A Look Into the Depths of Goethes Faust

By Mark L. Dotson Goethe's Faust is a deep, deep tale, wrought in the bowels of the collective unconscious. For years, it has fascinated me. The following commentary is the result of much study and contemplation of the great man's work. In the Prologue in Heaven, the angel, Raphael, exclaims: The sun is chanting his ancient song, In contest with the brother spheres Goethe is setting the stage for the conversation between God and Mephistopheles. The first line above refers to the Pythagorean teaching of "the harmony of the spheres," where each sphere in the solar system emits a musical tone, which harmonizes with the tones of all other spheres, forming a beautiful, harmonious music. In the second line, we see that Goethe is veering away from this notion of a harmonious universe, for the sun's song is at odds with the other spheres'. It is as if the sun wants to sing the prettiest song so that he may be revered above all the other spheres. Thus, the Heaven where God and Mephistopheles will discuss the man, Faust, is not the orderly, harmonious universe of orthodox Christianity. Rather, it is a universe of contention, where polar forces are in eternal conflict. The next few lines read: Rolling with thunder steps along, Down the predestined course of years. This passage, compared with the previous one, shows that contention of the opposites is a major theme. Above, we saw that the music of the spheres will not be harmonious. But, even though there is no concord between the spheres, the sun is rolling down a course of "predestined years." Here is an element of orderliness. Perhaps Goethe is saying that, even though we live in a contentious universe, there are destinies to be fulfilled, there are paths of harmony that may be discovered. Goethe has the sun in motion, thus presenting a geocentric planetary system. Of course, this was the accepted view prior to Copernicus' heliocentric theory. I doubt very much, however, that Goethe is giving us a cosmology lesson, especially since the geocentric theory was in much disrepute by his day. Could it be that the sun is a metaphor for the ultimate fulfillment of man's inner struggle, or perhaps a symbol for the light of truth? There is precedent for such solar-symbolism in alchemy, a subject that Goethe was much involved in. In alchemy, Sol represented the gold that the alchemists sought to make, as opposed to

Luna, or the base metals. Many believe that the alchemists were actually describing a process of self-transformation. The alchemical processes of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, are really, according to some, psychological processes which we pass through on the way to self-realization. The gold, or the sun, corresponds to this state of fulfillment. Alchemy is replete with symbols of the contention of opposites. When the conjunction of opposites occurs, one has found the gold, or the state of self-realization. His presence gives the angels might, Though fathom it none ever may; And Thy sublime works still are bright With splendor of Creation's day. Raphael ends his speech with the idea that the contention of the opposites will never be fully understood. The universe, regardless of how mysterious it may be, is still a marvelous place. The presence of contention is really a good thing. As with Hegel, negation is something that is quite necessary in our world. Without negation, there is no upward movement. In the discussion between the Lord and Mephistopheles, the latter says something that is becoming clearer to me as I read through Faust. Referring to humanity, Mephistopheles says, Their lives would be a little easier if You'd not let them glimpse the light of heaven-they call it Reason and employ it only to be more bestial than any beast. His contention is that humans, or "little gods," as he calls them, would have been better off if God had not given them the gift of Reason. If they had simply been created as animals without reasoning faculties, they would have lived gentle, peaceful lives in a state of naturalness. Instead, he says, they are worse than any animal. Goethe had no idea what would take place in the twentieth century, what with two world wars, the Holocaust, and other atrocities. I'm not so sure he was totally in the dark, however, for there were atrocities in his day as well. He knew that mankind contained darkness as well as light. Perhaps he was answering thinkers of the Enlightenment, who painted such a rosy picture of man. Those we usually consider as being evil, such as Adolf Hitler, probably started out with lofty ideals about the way life should be. It was only later that they sank into the mire of savagery. Mephistopheles uses another image to explicate his argument:

they're like those crickets with long legs who won't stop flying though they only hop, and promptly sing the same old song down in the grass again. And if they'd only keep lying in the grass-they stick their noses into every dirty mess! Crickets and grasshoppers try to leap as high as they possibly can. In the end, though, they fall back into the grass and sing the same old song. A very apt image, I must say! The higher they jump, the farther they fall. Humans strive, at times, to reach unattainable ideals. Many times, we fall flat on our faces. We end up in a morass of despair and disillusionment. Does this mean that we should stop striving? Certainly not. Sometimes we succeed. One goal attained is worth all the effort. Certainly, we despair and lose hope sometimes, but this is who we are. We are not perfect all the time, and we are not beasts all the time. Faust is a man who strives for happiness and the good life. His dissatisfaction with life has led him to enter into a pact with Mephistopheles, who has promised to supply him with all he desires. Mephisto believes that if Faust continues on this course, he will be damned. The agreement ensures that both men get what they want. Faust is seeking that which is really unattainable. There is no perfect happiness or contentment. Yes, we should continue to strive for ideals. I think that by striving, we produce the mental energy we need to survive. But we must learn to live with the fact that we will be forever striving and never reaching goals of perfection. And swift beyond where knowledge ranges, Earth's splendour whirls in circling flight; In contrast to the geocentric symbolism of Raphael's speech, Goethe alludes to the heliocentric view by having Gabriel speak of the earth "in circling flight." As I mentioned earlier, I don't think the mention of cosmology is meant be taken literally. As I've been reading about Goethe's intellectual life, I am discovering that he was very much in tune, not only with Romanticism, but also with the Renaissance, especially those thinkers who exhibited an uncompromising belief in individualism, and in human potential. This image of the earth, in all its splendor, whirling around the sun, seems to represent the plight of the individual who searches for truth. Just as the earth circumambulates the sun, we, as truth-seekers, seem to go around in circles in our journey. In Jungian psychology, much emphasis is placed on the alchemical process, circumambulatio, or the "circumambulation of the self." Jung believed that the quest toward individuation was circular, which is why many cultures create mandalas, or circular drawings, to symbolize the process of self-realization. Goethe's image of the earth, whirling around the sun, perhaps in search of light, is a wonderful metaphor for the circumambulatio. Another thought comes to mind about this image: perhaps Goethe is trying to relate how humans are free to roam where they may, but that this freedom is determined by a certain destiny which must be fulfilled (the circumscribed orbit of the earth). The Romantics

