I'm guessing that in the absence of Classical tragedy, medieval society found similar emotion and purgation in Biblical pageantry. This had a foundation in the narrative and sacrificial elements of the Mass, but was opened to more deeply personal experience by the cycles of mystery plays, where the searing human emotion, as well as the comical absurdity, of humanity's direct encounter with the Divine and the sacred was brought home in the full spectrum of human response -- from awe, to tears, to belly-laughs.
This is very well said; thank you for commenting. The cycle plays took shape toward the end of the Middle Ages, and biblical pageantry in general was somewhat limited in scope (nowhere, for example, were cycle plays so highly developed as in England). Thus, in the sequel to this article, posted today, I focused entirely on the other manifestation that you mentioned, which developed early in the Middle Ages and was present throughout the West: "the narrative and sacrificial elements of the Mass."
Indeed, the standard histories of medieval drama usually begin with the Easter "Quem quaeritis?" sung dialogue, which took place during the liturgy but had definitely evolved into a brief drama, with identifiable characters and "costumes" of a sort (different types of vestments assigned to distinguish the angel from the visitors to the tomb), and carried out in a special structure away from the altar. So with this type of ancestor, it's no surprise that the familiar figures and narratives from scripture, seasonal Masses, and various ceremonies (to say nothing of the dramatic imagery in sculpture and stained glass) were a natural source of material for the medieval stage. I spent a few decades designing and then directing plays for the Poculi Ludique Societas in Toronto, which built its reputation in the 1970s upon the first travelling-wagon staging of the complete York Cycle in centuries. Its staging of the Chester Cycle in 2010 was remarkable for incorporating into the text the dialogue which a Chester official named Goodman had recorded in 1572, and to which he violently objected for its Papist content, such as numerous references to the Eucharist and transubstantiation -- passages which were not found in the now familiar remaining texts of Chester plays performed in the late Middle Ages and in all subsequent revivals. The additional material from the re-discovered 1572 manuscript were incorporated into the PLS 2010 script, and I was delighted to find myself the custodian of a chunk of them in the Resurrection play I had chosen to direct without having been aware that it would be a rather revolutionary act within the tradition! The passages were beautiful and explicitly Eucharistic, and my handsome young Jesus (in his painted skin suit) made all the appropriate gestures, complete with an elevation. There are three extant Chester manuscripts dating from the pre-Reformation days, but the Goodman version with its Papist horrors lay hidden in an academic collection until unearthed by scholars not long before the PLS cycle performance, for which Prof. Alexandra Johnston compiled a "new/old" script incorporating Goodman's worst nightmares.
What an interesting comment, thank you for taking the time to write this! My edition of the Chester Cycle was published in 1992 and edited by David Mills, who is mentioned in the article you linked. This edition claims to be based on "all eight extant manuscripts," so does that mean it includes the Papist horrors? I certainly hope it does; I didn't notice any such horrors, but I haven't read through the whole cycle.
I think I understand a little of what you’ve written by looking at these heart-wrenching illustrations of Our Lord’s passion. As Catholics, we willingly take in these images and ponder the terrible torture Jesus went through because we know that “by His stripes we are healed.” It must be why we willingly spend time with Stations of the Cross, and soak in graphic recountals of martyrdom. I had not thought of the resulting feelings as pleasure, but I do relate to feeling uplifted and with a sense of being strengthened and inspired to move forward within my tiny little sphere.
Yes, Stations of the Cross, martyrdoms, the Stabat Mater, crucifixes...—part of the message in this post and the following post is that the tragic experience, even if we don't consciously think about it as such, is thoroughly woven into—has really become inseparable from—the Christian experience.
When we read Othello, or any of the great Greek tragedies, we not only see the details that led to these events but we also learn how to control our own emotions so we do not recreate those same tragedies.
Yes, that "emotional education" is part of the katharsis—we don't just "release" or "purge" emotions, we learn about their presence and role in our life and develop a greater ability to govern them.
Very interesting and thought provoking.
