Tom Stoppard’s “Travesties.”  Why revolutions inevitably fail.  Making a mockery of Lenin, Joyce and Tzara.

 Tom Stoppard’s Travesties.

Why revolutions inevitably fail.

Making a mockery of Lenin, Joyce and Tzara.

Burton Weltman

“You say you want a revolution.”

The Beatles

Some travesties from Travesties.

Vladmir Lenin on Communism: “We shall establish a free press,” that is, one that promotes only Bolshevik propaganda.  And he dons a blonde wig as he hopes to sneak into Russia disguised as a Swedish deaf mute.[1]

James Joyce on modern art: “An artist is a magician” who conjures reality from his imagination. And he pulls a rabbit out of a hat.[2]

Tristan Tzara on Dadaist counter-culturalism: “To a Dadaist, history comes out of a hat.”  And he pulls random words from a hat to make what he calls poetry.[3]

Henry Carr on revolution: “According to Marx, the dialectic of history will get you to much the same place with or without Lenin.”  Revolution is irrelevant.  And he tells Lenin “You’re nothing. You’re an artist.”[4]

History as Travesty.

What if truth is travesty?  A travesty is defined as a distorted representation or absurd imitation of something.  It is not, however, necessarily a complete falsehood or fraud.  There may be some truth and some value wrapped up in the silliness.  Good sense may lie in the midst of nonsense. 

Tom Stoppard’s play Travesties[5] is a travesty of a travesty of a travesty.  Published in 1974, Travesties is a fictional take on the factual coincidence of Vladmir Lenin, James Joyce and Tristan Tzara – erstwhile revolutionaries in politics, literature, and counterculture, respectively – having all resided in Zurich, Switzerland in early 1917, along with a minor British diplomat named Henry Carr.  It was a chance confluence of the three iconoclasts that is seen in the play through the unreliable eyes of a fictional version of Carr.

In real life during 1917, Lenin, Joyce and Tzara were busy making revolutionary breakthroughs in their respective fields.  Lenin was finishing the publication of his book on Imperialism, and he was belatedly taking off for Russia to try to take control of a political revolution that he had not thought possible.  Joyce was working on Ulysses, an esoteric stream of consciousness novel of a revolutionary kind.  And Tzara was promoting an anti-art performance art and a revolutionary nihilism.  Lenin, Joyce and Tzara were also leading figures in erstwhile revolutionary movements – Communism, modernism, and dadaism, respectively – and each took his revolutionary work very seriously.  The play makes a travesty of their work.

Travesties is itself a travesty of a play.  It presents what are ostensibly the memories of Carr who as an old man, seemingly around 1974 when the play was written, is recalling his time in Zurich during 1917.  Carr as he is portrayed in the play bears no resemblance to the real Carr.  The real Carr was a dignified gentleman.  In the play, the young Carr behaves bizarrely, and the aged Carr is senile and filled with delusions of grandiosity.  He is a travesty of Carr.

Carr’s memories in the play are, in turn, befuddled and distorted.  He makes ridiculous claims of having influenced Lenin, Joyce and Tzara in their revolutionary work.  His self-importance rivals that of the three revolutionaries, who themselves pompously fret and strut through the play.  Carr’s memories are also wildly inconsistent.  He will, for example, sometimes remember Lenin as a reasonable, highly cultured person and other times claim Lenin was an ignorant, ideologically rigid boor. The memories make for a travesty of a memoir.

Carr’s memories are also garbled – effectively a stream of consciousness – so that the play randomly jumps around in time and subject matter.  One minute, for example, people will be discussing politics, and the next minute, without any transition, they will be kissing each other.  It makes for a travesty of a drama.  Finally, the words and actions of Lenin, Joyce and Tzara that Carr claims to remember are distorted images of things they actually said and did.  Sometimes they make sense, other times are mere gibberish.  His memories are a travesty of history. 

In sum, Stoppard has made a travesty of a play which presents a travesty of an old man’s memories which make a travesty of actual history.  The whole thing is very clever and very funny.  There are also, I think, some serious messages implicit in the comic chaos, especially pertaining to the illusory nature of revolutions and the illusions of revolutionaries.  Stoppard has, I think, made a travesty of Lenin, Joyce and Tzara because he thinks the three would-be revolutionaries and their works were themselves travesties.  Using stream of silly consciousness techniques that parody Joyce, making a farce of everything as Tzara does, and mocking Lenin’s political theories, the play implies that revolutions inevitably fail and invariably become travesties of themselves.  That is a heavy load of meaning for a light-hearted play, but I think it is so.  The purpose of this essay is to explain that conclusion. 

The Plot: Not a lot.

There is very little plot to Travesties.  The fictionalized Carr is the central character.  Given that the play is made up of his memories, everyone and everything revolves around him.  The play is essentially a running debate of Carr with Lenin, Joyce and Tzara, with several minor characters occasionally chiming in.  The debate is unfocused and consists of seemingly random streams of serious arguments alternating with silly nonsense.  Characters sometimes espouse well-reasoned and well-articulated positions, but oftentimes lapse into non sequitur arguments and gibberish.

The opening scene exemplifies the nonsense that permeates the play.  It is like a scene from a Marx Brothers movie.  Lenin, Joyce and Tzara are writing in the Zurich library.  Lenin is writing quietly.  Joyce is dictating to a secretary with her repeating his words, seemingly in order to get them right.  “Deshil holles eamus,” he says and she repeats it. “Thrice,” he orders her to write it.  Then he says “Send us bright one, light one, Horhorn quickening and wombfruit,” and she repeats it.  “Thrice,” he again orders.  “Hoopsa, boyaboy, hoopsa,” he says and she repeats it.

Meanwhile, Tzara is randomly pulling words from a hat and reciting as poetry what he has made that way.  “Clara avuncular! Whispers ill oomparah! Eel nus dairy day Appletzara…Hat!,” he intones.  To the play’s audience, Tzara’s random words seem the same as Joyce’s chosen words.

Lenin’s wife suddenly barges in proclaiming in Russian that a revolution has begun in Russia.  They converse at length in Russian, which, like the recitations of Joyce and Tzara, makes no sense to the audience.   Joyce, meanwhile, begins to recite nonsense phrases that are written on pieces of paper that he randomly pulls from his pocket.  “Morose delectation…Acquinas turnbelly…Frateporcospino,” Joyce recites.  What he is doing looks and sounds exactly like what Tzara had been doing.    

Joyce then picks up a piece of paper that he thinks is his and recites “Lickspittle – capitalist – lackeys – of imperialism.”  This seems to be not unlike the nonsense Joyce has previously been reciting.  It is, however, Lenin’s paper and when Lenin recognizes the words as his, he reclaims the paper from Joyce.[6]  And so it goes.  All three of them are babbling gibberish that each of them thinks is of earthshattering importance.

Sense is, however, often mixed with nonsense in the play.  In the running arguments that constitute the gist of the play, Lenin presents a Marxist political analysis that is sometimes cogent, other times mere dogma.  Joyce displays a literary pedantry that is sometimes fresh, other times lugubrious gobbledygook.   Tzara performs anti-art antics that are sometimes clever, other times mere juvenility.  Each of them comes up against Carr’s conventional views of politics, literature and art.  It makes for a head-turning intellectual round robin. 

Compounding the intellectual tumult, each of the four main characters sporadically espouses one of the others’ positions instead of his own.  Carr speaking like Lenin, Tzara speaking like Joyce, and so forth.  The dialogue in the play also alternates among the rhetorical styles of the four main characters.  Sometimes they all speak in Lenin’s stentorian voice, and at other times in Joyce’s stream of obscure references, Tzara’s cascade of nonsense, or Carr’s bland incomprehension. 

Adding further to the confusion, the play periodically goes through a “time slip” in which the action goes back to a previous point in the play and the characters begin their discussions again, but often taking stances different than the ones they had taken the first time around.  

Compounding the fictional chaos, Travesties incorporates an actual absurd event that resonates through the play.  An amateur performance of Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Ernest was produced in Zurich around this time.  It was produced by Joyce, and Carr played a leading role in it.  The performance apparently came off well, but Carr subsequently sued Joyce for the cost of some pants that were ruined during the performance, and Joyce countersued Carr over a small sum of money for unsold tickets to the play that Joyce thought he was owed by Carr.  Absurd, but actual fact.  Actual fact that supports the absurdity of the fiction.

Finally, as another addition to the unreality in Travesties, the play mimics and mocks The Importance of Being Ernest.  Like Wilde’s play, Stoppard’s is full of impersonations, double-identities, misunderstandings, and misdirection.  More significantly, the characters in Travesties sometimes take up the names and play the roles of characters in The Importance of Being Ernest as though the Wilde play is reality and 1917 Zurich is imaginary.  It is absurd, but that seems to be the point.  Reality is absurd, but not necessarily meaningless.

Some Historical Context: What is to be done and undone?

Travesties is a historical play and a play on history.  Lenin, Joyce and Tzara were leading representatives of important movements – Communism, cultural modernism, and counter-cultural dadaism, respectively – that were burgeoning in 1917.  The three men and their movements subsequently had profound effects on twentieth-century history, effects that resonate today. The co-residence in Zurich of these three erstwhile revolutionaries is a remarkable historical coincidence.  Stoppard has, I think, taken advantage of that coincidence to comment on the nature of the revolutionary work being undertaken in 1917 by Lenin, Joyce and Tzara, the nature of the revolutionary movements they represented, and the nature of revolution itself.

I think, in turn, that understanding the play requires some sense of the history of Communism, modernism and counter-culturalism, particularly from the viewpoint of 1917 when the play takes place and the viewpoint of 1974 when the play was written and when Carr is supposedly remembering the events of 1917.  The contrast between the two viewpoints is significant.  From the vantage point of 1917, one could think that things looked bad in the present but hopeful for the future.  The revolutionary work being done by the likes of Lenin, Joyce and Tzara, and the movements they represented, could seem promising.  But from the vantage point of 1974, one could conclude that the work of each of them and their movements had failed.   

I think that Stoppard’s portrayal of the three revolutionaries reflects the historical failure of their movements at the time he wrote Travesties.  As Lenin, Joyce and Tzara are portrayed in the play, Communism, modernism and counter-culturalism began as travesties that seemingly prefigured their degraded ends.  What follows is my sense of the history of those movements that I think provides context for the meaning and messaging of the play.

Communism.  From the vantage point of early 1917, Communism seemed to be a pipe dream and the idea of a Communist revolution in Russia seemed absurd.  Even Lenin said so. 

But World War I had changed many things.  It was a war that wasn’t supposed to happen.  For one hundred years since the defeat of Napolean in 1815, there had been localized wars and revolutionary uprisings, but no major wars or major revolutions in Europe.  The nineteenth and early twentieth centuries were widely celebrated, at least by the ruling classes, as an era of pragmatic and relatively peaceful evolutionary progress.  The gradual democratizing of most governments, the growing wealth of capitalist countries, and the burgeoning economic ties among countries, all seemed to mitigate any major war or revolution.   

World War I smashed that reformist dream and opened the door to revolutionary movements of both the Left in the form of Communism and the Right in the form of fascism and Nazism.  On all sides, the so-called Whig theory of history as a process of gradual and inevitable progress was rejected, and cataclysmic theories of the rise and fall of societies took hold.  And the revolutionary trend of the times was now widely seen as part of a historical cycle of alternating reform and revolution that went back at least to the ancient Greeks. 

From the viewpoint of 1917, Lenin’s life could be seen as an ideal preparation for the revolutionary moment of that year.  He was the progeny of a revolutionary family, and his brother had been executed for trying to assassinate the Tzar.  Lenin had, in turn, written in 1902 a handbook on revolution aptly called What is to Be Done?.  His book was one of the first to take socialist theory and create something of a blueprint for revolutionary practice. 

In What is to Be Done?. Lenin explained his opposition to the large-scale mass socialist political parties and the evolutionary socialist theories and practices that had prevailed to that time within the socialist movement in Russia and most other countries.  His book called for a small disciplined elite cadre of revolutionists to control the Communist movement, and ultimately to lead a putschist takeover of the government in the name of the masses.      

Lenin’s militant views precipitated a split within the Russian Socialist Party between those promoting militant revolution and those favoring gradual evolution.  This split came to a head at the party’s convention in 1903.  A majority of the members at the convention supported the gradualist position but the militants were persistent.  Debate went on all day and far into the night, intentionally prolonged by Lenin’s followers.  Eventually, adherents of the moderate position got tired and started leaving.   At that point, Lenin’s followers called for a vote and they had a majority of the remaining delegates on their side.  Their views were adopted. 

Following the vote at this convention, Lenin’s elitist militants began calling themselves Bolsheviks, which means majority in Russian.  They, in turn, called the more popular moderates by the dismissive term Mensheviks, which means minority.  And even though the moderates were at all times a majority of the Russian socialists, the names stuck and the moderates had to accept being called Mensheviks.  It was a farcical but ominous turn of events.

Despite his militant views, Lenin thought that Russia was not ripe for a Communist revolution in the early twentieth century.  Russia was still a dictatorial monarchy with a predominantly peasant economy and only a small industrial capitalist sector.  Marx had said that a country was not ripe for Communism until it was highly industrialized with a large well-organized mass of urban industrial workers.  So, Lenin thought, the revolution would have to await this development.

In early 1917, Lenin confirmed this position with the publication of his book Imperialism: The Highest Stage of Capitalism which foretold a long period of international capitalist development.  Lenin even told a group of his supporters at this time that he would not live to see a revolution in Russia, and that they would have to carry on his work after him. 

These were famous last words, as they say.  Some four weeks after making this prediction, revolution broke out in Russia and Lenin rushed home hoping to take control of events.  Ironically, just as Lenin was successfully engineering a communist revolution in Russia, his book denying the possibility of what he was doing was being published.  It is this farcical turn of events that Travesties portrays, and that is reflected in the history of Russian Communism as seen from the vantage point of 1974

From the vantage point of 1974, Communism in Russia and elsewhere had degenerated from utopian hopes of a freely cooperative society – a society in which, Karl Marx had claimed, “the self-development of each will be the basis for the development of all” – into an oppressively bureaucratic reality in which individuals were treated as mere cogs in a social machine.

Russian Communism had gone through several stages.  There had been the relatively liberal stage of the New Economic Policy during the early to mid-1920’s.  In this period, small farms and businesses continued to be privately owned and operated as in the past, and only large industry and finance were nationalized.  Modern ideas of education and modernist culture flourished fairly freely. 

This stage was followed by the harshly repressive Stalinist period beginning in the late 1920’s.  Stalin nationalized virtually all of the country’s farms and businesses, centralized almost all economic and social activities, and repressed cultural freedom.  Following Stalin’s death in 1954, Russia seemed to be moving backward toward its old regime.  It had seemingly revolved from an oppressive dictatorial and stodgily bureaucratic Tzarist regime in 1917 to an oppressive dictatorial and stodgily bureaucratic Communist regime in 1974.  Leonid Brezhnev ruled in place of Tzar Nicholas, but the more things had changed, the more many of them seemed the same.     

From the vantage point of early 2022, as I am writing this essay, Communism has almost everywhere either been overthrown in favor of a degenerate capitalism as in Russia, or morphed into a cut-throat capitalism as in China.  And virtually all of the formerly Communist countries have authoritarian political regimes.  Russia seems politically to have almost completed a historical circle back to where it was in 1917.  With the end of Communism in 1990, a fledgling democracy seemed to be emerging, but this has turned into a virtual kleptocracy and fledgling autocracy.  Russian President Vladmir Putin is acting essentially like a Tzar and openly calling for the restoration of the Tzarist Russian empire. Almost a full political circle from 1917 to 2022.     

Modernism.  Modernism is a broad term that can be used to encompass many different cultural theories and practices, almost too many to be meaningful.  There are, however, some common tendencies which one can see in cultural works that are deemed modernist and which validate the use of the term.  These include an emphasis on subjectivity and individual introspection, a psychological approach to events and phenomenological approach to experience, and a desire to deal with uncommon things and create unconventional works.  “Make it new” Ezra Pound had proclaimed, and the goal of modernists has generally been to promote a permanent revolution of perpetual novelty. 

Modernism in literature and art developed in the late nineteenth century and around the turn of the twentieth century as a rejection of mid to late nineteenth century Realism.  Realists sought to be objective and to take a social and sociological view of things.  They focused on common and concrete realities and emphasized a scientific approach to the world.  Whereas novelty was the goal of modernists, the ordinary was the specialty of realists.  This conflict between Realists and Modernists was part of a recuring cycle of cultural conflict between realism and rationality, on the one hand, and imagination and emotion, on the other, going back to the Ancient Greeks.    

Realism had itself developed as a rejection of early nineteenth century Romanticism that had emphasized subjectivity and emotionality.  Realists deemed the Romantics to be shallow sentimentalists who smeared a soppy gloss on the hard realities of the world and, thereby, disguised the truth of things.  Romanticism had, in turn, begun as a rejection of the eighteenth-century Enlightenment, with its emphasis on rationality and empiricism, an approach that the Romantics deemed to be cold and lifeless.  And so on…

From the vantage point of 1917, James Joyce was an arch type of the modernist.  And I think you can see the evolution of modernism in the succession of his most famous works.  Joyce went from the accessible A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, published in 1916, to the semi-accessible Ulyssus, published in 1922, to the completely inaccessible Finnegan’s Wake, published in 1939.  Joyce’s evolution, or devolution, was similar to that of his predecessor Henry James.  James was a pioneer of modernism whose career started with comprehensible social novels but ended with incomprehensible internal monologues.  Joyce, like James and much of the modernist movement, went so far in the direction of subjectivism as to become nearly solipsistic.  In so doing, serious modernist works became inaccessible and alien to most people. 

From the vantage point of 1974, modernism had seemingly developed in two contradictory ways.  In its high art forms, it had become increasingly abstruse and inaccessible.  In its low art forms, it had largely become frivolous, been coopted by consumerism, and devolved into faddism. 

In more pretentious forms of consumerism, modernism posed as “camp” art, exemplified by the works of Andy Warhol and his paintings of Campbell’s soup cans.  In less grandiose forms, modernism became a gimmick to sell consumer goods.  Always seeking new things to sell to a gullible public, manufacturers continually changed the styles of their consumer goods so as to encourage people to throw out their old things and buy new ones, even though the old ones might still be perfectly useable. 

Clothes manufacturers would, for example, change the size of the lapel on shirts and jackets, just slightly, but just enough so that people would feel uncomfortable and out of-place wearing their old clothes.  The idea of cultural revolution became an advertising ploy.  In the early 1970’s, all sorts of consumer products, from autos to underwear, were being advertised as “revolutionary,” although only the hyperbole was exceptional.  It was a travesty of a cultural revolution.

From our vantage point today in 2022, modernism has largely been superseded among the cultural elite in the United States by so-called postmodernism.  Postmodernists widely promote a complete relativism in culture, ethics and politics.  They hold that everything is subjective, and that there are no standards or common frames of reference among people, only individual tastes and individual views.  It is a philosophy that is essentially rooted in solipsism, in everyone for and by oneself.  With their off-putting rhetoric and anything-goes philosophy, postmodernists have alienated themselves from the general public.

Postmodernism has also provoked an archconservative cultural backlash that postmodernists have difficulty in resisting, since they don’t believe in cultural standards that would enable them to reject the archconservatives for violating those standards, and since they believe that any opinion is justified no matter how ignorant and off-base it is.  In this context, the gibberish of the characters in Travesties seems prophetic.   

Counter-culturalism.  Counter-culturalism has been a significant aspect of Western society going back to the Ancient Greeks.  Cycles of conformity and radical nonconformity have recurred throughout Western history.  Adherence to honesty and abhorrence of hypocrisy have generally been the central tenets of counter-culturalists.  In Travesties, for example, Tzara insists that the only worthwhile question about anything is “Is it a true thing.”[7]  Naked reality, stripped of all obfuscations, was the goal.

