionary of World Literature,

 

tates:

Baroque style in literature is one that deliberately
rejects the finite for the infinite and the indefinite,
that sacrifices harmony and proportion to dynamism,
that chooses the antithetical and the explosive,
the playful and the obscure. This dualism inherent
in baroque thought renews late medievalism and
contrasts violently with the monism of the Renais—
sance and the Enlightenment. Baroque man accordingly
is characterized as unbalanced, staggering between
Sensuality and spirituality, driven by violent
impulses, inextricably caught between lust and
death.7

Elliott, as Alewyn, designates this same "dualism"
notes it as "the most striking characteristic" Of
period. Elliott, in a reference to Cervantes, states:

. he illustrates what was to be the most striking
characteristic of seventeenth-century literary and
artistic production-~that deep cleavage between the
two worlds Of the spirit and the flesh, which co-
exist and yet are for ever separate. This constant
dualism between the spirit and the flesh, the dream
and the reality, belonged very much to seventeenth—
century European civilization as a whole, but it
seems to have attained an intensity in Spain that
it rarely achieved elsewhere. It is apparent in
the writings of Calderon and the portraits of
Velazqueg, and it prompted the bitter satires Of
Quevedo.

The Spanish Baroque theatre was one committed

he unquestioning and uncritical promulgation Of

 

art
his
but
and

7Jos
(Pa
196

8E11

was an abiding one. It became an integral part of
drama, and it reflects not only his personal feelings
also the taste of his time--both in religious art

in portrait painting."

eph T. Shipley (ed.,) Dictionary of World Literature
terson, New Jersey: Littlefield, Adams and CO.,

0). p. 35.

 

iott, Op. cit., pp. 315-316.

159

(
the sophisticated philosophy of the Catholic Church.)
Roaten and Sanchez y Escribano, in discussing a play by
CalderOn, state:

But, like the majority of the serious plays of
seventeenth century Spain, it is essentially a sermon
on Catholic theology and morals. The Spanish Baroque
theater, like the plastic arts, exists as a con-
tinuous polemic on the Catholic way of life, which
was in many ways a mixture of the ideals of the
Middle Ages and those of the Renaissance.10

Though there are some who favor Lope de Vega, the
consensus of scholarly opinion designates CalderOn as the
outstanding dramatist of the Spanish Golden Age. Crow,
for example, states:

CalderOn is the Baroque dramatist par excellence.
He brought the Golden Age to its conclusion in a
contorted blaze of words and symbols. He was the
poet of Spanish Catholicism. Besides his longer
plays CalderOn was the author of numerous "starry
autos," to use Shelley's phrase, symbolic religious
pieces of great poetic beauty. The Counter Reforma-
tion had by this time clamped down on all free
thought in Spain, leaving room only for straight
dogma plus endless embellishment. Character analysis
and fundamental questioning are lacking in the dramas.

 

9Werner Weisbach, in Baroque as The Art of The Counter

 

Reformation (Berlin: Paul Cassirer, 1921), emphasizes the
propagandistic and polemic character of Baroque art.
Mention Should be made, also, of the volume by Ignatius
Loyola, founder of the Jesuit Order which led the thrust
Of the Counter Reformation in Spain, entitled Spiritual
Exercises. Loyola advocates the usage of highly detailed
and elaborated imagery as an aid in the religious life.
The artists Of the day were dutiful in following such
advice. Weisbach, also, refers to the art of the Baroque
as "Jesuit art."

lODarnell H. Roaten and F. Sanchez y Escribano,
Wolfflin's Principles in Spanish Drama: 1500—1700 (New
York: Hispanic Institute in The United’States, 1952),
pp. 168-169.

 

 

 

 

 

lLu'LI r

160

of the Golden Age. This is the true meaning of the
Baroque in literature, which has its counterpart

in the other arts as well, particularly in archi—
tecture.11

The lack Of "free thought" and “fundamental
questioning" which characterizes the conclusions of the
dramas Of the Spanish Golden Age is definitely and
explicitly descriptive of the drama Of CalderOn. Hesse
describes CalderOn thus:

At first glance CalderOn's racionalismo (rationalism)
seems to possess the quality Of a never-ending
search for new truth, but a closer scrutiny reveals
that there is always a truth in his mind which is
fixed and complete for all eternity. The dialectical
method is in no way investigatory; it is an Aristot—
elian device which in CalderOn's theater draws the
consequences from truths already acknowledged
through the teachings of the Church, rather than
through seeking new truths. The convolutions of
controlled arguments do no more than simulate the
search for truth; their real value lies in the dramatic
conflict they depict and the emotional impact they
produce on the audience and reader.1?

The artistic characteristics and extravagances
Of Baroque architecture and painting were designated
in the sphere Of literature by a set Of aesthetic prin-

ciples which have variously been referred to as "Gongorismo”

 

llCrow, Op. cit., pp. 2OA—205. Further, Bruce W. Wardropper

(ed.) in Critical Essays on The Theatre of CalderOn (New
York: New York University Press, 1965,)p. 3, states
"that CalderOn must unquestionably rank as the greatest
theological dramatist that Catholicism has yet produced."
Alexander A. Parker in The Allegprical Drama of CalderOn
(London: Dolphin Book Co. Ltd., 19A3,)p. 69, states
that CalderOn was "the dramatist of Scholasticism in
general, as Dante was the poet Of Thomism in particular.”

12Hesse, Op. cit., p. Al.

161

and "Culteranismo."13 A brief consideration of these
principles and characteristics is in order as Calderdn
was one of the major conveyors of such qualities in the
drama of the time. Chandler and Schwartz, in discussing
CalderOn, state:

He was a formal and Baroque writer, quite susceptible
to the exaggerations, distortions, and rotund style I
of Gongorism and was its chief exponent in the theater.14

Hesse, further, discusses Calderdn and defines
"Gongorismo" and "Conceptismo." He states:

Ca1der6n's plays include much Gongorism and con-
ceptism. The term Gongorism (gongorismo), which
derives from the name of the leading poet of the era,
Gongora, means a deliberate ornamentation and Ob-
scurity Of style through the excessive use of myth-
ological allusions, archaic words and neologisms,
hyperboles and their accumulation, a highly Latinized
Syntax, rhetorical devices and figures of speech
and a general striving for effect. Conceptism
(conceptismo), found chiefly in prose, refers to
cultivated subtlety, play on words, and the use of
dialectics and casuistry. Quevedo and Gracian were
the principal cultivators of conceptism.15

Colford, in an introduction to the play Life

Is a Dream, discusses "Culteranismo" and its frequent

 

practice in the dramas Of CalderOn. Colford describes
it thus:

. culteranismo was the ostentation of "culture"
an affected erudition calculated to lend apt1f1c1_a1

brilliance to literary style by the excessive use

 

13A complete study Of Gongorism, the major stylistic
device in Spanish Golden Age literature. is contained
in a volume by Elisha K. Kane entitled Gongorism and
The Golden Age (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina
Press, 1928).

1“Chandler and Schwartz, op. cit., p. 93.

 

 

15Hesse, Op. cit., p. 17.

162

of classical allusions and mythological references,
extravagant metaphors and strained imagery; the use

of archaic words, and the introduction of neologisms,
or the use of standard words with deliberately obscure
meanings; and a strongly latinized syntax which Often
did violence to the Spanish language by the suppression
Of articles and conjunctions, the twisting OE the word
order, and the abuse of rhetorical devices.1

So much for the principles of verbal stylization
which constitute such an integral part Of the drama Of
Calderdn. As for the broader dramaturgy or formula
which yielded the concrete framework Of the Golden Age
drama, Calder6n contributed little that was innovative.
Lope de Vega had already established the framework and
Calderdn chose to remain within its bounds. The best
scholarship has remained consistent in regard to this
point. Ticknor, the great Harvard student of Spanish
literature, writing in 18A9 stated:

Calderdn has added to the stage no new form of dramatic
composition. Nor has he much modified those forms
which had been already arranged and settled by LOpe

de Vega.l

And, Hesse, in recent times states:

Lope de Vega founded the national theater of
seventeenth century Spain and set the basic formula
of the comedia——three acts in verse——which Calderdh
inherited and perfigted. Calderdn invented little

that was new . . .

And, Hesse, again:

A

Pedro Calderdn de la Barca, Life Is A Dream, trans.
William E. Colford (Woodbury, New York: Barron's
Educational Series, Inc., 1958), p. iii.

 

l7Ticknor, op. cit., p. 370.

 

l8Hesse, op. cit., p. 160.

 

163

When Calderdn began writing for the theater, the
dramatic formula had already been moulded. His
Predecessor, Lope de Vega (1562—1635), had developed
what came to be called the comedia ("drama" rather
than "comedy"), a three-act play in verse. In his
The New Art of Play Writing (El arte nuevo de hacer
comedias, 1609), Lope set forth some rules for com—
posing plays. The first act is to concern itself
with explanation, the second with complication
and the third with the resolution of the plot, but
the denouement is left to the last scene to discour-
age the spectators from vacating the theater before
the play ends.l9

Such is the concrete structure of the drama Of
Calderdh and the Golden Age. Now consider the broad
speculative view within which this same drama was
constructed. Art was wrought within the purview of
a religious outlook toward life. The unquestioned re—
ligion of the time was Catholicism. This Catholicism,
as manifested in Scholastic Philosophy or the "philo-

sophia perennia,"

engendered its own necessary and
consistent aesthetic system such as the one which has

already been considered.20 Art was symbolic and

 

19Ibid., p. 16. A complete version of Lope de Vega's
essay entitled "The New Art of Writing Plays in This
Age" is included in Barrett H. Clark (ed.,) EurOpean
Theories Of The Drama (New York: Crown Publishers,
Inc., 1965,) pp. 63—67. The staging practices Of the
period have been described well and briefly by Crow,
op. cit., pp. 206-207. An extensive and most authoritative
description of the staging techniques of the period
is to be found in the volume by Hugo A. Rennert entitled
The Spanish Stage in The Time of Lope de Vega (New York:
Dover Publications, Inc., 1963).

20See Frederic C. Copleston, the famous Jesuit philosopher,
in his work entitled A History of Philosophy (London:
Burns, Oates and Washbourne Ltd., 19A7,) Vol. I,
p. 2, for a usage of the term "philosophia perennis"

 

 

 

 

 

3| I.

164

indicative of the paradigm or "primal idea" within the
eternal mind of God. Participation by the artist through
his own glimpse of such a paradigm granted art its

worth and durable quality. Calderdn was undoubtedly

such an artist. CalderOh bore the great and broader
vision of the playwright who assumes the role of priest.
Curtius describes him accordingly:

Like Dante, Ca1der6n is a Christian poet, in the
highest and most definite sense of the term. This
means: his picture of man and the world has as its
center belief in God as postulated by the Church.
But Lope tOO is to the highest degree a "religious
poet" and "believing priest." The dogma, the cere—
monial, and the mysticism of Catholicism are so
essentially and intimately connected with the culture
of the Spanish siglo de oro that they are everywhere
perceptible as the vital basis of the age. This
historical fact--whose establishment has nothing
to do with a romanticizing apotheosis of Spain——
allows us to understand the necessity for also
fitting into the theocentric world picture of
Christianity the secular cultural forces Of the
period: monarchy, national conciousness, politics,
together with the theater, the arts, the sciences.
An art theory founded in Christian speculation was
not only preserved as part of the patristic and
Scholastic stock of ideas; in great poets it could
also become living again as a creative and organizing
principle. This is the final basis of Calderon's
concept of painting too. Painting received its
highest nobility from the fact that God used it in
his work of creation. But in Calderdh, as we saw,
the divine Logos is not only a painter, but also
architect, musician, poet. In him all arts have
their common origin and their primal idea.21

 

to describe Scholastic Philosophy. Further, the most
precise formulation of the aesthetic doctrine engendered
by Medieval Catholicism and Scholastic Philosophy which
is quite in accord with the aesthetic doctrine formulated
in this study is to be found in the volume by Jacques
Maritain entitled Art and Scholasticism (New York:
Charles Scribner's Sons, 1962.)

 

21Ernst R. Curtius, European Literature and the Latin

Middle Ages (New York: Harper and Row, Publishers,
1963’) p- 568.

