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Ernest Jones The Oedipus-Complex as an Explanation of Hamlet's
Mystery: A Study in Motive (The
American Journal of Psychology, 1910) English-speaking psychologists
have as yet paid relatively little attention to the study of genius and of
artistic creativeness, at least so far as the method of analysing in detail
the life-history of individual men of genius is concerned. In Germany,
stimulated by Moebius' example, many workers have
obtained valuable results by following this biographical line of investigation.
Within the past few years this study has been infused with fresh interest by
the luminous writings of Professor Freud, who has laid bare some of the
fundamental mechanisms by which artistic and poetic creativeness proceeds.
[1] He has shewn that the main characteristics of
these mechanisms are common to many apparently dissimilar mental processes,
such as dreams, wit, psycho-neurotic symptoms, etc. [2] and further that all
these processes bear an intimate relation to fantasy, to the realisation of
non-conscious wishes, to psychological "repression" (Verdrängüng),
to the re-awakening of childhood memories, and to psycho-sexual life of the
subject. His analysis of Jensen's novel Gradiva will serve as a model
to all future studies of the kind. It is generally recognised that
although great writers and poets have frequently made the most penetrating
generalisations in practical psychology, the world has always been slow to
profit by their discoveries. Of the various reasons for this fact one may here
be mentioned, for it is cognate to the present argument. It is that the
artist is often not distinctly aware of the real meaning of what he is
seeking to express, and is never aware of its source. The difficulty
experienced by the artist in arriving at the precise meaning of the creation
to which he is labouring to give birth has been brilliantly demonstrated by
Bernard Shaw [3] in the case of Ibsen and Wagner. The artist works under the
impulsion of an apparently external force; indeed, being unaware of the
origin of his inspiration, it frequently happens that he ascribes it to an
actual external agency, divine or otherwise. We now know that this origin is
to be found in mental processes which have been forgotten by the subject, but
which are still operative; in Freud's language, the creative output is a
sublimated manifestation of various thwarted and repressed wishes, of which
the subject is no longer conscious. The artist, therefore, gives expression
to the creative impulse in a form which satisfies his internal need, but in
terms which he cannot translate into easily comprehensible language; he must
express it directly as it feels to him, and without taking into consideration
his possible audience. An evident corollary of this is that the farther away
the artist's meaning from the minds of those not in possession of any of his
inspiration the more difficult and open to doubt is the interpretation of it;
hence the flood of quite silly criticism that follows in the wake of such men
as Schopenhauer and Nietzsche. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It is to be expected that the
knowledge so laboriously gained by the psycho-analytic method of
investigation would prove of great value in the attempt to solve the
psychological problems concerned with the obscurer motives of human action
and desire. In fact one can see no other scientific mode of approach to such
problems than through the patient unraveling of the deeper and hidden layers
of the mind by means of the dissecting procedures employed in this method.
The stimulating results already obtained by Muthmann,[1]
Rank,[2] Riklin,[3] Sadger,[4]
Abraham,[5] and others are only a foretoken of the applications that will be
possible when this method has been employed over a larger field than has
hitherto been the case. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The particular problem of Hamlet,
with which this paper is concerned, is intimately related to some of the most
frequently recurring problems that are presented in the course of psychoanalysis,
and it has thus seemed possible to secure a new point of view from which an
answer might be offered to questions that have baffled attempts made along
less technical routes. Some of the most competent literary authorities have
freely acknowledged the inadequacy of all the solutions of the problem that
have up to the present been offered, and from a psychological point of view
this inadequacy is still more evident. The aim of the present paper is to
expound an hypothesis which Freud some nine years ago suggested in one of the
footnotes to his Traumdeutung;[1] so far as I am aware it has not been critically
discussed since its publication. Before attempting this it will be necessary
to make a few general remarks about the nature of the problem and the previous
solutions that have been offered. (2) The problem presented by the
tragedy of Hamlet is one of
peculiar interest in at least two respects. In the first place the play is
almost universally considered to be the chief masterpiece of one of the
greatest minds the world has known. It probably expresses the core of
Shakespeare’s philosophy and outlook on life as no other work of his does,
and so far excels all his other writings that many competent critics would
place it on an entirely separate level from them. 2. It may be expected, therefore, that anything
which will give us the key to the inner meaning of the play will necessarily
give us the clue to much of the deeper workings of Shakespeare’s mind. In the
second place the intrinsic interest of the play is exceedingly great. The
central mystery in it, namely the cause of Hamlet's hesitancy in seeking to
obtain revenge for the murder of his father, has well been called the Sphinx
of Modern Literature.[2] It has given rise to a
regiment of hypotheses, and to a large library of critical and controversial
literature; this is mainly German and for the most part has grown up in the
past fifty years. No review of the literature will here be attempted, for
this is obtainable in the writings of Loening,[3] Döring,[4] and others, but
the main points of view that have been adopted must be briefly mentioned. Of the solutions that have been
offered many will probably live on account of their very extravagance.[5] Allied if not belonging to this group are the hypotheses
that see in Hamlet allegorical tendencies of various kinds. Thus Gerth[6] sees in the play an elaborate defence of
Protestantism, ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Rio[1] and Spanier[2] on the
contrary a defence of Roman Catholicism. Stedefeld[3] regards it as
a protest against the scepticism of Montaigne, Feis[4]
as one against his mysticism and bigotry. A writer under the name of Mercade[5]
maintains that the play is an allegorical philosophy of history; Hamlet is
the spirit of truth-seeking which realises itself historically as progress,
Claudius is the type of evil and error, Ophelia is the Church, Polonius its
Absolutism and Tradition, the Ghost is the ideal voice of Christianity,
Fortinbras is Liberty, and so on. Many writers, including Plumptre[6]
and Silerschlag,[7] have read the play as a satire
on Mary, Queen of Scots, and her marriage with Bothwell
after the murder of Darnley, while Elze,[8]
Isaac,[9] and others have found in it a relation to the Earl of Essex's
domestic history. Such hypotheses overlook the great characteristic of all
Shakespeare’s works, namely the absence in them of any conscious tendencies,
allegorical or otherwise. In his capacity to describe human conduct directly
as he observed it, and without any reference to the past or future evolution
of motive, lay at the same time his strength and his
weakness. In a more conscious age than his or ours Shakespeare’s works would
necessarily lose much of their interest. 3.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The most important hypotheses that
have been put forward are sub-varieties of three main points of view. The
first of these sees the difficulty in the performance of the task in Hamlet's
temperament, which is not suited to effective action of any kind; the second
sees it in the nature of the task, which is such as to be almost impossible
of performance by any one; and the third in some special feature in the
nature of the task which renders it peculiarly difficult or repugnant to
Hamlet. The
first of these views, which would trace the inhibition to some defect in
Hamlet's constitution, was independently elaborated more than a century ago
by Goethe,[1] Schlegel[2] and Coleridge.[3] Owing
mainly to Goethe's advocacy it has been the most widely-held view of Hamlet,
though in different hands it has undergone innumerable modifications. Goethe
promulgated the view as a young man and when under the influence of Herder,[4] who later abandoned it.[5] It essentially maintains
that Hamlet, for temperamental reasons, was fundamentally incapable of
decisive action of any kind. These temperamental reasons are variously
described by different writers, by Coleridge as "overbalance in the
contemplative faculty," by Schlegel as "reflective deliberation –
often a pretext to cover cowardice and lack of decision," by Vischer [6] as "melancholic disposition," and
so on. A view fairly representative of
the pure Goethe school would run as follows: Owing to his highly developed
intellectual powers, and his broad and many-sided sympathies, Hamlet could
never take a simple view of any question, but always saw a number of
different aspects and possible explanations of every problem. A given course
of action never seemed to him unequivocal and obvious, so that in practical
life his scepeticism and reflective powers paralysed his conduct. He thus
stands for what may roughly be called the type of an intellect over-developed
at the expense of the will, and in Germany he has frequently been held up as
a warning example to university professors who shew signs of losing
themselves in abstract trains of thought at the expense of contact with
reality.[7] 4.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ There are at least three grave
objections to this view of Hamlet's hesitancy, one based on general
psychological considerations and the others on objective evidence furnished
by the play. It is true that at first sight increasing scepticism and reflexion apparently tend to weaken motive, in that they
tear aside common illusions as to the value of certain lines of conduct. This
is well seen, for instance, in a matter such as social reform, where a man's
energy in carrying out minor philanthropic undertakings wanes in proportion
to the amount of clear thought he devotes to the subject. But closer consideration will shew that this debilitation is a
qualitative rather than a quantitative one. Scepticism leads to a
simplification of motive in general and to a reduction in the number of those
motives that are efficacious; it brings about a lack of adherence to certain
conventional ones rather than a general failure in the springs of action.
Every student of clinical psychology knows that any such general weakening in
energy is invariably due to another cause than intellectual scepticism,
namely, to the functioning of abnormal unconscious complexes. This train of
thought need not here be further developed, for it is really irrelevant to
discuss the cause of Hamlet's general aboulia if, as will presently be
maintained, this did not exist; the argument, then, must remain unconvincing
except to those who already accept it. Attempts to attribute Hamlet's general
aboulia to less constitutional causes, such as grief due to the death of his
father and the adultery of his mother,[1] are
similarly inefficacious, for psycho-pathology has clearly demonstrated that
such grief is in itself quite inadequate as an explanation of this condition. Unequivocal evidence of the
inadequacy of the hypothesis under discussion may further be obtained from
perusal of the play. In the first place there is every reason to believe
that, apart from the task in question, Hamlet is a man capable of very
decisive action. This could be not only impulsive, as in the killing of
Polonius, but deliberate, as in the arranging for the death of Guildenstern
and Rosencrantz. His biting scorn and mockery towards his enemies, and even
towards Ophelia, his cutting denunciation of his mother, his lack of remorse
after the death of Polonius, are not signs of a gentle, yielding or weak
nature. His mind was as rapidly made up about the organisation
of the drama to be acted 5.
