In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Philosophy and Literature 26.1 (2002) 107-124 [Access article in PDF] Shakespeare and Political Philosophy John D. Cox Though Shakespeare has been praised as one of the greatest thinkers who ever lived, he has no standing in the history of Western philosophy, being at best a footnote to the derivative neo-Platonists and skeptics of the late Renaissance. He died in 1616, more than twenty years before Descartes's Discourse on Method (...) heralded the autonomous rationalism of the Enlightenment, and Shakespeare did not achieve a reputation as a deep thinker until the nineteenth century, as a consequence of admiration for his characters. People seemed to think that a reflective and witty prince who could say to his friend, "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, / Than are dreamt of in your philosophy" must be the product of a keenly philosophical intelligence—never mind that Hamlet is referring to the "antique Roman" philosophy he so admires in Horatio, i.e., Stoicism, which by 1599 was little more than an oft-repeated set of moral and social platitudes. 1 To assert that there are more things in heaven and earth than late Renaissance Stoicism is not to assert very much.But other ways of thinking about Shakespeare philosophically are more promising than character analysis. He was indeed a thoughtful playwright, and though he had no university education, he was a voracious and incisive reader, so the influences on his plays and poems include many writers who have some standing in the history of philosophy. More complex than discerning historical philosophical influences on Shakespeare is what might be called the hermeneutical approach, i.e., the interpretation of the plays and poems with particular philosophers and philosophies in mind, regardless of their possible historical influence in the sixteenth century. To survey the range of philosophical influences and hermeneutical approaches is impossible [End Page 107] in a single essay, but a manageable example of Shakespeare's thinking is his political philosophy, where both ways of understanding him can be discerned. The most influential interpreter of Shakespeare's history plays for the second half of the twentieth century, for example, was E. M. W. Tillyard, who purported to excavate the neo-Platonic assumptions of Shakespeare's political culture: order, degree, hierarchy, and obedience. 2 Though questions were increasingly raised concerning Tillyard's assumptions and documentation, the decisive challenge to his authority was issued in the 1980s by New Historicists and Cultural Materialists, whose allegiance was more or less explicitly Marxist, and who therefore interpreted Shakespeare in light of a particular nineteenth-century philosophy. 3 A clearer example of the difference between history and hermeneutics in understanding Shakespeare is hard to imagine.The clarity of the difference, however, does not mean that the two approaches are mutually exclusive. Tillyard construed Shakespeare's emphasis on hierarchical order as an advocacy of divine-right monarchy, and much in the plays of Shakespeare supports this construal. Despite his sympathetic portraits of particular characters, including commoners, remarks in his plays about commoners taken together ("the people") are always slighting and mistrustful—often indeed scornful—and the proportion of upper-class to lower-class characters reflects their perceived social importance, for the former invariably outnumber the latter, even in the comedies, whereas the aristocracy were a tiny fraction of the total population in Shakespeare's England. Shakespeare's portrayal of pre-imperial Rome, in Julius Caesar, Antony and Cleopatra, and Coriolanus, shows little understanding of, and less sympathy with, republican alternatives to one-person rule. Shakespeare was not responsive to Calvin's spirited defense of the "poor common people" against rapacious kings (even, or especially, under godly magistrates), and Shakespeare's plays offer no support to the nascent republicanism of those who took arms against the king of England in the mid-seventeenth century, largely inspired by Calvinism. 4 Shakespeare, in short, was no Milton.This is not to say, however, that he was an uncritically idealizing royalist, as we can see from his first venture into writing about English history: his four early plays on the civil unrest of the fifteenth century. Three of these plays... (shrink)

