Freitag, 7. Januar 2022

„Measure for Measure“ – tragedy, comedy, and theodicy

 

At the beginning of Holinshed’s chronicle – which I took up after my reading „Measure for Measure“  – King Richard II, who was still a boy, is taking over the throne from his grandfather. I always thought it to be some kind of convention to picture a country in distress over the death of a king. The king is dead, long live the king! – what’s the big deal? After my close reading of “Measure for Measure”, though, I read the chronicle differently. It’s basically rather boring with all these people meaning nothing to me, the painstaking description of coronation festivities and rites, a bunch of insignificant skirmishes with the Scots and the French … but it suddenly all began to make sense when I hit on a sentence that I might have overlooked before:

For, if by their example the king were trained to goodnesse, all should be well; but if he declined through their sufferance from the right waie, the people and the kingdome were like to fall in danger to perish.

What Holinshed is writing about – though you don’t notice it on the surface because everything sounds rather matter of fact and subdued – is a country in CRISIS after the decease of a monarch and the succession of a child to the throne. It had to be newly established who was close to the king and therefore in a position of power, parliaments had to be held to keep dissensions from getting out of hand, the Londoners stepped forward to confirm their special status, and the old enemies, sniffing opportunity, rallied their troops …

I think I knew enough of English history – not least from reading Shakespeare! - to be aware of this recurrent crisis, but this bit of historic reading showed me that it still hadn’t “sunk in”. I suddenly got a much clearer idea of the impact of the political situation on people’s lives and of what this meant for writing for the stage. Watching the RSC’s most recent production of “Measure for Measure” on DVD, I got first involved with the character of the Duke – probably the most boring major character in the play! But how Antony Byrne played him – kind of stressed and harassed and desperately ironic about the godawful mess he has to clean up – made me notice his pivotal role. I might marginalize him READING the play and focus on the characters with interesting predicaments, but we find him on the stage a considerable part of the time, and a good actor must needs do something with this. It might have turned out rather the reverse on an Elizabethan stage, but it served the purpose of making me notice what must always have been significant about him: that he is IMPORTANT, that he is IN CHARGE, and that he is HUMAN. The last feature might have got underplayed in Elizabethan times, and probably gets overplayed on a contemporary stage, but I think Shakespeare – like Holinshed! – was well aware of it. The sovereign, though prone to human failure, CANNOT fail because, being God’s representative on earth, the commonwealth directly depends on his “goodness”. I might be annoyed with him for using a deputy to clean up his mess – my first impression that he is acting deviously, not really wanting to promote Angelo but looking for somebody he can fire, might be warranted – but he has a serious reason for acting like this. Having failed in keeping the state in good order so far by slackening the reins, he really needs a plan.

The next thing I realized and found rather exciting is the way Shakespeare introduces us to an entire contemporary society and its problems in comical abbreviation. There is the clergy, nuns as representatives of a religious order, soldiers, the idle upper classes, sex workers, a bawd, a notorious criminal, a henchman, a completely useless member of law enforcement … I might have made a list earlier because this makes me so much more aware of what is MISSING. The overall impression of a dysfunctional society is warranted insofar as there is not a single person here who actually does something USEFUL or beneficiary. There are no craftspeople, no shopkeepers, no doctors, nobody in short of any trade or occupation that actually benefits society. Of course a henchman does that, in a way, but we are explicitly told that he is considered to be on the same social level as a bawd. Soldiers can be useful - IF there is a war on. If there is not – which is the normal state of affairs at the time - they become a problem. In fact, the most productive people on this stage are the sex workers - which is stated ironically but nonetheless! I actually looked up a word, as I didn’t know exactly what “mitigation” means. Of course “Madam Mitigation” – like “Mistress Overdone” - is meant to ridicule and scorn the character of a prostitute, but there is a serious argument behind it which I don’t think people at the time would just have brushed aside as THIS predicament certainly hasn’t changed. Prostitution has always served a social purpose – though, for various reasons, it was never seen as ideal – and must therefore be subject to mitigating circumstances. Obviously, in “Measure for Measure” extramarital intercourse is singled out as the root of all evils, but brothels as well as monasteries are SOLUTIONS for a problem that cannot be resolved in an entirely satisfactory way. And, unlike in medieval times, NEITHER of them was seen as ideal. At least I cannot imagine that a society that recently dismantled monasteries with greater efficiency than it could ever get rid of brothels held (catholic!) monasteries in that much higher esteem! The desirable solution for the problem is obviously MARRIAGE.