believed in unfettered freedom of the human will; I am wondering whether Goethe may have been trying to mediate this notion by saying, "Yes, we are free, but it is a freedom which is circumscribed, not absolute." This would certainly be in agreement with his belief in the conjunction of opposites. Goethe seemed to be of the opinion that Nature and mankind were meant to be in harmony. The passage above reminds me of the Hermetic doctrine, As above, so below, i.e., the connection between the microcosm and macrocosm. The image of the solar system is the macrocosm, but there is a parallel image already alluded to above, i.e., man as microcosm. Man is a "universe in miniature," according to this doctrine. The idea is found in symbolic traditions all over the world, especially in the esoteric teachings of the Renaissance. Goethe, who had a fascination with esoteric philosophy, must have incorporated the idea into his work. The passage subtly implies that Goethe, as a participant in the Romantic movement, believed in the individual and his freedom, albeit circumscribed. Also, because he was using concepts from alchemy and other esoteric philosophies, it shows that he clearly rejected institutional Christianity. I think Goethe could easily be described as a Renaissance man as well. His interest, again, in individualism places him alongside such luminaries as Giordano Bruno, Pico della Mirandola and Da Vinci, who were also interested in esotericism. Continuing with the Prologue in Heaven, the archangel, Michael, utters these words: And rival tempests roar and shatter, From sea to land, from land to sea Here, I think we have yet another picture of man the microcosm. Goethe is presenting a view of the nature of man that would later become popular in the guise of Freud's psychoanalysis, and Jung's analytical psychology. Goethe is describing man as a being whose life-experience is characterized by "rival tempests." The human experience is one of conflict. There is little doubt concerning that. The greatest philosophers and poets have realized this. Just as sunny days give way to thunderstorms, hurricanes and tornadoes, and these, in turn, give way again to sunny days, the human being experiences an incessant procession of pain and pleasure, peace and turmoil, love and hate, calm and rage, etc. Inner forces are constantly ebbing and flowing. Tomorrow may bring a formidable bout with depression, only to find oneself, the next day, thinking how wonderful life is. In the age of Goethe, many believed that the light of Reason would lead man down the primrose path to Utopia. They failed to understand that humans also have a dark side, or a "Shadow," as Jung put it. The polar opposites, which are innate in man, are at war. This is what Goethe was trying to tell his contemporaries, but the masses failed to heed his warning. It would take several bloody wars, and millions of lives being snuffed out, to mitigate the enthusiasm of Enlightenment thinking.

The manner in which storms travel from sea to land, and from land to sea, leads me to think of how my own tempests seem to ebb and flow from consciousness to unconsciousness. A hurricane, for example, when it comes ashore, is usually very destructive. However, when it once again moves out to sea, we forget about it, and it eventually dies out. Isn't this the way it is with an inner storm? We are conscious of turmoil, depression, rage, etc. But, inevitably, the disturbance flows back into unconsciousness, where it either lies dormant for a time, or simply dies. And, raging, form a circling fetter Of deep, effective energy. This passage, I think, is very important. The path of both inner and outer storms is cyclical. Actually, I believe Goethe would say that the motion of Nature, as a whole (microcosm/macrocosm), is cyclical. The give and take of the polar opposites produces a "circling fetter," a circular chain, of energy. This sounds very much like "Chi" in Taoism. I am also thinking of a Gnostic symbol which has enjoyed some popularity on television (X-Files and Millennium), the Ouroboros. The Ouroboros is a snake biting its own tail. According to Cirlot, "the Ouroboros . . . is symbolic of self-fecundation, or the primitive idea of a self-sufficient Nature -- a Nature, that is, which, ala Nietzsche, continually returns, within a cyclic pattern, to its own beginning" (Cirlot 247). From what I have read about Goethe, he was most definitely a man who believed in self-fecundation and selfsufficiency. The references to cyclical paths of self-realization are many. Another that comes to mind is the Zen Circle. The primary point that I think Goethe is trying to make is that the experience of humankind is not linear, as most Westerners like to think. Also, it is not one-sided, with Reason as our helmsman. Rather, our path is one that ebbs and flows cyclically, sometimes dark, sometimes light, sometimes calm, sometimes tempestuous. Selffulfillment can only come when we recognize and accept these aspects of ourselves. Earlier, I described Goethe as a Renaissance man. I said he was both a proponent of individualism and a student of esotericism. I compared him to Giordano Bruno, Pico della Mirandola and Leonardo da Vinci. One thing I failed to mention is that Goethe was also a skilled scientist, as was da Vinci and other Renaissance intellectuals. The interesting thing about it, however, is that Goethe's scientific methodology was quite different than what we call the "scientific method" today. I am of the opinion that his methodology can be harmonized with his esoteric interests. Returning to Faust, the opening scene called Night has Faust seated at his desk, restless and troubled. He is a great intellectual; he has studied philosophy, medicine, jurisprudence, etc., but has not found what he is looking for. He has realized that systematic knowledge, the product of discursive thinking, is not satisfying his hunger for truth. He must transcend this kind of thinking; he must get to the inner core of knowledge. Faust seeks a different way of perceiving the outside world. I believe he is seeking an unmediated perception of Nature. Faust desires to stand beside the archangels

in the Prologue in Heaven. He longs to share their experience of the Ineffable, which is probably more akin to The One of Neoplatonism. He says, So I'll discover what it is that binds The world together, so that I'll find The forces stirring in the seed, And from spinning, empty words be freed. Faust believes the perception of truth, that he is longing for, is not to be found in a personal deity, as in Christianity. Rather, truth lies in Nature herself, in the "forces stirring in the seed." He desires to know what "binds the world together." So, even though we have already seen many allusions to a world of conflicting opposites, still there is a unity, and there is a something that brings about this unity. The words of discursive thinkers are "spinning, empty," but in this One (for want of a better word to describe "that which unites") there is a path to truth as it is in itself. This, obviously, is a form of pantheism or panentheism. Perhaps Faust's vision of the moon suggests the nature of the alternative form of perception he is seeking. It begins with images of light, a motif we have already seen in the sun-symbolism of the Prologue: O glowing moon . . . Faust believes that in the macrocosm one can discover truth concerning the microcosm. Hence, when one attempts to sense Nature as it is in itself, one gains self-knowledge, that, in my opinion, is what Faust (and Goethe) really wants. Faust believes that Nature and man are one, thus allowing man to learn about himself through Nature. Nature is not to be studied so that we can stuff computer hard-drives full of scientific data, analyze it, sift through it, and catalog it. Rather, Goethe believes that Nature should be studied so we may gain self-knowledge. Furthermore, the basis of Faust's frustration stems from his inability to derive selfknowledge from discursive reasoning alone. I believe Goethe is telling us we need to transcend discursive reasoning, not jettison it altogether, and to unite it with a higher epistemology, which comes when we truly attempt to see Nature as it is. In this, Goethe foresaw, somewhat, the phenomenological method that would later arise in philosophy. Faust experiences a camaraderie with the moon that opens up new vistas of understanding: Ah, could I on mountain height, Roam in thy softly tender light, O'er the fields at twilight trail, Drifting with spirits of hill and dale; Then freed from knowledge and its pain, Bathed in thy dew, my health regain. There is an experience one can have with Nature that is unexplainable. It can only be