Among the first counter-culturalists was the Ancient Greek Diogenes the Cynic, who is sometimes called the first hippie.  Diogenes was a street performer who acted up and acted out his rejection of social norms.  A nihilist who rejected all conventionalities as false and fraudulent, Diogenes lived in the streets and supposedly slept in a barrel.  He wandered around, often naked, with the ostensible aim of finding an honest man and never finding one. 

Tradition has it that Alexander the Great greatly admired Diogenes and coming upon Diogenes in the streets one day promised that whatever Diogenes wished for most in the world, Alexander would give him.  Diogenes supposedly replied that he wished Alexander would move aside and stop blocking the sunlight. 

Historically, counter-culturalism has been more of an ethical than an artsy movement.  Counter-culturalists eschewed art and literature as it was practiced in conventional ways and measured by conventional standards.  They made, instead, so-called anti-art art and unliterary literature.  Valuing honesty above all else, they insisted on returning to a supposedly more natural way of life.  It was a tradition that was carried on by the so-called Bohemians in the nineteenth century and advanced by Tzara and his fellow Dadaists in the early twentieth century.

From the vantage point of 1917, Tzara’s Dadaism was a reaction against World War I.  Dadaists denounced the fraudulence of conventional prewar beliefs that war had become impossible, and the fraudulent prowar propaganda that promoted World War I as a war to end all wars.  Dadaists excoriated these beliefs as nonsense that could be combatted only with more nonsense.  They claimed that nihilism – a rejection of all conventionalities and a cult of nonsense – were the only ways to shed hypocrisy, promote honesty, and achieve a natural life.

Dada was performance art, mainly spontaneous and aimed at upsetting the audience.  Epater le bourgeoisie – sticking it to the middle class – was the aim.  Melees often disrupted and ended Dadaist performances.  Travesty was their method and their goal.  

From the vantage point of 1974, Tzara’s career could be seen as an example of why counter-cultural revolutions fail to achieve their goals.  Tzara went from one counter-cultural style to another but eventually ended up joining with Communists to oppose the rise of fascism and Nazism in Europe.  Originally an anti-war activist, he went to Spain in the mid-1930’s to help the Republicans fight against Franco and the Spanish fascists.  Tzara later joined the French Resistance during World War II to fight against the Nazis.  It was an ironic turn of events for a pacifist and anarchist.  But it was arguably a principled response to the unsustainability of nihilism as a humanistic theory and practice in the face of radical evil.  Tzara’s nihilism had disguised an underlying idealism that came to the fore when push came to shove.

From the vantage point of 1974, one could see many counter-culturalists who displayed fewer principles than Tzara when pushed by reality.  The gist of the Dadaists’ politically oriented performance art was carried forward during the mid-twentieth century by Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin who were leaders of the Yippie movement.  In one of their most heralded actions, Hoffman and Rubin proclaimed their intent to levitate the Pentagon as part of a large anti-Vietnam War protest in October of 1967.  After a whole lot of hoopla and chanting, the Pentagon stayed put, the protest was broken up by soldiers with fixed bayonets, and the war went on.  By 1974, when Travesties was published, Hoffman was dealing in illegal drugs and Rubin was dealing in speculative stocks.  A travesty of Tzara’s counter-cultural nihilism as idealism. 

From the vantage point of 2022, counter-culturalism has largely disappeared in the United States and Europe.  Nihilism has, in turn, degenerated from the euphoric idealism of the Dadaists and has been adopted by violent extremists on the Left and even more on the Right.  In January, 2021, as an example, then President Trump and his right-wing nihilist allies tried to overthrow the government of the United States.  Primarily motivated by racial fears and religious bigotry, and operating within a nihilist might-makes-right mentality, Trump and his extremist supporters reject the democratic conventionalities and established civic norms of the country. 

The former President and his fascistic followers seek to impose an authoritarian regime on the United States that would protect their privileged place in the social order.  Winning is everything for them and democratic processes are acceptable only so long as they win with them.  As of this writing in early 2022, Trump and his supporters are still active and seem to be actively planning their next attempt at a right-wing revolution.  Making a travesty of America. 

The Problem with Revolution: To revolve is to return to your starting place.

What goes around comes around, as the saying goes.  Revolution is an ill-fitting term to use in describing the progressive political, cultural and social changes sought by Lenin, Joyce and Tzara.  To revolve means to go around and come back to where you started.  To make a revolution is, by definition, ultimately to get nowhere. 

The idea of revolution was invented by ancient astronomers to apply to the rotations of the planets that ostensibly circled around the earth, and that ended each year back where they had started.  The word was also applied by engineers to the circular movements of a wheel.  A revolution was to move away from a starting point and then circle back to it again. 

The first uses of the word to mean radical political change date from the late 1300’s and early 1400’s when the goal of change was to restore things to the way they had supposedly been.  The dominant theory of history and social change at that time was that humankind and human society had deteriorated from an ideal past.  From the Ancient Greeks through the Middle Ages in Europe, the ideal was deemed to have been in the past, the present was invariably corrupted. 

In this context, the aim of a political revolution was to go back – to revolve – to a better past and not to construct something novel in the present.  When, for example, monarchs were overthrown, the justification was that the king had been deviating from traditional practices.  The idea was to get rid of a king who was exceeding his rightful powers and restore the realm to its rightful ancient ways, thereby making the good old days real again.

The theory of an ideal past and corrupted present was challenged during the Renaissance and the Enlightenment.  Ideas of progressive social change developed.  The new theory was that things have been and should be getting better over time.  These ideas took time to take hold, and the old and new meanings of social change coexisted and conflicted for several centuries.

The idea that a political revolution meant returning to a better past was the primary theory and motivation of the revolutions of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.  This view was the basis for the English Civil War of the mid-seventeenth century and both the American Revolution and the French Revolution of the late-eighteenth century.  In each case, the revolutionaries claimed that kings were overstepping their legitimate bounds, and that the revolutionaries wanted to restore previously existing rights to the populous.  In each case, more radical revolutionaries came to the fore in the course of the revolution.  They changed the course of the thing in mid-stream and experimented with new social norms and forms.  In the end, however, these novel ideas were eventually rejected and things reversed course back toward where they had started.  In sum, a revolution.

It was in the nineteenth century that the idea of making social progress through radical political change emerged and it was given the ill-fitting name of revolution.  It is ill-fitting because the idea of a progressive political revolution is a contradiction in terms.  Modern revolutionaries generally want to make things new, and not return to some prior system.  But, while the term revolution doesn’t fit with what most revolutionaries want, it does, unfortunately for them, fit with what they mostly achieve.  Which is not a lot.  Political revolutions almost invariably fail to achieve the aims of the revolutionaries.  They have, instead, an invariable tendency to revolve from one stage to another and eventually return close to their starting points. 

While any progressive action is likely to provoke a regressive reaction, revolutions generally fail to achieve their aims because they go too far too fast and provoke a particularly intense backlash.  There is a pattern to progressive revolutions.  They go first to the left, getting increasingly radical as more extremist revolutionists gain momentum and moderates are overwhelmed, but then they go back to the right, as a backlash turns things around.  In the end, they have generally achieved something, but not what they intended, and little that couldn’t have been achieved with less drastic and less destructive methods.  Revolutions generally are travesties.

Examples of this pattern include the English Civil War and Commonwealth (1640-1660) and the French Revolution and Empire (1789-1815), both of which were revolts to get rid of monarchies and ended up with monarchies.  The American Revolution and Constitution (1775-1789) was a revolt against a strong central government that interfered with the colonies and ended up with a strong central government that interfered with the states.[8]  The Communist revolutions in Russia (1917-1990) and China (1948 – Present) were revolts against capitalism and authoritarianism that ended up with capitalism and authoritarianism.  In each case, the revolts went through radically democratic and egalitarian phases before relapsing into a revised form of the old order.

In sum, political revolutions generally go too far too fast, which results in collapse, and then relapse into variations of the old order.  They get rid of so much of the old order that they end up without a foundation for a new order, nothing to build upon.  I think that this same pattern holds for most cultural and counter-cultural revolutions as well.  And I think that idea is implicit as a lesson of Travesties.

The Moral of the Story.

Travesties closes with a conversation between Carr as an old man and his wife.  She has been dispelling Carr’s recollections of Zurich as exaggerations.  She points out inconsistencies within his memories, and between his memories and the facts, and makes fun of his claims to have influenced Lenin, Joyce and Tzara.  At one point, Carr claims that if had wanted, he could have kept Lenin from leaving Zurich for Russia and, thereby, would have forestalled the Communist revolution.  He says that he didn’t do it because he liked Lenin and was distracted by other events.  His wife responds that Carr was only a low-level official and never had that kind of authority.  In any case, she says, he never even met Lenin in Zurich.

Carr has to concede point by point that his wife is right and that his vainglorious recollections are wrong.  Nonetheless, no sooner has he made his final concession to her than he recycles back to his exaggerated memories, claiming to have known “spies, exiles, painters, poets, writers, radicals of all kinds.  I knew them all.”  And he closes the play by announcing that he had learned three things from that time. They are “Firstly, you’re either a revolutionary or you’re not, and if you’re not you might as well be an artist as anything else. Secondly, if you can’t be an artist, you might as well be a revolutionary…I forgot the third thing.”[9]

These lessons that Carr claims he has learned from his time in Zurich form a fitting farcical finale for the play.  The first two lessons conflate revolutionaries and artists which, as exemplified by the characters in Travesties, makes a travesty of both.  The first two lessons also contradict each other.  The first implies that you cannot make yourself into a revolutionary.  You either have or have not been made that way by circumstances.  If you haven’t, then you should become an artist. 

But the second lesson implies that you cannot make yourself into an artist.  You either have or have not been made that way by circumstances.  If you haven’t, then you should make yourself into a revolutionary.  But you can’t do that according to the first lesson.  Carr’s first two lessons, thereby, constitute a contradiction that keeps revolving around back to itself and is a travesty of logic.  Given this illogic of Carr’s first two lessons and the fact that he has altogether forgotten the third, one must conclude that Carr didn’t learn anything from his experiences.  But maybe we can.

On its face, the play could be seen as a sendup of history as just a meaningless bunch of distorted memories.  I think, however, that the message is just the opposite.  It is that even with a bunch of distorted memories you can glean some important truths.  And the underlying truth in Travesties, the moral of the story, is, I think, that if you go to vainglorious revolutionary extremes, you should expect to make a fool of yourself and to see your efforts end in travesty. 

Lenin, Joyce and Tzara went to revolutionary extremes in their work and in the long run the movements they promoted became travesties of themselves.  Carr went to personal extremes in trying to build himself up as an important person in his memoir and he made a travesty of his memories.  Stoppard went to artistic extremes in his portrait of these people and made a travesty of a play.  But his play is still meaningful.

Stoppard wrote Travesties at a time of significant historical turmoil, during the political and cultural rebellions of the 1960’s and early 1970’s in Western society.  I think his portrayal of Lenin, Joyce, and Tzara reflects his take on the would-be revolutionaries and revolutions of that time.  The revolutionary posturing of the Weathermen, the counter-cultural exhibitionism of the hippies, the nihilistic antics of the Yippies, were making a travesty of progressive social and cultural movements in the United States.  Similar movements flourished in other countries.  The play was, I think, a reflection and a critical commentary on the times in which it was written.  The relevance of the play for us stems, in turn, from the results and residue of those movements, and the consequences of similar movements today.

                                                                                                                        BW 1/2022 


[1] Tom Stoppard. Travesties.  New York: Grove Press, 2017. P.74.

[2] Ibid. P.53.

[3] Ibid. Pp.3-4, 73.

[4] Ibid. Pp.72-73.

[5] Tom Stoppard. Travesties.  New York: Grove Press, 2017.

[6] Ibid. Pp. 3-7.

[7] Ibid. P.46.

[8] For a discussion of why and how the American Revolution failed to achieve its goals, I have a series of essays on “Was the American Revolution a Mistake?” posted on this website

[9] Ibid. P.90.

An atheistic God. An agnostic afterlife. Thornton Wilder’s Our Town. A Thought Experiment.

An atheistic God. An agnostic afterlife.

Thornton Wilder’s Our Town.

A Thought Experiment.

Burton Weltman

Emily: “Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?”

The Stage Manager: “The saints and poets, maybe.”

Our Town.  Thornton Wilder.

Prologue: A Haunted Town.

Our Town is a play by Thornton Wilder about life and death in a small New Hampshire town during the early 1900’s.  It was written in 1938 and reflects a sharp contrast between living in the two eras.  It is a haunting play that can be both comforting and discomforting.  It focusses on the friendship, courtship and marriage of two main characters, Emily and George.  In the closing scene, Emily dies and her ghost, after complaining that she had never realized the fullness of life while she was living, returns to her twelfth birthday party to try to experience and appreciate the whole of the event.  But it’s a disappointment, and Emily returns to her grave and to the process of becoming dead to the world.  

In the conventional interpretation of Our Town, Wilder is supposedly telling us to try to grasp and appreciate each moment of our lives before it is too late.  But I don’t think that’s the half of it, and I don’t think that this conventional interpretation can explain the persistent popularity of the play and the way it seems to haunt its viewers.  The purpose of this essay is to try to explain what I think Wilder was trying to say and what I think is the hold that his play has on us.    

Setting the Scene: The World in 1938.

It is 1938.  The world is in turmoil, overwhelmed with social, economic, political and cultural conflicts.  The only constant seems to be change, and that for the worse.  Just when the economy seemed to be reviving, the Great Depression has deepened again.  Nazism and fascism are entrenched in much of Europe and gaining footholds elsewhere.  The civil war between fascists and republicans in Spain, and Japan’s invasion of China, seem to be preludes to another world war.  Racism and antisemitism are rampant almost everywhere.  Anguish has become the norm.

Conventional nostrums about God and Heaven, that were taken as eternal verities by past generations, seem no longer to comfort many people.  Science and philosophy have seemingly removed God from the daily running of the universe and reduced Him to the role of set designer and organizer of a world that then runs itself.  Whatever people say they believe about God, He has for many people become only a Sunday observance, which is what Nietzsche meant when he declared near the turn of the twentieth century that God is dead.  God is no longer seen by most people as the director of the world but merely a stage manager. 

At the same time, science and psychology have been debunking the idea of a soul that somehow exists separately from a person’s body and that lives on after the body is dead.  Dreams of Heaven have dissolved for many people, and despair has become the order of their day.

In the midst of this dismal, dizzying, and distraught world, Wilder wondered in Our Town whether and how people can get a grasp on their lives.  Is there meaning in the universe?  What, if anything, can we make of life and death?  Our Town was an attempt to address these questions.  

Setting the Stage: Visiting Our Town.

Our Town is set in a sleepy New England town in the early twentieth century.  It focuses on the childhood friendship, adolescent romance, and happy marriage of its two main characters, Emily and George, and ends with Emily’s death.  There are only a few other characters in the play, the immediate family and friends of Emily and George.  The play portrays a simple and slow-paced world that is in sharp contrast with the world of 1938 in which it was written.[1] 

The play was an immediate success – Wilder won a Pulitzer Prize for it – and it remains popular today, over eighty years later.  It has been filmed several times, repeatedly revived in theaters across the country, and frequently performed by high school theater classes.  Edward Albee has called it “the greatest American play ever written.” [2] 

The play’s popularity may be due in part to the fact that it is relatively simple to produce.  It requires only a small number of actors, most with very small parts, and a minimalist set, just some chairs, tables, trestles, and a stepladder.  But it is more than that.  The play has a haunting effect, and not only because ghosts play a role in it.  It has become a part of our cultural repertoire because it asks important questions about whether and how we can grasp our lives and find meaning in the whirl of the universe around us. 

Our Town is set between 1901 and 1913 and, significantly, ends just before the beginning of World War I in 1914.  World War I marked the dissolution of what has been called “the Long Peace” that existed between the end of the Napoleonic Wars, in 1815, and 1914.  The play is set during the calm before the storm that began with World War I and that was still raging in 1938.

Although many horrible things happened in the world during the nineteenth century, major wars were few and far between.  Wars were relatively small-scale affairs and mainly affected people who had the misfortune to live on the battlefields.  It was an era – the Victorian Era in England – when the world seemed to consist primarily of small-scale local societies in which people mainly did what their ancestors had done, and passed on their ways to their children.  It was a world of small towns and villages inhabited by small-scale farmers, craftsmen and tradesmen.  Nations and international relations – multinational commerce, culture and conflicts – existed, but had relatively little effect on most localities. 

From the vantage point of the industrialized, urbanized, centralized and international world of 1938, the era of the Long Peace could seem relatively bucolic.  That era came to a crashing end with World War I.  The war eradicated the security of once isolated localities.  The enormity of the death and destruction gave the lie to comforting beliefs of God and Heaven.  A so-called Lost Generation of physically and psychologically maimed soldiers emerged from the trenches in Europe.  A redrawn map of the world also emerged, based in large part on the vengeance of the victorious nations and inspiring revanchist motives of revenge in the losers.  The war and its aftermath created the dire circumstances that became the distraught world of 1938. 

In setting his play in a small town during the early 1900’s, Wilder was harkening back to an earlier time when things were seemingly slower, simpler and more civil, in contrast with the world of his present day.  It was a time when people could believe that God was in His Heaven and was keeping things well in the universe.  But Wilder’s is not a simple picture of the past and, as a result, the play can seem both comforting and discomforting.

On its surface, the play seems to pay nostalgic homage to a time and place where life was mellow and the living was relatively easy.  The action consists mainly of a small town’s daily routine that seems almost as eternal as the rising and setting of the sun and the changing of the seasons. Each day starts with deliveries by the milkman and the newspaper boy.  Then people get up, have breakfast and go off to work or school.  They greet each other in the street with an easy familiarity.  All is cordiality.  In the evening, they eat dinner and go to bed.  Although time passes, kids grow up, and adults grow older, the routine seems to stay the same. 

We in the audience are treated as though we are visitors to the town. Characters speak directly to us, telling us things about the history, geography, demography, and culture of the town.  They are genial and seem self-satisfied.  There is a Stage Manager who is a character in the play and is our tour guide to the town.  We are treated as guests and made to feel at home.  It is as though it is our town, and that seems comforting. 

But underneath and undermining this comforting routine, there are accidents, illnesses, and suicides.  Deaths abound and are all around.  This includes the death in childbirth of Emily, which comes as a shock to us in the audience as well as to her loved ones in the play.  Hopes are frequently crushed in the play and the best laid plans go awry.  When you look at what is happening behind the façade of ordinariness, the universe begins to feel like an uncertain proposition, even a scary place. 

In the last scene, we visit with the ghosts of dead people, including Emily, who are inhabiting their graves and gradually becoming spiritually as dead to the world as their bodies already are.  Theirs is a grim outlook on their past lives and on what may become of them in the future.  Reflecting on her past, Emily’s ghost cries out in dismay that she didn’t fulfill her life or appreciate it enough.  The play leaves us with questions about where is God?  What is Heaven?  Is this all there is?  The universe now seems like a mean and meaningless place.[3]

Comforting on the surface.  Discomforting underneath.  So, what is going on here?  What is Wilder trying to say?  What are we to think?

Thought Experiments and Theories of Relativity.

Our Town is, I think, a thought experiment.  A thought experiment is an imagined situation through which a hypothesis is dramatized for purposes of trying to predict its potential consequences.  It is a method of theorizing how something might turn out through mentally simplifying it and then thinking it through.  The key is to reduce a complex situation down to a small number of variables that can be mentally manipulated.  A thought experiment is useful when you have a problem for which you are unable to gather empirical evidence to solve it.  A requirement of a scientific thought experiment is that it be made public and be open to verification and refutation by others.  That is essentially what the play Our Town does.

Many important scientific theories have been originally based on thought experiments that were subsequently supported by empirical evidence.  Among these is Galileo’s Theory of the Relativity of Motion, which says that if two things are in relative motion to each other, you cannot say which one is moving and which is at rest.  There is no absolute frame of reference and no way to grasp absolutely the speed of the motion.

