Shakespeare was many things throughout his career: writer, playwright,
poet, actor, businessman, theatre owner … He was also an avid reader nay,
consumer, of written material, which he recycled generously in his own plays. As
a window into early modern culture, the plays offer a cornucopia of subject which
likely piqued the bard’s interest to varying degrees: history, mythology,
science, libations, zoology… the list goes on. Among these, Shakespeare’s engagement
with medical matters has always fascinated me.
I do not wish to rehash David Hoeniger’s wonderful study of medical
allusions in Shakespearean drama,[1]
nor to go down the historicist rabbit hole by pointing out that Shakespeare‘s
son-in-law, John Hall, was a physician.[2]
Rather, my interest rests in the idea that too often, Shakespeare and his works
are used as a vehicle for an ideology, as if the material found in the plays spoke
in unison for a given doctrine or philosophical current. Shakespeare was
catholic, protestant, Marxist, anarchist, Lutheran, stonemason, a bad tipper,
etc. In few other fields is such a practice more current than when it comes to
determining his relationship to medical science. Critics virtually trip over
one another in making the claim for Shakespeare’s Hippocratic allegiances: he followed
Galen, he aligned with Aristotle, he was influence by Timothy Bright and Robert
Burton, he was a disciple of Paracelsus … There is nothing overly preposterous
about any of these claims since, evidence can be found throughout the canon
that supports them at least partially. At their core, they signify his knowledge
of all these authors and their philosophies.
My larger point is that in pigeonholing Shakespeare within such schools
of medical thoughts, we tend to forget that he was in the business of popular
theater. More so than with perhaps “touchier” early modern issues such as
religion or politics, Shakespeare was free to hopscotch from one medical theory
to another in order to suit the themes and concerns of whatever play he
produced. Shakespeare’s engagement with medicine is thus inherently multifocal.
His treatment of humours within his comedies speaks to this point at considerable
lengths. Comic characters repeatedly express themselves, comment upon, or
critique one another’s humoural states, and do so mainly by drawing on the humoural
lexicon introduced by Galen; a matrix of balance, excess, cold, heat, and
temperament that had morphed into a characterial shorthand by the time Shakespeare
began writing for the theatre. Yet, the comedies also carry other perspective
on humours, some which recall Aristotle’s discussion of geniality, others that
reference the more contemporary ideas of Burton, Ficino, or Thomas Wright. Neither
end of the spectrum holds dominion over the other in terms of determining what Shakespeare
believed in. Opportunisms ruled the day, and Shakespeare had several theories
to choose from when crafting a certain scene, passage or character.
Uncovering whatever Shakespeare might have believed—medically—would
be a fascinating undertaking, but it is as extraordinary to witness the mastery
with which he can blend writers, ideas, and doctrines for the sake of dramatic representation.
It all comes down to the Jaws theory:[3] During the
production of the motion picture, author Peter Benchley often found himself at
odds with director Stephen Spielberg concerning the changes the latter was
making to his original work. Benchley was particularly critical of alterations made
to the story’s climactic ending: Spielberg’s version, which he deemed far too
extravagant and unrealistic, showed protagonist Martin Brody shooting an air
tank placed in the shark’s mouth, causing it to explode. Spielberg’s reply was that
if he could hold the audience’s attention in his hand for the duration of the
film, they would believe whatever finale he would then throw at them. The legitimacy
of this Hollywood anecdote resides beyond the scope of this blog. Yet, it illustrates
a process that I recognize as salient in terms of Shakespeare’s reworking medical
science: everything seemingly goes as long as it makes a good play.
Now, take two sonnets and call me in the morning.
Excitement:
The Shakespeare Performance and Research Team Seminar Series continue
next week and it is a treat, Paul Yachnin’s will be speaking about visual field
in Cymbeline on November 25th. The SPRiTE meetings are always
stimulating and yield very interesting conversations and ideas. Come check it out!
Smooshy:
Listen here, How to Get Away with Murder, I am trying soooooo hard to like you (even if Emily has already given
up on you). And you have been good if not great in some regards. For one thing,
you have a bona fide MVP in Viola Davis, who infuses so much life in Annalise
that some scenes are hypnotically good (even the Dangerous Liaisons “taking the
makeup off” rip off). Yet every time you do something good, you immediately
cancel it with something idiotic: a character trips on a pile of boxes and
falls face first in the one document they need to crack the case, someone actually
utters the words “no one has ever believed in me this way,” and character inevitably
have frantic sex in public spaces to the beats of techno music. Get your act
together HTHAWM,[4] or I’ll
do to you what I did to the Chicago Code. What’s the Chicago Code, you ask?
Exactly…
Shout out:
I was fortunate enough a few weeks ago to come into my former
supervisor’s class and talk to her students about Hamlet.[5] It
was fantastic. I enjoy myself, as I usually do when I get to hear myself talk for
extended periods of time, but what really thrilled me was hearing their opinions
about the play and its brooding protagonist. It’s refreshing to listen to readers who have
just read the play for the first time. One of the pitfalls of studying Shakespeare
(or anything, for that matter) for a lengthy period of time is that you can
become trapped in your ideas about a text. My discussion with them was engaging
and very interesting. Thank you, Joyce’s students, for a wonderful afternoon.
Till next time!
What a piece of work is Taco Bell
Is that meat or cheese?
I can’t even…
[1] David F. Hoeniger, Medicine and Shakespeare in the
English Renaissance, Newark: U of Delaware P, 1992.
[2] Could he have written the plays? Could I? Could you?
NO ONE KNOWS!!!!
[4] 2014 nominee for ugliest acronym.
[5] For those who do not know my former supervisor, her
name is Joyce Boro, she rocks, and I once had a dream I decorated her house for
Halloween. Joyce, my readership. My readership, Joyce.