 

165

Accordingly, Calderdh saw life as a product of the
divine art of God and, finally, the drama as an artistic
configuration of signs and symbols indicative of an
eternal and transcendent realm beyond. Parker, also,
describes Calderdn thus and states that his works are:

. essentially a poetry of the invisible beauty
which can be vaguely yearned for on earth but never
found, and which is not accessible to the senses

apart from symbols; and all true poetry is an
allegorical symbol Of transcendent truth and beauty.
Calderon has seized on the perfect method of conveying
the mysterious and incomprehensible through the senses.
Eternal truth should not be presented in the cold
formulae Of metaphysical abstractions: they should

be fused with the poetic form in such a way that

the allegory comes to life, and allegorical characters
do not only mean something but become real living
beings. And it is precisely this that Calderdn

is able to achieve. 2

But Calderdn, directly, makes an exact statement
to this effect. The character of the Author or God in

The Great Theatre of The World, a play to be discussed,

 

states a belief which Calderdn, himself, can hardly be
expected to disbelieve. He states:

If men might choose to be or not to be, no man

would choose to bear life's heavy yoke unless

he might be ruler and director of all other men--
and all forgetful that what he thinks is life

is only drama, the signs and symbols and reflections
of some other life to come.

It is to be expected, therefore, that Calderdn,

who has already been called "the Baroque dramatist par

 

22Parker, Op. cit., p. 28.
23

 

Pedro Calderdn de la Barca, "The Great Theatre of The
World," Masterpiecesof the Spanish Golden Age, ed.
Angel Flores (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston,

1957,) p. 372.

 

166

excellence," should fulfill the "Baroque ideal" as

described by Roaten and Sanchez y Escribano who state:
The Baroque ideal . . . a complete syntheses of all
the elements of form and idealogy into an ecstatic
vision that points to the ultimate end of Baroque

thought and ambition and of Baroque art, that is,
to God.2

Accordingly, this study will proceed by considering
the manner in which Calderdn, a playwright—priest, accom—
plishes and fulfills the priestly Obligation and quest
toward this eternal God through the concrete and visible

activity Of playwriting and dramatic presentation.

 

uRoaten and Sanchez 3! Escribano, Op. cit., p. 107.
The great French playwright, Jean Giraudoux, in Cole,

Op. cit., p. 63, states that "Ca1der6n is humanity
confessing its thirst for eternity . . ."

 

CHAPTER II
THREE PLAYS

Three plays by CalderOn will now be considered in
order to demonstrate the concrete practice and the result—
ant drama created by the playwright who assumes the
priestly role. In such a capacity, the playwright is
responsible for the promulgation of three modes of doctrine
and, directly or indirectly, the advocacy of adherance
to the same. These modes of doctrine correspond to the
three facets of the priestly task which have already
been considered; namely, the sacrificial, prophetic, and
pastoral. The aim here is to consider three major and
characteristic dramas by Ca1der6n and to Show that such
modes Of doctrine are essential and intrinsic to these
dramas. This is to assert that the presentation and
reception of such doctrine constitutes the major intent
of the artist. Such doctrine, whatever other satisfaction
may be derived, constitutes the theme of the drama and is
the basis for its creation. In order to exemplify the
playwright—priest in his role as the promulgator and

advocator Of sacrificial doctrine, Life is a Dream will

 

be analyzed and interpreted. The Mpyorvof Zalamea will

 

exemplify the prophetic task of the p1aywright~priest

167

168

and The Great Theatre Of The World, finally, will exemplify

 

the pastoral task of the playwright—priest.l

The curtain rises on the play Life is a Dream with

 

the entrance of Rosaura, dressed as a man for the sake
Of safety on the long journey from Russia to Poland in
which the action Of the play occurs, and Clarin, her
comic manwservant. They appear on the side of a rugged
and remote mountain which is at one side of the stage
and which is faced by a prisonmlike palace at the other
side. Rosaura and Clarin are lost and each bemoan their
present misfortune. They spy the prison which is:

SO small it shrinks to look up at the sun.

Its form and size are such that at the foot

Of sun—tipped crags and cliffs all circling 'round

It's like a boulder toppled to the ground (p. 2).

In curiosity, they draw closer to the door of

the influx“ and become frightened at the clanking of chains
from within. They Observe Segismundo who is the son of
Basilio, the king of Poland, chained as a prisoner inside
the tower. They overcome their fright and initial
tendency to flee and draw nearer to overhear Segismundo
bemoan his cruel fate. Segismundo, dressed in animal

skins and unaware Of his identity and relationship to

the king, decries his loss of physical freedom. Segismundo

~_. .‘——.~— u*----M

 

1The versions of the three dramas by Pedro CalderOn
de la Barca utilized in this chapter are as follow: Lifp
is a Dream, trans. William E. Colford (Woodbury, New YOrk:
Barron'S'Educational Series, Inc., 1958). :The Mayor of
Zalamea, trans. William E. Colford (Woodbury, New York:
Barron's Educational Series, Inc., 1959). The Great Theatre
of the World, trans. Mack Hendricks Singleton, in Angel
FlOres (ed.), Masterpieces Of the Spanish Golden Age (New
York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1957).

 

 

 

169

considers the freedom of the 'bird and beast and
questions Heaven as to the reason for his burdensome fate:

And what of Me?
Should I, with greater free will, be less free?

And as I reach this angry pitch I burn

With Etna's fierce volcanic fires, and want

To tear my heart in pieces from my breast.

What law, what reason can deny to man

That gift so sweet, so natural, that God

Has giv'n a stream, a fish, a beast, a bird (p. 5)?

Rosaura overhears and feels great pity for
Segismundo. She addresses her compassion to Segismundo
whose response is to seize Rosaura and threaten her with
death for having been witness to his moment Of self~
pitying weakness. Clarin is too weak and fearful to
intercede but the gentleness of Rosaura's plaintive
voice halts Segismundo who is not aware that he is
clutching a woman. Segismundo states:

Thy voice has moved me, thy appearance stays
My hand, and the respect I feel for thee
Disturbs me. Who art thou? Although in here
I know so little of the world, because

This tow'r has been my cradle and my tomb;
And though since birth (if this is what birth is)
I only know this desert region where

I'm living like a living skeleton,

A dead man who's alive; and though I've seen
And talked to just one person here who feels
Compassion for my sorrows, and through who

I have some notion of Heav'n and earth;

And though thou may'st be more amazed and call
Me human monster in thy stunned surprise,

I am a man among wild beasts, a wild

Beast among men; and though amid such grave
Misfortunes I have studied politics.

Informed by animals and taught by birds,

And I have traced the paths of pallid stars;
'Tis thou alone hast brought such passion to
My anger, admiration to my eyes,

And wonder to my ears (p. 6).

170

The "one person" to whom Segismundo refers is
Clotaldo, his aged tutor, who has been appointed by
Basilio to tend to the care and upbringing of the
disowned and abused prince. Rosaura replies:

I look at thee with wonder, and I hear

Thee with astonishment, and do not know

What I can say to thee, nor what to ask.

I'll only Say that to this place today

Heaven has guided me to be consoled,

If it can be the consolation of

A wretch to see one who's more wretched still (p. 7).

She is interrupted by Clotaldo who, accompanied
by soldiers and armed with a pistol, denounces and threatens
her and Clarin for their intrusion into the private
and secluded ‘tower. Segismundo pleads in their behalf
but is chastened by Clotaldo. Segismundo sighs to
Heaven for besetting him with such unending misfortune.
Segismundo is removed and locked in a cell while Clotaldo
questions Rosaura and Clarin as to their identity and
purpose. Rosaura states that she has traveled to Poland
in quest of revenge for a misdeed committed against
herself. At this point, Rosaura relinquishes her sword
to Clotaldo who recognizes it as one he had left many
years earlier with his mistress, Violante, while on a
mission to Russia. Violante had given the sword to Rosaura
so that she would be able to have it witnessed by nobles
at the court of Poland and,thereby, acquire a protector
while away from her Russian home. Violante, however, did

not reveal the name of the potential protector in the

event that he had passed away during the interim of years.

171

Clotaldo recognizes the sword and assumes that Rosaura
is his "son" but chooses not to reveal his identity.

As he is torn between his loyalty to "son" and king and,
at the moment, feeling a stronger allegiance to the king
and the necessity to report the trespass, Clotaldo does
not reveal his identity so that the "son" will not feel
that the father is responsible for whatever punishment
the king chooses to administer. Clotaldo, after re-
establishing the security Of the tower departs for the
court of Poland with his two prisoners. At the court,
Astolfo, the Duke of Moscovy is wooing his cousin Estrella.
They are nephew and niece to the king who is preparing

for retirement due to age and fatigue. Neither knows Of
the existence Of Segismundo and both regard themselves

as potential and immediate heirs to the throne. They

have met in order to avert a possible civil war. It

is Astolfo's plan to marry Estrella and resolve the
situation in such a peaceful manner. Estrella voices her
skepticism as to the sincerity Of his love for her as
Astolfo still wears a pendant about his neck with the
picture of another woman who is Obviously his true love.
The picture is that Of Roasura and Astolfo is the one upon
whom Rosaura seeks revenge. Astolfo, while in Russia,
seduced Rosaura using the pretext of imminent marriage

as a justification. They are interrupted by the entrance
of the king, Basilio, who is hailed as a great sage and

astrologer. He greets his niece and nephew with courtesy

172

and esteem but shocks them with the revelation that
Segismundo still lives and that the announcement that
Segismundo had died at birth was merely a ruse. Basilio,
at the time of Segismundo's birth interpreted the stars
as they referred to his son and was frightened at the
result. Basilio explains:

I hastened to
My books and in them, and in every sign,
I saw that Segismundo would turn out
To be a man most bold, a prince most cruel,
A monarch most ungodly, due to whom
The kingdom would divide against itself
And be a school for treason, an academy
Of vice (p. 21).

In order to avert such calamity, Basilio announced
the death and had Segismundo locked away in the secret
tower under the care of Clotaldo who:

Has taught him science and the Christian faith,
And he alone has been a witness to
His sufferings (p. 22).

Basilio reconsidered his action and has decided
to give Segismundo a chance to prove his worth. He
explains:

We must consider that if I deny

TO my own son the right that every law,

Both human and divine, has given him,

This is not Christian charity; because

There is no law that says in order to

Restrain another from becoming harsh

And autocratic that I may be so

Myself; that if my son's a tyrant, to

Prevent him from committing crimes then I

Should perpetrate these very crimes myself (p. 23).

Basilio states that Segismundo will be drugfied
and brought to the court where he will be awakened so

as to give the impression that he is in the midst of a

173

dream. At that time, those present will respond to his
every whim thereby forcing Segismundo to reveal his own
true nature. If Segismundo is noble in his behavior
then he will be permitted to retain the throne. If
not, Basilio will have the satisfaction Of having dealt
fairly with his son and will then decree that Astolfo
and Estrella marry and assume the throne of Poland.
The gathering is dismissed but Clotaldo arrives with
his prisoners. The king is not angered for he has
already revealed the secret Of the hidden prince and, thus,
Rosaura and Clarin are incapable of creating any harm.
The king pardons them and departs. Clotaldo, still
curious about the reason for which his "son" is seeking
vengeance, gathers that the perpetrator of the misdeed is
Astolfo, Duke of Moscovy. Then he realizes that his "son"
is actually a female for the only manner in which a
nobleman could render such an affront to a subject was
by the act of dishonoring a woman.
The second act finds Clotaldo giving a detailed
account to Basilio Of the drugging of Segismundo.
Basilio explains his reason for such an indirect manner
of assessing the real character of Segismundo:
Thus I have desired to leave

The door, in case Of failure, open to

Declaring all he saw was just a dream.

This way two questions are resolved at once:

The first is his condition, for when he

Awakes he will reveal himself in all

His thoughts and fancies, and the second is

The matter of his consolation, for

Although he now may find himself obeyed
And later be returned to jail, he can

 

'54."

 

174

Believe he dreamed it all; and he will be
Correct in this, Clotaldo, for on earth
Everyone who lives, lives in a dream (pp. 33—3A).
Basilio exits and Clarin arrives to converse with
Clotaldo. Clarin reports that Rosaura is now more pro—
perly attired in the garb of a woman and resides within
the palace as a lady in Estrella's retinue. Now,Segismundo,
attired in princely garments, arrives in the throneroom.
Segismundo is amazed and baffled by his present experience:
Good Heaven Help me! What do I behold!
Good Heaven help me! What do I observe!
I'm startled by it, but have little fear;
Believe it's true, but yet have many doubts (p. 36).
Clotaldo addresses Segismundo with great courtesy
and Segismundo is surprised that one who had treated
him so badly while a prisoner now is willing to treat him
with such deference. Clotaldo explains:
Thou shouldst know, sire,
Thou art a prince and heir apparent to
The throne Of Poland; thou hast been withdrawn
And hidden to abey the harsh decree
Of Fate, which forecasts for this Empire, if
The royal laurel crowns thy noble brow,
A thousand tragedies. But trusting in
Thy prudence tO prevail over the stars
(Because a man of iron will can dominate
His destiny), thou hast been brought here to
The palace from the tower where thou wert
Confined, while thou wert fast asleep (pp. 37—38).
Segismundo has now accepted the reality Of the
situation and asserts his new sense of power. Segismundo
threatens Clotaldo with death for the past indignities
that he has suffered at his hands but is distracted into

inaction by the pleading of a servant. Astolfo arrives

'and identifies himself to Segismundo as a cousin and equal.

