Source of book: I own this
This book has been sitting on my nightstand for nearly a year. Looking back, I suspect one reason for that is simply that I have seen more live theater this year than any other, and reading plays has kind of come in second to that. It is a good thing, of course, to have so many great local productions to experience.
That said, I really do want to get back into reading drama, as many of the plays I wish to read will probably never make it to local stages for one reason or another. In the case of this play, I strongly suspect that it has been eclipsed by The Crucible, and that the market for another Puritan play may not be that strong. This is too bad, as I think this is actually a worthy work, in its own way a lot more lighthearted than Miller’s classic, but with important questions about what true piety and religion should look like.
The Devil’s Disciple is part of a triad of plays Shaw published in 1901 as Three Plays for Puritans. The other two were Caesar and Cleopatra and Captain Brassbound’s Conversion. The first two are still performed occasionally today, while the third has fallen into oblivion due to changing styles. Thus, my hardback Heritage edition is entitled Two Plays for Puritans.
George Bernard Shaw, like his good friend (and frenemy) G. K. Chesterton was fond of paradox, and at the heart of this play is indeed a paradox.
The title refers to the central character, Dick Dudgeon, a freethinker and apostate who takes on the title for himself, claiming allegiance to the Devil. He is the black sheep of the family, scorned by his self-righteous and bigoted mother, his pasty and insecure younger brother, and the host of aunts and uncles, each “respectable” in their way yet harboring significant flaws.
In return for their scorn, Dick hurls back witty insults, in classic Shaw fashion. (Few could write poisonous barbs quite like Shaw.)
When his father dies, Dick finds out that he has inherited nearly the entire estate - his father secretly changed his will right before his death. This is a shock to the rest of the family, particularly his widow, who discovers that she will get just enough income to survive, but will have to go live with one of her siblings, rather than reign as the wealthy matriarch of the family.
Dick also scandalizes the family by defending Essie, the illegitimate daughter of the other black sheep of the family, Uncle Peter, who was recently hanged by the British (who mistakenly thought he was a rebel leader, rather than just a general ne’r-do-well.) Essie had been taken in by Dick’s mother, but she also constantly reminds poor Essie of her origins and treats her poorly.
As a final act before everyone leaves to their own homes, Dick warns the minister, Anthony Anderson, that the British are looking to make an example of someone, and that the minister is the likely target.
Later, the minister, who isn’t a bad guy, actually, invites Dick over to (he hopes) convert back to religion. Before he can get too far to that end, he is called away because Dick’s mother is dying. Dick ends up staying for tea with Anderson’s wife, Judith (who has a secret crush on him), and is there when the British soldiers show up to arrest Anderson. They think Dick is Anderson, and he unexpectedly (even to himself) plays along, knowing it will mean his death.
So, the Devil’s Disciple ends up sacrificing himself in a Christ-like manner. Well, almost. Meanwhile, Anderson, having returned and discovered the situation, finds his courage, and goes to the next town over and raises a branch of the rebel army.
Along the way, Shaw pokes great fun at the military, at show trials, and at bureaucrats, among others. He also gets plenty of digs in at puritanical religion, of course, but there is a lot more to this play than that. And, as I noted, his portrayal of the minister is actually quite positive - Anderson and Dick are, perhaps, related to Chesterton and Shaw.
My edition contains the long preface, which Shaw tended to write for his plays. (He also writes incredibly long and detailed scene descriptions, which probably continues to irritate directors.) I’ll quote a bit from the preface, as it is fascinating, if a bit dense.
First is an interesting pushback against antisemitism.
I can see no validity whatever in the view that the influence of the rich Jews on the theatre is any worse than the influence of the rich of any other race. Other qualities being equal, men become rich in commerce in proportion to the intensity and exclusiveness of their desire for money. It may be a misfortune that the purchasing power of men who value money above art, philosophy, and the welfare of the whole community, should enable them to influence the theatre (and everything else in the market); but there is no reason to suppose that their influence is any nobler when they imagine themselves Christians than when they know themselves Jews.
Shaw is right, of course. These days, at least in the United States, billionaires seem more interested in owning sports teams than in sponsoring the arts. At least when they are not simply buying Supreme Court justices.
One of the most hilarious passages is when Shaw talks about writing prefaces, and why he himself is uniquely qualified to praise his own plays. It is a brilliant combination of braggadocio and self-effacement that is so tongue in cheek that it is difficult to know if he means anything seriously.
Again, they tell me that So-and-So, who does not write prefaces, is no charlatan. Well, I am. I first caught the ear of the British public on a cart in Hyde Park, to the blaring of brass bands, and this not at all as a reluctant sacrifice of my instinct of privacy to political necessity, but because, like all dramatists and mines of genuine vocation, I am a natural-born mountebank.