The next important observation I made has to do with WHY extramarital intercourse actually was considered so dangerous that it had to be punished by death. Even though nobody would deny that there have to be mitigating circumstances – especially in a case like Claudio’s where the couple is as good as married – there is also nobody – least of all the culprits! – to deny that they have committed a criminal offence. I think this is our main issue in taking this play seriously, as few (of the “W(hite)E(ducated)I(ndividualist)R(ich)D(emocratic)”) people today would think of it in this way. In our day and age, sexual love as such has a positive connotation and is fundamentally linked to our concept of happiness. Romantic comedy nowadays typically ends with two people embracing – not with two people in front of an altar. In complete opposition to this, in “Measure for Measure” sexual love is – without exception! – not seen as something good and conducive to happiness, but as dangerous and destructive, a cancer eating into society and the individual peace of mind. I am rather certain that – like most people nowadays wouldn’t perceive romantic comedy as representing their reality! – most Elizabethans wouldn’t have taken such a grim view on sexual love. Basically, both conceptions are rooted in the INEVITABILITY of sexual love – something that has never changed! But I think it is really important to take this statement seriously for understanding the historic impact of the play. Sexual love, in “Measure for Measure”, is certainly not the way to heaven but rather a dangerous OBSTACLE on this way. I was delighted when I hit on the reason for this explicitly stated in Angelo’s monologue after he has fallen in love with Isabel. For him, it is not at all a pleasant experience but something that is deeply troubling and scary because it has broken up his direct connection with God.

 

When I would pray and think, I think and pray

To several subjects. Heaven has my empty words,

Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue,

Anchors on Isabel. Heaven in my mouth,

As if I did but only chew his name,

And in my heart the strong and swelling evil 

Of my conception …

 

Obviously, it SHOULD be the other way round. God is only real and can become a positive agent in people’s lives, when they are actually at the centre of it: in their heart and not just in their mouth. In fact, it is Protestantism in a nutshell: without this direct relationship with God, a human being cannot achieve a state of grace and thrive. This is what “goodnesse” in Holinshed means: not “humanity” – as “we” might conceive it – but BEING IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH GOD and therefore an instrument for God’s grace to become human reality. It is an inhuman conception for us that Angelo hates Isabel for “loving” her, but in this context it makes complete sense.

Having understood this, I also understood why the idea of individual happiness not being an issue in “Shakespeare” – which came up in my discussion with Claudia - had been wrong. Comedy and tragedy are – and always have been - very much about individual happiness and unhappiness. It is just that the concept itself has changed a great deal.

I had already had this intuition that it might further the understanding of the play to dislike Angelo LESS, respectively show him as a less disagreeable character on stage. I think we tend to dislike him FROM THE BEGINNING as somebody who is mostly preoccupied with his piety and his career, and doesn’t care about other human beings. At the time this was probably not considered such a bad thing! And speaking names in “Shakespeare” are always making a statement. In the beginning, Shakespeare goes to great lengths to present him as the ideal candidate for taking over from the Duke. In one important respect at least he must have been a role model. As we have to take his monologue seriously, his connection with God so far had been genuine and therefore conducive to his personal success and happiness. Within the moral argument of the play, Angelo takes the role of the fallen angel who succumbs to the human weakness of falling in love. Or should I rather say MALE weakness?! Questioning everything I found weird, I had difficulties to swallow the argument that the woman is GUILTIER than the man when she consents to forbidden intercourse. I think the reason is that the temptation for her was considered to be much smaller. Sexual love – as I had already noticed in “Troilus and Cressida” – was mainly seen as a male issue. One so widespread that there HAD to be mitigating circumstances! For Angelo, to desire forbidden sex is therefore a comparatively small digression. A small step from the straight and narrow path that nonetheless leads to tremendous and dire consequences for himself and others. Blackmailing a virgin into sexual intercourse and killing her brother notwithstanding, for fear that it might come out, are mortal offences that would NOT warrant the mitigating circumstances he denies Claudio. Not to mention the damage to the justice of the state he is put in charge of … What we have here is genuine TRAGEDY – as good as it gets!