Written by a distinguished international team of contributors, this volume explores Shakespeare's vivid depictions of moral deliberation and individual choice in light of Renaissance debates about ethics. Examining the intellectual context of Shakespeare's plays, the essays illuminate Shakespeare's engagement with the most pressing moral questions of his time, considering the competing claims of politics, Christian ethics and classical moral philosophy, as well as new perspectives on controversial topics such as conscience, prayer, revenge and suicide. Looking at Shakespeare's responses to emerging (...) schools of thought such as Calvinism and Epicureanism, and assessing comparisons between Shakespeare and his French contemporary Montaigne, the collection addresses questions such as: when does laughter become cruel? How does style reflect moral perspective? Does shame lead to self-awareness? This book is of great interest to scholars and students of Shakespeare studies, Renaissance studies and the history of ethics. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Hamlet’s PerfectionJohn D. CoxHamlet’s Perfection, by William Kerrigan; xviii & 179pp. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1994, $29.95.While acknowledging that his reading of Hamlet is “idiosyncratic and unfashionable” (p. x), Kerrigan offers no apologies for it, asserting, instead, that tradition is worth vindicating, because “those who have been trained in a tradition may discard it, but those who come after, students of the discarders, will be simply oblivious” (...) (pp. 2–3). Putting all his cards on the table, Kerrigan acknowledges four influences in the tradition he defends: literary formalism, historical scholarship, intellectual history, and psychoanalysis (pp. xii–xiii).Hamlet criticism thus “begins with the Romantic Germans” (p. 1), and they eventually give rise to Freud, who “influences most of the criticism of our century” (p. 14), even when critics (like Eliot) disagree with him. Kerrigan’s reading of the tradition is illuminating, subtle, informed, and informative, and he uses it to establish his reading of the play, working within the tradition but extending it in hitherto unseen and insightful ways. Of course Hamlet delays for Kerrigan, but no one has ever explained his delay so carefully or with so many other factors taken into account. “This seems to me much the best reading yet of the delay,” Kerrigan asserts (p. 76), and one is inclined to assent, given the assumptions.But why make these assumptions? Kerrigan dismisses postmodern criticism: it is a symptom of “our current decadence” (p. 31) and has contributed “little to the elucidation of Hamlet” (p. xi). Since the elucidation of texts and characters is not the aim of postmodern critics, they unsurprisingly fail at what they do not attempt. Yet they follow a tradition established, for the most part, by Marx and Nietzsche, and Kerrigan does not explain why he venerates one of Paul Ricoeur’s “masters of suspicion,” namely Freud, and not the other two.In fact, many readers may feel that Kerrigan fails to avoid decadence himself. He relates his Oedipal explanation of Hamlet’s delay to the observation that Shakespeare never has anything good to say about cosmetics, even though he was a man of the theater. Kerrigan relates this “split,” in turn, to early traumas in Shakespeare’s life. The fact that Mary Shakespeare had lost two daughters before William’s birth means that she must have been overattentive to him as an infant, yet she must have weaned him nine months before birth of younger brother Gilbert, thus splitting William’s attitude toward her between resentment of her overattention and resentment of being displaced at the breast. Kerrigan finds evidence of the latter in Timon 4.3.114–20, where Timon inveighs against “milk-paps” as “horrible traitors” (p. 78). Never mind that these are virgin’s paps and that Timon’s emphasis is sexual, not maternal: breasts are traitors to Timon as sex objects, not as sources of nutrition. The critic’s confusion between virgin and maternal breasts perhaps explains why Kerrigan places Thaisa in a brothel in Pericles, rather than Marina (p. 80), but I am not sure what psychological explanation to offer for this particular split. [End Page 381]Kerrigan would do well to heed the postmodern insight that we all speak out of a specific tradition, with the attendant lesson that tolerance and mutual respect across traditions is imperative, since “ridiculous” and “mockable” are relative to context, as Corin points out to Touchstone.In privileging Freud, Kerrigan not only dismisses the heritage of Marx and Nietzsche but underestimates the importance of what lies behind all three. For the Romantic/Freudian tradition cannot claim to have originated either character analysis or individuality, which Kerrigan purports to value. “A man’s character is his fate,” Heraclitus says, perhaps generalizing from Homer, but the insight would eventually inform Aristotle’s notion of an ethics based on virtuous character, which in turn was Christianized by Thomas (where it complements the moral sense of individual worth that Hamlet acknowledges in the providential oversight of sparrows), and came to influence the Reformers in various ways. Kerrigan has good things to say about Stoicism in Hamlet, but to assert that “It all begins with the Romantic Germans... (shrink)