Hamlet: A Philosophical Treatment

'Dipo J. Akintoye

21 September 2013

Hamlet: A Treatise on the Philosophy of Purpose and Meaning.

There abound in William Shakespeare’s “Hamlet”, an array of philosophical doctrines and questions that pique the conscious to enquire of the essence of man’s very existence. What the Bard of Avon has done with “Hamlet” is offer the world an elaborately scripted dramatic portrayal of interconnected idiosyncrasies including moral necessity and existentialism, and the characterization of Prince Hamlet himself being an allegory for,  perhaps, the greatest question that has ever plagued mankind. 

[Hamlet as an existentialist enquiry] Shakespeare may have established his genius as a master playwright and his pungent knack for exploring philosophical themes through the usage of soliloquy as a literary device in the play. It can be positively argued that the chief proponents of the existentialist school of philosophy including Soren Kierkegaard, Friedrich Nietzsche, Martin Heidegger and Jean-Paul Sartre may have been directly or indirectly inspired to draw inferences into the purpose of life from Hamlet’s statement in his fourth soliloquy, “To be or not to be, that is the question…” (921; 3.1.56). 

In the book “The Cambridge Companion to Existentialism”, which is a collection of critical analyses on the philosophy, Kierkegaard is said, by writer, David Cooper, to have described individuals as “infinitely interested in existing” and “constantly in the process of becoming” [and]…these remarks were to become central to the existential understanding of human being” . Heidegger would tackle the question by opining that “a creature with our kind of existence…is “distinguished by the fact that, in its very Being, that Being is an issue for it”. Another notable philosopher, Sartre, would later propound the theory that “existence precedes essence” (qtd.in 34-35). To paraphrase, what that essence might be is left to the individual to find as a matter of subjectivity, since there is no absolute answer. This is the very same question that Shakespeare asks in “Hamlet”.

[A matter of moral necessity] The Prince’s existential angst is treated as the most significant theme of “Hamlet” in the wake of his father’s murder by his uncle, Claudius, who also becomes his step-father through his sudden marriage to Gertrude, the Queen and Hamlet’s mother. The immediacy of said marriage right after the burial of the elder Hamlet, the former King of Denmark, is regarded as a most vile and despicable act of treachery and infidelity by the Prince, prompting questions of moral responsibility in his first lamentable monologue:

“She married, O, most wicked speed to post

With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!

It is not, nor it cannot come to good.” (887; 1.2.156-158)

Having encountered the ghost of his dead father, and been charged in earnest to “revenge his foul and most unnatural murder” (897; 1.5.26) by killing Claudius as a matter of retribution, Hamlet will find himself vacillating between a burning fervency for revenge and melancholy procrastination whenever the opportunity arises. He contends within himself the existential issue of the morality of revenge and whether it serves any real purpose to kill Claudius. Ruth Nevo writing in “William Shakespeare’s Hamlet: Acts III and IV: Problems of Text and Staging” describes this problem that besets Hamlet, as “the problem of being what he is not, or not being what he is…” (58).

[Quest for freedom] In grappling with the issue of revenge and morality, the Prince realizes through his personal situation, that life is indeed a conundrum; there simply is no solution in sight for the human condition. Here is a man who seeks to set himself free from the moral responsibility of justice. According to Joshua Scodel’s essay, “Finding Freedom in Hamlet”, the protagonist “dramatizes the lived, felt connections between external constraints on freedom of action… and internal states that inhibit or foster such freedom… (164).

“Hamlet” is a well written and expertly dramatized play that evokes very strong existential elements. It exudes a preponderance of themes that convene upon the singular character of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, to ask the grave question of the essence of man’s existence. Whether encountered as a book or staged drama, the reader and/or audience are induced into a state of personal reflection upon the subject of purpose and meaning. It may well be prescribed as a commanding text on existentialism as a philosophy.

 Works Cited

Shakespeare, William. “Hamlet”. Literature for Composition. Ed. Sylvan Barnet, William Burto, and William E. Cain. 10^th ed. New York: Pearson, 2013. 867-992. Print.

Cooper, David. "Existentialism as a philosophical movement." The Cambridge Companion to EXISTENTIALISM. Ed. Steven Crowell. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012. 34-35. Print.

Nevo, Ruth. "Acts III and IV: Problems of Text and Staging." Modern Critical Interpretations: William Shakespeare’s Hamlet. Ed. Harold Bloom. New York: Chelsea House Publishers, 1986. 58. Print.