175

Segismundo is enraged at such a notion of equality and, in
response, insults and threatens Astolfo with physical
harm. Estrella enters and Segismundo is aroused into
boorish behavior by her beauty. He attempts to kiss

her but is stopped by a servant. Enraged, Segismundo
throws the servant from the balcony and kills him.

The king now enters and is angered by Segismundo's
conduct. Basilio exclaims:

It causes me great grief
That when I come here, Prince, expecting to
Discover that thou hast been warned about
Thy horoscope, and find thee conquering
The stars, instead I see thee in so great
A rage as this, and find the first thing thou
Hast done in these new circumstances is
A frightful act of murder. With what love
Can I embrace thee if I know thine arms
Are schooled in dealing death in their fierce

grasp (pp. A3-AA).
Segismundo has nothing but disinterest and contempt
for the disappointment he has aroused within his father:

Well, I can get along without it, just

As I have done without it up to now.

A father who can treat me with such great
Severity, and whose harsh character

Can keep me from his Side and bring me up
From childhood like an animal, and treats

Me like a monster, and who seeks my death——
What difference does it make if such a man
Denies my right to be embraced, when he
Denies my right to be a man as such (p. AA)?

Basilio cautions his son to behave with care as
he may merely be in the midst of a dream and leaves in
great anger. Rosaura enters and Segismundo finds her
even more beautiful than Estrella. Rosaura is alarmed

at his grossness and asks permission to leave his presence

176

but Segismundo is so enamored and desperate for her beauty
that he has the throneroom cleared and is about to assault
Rosaura when Clotaldo, unconcerned for his own safety,
intercedes. Segismundo, enraged, draws his dagger and
is about to slay Clotaldo when Astolfo steps between the
two men. Segismundo and Astolfo duel. Basilio enters
and both men sheath their swords. Segismundo leaves
the chamber filled with disdain and casting threats of
harm at the king. Basilio responds:

Before that happens thou wilt sleep again

Where all that has occurred to thee will seem,

Like all this world's realities, a dream (p. 53).

After such ignoble behavior by the prince, Estrella

and Astolfo are assured the throne of Poland. Estrella,
however, seeks a final assurance that Astolfo loves only
her. She requests the pendant that Astolfo owns which
bears the picture of another woman. Astolfo leaves to
get the pendant. Rosaura enters and Estrella, to avoid
the embarrassing moment of accepting the pendant, bids
her to wait and Obtain it from Astolfo. Astolfo returns
with the pendant only to encounter Rosaura. It is his first
encounter with his former love here in Poland. They
quarrel and Rosaura snatches her picture from Astolfo.
Estrella, who has reentered, witnesses the quarrel and
demands an explanation. Rosaura, quick of mind, states
that Astolfo wished to retain the pendant bearing the
picture of his true love and is attempting to substitute

one belonging to Rosaura and with her picture upon it

177

instead. Estrella is angered at Astolfo's apparent
duplicity and angrily leaves before Astolfo can explain
the situation. Rosaura is gratified as she has succeeded
in thwarting the plans of her seducer for the attainment
of success and happiness. In the meanwhile, Segismundo
has been returned to his prison and eventually awakes.
Segismundo is greatly ashamed at his behavior even though,
to his own best knowledge, it has all transpired within

a dream. Nevertheless, Segismundo still finds no excuse
or extenuation for his shocking conduct.

The final act finds Clarin locked in the same
prison as Segismundo. Clarin, it seems, is prone to
gossip and now in possession Of information that would
better be kept a secret. Soldiers enter in search of
Segismundo and mistakenly hail Clarin as their prince.
Segismundo, in an adjoining cell, hears their voices
and rectifies the case of mistaken identity. The soldiers
declare that the citizens will not accept Astolfo, a
foreigner, as their king when they have a natural heir
available in the person of Segismundo. Segismundo is
wary Of being a dream prince for a second time and Of
behaving in an unrighteous manner again only to feel
shame and remorse afterwards. Nevertheless, dream or
not, he decides to commit himself to the venture:

Let's dream, my soul, let's dream again. But it
Will be with prior warning that perhaps
We shall awaken from this joy when least

Expected; thus our disillusionment
Will be less harsh, for we shall ease the pain

178

By this anticipation. Thus forewarned

That even though it seems assured, all Of

Our power is just lent, and must return

Unto the Giver, let's risk everything(p.73)!

They march off to meet the approaching army of

Basilio when they encounter Clotaldo. Segismundo,
in an unprecedented gesture of magnanimity, spares Clotaldo
of any abuse and allows him to return to the service of
his king. In anticipation of the battle which is due,
Estrella goes to the aid Of Basilio and Rosaura, after
a meeting with Clotaldo, goes to join Segismundo. Rosaura,
upon joining Segismundo, relates the whole tale of her
past tragedy and her intent to gain final vengeance by
killing Astolfo, and vows loyalty to Segismundo's
cause also. Rosaura's manner intensifies the love that
Segismundo feels toward her already but, with his newly-
acquired self-control, he refrains from any but the most
respectful sort Of conduct. The armies clash and Segismundo
gains the triumph. Clarin, in his anxiousness to avoid
death, stumbles unto the battlefield and loses his life.
Basilio, relinquishing the Opportunity to flee, bravely
surrenders to Segismundo expecting the worst. However,
Segismundo is a changed man and is now motivated by
prudence and understanding. Segismundo spares his father
and, further, so that Rosaura, the woman he truly loves
may regain her honor, orders Astolfo to fulfill his marriage
vow. Astolfo hesitates because of Rosaura's doubtful

lineage but Clotaldo identifies Rosaura as his daughter

zuwinobility,'thereby, eliminating Astolfo's reluctance.

179

Finally, Segismundo vows marriage to Estrella so that her
life may gain fulfillment also. All hail the marvelous
wisdom Of Segismundo who concludes the play:

What is it that surprises all of you?

What startles you, if my preceptor was

A dream, and in anxiety I fear

I shall awake and find myself again

Imprisoned? Even though this were not so,

It is sufficient just to dream it is.

For this is how I learned, so it would seem.

That all our mortal bliss fades like a dream (p. 101).

Through the situation of the drama, Ca1der6n has
raised three distinct but related issues. The first of
these deals with the matter of honor and the necessity
for its maintenance or the gaining of revenge for its
loss as with the focus and implication of the Rosaura—
Astolfo subplot. Secondly, there is the matter of free—
will, if such a term can be employed clearly or consistently
in a Catholic universe, and its relationship to the
destiny decreed by fate or God as indicated by the actions
and changes in character which constitute the dramatic
life of Segismundo. Lastly, and most importantly,
is the major concern and implication of the drama;
namely, that life is a dream or an occurrence which is
ephemeral, transient, and relatively unreal and valueless
when eternity is concerned and terminating with a death
which is demonstrably inevitable.
The resolution of the honor problem is evident

and simple enough Rosaura has been seduced by Astolfo

and the recovery of honor dictates that a death or marriage

occur. This situation is resolved readily and unambiguously

180

with victorious Segismundo's decree that Astolfo marry
Rosaura in order to restore and preserve her honor.

There is no reason to dwell on this issue as it is tangen—
tial to the real concern of this study. Let it suffice
to state that the preservation of honor is crucial in

the Spanish view of life. It will be the purpose of

the following discussion to show that honor is best
preserved and salvation best attained by the Spanish
Christian when he subordinates his own will and self—
concern to the ultimate decree or fate bestowed upon

him and which is, thus, in the best interest of God.

The claim of God is the ultimate and most fruitful claim.
This is to assert the orthodox CathOlic doctrine that
ultimate freedom for the individual is attained through
the active subordination Of the will and self to the
dictate of God—-paradoxica11y, ultimate freedom is
captivity or control by God. One subordinates the self,
one negates all personal claims upon God, in order to
justify the attainment Of the eternity which solely
endures and is solely important. Such is the ultimate

in sacrificial doctrine and such is the theme of this
drama by Calderdn. The task, hereafter, is to evidence
two matters: firstly, that Segismundo attains ultimate
freedom and control by subordinating any personal interest
to the fate decreed by Heaven or God and, secondly,

that life is a dream or an impermanent and valueless
state while there is the possibility of a greater reality

in a Godly eternity which endures.

181

CalderOn is, of course, a highly trained Catholic
Christian and it is very unlikely that any doctrine which
does not coincide with the tenets of Spanish Golden Age
Catholicism should be considered as indicative of the
thought and intent of the playwright. Therefore, in
order to avoid equating the random statements of some
character with the thought Of Ca1der6n, such statements will
constantly be evaluated in so far as they correspond to
Catholic doctrine. This will provide a measure that will
insure adherance to the intent of the playwright in any
interpretation of the text rather than to the thought
Of some dramatic character which may not necessarily
correspond to such an intent. Since there is prominent
concern with the role of Segismundo, let it be established
that Segismundo has been instructed in the Christian
faith which in Golden Age Spain could only mean Catholicism.
Basilio, when revealing the existence of Segismundo and
the manner of his imprisonment, declares:

I

Have told you. Segismundo lives there in

A wretched, poor, imprisoned state, where just
Clotaldo has had contact with him; he

Has taught him science and the Christian faith,
And he alone has been a witness to

His sufferings (p. 22).

Next, consider the ironic equation of astrology
and fate or destiny as manifested in the "stars" with the
decree of "Heaven" which constitutes the universe of

the play. Basilio states:

My chief concern and what I most esteem:
Keen mathematics, through which I can take

182

From Time and break from Rumor their control
And function Of revealing more each day;

For when upon my tablets I behold

AS present the events of centuries

To come, I win men's thanks ahead of Time,
When later it reveals what I have said.
Those snow-white orbits, and those canopies
Of glass, illumined by the sun's bright rays
And pierced by the rotations of the moon;
Those spheres Of diamonds and those globes
Of crystal that the stars adorn and that

The zodiac signs emblazon, form the great
Inquiry of my later years, and are

The books in which on diamond paper, in
Sapphire bindings, Heaven writes with lines
Of gold in diverse signs our destinies,
Adverse or kind (pp. 19-20).

It is a universe in which destiny, however discerned,

is the dictate of Heaven and God. Calderdn emphasizes
the significance of this point by indicating it in the
very Opening lines of the play. Rosaura, who with Clarin
has wandered into the locale of the hidden palace,
declares:

Now wherefore art thou come in headlong plunge

Through twisting trails to reach this barren brink?

Remain upon this crag so beasts may have

Their Phaethon; for I, with no more course

Than destiny decrees, in blind despair

Descend the tangled slope of this harsh hill

That wrinkles to the sun its scowling brow (p. l).

Basilio, twice, asserts the power Of Heaven which

can only be the power Of God and the irrevocability of
destiny which is foreordained. Firstly, in an address to
Clotaldo prior to bringing the prisoner, Segismundo, to
the throneroom in order to witness his behavior and charac—
ter. Basilio states:

Thy curiosity, Clotaldo, is

Quite proper, and to thee alone I would
Give satisfaction. Segismundo (this

 

183

Thou knowest fully) as my son lives in

Dire danger of untold misfortunes and

Disasters on account Of his ill-starred

Predestination; and I want to see

If Heaven--and it cannot possibly

Be wrong, since we have had SO many signs

Of violence in his cruel temper-—

Has softened or become at least less harsh,

And, swayed by courage and discretion, has

Relented: men are masters of their fate (pp. 32—33).

But Basilio is wrong for Segismundo is merely

what Heaven has decreed him to be. Later, witnessing the
crude activity of Segismundo upon awakening from the
drugged condition, he declares:

Thou art a bold and brash barbarian.

The prophecy of Heaven was correct;

Thus to Heav'n itself I now appeal,

Thou haughty, vain, and insolent young man (p. A5).

The above contradiction by Basilio to the effect

that men are masters of their own fate coupled with an
earlier assertion by Basilio (p. 23), that the most
determined destiny may merely bend the will and not force
it has engendered a tremendous number of misreadings of
the play. For Ca1der6n, as is evidenced by a most
careful reading of the drama, the decree Of Heaven and
God is not subject to the whims and desires of men
regardless Of what some character may feel at some time
during the course of dramatic events. Indeed, the nature

of destiny which corresponds to the Calderdnian belief

as presented in Life is a Dream is asserted by triumphant

 

Segismundo toward the end of the play as he fulfills
his own fate in rendering final judgement upon Basilio.