before his uncle, as it was resolutely
made up when the unpleasant task had to be performed of breaking with the
uncongenial Ophelia. He shews no trace of
hesitation when he stabs the listener behind the curtain, [2] when he makes
his violent onslaught on the pirates, leaps into the grave with Laertes or
accepts his challenge to the fencing match, or when he follows his father's
ghost on to the battlements; nor is there any lack of determination in his
resolution to meet the ghost; "I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape or in his cry when Horatio clings to him, "Unhand me, gentlemen; ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ On none of these occasions do we find any sign of that
paralysis of doubt which has so frequently been imputed to him. On the
contrary, not once is there any sort of failure in moral or physical courage
except only in the matter of revenge. In the second place, as will later be
expounded, Hamlet's attitude is never that of a man who feels himself not
equal to the task, but rather that of a man who for some reason cannot bring
himself to perform his plain duty. The whole picture is not, as Goethe
depicted, that of a gentle soul crushed beneath a colossal task, but that of
a strong man tortured by some mysterious inhibition. Already
in 1827 a protest was raised by Hermes [1] against Goethe's interpretation,
and since then a number of hypotheses have been put forward in which Hamlet's
temperamental deficiencies are made to play a very subordinate part. The
second view here discussed goes in fact to the opposite extreme, and finds in
the difficulty of the task itself the sole reason for the non-performance of
it. This view was first hinted by Fletcher, [2] and was independently
developed by Klein [3] and Werder. [4] It maintains
that the extrinsic difficulties inherent in the task were so stupendous as to
have deterred any one, however determined. To do this it is necessary to
conceive the task in a different light from that in which it is usually
conceived. As a development largely of the Hegelian teachings on the subject
of abstract justice, Klein, and to a lesser extent Werder,
contended that the essence of Hamlet's
revenge consisted not merely in slaying the murderer, but of convicting him
of his crime in the eyes of the nation. The argument, then, runs as follows:
The nature of Claudius' crime was so frightful and so unnatural as to render
it incredible unless supported by a very considerable body of evidence. If
Hamlet had simply slain his uncle, and then proclaimed, without a shred of
supporting evidence, that he had done it to avenge a fratricide, the nation
would infallibly have cried out upon him, not only for murdering 6. his uncle to seize the throne himself, but also for selfishly
seeking to cast an infamous slur on the memory of a man who could no longer
defend his honour. This would have resulted in the sanctification of the
uncle, and so the frustration of the revenge. In other words it was the
difficulty not so much of the act itself that deterred Hamlet as of the
situation that would necessarily result from the act. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Thanks mainly to Werder's ingenious presentation of this view, several
prominent critics, including Rolfe,[1] Corson,[2]
Furness,[3] Hudson[4] and Halliwell-Phillips[5]
have given it their adherence. It has not found much favour in the
Hamlet-literature itself, and has been crushingly refuted by a number of able
critics, particularly by Toman,[6] Loening,[7] Hebler,[8] Ribbeck,[9] Bradley,[10] Baumgart,[11]
and Bulthaupt.[12] I need, therefore, do no more
than mention one or two of the objections that can be raised to it. It will
be seen that to support this hypothesis the task has in two respects been
made to appear more difficult than is really the case; first it is assumed to
be not simple revenge in the ordinary sense of the word, but a complicated
bringing to judgement in a more or less legal way; and secondly the
importance of the external obstacles have been exaggerated. This distortion
of the meaning of the revenge is purely gratuitous and has no warrant in any
passage of the play, or elsewhere where the word is used in Shakespeare.[13] Hamlet never doubted that he was the legitimately
appointed instrument of punishment, and when at the end of the play he
secures his revenge, the dramatic situation is correctly resolved, although
the nation is not even informed, let alone convinced, of the murder that is
being avenged. To secure evidence that would convict the uncle in a court of
law was from the nature of the case impossible, and no tragical
situation can arise from an attempt to achieve the impossible, nor can the
interest of the spectator be aroused for an obviously one-sided struggle. The
external situation is similarly distorted for the needs of this hypothesis.
On which side the people would have been in any conflict is clearly enough
perceived by Claudius, who dare not even punish Hamlet for killing Polonius.
(Act IV, Sc. 3), "Yet
must not we put the strong law on him; and again in Act IV, Sc. 7, "The
other motive, 7.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The ease with which the people could
be roused against Claudius is well demonstrated after Polonius' death, when
Laertes carried them with him in an irresistible demand for vengeance, which
would promptly have been consummated had not the king convinced the avenger
that he was innocent. Here the people, the "false Danish dogs"
whose loyalty to Claudius was so feather-light that they gladly hailed as
king even Laertes, a man who had no sort of claim on the throne, were ready
enough to believe in the murderous guilt of their monarch without any shred
of supporting evidence, when the accusation was not even true, and where no
motive for murder could be discerned at all approaching in weight the two
powerful ones that had actually led him to kill his brother. Where Laertes
succeeded, it is not likely that Hamlet, the darling of the people, would
have failed. Can we not imagine the march of events during the play before
the court had Laertes been at the head instead of Hamlet; the straining
observation of the fore-warned nobles, the starting-up of the guilty monarch
who can bear the spectacle no longer, the open murmuring of the audience, the
resistless impeachment by the avenger, and the instant execution effected by
him and his devoted friends? Indeed, the whole Laertes episode seems almost to
have been purposely woven into the drama so as to shew the world how a pious
son should really deal with his father's murderer, how possible was the
vengeance under these particular circumstances, and by contrast to illuminate
the ignoble vacillation of Hamlet whose honour had been doubly wounded by the
same treacherous villain. 8.
Most convincing proof of all that the tragedy cannot be
interpreted as residing in difficulties produced by the external situation is
Hamlet's own attitude toward his task. He never behaves as a man confronted
with a straight-forward task, in which there are merely external difficulties
to overcome. If this had been the case surely he would from the first have
confided in Horatio and his other friends who so implicitly believed in him,
and would deliberately have set to work with them to formulate plans by means
of which these obstacles might be overcome. Instead of this he never makes
any serious attempt to deal with the external situation, and indeed
throughout the play makes no concrete reference to it as such, even in the
significant prayer scene when he had every opportunity for disclosing the
reasons for his non-action. There is therefore no escape from the conclusion
that so far as the external situation is concerned the task was a possible
one. If Hamlet is a man capable of
action, and the task is one capable of achievement, what then can be the
reason that he does not execute it? Critics who have realised the inadequacy
of the above-mentioned hypotheses have been hard pressed to answer this
question. Some, struck by Klein's suggestion that the task is not really what
it is generally supposed to be, have offered novel interpretations of it.
Thus Mauerhof [1] maintains that the Ghost's
command to Hamlet was not to kill the king but to put an end to the life of
depravity his mother was still leading, and that Hamlet's problem was how to
do this without tarnishing her fair name. Dietrich [2] put forward the
singular view that Hamlet's task was to restore to Fortinbras the lands that
had been unjustly filched from the latter's father. When straits such as
these are reached it is no wonder that many competent critics have taken
refuge in the conclusion that the tragedy is in its essence inexplicable,
incongruous and incoherent. This view, first sustained in 1846 by Rapp,[3] has been developed by a number of writers, including Rümelin,[4] Benedix,[5] Von Friefen,[6] and many others. The causes of the dramatic
imperfections of the play have been variously stated, by Dowden[7]
as a conscious interpolation by Shakespeare of some secret, by Reichel[8] as the defacement by an uneducated actor
called Shakespeare of a play by an unknown poet called Shakespeare, etc. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Many upholders of this conclusion
have consoled themselves that in this very obscurity, so characteristic of
life in general, lies the power and attractiveness
of the play. Even Grillparzer[1] saw in its
impenetrability the reason for its colossal effectiveness; he adds "It
becomes thereby a true picture of universal happenings and produces the same
sense of immensity as these do." Now, vagueness and obfuscation may or
may not be characteristic of life in general, but they are certainly not the
attributes of a successful drama. No disconnected and meaningless drama could
have produced the effects on its audiences that Hamlet has continuously done
for the past three centuries. 9.
The underlying meaning of the
drama may be totally obscure, but that there is one, and one which touches on
problems of vital interest to the human heart, is empirically demonstrated by
the uniform success with which the drama appeals to the most diverse
audiences. To hold the contrary is to deny all the canons of dramatic art
accepted since the time of Aristotle. Hamlet as a masterpiece stands or falls
by these canons. We are compelled then to take the position that there is
some cause for Hamlet's vacillation which has not yet been fathomed. If this
lies neither in his incapacity for action in general, nor in the inordinate
difficulty of the task in question, then it must of necessity lie in the
third possibility, namely in some special feature of the task that renders it
repugnant to him. This conclusion, that Hamlet at heart does not want to
carry out the task, seems so obvious that it is hard to see how any critical
reader of the play could avoid making it.
[2] Some of the direct evidence for it furnished in the play will presently
be brought forward when we discuss the problem of the cause for his
repugnance, but it will first be necessary to mention some of the views that
have been expressed on this subject. The first writer clearly to recognise
that Hamlet was a man not baffled in his endeavours
but struggling in an internal conflict was Ulrici
[3] in 1839. The details of Ulrici's hypothesis,
which like Klein's, originated in the Hegelian views of morality, are hard to
follow, but the essence of it is the contention that Hamlet gravely doubted the moral legitimacy of revenge. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ He was thus plunged in a struggle between his natural
tendency to avenge his father and his highly developed ethical and Christian
views, which forbade the indulging of this instinctive desire. This
hypothesis has been much developed of late years, most extensively by Liebau,[1] Mézières,
[2] Gerth, [3] Baumgart,[4]
and Robertson,[5] on moral, ethical and religious lines. Kohler [6]
ingeniously transferred the conflict to the sphere of jurisprudence,
maintaining that Hamlet was in advance of his time in recognizing the
superiority of legal punishment to private revenge, and was thus a fighter in
the van of progress. This special pleading has been effectually refuted by Loening [7] and Fuld, [8] and
is contradicted by all historical considerations. Finally Schipper
[9] and, more recently, Gelber[10] have suggested that the conflict was a purely
intellectual one, in that Hamlet was unable to satisfy himself of the
adequacy or reliability of the Ghost's evidence. 10. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The obvious question that one puts
to the upholders of any of the above hypotheses is: why did Hamlet in his
monologues give us no indication of the nature of the conflict in his mind?
As we shall presently see, he gave several excuses for his hesitancy, but
never once did he hint at any doubt about what his duty was in the matter. He
was always clear about enough about what he ought to do; the conflict in his
mind ranged about the question why he couldn't bring himself to do it. If
Hamlet had at any time been asked whether it was right for him to kill his
uncle, or whether he definitely intended to do so, no one can seriously doubt
what his instant answer would have been. Throughout the play we see his mind
irrevocably made up as to the necessity of a given course of action, which he
fully accepts as being his bounden duty; indeed, he would have resented the
mere insinuation of doubt on this point as an untrue slur on his filial
piety. Ulrici,
Baumgart and Kohler try to meet this difficulty by
assuming that the ethical objection to personal revenge was never clearly
present to Hamlet's mind; it was a deep and undeveloped feeling that had not
fully dawned. I would agree that in no other way can the difficulty be
logically met, and further, that in the recognition
of Hamlet's non-consciousness of the cause of the repugnance to his task we
are nearing the core of the mystery. But an invincible difficulty in the way
of accepting any of the causes of repugnance suggested above is that the
nature of them is such that a keen and introspective thinker, as Hamlet was,
would infalliby have recognised them, and would have
openly debated them instead of deceiving himself with a number of false
pretexts in the way we shall presently mention. Loening
[1] well states this in the sentence: "If it been a question of a
conflict between the duty of revenge imposed from without and an inner moral
or juristic counter-impulse, this discord and its cause must have been
brought into the region of reflection in a man so capable of thought, and so
accustomed to it, as Hamlet was." In
spite of this difficulty the hint of an approaching solution encourages us to
pursue more closely the argument at that point. The hypothesis stated above
may be correct up to a certain stage and then have failed for lack of special
knowledge to guide it further. Thus Hamlet's hesitancy may have been due to an
internal conflict between the need to fulfill his task on the one hand, and
some special cause of repugnance to it on the other; further, the explanation
of his not disclosing this cause of repugnance may be that he was not
conscious of its nature; and yet the cause may be one that doesn't happen to
have been considered by any of the upholders of the hypothesis. In other
words the first two stages in the argument may be correct, but not the third.