hinted at in poetry. Goethe understood this very well. He knew the link between Nature and the mind of man. He was aware that such an experience could free one from the fetters of discursive reasoning, which tended to reduce the quest for truth to empirical observation only. Imagination plays a key role in a deeper epistemology. Faust dreams of roaming the mountain peaks of the moon in the soft, tender light. To skip through hill and dale at twilight, with spirits at his side, and finally being baptized in the moon's dew, which is regenerative. To truly study a plant, a rock, or the planets, we must use our imagination to get at the inner truth of the thing. Measurement is fine, but we should not stop there. When I studied Heidegger in college, I learned about a kind of thinking that belongs to the being of a thing. In this belonging-together of being and thinking, thinking thinks on being. It does not evaluate and analyze a thing; it experiences it as that which emerges out of hiding. This seems to be the kind of perception that Faust is looking for. The vision of the moon seems to be the first of several intuitive perceptions that Faust experiences in the early stages of the tragedy. Next, he encounters the sign of the Macrocosm. Ha! At this one burning glance what ecstasy Courses through my senses once again! I feel a youthful holy joy of life, Quivering through every nerve and vein! Was it a god who wrote this sign, which stills My inner tumult, fills My troubled heart with joy, And with mysterious force reveals The power of Nature which about me steals? The sign of the Macrocosm is "a diagram of the organization of the cosmos in terms of the four elements, the arrangement of the planets, and the relationship of human, natural, and divine spheres" (Brown 53). It is very similar to mandalas used in Tibetan Buddhism, and other parts of the world. It is a symbol that has obviously touched Faust very deeply. In the sign, Nature encompasses everything and everything is Nature. There is an opposition between Nature and the anima mundi. This sign hearkens back to the opposition we saw in the Prologue in Heaven, where Raphael's harmony and Michael's storms were synthesized. There is no doubt now that Faust is leaning toward a panpsychist/panexperientialist view of the universe. It is the "power of Nature" which fills his heart with joy and frees him from the chains of a strictly systematic approach to truth. It is more than just an experience of universal order. Faust claims the sign points to "Creative Nature." At the end of the vision, Faust calls out for "illimitable Nature." This is very different than simple allegorizing of Nature's beauty. Faust seems to view Nature, not as a

stepping-stone to a transcendent deity, but as God (whatever we may mean by that) here and now before our senses. Next, we find Faust musing on the sign of the Macrocosm, and then considering the sign of the Earth-Spirit. Toward the end of his soliloquy on the Macrocosm, he seems to be having a transcendent, holistic experience, a kind of mystical union with Nature: How toward the Whole all things are blending, Each in the other, living, growing! How heavenly forces, soaring, descending, Are in and out of golden buckets flowing, While fragrant blessings, lightly winging From heaven through the earth, are bringing Harmonies which through the Whole are ringing! But in the very next breath, he exclaims, What a pageant! But, alas, only a show! With this statement, Faust has gained a very important insight. Previously, we have discovered that he rejects a strict adherence to discursive reasoning and learning in favor of an experiential view of Nature. It appeared to me, for a time, as if he believed in a kind of pantheism, where he viewed Nature as the All-in-All. But here, he seems to be saying that the quest for deeper knowledge in Nature is merely a pipe-dream. Faust has sought knowledge his entire life. He believed that knowledge was the key to happiness. Later on, he thought that a mystical union with Nature would bring transcendence. But with the decision that the wonders of Nature are mere pageantry, Faust is caught in yet another opposition, i.e., between the experience of transcendence and that of existing in a world of limitation. This opposition is affirmed later on in Outside the City Gate, where he says, Alas! Two souls within my breast abide, And each from the other strives to separate; The one in love and healthy lust, The world with clutching tentacles holds fast; The other soars with power above this dust Into the domain of our ancestral past. During his meditation of the sign of Macrocosm, Faust asks, "Am I a god? My spirit grows so clear!" During the transcendent experience, it seems as if one really is a god. Problems melt away, or seem to be trivial compared with the ecstasy one is feeling. But this is only temporary. Soon, Faust realizes that we all must continually strive in this

world; we must suffer because we are limited beings: Where shall I grasp thee, illimitable Nature? Where, ye breasts! from which all life doth flow, To which my withered soul must strive? Earth and heavens ye sustain, Ye flow, ye nourish--yet must I long in vain? This verse hints again at a Neoplatonic worldview; it seems like emanationism, where all things flow from the One. The main point, however, is that Faust feels his striving has been worthless. He realizes his limitations. He has an insatiable desire for knowledge. The knowledge he seeks is not acquired in books or universities. No, Faust yearns for the secret knowledge (gnosis) of the inner workings of the cosmos. His angst stems from his inability to obtain it. Faust then begins to contemplate the sign of the Earth-Spirit, which he prefers to the image of the Macrocosm. At the sight of this symbol, he feels a different kind of energy within him. He feels a closer relationship with the Earth than he does with the universe at large. This is because the Earth is his home. The desire for transcendence is a purely normal human emotion. But overemphasizing it results in social isolation, and possibly even mental imbalance (I am thinking here of the strangeness of the Desert Fathers). I think Faust is learning that one must not only strive for the transcendent experiences; one must also pursue a rich sensory experience of the world, even though one must undergo both joy and pain while doing so. Of course, these are two personalities within us, the one striving against the other. We tend to view conflict as something negative. But is it really? I believe we need conflict. Soul is born in the midst of fire. It forms the middle-region between these two. Continuing with Night, Faust has just finished conversing with Wagner, a pedant who represents the kind of learning the former has thoroughly rejected. Faust refers to him in one place as "Earth's most miserable son." I believe, however, that he may be referring to his own misery as well. In the story of Faust, groundwork is being laid, unbeknownst to Goethe, for what we today call existentialism. This is a broad subject, which would require more than this mere article to explicate. I will try to deal with one or two points of similarity. The following passage seems to be an appropriate place to begin: In that holy moment I seemed to be So little, yet so very great, Thou didst thrust me cruelly Back into the uncertainties of human fate. Whose teaching shall I heed? What shall I shun? Shall I obey each inner urge?