Scodel, Joshua. “Finding Freedom in Hamlet”. Modern Language Quarterly. 72.2. 2011. 163-200. doi:10.1215/00267929-1161301

 

 

 

 

On the fly!: Of Color, Racism & Power

I'ma say it like this:

Certain politicians sell fear to their racist, white base in exchange for political and economic power. They give them something (whatever it is) to fear - and of course, people hate what they fear - in order to maintain control and power over both racist base and oppressed "other". The end point of this callous game is for the politicians to amass wealth unto themselves and their corporo-fascist overlords. Nothing else matters more. 

Racism is not about color; it is about greed and the political power that fuels it. It is about Mammon, and nothing else.

Slavery was about money. Social Darwinism was about money. Jim Crow was about money. That "We will not be replaced!" trope is about the fear of being overrun or overtaken by the potential explosion of minority socioeconomic prosperity, if left uncurtailed, and then, perhaps, the ultimate exchanging of social statuses also. Republicanism and the Southern Strategy are about money.  That whole Tea Party movement... even that too was about the mullah. 

FOX NEWS' entire business plan is based on outright and/or partial dissemination of propaganda along the lines of anti-other rhetoric. Why? For the reason of garnering ratings, which in turn brings in the dough. FOX NEWS is not even registered by the FCC as a news broadcasting organization, but as an entertainment company. What this means is that their modus operandi runs off of  misrepresentation and misinformation. Long-term viewers watch the channel religiously, believing every word and everything. I have witnessed otherwise educated and intellectually sound folks who only would watch their channel for fun, become inundated with so much mind-numbing propaganda that they gradually lose some, if not all their capacities for reason. They basically target a certain class of the citizenry who are too intellectually lazy to verify the news for themselves; who reject the facts because they are considered to be too onerous, but embrace alternative facts because "It's on FOX", and so willfully, but ignorantly choose to be mined for ratings. 

The latest approach to perpetuating power and influence in the hands of the oligarchic kleptocracy in the form of Trumpian kakistocracy, IS about nothing but MONEY. 

"For the LOVE of MONEY is the root of all evil."

Down Below

        

        The plane hugged the night sky longer than normal, hovering atop dark, electric clouds that seemed to crackle with forewarning before the mad, eventual descent into the great kakotopia that was the City of Lagos. She lay sprawled out beneath us, enshrouded in the cover of night like a pirate’s hidden loot awaiting discovery. NEPA had long absconded its duty of supplying the land with regular electricity — long before I was born, even. Still, I looked through my porthole, somewhat expecting some kind of miracle that one can expect only time to wring out of a most miserly and unyielding contraption.

    “We are here, love. We’re home.”

    I turned to look at my wife as she roused our sleeping kids. I could sense suppressed glee in her voice, curbed only by the toll of the wearying journey from Istanbul.

    “Indeed, we are,” I said, nodding my reluctant agreement. “The darkness bears witness that we are finally home.”

    She gave me a rather stern look (the SMH type), her lips curling with a hint of humor. “Ase e ti poju,” she said in Yoruba (meaning “You are too pretentious”). “Look, you should be happy we got to land. What matters most is that we made it, babe,” she admonished.

    I understood the point of her reproof. The flight to Lagos had been fraught with some interesting events. Our pilot had to delay takeoff by at least 1 hour because of certain mechanical contingencies the engineers noticed in one engine, and simply could not overlook. Also, the Turkish Airlines pilot intimated he could probably do the Lagos trip on one engine to save time, but he’d rather heed the engineer’s advice to fix the other engine. As most of the manifest were Nigerians, the latter choice received overwhelming endorsement.

    Now the thing about Nigerians is that we take flying seriously. The typical Nigerian is deeply spiritual, and that constant spiritual consciousness often informs our important undertakings. Flying is one such undertaking. The decision to even fly at all would have undergone logistical analysis, divined through the eye of the Spirit, the plane and the pilot committed to the tender mercies of God, and our fellow flyers prayerfully screened for ill fortune in the higher realms. So, yeah, we waited until the captain eventually allayed all anxieties.

    Much later, the plane banked toward Lagos.