Einstein’s Special Theory of the Relativity of Motion was also initially a thought experiment.  It says, among other things, that the speed of light is the same for all no matter whether or not they are in relative motion to each other.  As with Galileo’s theory, there is no absolute frame of reference, except for the speed of light which is absolute and which moves faster than anything else in the universe.  Nothing else can move at the speed of light, and you cannot catch up to a beam of light.  It moves too fast to fathom.

Galileo and Einstein began by imagining these theories, supporting them with images and arguments.  Then they and other scientists were able to confirm the theories through empirical observations and experiments, so that they come down to us as established scientific principles.

Our Town can be seen as a thought experiment in the relativity of the motion of human life.  The play poses a hypothesis that if human life can be reduced to its basics, can be sufficiently slowed and simplified, people will be able to realize their potential and appreciate their lives.  They will, in turn, be able to grasp the past, hold on to the present, and project themselves into the future.   Wilder has seemingly dramatized this hypothesis in Our Town in hopes that we the audience may see how it plays out, and verify or refute his conclusions.

The conventional interpretation of Our Town is essentially a variation on the admonition carpe diem, seize the day.  In this view, Wilder is telling us to appreciate each moment of life as though it may be our last.  In this view, Emily’s problem is that she “never fully appreciated all she possessed until she lost it.”[4]  The implication is that Emily was somehow negligent in failing to realize during her life what she had when she had it, as are almost all of the rest of us. And the message of the play, in this interpretation, is for us to try harder to be more appreciative of life while we can.   

I don’t think this interpretation is satisfactory.  It begs the question of whether Wilder thinks people can properly appreciate their lives and, if so, how.  In the closing scene of the play, Emily’s ghost is sitting around with other ghosts in their respective graves waiting for something to happen.  It is a seemingly agnostic picture of the immediate afterlife.  The ghosts expect something to happen to them but they don’t know what or when.  They are all of them losing touch with their past lives and past selves, apparently sinking into amorphousness.  At that point, Emily’s ghost decides to go back to her early life in order to re-experience it and try to grasp the experience in its entirety. 

But Emily can’t experience even the simplest event in its entirety.  There is too much going on all around her, and it goes by too fast for her to grasp it.  As soon as she tries to focus on something in the present, it becomes the past.  She can’t hold it up or catch up with it.  “I can’t look at everything hard enough,” she complains, “It goes so fast.  We don’t have time to look at one another.”  She finds the experience intolerable, so she returns to her vigil with the other ghosts, waiting in their graves for they know not what.[5] 

This experience of Emily’s ghost seems to contradict the conventional interpretation of the play. Trying harder did not help Emily to appreciate her life.  Wilder’s thought experiment seems, in fact, to demonstrate the impossibility of appreciating even a single event in your life, let alone grasping the whole of it, no matter how hard you try to pay attention. 

This seems to be the case even when you place that person’s life in a simple setting, such as a sleepy small town, and when you imagine that life as a simple procession of childhood, adolescence and marriage.  No matter what the relative speed of life in the sleepy town of the early 1900’s as compared with the speed of life in the whirling world of 1938, life is too much and too fast to appreciate.  As such, the hypothesis of Wilder’s thought experiment in Our Town seems to fail.  Slowing down and simplifying life does not make it more comprehensible or meaningful.  So, is that it?  Is Wilder saying that we are doomed to incomprehensible and meaningless lives, and damned essentially to nothingness thereafter? 

But not so fast.  Both an “all is hopeless” interpretation of the play and the conventional “just try harder” interpretation leave out the person who I think is the most important character in the play and who, in my reading, is Wilder’s spokesperson.  And that is the Stage Manager.   

Atheism and Agnosticism: The Stage Manager.

The Stage Manager is literally the central character in the play.  Everything comes from him and revolves around him.  He opens the play and introduces us to the town.  He manages the play, not as script writer or director, but as facilitator.  He arranges the props for each scene, rearranging the tables, chairs and trestles to enable us to imagine various places in the town.  The actors then mime most of things they are supposedly encountering.  He also serves as a stand-in playing the roles of various persons in town who are adjuncts to the action, such as the drug store soda jerk and the minister who marries Emily and George, and he does this even as we still see him as the Stage Manager. 

For purposes of Wilder’s thought experiment, the Stage Manager seemingly represents the atheistic and agnostic beliefs about God and Heaven that had been on the rise in the early 1900’s and were in ascendance in 1938.  The philosopher Nietzsche had scandalized the western world in the late nineteenth century when he had proclaimed that God was dead.  What he meant by that was not actual deicide, but that most people acted as though He was not around.  It was, for example, no longer believed by most people, as it had been in the past, that God intervened in the daily operations of the universe, but instead that He had made the universe and then left it to run itself.  Likewise, most people did not make doing God’s will their daily concern, but rather made worldly success their daily concern, leaving Sundays to think about God and God’s will.

Ignoring God in this way, getting on with business without God as a focus, is literally what is meant by atheism and is what we see in Our Town.  Atheism does not mean antitheism or opposition to God as the word is commonly used today.  When you put an “a” in front of a word, you indicate an indifference to what the word stands for not an outright rejection of it.  Asocial means indifference to society, not antisocial opposition to society.  Apolitical means indifference to politics, not opposition to politics.  Amoral means indifference to morality, unlike immoral which means acting in opposition to morality.  It is a demonstration of the power of the religious powers-that-be that the word atheism, which literally means indifference to God, has come popularly to mean antitheism and opposition to God. 

The Stage Manager is the guardian angel of the play and seemingly a symbolic agent of God.  But he represents an atheistic vision of God and the idea that we cannot expect God’s personal intervention in our troubles, that is, that we have to get along in the world without a deus ex machina.  Reflecting an atheistic version of God, the Stage Manager puts things together in the play, arranges them, and keeps things moving, but without intervening in the outcomes.  His role is consistent with the instinctive feeling of people that the universe will continue to exist from moment to moment, rather than suddenly become a void of nothing.    

Consistent with his role as God’s agent, the Stage Manager seems to be omniscient and to know everything that has happened and will happen.  He acts as a tour guide for our visit to the town, talking to us, organizing what we see and hear, and commenting on the action.  He acts, in turn, as a spiritual advisor to the ghosts of the dead townspeople, particularly Emily.  But he does not control what people do or what happens, as when he advises Emily’s ghost not to revisit her past life but she does so anyway.  In sum, the Stage Manager seemingly represents the eviscerated atheistic form of God that was popularly envisioned in 1938.

The ghosts with whom the Stage Manager hobnobs at the end of the play seem to represent an agnostic view of an afterlife that was common in 1938.  This view is consistent with the fact that most people cannot conceive of a world without themselves in it.  They can intellectually believe that they will die, but cannot feel it.  At the same time, they cannot intellectually accept the traditional idea of an afterlife in Heaven.  So, they hang about in limbo, like the ghosts in the play, intellectually rejecting the traditional idea of an afterlife but emotionally feeling that there must be something after death, albeit they know not what.

So, is that it?  Is Wilder saying that we are all doomed like the ghosts in the play to meaningless lives followed by some sort of afterlife that is akin to nothingness?  If so, what can be the worth of life and death?  Does Wilder want to leave us in despair?  I think not.  Just as I do not think that the conventional interpretation of “try harder” is the blithe answer to the questions posed by the play, I do not think that despair is the answer.  I think, instead, that we are supposed to look to the worldly wisdom of the other-worldly Stage Manager for a possible answer.

The Moral of the Story: Saints and Poets.

When Emily’s ghost returns to her grave after having spent a very dismaying time re-experiencing her twelfth birthday, she tearfully asks the Stage Manager “Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it? – every, every minute?”  The Stage Manager at first replies “No,” but then adds “The saints and poets, maybe – they do some.”[6]  That, I think, is Wilder’s final judgment on the thought experiment he has tried to portray in this play. His experiment in trying to find meaning in everyday life has seemingly failed, but not entirely because it has pointed the way to a new experiment that we the audience can undertake.  We can try to be poets and saints.

Poets are artists who can grasp loads of experiences, emotions, and ideas in a single metaphor.  Or a novel.  Or a painting.  For artists, everything in life is material for their work, nothing is lost, all is saved and used.  Their lives are full of creation and their deaths leave behind a legacy of artistic works that live after them.  As Wilder has done with this play. 

Saints are activists who give their all for the sacred purpose of doing good in the world.  Social activists.  Environmental activists.  For them, everything in life is material for their work of enhancing the lives of others.  Their lives are full of good deeds and their deaths leave behind a legacy of good works that live after them.  As Wilder tried to do during his life.  

Live a purposeful life, aiming to be a poet or a saint or a bit of both, is, I think, the moral of Wilder’s story and the answer to his questions about the meaning of life and death.  It is not an easy answer.  Wilder seems to be saying that in our lives we are pushed and pulled between comfortable surfaces and uncomfortable depths, between the comfort of a meaningless life and the discomfort of struggling for meaning in life and a legacy in death. 

I think we are enthralled and haunted by the play because we get caught up in a dialectic of interpretations of its meaning that we apply to our own lives.  We go back and forth between comfortable thoughts, uncomfortable thoughts, and difficult thoughts.  The comfortable that we can be happy if we just try harder to enjoy every moment of our lives is invariably disrupted by the uncomfortable thought that a life full of unconnected moments is ephemeral and without meaning, which is followed in turn by the difficult thought that we must have a purpose in life to connect the moments and make them meaningful.  Round and around we go from thesis to antithesis to synthesis and back to thesis….

And, so, we return time and again to Our Town looking for a resolution to the conundrum.                                       

BW 4/21


[1] Thornton Wilder.  Our Town: A Play in Three Acts.  New York: Harper &Row Publishers, 1957.

[2] Our Town.  Wikipedia.  Accessed 3/25/21.

[3] Wilder.  Ibid. P.91.

[4] The Official Website of the Thornton Wilder Family. thorntonwilder.com

[5] Wilder.  Ibid.  P.100.

[6] Wilder.  Ibid. P. 100.

The Political Devolution of George Bernard Shaw. From “Candida” to “Man and Superman” to “The Apple Cart.” Unraveling a tangle of democracy, autocracy, evolution, and eugenics.

The Political Devolution of George Bernard Shaw.

From Candida to Man and Superman to The Apple Cart.

Unraveling a tangle of democracy, autocracy, evolution, and eugenics.

Burton Weltman

Prologue: The Best of Times and the Worst of Times.

I am writing this piece in late-August, 2020 during times that are politically both extremely perilous in the United States but also hopeful.  We have a would-be authoritarian President whose life has been one-long effort to dominate over others, and who is busy fomenting racism, misogyny, xenophobia, violence, and pernicious lies of all sorts toward that end.  He is, in effect, promoting a killer pandemic through criminal negligence and misinformation, all for self-serving political purposes.  In this context, we have a national election coming up in November that could determine whether democracy will long survive in the country.  That’s the bad news.

The good news is that we also have movements for racial and gender justice that currently have the support of majorities of people in the country.  And a majority of the public seems to oppose Trump and his policies.  So, maybe he will be voted out in November and some sense and sanity will return to our government.  It is a perilous but also a hopeful situation for people like me who believe in making the world better through caring rather than worse with hating.

The situation raises many social and political questions for which we can look to history and literature for answers.  Among these questions is one posed by the upcoming election as to whether Americans are willing to support democracy.  How can it be that someone as vile as Donald Trump was elected President, and how can it be that some forty percent of the public still support him after almost four years of misrule?   Is there something in our political ideology that predisposes Americans toward would-be strong men and a politics of enmity?

Another question is posed by the Me-Too, Black Lives Matter, and other current social movements as to how to think about people whose social and political views were acceptable in their times but are abhorrent to us today.  Should some of them be cancelled, to use a current phrase?  Can some of them be critiqued but still saved from complete rejection?

I think that George Bernard Shaw provides a useful test case for these questions.   

Presenting Problem: Should we cancel George Bernard Shaw?

What to do about George Bernard Shaw?  Shaw has often been considered the second-best playwright in the English language, second to only Shakespeare.  He is a wonderfully witty writer who satirized everything, including himself and his own ideas.  Shaw was very popular during his lifetime.  He won a Nobel Prize for literature in 1925.  And his plays continued to be very popular after his death in 1950.  There is even a highly-regarded theater festival in Ontario, Canada dedicated to Shaw’s plays.  He has been widely esteemed, that is, until recently.

In recent years, Shaw has come under criticism for anti-democratic and illiberal statements that he made later in his life.  His reputation has suffered and critics have questioned whether we should still consider him to be a great playwright and to perform his works.  Shaw’s politics evolved, or rather devolved in my opinion, over the course of his long career. Having begun as an advocate for democracy and diversity, he ended up supporting dictators and eugenics.  Having begun as a supportive satirist of democracy, he moved to skepticism and finally to cynicism.

Shaw’s ironical and self-mocking style allowed most people for most of the last century to gloss over his increasingly antidemocratic and illiberal pronouncements.  But his views have come under closer critical scrutiny in recent years, and they don’t stand up to the scrutiny.

A reevaluation of Shaw raises at least two important questions.  First, what happened to Shaw that led him to go down the antidemocratic path, and can we identify ideas in his earlier works that predisposed him to the positions he took later?  Was there something in his earlier ideas, some flaw or skewing, that predisposed him to move from liberalism to authoritarianism?  And do other progressives share similar illiberal ideas that might undermine their own efforts and even help their right-wing opponents?

Second, what should we think about Shaw, and others like him, whose social and political views were within the range of respectability in their times but are abhorrent to us today?   How do we reckon with someone like Shaw, whom we have reason to admire but also reason to reject?  Is it morally feasible for us to continue to enjoy his plays while critiquing their messages and him?

Shaw lived ninety-four years, from 1856 to 1950, during which time he wrote dozens of plays and essays.  He was a prodigious writer and left a lot to look at.  I think, however, that by looking at a small sample of his works, I can hazard some answers to the questions I have asked about him.  Toward that end, I am going to examine the Fabian Essays, written in part and edited by Shaw in 1888, and three of Shaw’s plays that reflect the contours of his devolution.

The first play, Candida, was written in 1893 and represents Shaw’s early days of optimism.  The second play, Man and Superman, was written in 1903 and reflects a turning point in Shaw’s ideas.  It seems to exemplify the ambivalence of a person who doesn’t quite know which way he is going.  The third play, The Apple Cart, was written in 1928, and it reflects Shaw’s cynical turn against democracy and toward dictatorship.  In looking at these works, I think we can see tendencies in his earlier writings – an elitism coupled with impatience – that predisposed him to his later positions. At the same time, I think there are reasons still to read and perform his plays.

The Devolution of George Bernard Shaw.

Shaw’s plays are ironical, satirical, extremely witty, and full of provocative ideas.  He gloried in making controversial statements, claiming that his goal was to epater le bourgeois, that is, to shock and stick it to the staid, conventional middle class.  Shaw was, nonetheless, much to his ostensible chagrin, very popular among his bourgeois audience during his life.

Shaw was an avowedly political playwright whose plays promoted his ideas.  He insisted that writers, and everyone else for that matter, needed to believe in and strive for something bigger than themselves, and their works should reflect these goals.  Shaw’s life was, however, a particularly long one that extended over many social and political eras, and his works reflect the different positions that he took over those years.  And therein lies the problem.

Shaw started in the late nineteenth century as an advocate of democracy, socialism, and cultural diversity.  As the years went by, he continued to advocate for socialism but became increasingly disenchanted with diversity and democracy, and increasingly enchanted with eugenics and dictatorship.  His idea of socialism took on a distinctly authoritarian cast.

By the 1920’s and 1930’s, Shaw was speaking favorably of Mussolini, Stalin, and even Hitler.  He did not support the totalitarianism or brutalitarianism of these dictators, nor did he support their racism, sexism, antisemitism or xenophobia.  But he came to admire dictators for their alleged efficiency – Mussolini, after all, supposedly made the Italian trains run on time – a view that was shared by many respectable people.  Shaw also came increasingly to promote eugenics as a means of genetically producing intelligent people capable of living in modern society.

In delineating the devolution of Shaw’s political ideas, I think that a key factor was his understanding of Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution and Friedrich Nietzsche’s concept of the ubermensch.  Or rather, his misunderstanding.  I think Shaw misread Darwin and Nietzsche, and misread them in elitist, illiberal and antidemocratic ways similar to the right-wing Social Darwinians of the late nineteenth century and the Nazis of the twentieth century.

When Shaw became frustrated with the slow pace of social reform and with what he saw as the ignorance of the general public, his misreading of Darwin and Nietzsche put him on an intellectual path that trended downhill from democracy to autocracy and from diversity to eugenics.  And he found himself in what he later conceded was some pretty nasty company.

As I will explain more fully below, Shaw portrayed evolution as a teleological process that aims at producing creatures with ever-higher levels of intelligence.  In his view, biological evolution is a straight-line development of ever-more intelligent beings from amoebas on upward, with human beings currently at the highest point.

In this view, fitness, as in survival of the fittest, is defined as having a high IQ, in particular a high level of linguistic and logical intelligence.  The sort of intelligence possessed by Shaw and people like him.  This is a view of evolution that predisposed Shaw to elitism and to scorn for the democratic masses who did not have Shaw’s linguistic and logical intelligence.  And it was not, in any case, the view of Darwin.

Shaw also viewed both social evolution and biological evolution as deterministic processes.  That is, what is had to be, and what will be has to be.  In Shaw’s view, a mark of wisdom is to recognize which way things are flowing and go with the flow, albeit getting ahead of the flow so that we can individually and collectively take the best advantage of it.  Intelligent people will do this. The unintelligent won’t, and they are the problem.

Shaw shared with right-wing Social Darwinians and Nazis the view of evolution as a competition for dominance among species, social groups, and individuals, each trying to get over on each other.  This view predisposed him to miss the cooperation that often drove biological and social change.  Shaw was not big on cooperation in his writings.  People are usually trying to get over on each other.  Shaw used this view of evolution to argue for the workers’ getting over on the capitalists, but it was also used by Social Darwinians who sought to maintain the dominance of the rich over the poor and by Nazis who sought to kill off the Jews.  In any case, it was not Darwin’s view of either biological or social change.

I think that Shaw also misused Nietzsche’s concept of the ubermensch.  Ubermensch is conventionally and misleadingly translated as superman but it literally means overman.  The concept is usually mistaken to refer to someone who dominates over other people, and this domination is then taken to be a good thing for the progress of humanity.  On this basis, the concept was usually rejected by progressives but welcomed by Social Darwinians and Nazis.

But Nietzsche intended the concept of ubermensch to primarily mean someone who dominates over himself, someone who is never satisfied with what he is but is continually trying to get over and beyond himself.  And that, in Nietzsche’s view, is how humanity progresses.  Shaw’s misunderstanding of ubermensch predisposed him to favor dictators, which Nietzsche did not.

Shaw’s misreadings of Darwin and Nietzsche were common in his day and are still common today.  They are, however, misreadings with consequences to Shaw’s political ideas and to the political ideas of other people, both then and now.  Shaw was by nature elitist and impatient.  His misreading of evolution and the ubermensch provided a channel for his elitism and impatience, and a rationalization for the devolution of his political ideas from democratic to autocratic.  His goals were always progressive and humane, but he ended up in the company of fascists.

When progressives turn toward authoritarianism, it is generally out of elitism and impatience.  They think they know what is in the best interests of the public and they want to make it happen fast.  When conservatives turn toward authoritarianism, it is generally out of fear and loathing of the masses.  They want to keep the masses in their lowly place and stomp out any threats to the status quo.  Right-wingers are invariably better at authoritarian politics than progressives and, as a consequence, left-wing authoritarianism generally ends up feeding a right-wing narrative.