11.
This is the view that will now be developed, but before
dealing with the third stage in the argument it is first necessary to
establish the probability of the first two, namely that Hamlet's hesitancy
was due to some special cause of repugnance for his task, and that he was
unaware of the nature of this repugnance. A preliminary obstruction to this
line of thought, based on some common prejudices on the subject of mental
dynamics, may first be considered. If Hamlet was not
aware of the cause of his inhibition, doubt may be felt as to the possibility
of our penetrating to it. This pessimistic thought was thus expressed by Baumgart:[2] "What hinders
Hamlet in his revenge is for him himself a problem and therefore it must
remain a problem for us all." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Fortunately for our investigation,
however, psycho-analytic study has proved beyond doubt that mental trends hidden
from the subject himself may come to external expression in a way that
reveals their nature to a trained observer, so that the possibility of
success is not to be thus excluded. Loening [1] has
further objected that the poet himself has not revealed this hidden mental
trend, or even given any indication of it. The first part of this objection
is certainly true, otherwise there would be no problem to discuss, but we
shall presently see that the second is by no means true. It may be asked: why
has the poet not put in a clearer light the mental trend we are trying to
discover? Strange as it may appear, the answer is the same as in the case of
Hamlet himself, namely, he could not, because he was unaware of its nature.
We shall later deal with this matter in connection with the relation of the
poet to the play. But, if the motive of the play is so obscure, to what can
we attribute its powerful effect on the audience, for, as Kohler [2] asks,
"Who has ever seen Hamlet and not felt the fearful conflict that moves
the soul of the hero?" This can only be because the hero's conflict
finds its echo in a similar inner conflict in the mind of the hearer, and the
more intense is this already present conflict the greater is the effect of
the drama.[3] Again, the hearer himself does not
know the inner cause of the conflict in his mind, but experiences only the
outer manifestations of it. We thus reach the apparent paradox that the hero,
the poet, and the audience are all profoundly moved by feelings due to a
conflict of the source of which they are unaware. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
3.
It need
hardly be said that the play appeals to its audience in a number of different
respects. We are here considering only the main appeal, the central conflict
in the tragedy. 12. The
fact, however, that such a conclusion should seem paradoxical is in itself a
censure on popular views of the actual workings of the human mind, and,
before undertaking to sustain the assertions made in the preceding paragraph,
it will first be necessary to make a few observations on prevailing views of
motive and conduct in general. The new science of clinical psychology stands
nowhere in sharper contrast to the older attitudes towards mental functioning
than on this very matter. Whereas the generally accepted view of man's mind,
usually implicit and frequently explicit in psychological writings, regards
it as an interplay of various processes that are for the most part known to
the subject, or are at all events accessible to careful introspection on his
part, the analytic methods of clinical psychology have on the contrary
decisively proved that a far greater number of these processes than is
commonly surmised arise from origins that he never suspects. Man's belief
that he is a self-conscious animal, alive to the desires that impel or
inhibit his actions, and aware of all of the springs of his conduct, is the
last stronghold of that anthropomorphic outlook on life which so long has
dominated his philosophy, his theology and, above all, his psychology. In
other words, the tendency to take man at his own valuation is rarely
resisted, and we assume that the surest way of finding out why a person does
a given thing is simply to ask him, relying on the knowledge that he, like
ourselves in a like circumstance, will feel certain of the answer and will
infallibly provide a plausible reason for his conduct. Special objective
methods of penetrating into obscure mental processes, however, disclose the
most formidable obstacles in the way of this direct introspective route, and
reveal powers of self-deception in the human mind to which a limit has yet to
be found. If I may be allowed to quote from a former paper: [1] "We are
beginning to see man not as the smooth, self-acting agent he pretends to be,
but as he really is, a creature only dimly conscious of the various
influences that mould his thought and action, and blindly resisting with all
the means at his command the forces that are making for a higher and fuller
consciousness." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
Rationalisation
in Every Day Life. Journal of Abnormal Psychology, Aug. – Sept., 1908, Vol.
III, p. 168. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ That
Hamlet is suffering from an internal conflict, the essential nature of which
is inaccessible to his introspection, is evidenced by the following
considerations. Throughout the play we have the clearest picture of a man who
sees his duty plain before him, but who shirks it at every opportunity, and
suffers in consequence the most intense remorse. To paraphrase Sir James
Paget's famous description of hysterical paralysis: Hamlet's advocates say he
cannot do his duty, his detractors say he will not,
whereas the truth is that he cannot will. Further than this, the defective
will-power is localised to the one question of killing his uncle; it is what
may be termed a specific aboulia. Now instances of such specific aboulias in
real life invariably prove, when analysed, to be due to an unconscious
repulsion against the act that cannot be performed. In other words, whenever
a person cannot bring himself to do something that every conscious consideration
tells him he should do, it is always because for some reason he doesn't want
to do it; this reason he will not own to himself and is only dimly if at all
aware of. That is exactly the case with Hamlet. Time and again he works
himself up, points out to himself his obvious duty, with the cruellest self-reproaches lashes himself to agonies of
remorse, 13. and once
more falls away into inaction. He eagerly seizes every excuse for occupying
himself with any question rather than the performance of his duty, just as on
a lesser plane a schoolboy faced with a distasteful task whittles away his
time in arranging his books, sharpening his pencils, and fidgetting
with any little occupation that will serve as a pretext for putting off the
task. Highly significant is the fact that the grounds Hamlet
gives for his hesitancy are grounds none of which will stand a moment's
serious consideration, and which continually change from one time to another.
One moment he pretends he is too
cowardly to perform the deed or that his reason is paralysed by "bestial
oblivion," at another he questions the truthfulness of the ghost, in
another, when the opportunity presents itself in its naked form, he thinks
the time is unsuited, – it would be better to wait till the king was in some
evil act and then to kill him, and so on. When a man gives at different times
a different reason for his conduct it is safe to infer that, whether
purposely or not, he is concealing the true reason. Wetz,
[1] discussing a similar problem in reference to Iago, penetratingly
observed, "Nothing proves so well how false are the motives with which
Iago tries to persuade himself as the constant change in these motives."
We can therefore safely dismiss all the alleged motives that Hamlet
propounds, as being more or less successful attempts on his part to blind
himself with self-deception. Loening's [2]
summing-up of them is not too emphatic, when he says, "They are all
mutually contradictory; they are one and all false pretexts." The more
specious the explanation Hamlet puts forth the more easily does it satisfy
him, and the more readily will the reader accept it
as the real motive. The alleged motives excellently illustrate the mechanisms
of psychological evasion and rationalisation I have elsewhere described.[3]
It is not necessary, however, to discuss them individually, for Loening has with the greatest perspicacity done this in
detail, and has effectually demonstrated how utterly untenable they all
are.[4] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
Wetz: Shakespeare vom Standpunkt der vergleichenden Litteraturgeschichte, 1890, Bd. I, S. 186 2.
Loening: Op. cit., S. 245. 3.
Op.
cit., p. 161. 4.
See
especially his analysis of Hamlet's pretext for non-action in the prayer
scene. Op. cit., S. 240-242. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Still,
in his moments of self-reproach Hamlet sees clearly enough the recalcitrancy of his conduct, and renews his efforts to
achieve action. It is interesting to notice how his outbursts of remorse are
evoked by external happenings which bring back to his mind that which he
would so gladly forget; particularly effective in this respect are incidents
that contrast with his own conduct, as when the player is so moved over the
fate of Hecuba (Act II, Sc. 2), or when Fortinbras takes the field and
"finds quarrel in a straw when honour's at the
stake." (Act IV, Sc. 4.) On the former occasion, stung by the
"monstrous" way in which the player pours out his feeling at the
thought of Hecuba, he arraigns himself in words which surely should
effectually dispose of the view that he has any doubt where his duty lies. 14. "What's
Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, The
readiness with which his guilty conscience is stirred into activity is again
evidenced on the second appearance of the Ghost when Hamlet cries, "Do
you not come your tardy son to chide, The
Ghost at once confirms this misgiving by answering, "Do
not forget: this visitation 15. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
How the
very core of the problem is contained in these four words! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ In
short, the whole picture presented by Hamlet, his deep depression, the
hopeless note in his attitude towards the world and towards the value of
life, his dread of death, [1] his repeated reference to bad dreams, his
self-accusations, his desperate efforts to get away from the thoughts of his
duty, and his vain attempts to find an excuse for his recalcitrancy;
all this unequivocally points to a tortured conscience, to some hidden ground
for shirking his task, a ground which he dare not or cannot avow to himself.
We have, therefore, again to take up the argument at this point, and to seek
for some evidence that may serve to bring to the light of day the hidden
motive. The
extensive experience of the psycho-analytic researches carried out by Freud
and his school during the past twenty years has amply demonstrated that
certain kinds of mental processes shew a greater tendency to be
"repressed" (verdrängt)
than others. In other words, it is harder for a person to own to himself the
existence in his mind of some mental trends that it is of others. In order to
gain a correct perspective it is therefore desirable briefly to enquire into
the relative frequency with which various sets of mental processes are
"repressed." One might in this connection venture the generalisation
that those processes are most likely to be "repressed" by the
individual which are most disapproved of by the particular circle of society
to whose influence he has chiefly been subjected. Biologically stated, this
law would run: "That which is inacceptable to the herd becomes
inacceptable to the individual unit," it being understood that the term
herd is intended in the sense of the particular circle above defined, which
is by no means necessarily the community at large. It is for this reason that
moral, social, ethical or religious influences are hardly ever
"repressed," for as the individual originally received them from
this herd, they can never come into conflict with the dicta of the latter.
