Chapter 3
The third act of Ghosts continues the spatial continuity of the first two scenes—the “room as before” with its open doors and burning lamp—while simultaneously re‑configuring that space into a liminal zone where past and present collapse. The stage directions foreground an oppressive chiaroscuro: “it is dark out of doors; there is only a faint glow from the conflagration,” establishing an external fire as a visual metaphor for the hidden moral blaze within the Alving household.
Character dynamics become increasingly pathological. Mrs. Alving, once the voice of resigned propriety, now assumes a quasi‑maternal‐authoritarian stance, attempting to “dry your face” and “take the burden off” Oswald’s mind. Her language shifts from the formal, almost liturgical (“my blessed boy”) to frantic, animalistic cries (“I cannot bear it!”) as the scene progresses, signalling her loss of control. Oswald, meanwhile, devolves from a vaguely defiant son into a self‑destructive sufferer obsessed with a “dread” that he locates on his forehead. His repeated invocation of “the sun” operates as a Sybilline symbol of both life‑force and impending annihilation; the sun’s absence parallels his fear of a “softening of the brain” and the looming act of self‑medication with morphia.
The dialogue is punctuated by overlapping speech and interruptions, mirroring the chaotic interiority of the characters. The motif of “ghosts” is verbalized by Mrs. Alving just before the climax, transforming the literal fire into an unseen specter of familial guilt. The recurring references to “the rescue”—first promised by Regina, then redirected to the mother—expose a twisted economy of dependence that underwrites the family’s moral contract.
The financial subplot, introduced through Pastor Manders’s pragmatic redistribution of the endowment, re‑emerges as a structural foil to Oswald’s personal crisis. The proposal of a “Sailors’ Home” and the re‑branding of the orphanage into “Chamberlain Alving’s Home” reinforce the theme of institutional repurposing, suggesting that the public facade of philanthropy masks private ruin.
Finally, the denouement—Mrs. Alving extinguishing the lamp as sunrise floods the stage—creates a stark visual reversal. The extinguished lamp, a symbol of rational illumination, is supplanted by the harsh, inhuman light of the sun that Oswald demands. His final, monotone chant, “The sun. The sun,” accompanied by his physical collapse, crystallizes the chapter’s central paradox: the pursuit of an absolute, cleansing light leads not to redemption but to annihilation. The scene ends on an unresolved tension between maternal sacrifice and the inexorable pull of inherited disease, setting the stage for the forthcoming moral reckoning.