Based on his misreading of Darwin and Nietzsche, Shaw was intellectually predisposed to go down an antidemocratic path when he became frustrated with the way things were going in the world.  That does not mean his devolution was predetermined or inevitable.  He had alternative routes along the way that he could have taken, and that others took, but he chose not to.

Other progressives – impatient or impelled by a sense of urgency – have gone down similar paths, some of them channeled through misreading Darwin or Nietzsche, others by reading or misreading Marx and other theorists.  Ideas make a difference, and the wrong ideas can lead you in the wrong direction.  Shaw’s antidemocratic inclination and predisposition toward authoritarianism were not obvious in his optimistic early writings.  But they were there.

Shaw as Evolutionary Socialist: Democratic Socialism made painless and easy.

Fabian Essays on Socialism: Capitalists will pave the way.

Shaw was a founding member of the Fabian Society, a thinktank that was organized by a group of intellectuals and literati in 1884 with the purpose of promoting the gradual and peaceful transition of English society from capitalism to democratic socialism.  Among its early members were Beatrice and Sydney Webb, Emmeline Pankhurst, H.G. Wells, Edith Nesbit, Bertrand Russell, Annie Besant, and Shaw.

The Fabians were a group of what we today would call public intellectuals who sought to influence social and political development through their research, writing and teaching.  In 1889, they published a book of essays on the politics, economics, and morality of socialism, with Shaw as the editor and the author of a key essay defining socialism.[1]

The gist of the Fabians’ argument was presented by Shaw.  It was that with the rise of large-scale factories, and the growth of large-scale cities, socialism had become inevitable in England and America, despite the laissez-faire capitalist ideology that was predominant in those countries at that time.  In describing the evolution toward socialism, Shaw focused on three key trends.

The first was the ever-increasing growth of public services and government regulations within the capitalist system.  From roads, ports, tariffs and other government services and regulations that make trade possible, to police, sanitation, fire fighters and other public services that make cities livable, capitalism and capitalists couldn’t survive without ever-increasing government involvement in the economy, and this pointed the way toward socialism.

The second trend was the growth of the largest corporations into oligopolies and monopolies.  This development would make simple and painless a government takeover of those industries. The Fabians expected a government takeover to naturally occur once the public service sector and other public controls of the economy had gotten big enough.  In an argument that paralleled that of Karl Marx but that concluded without the need for a revolution, the Fabians claimed that capitalists were themselves creating the circumstances of their own demise.  The decline of capitalism and rise of socialism was a simple process of social evolution that had started with the Industrial Revolution.

The third trend was development of an organized and educated working class that had gained the right to vote and would eventually vote to replace capitalism with socialism.  This socialist working class was the creation of the capitalists themselves.  They are the ones who congregated the workers together in large factories and cities which made it possible for the workers to organize themselves and get over on their bosses.  And the capitalists are the ones who pushed for schools to educate the workers so that they could function in the new factories and cities.  Having taught the workers to read, the capitalists had enabled the workers to read the Fabians’ socialist literature.

In the end, Shaw concluded, as industrial conglomeration proceeds and small-scale businesses run by the owners themselves are replaced by mammoth corporations run by salaried managers, capitalism will eliminate the need for capitalists and it will be simple to replace private ownership in the hands of a small group of do-nothing capitalist owners with public ownership in the hands of workers.  The transition from capitalism to socialism, and getting over on the few remaining capitalists, will be so smooth that hardly anyone will notice the change.

The tone of Shaw’s writing in the Fabian Essays was optimistic.  Democratic socialism seemed inevitable in his view.  But there are at least two aspects of Shaw’s political views here that point toward his problematical positions later.  First, from Karl Marx, the father of scientific socialism, he took the idea of capitalism morphing into socialism albeit, in Shaw’s view, this would occur through elections and without a revolution.  People would recognize the increasing collectivism that was developing under capitalism and would take the logical last step toward socialism.

This last step depended, however, on democratic electoral action by the workers.  When in the course of time this transition did not seem to be occurring fast enough or at all – that is, workers were not electing Fabian socialists who would take the necessary action – Shaw became frustrated with a gradual democratic path to socialism.  From this frustration came his increasing interest in dictators who he thought could unilaterally make the necessary decisive changes.

Second, from Robert Owen, the father of English socialism, Shaw took the idea of workers raising their intellectual levels through education so that they would be able to support a democratic socialist society.  Shaw seemed, however, to assume that higher intellectual levels meant workers becoming high-brow intellectuals like him and his colleagues.  When Shaw did not see this happening to his satisfaction, he became frustrated with education and became interested in eugenics as the means of producing a sufficiently intellectual populace.  But not yet.

Candida: Updating and upstaging Voltaire in an age of feminism and socialism.

Shaw wrote the play Candida in 1893, four years after the Fabian Essays.[2]  It is a drawing room comedy that revolves around a competition for the affections of a beautiful young lady named Candida between her clergyman husband, James Morell, and a young poet, Eugene Marchbanks.  The play is a fitting complement to the Fabian papers that Shaw wrote and edited in the late 1880’s.  It exemplifies the seemingly blithe belief of the Fabians that socialism will naturally and inevitably evolve from industrial capitalism, and that socialists need merely promote the idea of socialism and intellectually prepare the public for the transition.

Morell is a clergyman who espouses Christian Socialism and a gospel of love.  He is in general a staid and mundane man who loves, honors and generally obeys his wife.  He comes alive when the welfare of humankind is the subject, and especially the subject of socialism.  Morell is a wonderfully impressive speaker and is immensely popular, receiving a continuous stream of invitations to speak at meetings and conferences, and a continuous stream of plaudits.  His life’s goal is to educate people about socialism as the fulfillment of Christian love.  He is personally kind and generous to a fault, and he is devoted to the happiness of his wife to the point of being willing to bless her going off with Marchbanks if that is what will make her happy.

Marchbanks is a ne’er-do-well young nobleman who claims to have had a horrid childhood in a family that mentally abused him and derided his incipient creativity.  Marchbanks is a self-styled poetic genius, a superior person who is above the mundane affairs of ordinary people.  His idea of a good life is to live off the labor of others: “To be idle, selfish and useless, that is, to be beautiful and free and happy.”  Marchbanks continually whines about his supposed misfortunes: “My heart cries out bitterly in ITS hunger.”  He is a weak person who is intuitive about others’ weaknesses and uses his intuition as a means of getting over on them.  Marchbanks uses passive-aggressive emotional techniques to manipulate Morell into feelings of insecurity, inferiority and jealousy, and to manipulate Candida into feelings of protectiveness toward him which he hopes will lead her to elope with him.[3]

Candida is a smug, all-controlling, down-to-earth woman who mocks the socialistic idealism in Morell and the poetic idealism in Marchbanks.  She is a typical Shavian woman who uses her wiles to get over on the men in her life.  Shaw considered himself something of a feminist, and he was for his day.  The Fabians included women on equal terms as men and campaigned for women’s suffrage.  But Shaw was somewhat backhanded in expressing his esteem for women in his plays and essays.  He seemed to believe that men and women possessed equal intelligence and skills, but he had a somewhat jaundiced view of what he saw as women’s biologically-based motives, which he claimed were to find a suitable male mate and make children.  As a result, the women in Shaw’s plays tend to be on the make for a husband, and they generally get their man.

Candida is portrayed as like a cat playing with her prey.  Although she toys with both Morell and Marchbanks, there never is any real chance that she will abandon Morell and go off with Marchbanks.  Marchbanks is neither sufficiently needy nor sufficiently malleable.  Morell needs her most and is the most malleable.  In the end, when she announces her intention to stay with Morell, she proclaims that “I build a castle of comfort and indulgence and love for him, and stand sentinel always to keep little vulgar cares out.”  That is, she takes care of home and hearth so that he can go out and try to take care of the world.  She represents the moral proclaimed by her namesake Candide in Voltaire’s Candide that taking care of hearth and home should be the first order of a person’s business.[4]  But I don’t think that is the moral of the play.

Candida thinks Morell is a noble fool to preach socialism to a populace that has been so thoroughly indoctrinated with the capitalist gospel of selfishness. She tells him that he is right in what he says about socialism and human rights, and that people who hear him preach invariably agree with him. “But,” she insists, “what’s the use of people agreeing with you if they go out and do just the opposite?”[5]  But the point of Morell’s preaching is not to make people change their ways.  It is to prepare them for the changes that are taking place despite them.

The underlying message of the play is, I think, that while Morell seems to be an idealistic fool – like Candide in Voltaire’s play before Candide concludes that there is no place like home – Morell is actually preparing people intellectually for the inevitable evolution to socialism predicted by Shaw and the other Fabian Socialists.  Morell is softening them up.  And that, I think, is the message and moral of the play.

This message is illustrated in the play by the actions and reactions of Burgess, Candida’s father, who is a nasty, greedy capitalist.  At the beginning of the play, Burgess berates Morell for wanting him to raise his workers’ wages.  Burgess complains that “You never think of the harm you do, putting money into the pockets of working men that they don’t know how to spend, and taking it from people that might be making good use of it.”  But at the end of the play, Burgess discloses that he has raised the wages of his workers because he wants to get some local government contracts, and the local government is requiring higher wages and better working conditions for the employees of its contractors.[6]

This turn of events exemplifies the message of the Fabians that capitalism will inevitably evolve into socialism, and do so with the help of the capitalists themselves.  It is a Panglossian world view that everything is ultimately for the best.  Morell is a wise fool and Candida is his helpmate in his wise foolishness.  And in this play, Shaw still seems confident in the beneficent outcome of social evolution.  But he does not stay so for long.

Shaw as Eugenics Socialist: A Race of Super(sic)men will save us.

Man and Superman: Shaw in Transition.

Man and Superman is a remarkable work.  And I use the word work to describe it because it is more than just a play.  It has four distinct parts.  First, there is a twenty-six-page introductory letter from Shaw addressed to a friend of his in which Shaw explains his reasons for writing the play and ostensibly outlines the philosophy behind the play. Then there is a forty-one-page pamphlet on social and political philosophy that has supposedly been written by the main character in the play just before the action in the play begins.

Then there is the play itself.  Finally, in the middle of the third act of the play, there is a long dream sequence which essentially constitutes a one-act play in itself, and is often performed by itself.  Each of the parts reflects a slightly different take on the ideas that the work discusses, including democracy and eugenics.  The different takes seemingly reflect Shaw’s ambivalence.

Man and Superman was written in 1903, ten years after Candida.  During that time Shaw’s belief in the inevitability of democratic socialism had been shaken.  The right to vote had been extended to virtually every male citizen in England, but progress toward democratic socialism had seemingly been stalled.  Shaw seemed unsure now whether the social evolution he had previously predicted in the Fabian Essays was going to come true, and whether ordinary people were willing and able to support such a change.  Eugenics now becomes a major issue for him.

Shaw is known for his ironic and satirical portrayal of almost everything, including his own pet ideas.  But in Man and Superman, he seems to be arguing with himself, satirically but seriously, and making fun of things in each part of the work that he takes seriously in other parts.  The ideas in the work are in turmoil, and their convolution seem to point toward Shaw’s devolution.

Introduction to Man and Superman: Letter to Arthur Bingham Walkeley.

Shaw’s introduction to Man and Superman purports to be a letter to his friend Arthur Bingham Walkeley explaining why Shaw has decided to fulfill Walkeley’s wish that Shaw write a play about the famous fictional character Don Juan.  It is a mock letter because Walkeley apparently never made any such request and because the play is not about Don Juan, with the partial exception of the dream sequence in the third act which features a character named Don Juan but isn’t about Don Juan’s well-known adventures.

The gist of the twenty-six-page letter is, instead, a diatribe about the need to breed a biological race of genius supermen who would be capable of choosing socialism as their economic system and running it as a democracy.  Such a development would also fulfill what Shaw sees as the underlying purpose of the universe, which is to produce beings of ever higher intelligence.

Shaw claims that the social evolution toward democratic socialism was being stymied by the low intelligence level of the average person.  He dismisses education as having failed as a means of elevating the intelligence of the general public, and he no longer has “illusions left on the subject of education, progress, and so forth.”  He insists that the problem is biological rather than educational and that there aren’t enough genetically intelligent people.  He is not advocating the elimination of unintelligent people because he thinks dumb people will not survive in the long run anyways in modern society.  What Shaw wants is for intelligent people to be directed to mate with other intelligent people.[7]

Shaw condemns what he calls the current system of promiscuous baby-making which is superficially controlled by men but actually controlled by women who invariably get over on the men.  Women are the baby-makers and in the process of natural selection, they determine the fate of the human race.  The problem is that women do not prioritize intelligence in choosing mates.  So, the system of natural selection must be replaced by a system of intelligent selection that will promote the artificial evolution of intelligent people.  The artificial evolution of super intelligent people will, in turn, supplement the social evolution of capitalist society toward democratic socialism.

While acknowledging that kings, aristocrats, and dictators of the past were even worse than democracy is today, Shaw complains that “We are all now under what Burke called ‘the hoofs of the swinish multitude.’”  He warns that “our political experiment of democracy, the last refuge of cheap misgovernment, will ruin us if our citizens are ill-bred.”  And he concludes his Jeremiad by predicting that “We must either breed political capacity or be ruined by Democracy.”[8]

At this point in his devolution, Shaw has not abandoned democracy, apparently deeming it the worst form of government except for all the rest.  But he is clearly disappointed with democratic government, society and culture.  Citing Nietzsche as his inspiration for the idea of the superman, Shaw claims that Man and Superman promotes intelligent breeding as a serious solution to the major social problems of his day.  But the seriousness of this suggestion is undercut by the mocking tone of the next part of the work.

The Revolutionist’s Handbook and Pocket Companion.

The Revolutionist’s Handbook and Pocket Companion is a forty-one-page political pamphlet supposedly written by John Tanner, who is the hero of the play Man and Superman.  On the title page of the pamphlet, Tanner identifies himself as “John Tanner, MIRC (Member of the Idle Rich Class).”  Then in the opening sentence of the pamphlet, Tanner defines a revolutionist as “one who desires to discard the existing order and try another.”  The flippancy of “MIRC” and the words “and try another” are a tip-off that this document is being written in a whimsical style.  Tanner seemingly does not intend for readers to take him seriously.  This is a different tone than that claimed by Shaw speaking as Shaw in his introductory letter to Walkeley.[9]

Although Tanner describes himself as an erstwhile revolutionist and declares that “any person under the age of thirty who, having knowledge of the existing order, is not a revolutionist, is an inferior,” he goes on to claim that all revolutions have been and must be failures.  “Revolutions,” he insists, “have never lightened the burden of tyranny: they have only shifted it to another shoulder.”  Setting himself up as a revolutionary and then knocking himself down, all on the first three pages.  So, what is the point of the handbook?  What does the revolutionist Tanner want?[10]

Eugenics.  Alluding to Nietzsche’s declaration that God is dead, Tanner claims that “Man must take in hand all the work he used to shirk with an idle prayer” to God.  Citing Nietzsche’s concept of the superman, Tanner claims that merely changing social institutions, such as transitioning from capitalism to socialism, would be irrelevant without creating a race of supermen to function in the new institutions.  “We must, therefore, frankly give up the notion that Man as he exists is capable of progress.”  Like Shaw in his introduction, Shaw speaking as Tanner promotes intelligent breeding, but he takes it a step further.[11]

Whereas Shaw focused on breeding for intelligence in his letter to Walkeley, Tanner insists that supermen must not merely be superior in intelligence but must also be creative, and be able to think outside of the box as we say today.  Tanner explains that “we want a superior mind,” but not if those minds are “conventional.”  Conventional geniuses will merely find ingenious ways to perpetuate the existing order.  They are worse for society than dummies.  Echoing Nietzsche, Tanner says that “Man must rise above himself.”[12]

Tanner does not want to pave the way for rule by individual supermen or an elite class of supermen.  He does not aim for dictatorship or aristocracy.  He wants to create a genuine democracy which he says can happen only if there is true equality among people.  In turn, true equality can happen only through controlled, intelligent breeding to produce a human species consisting completely of supermen.

Unlike many proponents of eugenics, such as the Social Darwinians, Tanner is not a racist and does not want to create a homogeneous or pure race.  To the contrary, he wants diversity in breeding so that combining all the best characteristics of the world’s racial and ethnic groups will make for the fittest human species.  Echoing Shaw in his prefatory letter, Tanner wants to breed for fitness and let the unfit die out naturally as part of the evolutionary process.

Fitness is a Darwinian term, as in the evolutionary survival of the fittest species.  Social Darwinians in the late nineteenth century defined fitness primarily in terms of strength and wealth.  The rich and the powerful were ostensibly the fittest people and the goal of evolution.  This was a misconstruction of Darwin’s evolutionary theory.  In Darwinian terms, fitness means being able to adapt to changing circumstances.  Adaptation could be hindered by great wealth, brute strength, and conventional intelligence, all of which might lead a person to insist on maintaining the status quo rather than changing to meet changing circumstances. Which is what Social Darwinians did then and their right-wing descendants do today.

Tanner is not a Social Darwinian.  He adopts Darwin’s conception of fitness and insists that “the survival of the fittest means finally the survival of the self-controlled.”   The fittest are those who can stay calm in the face of crises, can critique their habitual behavior, and can change their ways to fit a changing environment.[13]

In his plan for creating people fit for democracy and socialism, Tanner goes a step further than Shaw did in the introduction and he calls for the abolition of marriage.  Tanner claims that marriage is an obstructive and obsolete institution.  The institution of marriage tries to keep fit partners from procreating if they are not married or are married to someone else.  That is silly, Tanner claims.  And, in any case, it doesn’t work well.

Promiscuity abounds despite the restraints of marriage.  With all the promiscuity among married and unmarried couples, and with all the unwed mothering of children, Tanner claims that marriage won’t be missed by many when it is gone.  Just as the Fabians claimed that ninety-nine percent of people wouldn’t even notice the abolition of capitalism, Tanner claims they won’t miss the abolition of marriage.  Marriage is a fraud and an obstacle to genuinely diverse breeding.  With the end of marriage, intelligent breeding can fully proceed.

Tanner concludes his pamphlet with the proclamation that “Our only hope, then, is in evolution.  We must replace man by the Superman.”   And “The only fundamental and possible Socialism is the socialization of the selective breeding of Man.”  Dismissing Fabian Socialists as merely a bunch of talkers, he proposes that the British government create “a State Department of Evolution” to coordinate breeding policy.  But Tanner provides no specifics as to how this could or would be done.  Thus, he seemingly consigns himself to the class of mere talkers and relegates his big ideas to humorous oblivion.[14]

The Play Man and Superman.

Man and Superman is a delightfully witty play but it is intellectually the least interesting part of the work in which it is placed.  The first two acts are a drawing room comedy in which the self-styled revolutionist John Tanner is being stalked by a young woman, Ann Whitefield, who wants to marry him.  Ann is a smug, all-controlling woman, not unlike Candida in this respect, but Ann is also passive-aggressive in her relations with others.  She plays on their guilt feelings to get over on them and get them to do what she wants, and she eventually guilt trips and guilt traps Tanner into marrying her.  Tanner complains of her “damnable woman’s trick of heaping obligations on a man, of placing herself so entirely and helplessly at his mercy,” that he has to do what she wants.  Ann is being pursued by Tanner’s best friend Octavius Robinson who desperately wants to marry Ann.  Ann toys with Octavius while maneuvering to snare Tanner.[15]

Tanner struts and spouts radical anti-marriage epigrams throughout the play.  He is described as “a megalomaniac” who exudes “a sense of the importance of everything he does.”  He carries himself with “Olympian majesty” and “his frockcoat would befit a prime minister.”  He is “prodigiously fluent of speech,” a wise guy always ready with a wise crack rejoinder.  As Shaw says of himself in his introduction to the play, Tanner’s stated goal is to epater le bourgeois and make himself obnoxious to most of those around him.  And Tanner thinks that his authorship of The Revolutionist’s Handbook and Pocket Companion has put him completely beyond the pale of middle-class acceptability and beyond the reach of any middle-class woman.  He is wrong.[16]

As with Morell in Candida who is patronized by his wife for his radical views, Tanner is patronized for his views by Ann, who doesn’t think he really believes the things he says in his pamphlet.  And, seemingly he doesn’t because he lets himself get caught in Ann’s marital web.  This is a key difference between Morell, who really does believe in his socialist views, and Tanner who is seemingly too flippant to really believe in anything.  In moving from Candida to Man and Superman, the heroes of Shaw’s plays have gone from sincere to cynical, which seemingly reflects Shaw’s own descent.  Another key difference in the plays is that Candida tried to help her husband promote his socialistic views, whereas Ann tries to wean Tanner from his views and seemingly succeeds.