Alas! Our deeds, as well as sorrows, one by one Clog the current of our life's deep surge. This passage comes just prior to Faust's close encounter with suicide. I believe he is referring to the Earth-Spirit when he says, "Thou didst thrust me cruelly . . ." Just before Wagner knocked on the door of his study, Faust had two very powerful experiences, that I have already discussed (the Macrocosm and the Earth-Spirit). There is a very curious exchange with the Earth-Spirit, where the spirit says, "Thou resemblest the Spirit thou canst understand--not me!" Faust then says, Not thee? Whom then? I, image of the godhead! And not like thee? What does the spirit mean? Faust is quite confused by this statement. His insatiable desire for knowledge has brought him to a point where he feels elevated above the pedantic scholar (someone like Wagner), and perhaps equal to Nature herself. He has felt a kind of mystical union with Nature. Perhaps the "spirit which thou canst understand" is none other than Faust himself. Perhaps the Earth-Spirit is trying to get him to see that selfknowledge is the most important kind of knowledge one can ever attain. We know from Faust's own words that his vision was at its height at the point of Wagner's knock. Has Faust realized the importance of what Socrates knew so well, i.e., know thyself? Returning to the main passage first quoted, I definitely think Faust is referring to his encounter with the Earth-Spirit. He has learned that he cannot fully transcend Nature, i.e. he cannot completely understand the inner workings of Nature. This revelation upsets Faust's idealized presuppositions of what it means to know. It makes him feel as if the universe has cruelly mistreated him by casting him into a sea of uncertainty. He is unsure as to which teachings to follow. Furthermore, his ethical foundation has been destroyed; he is uncertain about good and evil. Faust considers this a horrible fate. He seemed to think that if he could just get in tune with Nature, all would be well. But the words of the Earth-Spirit catapult him into a state of despondency. Uncertainty, doubts concerning one's existence, angst, and a relative ethic: these are a few of the catchwords of existentialism. These experiences, however, produce selfknowledge, which is much more important than the quest for transcendence. The EarthSpirit is trying to show Faust that he is better off trying to understand himself than the entire cosmos. These same topics would later be dealt with quite thoroughly by Nietzsche, Kierkegaard, Sartre, et al. I tend to think that Goethe had much to do with the way their existential self-examination began.

Faust's despair has brought him to the brink of suicide. Just prior to this, he gazes around the musty walls of his Gothic study at the various accouterments and objects which surround him: old dusty books and scrolls, a skull, medical instruments, measuring tools, a dim lamp, etc. These all represent his fruitless quest for knowledge. Nature will not allow herself to be revealed through the use of these paltry items. Faust says, I stood at the door, you should have been the key; Though fashioned well, ye raised no latch for me. Obviously, Faust had put great trust in the scientific method at one time. He felt as if it would open to him the secrets of the universe. His words to the old skull shows his present state of mind: Why grin, you hollow skull, except to say, That once your brain, perplexed like mine, Yearning for Truth, pursued the light of day, Then in the dusk went wretchedly astray? He has come to the point where he believes all humans who strive for Truth inevitably lose their way, ending life in despair. He thought he had arrived at the true path when he was engaged in discursive reasoning and the scientific method; he had thought that a union with Nature was the key to knowledge; and he had believed that the Earth-Spirit pointed the way. But now, all Faust's striving seems futile. The opposing images of light and dusk are quite interesting here. Whereas we usually find light contrasted with darkness, here Goethe utilizes the image of dusk. Dusk is a twilight time, just before total darkness falls. It is gloomy, murky; it is sometimes difficult to see; the shadows grow long; etc. Faust is here experiencing a going-down, a journey toward Hades and the shades. This is the Metaxy, the place of Soul, that intermediate region between contrarieties, ruled by Hades and Persephone. Faust has abandoned the quest for transcendent knowledge. He is despondent because he realizes his life has been wasted. He is beginning to contemplate his own death. The journey through Hades is a confrontation with death. Death is change, transformation, passing from one state to another. In the Perennial Philosophy, as Leibniz (and later Aldous Huxley) called it, death is closely associated with esoteric initiation into the Higher Mysteries. Plutarch wrote, At first there is wandering, and wearisome roaming, and fearful traveling through darkness with no end to be found. Then there is every sort of terror, shuddering and trembling and perspiring and being alarmed. But after this a marvelous light appears, and open places and meadows await, with voices and dances and the solemnities of sacred utterances and holy visions. In that place one walks about at will, now perfect and initiated and free, and wearing a crown, one celebrates religious rites, and joins with pure and pious people. Such a person looks over the uninitiated and

unpurified crowd of people living here, who are packed together and trample each other in deep mud and murk, but who hold onto their evil things on account of their fear of death, because they do not believe in the good things that are in the other world. Quoted in Stobaeus, Anthology 4.52.49 Even the Greek words for death and initiation (teleutan and teleisthai) closely resemble each other. This is no accident. Now, in this frame of mind, Faust catches sight of a phial of poison sitting on a shelf. Even though he has supposedly relinquished the idea of union with Nature, Faust begins to wonder if death itself might not lead to a mystical state of bliss: Why suddenly within me is all as fair and bright As when moonbeams flutter in a darkling woodland space? Not only is he equating death with moonlight in a dark place, but he goes on and relates it with "a newer day," "another shore," a "new pathway through the air," and to "newer spheres of activity." Furthermore, he expresses death as This higher life, this godlike bliss . . . So, once again, Faust has experienced images of transcendence and mystical vision, but this time while contemplating his own suicide. He really doesn't want to take his own life. What he really wants is to become his true self. His musings are filled with pictures of rebirth and transformation, and it is these very images which startle him just before he drains the cup: Christ is arisen! Joy be to the Mortal Whom corruptible Clinging, inherited Imperfection imprisoned! Faust realizes that the Easter message is what he really desires. It is not the religious aspect that stops him from killing himself. Rather, it is simply the images of rebirth, which have inspired mankind since the dawn of time. It really has nothing to do with Christ, other than what archetypal motifs are contained within the Christ-myth. These powerful images bring Faust a sense of peace for only a brief time. Soon, he will make his pact with Mephistopheles. Toward the end of Scene II: Faust and Wagner are strolling outside the gate of the city when Faust catches sight of a curious-looking black dog. It is running around in circles, coming nearer and nearer to them. Perhaps intuitively, Faust senses some malevolent purpose in the dog's presence:

He's drawing a magic coil--it seems to me-For future bondage round our feet. He seems to be quite alarmed when it draws even closer: The ring grows smaller . . . he is almost near! Then Faust says something quite strange. He calls for the dog to "come here to us!." Furthermore, he now decides that it is "just a well-trained dog, that's all." Initially, Faust has some sort of intuitive experience. The dog, I think, may represent the imminent encounter with unconscious forces, which Faust is soon to face in his pact with Mephistopheles. He viscerally senses the danger in the dark maelstrom about to envelop him, but, when he allows Wagner to sway him towards "a more reasonable explanation," Faust disregards the vision. He even allows the dog to follow him home. The circle being drawn by the dog is very significant. As a symbol, the circle is of great importance. According to J.E. Cirlot, author of A Dictionary of Symbols, Enclosing beings, objects, or figures within a circumference has a doublemeaning: from within it implies limitation and definition; from without, it is seen to represent the defense of the physical and psychic contents themselves against the perils of the soul threatening it from without, these dangers being, in a way, tantamount to chaos, but more particularly to illimitation and disintegration. At the moment, Faust is outside the dog's circle. But soon, it will overtake him. Perhaps his vision of the dog running in circles is a projection of his mind, trying to defend itself from unconscious contents that have the ability to destroy him. Whether consciously or unconsciously, Faust seems to be beckoning the dark forces to come to him. As was discussed earlier, he greatly despairs because of his inability to fathom the secrets of being in the universe. He has an insatiable desire to know; he will ultimately attempt to sate that desire by delving into the world of darkness, i.e., the unconscious. Faust enters his study with the dog trailing behind him. An air of optimism fills his mind, demonstrating, once again, that "two souls within my breast abide:" The love of man revives in me, The love of God is stirred again. But, as Faust is musing on love and goodness, the black dog is snarling and sniffing about the study. This is just another example of the polaric play of opposites. Faust begins talking about reason and hope, while the animal is there beside him, reminding him that, beside reason, love, and hope exists a snarling, and very unlovely, bestial nature. Faust

says, Stop snarling, dog! Your noise is out of key! The barking is a cacophonous clamor compared to the splendid thoughts running through the mind of Faust. Will he ever realize that he cannot escape the contrary nature existing alongside what he deems good and beautiful within himself? Apparently so, for in the next few words, he is hurled back into reality: Who is Mephistopheles? After Faust has exorcised the spirit from the dog, a figure steps from behind the stove, clad as a traveling scholar. It is interesting to note here that Mephistopheles appears in the guise of a scholar, especially since we have learned that Wagner represents that which Faust has rebelled against, namely, discursive reasoning and learning. Why does Mephisto adopt such an appearance? I think he is portrayed this way because he carries Faust's shadow, i.e., the negative side of his personality. Even though the figure of Mephisto conveys much more than simply Faust's distaste for pedantry, this is, nevertheless, an initial point for recognizing and understanding what Mephistopheles means in the story. Just prior to the exorcism, there are spirits outside the study that make an interesting statement concerning Mephistopheles: For he has already done Much to profit us, each one. If Mephistopheles is supposed to be the Devil, as in Christian jargon, then why do the spirits say he has been of great profit to them? What he represents is not just profitable to the spirits, but to Faust as well. For an explanation, we need to return for a moment to the Prologue in Heaven to examine a statement made by the Lord to Mephistopheles: Mankind's activity can languish all too easily, A man soon loves unhampered rest; Hence, gladly I give him a comrade such as you, Who stirs and works and must, as devil, do. Herein is contained Goethe's explanation for evil in the world. He believes that good and evil are two equally opposing forces. As in Hegel, there is no development without both poles striving against each other. Man languishes, without conflict to keep him developing, to keep him striving. If there were no friction in our lives, we would never gain self-knowledge, and we would never develop. Mephistopheles is the spirit of negation. He represents the contradictions, the rejections, the refusals, and the denials within us all. He is the archetypal shadow, in Jungian

terminology. Nietzsche differentiated between the Apollinian and the Dionysian. He charged Christianity with overemphasizing the Apollinian. He and Goethe were both saying that Western culture has ignored the dark side of human nature. Mephistopheles is really the dark side of the Anthropos, the divine original man of Western society (Christ). Thus, what does it mean, in Western mythology, to sell your soul to the Devil? It is much the same thing as what Nietzsche meant by his admonition for us to make room for the Dionysian elements. It is the same thing Jung meant when he suggested we get to know our shadow, thereby allowing commerce between the conscious and unconscious. During the conversation regarding Mephistopheles' name, the latter describes a Manichaean-like cosmogony: But I'm part of the Part which at the first was all, Part of the Darkness that gave birth to Light, The haughty Light that now with Mother Night Disputes her ancient rank and space withal, And yet 'twill not succeed, since, strive as strive it may, Fettered to bodies will Light stay. This is clearly a distortion of the Biblical account of creation. Whereas in Genesis, light is created by divine fiat, here light is born of "Mother Night." Mephistopheles identifies with the Darkness, saying he is but a part of it. Again, I think this points to his role as shadow-figure and negator. Originally, all was one. This could point to a time when consciousness was undifferentiated. At some point in history, a "fall" occurred, i.e., consciousness fragmented from unconsciousness. This could have been when the Greeks began overemphasizing the Apollinian, as Nietzsche described in The Birth of Tragedy. Or it could have happened when mankind gained an awareness of right and wrong. Regardless of how it happened, what we now see is a conflict of opposites. After his pact with Mephistopheles is complete, Faust is plunged into a dark world populated by some very strange characters. It's a lot like the real world, I suppose. Their first stop is Auerbach's Tavern, where they encounter a lively drinking-party. This is an interesting scene, but, in this article, I wish to deal with their visit to the witch's kitchen. Here is the description of the scene given to us by Goethe: A low hearth with a cauldron on the fire; various figures appear in the vapor rising from it. A She-Ape sits beside the cauldron, skimming it and watching it, lest it boil over. The Buck and Young Apes are sitting beside her and warming themselves. Ceiling and walls are decorated with the most grotesque utensils of sorcery.

