Faustian Iconoclast

This is Part II, read Part I, Faustian Eidôlons first

 

 

 

This story resumes where we last left off, with a scene of despair and damnation.  Surely you are wondering, why would I continue this tale?  Because the most absolute are steeped in duality, bordering a damning madness; or rather, this tale was originally meant to be one of redemption and discovery.  For while the legend of Faust once told of a man who was eternally damned, in time this legend evolved to one in which a man who would not acknowledge his boundaries was spared damnation.  Likewise is the tale of our Doctor Faustus who, like all those who have seen true fulfillment, was ultimately damned by his acknowledgement of limits.  It is human after all, to submit before an overwhelming ideal. 

 

Our Doctor Faustus is fortunately not one to be constrained by his human limits for long.  Although he stood alone, staring at an empty canvas upon which he couldn’t write a single word, for hundreds, thousands of years--trapped within not only a pentacle, a contract, not yet resolved, but also within his own numbed despair--Doctor Faustus was not the type of person to meekly submit.  While a thousand years may seem long, in a realm which deals with the infinite, it is but a blink of the eye.

 

The main danger of signing a pact with devils, is that such contracts defy our own understanding.  Having seen the true primordial form of fulfillment, Doctor Faustus realized that he was bound to a contract which would require that very level of completion.  While this may seem ideal, a way to endlessly exploit a system without having to give up the soul; it instead traps man in something far more damning--an absolute contract.  For all men who sign such contracts do so for the fulfillment of some earthly desire, one which is driven by single-minded obsession.  How is one supposed to reach an absolute fulfillment with petty desire?  And thus do these men become trapped in that enigmatic contract, until they can’t even remember what desire is, only the knowledge that it can never be filled--like a man forced to endlessly pursue futility within Tartarus.

 

Eventually Doctor Faustus’s despair at the futility of pursuing a dream, which he now knew could never be fulfilled, gave way to his frustration at being denied.  He was a man who would pursue the extremities, so such a thing could only hold him back for so long.  It was because of this that our Doctor was damned after all. 

 

Anger seething under his breath, Doctor Faustus growled out a name which had been unspoken for eons, “Mephistopheles…  Attend to me!”

 

As though he had been standing before our Doctor all along, that familiar grey-robed man appeared once more, and from both their circles erupted a pillar of that flickering blue flame.  As if surprised to have been summoned so quickly and furiously, the demon could only ask, “Yes Faustus, what do you desire to create?”

 

Now our Doctor Faustus had not truly considered this; he was not so much concerned about what he could next create as he was infuriated that his desires had not been fulfilled.  For the only way those trapped in Tartarus can escape their hell is if they but cease their pursuits, and re-examine the nature of their futility.  It has been said that insanity is the act of repeating something over and over again, yet expecting different results.  To be fair, we are all a bit insane by this measure.  But while the Doctor was obsessed to the point of madness, it would not be fair to call him insane; after all, an insane man would have demanded to see 'fulfillment ' until he could reach it--and Doctor Faustus had enough wit about him to know that this would never work.  So he instead gestured at the empty canvas in front of him, “What manner of trickery is this Dæmon?  Why is this canvas blank?”

 

Mephistopheles shrugged, “You demanded to be shown the inner nature of this world and the soul so much so, that you might put them upon canvas; not for Mephisto to do so.  You achieve nothing by asking me.”

 

Doctor Faustus looked over the room of canvases, each--once so beautiful--now seemed more devoid than what stood before him.  What had gone wrong?  Was it an issue of perspective?  If he had asked to be shown these… things, it would have sufficed; but he wasn’t a man satisfied with just knowing--Doctor Faustus wanted to create something truly unique.  So perhaps the problem lay in how he had put his brush to the canvas?  So he decided that the best way to understand perspective was to plunge himself into insanity.  Clearing his voice, he boldly demanded, “Mephistopheles, I charge thee to show unto me, Love.”