    IST - LOS/ TOUCHDOWN: ETA - 5 MIN

    The noise of the aircraft unraveling under-carriage unofficially signaled our impending landing at MMIA. The 5 mins had since passed, but the plane remained nestled within the clouds. Complaints echoed through the cabin. A dark, short, middle-aged man with an accent that sounded like a terrible hybrid of Ghanaian and Igbo took it upon himself to explain to the rest of us his thoughts on the latest developments. His opinion thus paraphrased: “The captain is having certain issues with the plane’s landing gear, and he simply can’t land yet. The noise we heard earlier was the under-carriage struggling to come out of the wheel well.” Remember, Nigerians don’t suffer negativity too well, especially when on an intercontinental flight. Therefore, Mr. Ghanigbo’s opinions were tantamount to sacrilege! And so, we let him have it. Long-winded hisses and short bursts of remonstrances flew in the man’s direction for a while. Las las, one no-nonsense Naija guy simply told Uncle Negative to sit his short self down, if he did not have a more educated take on matters arising.

    Suddenly, the pilot’s friendly voice crackled over the overhead PA:

    “Ladies and gentlemen, the authorities have delayed our scheduled landing at MMIA, Lagos, because of unexpected high traffic on the runways. We shall recommence the landing process when we receive the ALL-CLEAR confirmation from the Tower. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

    The plane banked left, and my monitor showed it headed toward Ghana. (Happy now, Mr. Ghanigbo?!).

    Wetin dey hapun na? Why ‘im dey carry us go Ghana? (What’s happening now? Why is the pilot taking us to Ghana?). Protestations rang out from Nigerian throats, even as flyers of other nationalities remained calm and mostly unbothered by the changes in proceedings. A Nigerian revolt threatened to break out in the cabin; the Turkish pilot (intuitively?) turned the plane toward Lagos.

    After a short while, we heard the now familiar noise of the landing gear, as Oga Pilot informed we would descend and finally land. The Airbus cut through the dark clouds pretty quickly with the usual gut-wrenching motions, as the airport loomed larger with every meter. The loud scrape of rubber upon tarmac announced our arrival to the sleeping city. Emotions welled up within me. Motherland began her pull like a living, hypnotizing magnet. Nostalgia had given way to feverish anticipation.

Oh Lagos!

To be cocooned in your humid embrace,

And my senses thus again assaulted

By the more familiar fragrance of thine open gutters,

Elated by the cacophony of the morning hustle,

Simply to drown in the night’s sweltering bustle

I have hence returned

Returned for a lungful of this here golden dust

One more time.

          

        

   

     The plane taxied toward the gate post haste, as if to apologize for keeping us in the air longer than usual. It slowed to a roll and came to a stop on the runway. We all sat there waiting, the sound of the Airbus’ engines and the drone of the airport’s generators the only stimuli around us. A faint light emanated from MMIA and pushed against the dark of the Lagosian night. It appeared a stick man pushing against Olumo Rock. We were still at least 1 km out from the gate. The captain came online for the 1000th time: The gates are so busy, officials are resolving the inconsiderable matter of a plane delayed at our designated gate, and things will clear up soon.

Loud groans filled the cabin for the umpteenth time, mine included. I cocked my head at Wifey.

“Se mi o so fun e? Ko s’ina. Gen gan ni airport n lo (Did I not tell you? There’s no light. Even the airport is running on generators). Could you imagine that after so long, the main international airport in the country still relies on generators for its operations? That’s just sad.”

“That’s true. I expected Ikeja to at least have light o.”

“Did you also notice that of all the places we’ve traveled to, only in Nigeria have we experienced jammed runways and overcrowded gates.”

“Ifemi, I think they have just been busy tonight,” she said, her tone somewhat apologetic on Nigeria’s behalf. My wife was still pretty attached to the place, having left only a few years prior. I left over a decade ago, and the strings of attachment and empathy for the nation’s shortcomings had worn rather thin by years of sojourning in other realms.

“No, ma’am... the other airports were busy likewise. The difference lies in the quality of organization and leadership, or the lack thereof in this case,” I lectured, gesticulating at the silhouette of MMIA in the distance. “Does a leopard ever change its spots?,” I asked Wifey, letting the sarcasm drip.

“Wo, iwo lomo. T’emi sha ni pe a ti de’le layo,” (Look, I don’t know what you’re on about. I’m just glad we’ve landed) she retorted, gathering some of our stuff. She was becoming irritated by what she later expressed as my “pontificating” where it concerned Nigeria.

It did not mollify me, instead my indignation stirred. The decay and regression I expected had materialized right from the skies above the homeland. I realized — during that eventual plunge — we might have been time-traveling between civilizations foregone, and what now presented like a rugged and uncharted terrain. Although reluctant to acknowledge it, the uncomfortable truth hit me: I could well need a guide in order to navigate the Fatherland, after all.

A stranger I had become in the land of my birth. That Wifey came with me was comfort itself.