Essay on Doctor Faustus, Depression And History

Our generation stands at the precipice of many dark chapters of history—climate change, increasing economic disparity in the face of globalization and the resurgence of nationalism. We feel unable avoid the mistakes of the past and uncertain of our role in the present calamity. When one strives for even a single solution, they are bullied into apathy by naysayers and by the sheer rate of the destruction of the world around them. But when one’s heart is truly called to a cause there is no denying it—which is what inspired a group Jewish women to protest on Tisha B’Av (the Jewish day of mourning) in response to Trump administration’s treatment of undocumented immigrants and asylum seekers in Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) detention centers. They claim that the conditions and dehumanization of “illegal aliens” in detention has parallels to the treatment and rounding up of Jews into concentration camps. While some disagree with their thesis, many applaud their courage in taking a stand against a gargantuan bureaucratic enemy and for having the wisdom to learn lessons from the past instead of repeating them. If Thomas Mann was bold enough to take a stand then this generation too should learn the power of allegory, remember that art imitates life and vice a versa and examine the despair that Adrian Leverkühn was ultimately able to overcome.

In the aftermath of the horrors of World War II, Thomas Mann addressed the issue of German war guilt in his novel Doctor Faustus, describing Germany as “a nation that cannot sho-w its face” (Mann 506). Mann himself was a critic of Nazism and in October of 1940— from the relative safety of California—he gave monthly anti-Nazi speeches in German that were transmitted to the German people via longwave radio band from Broadcasting Corporation. And even though some criticized Mann as “essentially an unpolitical person who judged politics from an artist’s point of view” (Timms 1990)— “the artist’s point of view” is exactly what was needed. As the complex world of musical composition and chromatic theory gives Mann more than an ample framework by which set up his metaphor. Mann’s main protagonist, the brilliant but exceptionally flawed composer Adrian Leverkühn, is quite evidently an allegorical depiction of Germany; he embodies many positive and negative qualities that Mann considers characteristic of German nature. Leverkühn has the markings of a musical prodigy, creating a sort of nostalgia for the preeminent composers such as Beethoven and Bach, but he is also emotionally repressed and distant unable to forge a personal bond. It is also interesting to note that Leverkühn’s inability to connect to people is a common trope among the ultra-talented and endures to this day. When the composer faces a dire bought of composer’s block, he makes a pact with the Devil for twenty-four years of musical success—a clear parallel to Germany’s support of the Third Reich as a means of restoring the country. The parallels with German history in the life of Leverkühn are extremely strong; the narrator, Serenus Zeitblom, often enhances the main story with brief and distressing observations about the nature, history and potential future of Germany. Under the guise of a tale about personal success and tragedy, with side lessons about of the nature of bourgeois and artistic life, Zeitblom vividly conveys the sense of frustration, despair, and catastrophe brought forth by his understanding of the significance of contemporary events in Germany. What marvels one about Doctor Faustus is Mann’s ability to see the forest through the trees. Mann develops this revelation by two means: firstly, through the turmoil and terror characteristic of the biblical apocalypses and secondly Leverkühn’s discussions of “musicality” (Robertson 171).

As was discussed in class, the complexities of twelve-tone music are used for introspective musings of our protagonist as well as to expose the dual nature of music itself. This new musical system promotes divergent extremes: a zealous application of the intellect with the indulgence of an unreasonable feeling. Mann saw the mark of the devil in this pairing and he uses the Germans’ vulnerability to musicality as a model of their moral erosion—a yearning for purity that cedes to madness. This madness and darkness can be seen throughout the work but especially in the following quote:

My tale hastens toward its end—as does everything. Everything is pushing and plummeting toward the end, the world stands in the sign of the end, at least it stands in it for us Germans, whose thousand-year-history—confounded, carried to absurdity, proven by its outcome to have gone fatally amiss and demonstrably astray—is rushing into the void, into despair, into unparalleled bankruptcy, is descending into hell amid the dance of thundering flames (Mann 474).

The deep, overwhelming depression throughout the novel speaks to Mann’s guilt about the atrocities his Countrymen preformed and speaks to the present generation as they often live in a state of generalized, helpless and anxiety. They know that the rush into hell is not far off, yet in the absence of a universal religion, they are given the freedom to wallow in the freedom and emptiness of screens and digital lives. The current generation has knowledge of the thousands of years of history, but just as Zeitblom says, “It was impossible… to concern oneself with something done, when one was only bearable if one felt superior to it, instead of having to stare stupidly at it in the awareness of one’s present impotence” (Mann 476). If one cannot feel superior to the past, then it just makes you feel incompetent and unable to do anything about it. So, while many today feel superior since we do not outright own slaves anymore, those who see the enslavement of people in other nations that have been exploited see the hopelessness of it all. To interpret the quote the within the narrative, both Leverkühn and Zeitblom are quite aware of their indiscretions while making them. They are sane enough to know in their hearts when they are being impetuous or imprudent, but that does not mean that they have the discipline to choose otherwise. Instead they find themselves consciously making mistakes, knowing that they are mistakes, and hating themselves for not resisting; but these mistakes are at the same time so enjoyable that they create a sort of tantric relationship to blunders. In the same way, Germany also knew they were making mistakes but also felt like the outcome was worth it.

For a book that eagerly awaits the doom of all (as shown in the quote from page 474 above) the ending of the story takes on special significance. The story of Leverkühn’s music comes to a dramatic end with his composition of The Lamentation of Doctor Faustus and the death of Zeitblom’s nephew Echo. This death is seen by Leverkühn as the enforcement of the devil’s contract and the ultimate trade to make for having perfected his twelve-tone technique. The concentric circles of this twelve-tone system represent both the samsara-like cycle of life and by denying the composer his choice in the arrangement of notes this mathematical style has bound Leverkühn to rigid circular path and robbed him of his self-expression (Robertson 170).

Doctor Faustus draws our attention over and over to the corruption of the times. Zeitblom’s hopes are delusions and Mann’s novel unmasks the hollowness of sitting idly by as the world collapses. But the novel also leaves room for another more positive interpretation of possible recovery. Such an interpretation must be seen from the view of a biblical narrative of redemption—one can imagine salvation by repossessing one’s inner strengths and morals. For the artist this means the ability to express in his art what he values most, emotion and his connection to life. The final concern of Doctor Faustus is not whether Leverkühn’s sins merit forgiveness, but whether the sinner is asking for forgiveness and has learned his lesson. On this, the more compelling reading, Doctor Faustus retells the myth of the fall but does not quite conclude with human damnation; there is a light of hope. While through and through a grievous tale of corruption, the novel opens out to a time beyond devastation, caught in the chance that the musician has recovered his humanity.

Works Cited

1. Mann, Thomas, and Woods, John E. . Doctor Faustus . 1st ed. New York: A.A. Knopf, 1997. Print
2. Timms, Edward. “‘Thomas Mann and His Family’ by Marcel Reich-Ranicki (Book Review).” The London Review of Books19 Apr. 1990. Web.
3. Robertson, Ritchie. The Cambridge Companion to Thomas Mann. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001. Web.