This certainly seems like a strange place to pay a visit. The symbolism, however, is very rich and enlightening. First of all, in this scene I think Goethe is psychologically preparing the reader for what will soon transpire between Faust and Gretchen. What we will see in the witch's kitchen are symbols that coincide with the darker aspects of Eros. There are several interesting images here. The cauldron could be the unconscious mind, and the vapors rising from it could be its contents rising up into consciousness. It makes sense that monkeys would tend the pot, since "scimians generally symbolize the baser forces, darkness, or unconscious activity" (Cirlot 212). There could, however, be a double meaning here. In China, monkeys are said to bring success and good health (ibid.). Of course, as we know, the Faust story is replete with this kind of dualism. I think it is significant that the She-Ape is watching the cauldron, "lest it boil over." Does the She-Ape correspond to some sort of sentry in the psyche that watches over the rising "vapors" lest they bring about psychological imbalance (a boiling over)? Perhaps the SheApe is the same kind of image as the witch. Traditionally, the witch has been associated with what Carl Jung called the "negative anima." Jung believed the psyche is composed of both male and female elements. According to Jung, the anima (Latin for "soul") in its darker aspects has been metaphorically presented in many stories throughout history as a witch (e.g. Hansel and Gretel). Encountering and integrating one's anima (for a man, anyway) is the beginning of the development of the soul. One must face the negative element as well as the positive so that one may attain individuation, according to Jungian theory. Upon entering the witch's kitchen, Faust is confronted with evil. Here is the paraphernalia of Satanism and sorcery. For a European who has been raised in the Christian Church, these things represent the ultimate blasphemy against God. But, if we take Jung's ideas as worthwhile, this may have been just what Faust needed to begin his journey to selfknowledge. I suppose this is all similar to Nietzsche's idea about the Dionysian and Apollinian elements being incorporated. In the witch's kitchen, Faust occupies himself by gazing into a mirror: What am I seeing in this magic mirror? A form whose beauty is divine! O lend me, Love, your fleetest wings and lead me to Elysium! Here, in the house of the witch and her grotesque apes, in the midst of supreme ugliness, Faust has a vision of the most beautiful woman he has ever encountered. Now, he longs for the potion Mephisto has promised that will make him thirty years younger. As Faust's desire mounts, the cauldron begins to boil. This is the unconscious. At a point when Faust's desire is the greatest, the cauldron boils over. Unconscious contents are rising into consciousness. Faust seems to have encountered the feminine element in the psyche. In the witch's kitchen, we have a double-image of the feminine: the witch, and the beautiful woman in

the mirror. This is simply more of the same kind of dual imagery we have found throughout the Faust story. According to the witch, before Faust can drink the potion, he must be "prepared." The preparation consists in the drawing of a magic circle and the recitation of spells and incantations. This part of the scene begins to look a little familiar. It strikes me as being quite similar to the Catholic Mass. We may not think of the Mass in the same way we would a magic ritual, but there are similarities, and there are similar goals in mind. In a Mass, the faithful must be prepared to partake of the cup and the bread. The Church believes there is great power in the ritual, power that replenishes one's spiritual strength. I think what may happen in rituals of this sort is a kind of raising of libido, not in the Freudian sense, but in the Jungian as psychic energy. I know it's possible because I have had experiences where I felt terribly drained and depressed. Then, I would hear a certain song, or see a certain film, or read a certain story, and all would be better. The depression would lift and life would be enjoyable again. It may have something to do with the power of myth, as Joseph Campbell talked so much about. There is an energy in stories, music, art, and rituals (the acting out of stories) that rejuvenates ones entire experience. The cup, of course, calls to mind the Grail of Arthurian lore, which says that whosoever drinks from it shall live forever. According to an ancient legend, the Grail was fashioned by the angels from a jewel that dropped from the head of Lucifer when he was being hurled into the abyss. I don't know what to make of that, but it's interesting, nevertheless. There is definitely a polarity there. Surely, the cup signifies a quest, ala Parsifal. I suppose this is the quest for selfknowledge, which is what Faust is really about. It is said by depth psychologists that the encounter with the feminine is one of the first experiences on the road to self-realization, along with the encounter of one's shadow. I think Faust has now experienced both. He has projected his shadow onto both Mephisto and Wagner. Now, after the feminine has been met in the mirror, Gretchen will be the recipient of this projection. What Mephisto doesn't realize is that the process of ebbing and flowing occurring in Faust actually brings about a metamorphosis in human consciousness, which leads one to discover one's true self. Little does he know that, in his attempt to capture the soul of Faust for eternity, the latter will actually be changed for the better, and will become a sort of Nietzschean Ubermensch. In Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Nietzsche describes a three-fold process of transformation that mirrors the evolution of consciousness that Faust is passing through. In the section entitled, "Of the Three Metamorphoses," Zarathustra describes what will become his answer to the apprehension created by the death of God. Nietzsche begins: I name you three metamorphoses of the spirit: how the spirit shall become a camel, and the camel a lion, and the lion at last a child.

These metaphors describe various stages in the transformation of human consciousness. Just as we pass through physical stages on our way to adulthood, Nietzsche proposes that we pass through various stages of consciousness. We are constantly becoming. We are not static creatures. In fact, for Nietzsche, nothing is static; all is in flux; there is no imperishable Being; all is becoming. This process is not necessarily linear. It seems to be more cyclical in nature. Goethe also believed in cyclical becoming. I think he would agree (as would Nietzsche) with something G.K. Chesterton said in his study of Chaucer: Up to a certain time life was conceived as a Dance, and after that time life was conceived as a Race (Chesterton 158-159). He is referring to the general philosophy in Medieval times, where life was thought of as one thing balancing another (the Dance), as opposed to how life was viewed after the Renaissance, when one's life consisted in chasing after objects (the Race). In the race, the dancer loses his balance. The only way they recover it is by chasing objects. The former is cyclical, the latter linear. We're still chasing objects today. At this time, I will examine a few metaphors from Nietzsche's Zarathustra, particularly the images of the Three Metamorphoses, and compare my interpretation of them with several statements in Faust. The primary point in doing this is to compare Faust's transformation with Zarathustra's three-fold process of becoming. Let's look at a statement by Zarathustra: I name you three metamorphoses of the spirit: how the spirit shall become a camel, and the camel a lion, and the lion at last a child" (Nietzsche 54). Here, Nietzsche gives us a tripartite process whereby consciousness evolves. Just as we pass through physical stages on our way to adulthood, Nietzsche proposes that we pass through various stages of consciousness. We are constantly becoming. What does the image of the camel mean? A camel is a beast of burden. When commanded, it kneels down to accept heavy loads. It seems to possess a sense of duty in bearing what it is ordered to bear. It can go days through the desert without water. The camel-image seems to refer to the human tendency to confront what is difficult for us out of a sense of duty. We do not will what we do at this stage, but do "what we ought to do." We are not free to make our own decisions because we give our will over to what we believe are our duties. Nevertheless, by doing "what we ought" we challenge ourselves, paving the way for further refinement. Can we find a stage in the life of Faust where we see such a tendency? I think so. Prior to his pact with Mephisto, Faust is bound by his duties as Master and Doctor. He bears the weight of teaching his students truth, but yet he knows in himself that he can never touch certainty. In Night, he says,