Having got so far, I realized WHY, on the whole, I hadn’t liked the RSC’s production that much. I found it useful, as I pointed out, because watching Antony Byrne made me focus on an interesting issue, but he was the ONLY actor on stage who invested his character with a sense of URGENCY which the other characters should have showed as well.  Even more so, as it is essential to understand that dire things – like Isabel discovering that her brother will be executed the next morning if she doesn’t do anything about it, or Angelo inconveniently falling in love – happen to people suddenly, brutally, and stressfully, not letting them time to think or take precautions. There is this strange bit where people start laughing – when Isabel says exasperatedly that she has no superfluous leisure. In fact, this is one of these extremely naturalistic moments in “Shakespeare” where she reacts exactly as most people under pressure would react! People laughing proves that they must have got it completely wrong on the stage. 

To this end, I think, they should have upped the pace a bit – or considerably! – so as to make it easier for the actors to react spontaneously. But I think they decided against this on purpose, in order not to lose the really complex discussions and arguments about justice that, content-wise, are the centre of the play. Trying to think historically, I also realized that this problem probably didn’t exist on an Elizabethan stage. I cannot know if I am right but have this rather stubborn opinion that they must have played virtually the complete text, just a lot faster. It would still have taken more time than the three hours we are used to, but the problem of a play becoming too long probably didn’t exist because of the totally different theatre situation. Even on the balconies, people would not have been glued to their seats, eyes fixed on the stage, straining to understand what is happening there. It would rather have been like being in a market place, hearing people making speeches or observing them having an argument. They wouldn’t have understood or listened to every word but would have felt much more IMPLICATED. And actually being emotionally implicated makes us understand much faster on a more complex level than straining to understand intellectually what is going on. I find it rather interesting that there might be a historic issue not just of story-telling that makes this play less easily accessible to us but also one of actually performing it on the stage.

Having dwelled on TRAGEDY so far, I understand the reason why people might want to talk of “tragicomedy” referring to “Measure for Measure”, though I personally think this category is misapplied in “Shakespeare”. Chekhov’s plays, for example, are genuine tragicomedies because the FUSION is significant. Life is tragic at the same time as it is futile and ridiculous. In “Shakespeare”, on the contrary, it is significant to have them SEPARATED. Coming to the beginning of act 3 of “Measure for Measure”, I noticed already the first time I read it, that something decisive is happening there, like a sea-change, and that I should get back to this bit. Initially it felt like a good play just had been “killed” and interesting psychological predicaments been turned into slapstick COMEDY. After my close historic reading, having worked my way through to the first scene of act 3 again, this impression had radically changed. I felt that something really interesting was happening there and was thrilled to discover the exact moment where it does. It is, in my opinion, a rather inconspicuous sentence Isabel says to the Duke (in disguise) in the first scene of act 3:

But, O, how much is the good Duke deceiv’d in Angelo! IF EVER HE RETURN, AND I CAN SPEAK TO HIM, I WILL OPEN MY LIPS IN VAIN, OR DISCOVER HIS GOVERNMENT.