This merely says that a man cannot be ashamed of that which he respects; the
apparent exceptions to this need not here be explained. The contrary is
equally true, namely that mental trends "repressed" by the
individual are those least acceptable to his herd; they are, therefore, those
which are, curiously enough, distinguished as "natural" instincts,
as contrasted with secondarily acquired mental trends. Loening[2]
seems very discerningly to have grasped this, for, in commenting on a remark
of Kohler's to the effect that "where
a feeling impels us to action or to omission, it is replete with a hundred
reasons – with reasons that are as light as soap-bubbles, but which through
self-deception appear to us as highly respectable and compelling motives,
because they are hugely magnified in the mirror of our own feeling,"
he writes: "But this does not hold good, as Kohler and others believe,
when we are impelled by moral feelings of which reason approves (for these we
admit to ourselves, they need no excuse), only for feelings that arise from
our natural man, those the gratification of which is opposed by our
reason." It
only remains to add the obvious corollary that, as the herd unquestioningly
selects from the "natural" instincts the sexual ones on which to
lay its heaviest ban, so is it the various psycho-sexual trends that most
often are "repressed" by the individual. We have here an
explanation of the clinical experience that the more intense and the more
obscure is a given case of deep mental conflict the more certainly will it be
found, on adequate analysis, to centre about a
sexual problem. On the surface, of course, this does not appear so, for,
by means of various psychological defensive mechanisms, the depression,
doubt, 16. and other
manifestations of the conflict are transferred on to more acceptable subjects,
such as the problems of immortality, future of the world, salvation of the
soul, and so on. Bearing
these considerations in mind, let us return to Hamlet. It should now be
evident that the conflict hypotheses above mentioned, which see Hamlet's
"natural" instinct for revenge inhibited by an unconscious
misgiving of a highly ethical kind, are based on ignorance of what actually
happens in real life, for misgivings of this kind are in fact readily
accessible to introspection. Hamlet's self-study would speedily have made him
conscious of any such ethical misgivings, and although he might subsequently
have ignored them, it would almost certainly have been by the aid of a
process of rationalisation which would have enabled him to deceive himself
into believing that such misgivings were really ill founded; he would in any
case have remained conscious of the nature of them. We must therefore invert
these hypotheses, and realise that the positive striving for revenge was to
him the moral and social one, and that the suppressed negative striving
against revenge arose in some hidden source connected with his more personal,
"natural" instincts. The former striving has already been
considered, and indeed is manifest in every speech in which Hamlet debates
the matter; the second is, from its nature, more obscure and has next to be
investigated. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
Tieck (Dramaturgische Blätter, II,
1826) saw in Hamlet's cowardly fear of death a chief reason for his hesitancy
in executing his vengeance. 2.
Op. cit.,S. 245, 246. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This is perhaps most easily done by inquiring more
intently into Hamlet's precise attitude towards the object of his vengeance, Claudius,
and towards the crimes that have to be avenged. These are two, Claudius'
incest with the Queen, and his murder of his brother. It is of great
importance to note the fundamental difference in Hamlet's attitude towards
these two crimes. Intellectually of course he abhors both, but there can be
no question as to which arouses in him the deeper loathing. Whereas the
murder of his father evokes in him indignation, and a plain recognition of
his obvious duty to avenge it, his mother's guilty conduct awakes in him the intensest horror. Furnivall [1] well remarks, in speaking
of the Queen, "Her disgraceful adultery and incest, and treason to his
noble father's memory, Hamlet has felt in his inmost soul. Compared to their
ingrain die, Claudius' murder of his father – notwithstanding all his
protestations – is only a skin-deep stain."
Now, in trying to define Hamlet's attitude towards his uncle we have to guard
against assuming offhand that this is a simple one of mere execration, for
there is a possibility of complexity arising in the following way: The uncle
has not merely committed each crime, he has committed both crimes, a
distinction of considerable importance, for the combination of crimes allows
the admittance of a new factor, produced by the possible inter-relation of
the two, which prevents the result from being simply one of summation. In
addition it has to be borne in mind that the perpetrator of the crimes is a
relative, and an exceedingly near relative. The possible interrelation of the
crimes, and the fact that the author of them is an actual member of the
family on which they are perpetrated, gives scope for a
confusion in their influence on Hamlet's mind that may be the cause of
the very obscurity we are seeking to clarify. 17. We
must first pursue further the effect on Hamlet of his mother's misconduct.
Before he even knows that his father has been murdered he is in the deepest
depression, and evidently on account of this misconduct. The connection
between the two is unmistakable in the monologue in Act I, Sc. 2, in
reference to which Furnivall [2] writes, "One must insist on this, that
before any revelation of his father's murder is made to Hamlet, before any
burden of revenging that murder is laid upon him, he thinks of suicide as a
welcome means of escape from this fair world of God's, made abominable to his
diseased and weak imagination by his mother's lust, and the dishonour done by
his father's memory." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
Furnivall:
Introduction to the "Leopold" Shakespeare, p. 72. 2.
Furnivall:
Op. cit., p. 70. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "O!
that this too solid flesh would melt, 18. But
we can rest satisfied that this seemingly adequate explanation of Hamlet's
weariness of life is a complete one only if we unquestionably accept the
conventional standards of the causes of deep emotion. The very fact that
Hamlet is content with the explanation arouses our gravest suspicions, for,
as will presently be explained, from the very nature of the emotion he cannot
be aware of the true cause of it. If we ask, not what ought to produce such
soul-paralysing grief and distaste for life, but
what in actual fact does produce it, we must go beyond this explanation and
seek for some deeper cause. In real life speedy second marriages occur
commonly enough without leading to any such result as is here depicted, and
when we see them followed by this result we invariably find, if the
opportunity for an analysis of the subject's mind presents itself, that there
is some other and more hidden reason why the event is followed by this
inordinately great effect. The reason is always that the event has awakened
to increased activity mental processes that have been "repressed"
from the subject's consciousness. His mind has been prepared for the
catastrophe by previous mental processes, with which those directly resulting
from the event have entered into association. This is perhaps what Furnivall
means when he speaks of the world being made abominable to Hamlet's
"diseased imagination." Further, to those who have devoted much
time to the study of such conditions the self-description given here by
Hamlet will be recognised as a wonderfully accurate picture of a particular
mental state that is often loosely and incorrectly classified under the name
of "neurasthenia." [1] Analysis of such states always reveals the
operative activity of some forgotten group of mental processes, which on
account of their inacceptable nature have been "repressed" from the
subject's conscious memory. Therefore, if Hamlet has been plunged into this
abnormal state by the news of his mother's second marriage it must be because
the news has awakened into activity some slumbering memory, which is so
painful that it may not become conscious. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
Hamlet's
state of mind more accurately corresponds, as Freud has pointed out, with
that characteristic of a certain form of hysteria. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ For some deep-seated reason, which is to him inacceptable,
Hamlet is plunged into anguish at the thought of his father being replaced in
his mother's affection by someone else. It is as though his devotion to his
mother had made him so jealous for her affection that he had found it hard
enough to share this even with his father, and could not endure to share it
with still another man. Against this thought, suggestive as it is, may be
urged three objections. First, if it were in itself a full statement of the
case, Hamlet would easily have become aware of the jealousy, whereas we have
concluded that the mental process we are seeking is hidden from him;
secondly, we see in it no evidence of the arousing of old and forgotten
memory; and thirdly, Hamlet is being deprived by Claudius of no greater share
of the Queen's affection than he had been by his own father, for the two
brothers made exactly similar claims in this respect, namely those of a loved
husband. The last-named objection, however, has led us to the heart of the
situation. How if, in fact, Hamlet had
in years gone by bitterly resented having to share his mother's affection
even with his father, had regarded him as a rival, and had secretly wished
him out of the way so that he might enjoy undisputed the monopoly of that
affection? If such thoughts had been present to him in his child days
they evidently would have been gradually suppressed, and all traces of them
obliterated, by filial piety and other educative influences. The actual
realisation of his early wish in the death of 19. his father
would then have stimulated into activity these suppressed memories, which would
have produced, in the form of depression and other suffering, an obscure
aftermath of his childhood's conflict. I
am aware that to those Shakespearean critics, who have enjoyed no special
opportunities for penetrating into the obscurer sides of mental activities,
and who base their views of human motive on the surface valuation given by
the agents themselves – to whom all conduct whether good or evil at all
events springs from conscious sources, – are likely to regard the suggestions
put forward above as merely constituting one more of the extravagant and
fanciful hypotheses of which the Hamlet literature in particular is so full.
For the sake, however, of those who may be interested to apprehend the point
of view from which this strange hypothesis seems probable I feel constrained
to interpolate a few considerations on two matters that are not commonly
appreciated, namely a child's feelings of jealousy and his ideas of death. The
whole subject of jealousy in children
is one which arouses such prejudice that even well-known facts are either
ignored or are not estimated at their true significance. Stanley Hall [1] in
his encyclopaedic treatise makes a number of very
just remarks on the importance of the subject in adolescents, but implies
that before the age of puberty this passion is of relatively little
consequence. The close relation between jealousy and the desire for the
removal of a rival by death, as well as the common process of suppression of
these feelings, is clearly illustrated in a remark of his to the effect that:
"Many a noble and even great man has confessed that mingled with
profound grief for the death and misfortune of their best friends, they were
often appalled to find a vein of secret joy and satisfaction, as if their own
sphere were larger or better." A similar thought is more openly
expressed by Bernard Shaw[2] when he makes Don Juan,
in the Hell Scene, remark: "You may remember that on earth – though of
course we never confessed it – the death of any one we knew, even those we
liked best, was always mingled with a certain satisfaction at being finally
done with them." Such cynicism in the adult is exceeded to an
incomparable extent by that of the child with its notorious, and to the parents often heartbreaking, egotism, with its undeveloped
social instincts and with its ignorance of the dread significance of death. A
child unreasoningly interprets the various encroachments on its privileges,
and the obstacles interposed to the immediate gratification of its desires,
as meaningless cruelty, and the more imperative is the desire that has been
thwarted the more pronounced is the hostility towards the agent of this
cruelty. For a reason that will presently be mentioned, the most important
encroachment in this respect, and the most frequent, is that made on the
child's desire for affection. This hostility is very often seen on the
occasion of the birth of a subsequent child, and is usually regarded with
amusement as an added contribution to the general gaiety called forth by the
happy event. When a child, on being told that the doctor has brought him
another playfellow, responds with the cry "Tell him to take it away
again," he intends this, not, as is commonly believed, as a joke for the
entertainment of his elders, but as an earnest expression of his intuition
that in future he will have to renounce his previously unquestioned
pre-eminence in the family circle, a matter that to him is serious enough. 20. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
Stanley
Hall: Adolescence, 1908, Vol. I, p. 358. 2.
Bernard
Shaw: Man and Superman, 1903, p. 94. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The
second matter, on which there is also much misunderstanding, is that of the attitude of a child towards the
subject of death, it being commonly assumed that this is necessarily the
same as that of an adult. When a child first hears of any one's death, the
only part of its meaning that he realises is that the person is no longer
there, [1] a consummation which in many cases he fervently desires. It is
only gradually that the more dread implications of the phenomenon are borne
in upon him. When, therefore, a child expresses the wish that a given person,
even a near relative, would die, our feelings would not be so shocked as in fact
they are, were we to interpret this wish from the point of view of the child.