Shaw also dismisses the idea that plays must be “original.” Rather, the old stories find new life as they are re-told, and taste goes in cycles.
It is always so more or less: the novelties of one generation are only the resuscitated fashions of the generation before last.
Finally, in Shaw’s discussion of this play, he pushes back against the idea that there is anything implausible about Dick’s sacrifice, and argues that there is no reason to ascribe it to his supposed love for Judith. (Which he denies.) He notes instead that in real life, we rarely scrutinize acts of self-sacrifice (say, by a fireman) for motives, but definitely do in the more lurid instances.
Not one of my critics but has seen a hundred times in his paper how some policeman or fireman or nursemaid has received a medal, or the compliments of a magistrate, or perhaps a public funeral, for risking his or her life to save another’s. Has he ever seen it added that the saved was the husband of the woman the saver loved, or was that woman herself, or was even known to the saver as much as by sight? Never. When we want to read of the deeds that are done for love, whither do we turn? To the murder column; and there we are rarely disappointed.
Turning to the play itself, it starts of (of course it does) with over two pages of stage directions, which are not merely a description of the scene, but a political commentary on the American Revolution. Shaw is, shall we say, not an apologist for the British Empire, even though, as a Brit, he doesn’t see things the way we Americans do.
The year 1777 is the one in which the passions roused by the breaking-off of the American colonies from England, more by their own weight than their own will, boiled up to shooting point, the shooting being idealized to the English mind as suppression of rebellion and maintenance of British dominion, and to the American as defense of liberty, resistance to tyranny, and self-sacrifice on the altar of the Rights of Man. Into the merits of these idealizations it is not here necessary to inquire: suffice it to say, without prejudice, that they have convinced both Americans and English that the most highminded course for them to pursue is to kill as many of one another as possible, and that military operations to that end are in full swing, morally supported by confident requests from the clergy of both sides for the blessing of God on their arms.
Damn, that’s good. Shaw isn’t wrong, and it is difficult to see the conflicts of my own lifetime as proceeding largely along those lines.
“And we pray to our Lord
Who we know is American
He reigns from on high
He speaks to us through middlemen
And he shepherds his flock
We sing out and we praise His name
He supports us in war
He presides over football games
And the right will prevail
All our troubles shall be resolved
We have faith in the Lord
Unless there's money or sex involved…”
One of Shaw’s goals with this play is to illustrate the difference between what he sees as toxic religion, and genuine human decency, which he sees as closer to the Christianity of Christ. Again, don’t think of Shaw as being purely anti-religion. Sure, he is an atheist. But he also, like many of us who retain a belief in God while being furious at how Christ has been co-opted by hate and cruelty, can see that Puritanism in both its older and modern form is nothing like the teachings or example of Christ. (Modern white Evangelicalism is essentially neo-Puritanism, in the worst possible way. Including the white supremacy and lust for political violence against others.)
When Dick takes over the family home, and evicts everyone else except for Essie, he reiterates that his loyalty is to the Devil, and explains what that will mean for her.
“From this day this house is his home; and no child shall cry in it: this hearth is his altar; and no soul shall ever cower over it in the dark evenings and be afraid.”
After the terror that Mrs. Dudgeon rained down on Essie - and the terror that Fundie parents use to attempt to control their children - it is refreshing to see someone stand up for the idea that children are to find refuge in their own homes. This seems kind of obvious, but as authoritarian fundamentalism has taken over “christian” childrearing advice, apparently not.
As I mentioned, Dick is the counterpart to Rev. Anderson, who also gets some great lines. I particularly love this one, from the opening of the second act, when he and his wife are talking before Dick arrives.
“Come, dear, you’re not so wicked as you think. The worst sin towards our fellow creatures is not to hate them, but to be indifferent to them: that’s the essence of inhumanity.”
I have been thinking about this a lot in the Trump Era. While the hate has become open, it really is just an expression of decades of carefully cultivated indifference. White Evangelicals are trained from childhood to have a pathological lack of empathy for those outside the tribe - I am still working to recover from that insidious training from the subculture. It is part and parcel of Slaveholder Religion, of course. The theology was designed to justify slavery, segregation, conquest, and genocide, and that requires indifference to the suffering of our fellow humans. These days, this expresses itself in an indifference to the poor, to the refugees, to immigrants, and to LGBTQ people - it is baked into the theology - and the politics, of course.
Once Dick shows up, there is a lot of wonderfully witty repartee. It becomes clear that Dick and Anderson will become frenemies. As Dick puts it:
“Because there is something in you that I respect, and that makes me desire to have you for my enemy.”