With all the discoveries about Angelo in mind, I identified this as a wish to speak with God DIRECTLY and to put herself entirely under their “government”. Strictly speaking, she does not utter a wish to speak with God but with their deputy, the Duke, but, as I had understood by now, in a certain respect they are ONE AND THE SAME. As I noted earlier, the simultaneousness of humanity and divinity in a ruler is a problem addressed in the play. It is also a FACT that could not be challenged. The painstaking description of coronation rites in Holinshed has a purpose: to affirm that the king has been correctly and completely invested with this divinity and has obtained the right to act in God’s place. As the ONLY person on earth, because he has literally been invested with a second – divine – character on top of his human one. Just coming out of the cinema after having seen “Margarete – Queen of the North”, Claudia and I agreed that this is a fascinating issue, even to the present day.  I realize that my interest in “The Crown” hinges exactly on this: the personal consequences of having this divine character imposed on not even very special human beings. For somebody born in the 20th century this might appear surreal and outdated, for Elizabethans it was an existential issue.   

(The latter made me aware of a minor (?) issue about historical exactness that had been bothering me before. The Duke, in this play and others, is certainly TREATED as if he was the king, but he is not. Dukes don’t get crowned or invested, at least I have never heard of such a thing. I suppose they kind of take over God’s rule by being sworn to a king. Maybe I am wrong, or – as I am trying to explain this for the time being – the dukes in Shakespeare’s comedies are supposed to “stand in” for the king because a king could never get dragged into comedy – dressing up in monk’s robes and personally conducting a “mummery” like this one!) 

As Isabel, though she doesn’t realize this, has actually spoken to God’s deputy, there is now a real chance that things will take a turn for the better – and further INTERESTING things may happen. At this point, I definitely had developed an understanding for the Elizabethan’s delight in “stupid” comedy plots the outcome of which they had already been told. It appears rather cruel for the Duke to leave Isabel in the dark about Claudio being alive – but he needs her to be in the dark for his plan to work. I am sure Elizabethans enjoyed the slapstick, but they would have enjoyed the argument as well. God was their REALITY, an actual power that works predominantly in the dark. Their plan is concealed from humans who have to put their trust entirely in God’s “goodness” to benefit from it. On the other hand - as will become apparent when Isabel is called upon to forgive Angelo and beg for his pardon – God needs “good” people who put their trust in them to work their plan. This UNEXPECTED turn contains a much stronger argument about grace overruling justice than human wit could ever make. (So far, showing mercy, as Angelo claims, has in fact just led to making things worse!) God’s grace cannot be DESERVED – as Angelo clearly has forfeited it! – but it may HAPPEN nonetheless - through successful communication with God as a MUTUAL act. It even makes complete sense for Isabel to be joined with the Duke BECAUSE it is against her wish. Perfect happiness can only be achieved by submitting entirely to God’s will.

There were multiple reasons for people at the time to go to the theatre for entertainment – as there are today! Verbal and physical slapstick was certainly one of them – as was elaborate fighting as well as blood and gore. They liked to see beautiful costumes and dancing – as “we” do! – but also must have enjoyed LISTENING to cleverly phrased arguments probably more than we do. (They tend to become the dreary bits in “Shakespeare”!) Preferring some of these might lead to a preference for either tragedy or comedy, but neither of these contains a SUFFICIENT reason for the strong tendency of popular plots to fall under either category. Comedy and tragedy at the time were rather a matter of THEODICY. Trying to change my mindset to “Elizabethan”, I HAVE to deal with the question how chaos and suffering can come into a world that is ruled by God. Personally, I find this question entirely expendable, but, at least where COMEDY is concerned, I would have continued to scratch the surface without understanding this. Tragedy is different – for a reason! 

Comedy plots – that have to end in marriage! – felt significant to Elizabethans because they are making a POSITIVE teleological argument. In short, they are about God successfully enacting their plan. There is a self-reflective quality about “Measure for Measure” – as the play is about what marriage is about, and marriages are the hallmark of comedy – that allowed me to trace this argument ON THE SURFACE.

