Harold Goddard made some very interesting remarks in regard to the Henry VI plays in his brief essay on the subject in his 1951 classic, The Meaning of Shakespeare. His central argument is that Henry VI, as a king, is not meant to be interpreted as a weak ruler (and therefore as a partial cause for the Wars of the Roses), but rather as one who embodies all of the attributes desired in a monarch (as listed by Malcolm in Macbeth): "justice, verity, temperance, stableness,/ Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness,/ Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude". The tragedy of the play is that the mindset of the people of the time would not allow such a king to rule, and these attributes, which are personified in him, are swept aside by the forces of ambition, greed, thirst for power, etc. And it's Goddard's feeling (and mine, too) that questions of this nature, which were initially raised by these plays, established Shakespeare's mission for him. In fact, it may have been put another way (albeit in a different context) in sonnet 65: "How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea/ Whose action is no stronger than a flower?"

The very early history plays known as the three parts of Henry VI are the subject of my next lecture at the Atwater library (Tuesday, March 1 at 11 am or Wednesday, March 2 at 7 pm), and they have been unfortunately overlooked for the better part of 400 years. In fact, it was only in the 1960's that they began to be performed again, albeit sporadically. There were a number of reasons for this, including the undeniable fact that they compare poorly to the Henriad (i.e. Richard II, the two parts of Henry IV and Henry V), but in comparison with these, what plays don't? Compared to the work of any other playwright, in other words, these plays stand up very well. Also, we have to keep in mind that these works were necessary to Shakespeare's development. Through them he learned more about his dual crafts of drama and poetry, while sharpening his philosophical and psychological insights, and, in my opinion, coming to a realization about the use to which he was going to put his incomparable talents. My contention here is that because the content of these plays is so relentlessly dark, treacherous and violent, they created a need for him to try to understand human motivations and to help his audience do so as well. If Harold Goddard is right in saying that the over-arching theme of Shakespeare's work is the futility and evil of war, then it was with these plays that it became apparent to him.

The attitude that Shakespeare had toward collaborators, sources, actors and other writers seems best described as one of appreciation. It's clear that he recognized that what he was engaged in was part of a larger framework, both as a playwright working in Elizabethan/Jacobean London, and as a literary artist "for all time", to use Jonson's famous words, and that to be successful (as he was) would require working with and learning from other people. His level-headed attitude toward himself is also a model to learn from. A series of accomplishments of the magnitude that we're considering here doesn't happen without a disciplined and philosophically advanced self-image. In fact, it's interesting to think of him, on a personal level, in contrast with some of his most famous characters, Lear or Hamlet for example, who have trouble seeing themselves accurately. Harold Goddard concludes his very interesting essay in The Meaning of Shakespeare (1951) by calling Shakespeare "an unfallen Hamlet", after having explained that the prince, the character most approaching the capacity of Shakespeare, having to choose between force and art, fatally selects the former. It's purely conjecture, but it must be said that it's difficult to imagine Shakespeare ever having done the same.

One of my favourite moments, of many, in Harold Goddard's classic The Meaning of Shakespeare (1951) is in the essay on Romeo and Juliet, in which he gives his theory of the turning point of the action. One of the most marvelous aspects of the book is that it is filled with descriptions like this one, where the outcome of events is held in the balance and determined by a fateful decision. And the importance of these decisions is not immediately apparent, but Goddard is very persuasive in virtually every case, and at the very least we're left with an increased appreciation of Shakespeare's mastery of plotting and suspense. I'm going to employ a little suspense myself in this case, and reveal the full theory tomorrow. But in the meantime, here's a hint: the irrevocable decision is Romeo's.

After having quoted from Emerson's poem, "Give All to Love" (http://www.emersoncentral.com/poems/give_all_to_love.htm), Goddard writes the following: "The play is usually explained as a tragedy of the excess of love. On the contrary, it is the tragedy of the deficiency of it. Romeo did not 'follow it utterly', did not quite give 'all' to love." Tomorrow, I'll explain what he's referring to.

The better that we know a Shakespeare play, the more interesting it becomes. As we become aware of how much it contains, and how deeply each part is related to the whole, our experience of learning from it and interacting with it becomes deeper. Also, knowledge of the play allows us to appreciate the scholarship, criticism and commentary related to it, which can lead to new ways of considering history, art, philosophy, political science, and the human condition.

In spending time with Othello recently, and writings related to it, I found that there was much more in the play than I had realized. Today, I'll mention just one area of revelation: the way that seemingly innocuous scenes contain thematic information vital to understanding the play. For example, the exchange between a clown and the musicians at the beginning of act three, where he asks them to play only if they "have any music that may not be heard" (in other words to stop), is usually considered to be little more than momentary comic relief, but as Harold Goddard points out in his essay on the play in his excellent The Meaning of Shakespeare (1951), it actually foreshadows a great deal more: the "sudden interruption in the music of Othello's love which is to be the subject of the act." This made me consider the nature of music itself, in that it can only be appreciated in certain states of mind, and that our attitude towards it and other subtle beauty in life is the result of our thought. It also reminded me that no part of a Shakespeare play should be overlooked.

Harold Goddard's The Meaning of Shakespeare (1951) contains many highly original insights. The one I'm concerned with today is his contention that the turning point in Hamlet actually occurs during the play-within-the-play scene. At this point, Hamlet has not yet killed anyone (whereas by the end of the play, he's directly responsible for five deaths, and not quite as directly, for two others - three if you include his own), so theoretically the story could still end happily. Goddard states that the key moment is when Hamlet decides to not simply let the play do its work, but rather to intercede with a running commentary (maybe Shakespeare was taking a jab at critics). The actor playing Lucianus is about to act (or reenact) the murder, by pouring poison in the ear of the king, when Hamlet makes his fateful interjection:

LUCIANUS

Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing;

Confederate season, else no creature seeing;

Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected,

With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected,

Thy natural magic and dire property,

On wholesome life usurp immediately.

(Pours the poison into the sleeper's ears)

HAMLET

He poisons him i' the garden for's estate. His

name's Gonzago: the story is extant, and writ in

choice Italian: you shall see anon how the murderer

gets the love of Gonzago's wife.

OPHELIA

The king rises.

Goddard's position is that the court would not see the king rising as an admission of guilt, but rather that the prince's lunacy had reached an intolerable point, thus occasioning the king's departure. And that, left alone, the play would have perhaps had the effect of working his conscience toward confession, maybe even abdication. We'll never know. Goddard brilliantly sums up the two warring states in Hamlet at this point by invoking Blake's phrase, "Art Against Empire". Of course, this theme is dealt with throughout the sonnets, as well; see 65 for a particularly pertinent example.