Mixed Faith and Shared Feeling. Musa Gurnis

      Shared Feeling

      The mixed-faith audiences that filled early modern London’s commercial playhouses responded to live theater in ways that were not always aligned with—or the outcome of—their individual beliefs. Sophisticated and ever-evolving theatrical techniques invited playgoers to pretend: to imagine different versions of the world, to fantasize beyond their ordinary ken, to entertain alternative perspectives of thought and feeling. Plays allowed confessionally diverse audiences to mentally and emotionally traverse the shifting ideological landscape with greater imaginative license than was afforded in many spheres of religious life. This is not utopian transcendence: London commercial theater over the seventy-five years before the English Civil War did not erode sectarian differences, or foster a general playgoing culture of Erasmian toleration. But plays in performance did temporarily focus the attention and energy of mixed-faith audiences into shared daydreams whose relations to real-world confessional politics were often productively oblique. Plays mediated religious discourses through theatrical devices that were no great respecters of doctrinal integrity but were effective in shaping audiences’ engagements with the drama.

      Plays bound religious content to theatrical forms that had the power to prompt reactions that might contradict playgoers’ actual theological commitments. To say that dramatic effects shaped much of how mixed-faith audiences experienced plays does not mean that theater coerces playgoers into ideologically and emotionally uniform responses. Charles Whitney mischaracterizes critical attention to the formal orchestration of theatrical experience as a paradigm in which “the text or performance constructs audiences who perceive largely with innocent eyes from an abstract subject position.”¹ My point is not that theater erases religious identities but rather that theater creates a generative misalignment of real-world confessional positions and the confessional worlds of plays. My interest is in the kinds of conceptual and affective movement—even if it is only a temporary shifting of entrenched positions—produced when people with diverse beliefs respond together to a reimagined version of their shared, mixed culture.

      Theater ventures beyond the boundaries of everyday life.² While religious differences did not disappear at the playhouse door, many plays depend, sometimes as a basic condition of their intelligibility, on the willingness of theatergoers to imaginatively embrace religious frameworks that they would reject outside the playhouse, or to dwell in stage moments that muddle confessional categories. Richard McCoy rightly emphasizes the difference between the demands of religious faith and the conditional “faith” elicited by theatrical illusions.³ The miscalibration between the ideological positions of audience members and theater’s refracted images of religious life made it possible for playgoers to experience their mixed confessional culture from other vantage points. Or, put differently, it was the semiautonomy of dramatic fantasy that made it a productive interlocutor, not merely a parrot, of confessional culture. Commercial theater permitted the “suspension of belief,” by which I mean that plays ask their mixed-faith audiences to process religious activities, objects, and subject positions differently from how they otherwise might in church, or at an execution, or during a theological debate.⁴ While antitheatricalists insisted on the moral and physical dangers of playgoing, there was also recognition that because theater is fictive, it operates with different interpretive protocols and consequences. As Philip Sidney puts it, “The Poet … nothing affirmes and therefore never lyeth.”⁵ In other words, plays allow confession-ally diverse spectators to believe in religious counterfactuals—to feel them as if real—without having to avow them as true.⁶ Commercial theater offered post-Reformation Londoners shared, vicarious experiences that cross confessional boundaries. These collective theatrical fantasies were not an escape from religious culture but rather a means of affective experimentation within it.

      Early modern drama gave spectators the license to cognitively and emotionally invest in scenarios and subjectivities far removed from their own identity positions. In this chapter, I outline ways the representational practices of the theater business cultivated the imaginative elasticity of audiences. While many of the examples do not pertain to religious culture per se, they do demonstrate broader conditions of reception conducive to flexible engagements with religious culture. The Late Lancashire Witches (1634) offers a specific instance of theater’s capacity to reconfigure mixed-faith playgoers’ experiences of topical religious material. An eyewitness account of the play demonstrates how theatrical pleasure could displace confessional agendas. Yet the most extensive evidence of such imaginatively elastic, theatrical encounters with confessional material are the very scripts that structure these experiences. Plays orchestrate collective thought and feeling. However, responsive audiences are not passive victims of stage spectacle: reception is an active process.

      The embodied, affective, and cognitive responses of audiences are the locus of theater’s ideological work. Culture is made and remade in the playhouse through gasps, tears, and snorts of laughter. Ideology is always lived; and the virtual experiences of playgoers are a particularly malleable site of reinscription and change. In closing, I show how a subgenre of Spanish Match plays from the 1620s capitalizes on the widespread fear among Protestants of a marriage alliance with Spain, yet also recasts these anxieties into more emotionally pliable fantasies. Unlike the rigid, religious binaries into which A Game at Chess interpellates its mixed-faith audiences (discussed in Chapter 4), the confessional transpositions seen in such plays as The Spanish Gypsy (1623), The Noble Spanish Soldier (1622), and the (1623) revival of Match Me in London are more characteristic of commercial theater’s mediation of post-Reformation confessional culture. While these Spanish Match plays do reinforce anti-Catholic tropes, they also offer unexpected pleasures, as well as opportunities for identification with unlikely characters, that allow affective movement within and around the dominant paradigm in which papist Spain is the implacable enemy of Protestant England.

      Cultural Pressures and Theatrical Process

      My goal is to articulate the dialectic between post-Reformation English society and its dramatic fantasies; that is, to show mutually constitutive exchanges between the religious lives of early modern Londoners and the confessional worlds imagined in the commercial theaters. The methodological risk of emphasizing the broader cultural pressures that informed playhouse experience is the elision of the reciprocal impact of theatrical process (and vice versa). Some recent scholarship ascribes shared playhouse responses primarily to discursive influences, such as humoral theory or the doctrine of Eucharistic participation. Other criticism emphasizes the crucial agency of disparate audience members in creating theatrical events and their meanings, stressing the diversity of playgoers’ interpretations and uses of theater.⁷ This book insists that broadly collective audience responses were structured most immediately (that is, most directly during the time of performance) not by external cultural frameworks but by theatrical effects. Of course, the worlds imagined inside the playhouse are never separable from the world outside its walls.⁸ However, tracking their mutual entanglement depends on the recognition of the distinctive, representational aptitudes of theater.

      We lose an invaluable archive of human experience if we look only at the ways plays are socially conditioned by early modern conceptions of emotion and not at how plays themselves produce feelings in the social exchange among actors and audiences. For example, Allison Hobgood’s claim that the “most determinative factor” in the interactions between early modern players and their playgoers was humoral discourse homogenizes all plays into manifestations of “the two primary resources [of theater:] … the early modern cultural script about the communicability of passions … and, second, the playgoers who materialized that cultural script.”⁹ Doubtless, humoral theory affected some of the ways early modern people understood emotional interactions, including those in the theater. However, the limitation of this model is that it makes the resources of actual play scripts merely instrumental to a preexisting and unchanged “cultural script.” Steven Mullaney rightly cautions against an overliteral