It is interesting, though, that tragedy, in my experience, occupies a much bigger part of “Shakespeare”. And I never had a problem with understanding tragedy. I get it now that this was because I didn’t need to think HISTORICALLY to understand it. In “Shakespeare”, tragic plot must be thought of in terms of a NEGATIVE theological argument. (Which explains why, in comedies, people CANNOT die whereas in tragedies they HAVE to!) Tragedy occurs if people don’t really care about God’s will but lean on their own understanding and their own capacity to achieve happiness, which people usually do, notwithstanding their faith! And which ALWAYS goes wrong in the end. The system of believes behind it is different because tragedy at the time was only ONE side of the coin, but the outcome is virtually identical with what I perceive as my own reality. Whatever we do or don’t do will have consequences – most of them not so good in the long run. And a big part of the tragic plot consists of fighting these consequences – which we enjoy as a “good” story! - until they get overwhelming and result in death. It is just due to a different sense of time on the stage that there appears to be this absurd body count in act five. Everybody dies in the end.

Montag, 3. Januar 2022

Tragedy and comedy – two sides of the same coin?

  

As soon as I had my head freed of boring Christmas stuff, I couldn’t wait to test what I had recently established about history of literature. Not least because I knew it would get me into “Shakespeare” again. There are more than a few things I feel I should do first, like drawing the line between reading historical fiction and reading a historical fictional text. In my experience, much of what I do with them is identical but there is also a fundamental difference. Not to speak of the big issue of what I think history really is, as I don’t feel comfortable with the concept of history I have grown up with. From the beginning, I knew I should look into history “ontologically”, which I also knew would be too much of an effort. But at the moment I limit myself to historical texts anyway and seem to have resolved the big issue temporarily in two steps.

The first is to use a simple concept of history that is basically empty. As I have learned from my past efforts, I think of history as WRITING about what people think or know has passed or was valid at a time we know nothing about anymore from first-hand experience – which, judging from my memories of just one or two decades ago, is an unbelievably short time. We really don’t have to die for our memories to become extinct. Writing history, from this point of view, is our way of conjuring up the belief in a different reality which we can still access. This makes the difference between history and fiction appear very small, but I have tried to establish that there is a fundamental difference concerning the status of this reality. Writing history – at least the kind that anybody outside historical faculties cares about – must needs be story-telling, but the stories have to be told in a way to match the facts, like dates, time-lines, respectively can only contain people, institutions, material conditions and so on that have actually existed at such and such a time. Story-telling is necessary but subordinate whereas the fictional realm is not ruled by strict observation of historic truth but by conventions and requirements of story-telling (and other fictional activities like dramatic interaction or aesthetic playing). IF writers commit to some kind of historic or contemporary reality, it comes second and gets “bend” according to these rules.

Getting back into “Shakespeare” with these thoughts at the back of my mind, I tested my belief that there are indeed comedies, tragedies AND histories in Shakespeare – not just because somebody cooked up this classification at some point, but because there are reasons for certain content to be most successfully expressed in either dramatic form. It is not quite the same kind of category, as comedy and tragedy are mutually exclusive – I’ll come to this! – whereas histories, in my experience, can be tragedies, comedies, or neither. I will not go into this in this post, but I hit on the reason for it in my last paragraph. History as subject for fiction will necessarily fall under the rule of literary conventions of story-telling. On the other hand, the closer fiction gets to history by taking up historical events and characters as its subject, the more informed the fictional story-telling or dramatic performance becomes by them, and the fictional rules get weakened. Comedy and tragedy are genuine FICTIONAL forms of story-telling whereas history kind of imposes itself on what is already there and transforms it.