The same remark applies to the frequent dreams of adults in which the death
of a near and dear relative takes place, for the wish here expressed is in
most cases a long forgotten one, and no longer directly operative. Of
the infantile jealousies the one with which we are here occupied is that
experienced by a boy towards his father. The precise form of early relationship between child and
father is in general a matter of vast importance in both sexes, and plays
a predominating part in the future development of the child's character; this
theme has been brilliantly expounded by Jung [2] in a recent essay. The only
point that at present concerns us is the resentment
felt by a boy towards his father when the latter disturbs his enjoyment of
his mother's affection. This feeling, which occurs frequently enough, is the
deepest source of the world-old conflict between father and son, between the
young and old, the favourite theme of so many poets and writers. The
fundamental importance that this conflict, and the accompanying breaking away
of the child from the authority of his parents, has both for the individual
and for society is clearly stated in the following passage of Freud's: [3]
"The detachment of the growing individual from the authority of the
parents is one of the most necessary, but also one of the most painful,
achievements of development. It is absolutely necessary for it to be carried
out, and we may assume that every normal human has to a certain extent
managed to achieve it. Indeed, the progress of society depends in general on
this opposition of the two generations." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
See
Freud: Traumdeutung, 1900, S. 175. 2.
Jung:
Die Bedeutung des Vaters für das Schicksal des Einzelnen. Jahrbuch f. psychoanalytische u. psychopathologische
Forschungen. 1909, Bd. I, Ie
Hälfte. 3.
Personal
communication quoted by Rank, Der Mythus von der Geburt des Helden, 1909, S. 64. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ That the conflict in question rests in the last resort on
sexual grounds was first demonstrated by Freud, [1] when dealing with the
subject of the earliest manifestations of the sexual instinct in children. He
has shewn [2] that this instinct does not, as is
generally supposed, differ from other biological functions by suddenly
leaping into being at the age of puberty in all its full and developed
activity, but that like other functions it undergoes a gradual evolution and
only slowly attains the form in which we know it in the adult. In other words
a child has to learn how to love just
as it has to learn how to run, although the former function is so much
intricate and delicate in its adjustment than the latter that the development
of it is a correspondingly slower and more involved process. The earliest
21. sexual
manifestations are so palpably non-adapted to what is generally considered
the ultimate aim and object of the function, and are so general and tentative
in contrast to the relative precision of the later manifestations, that the
sexual nature of them is commonly not recognised at all. This theme,
important as it is, cannot be further pursued here, but it must mentioned how
frequently these earliest dim awakenings are evoked by the intimate physical
relations existing between the child and the persons of his immediate
environment, above all, therefore, his parents. As Freud has put it, "The mother is the first seductress of her
boy." There is a great variability in both the date and the intensity of
the early sexual manifestations, a fact that depends partly on the boy's
constitution and partly on the mother's. When the attraction exercised by the
mother is excessive it may exert a controlling influence over the boy's later
destiny. Of the various results that may be caused by the complicated
interaction between this and other influences only one or two need be
mentioned. If
the awakened passion undergoes but little "repression" – an event
most frequent when the mother is a widow – then the boy may remain throughout
life abnormally attached to his mother and unable to love any other woman, a
not uncommon cause of bachelorhood. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
Freud: Traumdeutung, 1900, S. 176-180. He has strikingly
illustrated the subject in a recent detailed study, "Analyse
der Phobie eines fünfjährigen Knabes." Jahrbuch f. psychoanalytische
u. psychopathologische Forschungen,
1909, Bd. I, Ie Hälfte. 2.
Freud: Drei Abhandlungen zur Sexualtheorie, 1905. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ He
may be gradually weaned from this attachment, if it less strong, though it
often happens that the weaning is incomplete so that he is able to fall in love
only with women that resemble the mother; the latter occurrence is a frequent
cause of marriage between relatives, as has been interestingly pointed out by
Abraham.[1] The maternal influence may also manifest itself by imparting a
strikingly tender feminine side to the later character.[2] When the aroused
feeling is intensely "repressed" and associated with shame, guilt,
etc., the memory of it may be so completely submerged that it becomes
impossible not only to revive it but even to experience any similar feeling,
i.e., of attraction for the opposite sex. This may declare itself in
pronounced misogyny, or even, when combined with other factors, in actual
homosexuality, as Sadger [3] has shewn. The attitude towards the successful rival, namely the father,
also varies with the extent to which the aroused feelings have been
"repressed." If this
is only slight, then the natural resentment against the father may later on
be more or less openly manifested, a rebellion which occurs commonly enough,
though the original source of it is not recognised. To this source many
social revolutionaries owe the original impetus of their rebellion against
authority, as can often be plainly traced – for instance in Shelley's case. If the "repression" is more
intense, then the hostility towards the father is also concealed; this is
usually brought about by the development of the opposite sentiment, namely of
an exaggerated regard and respect for him, and a morbid solicitude for his
welfare, which completely cover the true underlying relation. 22. The
illustration of the attitude of son to parent is so transpicuous in the
Oedipus legend, [4] as developed for instance in Sophocles' tragedy, that the
group of mental processes concerned is generally known under the name of
"Oedipus-complex." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
Abraham:
Verwandtenehe und Neurose.
Berl. Gesell. f. Psychiatr.
u. Nervenkrankh, Nov. 8, 1908. Neurolog.
Centralbl., 1908, S. 1150. 2.
This
trait in Hamlet's character has often been the subject of com- ment. See especially Bodenstedt,
Hamlet. Westermann's illustrierte
Monatshefte, 1865; we mentioned above Vining's
suggestion that Hamlet was really a woman. That the same trait was prominent
in Shakespeare himself is well known, a fact which the appellation of
"gentle Will" sufficiently recalls. 3.
Sadger: Fragment der Psychoanalyse eines Homosexuellen. Jahrbuch f. sex. Zwischenstufen,
1908, Bd. IX. Ist die Kontäre Sexualempfindung heilbar? Zeitschr. f. Sexualwissenschaft, Dez., 1908. Zur ätiologie
der konträren Sexualempfindung.
Mediz. Klinik, 1909. Nr.
2. 4.
See
Freud: Traumdeutung, 1900, S. 181. Interesting
expositions of the mythological aspects of the subject are given by Abraham, Traum und Mythus, 1909, and
Rank, Op. cit. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ We are now in a position to expand and complete the
suggestions offered above in connection with the Hamlet problem. [1] The
story thus interpreted would run somewhat as follows: As a child Hamlet had
experienced the warmest affection for his mother, and this, as is always the
case, had contained elements of a more or less dimly defined erotic quality.
The presence of two traits
in the Queen's character go to corroborate this assumption, namely
her markedly sensual nature, and her passionate
fondness for her son. The former is indicated in too many places in the
play to need specific reference, and is generally recognised. The latter is
equally manifest; as Claudius says (Act IV, Sc. 7, l. 11), "The Queen his mother lives almost
by his looks." Hamlet seems, however, to have with more or less
success weaned himself from her, and to have fallen in love with Ophelia. The
precise nature of his original feeling for Ophelia is a little obscure. We
may assume that at least in part it was composed of a normal love for a
prospective bride, but there are indications that even here the influence of
the old attraction for his mother is still exerting itself. Although some
writers, following Goethe, [2] see in Ophelia many traits of resemblance to
the Queen, surely more striking are the traits contrasting with those of the
Queen. Whatever truth there may be in the many German conceptions of Ophelia
as a sensual wanton [3] – misconceptions that have been adequately disproved
by Loening [4] and others – still the very fact
that it needed what Goethe happily called the "innocence of
insanity" to reveal the presence of any such libidinous thoughts in
itself demonstrates the modesty and chasteness of her habitual demeanour. Her
naïve piety, her obedient resignation and her unreflecting simplicity sharply
contrast with the Queen's character, and seems to
indicate that Hamlet by a characteristic reaction towards the opposite
extreme had unknowingly been impelled to choose a woman who would least
remind him of his mother. A case might further be made out for the view that
part of Hamlet's courtship of Ophelia originated not so much in direct
attraction for her as in a half-conscious desire to play her off against his
mother, just as a disappointed and piqued lover is so often thrown into the
arms of a more willing rival. When in the play scene 23. he
replies to his mother's request to sit by her with the words, "No, good mother, here's metal more
attractive," and proceeds to lie at Ophelia's feet, we seem to have
a direct indication of this attitude, and his coarse familiarity and bandying
of ambiguous jests are hardly intelligible unless we bear in mind that they
were carried out under the heedful gaze of the Queen. It is as though Hamlet
is unconsciously expressing to her the following thought: "You give
yourself to other men whom you prefer to me. Let me assure you that I can
dispense with your favours, and indeed prefer those
of a different type of woman." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
Here, as
throughout the essay, I closely follow Freud's interpretation given in the
footnote previously referred to. He there points out the inadequacy of the earlier
explanations, deals with Hamlet's feelings toward his mother, father and
uncle, and mentions two other matters that will presently be discussed, the
significance of Hamlet's reaction against Ophelia and of the fact that the
play was written immediately after the death of Shakespeare's father. 2.
Goethe:
Wilhelm Meister, IV, 14. "Her whole being hovers in ripe, sweet
voluptuousness." "Her fancy is moved, her quiet modesty breathes
loving desire, and should the gentle Goddess Opportunity shake the tree the
fruit would at once fall." 3.
Storffrich: Psychologische Aufschüsse über Shakespeare's
Hamlet, 1859, S. 131; Dietrich, Op. cit., S. 129; Tieck: Dramaturgische
Blätter, II, S. 85, etc. 4.
Loening: Op. cit., Cap. XIII. Charakter
und Liebe Ophelias. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Now comes the father's death and
the mother's second marriage. The long
"repressed" desire to take his father's place in his mother's
affection is stimulated to unconscious activity by the sight of someone usurping
this place exactly as he himself had once longed to do. More, this someone
was a member of the same family, so that the actual usurpation further
resembled the imaginary one in being incestuous. Without his being at all
aware of it these ancient desires are ringing in his mind, are once more
struggling to find expression, and need such an expenditure of energy again
to "repress" them that he is reduced to the deplorable mental state
he himself so vividly depicts. Then comes the
Ghost's announcement of the murder. Hamlet, having at the moment his mind
filled with natural indignation at the news, answers with (Act I. Sc. 5. l.
