Herod's Pride

Act 4, Scene 3 quickly reveals how horrid Herod truly is. Throughout the play, Mariam has made her disinterest in wealth and power clear. Rather, she seeks independence and pursuits a proud identity. In fact, upon greeting--if it can be called such--Herod, Mariam proclaims, "I neither have of power nor riches want, I have enough no do I wish for more" (23-24). The sorrow of losing her family members at the hands of her wretched husband cannot be overcomed by the material goods he has tried to bestow upon her. Herod is entirely oblivious to Mariam's true desires, and seems to overcompensate his shortcomings with riches and power--the two things that are deliberately out of Mariam's interest.

Herod's response makes this sentiment increasingly clear. Rather than console Mariam, he justifies his action by reminding Mariam of her grandfather's supposed intentions: "Hircanus plotted to deprive my head/ Of this long settled honour that I wear" (34-35). Not only does Herod ignore Mariam's desires, but he is enraptured by only his own. His pursuit of Mariam was motivated purely of his own interest, as is the continuance of their relationship. It is when Mariam stands against Herod's interests for her own that he decides she must be executed. Herod is merely a child throwing an extravagant temper tantrum--and it's certain that he is blinded of the consequences.

Dr. Faustus

The prologue first tells the story of a man with humble beginnings, thirsty for knowledge and ambitious in scholarship. Although he began his theological education at Martin Luther's renowned school in Wittenberg, and even earned a doctorate degree, his ambition for knowledge soon turned into a lust for power. Like Icarus' "waxen wings," Faustus' dabbling in magic, fueled by pride, ultimately leads to his demise (line 21).

Faustus' use of Latin and references to classical philosophy speak to his noteworthy education. However, Faustus feels as though he has achieved all earthly power and knowledge necessary: "Is to dispute well logic's chiefest end?/ Affords this are no greater miracle? Then read no more, though hast attain'd the end" (lines 10-13). Thus, ironically, Faustus' thorough theological education ultimately fuels his deal with the devil. Hungry for more knowledge, Faustus turns to the realm of necromancy. Further, Faustus does not fear sin or death, but rather accepts them as inherent in humanity. In this sense, he is able to reason the decision he is about to make at his soul's expense: "If we say that we have no sin/ We deceive ourselves, and there's no truth in us./Why then belike we must sin,/ And so consequently die" (lines 43-46). Ultimately, Faustus' true desire is revealed to be power, perhaps attained by knowledge. Faustus seeks that "All things that move between the quiet poles/ Shall be at [his] command" (lines 58-59).

The introduction to this play pins the root of the plot to be a deal with the devil. However, the play also serves as a moral lesson regarding the pursuit of power. Not only does Faustus seem fatefully driven by his desire to rule as a diety, but his companions Valdes and Cornelius wish to join him. Further, the relationship between Faustus' servant, Wagner, and the Clown presents a parallel power struggle. I'm interested in how their discussion in Act 1, Scene 4, seems to reflect the same ambitions that motivate Faustus.

"I love Rome, but London better"

Medieval writers called on Roman and Greek mythology for influence and inspiration in their writing; Humanist scholars were similarly motivated by these cultures and, specifically, their language. The two eras treated the ancient cultures and their literature differently, though. Greek and Roman culture had the greatest impact on Renaissance religion, which in turn influence the politics and literature of the era.
While medieval writers tied the mythology into their own far-fetched tales, Humanist writers sought to shape its stories and morals to support Christian ideology. Fascinatingly, the philosophy of Plato, who we can assume practiced polytheism in the Greek tradition, "could be harmonized with Christian ideals" (467).
Considering the history of Christianity, and also the basis of the Reformation, I find the departure from the classic belief that man is finite, fallen, and frail that became characteristic of the Renaissance fascinating. This picture is colored even more when one considers the apathetic piety practiced by Margery Kempe. The "emphasis on human potential and free will" that became celebrated during the Renaissance provides interesting contrast to Margery's torturous worship practices (467).
Finally, the evolution of English as an accepted and praised literary vernacular has much to thank Latin for. Richard Mulcaster's passage provides an elegant justification for the adoption of English. It's also interesting here to note the influence of patriotism that was developing, perhaps out of the previously mentioned emphasis on human and societal potential.

The religious metaphor in Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet provides extreme irony. However, I'm not sure if this is a stab at the morality of the Catholic church or just an innocent literary device. Is Shakespeare's use of religious players in describing and justifying an immorally-motived act a commentary on the practices of the church that ultimately fueled the Protestant Revolution? Following the readings of Canterbury Tales and Margery Kempe, it's hard to see religion, and especially pilgrimage, playfully referenced.

Questions about Margery

Although I am familiar with the basic Christian notion of prudence and resisting temptation, I was surprised by the emphasis on suffering Margery Kempe places on leading a righteous life. Kempe justifies her isolation and isolation and misery as following the path of suffering that was the Lord's. It is truly her belief that "being despised by the world was the right path to heaven" (371). All the while, following this path, she all but abandons her marriage and essentially offends other Christians with her extreme rhetoric.

I also find the sentences "she continually thanked God for everything" and "She hated the joys of the world" a bit contradictive (371). How could she so hate the world that God made in his own eyes? It's hard for me to see the spiritual reward of such a pessimistic lifestyle. How can one anticipate the joys of heaven if she can't even appreciate the beauty in mortal life?

I am unfamiliar with the church culture of the 15th century, but it does not seem surprising to me that Margery was accused of being a heretic. The scene described on page 375 before the Archbishop was reminiscent of The Crucible's dramatic witch trials. I am not surprised to find such "worship," if you would, as practiced by Margery was rejected by the established church. Frankly, her display sounds a bit more like an exorcism.

Margery's bout with infidelity was also unexpected. That Margery, who has sworn chastity--and forced it upon her own legal husband--would so consider sleeping with another man was shocking. Further, she seems more ashamed of her husband's persistent desire to sleep with his own wife than her own consideration of adultery. I'm just unsure of how this chapter fits in with the rest of the story.