Segismundo states:

184

And though my wrath
(Now heed me) were just like a sleeping beast,
My fury like a sword restrained, my rage
As quiet as a calm at sea, one's fate
Does not yield to injustice and revenge:
If anything, it is incited more.
And so, if one expects to overcome
His fate, it must be done with reason and
With moderation. Even one who sees
It coming cannot stave off harm before
It comes; although he can protect himself,
Of course, with humble resignation, he
Can only do this after the event,
Which in itself cannot be warded off.
May this extraordinary spectacle,
This most amazing scene, this horror, this
Phenomenon, be an example; there
Is nothing more surprising than to see,
Despite precautions of so many kinds,
A father prostrate at my feet, a king
Trod under foot. For it was Heaven's will.
No matter how he wanted to prevent
It, he could not. How then shall I, a man
Of younger years and not so brave as he,
Nor yet so learned, counter Heaven's will (pp. 98—99)?

All that one can do, given the way and power of
fate, is to accept whatever event is intended to befall
and through the power of reason engage in a humble resign--
tion and acceptance of such an event. CalderOn, using
Segismundo as the spokesman, chooses again to emphasize
the error in which Basilio has repeatedly engaged.
Segismundo, finally, states:

Rise up, my lord, and let me clasp thy hand,
For now that Heaven has enlightened thee

About the error of thy ways in thine

Attempt to conquer it, my neck awaits

Thy vengeance humbly; I am at thy feet (p. 99).

Basilio, who has attempted to thwart the decree
of fate by placing Segismundo in prison, is inevitably

defeated. Considering the nature of fate in such a world,

there is no other alternative. It is the wise man who

185

recognizes the way of the world and acts in accord with
it. The wise man, finally, is Segismundo who is hailed
as such by Basilio:
Thy wisdom is a marvel to us all (p. 101).
And Rosaura:
And how discreet and prudent he's become (p. 101)!
Segismundo has warranted such adulation for he
was the first to recognize fate as the decree of God
and to subordinate himself to this fate. It is Segismundo
who engages in the self-sacrifice of relinquishing
personal claim to consideration and who actively sub-
ordinates himself to the decree Of God and the Eternal.
Segismundo, when removed from the prison by the rebellious
soldiers and citizens, asserted this definite committ—
ment:
My subjects, I am grateful to you for
Your loyalty. In me you follow one
Who boldly and with skill will free you all
From foreign slavery. To arms! You soon
Will see my dauntless valor. I intend
To take up arms against my father and
To prove the stars were right concerning me,
Since I shall see him prostrate at my feet (p. 73)
Several supplementing and corroborating remarks
should be made in regard to the matter of freedom as

seen in this play. Segismundo has never lost the power

of his will unless the loss Of physical freedom is to be

confused with such. Physical freedom is merely a necessary

condition for such power and not a sufficient one.
If "free will" has any meaning in this play, it has

Inerely to do with the ability to utilize one's will in

 

186

accord with a fate or destiny which has been preordained.
Any remark referring to such a free will can only be
regarded in such a manner. Certainly when Segismundo
is initially encountered by Clotaldo, there is no lack
of assertiveness on his part for Clotaldo is forced
by Segismundo's boasting to declare:

If thou dost know that this confinement is

A leash to hold thy haughty fury back,

A rein to check it, why then dost thou boast (p. 9)?

Indeed, during this same encounter and before
he has undergone the crucial change in character and
acquired an awareness of his fate, Segismundo is haughty
and aggressive enough to even threaten Heaven itself.

He exclaims:
Oh, Heaven,
How wise thou art in taking liberty
From me! Because I'd be a giant against
Thee, and to break the spheres and crystals of
The sun, upon foundations formed of stone
I'd pile mountains of Jasper (p. 10).

Even by Segismundo's own awareness, as reported
by Clotaldo to Basilio, he declares possession of his free
will:

So even in

The restless realm of birds there is someone
To make them swear obedience! As I reach
This point, my own misfortunes give
Me consolation, for at least if I
Am prisoner, I'm forced to be, because
Of my free will I never would bow down
To any other man (p. 31).
The real triumph and attainment of Segismundo is

not in the acquisition of what is called a free will

but in the control and prudent conduct of this will through

 

187

a subordination to God. When Segismundo denies his own
happiness in order to restore the honor of Rosaura by
declaring that Astolfo should marry her, he voices what
has been the ultimate attainment:

My sword must wait to gain great victories,

So for today my greatest triumph is

The victory I've won over myself.

Astolfo, give thy hand in marriage to

Rosaura right away; it is a debt

Of honor, and I'll see that it is paid (p. 99).

Finally, for Calderon life is a dream or an

impermanent and valueless state when there is the possi—
bility of a greater reality in an eternity which endures.
This may be shown rather readily as Calderon, himself,
does through the direct and repeated assertions of the
major character,Segismundo, to this effect——and this is
hardly to ignore the importance and significance of the title
which Calderon has chosen for the play. One declaration
to this effect occurs when Segismundo is returned to his
prison after failing the test which Basilio has prepared
for him. Segismundo awakens from his second drugging
and states:

For we are in a world so very strange

That life is but a dream; experience

Has taught me that each man who draws a breath

Dreams what he is until he wakes in death.

What is life? A frenzy. What is life?

A shadow, an illusion, and a sham.

The greatest good is small; all life, it seems,

Is Just a dream, and even dreams are dreams (p. 67).

There is no evidence within the play to contradict

the essentiality and merit of this doctrine. Again, at

 

188

the end of the play in order to still emphasize the point,
Segismundo repeats the lesson of the play:

For this is how I learned, so it would seem,
That all our mortal bliss fades like a dream (p. 101).

Segismundo has mentioned that the only termination
of the dream is when the dreamer awakens in death. Thus,
ultimate reality is in the permanent state after death
which is eternity. Death is inevitable even as the death
of Clarin is intended to dramatize. Wounded Clarin,

himself, states:

 

F.“- 1?.

I am a man who is
Unfortunate, because in wanting to
Protect myself from death, I found it here.
In fleeing from it, I encountered it,
Because there is no hiding place from death.
Whence we conclude that he who flees it most
Turns out to be the one who finds it first (pp. 9U—95).

Beyond the life which is a dream and an illusion
is the one condition which endures—-namely, the condition
of the eternal and God. The only real and lasting life
for man is in the eternal presence which is God. Segismundo
testifies:
Well, then,
If this reveals my disillusionment,
If I know pleasure is a dazzling flame
That any passing breeze can change into
A heap of ashes, let us turn to the
Eternal, which is glory that endures,
Where neither happiness nor grandeur die (p. 91).
In presenting the doctrine of self—sacrifice in
subordination to the decree of God for the sake of eternal

salvation and, further, the reality and lasting worth of

the eternal in contrast to the temporality of life, Calderdn

189

has fulfilled the sacrificial obligation of the playwright
who assumes the priestly role.

The second play to be considered is The Mayor of

 

Zalamea. It will serve as an example of a drama in

which prophetic doctrine is promulgated by the playwright
who assumes the priestly role. To be artistic and pro—
phetic is to render a vision of the future in contrast to
some present situation or condition. The prophet only
maintains a qualified acceptance of the present for he
discerns some fuller and nobler future condition which
should be the constant goal of mankind. The prophet

can only Justify the maintenance of such a distant goal
because of an optimism and hope based upon a belief in
the greater capacity and improvability of mankind. Such
a goal may be the broader and fuller image of a heaven

or society with a system of superior conditions and ideals
or a narrower focus upon some specific superior condition
or ideal in contrast to a popular and present one. The
promulgation of this latter sort of prophetic doctrine is

Calderdn's purpose in writing The Mayor of Zalamea. In

 

this play, the current and popular conception of honor
maintained and upheld by the aristocracy is contrasted
with the truer and nobler Christian conception of honor.
The play is an admonishment and command to replace the one
with the other and, thereby, enrich and ennoble the

life of a whole society.

 

190

The play, itself, begins among a group of soldiers
in the countryside near Zalamea. Rebolledo, a vocal and
wileful soldier, is looking forward to a needed rest in
Zalamea but is, also, complaining about the likelihood
of a bribe being submitted to the officer of the company
by the town mayor so as to have the unit continue its I
march to another location before resting. Rebolledo

threatens to desert in such an event. Another Soldier

_ .-‘<’a"x h! Ail.

responds:

 

Nor will it be the first desertion that r

A wretched soldier's paid for with his life;

Especially today, I'm sure, because

The leader of this regiment is Don

Lope de Figueroa, who is famed

And praised for his determination and

His courage. But he's likewise known to be

The world's most ruthless, swearing, blasphemous

Campaigner, who'd court martial his best friend

Without the bother of a formal trial (pp. 20-21).

Rebolledo replies that such is of little concern

to him except for the sake of his female follower, Chispa.
Chispa states that he should not fret in her behalf for
she is ready to withstand any hardship which may be
necessary. Rebolledo praises her for such an attitude
and as they approach Zalamea they commence a lively
song. They are halted by Don Alvaro de Ataide, a captain
and the company commander, who gives the welcome news
that they will be billeted in the town. Later, in the
town, Don Alvaro is given his own billeting assignment

by the company Sergeant who gives the reason for the

choice:

191

They say, sir, it's the best house in the town;
To tell the truth, I picked it out for you

Not Just because it is, but more because

There is no girl in Zalamea who

Is lovelier than . . . his daughter (p. 25).

The arrogant captain regrets the fact that the
girl is a mere peasant but remains anticipant of some
"amusement" with the "uncouth peasant girl." They are
interrupted by a noise and the Sergeant explains:

A man dismounted from

Some skinny Rocinante Just around

That corner there; in face and figure he
Resembles Don Quixote, about whom

Miguel Cervantes wrote adventures (p. 26).

Don Mendo, an impoverished nobleman, and his
servant, Nuno, arrive. The nobleman has come to court
Isabel, the daughter of the wealthy farmer, Pedro Crespo,
to whose home the captain has Just been assigned for
billeting. In a comic interlude, Nuno suggests that
Don Mendo marry the lovely Isabel and, thereby, solve
his financial predicament. Don Mendo, without real
conviction, responds:

Please, Nuno, speak

No more of that. Is money to debase
Me so, that I'd accept a father—in-law
Of common stock (p. 31)?

Isabel, with her cousin Ines, appear at the window
of the Crespo home. Don Mendo seizes the opportunity
to utter flowery words of love to Isabel. Her response
is disdainful:

I have

Already told you many times that you
Are wasting all your compliments of love,

Don Mendo, all those mad expressions made
Each day before my house and in my street (p. 33).

 

192

He persists only to arouse Isabel's further ire:
Since telling of my grief is not enough,
Don Mendo, then let showing it this way
Suffice: Ines, come on inside, and slam
The window in his face (p. 33).
Pedro Crespo, and his son Juan, enter the street.
They are annoyed by the unwanted persistance of the noble—
man. Don Mendo and Nuno are aware of this and quickly
leave the scene. In the courtyard of the house, Crespo
tells of the rich harvest which has been gathered for
the year. Juan uses the opportunity of the moment to
inform his father of an unpaid gambling debt. Crespo
replies:
Now listen well before
You speak to me. There are two things that you
Must never do: to promise what you can't
Perform, or bet more than you have on hand;
Hence if perchance you fail, your good name won't (p. 36).
The Sergeant arrives with Don Alvaro's clothing
and, also, to inform Crespo that his home has been
chosen habillet the officer. Crespo is cordial about
the imposition:
Say
No more, for that's enough; my home and wealth
Are at the service of our God and of
Our King and all his captains (p. 37).
After the Sergeant departs, Juan becomes indignant
with his father for he is wealthy and may, by buying a
patent of nobility, avoid the obligation of quartering
troops which pass through the town. Crespo responds:
Well, what am I gaining by

The purchase of a patent from the King
If I cannot buy noble blood? And will

“A

.. l .'

 

 

193

They say then that I am a better man

Than I am now? That's an absurdity!

What will they say, then? That I have become
A noble in exchange for payment of

Some five or six cool thousands. That is Just
My money, it's not honor: no one can

Buy honor (p. 38).

Juan is unconvinced but is unable to continue
the topic as Isabel and Ines enter. Crespo informs them
of the current situation:

My daughter, our good King and sovereign lord
(May God preserve him many years) is now

En route to Lisbon, for he seeks to gain

The crown as rightful ruler there. To this
Effect the army, in full panoply

Of war, is on the march; down to Castile

Has even come the famous Regiment

Of Flanders, under one Don Lope, who

Is called by everyone the Spanish Mars.