Tanner is a self-styled know-it-all, but he is completely oblivious that Ann is maneuvering and manipulating him until he finds himself trapped.  At that point, he makes a desperate run for freedom in the third act to the Sierra Nevada Mountains in Spain.  There, he falls in with a band of bandits who identify with various left-wing ideologies, as anarchists, social democrats, or nihilists.  Tanner and the bandits bandy about various socialistic ideas that seem ridiculous in the circumstances.  The play essentially mocks the ideas of socialism that were seriously promoted in the Fabian Essays and Candida, as well as the ideas promoted in Tanner’s pamphlet and Shaw’s introduction to the play.

Tanner is followed by Ann to the Spanish mountains and in the fourth act, he gives in to marrying her and settling down.  “Marriage is to me an apostasy,” he complains, and “the young men will scorn me as one who has sold out.”  But he, nonetheless, seems reconciled to marriage and happy to do it.  In the last lines of the play, Tanner is still ranting to his fiancé and their friends against marriage and middle-class respectability.  When someone engages in a side conversation, he looks around to see if anyone is listening to him.  Ann tells him: “Never mind dear, go on talking.”  Tanner responds in seeming bewilderment with the word “Talking,” and everyone laughs.  All he has been doing throughout the play is meaningless talking.[17]

The play ends up essentially as a lot of ado about nothing.  Shaw has promised us something radical in his introduction and in Tanner’s pamphlet, but he has delivered a fairly conventional comedy of manners.  Witty and well done, but rather tame and quite cynical in its overall tone.  A far cry from the sincere tone of the Fabian Essays and the underlying optimism of the play Candida.  Shaw is seemingly a man arguing against himself and losing the argument.

Don Juan in Hell

In the middle of the third act of the play, Tanner is camping with the bandits in the Spanish mountains when one night he has a dream.  It is a dream about Don Juan in Hell, and it consists of a debate between Don Juan and the Devil about the advantages and disadvantages of Heaven and Hell.  They are joined by other characters from the traditional Don Juan story, including Ann whom Don Juan was in the process of seducing when her father intervened and Don Juan killed him.  Don Juan in the dream looks like Tanner and Ann in the dream looks like Ann in the play.

In this dream, dead people get to choose between an afterlife in Heaven or in Hell.  Hell is a festive place of selfish pleasure.  Heaven is a dull place of good intentions and good works.  Many people who were good in life choose to spend their afterlife in Hell.  Many people who were bad in life choose to spend their afterlife in Heaven.  Having spent many hundreds of years in Hell, Don Juan has decided to move up to Heaven.  

In so doing, Don Juan inveighs against an existence of mere pleasure and in favor of a purposeful existence.  This was a major theme of Shaw’s introduction: that the universe has an evolutionary purpose and that man’s purpose was to further that of the universe.  The Devil replies that in the overall scheme of things a purposeful life is really a meaningless life: “You think,” he tells Don Juan,” that because you have a purpose, Nature must have one.”  Based on his eternity of existence, the Devil assures Don Juan that the universe has no purpose and that the idea of making things better is foolish.  “Where you now see reform, progress,” he explains, is really “nothing but an infinite comedy of illusion.”  And he cites numerous examples of human perfidy and the failure of reformers.”[18]

Reformers, the Devil claims, invariably do awful things in the name of reform.  And “Men,” he chides Don Juan, “are never at a loss for an excuse for killing one another.”  When Don Juan accepts the idea of killing for a good cause with “What of that?” I think we are expected to see that the Devil is right in his cynicism toward Don Juan’s newly found moralism.  And when Don Juan then cites Nietzsche in support of his goal to make men into supermen, I think we are expected to agree with the Devil’s reply to “Beware of the pursuit of the Superhuman.  It leads to an indiscriminate contempt for the Human.”  As in Milton’s Paradise Lost, the Devil has most of the best lines in this playlet, except that Shaw, unlike Milton, seems to mean it.   It’s a cynical message and just the opposite of the message Shaw conveyed in his introductory preface.  Shaw seems in this work to be in the throes of contradiction.[19]

Shaw as Dictatorial Socialist.  A Super(sic)man will save us.

The Apple Cart: The Preface.

As Shaw became steadily more discouraged by the prospects and practices of democracy, he became more interested in authoritarian solutions to social problems.  In 1929, he premiered a play called The Apple Cart.  In the play, the prime minister of England is trying to get the King to stop publicly criticizing the prime minister’s policies.  He wants to muzzle the King.  The King’s response is to threaten to resign as King, run for Parliament, and try to become prime minister.  Since the King is apparently more popular than the current prime minister, the King would probably win and, thereby, “upset the apple cart.”  In the end, the prime minister backs down and things go on as before.[20]

As was Shaw’s usual practice, he wrote a long preface to the play, a twenty-three-page preface for a seventy-page play.  In the preface, Shaw explains his ideas behind the drama and defends autocrats.  He claims that kings, who serve for life, generally have more governmental experience and expertise than elected politicians since “the king works continually whilst his ministers are in office for spells only.”  And kings, Shaw claims, must gain their ends aboveboard.  Elected politicians, in contrast, gain their ends through sleazy “selfish methods of dominating the feebly recalcitrant, the unreasonable, the timid, and the stupid.”  Citing Mussolini for support, Shaw justifies kings and others autocrats “making a desperate bid for dictatorship on the perfectly true plea that democracy has destroyed all other responsibility.”[21]

Shaw goes on to claim that Abraham Lincoln was a “demagogue” and a “humbug” when Lincoln proclaimed that government should be “of the people, for the people, and by the people.”  Of and for the people, yes.  By the people, absolutely no.  Ordinary people, Shaw sardonically wrote, can’t write good laws any more than they can write good plays.  As capitalism has become more socialistic, he explains, with “a huge communistic framework of public services and regulations,” it has become imperative “to construct a political system for rapid positive work.”  So, Shaw concludes, we must get rid of “all the pseudo-democratic obstructive functions” of our political system.  That is, we must get rid of what most of us think of as democracy and replace it with an authoritarian regime that can get things done quickly and efficiently.[22]

The Apple Cart: The Play.

The Apple Cart is a genial but immensely cynical play.  It is witty but wordy, consisting entirely of debates among the various characters about politics.  King Magnus, a fictional King of England, is the main and most sympathetic character.  He is jousting for power with the elected Prime Minister Proteus and Proteus’ cabinet ministers, and he has been making public statements critical of Proteus and his ministers.  He is making life hard for them.

Proteus and the other ministers complain that the King is interfering with their efforts to do the public weal, and is undermining democracy in the country.  The King replies that “democracy is humbug” and that he is only trying to protect the public from the unbridled incompetence and corruption of the elected government, and “the tyranny of popular ignorance.”  “Only the king,” he claims, “is above that tyranny” and he alone stands for “conscience and virtue.”[23]

Democracy and the public take a complete beating in the play, even from the democratically elected officials.  The economics minister, Bill Boanerges, for example, is the leader of the country’s trade unions, a worker who has worked his way up from poverty to officialdom.  In describing his relationship to his constituents, Boanerges says “I say to them ‘You are supreme: exercise your power.’ They say, ‘That’s right: Tell us what to do.’”  So, he does.  The public wants “a strong man,” Boanerges claims, someone to tell them what to do.  “That’s democracy,” Boanerges concludes and, although he is portrayed as a pompous ass, he seems to be speaking for Shaw.[24]

A side theme in the play is Shaw’s ongoing portrayal of women as predators and as the power behind the male throne, in this case literally.  King Magnus has an enchanting mistress, Orinthia, whom he can’t do without.  She is a self-styled goddess who claims that ordinary people exist “to sweep the streets for me.”  Her claim to greatness consists in her being, not in her doing. “Do not pretend,” she tells the King, “that people become great by doing great things.  They do great things because they are great.”  She essentially articulates Shaw’s case for supermen.[25]

Orinthia wants the King to divorce his dowdy housewife Jemima so she can have a chance to do great things as his Queen.  He won’t do it.  “You gathered me in like a daisy,” he replies to Orinthia, and he tells her that he cannot give her up, but he cannot marry her.  He needs his housewife Queen.  She takes care of him so that he can play the role of King.   This is very similar to Candida’s relationship with Morell in Candida.  In the last lines of the play, the King whines that he does not want to eat his dinner, but his nanny wife leads him off to the dining room with the words “Come on, like a good little boy.”[26]

Although Shaw claims in his preface to The Apple Cart that the play deals with socialism, there is nothing in the play about socialism.  All the characters seem to agree that big corporations run everything and that neither they, the politicians, nor the public have any real power or ability to change things.  The play consists entirely of witticisms and political backtalk, and it is all about the game of politics and politics as a game.  Nothing about social and economic policy.  It is as though all that matters is who is in power, not what anyone stands for or actually does.  It is a thoroughly cynical play.

By the time of The Apple Cart, Shaw had come a long way ideologically since his contributions to the Fabian Essays.  Although he still supported what he called socialism, his support for democracy had virtually disappeared along with his faith in the intelligence of the general public.  And as Shaw’s support for dictators increased, so did his support for eugenics.  Although he ostensibly based his political views on Darwin and Nietzsche, Shaw’s ideas reflected a misreading of them both.  A common misreading by many people then and now, and a source of ideological confusion from then to the present-day.

Evolution and Supermen: Shaw’s Misunderstanding of Darwin and Nietzsche.

Like most intellectuals in Europe and America during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Shaw was strongly influenced by what he took to be Darwin’s theories of evolution.  Like many intellectuals during this period, Shaw was also greatly influenced by what he took to be Nietzsche’s theory of the superman.  And like some intellectuals during this time, Shaw tried to put the two theories together.  The problem is that Shaw got Darwin and Nietzsche wrong, and he got them wrong in ways that fueled his increasingly illiberal and undemocratic views, and that continue to fuel people’s illiberal and undemocratic views to the present day.

Shaw’s misreadings of Darwin and Nietzsche have been especially common in right-wing political circles. The theory of evolution and the idea of the superman were misused to justify right-wing Social Darwinism in the late nineteenth century and Nazism later in the twentieth century.  Shaw did not intend to find himself in this right-wing company.  Even as his views devolved, he always meant well and hoped to do something to help humankind, and remained committed to socialism.

In his support for Mussolini, Hitler, and Stalin, Shaw was seemingly misled in part by the fact that Mussolini had been a leader of the Italian Socialist Party before he turned fascist, that Hitler was the leader of the National Socialist People’s Party, the full name of the Nazis, which initially had some self-styled socialist members, and that Stalin was the Communist leader of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.  They were dictators who used the word socialism.  Shaw was a wordsmith who was often a captive of words.  He got fooled by their socialistic rhetoric or, rather, fooled himself.  Other progressives who have supported revolutionary dictators and dictatorial regimes that were ostensibly socialistic have similarly been fooled or fooled themselves, and their thinking has often followed an anti-democratic path similar to Shaw’s.

Nietzsche and Napoleon.[27]

Shaw’s illiberal and undemocratic ideas flowed naturally and logically from his misunderstanding of Darwin and Nietzsche.  His flawed premises led him to right-wing conclusions, despite himself.  Other progressives have started with similar premises and followed a similar path although they did not specifically cite Darwin or Nietzsche as their mentors.  The ideas were essentially the same, as were the consequences.

Shaw’s misunderstanding of Nietzsche began with his acceptance of the common mistranslation of the German word ubermensch as superman.  Shaw effectively became a captive of that mistranslation.  Nietzsche was a proponent of what he called the ubermensch, which both literally and figuratively translates into English as overman.  An overman is a very different being from a superman.  Although Nietzsche’s language with respect to the overman is inflated and extravagant and he portrays the overman as a superior person in power and glory – Napoleon Bonaparte is his model – Nietzsche’s overman is not necessarily superior to other people in his natural powers.  He is not a superman with super powers.[28]

Nietzsche’s overman is an uncommon man because he overcomes what is common in himself and overcomes the conventions of common people.  He is continually making and remaking himself.  “I teach you the overman.  Man is something to be overcome” Nietzsche’s alter ego Zarathustra proclaims in Thus Spoke Zarathustra.[29] The overman is in a continual state of becoming, never satisfied with what he has done or become, but always seeking to go beyond himself.

Nietzsche’s language is bombastic, caustic and elitist, but his ideas, including the idea of the overman, don’t have to be interpreted that way.  Nietzsche wrote in the style of epater le bourgeois that was popular among avant garde writers in the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and that Shaw adopted.  Shaw, however, seemed to get caught up in Nietzsche’s rhetoric, lost the track of Nietzsche’s reasoning, and got led astray.

The overman essentially lives according to Jean Paul Sartre’s existentialist formulation that “we are not what we are and we are what we are not,” that is, we are continually making choices that define who we are and the definition of ourselves is continually changing.  We are our choices, and an overman is continually changing through those choices.  In this view, overcoming can be done by anyone who is willing to go beyond themselves and beyond the conventionalities.  And you do not have to be a high-brow intellectual like Shaw and his colleagues to do this.

Nietzsche’s praise for Napoleon was not primarily based on his military conquests and his overcoming of other people but on Napoleon’s conquest and overcoming of himself.  There is a story about Napoleon that I think can be used to illustrate Nietzsche’s idea of the overman.  It is said that at the start of some battle, Napoleon’s adjutants came hurriedly up to him with the worrisome news that the enemy was adopting a tactic for which they had not prepared.  “What should we do,” they wailed.  Napoleon supposedly replied with complete calmness, “First, we will commit ourselves, and then we’ll see.”  It was a characteristically enigmatic response, and there is at least a triple-entendre embedded in Napoleon’s reply.

First, there is the pragmatic meaning that we will decide what is best to do once we have seen the way things develop from our first forays.  Such a pragmatic response was typical of the resourceful Napoleon, who could change tactics at will.

Second, there is an epistemological meaning, that seeing comes from commitment.  You see only through commitment to something that requires that seeing.  Seeing is purposeful, and seeing a thing is a pragmatic consequence of deciding to do something about that thing.

Finally, there is an ontological meaning that self-development is based on commitment.  We commit ourselves and then we see what we become.  In this regard, it is almost an existentialist statement similar to Sartre’s existentialist formulation on becoming.  With each tactical change, Napoleon was overcoming his past practices, evolving in a new way, and redefining himself.

Each of these meanings is inherent in Nietzsche’s idea of the overman.  They are very different from the reading of Nietzsche that Shaw fell into, a reading that extols domination over other people.  In Shaw’s case, it was the domination by progressive intellectual politicians over the masses of people for their own good, but the same misreading was used by the Nazis to rationalize their brutalitarian domination over the masses.

Darwin and Cockroaches.[30]

Shaw got Darwin wrong because he read two consequential ideas into evolutionary theory that aren’t there.  First, he read evolution teleologically, as though it has some preordained purpose and goal.  Second, he claimed that the driving force behind evolution, its preordained purpose and the meaning of the universe, was the rise of intelligence, with human intelligence as the goal.

Evolution, in Shaw’s view, was the preordained ascent of humans from amoebas in the primeval muck to masters of the universe.  Evolution was based on survival of the fittest, and intelligence was the key to fitness.  Measures of intelligence would indicate which species, which societies, and which individuals would have the ability to adapt and survive in changing circumstances.

Shaw’s was a view that was common among scientists in his time and is still common among laypeople today.  In this view, evolution has been a straight-line development of ever-higher high-brow intelligence, that is, the kind of logical and linguistic intelligence that has historically been most valued in Western culture.  Individuals evolve, species of individuals evolve, and societies evolve, and the key to all of this evolution is intelligence.

In this view, humans are uniquely capable of using their intellects to creatively adapt their environment to themselves, to change their circumstances to fit themselves, rather than merely responding to circumstances mechanically through instinct and trying to adapt themselves to their environment.  And for this reason, humans are supposedly the fittest creatures on earth.  This view is, however, a misreading of Darwin and is not supported by science.

In evolutionary theory, adaptability does not require high-brow intellectuality.  And evolution does not seem to go in a straight line with respect to the development of any biological characteristics or any species, let alone a trend toward greater intelligence.  Species come and go, survive, thrive and die out, in ways that do not seem logical or preordained toward any goal. But like many people, Shaw fell prey to the sort of human-centered thinking that kept people for so many centuries from recognizing that the earth is not the center of the universe.

One of the longest surviving and most adaptable creatures in the world, for example, is the cockroach, which has been around for some three hundred and fifty million years, far longer than humans have and far better equipped to survive the environmental disasters that humans are wreaking on the world.  And cockroaches are not known for their high-brow intellectual abilities.

Adaptability, in fact, comes in many different forms and many creatures have the ability to creatively adapt their circumstances to themselves.  Beavers are well known for their engineering skills in building dams to make homes for themselves.  Giraffes act as foresters when they make room for acacia trees, the leaves of which they particularly like, by killing the seedlings of other types of trees.  Black ants act as shepherds when they cultivate herds of black flies for food, anesthetizing them so that they won’t fly away, and then milking them for a fluid that the ants consume.  Termites act as farmers when they regurgitate wood to fertilize fungi that they cultivate for food.  Humans are not the only creatures that creatively work with their environments, nor are we the best or most efficient.  Just say “global warming.”

Shaw also had it wrong when he claimed that intellectuality was the key to human development and evolutionary success.  While human intellectuality is probably the most spectacular thing about humans as compared to other species, it is not the most important thing about humans that has enabled us to survive and thrive.  It is our sociability, our ability to live and work together, too cooperate with each other and care for each other, that has enabled us to adapt to changing circumstances and fit us, so far, for survival.  What is called “interpersonal intelligence” by Howard Gardner and other psychologists is the key.  We humans have a naturally high level of interpersonal intelligence or empathy, some of us more than others, but all of us are capable of being cooperative.

We are “social animals” in Aristotle’s words. So that even though we humans have few survival instincts and have to invent most of the things and skills we need to survive, it is through cooperation that we do this.  It is cooperation that extends to the past, as we learn from our predecessors’ failures and build upon their achievements.  It is the cooperative accumulation of knowledge and skills over time, passed down through the generations, that has enabled humans to survive and thrive.  It is cooperation that extends to the future as we try to make the world better for our descendants.  Most of all, it is cooperation with our comrades as we try to make our way together in the world.  Shaw never seemed to get the importance of cooperation and did not portray it well in his plays.  His characters were merely groupings of individuals without any sense of solidarity.  His failure to understand cooperation was a key factor in his political devolution.

Shaw’s advocacy of eugenics was based on his belief that human intelligence had reached a point at which humans could have some effect on evolution, still riding the wave of evolution’s predetermined course, but able to make some useful adjustments to that course.  He wanted people to use their intelligence to breed for even greater intelligence and for greater equality in intelligence. Shaw believed that a human race of super-intelligent supermen could be genetically produced like breeding purebred dogs.  But the traits that he wanted people to have, namely intellectual flexibility and pragmatic adaptability, do not seem to be biologically inheritable.  Whether Shaw liked it or not, these are traits that are learned and then honed through practice.  And they are not confined to bookish intellectuals like Shaw and his colleagues.

