William Shakespeare Archives

SMITH’S MAN OF SYSTEM IN ROMEO AND JULIET

The biggest threats to liberty always come from people who look at the world and become firmly convinced that their plan to overhaul the whole system will bring great joy. In The Theory of Moral Sentiments, Adam Smith argues that such people will inevitably bring harm to society.

In Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare has provided a marvelous example of such a person, exploring both the motivation and the devastation which ensues. Friar Laurence may rank with Iago and Edmund in the roll call of Great Shakespearean Villains.

Read the rest at AdamSmithWorks

Related Posts
Smith, Adam The Theory of Moral Sentiments “Can Sober Smithians Soften Polarized Partisans?”
Pollan, Michael How To Change Your Mind “Trippin’ With Pollan”

The Joy of Cymbeline

“The play has many just sentiments, some natural dialogue, and some pleasing scenes, but they are obtained at the expense of much incongruity. To remark the folly of the fiction, the absurdity of the conduct, the confusion of the names, and manners of different times, and the impossibility of the events in any system of life, were to waste criticism upon unresisting imbecility, upon faults too evident for detection, and too gross for aggravation.”

That is Samuel Johnson discussing William Shakespeare’s Cymbeline, a bit of criticism which would be impossible to do anything other than relish. Lytton Strachey remarked that the play was written by a man “half bored to death.” How about George Bernard Shaw’s evaluation: “for the most part stagey trash of the lowest melodramatic order, in parts abominably written, throughout intellectually vulgar, and judged in point of though by modern intellectual standards, vulgar, foolish, offensive, indecent, and exasperating beyond all tolerance.”

I am glad to report, however, that Johnson, Strachey, and Shaw are wrong. Cymbeline is a fun play. Indeed, after reading it, I was surprised when I started reading commentaries on it; so many critics seem to miss what makes the play fun.

Imagine someone sitting down with the collected works of Shakespeare and deciding to write a giant over-the-top parody of the complete works of Shakespeare. Then, imagine that the parody is written in language as good as anything Shakespeare himself would write. It is hard to imagine someone pulling off that feat. But, it happened. Shakespeare wrote it himself. Cymbeline.

To summarize the plot is nearly impossible, which is fitting because it contains within it the plots of multiple plays. So, start with the genre. Is the play a tragedy a comedy or a history? In the First Folio, it was listed as a tragedy, which makes sense because it is a lot like Romeo and Juliet and Othello and Macbeth. But, later on it was lumped in with the comedies which makes sense because it is a lot like Twelfth Night and As You Like It and Much Ado About Nothing. Then again, Cymbeline was the British King at the time of Julius Caesar and this is a play about rules of succession and colonization and political infighting and actual battle scenes, so it really belongs with the Histories as a prequel to the Richard plays and the Henry plays.

You can instead look at a bunch of individual scenes and characters. Which play is this from: a conniving guy tries to make a husband doubt the faithfulness of his wife by convincing him that his wife has been unfaithful? Is the conniving guy Iago (Othello) or Iachimo (Cymbeline)? Or which is the play in which the young love-struck woman takes poison which causes her to fall into such a deep sleep that people think she is dead? Romeo and Juliet or Cymbeline? Or how about the play where the young woman leaves court and goes off into the forest where she finds a court in exile? As You Like It or Cymbeline? Or how about that play that ends with a seemingly endless series of revelations that people are not who everyone else thought they were? Pick your favorite comedy or Cymbeline? Cross-dressing? Check. Dream sequences? Check. Prophecies? Check. Plots within plots? Check. Seriously, pick a feature of Shakespeare, and it is somewhere in Cymbeline.

When I realized what was going on about halfway through the play (the Iachimo/Iago comparison was really hard to miss), I realized that this was just a play in which Shakespeare was having fun. I checked my instinct by asking Izzy Baird, whose claim to fame includes having read all of Shakespeare’s plays before her 23^rd birthday. Her reply: “I like that interpretation. The start of Cymbeline is what happens if King Lear married Lady Macbeth, the middle of the play is a weird mashup of Merry Wives and Julius Caesar, and the resolution is completely Twelfth Night.” Just so.

Now, imagine my shock when I looked at the professional critics and their disdain for this play. How did they miss the fun? Yes, the scenes in Britain are set in the age of Julius Caesar, but the scenes in Italy sure seem like they are taking place right down the street from Shylock making a deal with Antonio. That isn’t a failing; that’s funny.