Today some soldiers are to come here, and
They must not see you: that's important; so,
My daughter, you will go at once and stay

Up in the attic room in which I used

To live (p. 39).

Isabel and Ines depart for the attic room.
Later, Don Alvaro and the Sergeant arrive to receive a
polite welcome from Juan. Juan departs to see whether
the captain's room is prepared. Don Alvaro asks the
whereabouts of Isabel and the Sergeant replies:

I asked a servant for her, and
She told me that her father had her locked
Upstairs with orders not to come down here
At all; he's quite suspicious (p. A1).

Don Alvaro declares:

Well, is there
A peasant who is not? Perhaps If I
Should see her here I would not pay the least
Attention to her; Just because the old
Man has her locked away, he's made me want
To go up where she is, by Heaven (pp. Ul—AB)!

 

194

Don Alvaro decides to contrive some stratagem
for entering the attic room. Rebolledo and Chispa enter.
Rebolledo asks the captain for an advance in pay as he is
without money and wishes to form a gambling game among
the soldiers. Don Alvaro says that he will advance the
pay if Rebolledo will help him in a little scheme.
Don Alvaro explains that he wishes to enter the attic
room in a way that does not seem deliberate. Therefore,
Rebolledo should feign an argument, thus, forcing Don
Alvaro to draw a sword and chase him upstairs to the
attic. Robelledo agrees and begins the argument. Don
Alvaro, apparently angry and with drawn sword, chases
Rebolledo to the attic. In response to the clamor,
Crespo and Juan rush to the attic also. There, Rebolledo
encounters Isabel and Ines and pleads for their inter—
vention. Don Alvaro and the Sergeant enter and are
met by Isabel who wishes to protect Rebolledo. Don
Alvaro uses the moment to begin an intended conquest:
Not only is ,
Your beauty one of rare perfection, but
Your mind is, also; for in you today
Both grace and wit are pledged to Join for aye (p. A8).
Crespo is impressed and deceived by Don Alvaro's
action and manner. Juan, however, has seen through the
stratagem and begins a quarrel with Don Alvaro. They
draw swords to battle but are interrupted by the arrival
of an angered regimental commander, Don Lope de Figueroa.

He wishes to know the cause of the disturbance and Don

Alvaro relates all of the events leading to the moment

 

19S

excepting the important fact that Rebolledo was told to
feign the initial argument. Rebolledo, in order to avoid
severe punishment, completes the account. Don Lope,
angered at his men, orders them to leave the home hastily
before they are punished more harshly. Don Lope then
decides to remain at the home himself. Crespo expresses
gratitude to Don Lope for "saving me from danger of great
loss." Upon inquiry about the full meaning of this
remark, Don Lope learns that Crespo was willing to
kill the captain were there any risk to his reputation
or good name. Don Lope, angered, responds:
If anyone so much as laid a hand
Upon the lowest ranking soldier, or
So much as touched a stitch of his attire,
As Heaven is my Judge, I'd have him hanged (p. 53)!
Crespo replies:
If anyone so much as dared affront
One atom of my honor, then I, too,
As Heaven is my Judge, would have him hanged (pp. 53-5A)!
Don Lope warns Crespo that because of status he is
bound to render such services as may be required by
the military. Crespo, in probably the most significant
passage of the play, declares:
With my estate, but not with my good name.
One's wealth and life are at the King's command,
But honor is a portion of the soul,
And one's own soul belongs to God alone (p. 5A).
They finish their discussion with mutual caution
and respect.

The second act finds a Jealous and angry Don Mendo

with Nuno in the street discussing the captain and his

196

repeatedly rebuked attempts to win the love of Isabel.
They depart as Don Alvaro, the Sergeant, and Rebolledo
enter. The captain is distraught and bewildered:

To think that in a peasant girl like this

There should be such patrician haughtiness

That she has not replied with even one

Agreeable expression (p. 57).

And struck, also, by love:

What greater reason to exist exists,

When once I have seen her, than seeing her?

All at once a spark flares into flame;

All at once volcanoes burst from depths;

All at once a bolt destroys with fire;

All at once an ancient gun spews death.

What wonder, then, that love, a fourfold fire——

A pit, flame, gun and thunderbolt-—should all

At once entrap and sear, affright and hurt (pp. 58-59)?

Rebolledo suggests that Chispa, a fine singer, be

brought to serenade the elusive Isabel. At that time,
Don Alvaro will get an opportunity to address his heart
to Isabel. The captain agrees and they depart to make
arrangements. That evening, Don Lope and Crespo ready
themselves for supper. They are on far friendlier terms
by now. Don Lope asks that Isabel Join them for supper.
Isabel, arriving with Ines, accepts the offer graciously.
Juan is also present for the supper. They are interrupted
by the sound of guitars playing at Isabel's window.
A serenade is sung and intended for the sake of Isabel.
Don Lope and Crespo are angered at this rudeness but
conceal their discomfort rather than interrupt the presumed
pleasure of the other. Both, however, employ an excuse

to leave the table with the private and concealed intent

of routing the annoying singers. On the street, Don Lope

197

and Crespo, both armed and unaware of the other's
presence, attack unrecognized Don Alvaro, the Sergeant,
Rebolledo, and Chispa. They rout the intrusive group
and, unknowingly, duel each other in the darkness.
Juan arrives to assist and recognizes and addresses his
father. Don Lope, thereby, recognizes Crespo and ceases
the duel. Don Alvaro and the routed soldiers return
pretending unawareness of what has happened. Don Lope,
in order to prevent more violence, orders the captain to
remove the troops from the town in the morning. The
next morning, the troops leave the town; however, Don
Alvaro conspires to return late that evening in order
to kidnap Isabel. In the meanwhile, Juan has Joined the
army in order to serve under the famed Don Lope. Don
Lope extends his gratitude to Crespo for the hospitality
and new recruit which he has received. He presents a
diamond adorned military decoration to Isabel as a
token of this gratitude. Don Lope and Crespo depart as
excellent friends. Juan stays behind to hear his father's
last advice before parting with Don Lope who has gone to
I

prepare himself for the Journey. Crespo advises his son:

My son, while good Don Lope gets himself

In readiness, give heed to what I say

To you in front of your own cousin and

Your sister. Juan, through God's good grace you are

Of lineage as pure as sunlight is,

But peasant stock. I tell you both these things:

The first as that you will not hold your pride

And your ambition back so much that you

May fail, through lack of confidence, to strive

To forge ahead through prudent Judgement; and

The second so that you will not be full
Of self-importance, and so come to grief (p. 83).

198

After embracing his father and sister, Juan departs

to Join Don Lope in the service of the King. That evening,
Crespo, Isabel, and Ines are seated at the door of the
home pleased that the soldiers have departed. They are
discussing the possible outcome of the recent election
for the mayor of Zalamea. Don Alvaro, the Sergeant,
Rebolledo, Chispa, and several soldiers muffled in
cloaks return to the town and attack the seated group.
The soldiers restrain Crespo and Ines as Don Alvaro
carries a screaming Isabel away. After the kidnappers
flee, Crespo obtains a sword and pursues them. Later,
Crespo reaches and attacks several of the kidnappers in
the open country but is subdued and tied to a tree.
Meanwhile, Juan has fallen from his horse and is searching
for it among the country thickets when he hears the unrec—
ognized and separate pleading calls of Crespo and Isabel.
Juan responds:

Two urgent calls

Invoke my valiant aid; They seem to be

Of equal need, but one is from a man,

The other from a woman; I shall strive

To help the latter. Thus I shall obey

My father in two things he said to me:

"Fight only with good cause, and pay respect

To women." Now to them respect I'll pay

As with good cause I go to Join the fray (p. 92).

The third act finds Isabel in the forest. She
is weeping:

May daylight's brilliance never reach my eyes,
So in its shadows I shall not observe

The sense of shame I feel about myself.

Oh thou, fleet harbinger of many stars,

Do not give way to dawn approaching now
Beyond thy canopy of blue, nor let

199

Thy lovely face fade out in smiles and tears;
But since this must take place, may it fade out
With tears and not with smiles (p. 93)!

Amidst her own anguish, Isabel hears Crespo's
plea for death:

Come back and kill me now, and you will be
Most merciful in slaying me, because

It is not pity to allow a man

So wretched to exist (p. 95).

Isabel moves through the thick forest and finds
her father tied to a tree. Crespo is surprised to see
his daughter and asks to be unbound. Isabel refuses for
the moment:

I do not dare, for once my hands take off

The bonds that hold you I shall be afraid

To tell you, sir, of my unhappy plight,

Or to recount my woes; for if you find

You have regained your hands but you have lost
Your honor, then your wrath will bring me death.
I'd rather tell my sufferings to you

Than have you learn of them (p. 96).

Isabel relates the terror and struggle of
her past eXperience:

How I implored him! What emotions, first
So humble then so haughty, I displayed (p. 98)!

Isabel continues to tell how Juan encountered
them and how she was forced to flee in order to avoid
death at her brother's hands as he suspected her of
complicity in the whole affair. In the duel which
followed, Juan wounded the captain who was saved from
death by his returning soldiers. Juan, too, fled for his
life into the forest. Now that she has told her painful

tale, Isabel releases her father:

200

I am your daughter, but my honor's gone;

Now you are free to save your own prestige

By killing me, so that it may be said:

"His honor lives because his daughter's dead (p. lOl).'

!

Crespo requGS, however, and aids his daughter back
to Zalamea. They are met by the town clerk who informs
Crespo that he has been elected the mayor of Zalamea and,
also, that the wounded captain has sought aid in Zalamea.
Crespo is perplexed:

Good Heavens! Just when I intended to
Avenge my honor, as a magistrate

I find myself a prisoner of fate!

How can I break the law myself if I
Have been elected magistrate to see
That others don't transgress (p. lO3)?

Meanwhile, Don Alvaro having had his wound tended
is about to flee when he is arrested by Crespo and the
townspeople. Don Alvaro is indignant and declares that
Crespo has no authority over a soldier. Crespo, however,
gives no attention to this defense. Crespo tells the
townspeople to wait outside and then implores Don Alvaro:

Since I wish, then, to right a wrong that is
So manifest, to seek a renedy

To my affront is not a remedy——

It's vengeance. As I cast about, I find

But one that suits me well, and also is

Not bad for you: it is that you take all

My property at once. I shall not keep

A cent for my support nor for my son

(Whom I shall bring for pardon to your feet),
But rather we shall beg for alms if there

Is no way else to keep ourselves alive.

And if you wish to brand an "S" on us

This day and sell us both as slaves,

The money gained will be additional,

Above the dowry that I offer you.

Restore the honor that you have defiled;

I do not think the lustre of your own

Will be diminished, for the merits that

Your sons might lose by being my grandsons
They would recoup——and more—-as sons of yours.

201

The saying in Castile (and it is true)

Is that the male transmits nobility.

Behold, I beg you on my knees, here at

Your feet, while weeping on this snowy beard
So much my breast, all white and wet, believes
My beard is melting like a wintry stream.
What do I ask of you? The honor that

You took away from me yourself. Although
It's mine it seems (the way I'm asking you
So humbly) that what I ask is not mine,

But yours. You know I could enforce this by
My office, but prefer that you should give
It willingly to me (pp. 108—109).

Don Alvaro is impassive even when confronted with
such a plea:

My patience has

Worn thin, you babbling, tiresome old man.
Be thankful that I do not take your life
Today because of what you and your son

Have done; it is because I want you both

To owe escape from harsher punishment

To Isabel's great beauty. If you have
Recourse to arms to seek revenge and to
Uphold your view, I have small need to fear.
And if it is a matter of the law,

You have no Jurisdiction (pp. 109-110).

Crespo is Justly angered and has the townspeople
take Don Alvaro to the Jail. Rebolledo and Chispa have
been captured also but Crespo releases them both
since Chispa is now pregnant. Juan, by now, has returned
home. He finds Isabel and feeling that she was an
accomplice to the misdeed, is about to kill her when
interrupted and halted by Crespo. Crespo arrests Juan
for having dueled Don Alvaro. He will hear no extenuating
explanation. Crespo, then, has Isabel sign a letter of
complaint against the captain. Soon an enraged Don Lope,

informed by another soldier, returns to Zalamea to punish

the civilian mayor who has dared to arrest an officer of

202

the King's army. He learns that Crespo is the defiant
and bold mayor. Nevertheless, Crespo will not obey his
command to release the prisoner and Don Lope prepares to
smash the door of the Jail and release the prisoner by
force. Don Lope is interrupted by the fortuitous arrival
of the King, Philip II, and his attendants. The King demands
to know the reason for such an outbreak. Crespo relates
the incidents that have gone before and asserts the Justice
of a death verdict for the captain. The King declares:

The verdict is a Just one; but you do

Not have authority to execute

The sentence: that is for another court.