Educators from the turn of the twentieth century to the present day, including John Dewey then and Howard Gardner more recently, have shown that humans are endowed with multiple types of intelligence.  Bookish intelligence is only one among a half dozen or more different types of natural aptitude.  Every person has more or less of each aptitude, and different people can be more or less taught to excel in each of the aptitudes.  Contrary to Shaw’s contention, no one is uneducable and everyone can learn to think outside the box and creatively respond to their circumstances.  This is something that I learned from embarrassing personal experience.

When I was in college, I had a summer job as a temporary worker on a cleanup crew at the Merchandise Mart in Chicago.  None of the regular members of the crew had gone to college, some of them were barely literate.  Most of them were racists and anti-Semites, and they often targeted me with bigoted comments because I am Jewish.  I began the job with feelings of superiority over these guys.  My coworkers were clearly worse than ignoramuses when it came to academic subjects, cultural issues and social relations, the sorts of things in which I excelled.  But they sure knew how to clean a building.

This was not a simple broom and dust cloth operation.  There were lots of cleaning products and equipment to deal with, and different treatments were necessary for different surfaces.  It was complicated.  The work required intelligence, expertise, and even creativity, and my coworkers had invented many novel ways of doing things.  They took pride in what they did, and they did it well.  Time and again, they would have to instruct me in how to do something.  And despite the bad feelings between them and me, they made sure I knew how to do things right, and that the work was properly done.  I often felt like a fool.  In my memory of those times, I still do.

But I learned some important things that summer that I have tried not to forget ever since.  The first was that I was not as smart and superior as I had thought.  The second was that people can be dumb about some things but smart about others.  Finally, I learned that people who are otherwise bigoted and hostile may be willing to cross boundary lines to work with outsiders on a common project.  Those guys were willing to overcome, or at least overlook, their prejudices to work with me – a privileged member of a despised ethnic group – and to teach me and mentor me when it came to doing the work we had in common.  And I learned to overcome my arrogance and to work with them, despite their prejudices and their rude and crude behavior.  Perhaps my experience at the Merchandise Mart can be seen as a model of democracy at work.

Shaw was able to recognize the talents of unintellectual people and attribute what we would call multiple types of intelligence to them.  In Man and Superman, he has a character who is a chauffeur and auto mechanic.  The man is portrayed in favorable terms as a clever mechanic and down-to-earth thinker.  But he is also portrayed as the kind of person in whom the government could not be entrusted.  This disparaging view of unintellectual people is what ultimately led Shaw to become increasingly authoritarian in his politics, and it’s where I think he went wrong.

The Bad News and the Good: Democracy and Education.

Shaw had it wrong when he claimed that a high level of high-brow intellectuality was the key to a successful democracy.  Resting his hopes for democracy on the evolution of a race of super-intellectuals, at first through education and then through eugenics, Shaw was setting himself up for a rejection of democracy.  His race of super intellectuals was impossible.

But it was also unnecessary.  It is our natural and necessary cooperativeness that makes democracy possible.  And it is through the cultivation of that cooperativeness, through education and experience, that social progress can occur.  Historically, lasting social reform has come from the bottom-up and not from the top-down as Shaw would have it.  Unfortunately, not all of us recognize or accept the fact of our natural sociability.

Dark periods in history are almost invariably a consequence of egoism and selfishness or fear and hatred coming to the fore.  Those emotions are part of the human makeup, and they can be cultivated or provoked so that hostility overcomes our empathy and sociability.  It is also the case that some of us are incapable of feeling empathy or acting socially.  Think Donald Trump.

We in United States have been bombarded with right-wing Social Darwinism in various forms, with its emphasis on selfish individualism and hostility to others, for the last one hundred twenty-five years.  This miseducation has colored most Americans’ ideological responses to social issues. As result, when Americans are asked ideological questions, they generally give right-wing answers. When, for example, people over the last century have been asked whether or not they support social programs to help the poor or minorities, the results have generally been that two-thirds of the respondents are against such programs based on their adherence to an individualist ideology.

But, when people have been asked more concrete and personal questions as to whether the government should keep people from starving or being discriminated against, the results have generally been two-thirds in favor.  Ideologies and ideological questions are cold blooded and generally get cold-blooded answers.  But concrete questions about specific people evoke empathy, and the overwhelming majority of Americans then support a cooperative response.

The bad news of our time is that systematic racism and sexism permeate American society, and some one-third of the people could reasonably be considered fascists.  They are inspired by fear and hatred against blacks, Hispanics, immigrants, liberals, Muslims, Jews, gays, peaceniks, and anyone else who seems to them to be a threat to their privileged existence as white people.  These Americans are anti-democratic in ideology and authoritarian by nature.  They are encouraged by the current President of the United States and they support him.

But these are mostly old people, especially old white men, who remember the good old days of unrestricted white male dominance over everyone else.  And although they are mounting a last ditch, scorched earth-defense of their privileges in the form of Trumpism, their day is passing.  The good news is that every generation of young people since the 1960’s has been more progressive than the last, and these progressive young people will soon be running the country.  If we survive the damage of the “apres moi, le deluge” assault on the world by the Trumpists, there should politically be better days ahead.

As I am writing this essay, the world is engulfed in a pandemic that is being spread by people breathing, coughing and sneezing on each other.  We have been told by all the leading scientists and doctors that the single best way to prevent the spread of the disease is for people to wear face masks.  Wearing a mask is, thus, largely an empathetic and cooperative action that helps others and the society as a whole.   Unfortunately, the President and his right-wing supporters have made wearing masks an ideological issue.

Some two-thirds of the American public say that they support wearing masks and wear masks themselves.  The one-third who oppose the masks and don’t wear them generally do so on the grounds of either individualistic ideology or pure I-don’t-want-to-be-bothered selfishness.  While the individualistic behavior of this minority of people has so far wreaked havoc on efforts to contain the disease, it is still significant that the overwhelming majority of Americans support the cooperative effort.

The guys that I worked with at the Merchandise Mart were filled with fears and hatreds of people unlike themselves.  But they had sufficient empathy to work with me toward a common goal.  That, I think, is the key to adaptability and survival.  It is a natural human attribute that needs today to be applied to broader social and political ends, as it has been in the past and still can be.  That is a task for education and it is the test for democracy.

Finale: Should we cancel Shaw?  I say “No.”

So, what are we to make of Shaw?  Shaw got a lot of things wrong but I think he didn’t mean it and he wasn’t mean about it.  Shaw promoted eugenics and railed against democracy in ways that were similar to those of racists and fascists in his day.  But his intentions were humane.  He hoped to use eugenics to breed a more egalitarian human race of highly intelligent beings. Shaw’s intentions were in sharp contrast with those of the Social Darwinians and the Nazis who wanted to use eugenics for inegalitarian and inhumane purposes.

Shaw also promoted dictators in terms similar to those used by the fascists.  But, again, his intentions were humane.  Shaw hoped that dictators could bring about a socialist transformation that would make a better life for the masses of people. His goal was in sharp contrast to that of the right-wing authoritarians who wanted dictators to keep down the masses and force people to accept a miserable existence.

So, what to do with Shaw?  When dealing with ideas and actions that are unacceptable to us today but that were within the range of respectability in the past, I try to make a distinction between what could be called genteel wrongheadedness and vicious wrongdoing.  Genteel wrongheadedness is often a kind of snobbery.  It is looking down on others as inferiors, as when some people say that Jews are socially unacceptable or that Jewish businessmen are all shysters.

Vicious wrongdoing is an attempt to actively do harm to another group, as with the Nazis and the QAnon people who think that Jews are running and ruining the world and must be wiped out.  Genteel wrongheadedness is unacceptable but not necessarily unforgivable. Vicious wrongdoing is unacceptable, unforgivable, and unforgettable.  Charles Dickens was, for example, a genteel racist toward Jews, but he is still one of my favorite authors.

I think we can characterize Shaw as genteelly wrongheaded, as someone who looked down upon ordinary people but meant them no harm.  To the contrary, he hoped to make the world a better place for everyone through eugenics and dictators.  He explicitly refused to target any group for oppression.  He expressly rejected any restrictions on people he considered unintelligent.  He merely wanted to encourage mating among the intelligent.  I think that Shaw was idiotic in his support for eugenics and dictators, but not vicious.  His views are unacceptable and must be condemned, but I don’t think he need be cancelled.

I think we can continue to enjoy his plays without moral qualms, albeit with the cautious and critical attention with which we should approach any work from another time and place.  To those of us who believe in democracy, his plays offer an intellectual challenge to see the flaws in his works and hone our own beliefs.  Shaw was very smart and very clever.  If you are not careful, he can snare you into his way of thinking without your being aware of it.  Reading him with critical attention is good practice.

His plays also offer us an opportunity to analyze how and why a person devolves politically in the way that Shaw did.  His example might help us to understand the devolution of American politics, and help explain how a populace that twice elected Barack Obama could have then elected Donald Trump.  For these reasons, I think his plays should continue to hold a place in the literary canon of our times.

BW   8/30/20

Footnotes:

[1] Fabian Essays.  George Bernard Shaw, Ed. Kindle Books: Pantianos Classics:

[2] Candida. George Bernard Shaw.  New York: Signet Classic, 1960.

[3] Ibid. Pp.201, 208.

[4] Ibid. P.233.

[5] Ibid. P.210-211.

[6] Ibid. P.186.

[7] Man and Superman. George Bernard Shaw. “To Arthur Bingham Walkley.” New York: Signet Classic, 1960. P.251

[8] Ibid. Pp.250, 251.

[9] Man and Superman. George Bernard Shaw. “The Revolutionist’s Handbook and Pocket Companion.”  New York: Signet Classic, 1960. P 406

[10] Ibid. P.407

[11] Ibid. P.408

[12] Ibid. P.416

[13] Ibid. P.417

[14] Ibid. Pp.432, 433.

[15]  Man and Superman. George Bernard Shaw. “The Play.” eBook: Start Publishing LLC., 2012. P.33.

[16] Ibid. P.10.

[17] Ibid. P.134

[18] Man and Superman. George Bernard Shaw. “Don Juan in Hell.”  New York: Signet Classic, 1960. Pp.370-371

[19] Ibid. Pp.350, 352, 373.

[20] Plays Political. George Bernard Shaw. “The Preface.” London: Penguin Books, 1986. P.95

[21] Ibid. P.11, 12, 14.

[22] Ibid. Pp.15, 18-19, 21, 28.

[23] Plays Political. George Bernard Shaw. “The Play.” London: Penguin Books, 1986. Pp 62,66, 67

[24] Ibid. Pp.43-44

[25] Ibid. P.77

[26] Ibid. Pp.79, 102

[27] On Nietzsche, see Walter Kaufmann. Nietzsche: Philosopher Psychologist Antichrist. New York: Meridian Books, 1966.

[28]Friedrich Nietzsche. Beyond Good and Evil. New York: Vintage Books, 1966. P.178.

[29]Friedrich Nietzsche. Thus Spoke Zarathustra in The Portable Nietzsche. New York: Viking Press, 1954. P.124.

[30] On Darwin, see Janet Browne. Charles Darwin: The Power of Place, Vol. II. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2002. 

Tom Stoppard’s “The Coast of Utopia.” Old Left/New Left. Old New Left/Newer New Left. What goes around keeps coming around. But are we getting anywhere?

Tom Stoppard’s The Coast of Utopia.

Old Left/New Left. Old New Left/Newer New Left.

What goes around keeps coming around.

But are we getting anywhere?

 

Burton Weltman

 

“So, you say you want a revolution.”

The Beatles.

Generational Rebellion Today and the Relevance of The Coast of Utopia.

Tom Stoppard’s The Coast of Utopia is a trilogy of plays that dramatize the trials and tribulations of a group of mid-nineteenth century exiled Russian dissidents who sought to reform from abroad the repressive Czarist regime in their home country.  It is a historical drama that draws upon real historical figures as its main characters, including the journalist Alexander Herzen, the insurrectionist Michael Bakunin, the novelist Ivan Turgenev and other members of what has been called the Russian Generation of the 1840’s.  The plays focus on conflicts among the exiles as they try to figure out how to move Russia from a decadent old order to a new and better one.

Differences among the exiles are both ideological and generational. While all of them consider themselves progressives of some sort, some are liberal democrats, others are socialists, anarchists, or communists.  Some are more militant and utopian, others are more moderate and pragmatic.  These ideological differences are exacerbated by generational differences.  The younger among them push for more extreme measures, and each generation of young people is more radical than the last.  The exiles become more moderate as they get older, or at least appear so to the next generation of young people.  And while members of the Generation of the 1840’s pride themselves on being more radical than reformers of the prior generation, they are, in turn, scorned as milk-toasts by more radical members of the next generation.

The plays portray the sorts of conflicts that can arise between militant and moderate factions of a progressive political movement, and the complications that can emerge when these conflicts are intergenerational.  The plays treat the utopian hopes of the younger militants with sympathy, but the moral of the story seems to be that getting to the coast of utopia, getting nearer to a good society but never actually getting there, is about as close as people can plausibly hope to get.  Utopia is out of reach and utopianism, insisting on perfection and on all-or-nothing, is not a wise strategy.  A pragmatic moderation with a step-by-step strategy is a wiser alternative.

This essay is being written during the spring of 2020 in the midst of a horrible world-wide pandemic, the ongoing disaster of global climate change, and the worst Presidential administration in American history.  In the midst of these problems, progressives are in danger of being split by conflicts between those who are more utopian and militant – disproportionately younger activists – and those who are more pragmatic and moderate – mostly middle-aged folks.  What is largely a generational rebellion threatens to undermine the ability of progressives to defeat President Trump and his cadre of right-wingers in the upcoming elections, and to address problems that all progressives agree need remedying.  As a self-styled progressive, that is of great concern to me and is why I think The Coast of Utopia is particularly relevant to our times.

Cycles of Generational Rebellion: What goes around comes around.

It has become a commonplace rite of passage in modern Western society for young people to seek to establish unique identities of their own.[1] Being able to define oneself by oneself is considered by most young people to be a sign of maturity.  It is something they often try to do by distinguishing themselves from their parents, and sometimes by rebelling against them. This rebellion usually takes one of two forms.  In the most common form, young people go off in a different direction than that taken by their parents.  Spurning their elders’ values, goals and/or achievements, these rebels look for worthwhile means and ends in other places.

But some young rebels take a different tack.  They accept their elders’ values and goals but then try to push them to a higher level of commitment, effort and ofttimes risk.  Defining adulthood in terms of self-assertion, doing one’s own thing and becoming somebody thereby, they spurn as an old person’s copout the conventional idea of maturity as consisting of forethought, patience and prudence.  Instead of rejecting their parents as fools, these rebels condemn them as hypocrites, phonies and cowards.  Often a significant cohort of young people within a generation will rebel in similar ways, mounting a massed assault on their elders, and therein lies the problem.

In-your-face generational rebellions of this sort have occurred many times in many ways in many countries, especially among political progressives and within progressive political movements.  Progressives tend toward utopianism in any case, that is, toward seeking The Solution to all of the world’s problems in one fell swoop, and young progressives have a penchant for trying to reach even further in this quest than their elders.  This frequently results in generational factionalism between younger radicals and middle-aged moderates.  While factionalism is almost inevitable in any political movement, generational factionalism taken to the point of disaffection and estrangement has historically been one of the fatal flaws afflicting progressive movements.

Generational rebellions tend to occur in cycles, and the history of progressive movements in America over the course of the last century provides an example of these cycles.  Within each new generation of young progressives, leading members have pushed progressive theories and practices to a new extreme.  Each generation of young radicals has then invariably either flamed out in pseudo-revolutionary failure or fallen back in middle age into some sort of pragmatic reformism similar to what they had previously rejected in their elders.  That was true in turn of the Populists, Socialists, Communists, and New Leftists alike.  Each started as a militant tendency, ended as moderate, and became the target of the next generation of young radicals.

Populism was a political movement of the late nineteenth century made up mainly of small farmers who were seeking fair treatment from banks, railroads, and wholesale buyers, and who were demanding that the government do something to help them.  It was considered a radical movement in its time.  But come the early 1900’s, young Socialists, who were seeking a democratic overhaul of the whole capitalist economy, rejected their Populist elders as small-minded petty-bourgeois businessmen.

Socialists did not, however, avoid their own comeuppance.  During the 1930’s, young Communists, who sought a revolutionary overthrow of the capitalist system, rejected their now aging Socialist elders as weak-kneed bourgeois petty-liberals.  The extremism of the Communists’ position did not save them from their own reckoning with young radicals.  Youthful anarcho-syndicalists of the self-styled New Left, ardent proponents of what was called participatory democracy, attacked their Old Left Communist elders during the 1960’s as hopelessly boring, stodgy authoritarians.  Finally, in the present-day, what could be called Newer New Leftists have recently been rejecting the ways and means of the aging New Leftists, condemning them as middle-class cop-outs.[2]  And, so it goes.

In condemning their predecessors as phonies and refusing to work with them, successive generations of young progressives split and weakened the progressive movement of that day.  In then moving from militant self-assertion to prudent moderation as they aged, generally retaining their goals but moderating their methods and message, each generation of aging progressives opened the door for the next generational rebellion.  It is a cycle that has been repeated so often it has become an example of déjà vu all over again.  And this is the case not merely in America but in much of the rest of the world as well. What goes around keeps coming around, but are we getting anywhere?  This is a question that underlies Tom Stoppard’s The Coast of Utopia.

1848/1968: The Past as Prologue.

The Coast of Utopia dramatizes generational rebellions among nineteenth century Russian radicals.  First published and performed in 2002, it is focused around what was called the Generation of the 1840’s.  The plays portray their efforts to take the progressivism of their predecessors, what could be called the Generation of the 1820’s that included the Decembrists, and carry it forward both faster and further.  The plays portray, in turn, the rejection of the Generation of the 1840’s by a more radical and violent younger generation of radicals, the so-called Generation of the 1860’s that included a group of self-styled nihilists.

In addition to these generational differences, the plays highlight conflicts among the radicals of the Generation of the 1840’s that were based on their relative commitments to militancy and moderation, peaceful reform and violent revolution, education and direct action.  Within the generation of the 1840’s, Herzen was the philosophical leader of those promoting the peaceful reform of Russia through education. Bakunin was the flamboyant leader of those who wanted to incite a violent revolution to overthrow the repressive Russian regime.  Turgenev was a leading proponent of changing the world through education and cultivating the arts.

The focal event of the plays, and the main turning point in the lives of Herzen and the others was the European revolutions of 1848.  Democratic revolutionaries across Europe in 1848 attempted to overthrow repressive monarchial regimes, most importantly in France, Germany and Italy.  Herzen and his Russian comrades had high hopes that successful democratic revolutions in Western Europe would precipitate similar events in Russia.  After some initial successes, the revolutions failed.  The plays dramatize the hopes of the Russian radicals leading up to 1848, their disappointments thereafter, and the effects of 1848 on their political views.

The story of these Russian radicals is not merely of historical interest.  It is relevant to understanding more recent historical events and present-day conflicts.  The rebellious year 1968 in America and Europe, and the events surrounding that year, can be compared with 1848, and this analogy was seemingly intended by Stoppard. Although The Coast of Utopia was first published and performed in 2002, Stoppard has said that he started thinking about the plays in the late 1960’s, so that a comparison of the intergenerational and intragenerational conflicts among the rebels of the 1840’s in the plays to those of the 1960’s is pertinent.

The 1960’s were a period of rebellion in America and Europe just as the 1840’s had been.  The 1970’s were a reactionary period in America and Europe just as were the 1850’s.  And 1968 was a turning point just as 1848 had been.  The theories and practices of 1960’s rebels can be usefully compared to those of the 1840’s.  In turn, the intergenerational splits between the New Left and the Old Left during the 1960’s, the hopes of young leftists leading up to the rebellions of 1968, and their disappointments thereafter, are directly analogous to the 1840’s.  Stoppard was himself among the disappointed young progressives in 1968.