Harold Bloom comes closest to getting it: “Cymbeline is a pungent self-parody on Shakespeare’s part: we revisit King Lear, Othello, The Comedy of Errors, and dozens of other plays, but we see them now through a distorting lens.” Aha! I thought. Exactly right…well except for the “pungent” bit. Even after realizing it is a parody, Bloom decides it is a failed play: “No other play by Shakespeare…shows the playwright so alienated from his own art as Cymbeline does.” Or this: “Shakespeare is his own worst enemy in Cymbeline: he is weary of making plays.” Does Bloom really think Cymbeline is “aesthetic self-wounding”? Yes he does.

What is happening here? Are serious Shakespeare scholars really so obsessed with thinking of everything in lofty terms that they are unable to recognize when something is just plain fun? Shakespeare just did the equivalent of writing a literary Airplane! and the critics forget to laugh and just sit up in their boxes shaking their heads at this guy who has lost his powers. You can hear the relief of the critics when The Winter’s Tale and The Tempest come along; maybe this guy isn’t washed up after all.

One of the serious blights on the academic landscape these days is this obsession with being serious. What happened to fun? What happened to the idea that you can show the heights of brilliance by being able to laugh? Of course we want Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, but isn’t there space for Douglas Adams too? The Godfather and Citizen Kane are amazing, but does that mean we can’t appreciate at This is Spinal Tap? Doesn’t it make Shakespeare even more amazing that he can write both Hamlet and Cymbeline?

So, give me your discussions of comic books and Great Books. Give me your comparisons of Taylor Swift and T. S. Eliot. Give me your 500 pages of bad puns masquerading as a novel. Never forget that life is bursting with joy and if we can’t all pause to revel in the fun of Cymbeline, then we are missing out on a big part of the reason we are all here. God’s mirth is a beauty to behold and it shows itself in all these improbable ways.

Related Posts
Shakespeare, William A Midsummer Night’s Dream “Is It OK to Laugh?”
DC Comics Batgirl: A Celebration of 50 Years “Be Like Batgirl”

Is It OK to Laugh?

A Midsummer Night’s Dream is unquestionably a Masterpiece.

One measure of how great it is: Neil Gaiman wrote an issue of Sandman that took the play, morphed it into something that worked seamlessly into the world of Dream, and then that issue of a comic book won the World Fantasy Award for Best Short Story of the year.

(After this happened, the organization that gives out the award immediately changed the rules of the award to prohibit comic books from ever winning again. It is apparently embarrassing that a comic book can win a Best Short Story of the Year Award.)

Gaiman had the advantage here of being able to start with one of Shakespeare’s finest plays. (He did the same thing with The Tempest later on in Sandman, by the way. Quite clever. But that is a digression.) I suspect it would be hard to find anyone who would doubt the greatness of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

But, is it funny? Be careful before you answer.

Consider the lion. As you will recall, within the play a bunch of rustic workmen decide to put on a play for the wedding celebration of the Duke of Athens. In the play, one of the characters, Snug, will play a lion. Snug is a joiner, a job which involves joining (hence the name!) pieces of wood together to make furniture. He isn’t terribly bright, but he can roar. Bottum (a weaver) thinks he would be better at roaring:

Snug: Have you the lion’s part written? Pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study.
Quince: You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.
Bottum: Let me play the lion too. I will roar that I will do any man’s heart good to hear me. I will roar that I will make the Duke say “Let him roar again. Let him roar again!”
Quince: An you should do it too terribly, you would fright the Duchess and the ladies that they would shriek, and that were enough to hang us all.
All: That would hang us, every mother’s son.

They obviously need to ensure a mild roaring. Later on, the workmen are still a bit concerned about frightening the ladies.

Snout: Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion?
Starveling: I fear it, I promise you.
Bottum: Masters, you ought to consider with yourself, to bring in (God shield us!) a lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing. For there is not a more fearful wildfowl than your lion living, and we ought to look to ’t.
Snout: Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion.
Bottum: Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must be seen through the lion’s neck, and he himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the same defect: “Ladies,” or “Fair ladies, I would wish you,” or “I would request you,” or “I would entreat you not to fear, not to tremble! My life for yours. If you think I come hither as a lion, it were pity of my life. No, I am no such thing. I am a man as other men are.” And there indeed let him name his name and tell them plainly he is Snug the joiner.
Quince: Well, it shall be so.

And then when they finally put on the play, Snug does indeed make sure nobody is frightened.

You ladies, you whose gentle hearts do fear
The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,
May now perchance both quake and tremble here,
When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.
Then know that I, as Snug the joiner, am
A lion fell, nor else no lion’s dam;
For if I should as lion come in strife
Into this place, ’twere pity on my life

After which the nobility provide commentary mocking the whole enterprise.