There is another fascinating aspect about these fictional rules that I have come upon a few times recently. I have learned to treat rule breaking in fiction as significant, often in the name of truth seeking, but this also affirms the constitutive character of these rules. Literary rules and conventions arise under certain socio-historic circumstances in order to make fictional texts perfect for attaining their fundamental goals of entertainment, communication with the otherworld, education, representation, social sanctioning, the desire for aesthetic playing and so on. They result in certain preferred literary forms of story-telling, which will be copied and become traditional and thereby have an impact on the content that will get expressed. Consequently, they determine and LIMIT our representation of reality(, insofar this reality gets addressed solely, predominantly, or particularly successfully in fiction.) Until recently, I have mostly overlooked this aspect of “inbuilt” censure which might be much bigger than direct and indirect censure by institutions has ever been. Growing up with these traditions, and getting used to them, we don’t even notice this, as it appears natural to us. Even though writing history will always be subjective and therefore partially reality-blind as well, it has not this fundamental flaw of being ruled by conventions of entertainment and successful story-telling. At its best, it is ruled by the desire to identify blind spots and question established truths. Fiction is FUNDAMENTALLY reality-blind for said reasons – except where it gets subjected to history or contemporary social and political issues. It is not blind to the truth, though, if one allows that these two are not the same, as I obviously do. In my experience, there can be found as much – or more! – truth in fantasy as in naturalistic fiction when it helps me to understand myself or others better.

The second step in resolving the problem of my ignorance and scepticism about history is to do what I am always doing. GETTING BACK TO THE TEXT. This time it was “Measure for Measure” – which I must have read and watched some time last year because it always came up in my conversations with Claudia, and I didn’t really know it. But I had almost no memories about reading or seeing it … With a threateningly empty and grey weekend in front of me, I applied myself to re-reading the play almost sentence by sentence – at least until the beginning of act 3, where the penny dropped! -  actually taking notes of what I found interesting, what I thought I understood, or, more importantly, didn’t understand … And, being so much involved with history and looking for historic reasons for texts turning out the way they did, I was reading with a different focus.

I just had this interesting conversation with my sister who came upon “Abaelard and Heloise” doing research for her writing project. She said that some things Heloise wrote might have been written by a contemporary feminist, and I readily believed her because I had this experience time and again. If I focus on my own experience, as I usually do, a lot of what I read of historic text surprises me exactly for this reason. How CLOSE people actually were to what we are now. And I think we are right to feel this kinship most of the time. It is one of the reasons I think that the conception of history I grew up with is fundamentally flawed. The focus of history always being on linear change and what prompted it, we tend to overlook SIMULTANEOUSNESS – which is a much bigger part of how we experience reality but much more difficult to explain as it doesn’t appear to require an explanation. We have no evidence that it was NOT possible for people at any such time to fall in love as we do, to struggle with the same issues as we do (insofar they already existed) and so on – it was just not possible for them to EXPRESS these things for diverse reasons, one of them being rules and conventions that determine who can utter which content with what degree of public impact. Therefore the biggest part of history might remain forever untold, and the area we lighten up with our historic torches too small for the picture to be representative. One of the most shocking and ironic moments of “It’s a Sin” was about this middle-aged homosexual couple which, of course, doesn’t exist because nobody acknowledges their existence. On the other hand, they have been there for decades, living together in their apartment, with everybody they know being aware of their relationship. The shock and irony relating to how much of our reality might be non-existent in this way. Depending on our perspective, up to a hundred percent!

On the other hand, I am convinced that what Heloise was feeling and thinking is also different of what women are feeling and thinking today, so different that I am unable to understand the difference, but I have also always been interested in it. Most of the time, the difference resides in what we DON’T read. There is a completely different CONTEXT to what appears to be the same predicament, the same thoughts and feeling. There are always these moments that appear to us most significant because we recognise them, like in “Measure for Measure” when Angelo says to Isabella who threatens to publicly accuse him of his sexual blackmailing: “Who will believe you?” There we are, right back in 2017 where “Me Too” kicked off. It is the moment that will make sparks on a stage – and probably did on the Globe’s stage at the time. But, as I realized looking closely at the play, it is just sparks in the middle of an immeasurable historical darkness.