Th< punishment lies there, and so you must

Give up the prisoner (p. 12“).

Crespo states that this is impossible as the captain
has already been executed. The door to the Jail is thrown
open and the captain is seen seated in a chair, strangled
by a garrote. The King is angered but Crespo responds
that the verdict has already been declared a Just one.

The King states that a military court could have completed
the verdict as readily. Crespo replies:

Sire, all your royal Justice is but one

Great legal body that has many arms.

If one long arm of Justice puts to death

A man some other arm was to have killed,

What harm is there? What matter to have erred

In some detail, if he who carried out

The law served Justice in its broader aims (p. 125)?

The King is won over by this argument and, in
further vindication, decrees that Crespo shall be the

permanent mayor of Zalamea. The King departs with the

gratitude and respect of Crespo and the townspeOple.

203

Juan is released form the Jail and proceeds to Join the
regiment of Don Lope. As for Isabel, Crespo states:
She's entering a convent, and she has
Already chosen: she will be the bride
Of One who does not make distinctions in
A person's social rank (p. 127).

Calderon has, in The Mayor of Zalamea, wielded a

 

story wherein two contrasting codes of honor are viewed

and placed in conflict-—namely, the Christian and aristo-

cratic codes. The higher Christian code of honor is best

viewed by directing attention to the utterances and behavior

of Crespo, the peasant hero of the play. The aristocratic

code of honor may be viewed, at its best, by observing

Don Lope and, at its worst, by observing Don Alvaro.

Honor, as depicted by Calderdn, is the sense of self—

esteem and pride which is the result of primarily adhering

to some divine code as witnessed in the behavior of

Crespo or, in contrast, the result of primarily adhering

to some earthly code as witnessed in the behavior of

Don LOpe and Don Alvaro. The conditions of an earthly

or aristocratic code in contrast to the Christian one

have been described by Dunn:
Honour can mean the outward dignity conferred by rank;
pride in the superiority of birth; public respect,
the good name in which a family is held, and which is
most easily damaged by any scandal touching its '
women. All this involved degrees of self—esteem.
Honour can also mean integrity, and the recognition of
integrity by the world at large. This is an idea
which represents honour more as an expression of the
moral worth of the individual, but it still implies
public consent and is vulnerable to scandal and false
report. The world at large is inclined to make easy

snap—Judgements and can impute dishonour by misunder-
standing. The only defence against this oppressive

204

force of opinion is an unrelenting watchfulness and
a correspondingly arrogant self-assertion. All this
is common knowledge to readers of seventeenth-
century drama.

When respected, the former or aristocratic code
leads to no greater abuse than the smug pompousness and
concern with rank and station and comfort displayed by
Don Lope. When abused, and Calderon suggests this as
commonplace, it leads to the total self-seeking and
disdain for less fortunate persons as displayed by Don
Alvaro. Such abuse yields contempt of persons for the
unessential reasons of birth, appearance, and rank——the
presence of a valuable and shared element of eternal soul
is denied in others. Such abuses are denounced by Calderon
and exposed to others in the blatant actions of Don
Alvaro. When being informed by the Sergeant as to his
billeting assignment in the Crespo home and the presence
of the lovely Isabel, Don Alvaro reveals his character
and attitude toward the ordinary citizen:

Well,

For all her beauty and her vanity,

Can she be more than Just a peasant with

A pair of dirty hands and clumsy feet (p. 25)?
And, again, referring to Isabel:
He who adores

A beauty says, when he looks at the one

He loves, "That is my lady love," not "That's

My peasant love." Well, if one's love is called

A lady, then the name of lady is
Betrayed when used upon a peasant (p. 26).

 

2P. N. Dunn. "Honour and the Christian Background
in Calderon." Wardropper (ed.), op. cit., p. A6.

 

205

Later, having chased Rebolledo to the attic room
where Isabel and Ines are hidden and having been halted in
his actions by Crespo, Don Alvaro reveals his duplicity
and hypocrisy. Again, Don Alvaro refers to Isabel:

He who has from birth

Had obligations must uphold them: I,
Out of respect for this young lady, held
My wrath in check (pp. u8—u9).

Quarreling with Juan who detects his treachery
and motives in having entered the attic, angered Don
Alvaro discards all pretense. Juan, who refers to his
"good name", receives an arrogant retort from Don Alvaro:

And what good name can peasants have (p. 50)?

Finally, Don Alvaro as the symbol of an abusive
and contemptible aristocracy, displays his extreme contempt
and disdain for the sanctity of other persons by kid—
napping and raping Isabel. At no time, does Don Alvaro
express or display regret or concern for the grievousness
of the act. Indeed, he nearly considers the abuse of
Isabel as some sort of right or privilege. In response
to Crespo's desperate plea that he marry Isabel and recover
and preserve the honor of all concerned, Don Alvaro declares
in contempt and disgust:

My patience has

Worn thin, you babbling, tiresome old man.
Be thankful that I do not take your life
Today because of what you and your son

Have done; it is because I want you both

To owe escape from harsher punishment

To Isabel's great beauty. If you have
Recourse to arms to seek revenge and to
Uphold your view, I have small need to fear.

And if it is a matter of the law,
You have no Jurisdiction(pp, 109-110).

206

Don Alvaro, a rapist, lacks all compunction for
the misdeed. All of the shame is felt byneflxns of
the Crespo family. Crespo has fallen upon his knees
before an impassive Don Alvaro in the hope of regaining
the lost honor of the family. Isabel, an unwilling
and innocent participant to the crime, also basks in
this feeling of lost honor. She cries to Heaven:

But woe is me! It seems that thou also

Art cruelly despotic: though I begged

Thee not to rise, my eyes behold thy face
Serenely peering over yonder hills.

Alas! that thine own wrath should conjure now
Against my honor, when I am pursued

And vexed by many ills, anxieties,

And foul adversities! What shall I do?

Where shall I go? If my two erring feet

Take me back home, it means another stain

Upon my poor old father, who possessed

No treasure, no great Joy, except to bask

In the reflection of the clean white moon

Of my chaste honor, whiCh unhappily

Has been eclipsed today by scandal's stain (p. 9A).

And Juan, also, bemoans the deed and loss.
Returning to Zalamea after his duel with Don Alvaro,
he states:

Since I slashed that foul villain in the wood,
And since I turned my back on him (because

So many others came), I've gone all through
The forest and I've searched the thickets, but
I have not found my sister. Hence, I've dared
To come back to the town and go inside

My house, where I shall tell my father what

Is happening; and I'll seek his advice

(oh, Heav'n above!) concerning what I ought

To do to save my honor and life (pp. llu-ll5).

As a solution to his predicament, Juan attempts
to kill his sister who can only be considered innocent.
It is what the current code of honor demands of him.

Juan is halted by Crespo who does not regard such an

207

action as any solution. Crespo has already considered
and relinquished the opportunity to commit the same
action. That Isabel's life is not sacrificed to the
demand of the current and earthly code of honor——a
code imposed by a ruling aristocracy-—is a strong, though
implicit rejection of it by the playwright. There is
a higher code of honor-—the one of Christianity—~which
recognizes innocence and the extenuation of unerring
motives irrespective of consequence. After all, Isabel
does become a nun and is, thereby, deemed sufficiently
worthy to be a spiritual bride of Christ. Where an
aristocratic code of honor has demanded her violent
death; a Christian code, exalted by Calderdn in the person
of Crespo, demands the salvation of her soul in eternal
life. It is this ignored or demeaned honor which is a
”portion of the soul" that the prophetic voice of the
playwright is compelled to herald. Crespo, the prac-
ticioner of the Christian code, rejects the ordinary
code of honor. When confronted by Juan to purchase a
patent of nobility and, thereby, avoid the obligation of
billeting troops and, further, acquire the external
sign of honor, Crespo can only respond:
Well, what am I gaining by

The purchase of a patent from the King

If I cannot buy noble blood? And will

They say then that I am a better man

Than I am now? That's an absurdity!

What will they say, then? That I have become

A noble in exchange for payment of

Some five or six cool thousands. That is Just

My money, it's not honor: no one can
Buy honor (p. 38).

a
" 4".

 

208

Yet Crespo is certainly the bearer of honor——
but honor of another sort. Consider that Crespo, during
the course of action, is elected to the position of mayor
of Zalamea—~thus attesting to the esteem and merit which
the townspeople attribute to him. And Crespo is deemed
sufficiently meritorious in his conduct and Judgment to
receive the mayorship permanently by the decree of Philip
II--a King and position esteemed by the people and
Calderon also. As to the execution of Don Alvaro by
Crespo, the attitude of the playwright may be clearly
discerned in the fact that the original title of the

play was The Best Execution Ever Carried Out or El

 

Garrote Mas Bien Dado. Again, there is Crespo's own

 

significant statement which attests to the nature of
his moral committment:
One's wealth and life are at the King's command,
But honor is a portion of the soul,
And one's own soul belongs to God alone (p. 5A).

For Crespo, true honor is not primarily derived
from adherance to an earthly or partial standard. True
honor—-the Christian honor exalted by Calderdn in the
person of Crespo-~15 contingent upon the integrity of an
immortal soul as it is founded in the wisiom of God.

The code of honor which is of ultimate significance is
the one founded upon the eternal truth of God as revealed
to man-—given the context of the drama and the creed

and devotion of the author, this can only mean the truth

and standard of honor promulgated by Christ through the

 

209

Catholic Church. In such a code is the truth and condition
that is superior to one which already exists. Calderon,
as prophet, heralds and cries for the substitution of
a demeaned or forgotten Christian ethic in place of one
which is grounded upon some transient and particular
historical context or situation. Calderon, as prophet,
pleads for the eternal and decries the profane. Calderdn
indicates and demands obligation to a future condition
which is nearer the eternal condition of God.
Such is the maJor purpose of the play but there

is another significant though lesser purpose contained
within it. As a prophetic artist, Calderdn has also
chosen to decry a specific abuse of the times——namely the
unfair treatment heaped upon the Spanish citizenry by an
abusive military. Hesse states:

Calderdn in the Mayor of Zalamea (El Alcalde de

Zalamea) . . . aimed to expose the irresponsible

conduct of Spanish troops billeted in the homes of
the civilian population.3

 

A wider consideration of the play, especially
the repulsive conduct of Don Alvaro, is sufficient evidence
in this regard. Nevertheless, there are several individual
incidents and assertions to this effect which warrant
some mention. When the Sergeant informs Don Alvaro that
Crespo, in his caution and suspicion, has concealed

Isabel in an attic room; Don Alvaro replies:

 

3Hesse, op. cit., p. 13.

210

Well, is there
A peasant who is not (p. 41)?

It is well to assume that the peasantry, owing to
past experiences with the military, had grounds for such
ready suspicion. Later, after the soldiers depart
from Zalamea; Ines, in a feeling of relief, states:

Since we

Are now without the soldiers, let us stay

Here at the door a little and enjoy

The cooling breeze that's blowing now, because
The neighbors all will soon be coming out (p. 87).

The fact that the townspeople chose to remain
safely indoors while the troops were in the town is
further indication of the maltreatment to which they
were usually subjected. Most cogent and to this same
point is the manner of Don Alvaro toward Crespo when the
anguished father begs marriage and recovered honor for
his daughter:

CRESPO:

So you are
Not moved at all by my deep grief?

CAPTAIN:
The tears
Of old men, children, and of women should
Not be believed.
CRESPO:

And so much heartache does
Not move you to have pity?

CAPTAIN:

What more can
You want? I've taken pity on your life!

211

CRESPO:

Behold me here upon the floor: I beg
You for my honor.

CAPTAIN:
What annoyance!
CRESPO:

I
Am Mayor of Zalamea now, you know.

CAPTAIN:

But over me you have no legal hold;
The military courts will send for me.

CRESPO:
Is that your final word?
CAPTAIN:

It is, you old
Decrepit graybeard.

CRESPO:
There's no other way?
CAPTAIN:

There is: for you the best way is to keep
It quiet.

CRESPO:
And there is no other?
CAPTAIN:

No (p. 110).

In such ways were the peasants of Spain repeatedly
abused by the Spanish troops. Calderdn exposed and
denounced such abuses and demanded an improved treatment

of the victims as a future substitute and solution.