Now, think about this particular thread of the play. Did you find it amusing? Shakespeare clearly wanted you to find it amusing. In the past, people laughed heartily at the joke. But did you find it amusing?

It is not hard to start listing the sins of that passage if you use the criteria beloved by the modern Campus Scolds. First, it is misogynistic and perpetuates gender stereotypes. Then it reinforces classism and the distinctions between the upper and lower classes. Third, it reinforces the idea that the lower classes serve only to amuse the upper classes. Fourth it demonstrates the inequality of wealth. Fifth, it roundly mocks the less educated. Need I go on?

So, is it funny?

While discussing this play with a couple of students, we got to talking about exactly this question. All three of us thought the whole lion thread was funny. Very funny. But, where is that line between being funny and being offensive?

Consider the following situation. Mount Holyoke has a couple of annual events where students give brief presentations on “What I did for my summer internship” and “What I did for my senior thesis.” The college spends a lot of energy in promoting these events. You can spend all day listening to undergraduates give 10 minutes spiels on their work. Nice idea I suppose, but truth be told, the day is pure torture. Don’t get me wrong. I love Mount Holyoke students. But, very few of them actually give riveting 10 minute talks on their senior thesis or their summer job.

Now, consider an event where the presentations at these events are mocked. Imagine a skit called “Senior Symposium” which was a full ten minutes of a really bad presentation in which every stereotypical feature of a bad presentation is featured. Could that be funny?

Then imagine that the presentation is not just a generic bad presentation, but actually specifically the kinds of things that students actually do at Senior Symposium? It cuts a bit closer to home. Is it still funny?

Then, imagine mocking a particular presentation. One of the students with whom I was talking wrote a senior thesis on the how the American Communist Party’s views on women changed over the course if its existence. Imagine mocking a presentation on that particular thesis at length. Is it still funny?

Somewhere along that spectrum, you probably drew a line. But, where? And does everyone draw the line at the same place? Of course not.

A sticky problem. Is it Ok to laugh at something if you know someone somewhere might take offense? One answer is “No.” That answer kills comedy. Try coming up with a joke that has no chance of ever offending anyone. Not just people you know, but anyone anywhere. Not just people you think are “reasonable” who “can take a joke” but even “unreasonable” people. Not just people you like, but even people you don’t like. Not just people today, but people in the future too. Good luck.

The problem is that it is literally impossible to draw the line here. So, either we have zero humor in the world or…what? If we don’t rule out the whole idea of humor, then what do we do? Shakespeare, ever the clever one, has an answer at the end of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The mischievous Puck walks out, looks at the audience and says:

If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber’d here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
if you pardon, we will mend:
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to ‘scape the serpent’s tongue,
We will make amends ere long;

There is an intriguing option. If you are offended, just pretend it was all a dream. Pardon others. It is not a perfectly satisfying answer, obviously. But, it does point us in the right direction. Have a little grace with others. The alternative is the death of laughter.

P.S. The thesis mentioned above about Communists and women is actually really good. It deservedly won all three major college awards for which it was eligible. It is also quite honestly without a doubt the best work ever written on the relationship between women and the American Communist Party. (That is a low bar, to be sure.) The conclusion I drew from the thesis is that Communists are really pathetic, have no deep principles, and just make up their views on an issue in order to constantly sound hip and avant-garde. The student didn’t particularly like the conclusion I drew, however, so maybe there is another possible conclusion which can be drawn from the thesis. If anyone wants to read the thesis, let me know. Of course, I expect precisely zero people to ask me for a copy. This is a thesis, after all, about Communist women in the mid-20^th century, a topic which interests precisely nobody. Don’t pretend you think it is interesting—remember—you won’t even ask me for a copy! I will get a mock-angry e-mail from this student now. I will laugh.

Kanye 2024

“In democracies changes are chiefly due to the wanton license of demagogues.” Aristotle wrote that in Politics.

Hamilton, in The Federalist Papers warns: “of those men who have overturned the liberties of republics the greatest number have begun their career, by paying an obsequious court to the people, commencing Demagogues and ending Tyrants.”

I think it is safe to say that nobody is a big fan of demagogues. Where does that leave democracy? Can we conclude that in a democratic society, we really don’t want rulers whose first instinct is to maximize their popularity with the crowds? Can we conclude that we want sober-minded leaders, who think about what is best to do and not what ill-informed citizens of the country might impulsively want to have done? Can we conclude we don’t want people who run for office on the basis of personal charisma instead of policy ideas? Can we conclude that a candidate who has handlers managing public appearances in order to orchestrate popularity is not good for the country?