And as with the 1840’s, generational splits between the New Left and Old Left during the 1960’s were compounded by ideological conflicts within the New Left over the wisdom of militancy versus moderation, violent revolution versus peaceful reform.  Within the New Left in the United States there were, for example, community organizers, such as those who participated in the organizing efforts of SDS’s Economic Research and Action projects, and confrontationists, such as the so-called Weathermen who seemingly hoped to spark the overthrow of the government though random acts of violence.  The latter got the publicity which tarnished the movement as a whole.

As with the progressive movement of the 1840’s, the progressive movement of the 1960’s died.  And it was not because New Leftists became conservatives in the aftermath.  To the contrary, most pursued careers, especially in education and the social services, that furthered their progressive values.  But the movement died from a combination of right-wing backlash and self-inflicted wounds.  The net result was that the right wing surged back into power in Europe and America during the 1970’s.  Today, when conflict between pragmatists and ideologues, moderates and militants, utopians and realists, once again threatens to undermine the progressive movement, we can benefit from the example portrayed in The Coast of Utopia.

Historical Fiction/Fictional History: Feeling Ideas and Events.

Stoppard has said that the substance of The Coast of Utopia is primarily based on two works by the historian E.H. Carr and on writings by the political philosopher Isaiah Berlin.[3]  The books by Carr are a history of mid-nineteenth century radical Russian dissidents called The Romantic Exiles, first published in 1933, and a biography of Bakunin, first published in 1937.[4]  Carr is a sympathetic but critical historian of the escapades of the Russian exiles.  Berlin, who promoted a liberal pragmatic philosophy, is cited by Carr for a series of essays on Russian thinkers.  I think the plays reflect Carr’s history and Berlin’s philosophy.

Carr’s history books read almost like novels.  They are wonderfully written, and they plumb the depths of his subjects’ psyches.  His subjects were wordy, self-dramatizing intellectuals who left behind loads of letters and memoirs for Carr to work with.  From these, Carr was able to construct brilliant psychological profiles of his main subjects.  The debt of Stoppard to Carr is obvious. There is almost nothing of significance that happens in The Coast of Utopia that isn’t described in Carr’s The Romantic Exiles, except for some dream sequences that Stoppard invented seemingly in order to stage conversations among people that did not actually happen.

Since Stoppard’s plays follow Carr’s history books so closely, the question arises as to what is the purpose of the plays?  And how should we characterize them, as art or as history, and as historical fiction or fictional history?  The lyricist Yip Harburg once described the purpose of art as enabling people to feel ideas.  Thinking is intellectual, he said, and feeling is emotional.  But “to feel a thought is an artistic process.”[5] This is seemingly what Stoppard was trying to achieve – to have his audience feel the ideas and events in the plays.  I think he achieved his purpose, but unnecessarily did it in a way that undermines his credibility.  While he seemingly considered his plays to be historical fiction, I think they are actually fictional history. The difference between the two is significant.[6]

Historical fiction is an art form that recreates factual situations but then peoples those situations with fictional main characters.  These characters face real historical circumstances and make choices similar to those that were made by real historical people, but the fictional characters are also provided with thoughts, words, and deeds that are clearly the invention of the author.  In historical fiction about the American Revolution, for example, actual people such as George Washington may appear in the background saying and doing factual things, but the main characters will be fictional and their thoughts, words and deeds will be clearly fictional.

Historical fiction can make a real contribution to the study and appreciation of history. While history books can explain ideas and events of the past, historical fiction can help readers to identify with people in the past, and feel what it would be like to be in a past time and place.  Through recreating past ways of life, historical fiction can put readers or an audience into the picture.  It can enable them to vicariously face the circumstances and choices that people in the past faced, and reflect on what they might have done in those situations.

I think it is important, however, to distinguish historical fiction from fictional history.  In contrast to historical fiction, fictional history takes actual people and then has them think, say and do fictional things.  The author makes up things that are then attributed to real historical figures.  In fictional history, actual people such as Washington will say and do fictional things.  Fictional history is very troublesome because it is essentially a lie presented in the guise of truth.

It is only since the late nineteenth century that the study of history has been established on a professional basis, and that historians have been able to reject fictions that were being justified as truth because they were ostensibly the way things should have happened or the way a historical personage would have acted.  Historians could now, for example, reject the fictional story invented by Parson Weems that six-year-old George Washington had confessed to chopping down a cherry tree because he could not tell a lie.  Even though this story was long known to be a fiction, it had been widely accepted as a historical truth about Washington because it was ostensibly the way he would have reacted and, therefore, was a truth about him.

While the story about Washington and the cherry tree may seem innocuous, fictional history can have an unwholesome effect on factual history.  This harm is exemplified by one of the greatest plays by perhaps the world’s greatest playwright, Richard III by Shakespeare.  Richard III is a spectacular play that imprinted on students of history for some three hundred years a picture of King Richard III as a mentally and physically deformed demon.  The picture, however, is false.  Richard was not the hunchbacked evil demon he is so chillingly pictured by Shakespeare.  He was seemingly a fairly popular and fair-minded king, and he was not a hunchback.  The problem with the play lay with Shakespeare’s sources.  His sources were supporters of the Lancasters in the War of the Roses between the Lancasters and the Yorks, and they were politically biased against the Yorkist Richard.  Shakespeare started with bad facts and then brilliantly expanded and fictionalized them into a false picture that everyone thought was true.[7]

Crossing and confusing the line between fact and fiction is a dangerous practice, especially in our times when so many people, including President Trump, regularly exaggerate and downright lie about past and present events, often for political purposes.  Public opinion in the modern world has become a struggle between those trying to convince people through facts and reason, and those trying to manipulate people with lies.  And the liars seem to have the edge.

The Coast of Utopia is a mix of historical fiction and fictional history.  It is very effective but I think Stoppard could have accomplished his intellectual and dramatic purposes if he had stuck to historical fiction and had used fictional characters in recreating the debates among nineteenth century Russian intellectuals.  He could even have created characters who resembled Herzen, Bakunin, Turgenev and the rest, but given them different names.  In that way, he could have avoided lying to his audience, which is what he essentially does by having actual people do a mix of factual and fictional things.

Setting the Historical Stage: E.H. Carr’s The Romantic Exiles.

The main themes of Carr’s Romantic Exiles are highlighted in the book’s title. Almost all of the characters in the book are exiles. The main characters are from Russia, but they mix with exiles from other European countries.  And, according to Carr, almost all them, male and female, Russians and the others alike, but especially the Russians, were intoxicated with romanticism.  Carr describes romanticism as “a movement for the worship of Human Nature and the liberation of the individual from the yoke of moral and political absolutism.”  In personal relations, the romanticism of the exiles promoted a morality founded “on the apotheosis of the feelings, or like George Sand, on the religion of love.”  In political affairs, “Its supreme expression was the French Revolution,” which the romantics perennially sought to replicate, only better this time.[8]

In their personal relations, Carr’s Russians were devotees of the novelist George Sand, and they enthusiastically adopted her credo that the purpose of life is love, that true love conquers all obstacles, and that nothing should be allowed to stand in the way of true love.  Nothing, not conventions such as marriage, not other moral commitments, not concern for the feelings and welfare of others, not care for children or other innocent bystanders.  Carr quotes Sand as proclaiming: “Why should it be a sin to abandon oneself to one’s own heart?”[9]  He pokes fun at Sand’s philosophy and the devotion of the Russian exiles to her.  In turn, the love-lives of Carr’s main characters are described as a succession of melodramatic relationships, all of them doomed, and each one initially ecstatic but eventually smashed.

Carr’s description of Herzen’s amorous entanglements provides an example of the tangled romantic webs the exiles wove, and the burlesque melodramas they enacted.  As a young man, Herzen eloped with his first wife Natalie in a whirlwind of romantic love, wooing her with the adjuration that “You are I; Alexander and Natalie do not form a WE, but only my own I. My I is full, for you have been completely swallowed up and you no longer exist.” This was seemingly a Russian version of the old English saying that “A husband and wife are one, and the husband is the one.”  Natalie wholeheartedly accepted this sexist pseudo-romanticism, and was willing to subordinate herself to Herzen’s “I” until Herzen seduced a serf woman which, Carr reports, “rudely tore down the romantic halo” that had surrounded their marriage.[10]

Despite being let down by Herzen, Carr reports that Natalie continued her pursuit of true love, and she subsequently started a torrid affair with an exiled German poet named Herwegh who was at the time living with his wife in Herzen’s house.  Herzen was a wealthy and extremely generous person who frequently housed and subsidized needy exiles.  In what Carr characterizes as true romantic fashion, Natalie expected Herzen not merely to accept the adulterous situation in his own household, but to applaud it. She saw her affair with Herwegh as an example of true love triumphing, and she insisted that Herzen ought to recognize and honor that.  Herwegh’s wife Emma, who was like Natatlie a devotee of George Sand, accepted the situation.  Herzen did not.

Herzen declared that he was not willing to live in the same house with his wife’s lover.  He was, however, willing to leave Natalie so she could be with Herwegh.  Natalie rejected that offer.  Herzen was a wealthy and well-regarded author.  Herwegh was a penniless minor poet who was dependent on his wife Emma for financial support.  In sum, Natalie wanted both Herzen and Herwegh.  Herzen wasn’t having any of that and he insisted that Herwegh leave his house.  Herwegh eventually left, but the romantic complications remained unresolved.

As a means of resolving them, Herwegh’s wife Emma offered to leave Herwegh and let Natalie have Herwegh all to herself.  Natalie rejected that offer.  She was not about to leave the well-to-do and well-regarded Herzen for an impoverished Herwegh.  The ever-melodramatic Herwegh then offered to let Herzen kill him.  Herzen refused that offer. So, Natalie then offered to have Herwegh kill her.  Herwegh refused that offer.  Finally, Herwegh challenged Herzen to a duel.  Herzen refused that offer.  Shortly thereafter, Natalie died of tuberculosis[11]

That was not, however, the end of Herzen’s romantic imbroglios.  Having been the victim in a bizarre romantic entanglement, he now became a perpetrator.  Not long after Natalie’s death, Herzen began an affair with Natasha the wife of his best friend Ogarev.  Ogarev and Natasha were living with Herzen and Herzen’s children at the time.  A devotee of George Sand, Natasha was disappointed with Ogarev.  So, she seduced Herzen.  Herzen took it from there and subsequently had several illegitimate children with Natasha.

Ogarev was himself no neophyte in these tangled marital matters.  He had previously had a long adulterous affair with Natasha when his first wife left him for a young painter.  When his estranged first wife died, Ogarev married Natasha, but she then almost immediately began her affair with Herzen.  As an erstwhile disciple of George Sand, Ogarev blessed the relationship between Herzen and Natasha.  He eventually established a permanent relationship with a prostitute, supporting her and her son in return for her taking care of him when he was ill.[12]

I have only briefly summarized Herzen’s amorous affairs here, and his imbroglios make up only one strand of the Russian exiles’ romantic complications as reported by Carr.  As Carr describes them, Herzen and the other Russian exiles were crazy for love, and they were people for whom life was an attempt to imitate art, albeit the highly romanticized and melodramatic art of George Sand.  They were way ahead of their Victorian times in sexual matters, and they can be compared in this regard with the free-loving counter-culturists of the 1960’s.  All of this is dramatized in The Coast of Utopia.

Romanticism also permeated the political ideas and activities of the Russian exiles, and they can also be compared in this regard to the New Leftists of the 1960’s.  Like many of the refugees from other European countries, the Russians made a cult of revolution.  They were utopians who believed in the magic of revolution to bring about a once-and-for-all perfect society.  Most were devotees of Rousseau, and adherents of Rousseau’s romantic philosophy that people are basically good, that they are corrupted by bad institutions, and that if only those institutions could be reformed or destroyed (depending on whether you were a reformer like Herzen or an anarchist like Bakunin), then all would be well in the world.  Carr describes the Russian exiles as a “collocation of Romanticism and Revolution.”[13]  Karl Marx, a German refugee, is the one character in Carr’s book who is described as a realist, and he was despised by all of the rest of the refugees as a cold-blooded ideologue.  This, too, is dramatized in Stoppard’s plays.

Herzen and other members of the Russian Generation of the 1840’s derived their political impetus from the failure of the prior generation of reformers, the Generation of the 1820’s, to effectuate political change Russia.  In the wake of the French revolutionary wars and the defeat of Napoleon, progressives in Russia had hoped that Czar Alexander would reform the government and liberalize society.  There was much organizing among Russian liberals during the late 1810’s and early 1820’s, and they had great hopes for future reforms that would make Russia more like a Western European country.  Alexander stoked those hope with gestures in favor of Westernizing Russia.  But then he died.

When Czar Alexander died in 1825, his younger brother Nicholas was named Czar.  Nicholas was an arch-conservative who was not going to follow through with the liberalizing reforms that Alexander had hinted at.  The Decembrists were a group of aristocratic army officers who wanted to replace Nicholas with another brother, the more liberal Constantine, as Czar, and to establish a constitutional monarchy in Russia.  They staged a mass demonstration in December of 1825, hence their name the Decembrists, calling on Nicholas to abide by their demands.

The putative revolt was a shambles, with demonstrators fleeing en masse upon the approach of troops loyal to Czar Nicholas.  The leaders and many of the participants were either executed or exiled to Siberia.  Herzen and other members of the Generation of the 1840’s vowed to avenge the Decembrists, carry their reforms to revolution, and force change on the Russian government rather than merely tamely asking for change.  This was, however, easier said than done.[14]

Russian reformers had a particularly difficult task for at least two reasons.  First, Russia was ruled by a totalitarian Czarist regime that forbade all dissent and even any hint of dissent.  Herzen was, for example, imprisoned for merely knowing some people who had said some disrespectful things about the regime.  Many other people were suppressed for similarly trivial reasons. As a result, there was very little political and intellectual space in Russia for reformers to operate.  This was the reason that so many of them went into exile.  Herzen went into permanent exile starting in 1847, moving with his family and friends from country to country – France, Italy, Germany, Switzerland, wherever he felt able to set up shop.  Like most of his Russian comrades, he finally settled for good in England, which was the home during the nineteenth century to a host of political exiles from various European countries.

A second major difficulty facing Russian reformers was that the overwhelming majority of the Russian people were isolated and illiterate peasants.  They were not prime candidates for either political education or activism. Some three quarters of the people in Russia during the mid-nineteenth century were serfs, that is, peasants who were permanently tied to the land that they cultivated, land that was owned by Russian aristocrats.  Symbolic of the repressive situation, Russian landowners did not refer to their property in terms of how many acres they owned but in terms of how many peasant “souls” they owned on their land.

But in the minds of Herzen and many of his comrades, serfdom could be a source of opportunity for reformers.  Russian serfdom was like slavery except that serfs had some rights that slaves did not, and that was the key.  In particular, Russian serfs lived in peasant villages that were organized on a communal and cooperative basis.  As long as they gave the landlord his due in crops and labor, the villagers had the right to organize their work, allot plots of land on a rotating basis to each other, and distribute their remaining crops as they pleased.

Consistent with their Rousseauian romanticism, Herzen and his allies believed that the Russian village provided an ideal foundation for what they hoped would be a distinctly Russian form of socialism, a socialism that would not have to evolve out of industrial capitalism as Marx insisted.  Herzen’s was the utopian dream that if only the serfs were free, they would develop a peaceful peasant socialism that he saw presaged in the serfs’ peasant villages.  Toward this end, Herzen campaigned to end serfdom.

Herzen and most of the other exiles were wanted men in Russia, which persistently tried to get them back to Russia in order to silence them.  They engaged in two main forms of political activism, both of which were intended to motivate the Russian masses: political propaganda and incendiary action.  Most of them published revolutionary journals and tracts. Some also engaged in insurrections and attempted assassinations.  The activities of the various European exiles were shaped in large part by the nature of the regimes which they opposed and the tolerance of the countries in which they resided.  Stolid and solid mid-nineteenth century England was a perfect place for the exiles’ propagandizing which was done in foreign languages, addressed to foreign countries and, therefore, no threat to the stability of England.

The Russian exiles were almost all intellectuals who preened themselves on being a political force.  This self-regard was not merely the pomposity that one often finds in self-styled intellectuals, but was rooted in reality.  The Russian authorities treated the exiled intellectuals as dangerous and that, in and of itself, gave them attention and gave them power. A new word, “intelligentsia,” was even invented to describe this generation of Russian intellectuals.  The intelligentsia was a social class of intellectuals coalesced in opposition to the existing Russian regime.  Russian intellectuals were by definition revolutionaries.

Although Herzen was the most highly regarded of the Russian exiles, Bakunin was the most famous.  Carr claims that “Bakunin was incomparably the greatest leader and agitator thrown up by the revolutionary movement of the nineteenth century,” and describes him as “a figure at once subhuman and superhuman.”  Superhuman in his efforts and efficacy as an agitator but subhuman in his honesty and personal relations.  Carr quotes Herzen as saying that Bakunin had “great ability and a worthless character.” Bakunin was almost everywhere in Europe where there was an uprising during the mid-nineteenth century, or trying to get there.  He loved and lived for organizing secret societies and attempting to stir up rebellions.[15]

Bakunin was an anarchist.  This meant that he did not want to overthrow one form of government to establish another.  He wanted to destroy government altogether so that people could live collectively without being oppressed.  Carr quotes him as proclaiming that “The passion for destruction is a creative passion,” since destroying repressive institutions frees people.  He was not, however, what we would today call a libertarian.  He did not believe in every person for him/herself.  He was a socialist who believed in a cooperative society which operated on the principle of all for one and one for all.

When during the 1860’s, Bakunin was approached by younger radicals who considered themselves nihilists, that is, believers in nothing except rebellion for its own sake, he was initially attracted to their zest for action, but eventually pulled away.  Their violence seemed pointless.  He was not a nihilist but a socialist, and he deeply believed in his ideas, even if they were utopian and delusional. Carr says that when Bakunin died in 1876, he still held to “the same stubborn lifelong refusal to compromise with reality” that had carried him through his life.[16]

Herzen was a different sort of person.  He was constantly trying to reconcile his ideals with reality.  Carr states that for Herzen “Romanticism was his religion, liberalism his political faith, and constitutional democracy his ideal for Russia.”[17]  And unlike Bakunin who remained a utopian all his life, Herzen moved from utopianism to realism, with the events of 1848 as a turning point.  Still idealistic, but willing to compromise with circumstances.

In England, Herzen was a central figure among a colloquy of exiled would-be revolutionary leaders, which included Mazzini from Italy, Kossuth from Hungary, Worcell from Poland, Blanc and Ledru-Rollin from France, and occasionally Marx from Germany. All of them, as Carr tells it, were utopians who believed in the magic of revolution to resolve all problems, even including Marx who insisted his views were scientific and not utopian.

Prior to 1848, Herzen idolized Western Europe and especially the French for their democratic revolutionary tradition.  He was disillusioned by the events of 1848, not so much by the failure of the revolutions and the repressions in most of Europe, but by the disappointing success of the revolution in France.  Middle class and working-class French people united to overthrew their king and establish a democratic republic in the spring of 1848.   But then French voters elected a majority of conservative anti-democratic members to their new legislature and eventually acquiesced in Napoleon the Third’s seizure of dictatorial power.  Democracy committing suicide, Herzen mourned.

In Herzen’s eyes, both the “Proletariat and bourgeoisie were alike discredited.”  At that point, he gave up on the West, and he turned away from advocating European revolution as the prelude to a Russian revolution.  He veered, instead, toward the idea that the unique position of the Russian serfs made them the best bet for a better Russian society, and he began promoting the idea that the liberation of the serfs would be the first step toward a democratic socialist Russia.[18]

Czar Nicholas had died in 1855 and was succeeded by the more liberal Alexander II.  In 1857, Herzen began publishing a Russian language journal called The Bell which was secretly distributed in Russia.  The main purpose of the journal was to campaign against serfdom. The journal was a great success and widely read in Russia despite being illegal.  It was eventually being read even by the Czar and other high government officials, and the popular success of the journal was a factor in convincing the Czar to abolish serfdom in 1861.