So, in the first place, the change of focus made me turn up a lot more of what I DON’T understand.

This task was actually made easier – or less frustrating – by the fact that it is a COMEDY, and I am aware that I don’t understand these anyway. Tragedies are usually easily accessible to me. - Yet … is it really? I mean: Is it really a COMEDY? Notions of “tragicomedy” and “problem play” popped up, and I had the first bit of real fun when I dismissed them vigorously and ironically. I KNOW that this is a comedy! How do I know it? From past experience I am aware that it has very little to do with how funny a play is. There are funny characters in comedies as well as in tragedies, and the funniest Shakespeare I have ever seen was the Globe’s recent “Titus Andronicus” -  and “Richard III” with Ralph Fiennes … No, I know that this is a comedy because NOBODY – not even the most incurable villain – IS ALLOWED TO DIE. Instead, in the end as much of them as are eligible get MARRIED – preferably against their own will! 

At this moment I understood that I had finally figured out the most important thing about tragedy and comedy – “classic” comedy and tragedy that is, as in post-medieval and pre-modern. At least I was on the right track to resolving the problem I had always had with these concepts. I had already come to terms with the notion that comedies, in “Shakespeare”, don’t have to be funny. For one thing because I know that they must have been much more so for Elizabethans because humour is dependant on the actual moment and particularly context-sensitive, and therefore, compared to tragic content, short-lived. Shakespeare’s comedies usually get much funnier “the moment” they get on a stage but must have been hilarious on an Elizabethan stage, probably even more so during the season they were first performed because of references to recent events we couldn’t even detect. But this humour is not LIMITED to comedy. It is not just possible to play “Richard III” or “Titus Andronicus” with black humour, it’s the way of making the most of these plays. On the other hand, in my experience comedy gets really good the moment I STOP laughing. In fact, I have always used a much better intrinsic criterion to separate tragedy and comedy which are in fact MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE. It is the simple fact that comedies have to end well whereas tragedies have to end badly. This is the reason why “tragicomedy”, in my experience, is misapplied, at least in “Shakespeare”. If I want to, I can talk about tragicomedy for example when I relate to Chekhov, where these strict conventions don’t apply anymore. His plays have tragic endings without anybody dying.

“Measure for measure” is a stellar example for how strong this rule actually was at the time because, as it is a comedy, nobody CAN die or be executed, even if they deserve it, because the audience wouldn’t go with it. And great tragedies like “Hamlet” or “King Lear” tend to finish off everybody of consequence – (sometimes even people of no consequence at all! As is constantly overlooked, the poor fool gets hanged, which was probably the only bit of classic tragedy that ever moved me). The desired outcome of tragedies is as many deaths as possible, the desired outcome of comedies as many marriages as possible. This tendency to hyperbole usually prompts me to take neither tragic nor comic endings seriously, but I kind of accept tragedy as “logical” whereas I constantly question comedy endings as blatantly absurd.  Reading “Measure for Measure”, I got a step further “behind” the absurdity of so many ill-advised or forced marriages, realizing that, if somebody insists in this way, they MUST mean something by it. Marriage, however absurd, seems like the answer for EVERYTHING. This might appear absurd in a historic environment where one out of three marriages fails and the others mostly survive because people learn either to ignore each other or to cope with severe disappointment, social stress and violence, but … 

It was this moment I realized that I had already DONE a lot of historic reading. I already had understood that, for Elizabethans, marriage had a completely different - kind of “second-level” - meaning above the obvious of social and financial benefit, sex, and breeding. And I had even kind of anticipated what it was, finally establishing the link between tragedy and comedy. I compressed it into a thought that would still need a lot of editing but which pointed my historic reading of the play in the right direction:

Death and marriage, tragedy and comedy, IN TERMS OF RESTORING THE FAILING ORDER OF THINGS, are just two sides of the same coin.