. . . for nearly ten years I have led my young students a merry chase, up, down, and every which way-- and find we can't have certitude. Here we find Faust in the latter stages of the camel. For most of his life, he has carried the heavy burden of duty on his back, in the belief that, through his scholarly studies and his teaching, he would truly discover the inner workings of the universe. He experiences deep despair, which is, however, a precursor to transformation: . . . I get no joy from anything, either, know nothing that I think worthwhile, and don't imagine that what I teach could better mankind or make it godly. Later in the story, Faust tries to commit suicide, but, upon hearing the music and singing of Easter morning, desists. Zarathustra makes the statement, What is the heaviest thing, you heroes? so asks the weight-bearing spirit, that I may take it upon me and rejoice in my strength (Nietzsche 54). In bearing the heaviest burdens, the camel-spirit becomes lofty in its strength. In comparison, Faust has become a bit arrogant in his quest for truth, believing himself to be superior to his peers in knowledge: I well may know more than all those dullards, those doctors, teachers, officials, and priests. . . Arrogance is a mode of thought that is normal for one who has undertaken to know the secrets of the universe. But it must not be allowed to dominate one's thinking. If permitted to fester, it will halt the process of becoming: Is it not this: to debase yourself in order to injure your pride? To let your folly shine out in order to mock your wisdom (Nietzsche 54)? Zarathustra asks if it is not a heavy burden "to feed upon the acorns and grass of knowledge and for the sake of truth to suffer hunger of the soul?" For someone who has devoted much time to the search for truth and understanding, it is a very heavy burden to discover that all our so-called wisdom and knowledge is fleeting. The seeker longs for a person, a book, or some other foothold that can lead him or her to the bedrock of truth. It is burdensome because one discovers there is no such absolute foundation. One must consume what small morsels of truth one can find on the cold, damp ground. One must suffer hunger of the soul when the understanding comes that all so-called truths are really uncertain. This is exactly what Faust is feeling when he decides to begin practicing magic. Now, he is on the very threshold of transformation.

Continuing with my comparison of the images of transformation in Faust and Zarathustra, I would now like to see if I can discover whether Faust exhibits the characteristics of Zarathustra's lion. Zarathustra says: But in the loneliest desert the second metamorphosis occurs: the spirit here becomes a lion; it wants to capture freedom and be lord in its own desert (Nietzsche 54). This transformation comes because of solitude. Zarathustra had traveled to the mountains where he lived alone for ten years. The seeker of truth who carries the burden of uncertainty will eventually need solitude. Not actually literal solitude, but a separation in thought from those who still adhere to mainstream modes of thought. Only in solitude can genuine creation be brought forth. By his decision to abandon discursive reason and learning, Faust has separated himself from the mainstream. He is no longer a participant in the "herd mentality." His thoughts are now flying to and fro, searching for possible ways to fulfill his longing for truth. A primary step in his development is the resolve to begin practicing magic. The important point is not that magic is necessarily a viable path to truth, but that Faust makes a choice that is not influenced by mainstream thought. Choosing something that belongs to him personally elevates him to a new level. Herein is another parallel with existentialism. After making the pact with Mephisto, which he enters into willingly, Faust passes over into the realm of the lion. He now experiences a kind of freedom that is strange to him. He even finds it a bit lewd (e.g. the drinking at Auerbach's wine cellar), but this is also part of the process. According to Nietzsche, the Dionysian and Apollinian forces must be balanced, and then transcended. This involves an interaction with one's dark side, which Mephisto, and all that he offers, represents. The lion is a mighty, noble warrior, and a vicious killer. It is noble in the sense that it craves freedom. It desires to create its own freedom, but it must kill to get it. Later in the story, Faust kills in an attempt to do away with obstacles that stand in his path. He puts to death old ways of thinking, which is what the killing symbolizes. He wants Gretchen at all cost. He will stop at nothing to get her. Gretchen represents the goal he seeks, i.e., self-realization/individuation. Who is to be the lion's victim? It seeks here its ultimate lord: it will be an enemy to him and to its ultimate God, it will struggle for victory with the great dragon (Nietzsche 54-55).

The great dragon, which the lion will battle for its freedom, is called "Thou Shalt." The lion's foe is the spirit of commandments, i.e., when others seek to instruct us in what we must believe and accept as truth. Faust's enemies are the established mode of discursive thinking and reasoning, and the spirit of commandments embedded in the Church. The lion cannot create new values. However, its might is needed to capture freedom for itself. After the dragon has been mauled by the spirit of the lion, what then? The lion must understand that now there is no guiding hand of a transcendental God, or the firm foundation of a realm of absolute Ideas. There is no external authority. Now, the lion is alone; it is responsible for itself. There are no more laws, no more duties for it to bear. Is this not the greatest burden? Faust is also alone in his responsibility. By making a pact with Mephisto, he willingly relinquishes his claim to salvation. It is up to him to keep striving, to keep creating his own freedom, even though he is encountering a side of himself that is very sinister. Now, in order for Faust to be able to create new values for himself, he must undergo yet another transformation. Next, we will look at Zarathustra's image of the child. So far, we have seen several parallels of transformation between Nietzsche's Zarathustra and Goethe's Faust. The latter has passed through the stages of camel and lion, and is now ready to proceed on to the next level, that of the child. As was said earlier, the lion is victorious in its battle with the Great Dragon; the dragon has been slain, thus "Thou Shalt" has been slain. The lion has declared its freedom from being told what to think and what to believe. It has created freedom for itself. Faust has professed his freedom by saying "No" to the mainstream modes of thought. His pact with Mephisto is his declaration that he will no longer serve the Great Dragon. One thing remains: the lion is not capable of creating new values for itself. It is merely a warrior. Its talent lies in destruction. For creation, another metamorphosis must take place: the lion must become a child. Zarathustra says, But tell me, my brothers, what can the child do that the lion cannot? The child is innocence and forgetfulness, a new beginning, a sport, a selfpropelling wheel, a first motion, a sacred Yes (Nietzsche 55). In his quest for knowledge of the universe, Faust has stepped into a universe of freedom and constant experience, much like the universe of a child: If ever I stretch upon an idler's bed, Then let my doom descend! The pact states that Mephisto will provide incessant experience for Faust until the day he feels satisfied. On that day, Mephisto will collect what belongs to him.