Anderson replies:
“That’s well said. On those terms, sir, I will accept your enmity or any man’s.”
Soon thereafter, Anderson makes a Freudian slip and uses the word “friend” before catching himself and substituting “enemy.” Which is Shaw’s point.
After Dick is arrested, and Judith is forced to violate her promise to Dick to keep his secret and get Anderson away, she bemoans the fact that see is so powerless in this situation.
“But I know that you will take your own way as he took it. I have no power. I’m only a woman: I can do nothing but sit here and suffer. Only, tell him I tried to save you - that I did my best to save you.”
And yet, Judith ultimately inspires Anderson to take the risk and do something. There is a telling moment when he makes that shift.
JUDITH: “Is it of any use to pray, do you think?”
ANDERSON: “Pray! Can we pray Swindon’s rope off Richard’s neck?”
JUDITH: “God may soften Major Swindon’s heart.”
ANDERSON: “Let him, then. I am not God; and I must go to work another way.”
And Anderson is not only 100 percent correct about this - he is 100 percent theologically correct about this as well. Prayer that baptizes apathy is blasphemous. Prayer should inspire us to action, not confirm us in doing nothing. Two quotes are worth mentioning here.
“I prayed for twenty years but received no answer until I prayed with my legs.” ~ Frederick Douglass
“There is something deeply hypocritical about praying for a problem you are unwilling to resolve.” ~ Miroslav Wolf
This has, of course, been mentioned a lot lately in connection with mass shootings and gun violence in the United States - the leading cause of death for children here. The American Right (and white Evangelicals) are steadfast in offering “thoughts and prayers” while utterly refusing to do anything to actually change things. (And, naturally, blaming the violence by what are mostly right-wing white males on “liberals.”)
I found fascinating the jailhouse scene, where Judith (believed to be Dick’s wife now) comes to talk with him. She thinks he did it for her, but he responds that he didn’t do it for her or him or anyone else, but rather because he could not bring himself to take his own neck out of the noose and put someone else’s in it. In other words, he makes his sacrifice for reasons he doesn’t fully understand, but which are, at their heart, ethical. And he further asserts that he would have done it for anyone.
Now, whether all this is true or not is debatable. Shaw himself stood by Dick in his preface. And I think Shaw is interested here in the idea that truly ethical people act this way - they do what they believe (even at an unconscious level) is right, regardless of who they are saving.
Judith, for her part, really does try her best to save the men she loves. First with Anderson, who decides to take even riskier action by joining the rebels; and then by speaking out to try to save Dick. She also sees clearly the problem with systemic injustice and accuses the British military tribunal of murder.
“Is it nothing to you what wicked thing you do if only you do it like a gentleman? Is it nothing to you whether you are a murderer or not, if only you murder in a red coat?”
Dick, at the gallows, refuses the “comfort” of the English chaplain, and makes his own accusation.
“I see little divinity about them or you. You talk to me of Christianity when you are in the act of hanging your enemies. Was there ever such blasphemous nonsense? You’ve got up the solemnity of the occasion, as you call it, to impress the people with your own dignity - Handel’s music and a clergyman to make murder look like piety!”
Both of them are right. Neither dignity nor religious language can disguise that what they are doing has nothing to do with either. You cannot baptize murder - or any evil - by dressing it up with pomp and saying a prayer.
This is the crux of Shaw’s meaning in this play. Dick may call himself “The Devil’s Disciple,” but in reality, he (and to a degree, Anderson and Judith) is the character who truly rejects evil. It is the others - the respectable members of society - who have actually chosen to learn from the Devil, from the bloodthirsty British to the uncle who cheats his customers to the mother who dies consumed by her own judgmentalism.
This is a lesson that, ironically, can be seen clearly in the teachings of Christ. Many will say, “Lord, Lord,” but refuse to follow. Others will be shocked to find themselves in the Kingdom, because they were just out there loving their neighbor without thinking too much about the details of their belief system.
It is ironic - perhaps one might even say a paradox - that it is the atheist Shaw who clearly saw the “blasphemous nonsense,” the deep hypocrisy that all Puritans, past and present, represent.
I definitely need to get back into reading plays again - this one was a good one, and I have many more on my list.
***
Fun anecdote from the Heritage Club insert to the book:
Fanny's First Play, a satire of theater critics, was written by George Bernard Shaw - anonymously - speculation about its author helped with publicity. It was his first big hit.
At one London performance, he finally appeared on stage to take his bows. After signaling for silence, he was about to speak, when a heckler said something derisive.
Shaw looked up at the heckler, and said, "My dear sir, I thoroughly agree with you. But what are we among so many?"
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