29.), "Haste
me to know't, that I, with wings as swift The
momentous words follow revealing who was the guilty person, namely a relative
who had committed the deed at the bidding of lust. [1] Hamlet's second guilty
wish had thus also been realised by his uncle, namely to procure the
fulfillment of the first – the replacement of his father – by a personal
deed, in fact by murder. [2] The two recent events, the father's death and
the mother's second marriage, seemed to the world not to be causally related
to 24. each
other, but they represented ideas which in Hamlet's unconscious fantasy had
for many years been closely associated. These ideas now in a moment forced
their way to conscious recognition in spite of all "repressing"
forces, and found immediate expression in his almost reflex cry: "O my prophetic soul! My uncle?"
For the rest of the interview Hamlet is stunned by the effect of the
internal conflict in his mind, which from now on never ceases, and into the
nature of which he never penetrates. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
It is
not maintained that this was by any means Claudius' whole motive, but it
evidently was a powerful one, and the one that most impressed Hamlet. 2.
Such
murderous thoughts, directed against rival members of the same family, are
surprisingly common in children, though of course it is relatively rare that
they come to expression. Some years ago, in two editorial articles entitled
"Infant Murderers" in the Brit. Jour. of Children's Diseases (Nov.
1904, p. 510, and June, 1905, p. 270), I collected a series of such cases,
and, mentioning the constant occurrence of jealousy between young children in
the same family, pointed out the possible dangers arising from the
non-realisation by children of the significance of death. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ One of the first manifestations of the awakening in
Hamlet's mind of the old conflict is the reaction
against Ophelia. This is doubly conditioned, first by his reaction
against woman in general, which culminates in the bitter misogyny of his
outburst against her, [1] and secondly by the hypocritical prudishness with
which Ophelia follows her father and brother in seeing evil in his natural
affection, and which poisons his love in exactly the same way that the love
of his childhood had been poisoned. On only one occasion does he for a moment
escape from the sordid implication with which his love has been impregnated,
and achieve a healthier attitude towards Ophelia, namely at the open grave
when in remorse he breaks out at Laertes for presuming to pretend that his
feeling for Ophelia could ever equal that of her lover. The intensity of the previous repulsion against women in general, and
Ophelia in particular, is an index of the powerful "repression" to
which his sexual feeling is being subjected. The outlet for that feeling in
the direction of his mother has always been firmly dammed by the forces
making for "repression," and, now that the thin outlet for it in
Ophelia's direction has also been closed, the increase of desire in the
original direction consequent on the awakening of early memories tasks all
his energy to maintain the "repression." 25. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
Act III,
Sc. I, l. 149: "I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God has
given you one face, and you make yourselves another; you jig, you amble, and
you lisp, and nickname God's creatures, and make your wantonness your
ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't; it hath made
me mad." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It
will be seen from the foregoing that Hamlet's attitude towards his uncle is
far more complex than is generally supposed. He of course detests his uncle,
but it is the jealous detestation of one evil-doer towards his successful
fellow. Much as
he hates him, he can never denounce him with the ardent indignation that
boils straight from his blood when he reproaches his mother, for the more
vigorously he denounces his uncle the more powerfully does he stimulate to
activity his own unconscious and "repressed" complexes. He is
therefore in a dilemma between on the one hand allowing his natural
detestation of his uncle to have free play, a consummation which would make
him aware of his own horrible wishes, and on the other ignoring the imperative
call for vengeance that his obvious duty demands. He must either realise his
own evil in denouncing his uncle's, or strive to ignore, to condone and if
possible even to forget the latter in continuing to "repress" the
former; his moral fate is bound up with his uncle's for good or ill. The call
of duty to slay his uncle cannot be obeyed because it links itself with the
call of his nature to slay his mother's husband, whether this is the first or
the second; the latter call is strongly "repressed," and therefore
necessarily the former also. It is no mere chance that he says of himself
that he is prompted to the revenge "by heaven and hell," though the
true significance of the expression of course quite escapes him. Hamlet's
dammed-up feeling finds a partial vent in other directions, the natural one
being blocked. The petulant irascibility and explosive outbursts called forth
by the vexation of Guildenstern and Rosencrantz, and especially of Polonius,
are evidently to be interpreted in this way, as also is in part the burning
nature of his reproaches to his mother. Indeed towards the end of the
interview with his mother the thought of her misconduct expresses itself in
that almost physical disgust which is so often the manifestation of intensely
"repressed" sexual feeling. "Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed; Pinch
wanton on your cheek; call you his mouse; And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses, Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd fingers, Make you to ravel all this matter
out." His
attitude towards Polonius is highly instructive. Here the absence of family
tie, and of other influences, enables him to indulge to a relatively
unrestrained degree his hostility towards the prating and sententious dotard.
The analogy he effects between Polonius and Jephthah [1] is in this connection especially pointed. It
is here that we see his fundamental attitude towards moralising elders who
use their power to thwart the happiness of the young, and not in the
over-drawn and melodramatic portrait in which he delineates his father:
"A combination and a form indeed, where every god did seem to set his
seal to give the world assurance of a man." 26. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
What Shakespearethought of Jephthah's
behaviour towards his daughter may be gathered from a reference in Henry VI,
Part II, Act V, Sc. I. See also on the subject
Wordsworth, On Shakespeare's knowledge and use of the Bible, 1864, p.67. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ In
this discussion of the motives that move or restrain Hamlet we have purposely
depreciated the subsidiary ones, which also play a part, so as to bring out
in greater relief the deeper and effective ones that are of preponderating
importance. These, as we have seen, spring from sources of which Hamlet is
unaware, and we might summarise the internal conflict of which he is victim
as consisting in a struggle of the "repressed" mental processes to
become conscious. The
call of duty, which automatically arouses to activity these unconscious
processes, conflicts with the necessity for "repressing" then still
further; for the more urgent is the need for external action the greater is
the effort demanded of the "repressing" forces. Action is paralysed
at its very inception, and there is thus produced the picture of causeless
inhibition which is so inexplicable both to Hamlet[1]
and to readers of the play. This paralysis arises, however, not from physical
or moral cowardice, but from that intellectual cowardice, that reluctance to
dare the exploration of his inner mind, which Hamlet shares with the rest of
the human race. We
have finally to return to the subject with which we started, namely poetic
creation, and in this connection to enquire into the relation of Hamlet's
conflict to the inner workings of Shakespeare’s mind. It is here maintained
that this conflict is an echo of a similar one in Shakespeare himself,[2] as to a greater or less extent it is in all men. It
is, therefore, as much beside the point to enquire into Shakespeare’s
conscious intention, moral or otherwise, in the play as it is in the case of
most works of genius. The play is the form in which his feeling finds its
spontaneous expression, without any inquiry being possible on his part as to
the essential nature or source of that feeling. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
The
situation is perfectly depicted by Hamlet in his cry (Act IV, Sc. 4): § "I do not know § Why yet I live to say 'This thing's to do,' § Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means, § To do't."
2.
The view
that Shakspere depicted in Hamlet his own inner
self is a wide-spread one. See especially Döring,
Shakespeare's Hamlet seinem Grundgedanken
und Inhalte nach erläutert, 1865; Hermann, Ergänzungen
und Berichtigungen der hergebrachten
Shakespeare-Biographie, 1884; Taine, Histoire de la
litérature anglaise; Vischer, Altes und Neues, 1882, Ht. 3. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This conclusion is amply supported by a historical study
of the external circumstances of the play. It is well known that Shakespeare
took not only the skeleton but also a surprising 27. amount
of detail from earlier writings. [1] It is probable that he had read both the
original saga as told early in the thirteenth century by Saxo
Grammaticus, and the translation and modification of this published by Belleforest.[2] For at least a
dozen years before Shakespearewrote Hamlet a play of the same name was
extant in England, which modern evidence[3] has clearly shewn
to have been written by Thomas Kyd. Ruder accounts of the story, of Irish and
Norse origin, were probably still more widely spread in England, and the name
Hamlet itself, or some modification of it, was very common in the Stratford
district;[4] as is well known, Shakespeare in 1585
christened his own son Hamnet, a frequent variation
of the name. Thus the plot of the tragedy must have been present in his mind
for some years before it actually took form as a play. In all probability
this was in the winter of 1601-[2], for the play was registered on July 26,
1602, and the first, piratical, edition appeared in quarto in 1603. Highly
suggestive, therefore, of the subjective origin of the psychical conflict in
the play is the fact that it was in
September, 1601, that Shakespeare’s father died, an event which might well
have had the same awakening effect on old "repressed" memories that
the death of Hamlet's father had with Hamlet; his mother lived till some
seven years later. There are many indications that the disposition of
Shakespeare’s father was of that masterful and authoritative kind so apt to
provoke rebellion, particularly in a first-born son. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
No doubt
much detail was also introduced by Shakespeare from personal experience. For
instance there is much evidence to shew that in painting the character of
Hamlet he had in mind some of his contemporaries, notably William Herbert,
later Lord Pembroke, (Döring, Hamlet, 1898, S. 35)
and Robert Essex (Isaac, Hamlet's Familie.
Shakespeare's Jahrbuch, Bd. XVI, S. 274). The
repeated allusion to the danger of Ophelia's conceiving illegitimately may be
connected with both Herbert, who was imprisoned for being the father of an
illegitimate child, and the poet himself, who hastily married in order to
avoid the same stigma. 2.
Belleforest: Histoires tragiques,
T. V., 1564. This translation was made from the Italian of Bandello. 3.
See Fleay: Chronicle of the English Drama, 1891; Sarrazin: Thomas Kyd und sein Kreis, 1892; and Corbin: The Elizabethan Hamlet, 1895. 4.
Elton:
William Shakespeare. His Family and Friends, 1904 p. 223. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It
is for two reasons desirable here to interpolate a short account of the
mythological relations of the original Hamlet legend, first so as to observe
the personal contribution to it made by Shakespeare, and secondly because knowledge
of it serves to confirm and expand the psychological interpretation given
above. Up to the present point in this essay an attempt has been made to
drive the argument along a dry, logical path, and to show that all the
explanations of the mystery prior to Freud's end in blind alleys. So far as I
can see, there is no escape possible from the conclusion that the cause of
Hamlet's hesitancy lies in some unconscious source of repugnance to his task;
the next step of the argument, however, in which is supplied a motive for
this repugnance, is avowedly based on considerations that are 28. not generally
appreciated, though I have tried to minimise the
difficulty by assimilating the argument to some commonly accepted facts. Now,
there is another point of view from which this labour would have been
superfluous, in that Freud's explanation would appear directly obvious. To
anyone familiar with the modern interpretation, based on psycho-analytic
study, of myths and legends, that explanation of the Hamlet problem would
immediately occur on the first reading through of the play. The reason why
this strong statement can be made is that the story of Hamlet is merely an
unusually elaborated form of a vast group of legends, the psychological
significance of which is now, thanks to Freud and his co-workers, quite
plain. It would absorb too much space to discuss in detail the historical
relationship of the Hamlet legend to the other members of this group, and I
shall here content myself with pointing out the psychological resemblances; Jiriczek[1] and Lessmann[2]
have adduced much evidence to shew that the Norse and Irish variants of it
are descended from the ancient Iranian legend of Kaikhosrav,
and there is no doubt of the antiquity of the whole group, some members of which
can be traced back for several thousand years.[3] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
Jiriczek: Hamlet in Iran, Zeitschr. des Vereius für
Volkskunde, 1900, Bd. X. 2.