Enter Coriolanus.

Coriolanus was a war hero in Rome. He single handedly defeated the city of Corioli, came back to Rome greeted with great praise, and was slated to be elected to high office. One problem. To do so, he had to go to into the marketplace and get the crowds to accede to his election.

As Shakespeare relates (in the play cleverly entitled Coriolanus), he wasn’t thrilled at the prospect:

CORIOLANUS: What must I say?
‘I Pray, sir’–Plague upon’t! I cannot bring
My tongue to such a pace:–‘Look, sir, my wounds!
I got them in my country’s service, when
Some certain of your brethren roar’d and ran
From the noise of our own drums.’
MENENIUS: O me, the gods!
You must not speak of that: you must desire them
To think upon you.
COR: Think upon me! hang ’em!
I would they would forget me, like the virtues
Which our divines lose by ’em.
MEN: You’ll mar all:
I’ll leave you: pray you, speak to ’em, I pray you,
In wholesome manner.
Exit
COR: Bid them wash their faces
And keep their teeth clean.

It is safe to conclude that Coriolanus did not have a high opinion of the Common Man.

But, if you want power in Rome, you have to play the game. What we can call Coriolanus’ handlers, the others promoting his candidacy (most notably his mother), earnestly try to persuade him to just do what he needs to do to get elected. First step he needs to stop insulting everyone.

My nobler friends,
I crave their pardons:
For the mutable, rank-scented many, let them
Regard me as I do not flatter, and
Therein behold themselves: I say again,
In soothing them, we nourish ‘gainst our senate
The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition,
Which we ourselves have plough’d for, sow’d, and scatter’d,
By mingling them with us, the honour’d number,
Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that
Which they have given to beggars.

Not exactly what his handlers have in mind, It doesn’t end well. Coriolanus to the crowd:

You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate
As reek o’ the rotten fens, whose loves I prize
As the dead carcasses of unburied men
That do corrupt my air, I banish you;
And here remain with your uncertainty!
Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts!
Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes,
Fan you into despair!

And so, he joins the enemy and proceeds to march on Rome.

Here is the question: Is Coriolanus doing what we want leaders to do? He stands on principle; he refuses to abase himself before the crowd; he is aghast at the idea of showing off his war wounds to curry popularity with people too cowardly to fight. He wants Rome to be great, but is deeply concerned that in the race for popular opinion, the rulers are doing long-term harm in order to garner short term praise from the rabble.

In other words, if you don’t want a popular demagogue, if you don’t want a leader who constantly checks the poll numbers, then is Coriolanus your type of leader?

In my reading group discussing this play (The Grecian Urn Seminar), the room was surprisingly split almost exactly in half on the matter of evaluating Coriolanus. Even on the simple question of whether he was a good guy or a bad guy in the play, the room was nearly perfectly split. Is he a noble guy who was sadly forced into a bad situation for betraying his country or is he an ignoble guy who despised the people and was willing to sell out his country for a personal vendetta?

Granted: Coriolanus is not exactly the best or worst type of leader imaginable. That isn’t the real question. The real question is whether his impulses with regards to being popular are the right ones. In the midst of being persuaded to play the popularity game, Coriolanus exclaims:

Well, I must do’t:
Away, my disposition, and possess me
Some harlot’s spirit!

Consider that line. Do we want leaders possessed of some harlot’s spirit? All things to all people? Policies promised in order to get a few more votes in crucial places?

Whether you want it or not, of course, doesn’t really matter. That’s what we have.

Imagine someone wanted to be elected leader of the most powerful country in the modern world. What is the best path to power? Become a Rock Star. Have a Reality TV Show. Perfect the art of delivering exactly what people want to hear and see.

I know you are thinking of the current President of the United States right now. But it goes back further than that. Much further. When was the last US Presidential election where the more telegenic, charismatic personality did not win? Go election by election and ask, “Which Candidate is more like a Rock Star? Which candidate is more likely to light up the room by walking into it?” (Note, this is not the same question as which candidate do you personally like better. Imagine a crowd of normal people, the type of people who never read blog posts about Coriolanus.) You have to go all the way back to 1964, when the candidate with more of that Rock Star quality lost. That year, by the way is not only before I was born, it is also when TV was in its infancy.

So, ask yourself again: would you rather have Coriolanus as leader? Would you rather have a leader who despised the people? Would you rather have a leader who asked what was best for the country instead of what is most popular?

Or put it this way: if the election was between Coriolanus and Kanye West, for whom do you vote? Who wins?