How is this like the child metaphor in Zarathustra? The child is innocence. It has no sense of what life was like when the dragon was still alive. There is no guilt because there is no awareness of Thou Shalt. It knows only becoming--awaking each day to discover a new idea, a new game to play, a new world to explore. Now Faust is this child. He awakes each day to a new adventure and a new way of thinking about his world. His objective is self-realization, toward which he is daily becoming. All is flux, all is process. The child is forgetfulness. It has forgotten the heavy burdens of duty and the longing for freedom. Now, it constantly abides in freedom. It has forgotten the golden scales of the dragon. It has forgotten the ancient ways of the past, the so-called eternal values and standards. It lives only for the moment. Again, this is Faust after the pact. He allows the shackles of "Thou Shalt" to drop from his hands and feet. The idealism he once believed in is gone like last year's leaves. Now, he relishes the freedom of the moment, the freedom to think and do things, which, before the pact, he would have thought outrageous and obscene. By his affirmation of freedom, Faust has loudly voiced the sacred Yes of the child. Before, the spirit had no will of its own. It was controlled by the beliefs of others, by the beliefs of the herd. But the sacred No was spoken by the lion. Faust now has no sense of duty; he is not impelled to act in any other way than the behavior he chooses. The sacred Yes was needed in order for creativity to be unleashed, for new values to be invented. The child is a new beginning. When long-held beliefs have been called into question by the camel, and then destroyed by the lion, one enters a new epoch. After a time, the values one has created for oneself become obsolete. These must not be allowed to become sacred cows. Ultimately, they must be destroyed and replaced by new values. The spirit of the camel will question whether these beliefs are still viable. If not, the spirit of the lion will destroy them. Then comes a new beginning, the spirit of the child, who will bring about the creation of new values. This cyclical process never ends, unless one becomes stagnant, i.e., if one ceases to create by returning to a notion of static being. After Faust's pact with Mephisto, he enters this new beginning. His values are now completely his own. He is not depending on society at large for moral guidance. What he deems good and acceptable will be tested in the crucible of life. There, his decisions will be put to the test. The crucial point, however, is that he is choosing what is best for himself. No matter what the outcome, the ability to choose his own lifestyle, his own beliefs, and his own thoughts, is what propels him along the path of self-realization. It is a path every individual must travel alone. The child has no knowledge of anything eternal or transcendent. There is only spontaneity and creative play, that is, until we adults pound our values into them. After enculturation is complete, they are fortunate if they ever break free from the Thou Shalts of the herd. Faust is one of the fortunate ones. His disgust for the common ways of thinking and learning has opened up new vistas for him. Even though he has made a deal with a being

that is considered evil in the eyes of the masses, he risks all for freedom and creativity. He doesn't accept the belief that the Devil, an eternal being, is battling an eternal deity for eternal souls. He pits his beliefs against the beliefs of the herd in the hope that he will find truth, and be transformed by it. Faust is risking being lost for eternity if he is wrong. Nevertheless, he is compelled by a longing for individuation. The child is a self-propelling wheel. At this stage of transformation, the child possesses the will to power, or the power to roll its own wheel. Creation is the wheel that is propelled along by the will. As long as it is understood that all is Becoming, the wheel continues to roll along. In a life that is becoming, all is not always pleasant and rosy. The responsibility to create one's own values is sometimes accompanied by the pain that follows failure. The ability to choose does not mean that all decisions are correct. This, however, is the way the wheel turns. Becoming is in the turning itself, not in correct or incorrect decisions. Faust must face the pain that is caused by his relationship with Margarete. Through experiencing both the pleasure and the agony of his love for her, he will learn more about the human heart than all the books in the world could teach him. Think of how the earth continually creates and re-creates. Every spring, new life bursts forth. There is a period of growth, decay, and then death. Creators always pass through such periods. The child represents growth, i.e., the growth of new realities. The camel eventually doubts these realities (decay), and the lion destroys them (death). Then, once more, the child creates new ones, and the process begins all over again. Thus is the life of becoming for Faust and for all of us who struggle for truth and freedom. Finally, I will discuss Faust's belief or disbelief in God. In the scene called Marthe's Garden, Margarete begins to question Faust about his views on religion: Margarete: Tell me, dear, in what do you believe? Although you are a good and loveworthy man, religion means little to you, that I know. Faust: Let that be, my child! You feel my love, is it not true? For those I love, I'd lay my life down too; I would rob no one of his faith and trust. Margarete: That's not enough! One must believe, one must! Faust: Must one? Even though Faust has rejected the herd mentality, which includes the requirement that one believe in the tenets of Christianity, he still falls in love with Margarete, who believes in them adamantly. She wants to control Faust's thinking because she thinks he will be condemned to an eternal punishment if he refuses. She wants what she thinks is best for him. She doesn't understand the process of self-realization whirling within him. Faust knows full well what it would mean for him to return to the static and narrow views

of the Church; he knows that the process would cease. Perhaps he even wishes he had never become involved with Margarete, but, intuitively, he knows that their relationship is part of the process. So, he must learn to balance his love for her with his desire for individuation. This is a very difficult thing, but one that must be accomplished. Faust is not an atheist. Even though he has rejected the Christian concept of God, he has his own view, which he has formulated from his own life experiences. Later in the scene, Faust attempts to explain why he does not fit into Margarete's mold of what a religious person should be: Who would dare to say, "I do not believe in Him?" Experiencing Him everywhere. . . This entire passage sets out Faust's religious viewpoint, which seems to be a sort of pantheism or panentheism. Primarily, I think he is saying that God is everywhere and in everything. Happiness, heart, love, God, Faust says he cannot name it. Feeling is all! The feelings we experience when we gaze at a true work of art, or when we look at the stars at night, or when we look into our lover's eyes. Call it what you will, says Faust, this is his idea of God. The name is only sound and smoke Which fogs the glow of Heaven. Margarete tells him he has no sound Christianity. Then she begins to rail on him for his association with Mephisto. This is quite interesting. We know Mephisto represents Faust's dark side or his shadow, using the Jungian term. Margarete doesn't like him at all. She refuses to accept the fact that all human beings have a dark side. She denies her own shadow. She projects her own dark side onto Mephisto. She wants Faust to stay away from him. He, however, recognizes the necessity of Mephisto: Such queer fish must also be. Faust has reconciled himself to his dark side, which is a giant step in the process of selfrealization. Margarete still has far to go on her journey. Why did Faust fall in love with Margarete in the first place, seeing they have dissimilar aspirations? In my opinion, the Jungian idea of projecting the anima onto a beautiful woman makes much sense. Faust was searching for his own soul in her. In everything there is tragedy. All good things must run alongside the bad. Faust has found his true love, but he must endure her immaturity and lack of understanding in the matters of becoming.

Bibliography Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von. Faust, A Tragedy, Part One. Trans. Alice Raphael. New York: Holt, 1963 Cirlot, J.E. A Dictionary of Symbols. New York: Dorset, 1971. Brown, Jane K. Goethe's Faust: the German Tragedy. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1986. Chesterton, G.K. Chaucer. Faber: New York, 1932. Nietzsche, Friedrich. This Spake Zarathustra. London: Penguin, 1961.