Lessmann: Die Kyrossage in Europa. Wissenschaftliche Beil. z. Jahresbericht d. städt. Realschule zu Charlottenburg, 1906. 3.
In the
exposition of this group of myths I am especially indebted to Otto Rank's
excellent volume, Der Mythus von der Geburt des Helden, 1909, in
which the original references may also be found. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The theme common to all members of the group is the
success of a young hero in displacing a rival father. In its simplest form,
the hero is persecuted by a tyrannical father who has been warned of his
approaching eclipse, but after marvellously
escaping from various dangers he avenges himself, often unwittingly, by
slaying the father. The persecution mainly takes the form of attempts to
destroy the hero's life just after his birth, by orders that he is to be
drowned, exposed to cold and starvation, or otherwise done away with. A good
instance of this simple form is the Oedipus legend, in which the underlying
motive is betrayed by the hero subsequently marrying his mother; the same
occurs in many Christian variants of this legend, for example, in the Judas
Iscariot and St. Gregory one. The intimate relation of the hero to the mother
is also shewn in certain types of the legend (for
example, the Ferdun, Perseus and Telephos ones) by the fact that the mother and son are
together exposed to the same dangers. In some types the hostility towards the
father is the predominating theme, in others the affection for the mother,
but as a rule both of these are more or less plainly
to be traced. The
elaboration of the more complex variants of the myth is brought about chiefly
by three factors, namely: an increasing degree of distortion engendered by
greater psychological "repression," complication of the main theme
by other allied ones, and expansion of the story by repetition due to the
creator's decorative fancy. In giving a description of these three processes
it is difficult sharply to separate them, but they will all be illustrated in
the following examples. The first disturbing factor, that of more pronounced
"repression," manifests itself by the same mechanisms that Freud
has described in connection with normal dreams, [1] psychoneurotic symptoms,
etc. The most interesting of these mechanisms in myth formation is that of "decomposition"
(Auseinanderlegung), which is the opposite to the "condensation" (Verdichtung) mechanism so characteristic of normal dreams.
Whereas in 29. the latter
process attributes of several individuals are fused in the creation of one
figure, much as in the production of a composite photograph, in the former
process various attributes of a given
person are disunited and several individuals are invented, each endowed with
one group of the original attributes. In this way one person, of complex
character, gets replaced by several, each of whom possess a different aspect
of the character that in a simpler form of the myth was combined in one
being; usually the different individuals closely resemble one another in
other respects, for instance in age. A good example of this process is
seen by the figure of the tyrannical father becoming split into two, a father
and a tyrant. The resolution of the original figure is most often incomplete,
so that the two resulting ones stand in a close relation to each other, being
indeed as a rule members of the same family. The tyrant who seeks to destroy
the hero is then most commonly the grandfather, as in the legends of Cyrus, Gilgam, Perseus, Telephos and
others, or the grand-uncle, as in those of Romulus and Remus and their Greek
predecessors, Amphion and Zethos;
less often is he the uncle, as in the Hamlet legend. When the decomposition
is more complete, the tyrant is not of the same family as the father, though
he may be socially related, as in the case of Abraham whose father Therachs was the tyrant Nimrod's commander-in-chief; as a
rule the tyrant is in this sub-group a stranger, as in the cases of Moses and
Pharaoh, Feridun and Zohäk,
Jesus and Herod, and others. In the last two instances, and in many others,
not only are the mother and son, but also the father, persecuted by the
tyrant, and we thus reach a still more complex variant, well represented by
the Feridun legend, in which the son adores his
father and avenges him by slaying their common enemy. The picture of the son
as avenger instead of as slayer of the father therefore illustrates the
highest degree of psychological "repression," in which the true
meaning of the story is concealed by the identical mechanism that in real
life conceals "repressed" hostility and jealousy in so many
families, namely, exaggerated solicitude, care and respect. The dutiful
Laertes avenging his murdered father Polonius is probably also an instance of
the same stage in the development of the myth. Suppressed hate towards a
father would seem to be adequately concealed by being thus masked by devotion
and desire to avenge, and Shakespeare’s modification of the Hamlet legend is
the only instance in which intense "repression" has produced still
further distortion of the hero's attitude; in this legend, however, the
matter is more complicated by the unusual prominence of the love for the
mother over the hate for the father, and by the appearance of other factors
such as the relationship of the tyrant to the father and to the mother. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
See
Abraham: Traum und Mythus,
1908. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Not only may the two above-mentioned attributes of the
parent, fatherliness and tyranny, be split off so as to give rise to the creation
of separate figures, but others also. For instance, the power and authority
of the parent may be invested in the person of a king or other distinguished
man, who may be contrasted with the lowly-born father. [1] In the present
legend I think it probable that the figure of Polonius may be thus regarded as resulting from the
"decomposition" of the parental archetype, and as representing a
certain group of qualities which the young not infrequently find an
irritating feature in their elders. The senile 30. nonentity,
concealed behind a show of fussy pomposity, who has developed a rare capacity
to bore his audience with the repetition of sententious platitudes in which
profound ignorance of life is but thinly disguised by a would-be worldly-wise
air; the prying busybody whose meddling is, as usual, excused by his
"well-meaning" intentions, constitutes a figure that is sympathetic
only to those who submissively accept the world's estimate concerning the
superiority of the merely decrepit. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
This
important theme, which is fully dealt with by Freud and Rank, I have not here
discussed, for it does not enter into the present legend. Abraham (Op. cit.,
S. 40) has interestingly pointed out the significance of it in the
development of paranoiac delusions. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The
second disturbing factor is that due to the interweaving of the main theme of
jealousy and incest between parent and child with other allied ones of a
similar kind. We noted above that in the simplest form of decomposition of
the paternal attributes the tyrannical rule is most often relegated to the
grandfather. It is no mere chance that this is so, and it is not fully to be
accounted for by incompleteness of the decomposition. There is a deeper
reason why the grandfather is most often chosen to play the part of tyrant,
and this will be readily perceived when we recollect the large number of
legends in which he has previously interposed all manner of obstacles to the
marriage of his daughter. He opposes the advances of the would-be suitor,
sets in his way various apparently impossible tasks and conditions – usually
these are miraculously carried out by the lover, – and even locks up his
daughter in an inaccessible spot, as in the legends of Gilgamos,
Perseus, Romulus, Telephos and others. The motive
is at bottom that he grudges to give up his daughter to another man, not
wishing to part with her himself (Father-daughter complex). When his commands
are disobeyed or circumvented, his love for his daughter turns to bitterness,
and he pursues her and her offspring with insatiable hate. We are here once
more reminded of events that may be observed in daily life by those who open
their eyes to the facts. When the grandson in the myth avenges himself and
his mother by slaying her tyrannical father, it is as though he clearly
realised the motive of the persecution, for in truth he slays the man who endeavoured to possess and retain the mother's affection;
thus in this sense we again come back to the father, and see that from the
hero's point of view the distinction between the father and grandfather is
not so radical as it at first sight appears. We perceive, therefore, that for
two reasons the resolution of the original parent into a kind father and a
tyrannical grandfather is not a very extensive one. The
foregoing considerations throw more light on the figure of Polonius in the
present legend. In his attitude towards the relation between Ophelia and Hamlet
are many of the traits that we have just mentioned to be characteristic of
the Father-daughter complex, though by the mechanism of rationalisation they
are here skillfully cloaked under the guise of worldly-wise advice. Hamlet's
resentment towards him is thus doubly conditioned, in that first Polonius, by
the mechanism of "decomposition," personates a group of obnoxious
elderly attributes, and secondly presents the equally objectional
attitude of the dog-in-the-manger father who grudges to others what he
possesses, but cannot enjoy, himself. In this way, therefore, 31. Polonius
represents the repellant characteristics of both the father and the
grandfather of mythology, and we are not surprised to find that, just as Perseus
accidentally slew his grandfather Acrisios, who had
locked up his daughter Danae so as to preserve her
virginity, so does Hamlet "accidentally" slay Polonius, by a deed
that resolves the situation as correctly from the dramatic as from the
mythological point of view. With truth has this act been called the turning
point of the play, for from then on the tragedy relentlessly proceeds to its
culmination in the doom of the hero and his adversary. The
characteristics that constitute the Father-daughter complex are found in a
similar one, the Brother-sister complex. This also may be seen in the present
play, where the attitude of Laertes towards his sister Ophelia is quite
indistinguishable from that of their father Polonius. Further, Hamlet not
only keenly resents Laertes' open expression of his devoted affection for
Ophelia – in the grave scene, – but at the end of the play kills him, as he
had previously killed Polonius, in an accurate consummation of the
mythological motive. That the Brother-sister complex was operative in the
formation of the Hamlet legend is also evidenced by the incest between
Claudius and the Queen, for from a religious point of view the two stood to
each other in exactly the same relationship as do brother and sister. This
conclusion may be further supported by the following – avowedly more
tentative – considerations. The preceding remark about the two main traits in
Polonius, those characteristic of a pompous father of a son and a grudging
father of a daughter, gives room for the supposition that his family was in a
sense a rough duplicate of the main family in the legend. This notion of
duplication of the principal characters will be mentioned in more detail in
the next paragraph, and the present line of thought will then perhaps become
clearer. In the sense here taken Laertes would therefore represent a brother
of Hamlet, and Ophelia a sister. This being so, we would seem to trace a
still deeper ground for the original motives of both Hamlet's misogynous
turning from Ophelia, and his jealous resentment of Laertes. As, however,
this theme of the relation between siblings is of only secondary interest in
the Hamlet legend, discussion of it will be reserved for other legends in
which it is more prominent (e.g., those of Cyrus, Karna,
etc.). The
third factor to be considered is the process technically known to
mythologists as "doubling" of
the principal characters. The chief motive for its occurrence seems to be the
desire to exalt the importance of these, and especially to glorify the hero,
by decoratively filling in the stage with lay figures of colourless
copies whose neutral movements contrast with the vivid activities of the
principals. This factor is sometimes hard to distinguish from the first one,
for a given multiplication of figures may subserve
at the same time the function of decomposition and that of doubling. In
general it may be said that the former function is more often fulfilled by
the creation of a new person who is a relative of the principal characters,
the latter by the creation of a person who is not a relative; this rule
however has many exceptions. In the present legend Claudius seems to subserve both functions, and it is interesting to note
that in many legends it is not the father's figure who
is doubled by the creation of a brother, but the grandfather's. This is so in
some versions of the Perseus legend, 32. and, as was
mentioned above, in those of Romulus and Amphion;