 

As the Dæmon faded from view, with only a slight chuckle lingering, Doctor Faustus felt himself wrapped up in the very same sensation which he had felt before--it was no different.  While emotions may seem whimsical, and contradictory, they ultimately exist outside our perception.  There is no difference in love, it simply is.  As that flow of beauty and pain flowed through him, our Doctor was unable to focus, unable to enjoy himself.  This was the same sensation; and yet, it was not the same for him.  Why was this?  As the vision ceased, Faustus once again found himself in front of a canvas, with the word 'Love ' written upon it.  While the first time, the word had felt as though it had been a perfect summation, the coalesced beauty of an ideal; it was now every bit as hollow as the other canvases.  Again, he needed to do it again, “Show me Love!” he bellowed, with a stubborn fury which would not be denied.

 

But our Doctor was not insane, for he did not expect anything different.  No, he knew it wouldn’t work.  But he was a man who was accustomed with failure; one who had come to embrace it.  Only then could one realize that no failure is quite the same.  There was something to be learned here; he had an eternity, he WOULD come to understand what was needed.  So after repeating this a few hundred times, Faustus paused to look at the paintings.  Each had those same words, and yet each one was subtly different.  He could understand why this was, for after all, is not our signature different with each stroke?  Yet at the same time, the image he had been shown, 'Love', it was without variance.  In an instance of reflection, he understood why each canvas felt so empty.  Each one was a perfect, obsessed, realization of Love; flawless in its stubborn pursuit.  Yet much as Love represents a whole, agape; fulfillment is the completion of all things--his paintings failed to be a perfect summation.  They were but a perfect facet; which, in those things which deal with infinity, are but a blink of the eye.

 

Fighting a slight smile which had crept across him, our Doctor then asked, “Why have you restricted my brush Dæmon?  Do you find delight in toying with me?  Is not my soul enough?”

 

Mephistopheles’s face was devoid of emotion, as if the accusation neither amused nor insulted him; at last Mephistopheles spoke with a measured pace, “This lies outside the boundaries that words can address; and man can only know those thoughts which language can express.”

 

Doctor Faustus considered this for a while, deliberating.  It could explain why each idea had seemed best written in its own word.  Yet something was off here.  You should never trust the damned, for they tell you the most powerful truths, the most poignant lies.  He knew better than to try and debate philosophy with such a being, so he resolved that he should test these claims for himself, “Mephisto, I charge thee, show me… Expression.”

 

As Mephistopheles faded from view, there was nothing.  No shaking of the earth, no licking flames, no fierce maelstrom.  The world was as it always had been, hollow, a mockery of those ideals which he had seen.  Angrily the Doctor raged, “I give you an order; carry it through.  Or is your master, Lord Lucifer, afraid?  Does he deny it?  Speak Damn You!”

 

With a flicker of flames, Mephistopheles was beside him again, and with a meek bow, he replied, “I have done as was charged.”

 

Doctor Faustus spat furiously, “You Lie.”

 

Gone was the friar’s grey robes, and in his place was a being of pure rage, pulsing about the pentacle, snarling, “You are the liar!  Do you think the contract so wanton, so easily denied?”

 

And just as suddenly… silence.

 

Back was the grey friar who, acting as though such a moment had never occurred, politely suggested, “Expression is but your own perspective.  It doesn’t exist as a universal ideal.  Much as if you had asked, “Show me Doctor Faustus.”  I would but hold up a mirror.”  Then with a scornful smile the daemon curtly, sarcastically, asked, “Was it not satisfactory?”

 

He hated that smug expression.  Of course this was not satisfying; otherwise, why would he have ever offered up his soul?  And where once he had simply wanted this for himself, he now felt a passionate desire and drive to achieve it at any cost; if nothing else, to scorn this Mephisto.  So calming himself, trying not to let the daemon rile him, Doctor Faustus again returned to the question.  What was the best way to find fulfillment?

 

With a smile, our Doctor finally understood what had to be done.  If you wanted to understand how to fulfill a contract, how best to do so than to look over the contract?  And so smiling, as if amused with his own wit, Doctor Faustus demanded, “I wish to see, and in turn create, the contract.”

 

No longer did Mephisto hold that smug grin, rather he seemed angered at such a demand.  Ruefully, he pulled the contract from whatever space he had hidden it, and unrolling it, he held it before the Doctor.  “As you desire” he growled out in malcontent.

 

This was a side to Mephistopheles which the Doctor found extremely amusing; he was not so foolish as to take this bait.  So with a venomous smile which seemed out of place on his face, he refused, “I asked to be shown the contract.  Not some piece of paper.”