212

Thus Calderdn, again, in the same play chose the stance
of the dramatic author who utters in the manner of
the prophets.

Lastly, The Great Theatre of the World will be

 

considered as an example of drama in which pastoral
doctrine is promulgated by the playwright who assumes

the priestly role. The concern of such a pastor is with
the "here and now." The focus of such an artist is

upon the concrete, temporal, and historical life and
activity of man. The playwright as pastor is concerned
with the fruition of human life within the context of

a social community. Pastoral doctrine directs itself

to the facilitation and fruition of activity which
pertains to the daily and practical life of man existing
in such a community. Standards of behavior or norms of
conduct pertaining to communal life and vivid examples of
men who have successfully abided by such standards and
norms are presented as patterns or exemplarstr emulation--
men are taught to do concretely what they ought to do.
The failures of men and the reasons for such failures

are made discernible also. The playwright as pastor
emphasizes that doctrine which harmonizes the relationship
and behavior of man toward man, thereby, elevating the
quality of life within a community and, also, diminishing
the amount of mistreatment and suffering which may exist

therein. With The Great Theatre of the World, Calderén

 

assumes the responsibility and task of the pastor and

attempts to present vivid doctrine which serves to enhance

.. -.,.|

 

L. ._...

 

213

the historical life of an individual and a community.

Also, this selection will present an opportunity for
considering an auto sacramental, a one-act religious play
often allegorical in nature and usually performed on Corpus
Christi Day in order to commemorate and honor the Eucharistic
presence. Calderon is quite renowned for the authorship

of more than eighty such religious plays.

The play, itself, begins with the entry of the Author
or God who is adorned in a starry mantle and hat decorated
with nine rays of light in groups of three. He surveys
the earth and praises its great beauty referring to it
as "heaven's fairest masterpiece-~the mirror and reflections
of heaven's great embroidery." The Author summarizes his

praise:

Oh thou of various aspects, many hued, where
Nature all her treasure doth amass, thou art the first
rich miracle of time, fashioned most marvellously,
and beyond surpass. This happy concourse of the
elements, from ashes risen like Phoenix, the immortal
bird, shall be confined and limited within a single
word. I, then, thou brave new tapestry before my
feet unfurled, decree a name to name thee, and thee
I name the World. (pp. 368-369)

The World appears at this summons asking the Author's

command and is answered:

Thou art my creation, and my most shadowy desire
must produce thy acquiescence immediately. Though
Nature for my delight outdoeth herself in daily
spectacle, still would I see a work cast in a dif-
ferent mold. Know that Man's lifeis but a play from
cradle to the grave. Prepare, therefore, to perform
the Play of Life, whose spectator shall be heaven.
Thou, World, shall set the stage, I will the play
direct, and men and women (whom I most loved of all
created things) shall be the actors in it; and in
this quadripartite World's Great Playhouse they shall
put on their play with seemly skill and due comportment.

214

To each we give the part that he may act most fittingly.
Now, therefore, World, order thy stage and the settings
place, and gather together appropriate properties.

I will then appoint rehearsals, and thou—-from first to
last—- shall be the Great World's Theater, and Man the
cast. (p. 369).

In preparation the World recapitulates history begin-
ning with the Garden of Eden and passing on to the exodus
of the Israelites into the promised land and the receiving
of the written law by Moses and, finally, to the present or
final act of the earth's history which is presently to
be performed in anticipation and preparation for the final
Judgment. The World concludes:

Now have I briefly outlined the broad action of
the World's Great Drama, and we may next proceed
directly to the performance we must give. All the
basic preparations have been made; but not mine is
the task to choose what dress the different actors
wear, for in Thy mind, Creator, and in Thy mind
alone, a final choice has been prepared, for in
the mystery of Thy timeless prescience all men
before their entrance on the stage have been assigned
the role and station of their lives. The stage is
now constructed; and, that men may come from Thy
all-knowing Presence into the world and act their
parts, and then to Thee return, here have I two
doors constructed--the cradle and the grave. . . .

Now all is ordered and expectant. Come then, ye
mortals, and apparel yourselves to play your part
in the Great Theater of This World (pp. 371—372).

The Rich Man, King, Peasant, Beggar, Wisdom, Beauty,
and a Child enter. The King addresses the Author:

Mindful of our obedience, though yet unborn, we
come to await Thy pleasure; for in our Sovereign
Author's mind we have existed forever, though never
given form and breath. We have no soul, no sense,
no mind, nor any potency. We are but formless dust
beneath Thy feet. Breathe Thou uponthis dust, and
we shall live and act the parts assigned us in the
Great Theater of This World.(p. 372)

And Beauty:

215

We are but thoughts in Thine imagination--
inchoate men and women we and neither animate
nor tangible; nor know we aught of good or evil.
Choose us our parts to play, for individual
choices have we none. (p. 372)

And the Peasant:

Oh Sovereign Author mine, of whose resplendent
Being my shadowy thought is now aware, and aware
ever shall be-—I am Thy creature, contrived and
fashioned by Thy celestial hand--give me, I pray
Thee, the part that I shall play; and if I err in
it and go astray, the fault shall not with the
choice Thou madest be; the blame shall fall alone
on me. (p. 372)

The Author responds:

If men might choose to be or not to be, no man
would choose to bear life's heavy yoke unless he
might be ruler and director of all other men--and
all forgetful that what he thinks is life is only
drama, the signs and symbols and reflections of
some other life to come. I, therefore, since not
all men mayliay the part of kings and governors,
shall in my wisdom choose for each man the role
he best can act on earth. Here is the assignment
of your work. Be thou the King. (pp. 372—373)

The Author proceeds to assign each character,
whether willing or not, a designated role and concludes:

Thus hath my foreknowledge marked out the designated
path each man must follow. I am Distributive Justice,
and I, and I alone, foreknow what every man's
appointed lot will be. (p. 373)

The Beggar is reluctant in accepting his role.
He pleads with the Author:

Why befalls it me to act the part of Begger in this
Play? Shall it for me alone be Tragedy? Have not
I the same soul, sense, being, as hath the King?
Why must our parts, then, different be? Had I been
fashioned from some other clay, then I, in sense
deficient, should have been an alien to this our
human line. Yet such was not Thy will. Oh, it is
harsh and bitter--cruel—-to play a part so mean, so
vile, when yonder sceptered King's no more a man
than I (p. 37“).

216

The Author responds:

It matters not what part a man doth play in Life's

great Drama. What he must do is play the best he

can the part that's given him. And when the play
is over, Beggar and King shall once again be
equals, and shall be Judged as equals. So,Beggar,
soften thy affliction for the while, for I have
willed it that if the Beggar play his part effec-
tively and if the King should do less well, then
shall the Beggar have the prize, for when the

final curtains close, the actors will receive

reward as each one merits. We do not care what

part a man has played; we only care how well he
played it. And when the final words are spoken
then shall I summon those who acted best to sit
beside me at my Table, and sup with me in Paradise.

And the Beggar and the King shall have like welcome

there (p. 37“)-

Beauty then asks the title of the play and the Author
gives the title as "Do Good, for God is God." The actors
complain that they have not had any rehearsals. They are
concerned lest they may forget their lines during the
course of the play but the Author allays their concerns
by informing them that he shall arrange for a prompter to
be present to guide them through the entire performance.
They are calmed and start for the stage in order to
commence the play but are halted by the World who equips
the players with the prOperties appropriate to each role.
The King receives a purple robe and laurels. Beauty
receives a bouquet of flowers. The Rich Man receives gold
and silver while Wisdom is given a sackcloth and scourges.
The Peasant is given a hoe and the Beggar and Child are
given nothing. Now each are prepared to perform their
respective role in the play of life. The World states

that all is in readiness:

217

Now is the stage filled with various estates; a
king with wide dominion, beauty that steals the
gaze of every eye, the tamed high wielders of
power, beggars pressed direly, peasants, and serv-
ants of the Church--and all have come to enact
their parts in this great play today. I am the
theater, and I have given them costumes and prop-
erties--outrages, even, and alms. Now, Author
Omnipotent, come forth to witness the performance
that men will here present before Thee. Let the
center of the earth be opened up, for there the
scene shall be (p. 377).

At this summons, the Author comes forth and while
music plays two globes Open up. Within one is the throne
of glory upon which sits the Author. In the other there
is a stage with two doors-~on one side is painted a
cradle and on the other is painted a coffin. The Author
commences the play:

This is the play I have devised for my enjoy—
ment. And from this throne eternal will I turn my
sight upon my players there below. Oh ye who make
your entrance in the cradle and your exit in the
coffin, see that you do your parts right well, for
your very Author, who sees you moving in your ter-
restrial vale, marks how ye do succeed, or how ye
fail (p. 377).

Here, the Law of Grace enters and delivers the
extremely significant Prologue. She goes to a high place
above where the World stands and declares:

I am the Law of Grace, and I shall speak the
Prologue to our play. And I shall prompt you with
this script, in which Thou'st summarized, oh
Lord, the contents of our play:

[Singing]
Love thy neighbor as thyself,
and Do Good, for God is God (p. 378).

Now the characters, having received the vital and

necessary directions, come forward to perform their given

roles. Beauty and Wisdom enter through the cradle door

and play their parts. Wisdom speaks:

218‘

It is not unlawful to revere Creation's beauties
if we remember us of their Creator ever; but I
have chosen the cloister for my part, and I have
put away the blinding vanities of this pale world.
Thus have I merited Wisdom's name (p. 379).

And Beauty:

And I have chosen the ways of Beauty—~to see, be
seen .
Snares shall I lay for chillest hearts and down-
cast eyes most coyly reticent (p. 379).

The World is not entirely pleased with the reading
of these lines and the Prompter, as so often, declares
the principle of proper conduct:

Do Good, for God is God (p. 379).

The Rich Man enters to perform his role:

Heaven hath beneficently bestowed upon me her
countless treasures and powers without earthly
bound or bourne. Therefore, I'll spend my lavish
gold on mundane pleasures. Whatever I wish--
that I shall buy. My table with flesh and fowl
shall be oppressed; and when night's gentle slum—
ber steals in to seal my somnolent eyes, it will
find me couched beneath the lascivious canopy of
Venus' sacred self. And these shall be my guides
and my companions: sloth, lust, gluttony, envy,
and'ambition (p. 379).

And then the Peasant performs:

Was greater labor ever seen than mine? Dreary
was that sentence that made me earn my bread in
the sweat of my brow. I daily fight with hoe,
ploughshare, and sickle——and stumps and growing
grains when May showers and April rains. But I
cannot have the spring unless I take the rain
that goes with it. When those fellows out there
levy taxes they always start first with the peas—
ant. Well, I toil and sweat over my crops, so
anyone who wants my grain will have to pay me what
I ask him for it. And, believe me, I intend to
ask more than the ceiling prices those people
have put on things. I won't budge either. Come
April, if it doesn't rain (and I pray to God it
won't), I am going to make a pile of ducats on
the grain I've stored up. And around here I'll
be like Nabal in the Old Testament: everybody

219?

will have to come to me for food. Why shouldn't
I profit from their necessity? What else can I
do (pp. 379-380)?

They are each admonished by the Prompter's unchang-
ing advice. The Beggar then presents his role:

Who hath ever seen more misery than is my lot
to bear? The earth's my only bed, and heaven it—
self my only canopy. Frost and the heat descend
upon me, and hunger and thirst, they tread me
down. Help me, I pray thee, Lord-~help me in
this dark night of my affliction (p. 380)!

And then the King:

Far as the farthest horizon that eyes can see
and farther still than thought can fly, stretch
infinite my teeming realms and territories, pros-
trate and suppliant before my royal gaze. Is
there perchance aught in all the world that is my
need (p. 380)?

The Prompter admonishes them in turn. The Beggar
then approaches each character for alms. It is the
Author's way of testing whether the characters are heed—
ing the advice of the Prompter. Beauty ignores him.
The Rich Man is indignant and rejects him. The King
refers the Beggar to the royal almoner. The Peasant
offers him a hoe with which to earn his living. The
Beggar refuses and approaches Wisdom, the devotee of
religion, and is given a loaf of bread for assistance.
At this moment, Wisdom swoons and is assisted by the
King. The Author comments on the performance which has
so far been given:

I might well correct the flaws my actors make;
but I have given them all Free Will--Free Choice—-
to mend their own deficiencies. Free Will is far
superior to all other human attributes, and if it

be duly exercised, it may govern man's each move
and passion. Men I created free, for if not free,

 

 

220

what proof could they have given me of their integ-
rity? I formed them free, and free they must remain.
Thus I permit them all to act their parts according
to their will; but when they miss their mark, I

send them warnings and correction through my obe—
dgent handmaiden's voice, the Law of Grace (pp. 382—
3 3).