in all three of these the creation of the king's brother, as in the Hamlet
legend, subserves the functions of both
decomposition and doubling. Good instances of the simple doubling processes
are seen in the case of the maid of Pharaoh's daughter in the Moses legend,
or of many of the figures in the Cyrus one.[1]
Perhaps the purest examples of doubling in the present play are the colourless copies of Hamlet presented by the figures of
Horatio, Marcellus and Bernardo. Laertes and the younger Fortinbras, on the
other hand, are examples of both doubling and decomposition of the main
figure. The figure of Laertes is more complex than that of Fortinbras in that
it is composed of three components instead of two; he evinces, namely, the
influence of Brother-sister complex in a way that contrasts with the
"repressed" form in which this is manifested in the central figures
of the play. Hamlet's jealousy of Laertes' interference in connection with
Ophelia is further to be compared with his resentment of the meddling of
Guildenstern and Rosencrantz. These are therefore only copies of the Brother
of mythology, and, like him, are killed by the hero; in them is further to be
detected a play on the "Twin" motive so often found in mythology,
but which need not be further developed here. Both Laertes and Fortinbras
represent one "decomposed" aspect of the hero, namely that
concerned with revenge for a murdered or injured father. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
This is
very clearly pointed out by Rank, Op.cit., S. 84, 85. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It
is instructive to note that neither of them shew any sign of inhibition in
the performance of this task, and that with neither is any reference made to
his mother. In Hamlet, on the other hand, in whom "repressed" love
for the mother is even more powerful than "repressed" hostility
towards the father, inhibition appears; this is because the stronger complex
is stimulated by the fact that the object of revenge owes his guilt to the
desire to win the mother. The
important subject of the actual mode of origin of myths and legends, and the
relation of them to infantile fantasies, will not here be considered,
[1] as our interest in the topic is secondary to the main one of the play of
Hamlet as given to us by Shakespeare. Enough perhaps has been said of the
comparative mythology of the Hamlet legend to shew that in it are to be found
ample indications of the working of all forms of incestuous fantasy. We may
summarise the foregoing considerations of this part of the subject by saying
that the main theme of this story is a highly elaborated and distorted
account of a boy's love for his mother and consequent jealousy of and
hostility towards his father; the allied one in which the sister and brother
respectively play the same part as the mother and father in the main theme is
also told, though with secondary interest. Last of all in this connection may be mentioned on account
of its general psychological interest a matter which has provoked much
discussion, namely Hamlet's so-called
"simulation of madness."[2] The traits in Hamlet's behaviour
thus designated are brought to expression by Shakespeare in such a refined
and subtle way as to be not very transpicuous unless one studies them in the
original saga. In the play Hamlet's feigning mainly takes the form of fine
irony, and serves the purpose of enabling him to express contempt and
hostility in an indirect and disguised form (indirekte
Darstellung). His conversations with Polonius
beautifully illustrate the mechanism. The irony in the play is a
transmutation of the still more concealed mode of expression adopted in the
saga, where the hero's audience commonly fails to apprehend his meaning. Of
this, Saxo Grammaticus writes,[3] "He was loth
to be thought prone to lying about any matter, and wished to be held a
stranger to falsehood; and accordingly he mingled craft and candour in such wise that, though his words did not lack
truth, yet there was nothing to betoken the truth and betray how far his keeness went." Here Hamlet plainly adopts his
curious behaviour in order to further his scheme of revenge, to which, as we
shall presently note, he had in the saga whole-heartedly devoted himself. 33. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
Those
interested in this subject are referred to the writings of Freud, Abraham,
Rank and Riklin. 2.
My
attention was kindly called to this point by a personal communication from
Professor Freud. 3.
Quoted
after Loening: Op. cit., S. 249. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The
actual mode of operation of his simulation here is very instructive to
observe, for it gives us the clue to a deeper psychological interpretation of
the process. His conduct in this respect has three characteristics, first the
obscure and disguised manner of speech just referred to, secondly a demeanour
of indolent inertia and purposelessness, and thirdly conduct of childish and
at times almost imbecilic foolishness (Dummstellen);
the third of these is well exemplified by the way he rides into the palace seated
backwards on a donkey. His motive in so acting was, by playing the part of a
harmless fool, to deceive the king and court as to his projects of revenge,
and unobserved to get to know their plans and intentions; in this he
admirably succeeded. It has been maintained that even in the play this motive
of spying on the king and disarming his suspicions was at work, but even if
this was the case, and there are grave reasons for doubting it,[1] it is
certainly more evident in the saga. Now, in observing the kind of foolishness
simulated by Hamlet in the saga, we cannot help being impressed by the
childish characteristics it throughout manifests, and Freud points out how
accurately it resembles a certain type
of demeanour adopted at times by some children. The motive with these
children is further a like one, namely to simulate innocence and an
exaggerated childishness, even foolishness, in order to delude their elders
into regarding them as being "too young to understand" and even
into altogether ignoring their presence. The reason for the artifice with
such children most frequently is that by this means they may view and
overhear various private things which they are not supposed to. It need
hardly be said that the curiosity thus indulged in is in most cases concerned
with matters of a directly sexual nature; even marital embraces are in this
way investigated by quite young children far more frequently than is
generally supposed. The subject is one that would bear much exposition,
but it would be too far from the main theme of this essay to render
justifiable its inclusion here. It
is highly instructive now to note the respects in which Shakespeare’s plot
deviates from that of the original saga; we are, of course, not here
concerned with the poetic and literary representation, which not merely
revivified an old story, but created an entirely new work of genius. The
changes are mainly two[2] in number. 34. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
See on
the point Loening. Loc. cit., and S. 387. 2.
Lesser
points, important as they are, cannot here be followed out. Such is for
instance the way Shakspere accepts Belleforest's alteration of the original saga in making
the Queen commit incest during the life of her first
husband. The significance of this will be obvious to those who have followed
the argument above presented. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The
first is as follows: in the saga Claudius (or Fengo,
as he is here called) had murdered his brother in public, so that the deed
was generally known, and further had with lies and false witnesses sought to
justify it in that he pretended it was done to save the Queen from the
threats of her husband.[1] This view he successfully imposed on the nation so
that, as Belleforest[2] has it, "his sin found
excuse among the people and was considered justice by the nobility – so that
instead of prosecuting him as one guilty of parricide [3] and incest, all of
the courtiers applauded him and flattered him on his good fortune." When
Shakespeare altered this to a secret murder known only to Hamlet it would
seem as though it was done, consciously or unconsciously, to minimise the external difficulties of Hamlet's task, for
it is obviously harder to rouse a nation to condemn a crime that has been
openly explained and universally forgiven than one which has been guiltily
concealed. If Shakespeare had retained the original plot in this respect
there would have been more excuse for the Klein-Werder
hypothesis, though it is to be observed that even in the saga Hamlet
unhesitatingly executed his task, herculean as it was. Shakespeare’s
rendering makes still more conspicuous Hamlet's recalcitrancy,
in that it disposes of the only justifiable plea for non-action. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1.
Those
who are acquainted with Freud's work will have no difficulty in discerning
the sadistic origin of this pretext. (See Sammlung kleiner Schriften, Zweite Folge, 1909, S. 169.)
The interpretation of an overheard coitus as an act of violence offered to
the mother is frequently an aggravating cause of hostility towards the
father. 2.
Quoted
after Loening, Op. cit., S. 248. 3.
This
should of course be fratricide, though the word parricide was occasionally
used in old French to denote a murder of any elder relative. It is
conceivable that the mistake is a "Verschreiben,"
unconsciously motived in Freud's sense. (See Psychopathologie
des Alltagslebens, 1907, Cap. VI.) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The
second and all-important respect in which Shakespeare changed the story, and
thus revolutionised the tragedy, is the vacillation
and hesitancy he introduced into Hamlet's attitude towards his task, with the
consequent paralysis of his action. In all the previous versions Hamlet was
throughout a man of rapid decision and action, not – as with Shakespeare’s
version – in everything except in the task of vengeance. He had, as
Shakespeare’s Hamlet felt he should have, swept to his revenge unimpeded by
any doubts or scruples, and had never flinched from the straightforward path
of duty. With him duty and natural inclination went hand in hand; from his
heart he wanted to do that which he believed he ought to do, and was thus
harmoniously impelled by both the summons of his conscience and the cry of
his blood. There was none of the deep-reaching conflict that was so
disastrous to Shakespeare’s Hamlet. It is as though Shakespeare had read the
previous story and realised that had he been placed in a similar situation he
would not have found the path of action so obvious as was supposed, but on
the contrary would have been torn in a conflict which was all the more
intense for the fact that he could not explain its nature. In this 35. transformation
Shakespeare exactly reversed the plot of the tragedy, for, whereas in the
saga this consisted in the overcoming external difficulties and dangers by a
single-hearted hero, in the play these are removed and the plot lies in the
fateful unrolling of the consequences that result from an internal conflict
in the hero's soul. From the struggles of the hero issue dangers which at
first did not exist, but which, as the effect of his untoward assays, loom
increasingly portentous until at the end they close and involve him in final
destruction. More than this, every action he so reluctantly engages in for
the fulfillment of his obvious task seems half-wittingly to be disposed in
such a way as to provoke destiny, in that, by arousing suspicion and
hostility in his enemy, it defeats its own object and helps to encompass his
own ruin. The conflict in his soul is to him insoluble, and the only steps he
can make are those that inexorably draw him nearer and nearer to his doom. In
him, as in every victim of a powerful unconscious conflict, the Will to Death
is fundamentally stronger than the Will to Life, and his struggle is at heart
one long despairing fight against suicide, the least intolerable solution of
the problem. Being unable to free himself from the ascendency of his past he
can travel – to Death. In thus vividly exhibiting the desperate but
unavailing struggle of a strong man against Fate, Shakespeare achieved the
very essence of the Greek conception of tragedy. There
is therefore reason to believe that the new life which Shakespeare poured
into the old tragedy was the outcome of inspirations that took their origin
in the deepest and most hidden parts of his mind. He responded to the
peculiar appeal of the story by projecting into it his profoundest thoughts
in a way that has ever since wrung wonder from all who have heard or read the
tragedy. It is only fitting that the greatest work of the world-poet should
have been concerned with the deepest problem and the intensest
conflict that has occupied the mind of man since the beginning of time, the
revolt of youth and of the impulse to love against the restraints imposed by
the jealous eld. 36. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Ernest
Jones: The Oedipus-Complex as An Explanation of Hamlet's Mystery – A Study in
Motive (American Journal of Psychology,
Vol. 21, No. 1 (Jan., 1910), pp. 72-113); online version made available on
the Hamlet Navigator website. |