To close out our “Shakespeare by The Stream” summer season, Stream contributor and amateur thespian Timothy Furnish sails into The Tempest.

In the field of eschatology, there’s an approach called “newspaper exegesis.” This means scouring current news stories to back up your preferred End Times scenario. And inserting them into Revelation. A similar phenomenon has taken root in Shakespeare studies. How does it work? First you must shoe-horn today’s politics into Shakespeare plays. Then pull those out and identify his characters with “relevant” modern politicians. Most frequently this is done by Bardologists of the Left. Either pro or amateur. So Nixon or Bush or Trump get pegged as Shakespeare villains. (See my 2600-word blogpost on topic.)

But turnabout is fair play. I’ve wielded Shakespeare to get in my political digs — although I do think I’m more even-handed than those on the other side. Evidence? My two most recent Shakespeare articles here, on Henry IV Part I and Julius Caesar. This approach can work for the Bard’s political plays, whichever partisan ax you wish to grind. But how about for some of his other ones?

Synopsis of The Tempest

Let’s examine a play that, on the surface, is apolitical. The Tempest. It’s one of the last Shakespeare wrote (c. 1610) and usually ranked among his top ten best (as here, here, and here). What’s it about? Prospero is a self-taught magician, and former Duke of Milan, living on an island. The only other inhabitants are his daughter (Miranda), a half-human slave (Caliban), and a fairy-spirit servant (Ariel). He causes a storm — the titular tempest — to founder a ship carrying several folks, including the brother who had usurped him (Antonio) as well as the King of Naples (Alonso). Prospero uses his powers, and Ariel, to try the shipwrecked individuals in various ways — including borderline torture of some who, rather comically, aimed to take over the island.

On a lighter note, Prospero encourages Miranda and Ferdinand, Alonso’s son, to fall in love. Of course, it wouldn’t be Shakespeare without a play-within-a-play, here taking the form of a masque. (An early modern stage entertainment with acting and music, aimed at flattering a patron — usually a ruler.) In the end Prospero, cajoled by Ariel, decides to forgive all those who wronged him, let everyone return home, give up his spells, and resume ruling Milan. As the Bard said elsewhere: all’s well that ends well.

Scholars Weigh in on Where It Belongs

What kind of play is this? It doesn’t really fit in the standard categories of history, comedy or tragedy. Gordon McMullan sees it as a “romantic tragicomedy” in his “Introduction” (The Tempest, Barnes and Noble, 2007). What’s its major point? A traditional interpretation has it simply showing how wondrous life is — arguing that all the “magic” can be reduced to nature manifesting in various ways (Bushnell, “Natural Supernaturalism in the Tempest,” Publication of the Modern Language Association, 47, 3 (Sep. 1932), pp. 684-98).

A more political reading sees the Bard frowning on attempted disruptions of the governing hierarchy — including Prospero himself, who unwisely gave up his dukedom without a fight (Bowling, “The Theme of Natural Order in ‘The Tempest’,” College English, 12, 4 (Jan. 1951), p. 203-09). A related analysis makes The Tempest an extended critique of the “noble savage” concept (especially as pushed by Montaigne). The reading here uses Caliban, and the other characters, to demonstrate that evil in society comes from within each man. Not from his (civilized) environment. (Ebner, “The Tempest: Rebellion and the Ideal State,” Shakespeare Quarterly, 16, 2 (Spring 1965), pp. 161-73).

Prospero: Hero, Villain—or Both?

The main character is, of course, Prospero. It’s become conventional wisdom that he’s Shakespeare’s stand-in: “the mage, seeing the achievement of his life’s work, [who] finally gives up his art, breaking his staff and drowning his book” (McMullan, p. 3). Also, for once in a Shakespeare play the main protagonist is a wise man, not a ruler, warrior or “soldier-lover” (according to Cantor, “Shakespeare’s The Tempest: The Wise Man as Hero,” SQ, 31, 1 (Spring 1980), pp. 64-75).  

But not so fast, say Leftists. Don’t forget how horribly Prospero treated Caliban, who must be understood as a symbol of the oppressed, dark-skinned peoples of the world. Prospero, then, not only represents, but actually was, a colonialist oppressor. Or perhaps, more charitably, he can be seen as both: a formerly malevolent authoritarian who softens into a benevolent sage. (Pierce, “Understanding ‘The Tempest’,” New Literary History, 30, 2 (Spring 1999), pp. 373-88). Since it’s not rooted in reality, historical or otherwise, this play is open to various interpretations.

Our Modern Prospero(s)

So does The Tempest have anything to say about America and the world in 2023 that’s not refracted through a Leftist lens? Yes. And this relates to the main character of the play. I submit that the modern Western technocratic elite sees itself, collectively (and sometimes individually), as Prospero. They deem themselves wizards able to shape the world, and humanity, as they see fit. Turning men into women. Artificial intelligence. Genetic engineering. The Great Socialist Reset. Even blocking the sun, per the cartoonish supervillainy of The Simpsons Mr. Burns. For only they can save humanity from itself.

Somehow I doubt our self-proclaimed overlords would abandon these goals, even if we had an Ariel to persuade them. Nor do I think they’ll ever break their staffs of power and drop their books in the ocean. Prospero did so because he was, ultimately, a good person. Many of our “leaders” are not.

If only we had some way to exile the lot of them to an island. And keep them there.

 

[The Tempest has been made into movies a number of times. Notably in 1991, as Prospero’s Books, starring Sir John Gielgud; and the 2010 version, with Helen Mirren as Prospero. The two most famous film versions are probably the science fiction ones: Forbidden Planet in 1956; and an episode of the original Star Trek, entitled “Requiem for Methuselah,” which aired in 1969.]

 

Timothy Furnish holds a Ph.D. in Islamic, World and African history from Ohio State University and a M.A. in Theology from Concordia Seminary. He is a former U.S. Army Arabic linguist and, later, civilian consultant to U.S. Special Operations Command. He’s the author of books on the Middle East and Middle-earth, a history professor and sometime media opiner (as, for example, on Fox News Channel’s War Stories: Fighting ISIS). He currently writes for and consults The Stream on International Security matters.