Christopher Marlowe's Dr. Faustus is the classic tale of what happens to a man who sells his soul to the devil. It's a classic because it keeps being replayed throughout human history. The latest version of the story is unfolding in Washington. Michelle Goldberg writes:

As we approach the anniversary of the Jan. 6 attack, it’s been grimly amusing to see that the party of insurrection can’t even manage the orderly transfer of power to itself. Rarely does karma play out so neatly.

Kevin McCarthy nurtured the spirit of reactionary nihilism in the Republican Party, first by trying to harness the energy of the Tea Party for his own ambition, and then by his near-total capitulation to Donald Trump. Now the chaotic forces he abetted have, at least for the moment, derailed his goal of becoming House speaker, subjecting him to multiple public humiliations at what was supposed to be his moment of triumph.

It is still possible that McCarthy will manage to eke this thing out by making even more concessions to the growing bloc of Republicans who oppose him. It is not possible, however, that he’ll emerge, in any real sense, as a leader.

Like Faustus, Mccarthy was not hoodwinked. He has known for a long time who he's dealing with:

McCarthy’s approach to the far right has always been one of indulgence. Despite his own apparent lack of ideological conviction, he recruited many of the Tea Party candidates elected to the House in 2010. As Robert Draper, the longtime chronicler of the Republican Party, wrote in 2011, they represented “McCarthy’s more entrepreneurial approach to politics: seize upon a trend (in this case, government phobia), put all your money on it and then work hard to make the trend last.” McCarthy persisted in this approach as the Tea Party evolved into Trumpism, earning Trump’s patronizing sobriquet: “My Kevin.”

Marginalizing Trump after Jan. 6 would have been politically risky for McCarthy, no doubt. But by flying to Mar-a-Lago to abase himself before Trump just weeks after the attack on the Capitol — signaling to all that Trump remained the leader of the Republican Party — McCarthy helped seal his own fate. Trump is a major reason the Republican House margin is as small as it is; voters rejected many of Trump’s handpicked candidates, as well as the party’s broader election denialism. And though Trump himself has endorsed McCarthy, many of his disciples are hostile to anyone associated with the Republican establishment.

As The Times reported, of the 20 lawmakers who, as of this writing, have voted against McCarthy, 17 were endorsed by Trump in 2022. Five of them are freshmen — these are people who are part of Trump’s remaking of the Republican Party. Arizona’s Eli Crane, for example, is a former contestant on the business reality show “Shark Tank,” where he pitched bottle openers made of dummy .50-caliber bullets. (“Shoot open some bottles in the manliest way possible,” says an ad for the product.) Florida’s Anna Paulina Luna, an ally of the Trump die-hard Matt Gaetz, is a veteran and former swimsuit model who built a career as a conservative rabble-rouser, most recently running Hispanic outreach for the right-wing outfit Turning Point USA. These people seem to be crafting brands as much as political careers, meaning they benefit from high drama and have little need to work their way through Republican institutions.

And, like Faustus, McCarthy finds himself in a hell of his own making.

Image: thriftbooks