The Orthodoxy of Hamlet
From <Lunacy and Letters>
I am sometimes tempted to think
(like every other person who does think) that the people would always be right
if only they were not educated. But this is, of course, quite the wrong way of
putting it. The truth is that there is no such thing as education; there is
only this education and that education. We are all ready to die in order to
give the people this education, and (I hope sincerely) we are all ready to die
to prevent the people having that education. Dr. Strong, in <David
Copperfield>, educated little boys; but Mr. Fagin, in <Oliver Twist>,
also educated little boys; they were both what we now call
"educationalists".
But though the first mode of
statement is certainly erroneous, one is driven back upon it sometimes in
considering the case of the drama. I enjoy the drama far too much ever to be a
dramatic critic; and I think that in this I am at one with that real people
which never speaks. If anybody wants to know what political democracy is, the answer
is simple; it is a desperate and partly hopeless attempt to get at the opinion
of the best people - that is, of the people who do not trust themselves. A man
can rise to any rank in an oligarchy. But an oligarchy is simply a prize for
impudence. An oligarchy says that the victor may be any kind of man, so long as
he is not a humble man.
A man in an oligarchic state
(such as our own) may become famous by having money, or famous by having an eye
for colour, or famous for having social or financial or military success. But
he cannot become famous for having humility, like the great saints.
Consequently all the simple and
hesitating human people are kept entirely out of the running; and the cads
stand for the common people, although as a matter of fact the cads are a
minority of the common people. So it is quite especially with the drama. It is
utterly untrue that the people do not like Shakespeare. That part of the people
that does not like Shakespeare is simply that part of the people that is depopularised. If a certain crowd of Cockneys is bored with
<Hamlet>, the Cockneys are not bored because they are too complex and
ingenious for <Hamlet>. They feel that the excitement of the saloon bar,
of the betting ring, of the halfpenny paper, of the topical music hall, is more
complex and ingenious than <Hamlet>; and so it is.
In the absolutely strict sense of
the word, the Cockneys are too aesthetic to enjoy <Hamlet>. They have goaded and jaded their artistic feelings too much to
enjoy anything simply beautiful. They are aesthetes; and the definition
of an aesthetic is a man who is experienced enough to admire a good picture,
but not inexperienced enough to see it. But if you really took simple people,
honourable peasants, kind old servants, dreamy tramps, genial thieves, and
brigands, to see <Hamlet>, they would simply be sorry for Hamlet.That is to say, they would simply appreciate the
fact that it was a great tragedy.
Now I believe in the judgment of
all uncultured people; but it is my misfortune that I am the only quite
uncultured person in England who writes articles. My brethren are silent. They
will not back me up; they have something better to do. But a few days ago when
I saw Miss Julie Marlowe and Mr. Sothern give their very able representation of
<Hamlet>, certain things came into my mind about that play which I feel
sure that the other uncultured persons share with me. But they will not speak;
with a strange modesty they hide their lack of cultivation under a bushel.
There is a threadbare joke which
calls the gallery in a theatre "the gods". For my part I accept that
joke quite seriously. The people in the gallery are the gods. They are the
ultimate authority so far as anything human is the ultimate authority. I do not
see anything unreasonable in the actor calling upon them with the same gesture
with which he calls upon the mountain of Olympus. When the actor looks down,
brooding in despair or calling up black Erebus or the
evil spirits, then, in such moments, by all means let him bend his black brows
and look down into the stalls. But if there be in any acted play anything to
make him lift up his heart to heaven, then in God's name, when he looks up to
heaven, let him see the poor.
There is one little point, for
instance, upon which I think the public have mistaken Hamlet, not through
themselves but through the critics. There is one point on which the uneducated
would probably have gone right; only they have been perverted by the educated.
I mean this: that everybody in the modern world has talked of Hamlet as a
sceptic. The mere fact of seeing the play acted very finely and swiftly by Miss
Marlowe and Mr. Sothern has simply swept the last rags of this heresy out of my
head. The really interesting thing about Hamlet was that he was not a sceptic
at all. He did not doubt at all, except in the sense that every sane man
doubts, including popes and crusaders. The primary point is quite clear. If
Hamlet had been a sceptic at all there would have been no tragedy of Hamlet. If
he had had any scepticism to exercise, he could have exercised it at once upon
the highly improbable ghost of his father. He could have called that eloquent
person a hallucination, or some other unmeaning thing, have married Ophelia,
and gone on eating bread and butter. This is the first evident point.
The tragedy of Hamlet is not that
Hamlet is a sceptic. The tragedy of Hamlet is that he is very much too good a
philosopher to be a sceptic. His intellect is so clear that it sees at once the
rational possibility of ghosts. But the utter mistake of regarding Hamlet as a
sceptic has many other instances. The whole theory arose out of quoting stilted
passages out of their context, such as "To be or not to be", or (much
worse) the passage in which he says with an almost obvious gesture of fatigue,
"Why then, 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either bad or good, but
thinking makes it so". Hamlet says this because he is getting sick of the
society of two silly men; but if anyone wishes to see how entirely opposite is
Hamlet's attitude he can see it in the same conversation. If anyone wishes to
listen to the words of a man who in the most final sense is not a sceptic, here
are his words:
This goodly frame, the earth,
seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy the air, look you,
this brave overhanging firmament, this majestical
roof fretted with golden fire, why it appears no other thing to me than a foul
and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite
in faculty! in form and moving how express and
admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the
beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet,
to me, what is this quintessence of dust?
Oddly enough I have heard this
passage quoted as a pessimistic passage. It is, perhaps, the most optimistic
passage in all human literature. It is the absolute expression of the ultimate
fact of the faith of Hamlet; his faith that, although he cannot see the world
is good, yet certainly it is good; his faith that, though he cannot see man as
the image of God, yet certainly he is the image of God. The modern, like the
modern conception of Hamlet, believes only in mood. But the real Hamlet, like
the Catholic Church, believes in reason. Many fine optimists have praised man
when they felt like praising him. Only Hamlet has praised man when he felt like
kicking him as a monkey of the mud. Many poets, like Shelley and Whitman, have
been optimistic when they felt optimistic. Only Shakespeare has been optimistic
when he felt pessimistic. This is the definition of a faith. A faith is that
which is able to survive a mood. And Hamlet had this from first to last. Early
he protests against a law that he recognises: "O that the Everlasting had
not fixed his canon 'gainst self-slaughter."
Before the end he declares that our clumsy management will be turned to
something, "rough-hew it how we will".
If Hamlet had been a sceptic he
would have had an easy life. He would not have known that his moods were moods.
He would have called them Pessimism or Materialism, or some silly name. But
Hamlet was a great soul, great enough to know that he was not the world. He
knew that there was a truth beyond him, therefore he believed readily in the
things most unlike himself, in Horatio and his ghost. All through his story we
can read his conviction that he is wrong. And that to a clear mind like his is
only another way of stating that there is something that is right. The real
sceptic never thinks he is wrong; for the real sceptic does not think that there
is any wrong. He sinks through floor after floor of a bottomless universe. But
Hamlet was the very reverse of a sceptic. He was a thinker.