And the Law of Grace responds:

Do Good, for God is God. I have counselled you
every one; if therefore ye err, ye err. [Singing]
Love thy neighbor as thyself, for God is God (p. 383).

The players, by now, become a bit bored and resolve

to entertain each other by revealing their innermost

thoughts. The King begins:

My mind's eye perceiveth my utter majesty, the
grandeur and the glory of my imperial sway. On all
that I call my own hath Nature lavished numberless
perfections, and, in variety, infinite. Obedient
to my governance stand lofty fortresses adamant;
and Beauty herself is my bondswoman. So hath it
been decreed—~that some should follow and some
should lead. Heaven itself hath lent its hand to
aid me in the governance of my wild, unequal brood.
And I, to subjugate so many stubborn necks beneath
my royal yoke must ever call on heavenly wisdom to
direct my steps and lend my will assistance (p. 383).

The World approves this presentation for the King

has called upon Heaven's wisdom for direction and assist—

ance .

The King is then beckoned by the voice of death

and exits by the coffin door. Beauty then reveals her

inner thoughts:

I see my beauty as in a glass before mine eyes,
and it is clear and fair and lovable. It hath no
envy of the King's once glittering triumphs or his
broad empire--teeming, vast-~for vaster empire
shall I have, and marshalled all 'neath Beauty's
gleaming banner. The King was only master of men's
flesh and bones, but I shall steal their hearts
away. They shall be Beauty's slaves. Mine is the
fairer realm in every part, for Beauty reigns
eternal in every human heart. And if Philosophy

221

in man a little world doth see, then a little heaven
shall womanly beauty be (p. 38A).

The World is critical of this presentation for
Beauty has displayed excessive pride. Beauty is now
called by the voice of death and exits as did the King
before. The Peasant then speaks:

When I go out to till and toil in the fields I
fear not cold nor heat. I fear not that; for what
I really fear is the lukewarm heart I bear within
this chilly breast that gives thanks to the fields
that bring me again, but not to God who grew the
grain (p. 385).

The World is pleased at this for the Peasant has
acknowledged himself to be a debtor to God. The Peasant
then heeds the voice of death. Now the Rich Man reveals
himself:

Return to our recitations. And to do my share,
I too will now recite my piece.--If the life of
man is like a rose ephemeral and only lasts from
dawn to darkling eve, then let us all rejoice to
have at least that brief reprieve. My belly shall
be my deity, till death's slow step draw nigh.
Let us eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we
shall die (p. 386).

The World is angered by this false doctrine. The
Beggar then addresses himself:

I follow next.--Let that day perish, Oh Lord,
wherein I was born upon this earth; perish the
chill night when I was conceived to hear such
woe. May day never dawn to dispel those somhre
shades; may darkness reign there, and Stygian
night forever. Eternal be that fearful night;
let the stars of the twilight thereof be dark—-
neither let it behold the eyelids of the morn; and
let that day have no morning, and let the night
he moonless and without stars. Yet make I not
my dismal moan for this my outcast state. I would
not trouble heaven's ears with mournful din. I
only grieve that I was born in deepest sin (Pp.
386-387).

222

The King and Beggar are called by death and leave
the stage together. Wisdom is the only actor remaining
in "World's Great Theater." The World cites the appro—
priateness of the situation for it is right that reli—
gion is the last to leave. Wisdom replies:

Religion will never, never end; but now my time
is come, for I am not Religion's self—-only an
humble devotee who chose that path to follow.

Now, even before the Voice makes ready to call me

hence I find myself prepared to go, and waiting

for the grave. Have I in life itself not buried
been? Now, last of all our cast today, I too go
hence from the play our Author will present again
and on the morrow. Oh ye that fail today and end
in grief and sorrow, profit from Wisdom's words

and mend your faults tomorrow (pp. 387-388)!

The earth's globe closes and the Author who has
been watching over all states:

I have prepared punishments and recompense for
those who've acted in this play. Now shall they
see what proper guerdon their work hath merited
(p. 388).

The characters return and present their properties
to the World. No social distinctions are made or allowed
for after death there is only equality until the final
judgment. Only Wisdom may lay claim to some possession.
Wisdom rejects the World's remark that none may retain

earthly glory after death:

That cannot be, for all those pristine glories may

now accompany me. Uprightness, sacrifice, and
prayer may not be left in this World below (pp. 390—
391)-

The World acknowledges the propriety of the claim:

'Tis true: I never may withhold good works; they,
and they alone may all be taken hence (p. 391).

223

The other chara;ters voice regret for the imper—
fection of their past lives but the World merely responds:

It is too late, for when Death's dread summons
comes, none shall garner further merits. Now have
I heaped together the august trappings of majesty
and withered Beauty's fragile bloom. Likewise have
I bent the neck of haughty vanity. Now in death's
democracy, scepters and plowshares are all one;
and the moment is come when ye shall enter the
Theater of Truth and leave yon Fiction's Playhouse
far behind (p. 391).

The characters decide to ready themselves for the
great supper that the Author has prepared for them. The

Beggar calls the Author:

Author of earth and heaven, this company of
players that hath performed life's human comedy
approacheth now to that Great Supper thou'st
prepared before us. Let the curtains forthwith
be drawn away, and we shall see Thy throne and
canopy, behold Thy Day (p. 392).

The celestial globe is seen again. There is a
table within it on which are the chalice and host. The
Author is seated there and the World exits as if to em—
phasize that this is an entirely different realm.

The Author speaks:

This table now awaits you, and this Bread—-
adored by heaven and reverenced even by hell itself.
They who shall sup with me will presently be known;
known, too, those who through misjudgment or for—
getfulness of my many mercies have erred their
parts. First, the Beggar and Saintly Wisdom shall
sup with me; and now freed from World's require—
ments and the need of physical food, they shall
forever adore this heavenly Bread and glorify it
through all eternity (p. 392).

The Beggar and Wisdom gratefully join the Author

at this great meal. The Author, again, speaks:

224

Beauty and Power shall likewise to my table
ascend, because they sought forgiveness for their
grievous sin of pride; but not ascend at present.
So shall the Peasant also tarry awhile away, for
though he gave the Beggar nothing 'twas not be—
cause he did not wish to give. Pious was his
intent. He only wished to help the Beggar help
himself (p. 393).

Wisdom pleads in behalf of the King:

Author Divine, I was low—pressed, and the King
lent me his hand and lifted me up. Now lend I
him mine, and do beseech Thee pardon him (p. 393).

The Author, heeding this plea, allows the King to
ascend also. The Child speaks:

If no mistake I made, great Lord, why grant'st
Thou me no guerdon (p. 393)?

And the Author replies:

Nothing didst thou do for either good or ill.
Thou therefore neither reward nor punishment
shalt receive. Blind, thou shalt nothing have;
thou art a child of sin (p. 393).

The Rich Man addresses the Author in a still arro—
gant and unremorseful manner and the Author responds:

With what bold arrogance name'st thou my name?
I fashioned thee, and now thou ever shalt shamefast
be, and from my company go hence for all eternity.
My power casts thee down into a torment that with
dreadful fire shall devour thy pride and arrogance
forever and forever (p. 394).

The Rich Man falls to eternal damnation for the
remorseless failure to heed the directions of the
Prompter:

Oh woe, woe! I fall, in devouring flames en—
wrapped, dragging my earthly shadow into this fiery
pit; and locked and immured forever in adamantine

rock, this shape and form I called my own, will
through all eternity enterred be (p. 39A).

225

Beauty and the Peasant are finally allowed to as—

cend and the Author concludes the great play of life:
The angels in heaven, and men on earth, hell's

very demons, even, low kneel before this sacred

Bread; now let the Joyful sounds of earth, hell,

heaven this Bread proclaim in sweet harmonious

concord resonant. Let Joyful pipes sing out

their hymns, bright banners be unfurled, to praise

God's holy majesty, the Author of the World (pp.

394-395).

The sounds of hornpipes are heard and the Tantum
Ergo, part of a hymn written by Aquinas in praise of the
Blessed Sacrament, is sung many times in Joy.

In this play, one encounters the best type of

I

moral teachings of the time in Spain. Calderon has
fulfilled the pastoral task by promulgating that doctrine
best able to enhance and harmonize the life of an indi—
vidual and a community. Parker, referring to the play,

declares:

It is the poetic restatement of traditional Chris—
tian social teaching.

Such social teaching revolves about the law of
charity as discerned by the Christian Church——namely, the
proper love of God, persons, and things. Each charac—
ter within the play who requires guidance for the cor—
rect performance of a role is lacking in rightly directed
attention and love-—e.g. Beauty is pre-occupied with

physical appearance, the Peasant with earthly possessions,

 

“Parker, op. cit., p. 1U5.

 

I Hullld I

226

and the King with power and position. Each lacks the
sense of proportion and propriety which the law of charity
commands. Each is distracted from the higher and more
proper love of God and people by an unacceptable pre-
occupation with condition, status, or possession. Such
pre—occupation is at the expense of the greater prior—
ities dictated by the law of charity. In the hierarchy

of consideration dictated by this law, proper regard

for the well-being of one's fellowman takes precedence
over the mentioned pre—occupations. The directions of

the Prompter are constantly voiced so as to orient the
performance of each character. The social obligation of
man toward man, the loving of one's neighbors, is con—
stantly ignored. All of the characters, except for

Wisdom and the actless child, fail the test which the
Beggar provides at the behest of the Author. Each of
these characters ignore the plight of a fellow human

in need for the sake of personal comfort or pre-occupation.
They ignore an opportunity to prove that they are heeding
the voice of the Prompter who speaks in behalf of the
Author or God. They ignore an opportunity to pay proper
and necessary homage to God by caring for God's crea—
tion as man. Each lacks charity for each has distorted
focus and attention by an excessive concern for the

self. The law to love thy neighbor as thyself is
flaunted and the characters suffer accordingly and to

the extent that they continue in their errorful ways

 

227

or refuse to repent for such ways. The prompter declares
that they should each do good for God is God——that is
God is all—Just and all—powerful and shall reward and
punish each in accord with the merit of an earthly per—
formance. Men do not exist in isolation. Men do not
exist with merely an obligation to care for themselves
and their own salvation. Man is a member of a community
and has a strong social obligation. What wealth and
assets he may possess are for the sake of care and de—
votion to God and man and, only then, to things and
shallow concerns. To fail in fulfilling this social
obligation is to engage in sin and merit eternal con—
demnation as does the Rich Man who by his acts of omission
and failure to repent for these, merits eternal damna-
tion. Calder6n has presented, by dramatic means, that
knowledge which dictates how man should conduct himself
upon the earth in order to attain eternal life and sal—
vation. Calder6n has presented the law of community——
the preservation and sustenance of man in his earthly
life. Calder6n, as pastor, presents that doctrine

which is a pre-condition for the activity of man as it
may direct itself toward the palliation of earthly
suffering. There is no question that such is the in—
tent and purpose of the play for Caldergn cogently sum-
marizes and explicates his intent. Again, the Prompter

declares:

228

I am the Law of Grace, and I shall speak the Pro—
logue to our play. And I shall prompt you with
this script, in which Thou'st summarized, oh Lord,
the contents of our play:
[Singing]
Love thy neighbor as thyself,
and Do Good, for God is God (p. 378).
There is little ambiguity here. Grace, the free
gift of God rendered as strength and wisdom for the sake
of overpowering sin and suffering, dictates that man love
his neighbor as he loves himself and that he do good.
In such love and goodness is found the quality and merit
of earthly life. In such love and goodness, the all»
powerful and all—just Author or God who views over all
discerns the reasons for rewarding his earthly actors
with eternal joy or suffering. Men must exercise the
law of charity and in such charity is found not only
the salvation of the individual but the salvation of the
community which is so vital to God. Again, the noted
Calderbnian scholar Parker concludes:
The excellence and value of El Gran Teatro del
Mundo are to be found, more than in the appeal of
its allegory, in the humanity of its social and
moral teaching. Its strength lies in its affirma—
tion of the social bond and in its denial that the
individual can rightly exist in self—satisfied

isolation . . . This affirmation . . . stands
out as the noblest message of this play.5

 

 

The concern with the well—being and salvation of
an individual bound to a community and the presentation

of whatever knowledge is necessary to fulfill the same

 

5Ibid., pp. 151—152.

229

is the primary concern of the playwright as priest who
assumes the pastoral role. In this play, Calder6n

fulfills this obligation with eminence.

 

I‘ll-III.

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230

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