 

Mephistopheles’s eyes sharpened, and thrusting the document out at him, the daemon asked him, “What?  Is not a contract written on paper?”

 

Laughing in amusement, for he was convinced he had at last found that one thing which Mephisto had tried to hide, Doctor Faustus retorted, “Show it to me; as you said, the contract is absolute.  Do not waylay me with your semantics, because words cannot release you.”  With a look of wonder coming across his face, the Doctor at last mused quietly, “Words cannot release you…”  And looking around him, at all those paintings, he at last understood.  With a final malice that could not be denied, Doctor Faustus growled out a mere, “Show Me… Now.”

 

As Mephistopheles fell to the ground, screaming in an agony which surpassed even what the damned might understand, Faustus at last understood the true contract.  No description of it will be offered here, for one must enter its binding to see it; to fulfill it requires one to understand exactly why such a thing cannot be described.  For it entails fulfillment, surpasses it… and contains the truth of all things; which exceed any and all perception--it surpassed even truth, for such is the nature of extreme duality.  “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”  Such was the contract which had stood before time itself, before the beginning--a way to transcend the word.  To create the word.

 

Gone was Doctor Faustus, for such a name and title means nothing, gone was the canvas consumed in a flame which surpasses the essence of flame, for such a thing means nothing, gone was the pentacle at his feet, for such a thing means nothing, and gone was his form and those words, for such things mean nothing.  And gone was nothing--it is but a word.

 

So were worlds created, and so were words created.  And Mephistopheles stood there, within a forever damning pentacle, holding onto a contract which bound him to many masters and truths, unable to understand.

 

Reviews

[Mister_Sir]

"How is one supposed to reach an absolute fulfillment with petty desire? And thus do these men become trapped in that enigmatic contract, until they can’t even remember what desire is, only the knowledge that it can never be filled--like a man forced to endlessly pursue futility within Tartarus."

"With a smile, our Doctor finally understood what had to be done. If you wanted to understand how to fulfill a contract, how best to do so than to look over the contract? And so smiling, as if amused with his own wit, Doctor Faustus demanded, “I wish to see, and in turn create, the contract.” No longer did Mephisto hold that smug grin, rather he seemed angered at such a demand. Ruefully, he pulled the contract from whatever space he had hidden it, and unrolling it, he held it before the Doctor. “As you desire” he growled out in malcontent."

These are my two favorite parts. Although the entire passage is great again. The ending also has its unique esoteric ending, as I have found many a time in your works. And thus it was, at least for me, kind of a mystery.
My question: Did Faust's revelation at the end "set him free," as they say, or was he damned? Because you have Mephistopheles suffering at the end, which makes me think that Faust beat him and the contract. But then you have Faust "gone," which can either be taken as him being damned, saved, or obliterated. And the description of him and his possessions as "mean[ing] nothing" and being "consumed by a flame" also make me think more of a negative end for him. Or perhaps is it a "the truth is so profound that it would literally kill you to know it" kind of deal?

Neurotically yours,
Mister Splitbrain

[deepika]

hey, really nice story. read it twice. the way your words and sentences flow, just makes it grow on the reader more. your works have helped me improve my own writing skills.

[Taylor_McCutcheon]

I really thought I reviewed this already. Sorry about that. I enjoyed this very much. I agree with Jennie Baron. This is a great story. :)

[Jennie Baron]

I had to mull this over a while and think about what I had to contribute. You realize by now that deep philosophical questions, the very nature of existence, perception/reality, salvation/damnation, are not my forte. Maybe I'm not very deep, but I like to try to expand my horizons. That said, from my perspective you've done remarkably well. I haven't much to say that isn't complimentary. As you admit yourself, a thorough copy-edit might be good, but that's trivial.

I was particularly fascinated by the idea that salvation vs. damnation is not as cut and dried, as final as we may think. I may be part of organized religion but I don't even think it's specifically incompatible with Judeo-Christian teaching, although less open-minded denominations might disagree...

Anyway, back to the writing itself, my eye was immediately drawn to the second-to-last paragraph, where I think the repetition of phrases with "gone" is very effective and powerful. Don't change a thing about that, please.

With such a great ending, you really could have ended there, but if you have more to say, I know it'd be most interesting.

[Tinkerbellje]

Great writing and a good story. Thanks for sharing!