I'm guessing that in the absence of Classical tragedy, medieval society found similar emotion and purgation in Biblical pageantry. This had a foundation in the narrative and sacrificial elements of the Mass, but was opened to more deeply personal experience by the cycles of mystery plays, where the searing human emotion, as well as the comical absurdity, of humanity's direct encounter with the Divine and the sacred was brought home in the full spectrum of human response -- from awe, to tears, to belly-laughs.
This is very well said; thank you for commenting. The cycle plays took shape toward the end of the Middle Ages, and biblical pageantry in general was somewhat limited in scope (nowhere, for example, were cycle plays so highly developed as in England). Thus, in the sequel to this article, posted today, I focused entirely on the other manifestation that you mentioned, which developed early in the Middle Ages and was present throughout the West: "the narrative and sacrificial elements of the Mass."
Indeed, the standard histories of medieval drama usually begin with the Easter "Quem quaeritis?" sung dialogue, which took place during the liturgy but had definitely evolved into a brief drama, with identifiable characters and "costumes" of a sort (different types of vestments assigned to distinguish the angel from the visitors to the tomb), and carried out in a special structure away from the altar. So with this type of ancestor, it's no surprise that the familiar figures and narratives from scripture, seasonal Masses, and various ceremonies (to say nothing of the dramatic imagery in sculpture and stained glass) were a natural source of material for the medieval stage. I spent a few decades designing and then directing plays for the Poculi Ludique Societas in Toronto, which built its reputation in the 1970s upon the first travelling-wagon staging of the complete York Cycle in centuries. Its staging of the Chester Cycle in 2010 was remarkable for incorporating into the text the dialogue which a Chester official named Goodman had recorded in 1572, and to which he violently objected for its Papist content, such as numerous references to the Eucharist and transubstantiation -- passages which were not found in the now familiar remaining texts of Chester plays performed in the late Middle Ages and in all subsequent revivals. The additional material from the re-discovered 1572 manuscript were incorporated into the PLS 2010 script, and I was delighted to find myself the custodian of a chunk of them in the Resurrection play I had chosen to direct without having been aware that it would be a rather revolutionary act within the tradition! The passages were beautiful and explicitly Eucharistic, and my handsome young Jesus (in his painted skin suit) made all the appropriate gestures, complete with an elevation. There are three extant Chester manuscripts dating from the pre-Reformation days, but the Goodman version with its Papist horrors lay hidden in an academic collection until unearthed by scholars not long before the PLS cycle performance, for which Prof. Alexandra Johnston compiled a "new/old" script incorporating Goodman's worst nightmares.
What an interesting comment, thank you for taking the time to write this! My edition of the Chester Cycle was published in 1992 and edited by David Mills, who is mentioned in the article you linked. This edition claims to be based on "all eight extant manuscripts," so does that mean it includes the Papist horrors? I certainly hope it does; I didn't notice any such horrors, but I haven't read through the whole cycle.
Related reading on grumpy Mr. Goodman and his 1972 Chester Cycle: https://scholarworks.iu.edu/journals/index.php/tmr/article/view/18663/24776
Oops -- that's "1572 Chester Cycle".
I think I understand a little of what you’ve written by looking at these heart-wrenching illustrations of Our Lord’s passion. As Catholics, we willingly take in these images and ponder the terrible torture Jesus went through because we know that “by His stripes we are healed.” It must be why we willingly spend time with Stations of the Cross, and soak in graphic recountals of martyrdom. I had not thought of the resulting feelings as pleasure, but I do relate to feeling uplifted and with a sense of being strengthened and inspired to move forward within my tiny little sphere.
Yes, Stations of the Cross, martyrdoms, the Stabat Mater, crucifixes...—part of the message in this post and the following post is that the tragic experience, even if we don't consciously think about it as such, is thoroughly woven into—has really become inseparable from—the Christian experience.
For sure!
When we read Othello, or any of the great Greek tragedies, we not only see the details that led to these events but we also learn how to control our own emotions so we do not recreate those same tragedies.
Yes, that "emotional education" is part of the katharsis—we don't just "release" or "purge" emotions, we learn about their presence and role in our life and develop a greater ability to govern them.