A Mephistophelian evil

And other virtues and vices of coffee

The Dangerous Servants - Evils of Coffee, Alcohol and Tobacco, 1913 Charles F Church

I think I was first introduced to the character and concept of Mephistopheles in senior high school. One of my English Literature teachers mentioned a “Faustian bargain,” an expression that was new to me, and I became curious.

She gave me a book - I don’t remember which one, probably Goethe - which I remember finding dense and inaccessible. I was in my senior year. I had college and scholarship applications to fill out and try to figure out how to pay for them. I was planning a trip to Germany for the summer, and I would probably return engaged before starting school in the Fall.

I didn’t need or want an extracurricular assignment, for no credit, especially one I had to work hard to understand. This was before one could consult The Google Oracle. Instead, one went to the Library, and, after mastering the Dewey Decimal System (Google it), one could enter the Information Superhighway of the day, where the speed limit was firmly set at 55 mph, complete with rest stops along the way.

So, here’s The Evelyn Wood Speed Reading version. Actually, it’s more like The CliffsNotes version. (Google those, too.) - or, what AI has to say:

“The term originates from the legend of Doctor Faustus, who traded his soul to the devil for knowledge and power. This kind of bargain is often seen as a cautionary tale about the dangers of prioritizing short-term gains over long-term consequences and moral integrity.”

The name of Faust’s “devil” is Mephistopheles, who is one of the seven great princes of Hell, along with being one of the first four angels who rebelled against God and fell. He is also referred to as the “Shadow of Lucifer” and “Prince of Trickery”.

Mephistopheles by Mark Antokolsky, 1884

I think coffee - that great, dark, hot, morning beverage - qualifies as a Mephistophelian evil. It is one I have come to make peace with. Every morning.

A little background information. One of my favorite authors is Mark Helprin. I think one of my favorite books, besides Michener’s Hawai’i, is A Winter’s Tale. Such a fabulous book. I think I’ve read it three times, cover to cover. The next Helprin’s book I read was “Memoir from Antproof Case,” which Helprin modeled after Melville’s Moby Dick. It’s really quite brilliant.

The main character, a wonderfully eccentric character named Oscar Progresso (or whatever his name is), is writing his memoir on a cliff overlooking the sea. Oh, wait. A moment of digression, please. I just pulled the book from my shelf and noticed that I underlined a sentence that I absolutely adore. Here it is:

"My limbs ached like a kingdom that has lost a war, and my stomach swelled with the nausea of all the seas, but my head, well, it hurt. It really hurt."

Delicious, right? I wish I could write like that. But, back to my point about coffee:

Here’s what Mr. Progresso says about coffee: "a filthy corruption brewed from a bean that poisons its own tree," a substance that "turns your inner self into a happy sparkling clockwork, hypnotizes you with artificial joy, and takes from you the sadness and deliberation that are the anchors of love." (The author reportedly does not drink caffeinated beverages.)

I have learned, however, that Mr. Progresso is incorrect about the coffee bean poisoning its own tree, but you know, he’s right about all the rest.

One of my sons-in-law drinks six cups of espresso. Before breakfast. Every day. Well, he used to. A few months ago, he went to his doctor and - Surprise! Suprise! - his “numbers” were not good. Weight is fine. B/P and lab work were not.

So, he has “cut down”. He now drinks “only” two cups. Only. Two. Of espresso. Before breakfast. Which, he says, is “an adjustment”. I can only imagine!

Here’s the thing: I drink two cups of coffee in the morning. One of the first things I do is to set up the percolator in the kitchen. Fresh cold water. Freshly ground coffee.

Folgers. Decaffinated.

I can’t get through the morning successfully without it. Which is ridiculous. Without the caffeine, it’s essentially hot, black, coffee-flavored water. Which is delicious. I love it. But, I think what I really love is the ritual - the sound, the smell, the taste, the routine of it, first thing in the morning.

What’s that advert jingle? “The best part of waking up is Folgers in your cup.”

No argument from me, there. Although maybe not THEE best. One of the best.

Here’s the illusion: Decaffinated coffee isn’t really completely decaffeinated. There are small amounts of caffeine left in it, along with the chemicals necessary to remove the caffeine. Chemicals. Sheesh! Now I sound like RFK, Jr., right? However, it does have many of the same potential health benefits as regular coffee, such as antioxidants and a lower risk of some diseases, but without the stimulating effects of caffeine.

Except, of course, I add Splenda. I tell myself it’s better than sugar. Well, maybe. That’s another essay for another time.

I have made a Faustian bargain with coffee. While I have not sold my soul, I have fallen into the illusion offered by the dark magic liquid of prioritizing short-term gains over long-term consequences and moral integrity.

I lie to myself with every sip I take. Every morning. I tell myself my morning will be better after a cup or two of coffee. It isn’t, necessarily. I tell myself that it’s better than drinking French or Greek coffee. And it is. But, I don’t drink it when I’m in France or Europe. I drink tea. See also: “stomach swelling with the nausea of all the seas” and “my head hurting. Really hurting.”

When I’m at Starbucks, my order is always the same: “Grande decaff skim latte. No foam. Two Splenda.” It’s the only way I can drink the stuff, which has been turned into a hot coffee milkshake. One of my favorites.

My absolute favorite is Trader Joe’s Coffee Blast Coffee Ice Cream. It is not decaffeinated. There are three to five mg of caffeine per half-cup serving. That's the same amount of caffeine as 10 to 13 ml of regular drip coffee.

I eat it sparingly. I love every last spoonful.

I have told my family that if ever I am diagnosed with an illness that carries a terminal implication and I am on Hospice Care, they are to bring me four things: a large bottle of bourbon, a tin of Gauloises cigarettes, a one-pound box of Camille Bloch Swiss chocolate, and a carton of Trader Joe’s Coffee Blast Coffee Ice Cream.

On hearing this, a friend of mine said, “I suppose you feel you’ll need to make a good confession to Jesus before entering the Gates of Heaven.”

”Hell no,” said I, “I want Jesus to fling open his arms wide and say, ‘Hey, there’s a woman after my own heart! Welcome! I’m so glad you enjoyed your life.”

Coffee is a placebo I knowingly administer to myself. Every morning. I am shameless about it. It’s a Mephistophelian evil that prepares me for whatever evil may come my way the rest of the day.

And these days, one needs to be prepared for being assaulted by many evils. Several times a day. It never seems to end.

At least, that’s what I tell myself. Every morning. It’s a great way to get ready for my time of prayer and meditation. Which I do as I sip my coffee.

Hey, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

PS: Happy Feast of Mary Magdalene. I think, somehow, she’d understand.