At that point, Herzen and his comrades were ecstatic, until they heard about the terms of the abolition.  According to the Czar’s decree, the serfs were freed from bondage but they were not given any land.  Instead, they were forced to enter into rental contracts with their former owners which essentially made them into sharecroppers and debt slaves to their former masters.  In addition, there were new rules that undermined the role of the peasant communes, the institution upon which Herzen had based his long-range hopes for Russia.[19]

Bakunin took the disappointment with the terms of the liberation as proof that only insurrection would bring about real change.  Herzen disagreed and it resulted in a final split between them.  Herzen still believed in peaceful, gradual change, even if it meant going two steps forward and then one step backward.  But he was jeered by the younger Generation of the 1860’s.  Carr reports that “Herzen had lost the confidence of the rising generation” and that “He was a general without an army.”  Herzen died in 1870 a disheartened but still determined man.[20] 

The Plays: The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage.

The summary of Carr’s The Romantic Exiles that I have just provided is also a summary of the gist of The Coast of Utopia.  At the core of the plays are the generational conflicts between the Russian Generations of the 1820’s (accommodationists), 1840’s (revolutionary reformers), and 1860’s (nihilists), as well as the conflicts within the Generation of the 1840’s – Herzen the reformer, Bakunin the insurrectionist, and Turgenev the artiste.  Ideas, ideals, and ideologies predominate.  There is no action in the plays.  There is only talking.  But then, these are intellectuals and talking is what intellectuals do.  The chronology of the plays runs from 1833 to 1868, and the three plays are effectively one long complicated conversation among the main characters.

So, how does Stoppard take Carr’s engaging history and make it into a trilogy of plays in which the audience can feel the ideas?   For one thing, he makes his audience sit through three long plays so that they become immersed in the society and the company of his characters.  You come to feel that you know them personally, and you miss them when they are gone.

He does it, also, through techniques that lead the audience to experience the events as real.  The scenes proceed in roughly chronological order, but there are overlapping scenes, and flashbacks to former scenes that are then developed from a slightly different angle.  There are also fallbacks to previous times that start the clock over again with different people and places.  And there are false starts that lead you to think a scene is going in one direction but then leads to somewhere else.  Thoreau once said that time was just a stream in which he went fishing.  The plays run along like a stream of conversation out of which pieces of meaning are pulled, some are thrown back in, and somehow some overall messages are felt.

The feel of the characters’ ideas is also created by their ways of conversing and interacting.  Their talking is often confused and confusing, much like a Robert Altman movie with several conversations going on at once, some people talking over one another, and other people misunderstanding what is being said.  Their interactions are peripatetic, as they wander about from place to place.   We the audience struggle to make sense of what is being said and done just as the characters do.

The scenes are kaleidoscopic, rapidly changing, with lots of very short scenes – some consisting of only a couple of spoken sentences or a single gesture – mixed in with very long scenes that seem to go on forever.  When scenes overlap, there can be lengthy periods of time between them, but the characters will appear in the later scene in the same place and continuing the same conversation as in the earlier scene.  Characters who have not seen each other for long periods of time will continue, without missing a beat, conversations that began years ago.  The spasmodic nature of the scenes seems to reflect the way in which the characters experience them and we feel the disjuncture with them.

There two main subjects of conversation in the plays: love and revolution.   The characters feel very strongly about both, and we feel along with them.  We feel Herzen’s agony as he tries to work his way through his romantic entanglements and work out a plausible scheme for effecting change in Russia.  We experience Bakunin’s ecstasy as he imagines and plots one insurrectionist scheme after another.  We share Turgenev’s personal empathy and political apathy as he observes the personal and political affairs of his colleagues, and writes about them in his novels.

The characters frequently posture and speechify, as though they were actors in a melodrama with themselves as the stars.  In their view, art creates models for life, and then life models itself on art.  In the end, each of them, the male primary characters and the female secondary characters, is trying to find a way to live with himself or herself.  They have constructed self-images out of models provided by George Sand and Rousseau, they struggle to fulfill those self-images, and most often they don’t succeed.

Since the plays essentially follow the historical narrative in Carr’s The Romantic Exiles, what follows are short summaries of the events and snippets of the conversations that Stoppard has created for the characters.  It isn’t what they actually said but what Stoppard thinks they would have said.  It’s a sort of truth without being actually factual.  Like the story of Washington and the cherry tree, but with Carr’s book to support the historical plausibility of Stoppard’s creations.  The conversational highlights below are intended to indicate the drift of the characters’ arguments and the evolution of their ideas.  The goal is to try to provide some feel for the plays.

Part I: Voyage.

Voyage runs chronologically from the years 1833 to 1844.  It dramatizes the attempts of Bakunin, Herzen and other Russian intellectuals to find a perfect philosophy that expresses their ideals.  The play is a voyage of self and social discovery that results in their becoming dissidents and voyaging into exile.  Bakunin as a young adult is the main character.  The play opens and closes with Bakunin’s father, a man of the Generation of 1820’s, complaining about Bakunin.  Herzen, Turgenev and various others weave in and out of what is essentially Bakunin’s story.

Act One takes place between 1833 and 1841 on the verandah and in the garden of the large estate owned by Bakunin’s wealthy father in rural Russia.  Act One covers Bakunin’s young adulthood.  It is essentially an eight-year conversation centered around Bakunin as he moves from extolling one German philosophy of the self to the next, and repeatedly interferes in the love-lives of his four sisters.  The location stays the same throughout, and scenes often overlap, with the next scene starting as though the last had never ended despite time having passed, and with characters picking up on discussion in succeeding years as though no time had passed.

Bakunin comes across as a chronic adolescent.  He is the male heir of the family name and estate, and he is spoiled by his parents and especially by his four sisters who idolize him.  His father is a cultured man who considers himself something of a liberal, albeit he defends the monarchy as necessary for social stability, and serfdom as being in the best interests of the peasants who benefit from security in their bondage.  He expects Bakunin to study agriculture so as to take over management and modernization of the estate.

Bakunin rebels against his father’s expectations, but initially in an apolitical pursuit of philosophy.  He essentially takes his father’s pretense to culture and ups the ante in wanting to make a profession of philosophy rather than farming.  He is a socially maladjusted dilletante who continually says the wrong thing and offends people, and pretends to the role of a bohemian but lives as a rich aristocrat.  He playacts the romanticism of George Sand and pontificates about a succession of German romantic philosophers, each one of whom he proclaims as the best.

Bakunin begins his philosophical journey extolling Schelling, and lauding “the great discovery of the age! The life of the Spirit is the only real life: our material existence stands between us and our transcendence to the Universal Idea where we become one with the Absolute!”   He moves on to Fichte.  “I got led astray by Schelling,” he proclaims, “He tried to make the Self just another part of the world – but now Fichte shows that the world doesn’t exist except where I meet it – there is nothing but self.”  He finishes the act with Hegel.  “I was on the wrong track with Fichte, I admit it – Fichte was trying to get rid of objective reality, but Hegel shows that reality can’t be ignored.”[21]  He measures each of these philosophies as to how well they aggrandize the self, and his self in particular.  Bakunin wants his father to pay his way to study philosophy in Germany, but his father doesn’t go for it, and the first act ends with a breach between Bakunin and his father.

Act Two takes place between 1834 and 1844 in various locations in Moscow except for the last short concluding scene which is set back on the veranda of Bakunin’s father’s estate.  Act Two runs parallel to and overlaps with Act One, especially as to the ideas and antics of Bakunin.  We see Bakunin saying and doing similar things as in Act One but in a different context.  Act Two essentially complements Act One.

In Act One, Bakunin is primarily contrasted with his father and sisters.  In Act Two, he is contrasted with Herzen, Belinsky (a literary critic) and Turgenev.  In both Acts, Bakunin comes across as an egoistic ass.  Herzen comes across as a reasonable man and a man of reason.  Belinsky looks like a decent guy with idealistic literary ideas.  Tugenev is an outside observer.

Herzen is the hero of the plays and generally articulates the main points of the plays.  At the opening of Act Two, he effectively summarizes the position of Russian intellectuals and the consequences of the repressiveness of the Czarist regime, saying that “Words are become deeds.  Thoughts are deeds.  They are punished more severely than ordinary crimes.  We are revolutionaries.”   The Czarist regime has defined intellectuals as revolutionaries and, thereby, forced intellectuals to act as revolutionaries if they are to remain intellectuals.  This, in turn, gives Russian intellectuals influence over the rest of the restive Russian population.  The Czarist regime has essentially created its own opposition.[22]

Shortly thereafter, when Herzen criticizes and dismisses an older reformer of the past generation as being too timid and out-of-date with the needs of the progressive movement, the old man warns Herzen that “it will happen to you one day…some young man with a smile on his face, telling you ‘Get out of the way, you’re behind the times!’”  At which point, the old man leaves the stage and the play, but leaves behind a prescient prophecy.[23]

Bakunin weaves in and out of Act Two, each time extolling a new German philosopher as he did in Act I, before finally settling on Hegel. “You must read Hegel,” he insists, “Hegel is the man!”  Hegel, Bakunin claims, tells us how history shapes events and how events are the dialectical fulfillment of history.  Herzen, having just returned from six years’ exile in Siberia, gives Bakunin money to go to Berlin to study philosophy.   But Herzen opines that Hegel has the dialectic upside down.  “People don’t storm the Bastille because history proceeds by zigzags.  History zigzags because when people have had enough, they storm the Bastille.”  That is, people make history, history doesn’t make people.[24]

As Act Two closes, one of Bakunin’s sisters reports that he has finally found his true calling in Germany. Bakunin “has discovered Revolution,” she says, “Now he knows where he was going wrong.” The play ends with Bakunin’s aged and blind father, a remnant of the prior generation, sitting on his veranda bemoaning that his son has become a revolutionary.  As night symbolically falls on the old man, he claims that, blind though he is, he has seen the sunset.[25]

Part II: Shipwreck.

Shipwreck runs chronologically from 1846 to 1852, with flashbacks at the end of each act.  It takes place in several places in Russia and Europe.  The play portrays the failure of the exiles’ hopes for the revolutions of 1848 and the failure of most of their romantic relationships.

Herzen takes center stage in this play, with Bakunin and Turgenev weaving in and out of the action.  Herzen regularly quarrels with his friends about politics, religion and love, and breaks with them, only to welcome them back shortly thereafter.  He is wealthy and he is very generous toward his friends.  Herzen’s family-life is wrecked during this play, as his wife Natalie has an affair with the poet Herwegh, and his mother and son are drowned at sea in a shipwreck.

While Turgenev holds to his idealistic views of art, Herzen’s romantic ideals of love and his utopian political hopes are wrecked.  Bakunin retains his utopian dreams.

Act One runs chronologically from 1846 to 1848.  It opens with Herzen’s best friend Ogarev bemoaning that he had thought he would love his wife Maria for eternity and that their marriage would be eternal bliss, but she has just run off with a second-rate painter.  So much for George Sand’s idealism of love.

Herzen and Turgenev have a political argument that exemplifies their respective positions throughout the three plays. Turgenev dismisses Herzen’s hopes for political reform based on popular uprising.  The Russian people, he claims, are too ignorant and ill-behaved.  “The only thing that will save Russia is Western culture transmitted by people like us,” he proclaims, which is a long-term, top-down process of reform.  Herzen replies that “You judge the common people after they have been brutalized.  But people are good, by nature.  I have faith in them.”  And he continues to hope for bottom-up political reform.[26]

Herzen and Bakunin have a political discussion in which Bakunin announces the political philosophy that will guide him for the rest of his life.  Essentially renouncing his youthful search for the perfect German philosophy, he claims that The mistake is to put ideas before action. Act first. The ideas will follow. Start by destroying everything.”  When everything is destroyed, he insists, then the people will be free to live in peace and harmony.  “Destruction is a creative passion!” he proclaims.  Herzen thinks this is madness.[27]

The revolutions of 1848 come and go.  All the exiles are deeply disappointed by their outcome, and despair of using the West as a model and inspiration for social change in Russia.  In the aftermath of 1848, the literary critic Belinsky speaks for all of them when he tells Turgenev that “I’m sick of utopias. I’m tired of hearing about them.”  And then he dies.[28]

Act Two runs chronologically from 1849 to 1852.  The act centers around Herzen’s wife Natalie, including her romantic views of love derived from George Sand; her love affair with Herwegh; her devastation at the death of two of her children; and, finally, her own death.  At the end of the act, Herzen proposes a pragmatic political philosophy and a hope for reform in Russia based on the existing peasant communes.

Act Two opens with Herwegh reading Marx’s The Communist Manifesto to a skeptical Natalie.  Herzen states his support for socialism but opposition to communism because it suppresses individuality.  “Freedom,” he proclaims, “is what we give each other, not what we take from each other like a fought-over loaf.  We balance what we give up against our need for the cooperation of other people – who are each making the same balance for themselves.”  His is a pragmatic cooperative philosophy based on mutual caring and commitment.[29]

Natalie counters with her own romantic philosophy of life as a work of art, an ecstatic rather than pragmatic vision.  “The world we make for ourselves is the ultimate work of art trying to reach its perfection through us,” she says.   And she pursues this ideal through a burgeoning love affair with Herwegh.  The affair turns ugly, however, with all of the twists and turns described by Carr in The Romantic Exiles.  Through the homicidal threats and suicidal counterthreats, Natalie insists that  “All my actions spring from the divine spirit of love.”  In the midst of this imbroglio, Herzen’s mother and son are drowned.  And shortly thereafter, Natalie dies.[30]

Toward the end of the act, Herzen has a dream sequence in which he and Bakunin debate their respective political positions.  Bakunin has been in jail in Germany for trying to stir up a rebellion there.  Herzen has repeatedly sent money and other aid to Bakunin as a friend even though Herzen opposes Bakunin’s methods.  Bakunin continues to insist on his strategy of maximum destruction of the old order.  Herzen announces a pragmatic strategy of using aspects of the old order to build the new, in particular the peasant communes.

“Life’s bounty is in its flow, later is too late,” Herzen tells Bakunin.  It’s the movement and not the end that counts.  We think that life “is carrying us to the place we’re expected! But there is no such place, that’s why it is called utopia.”  Russia can be different, he insists, if the intellectuals can reach the peasants.  “The village commune can be the foundation of true populism,” by which he means “Russian socialism.”  But “There is no map,” Herzen cautions.  It is a voyage with only a moral compass, and there is no end, no utopia.  “Socialism, too, will reach its own extremes,” he warns, and then socialism will itself have to be changed.[31]

Part III: Salvage.

Salvage runs chronologically from 1853 to 1866, and takes place in England.  The play focuses on Herzen picking up the pieces of his personal and political lives, and making something of them, albeit not all that he had hoped.  His family life with Natalie having been shattered by her death, he begins a new family with Natasha, his best friend’s wife.  His hopes for a Russian revolution based on European models having been shattered by the failure of the revolutions of 1848, he begins publishing The Bell, a journal, secretly distributed in Russia, that calls for the abolition of serfdom.

Herzen’s new family life is modestly successful and he has children with Natasha.  His journal is politically very successful and is a factor in convincing the Czar to abolish serfdom.  But the abolition of serfdom is done in a way that undermines Herzen’s hopes for a Russian socialism based on peasant communes.  His disappointment is compounded when he finds himself scorned and rejected by a younger generation of Russian rebels.  The play ends with Herzen’s resignation to going forward as best he and his comrades can, even if it is in cycles of forward and then backward before going forward again.      

Act One runs chronologically from 1853 to 1857.  It deals mainly with the domestic affairs of Herzen and his entourage and ends with new complications in his life and the lives of his family and friends.  In between, Herzen and Bakunin further hammer out their political philosophies.

The act opens with a dream of Herzen’s in which there is a gathering at Herzen’s house in London of the leading exiled revolutionaries from all over Europe.  The gathering includes the Italian Mazzini, the Germans Marx and Ruge, the French Blanc and Ledru-Rollin, the Hungarian Kossuth, the Pole Worcell.   All of them are erstwhile opponents of the authoritarian regimes in their respective countries, and all of them are vainly plotting revolutions in their homelands.

The exiles in Herzen’s dream call themselves “The International Committee for Friendship and Cooperation between Democrats in Exile,” a pompous name for an impotent group.   No sooner does the meeting begin than Marx leaves in a huff.  The participants and their ideas are too bourgeois and not sufficiently radical for him.  Shortly thereafter, Herzen excoriates the other exiles for the opposite reason, as being too extreme.  He berates them as a bunch of “schemers, dreamers, monomaniacs from every failed insurrection from Sicily to the Baltic.”  He complains that they have not learned anything from the failure of the revolutions of 1848.  “You want to start it again at the moment when all was lost, so that you can make the same mistakes again.”[32]

Later in the act, Bakunin continues to insist to Herzen that “How can we make a new Golden Age and set men free again? By destroying order.”   But he then reveals the irreconcilable contradiction in his revolutionary position when he says “Left to themselves people are noble, generous, uncorrupted, they’d create a completely new kind of society if only people weren’t so blind, stupid, selfish.”  So, which is it?  Are the people uncorrupted and noble or are they stupid and selfish?[33]

The act ends with the death of the arch-conservative Czar Nicholas and the ascension of a more liberal Czar Alexander II.  Alexander II has apparently been a reader of Herzen’s journal and has been talking about abolishing serfdom.  Herzen has high hopes for the end of serfdom and for the possibilities of Russian socialism.  “Russian socialism is not utopian,” he insists.  The existing communes provide a realistic framework for it.  The act ends with Herzen kissing Natasha, his best friend Ogarev’s wife.  This will be the beginning of a long affair.[34]

Act Two runs from 1859 to 1866.  It deals with the abolition of serfdom by Czar Alexander II and its disappointing aftermath.  Herzen, Turgenev and Bakunin have their final disagreements.  Herzen and the Generation of the 1840’s are mocked and rejected by younger radicals, the so-called Generation of the 1860’s.  The play closes with Herzen pragmatically resigned to doing what he can as best he can.

The act opens with Herzen rejoicing in the success of his journal in reaching tens of thousands of Russians, and in influencing the Czar who has just announced his intention to abolish serfdom.  Flushed with success, Herzen regales the members of his household with the names of the various political thinkers from whom he derived his own philosophy.  They include Proudhon, from whom he got his antipathy to authority; Rousseau, from whom he derived the nobility of natural man; Fourier, from whom he got the ideal of the harmonious community; Blanc from whom he learned the important role of workers; and, Saint-Simon, from whom he learned about the development of the whole man.  He is very full of himself.[35]

Turgenev throws cold water on Herzen, belittling him and Ogarev for thinking that the liberation of the serfs will lead to socialism.  “Personally,” he proclaims, “I only denounce you as sentimental fantasists.”  Turgenev also informs Herzen that the new generation of young radicals scorn Herzen and his liberal followers.  “The word ‘liberal’ has now entered the scatological vocabulary like ‘halfwit’ or ‘hypocrite’…It means anyone who supports peaceful reform over violent revolution – like you and The Bell [Herzen’s journal]”[36]

Herzen is later confronted by a young radical, Nikoley Chernyshevsky, who berates Herzen as being out of date and out of time.  “Your generation were the romantics of the cause,” Chernyshevsky says, “And now I find that I cannot read you anymore.” “Above all,” he declares, “I won’t listen to babbling about reform in The Bell.  Only the axe will do.” And the goal of the revolution, Chernyshevsky concludes, is “Not communal socialism, but communistic socialism” in which all people will be and do the same.[37]  Herzen denounces Chernyshevsky’s ideal of communism as “the utopia of the antheap,” and bemoans that he never thought the progressive movement could be so dramatically split.[38]

In 1861, the Czar abolishes serfdom and Herzen is ecstatic.  “We won,” Herzen exclaims.  “Progress by peaceful steps.  You have conquered,” Ogarev says.  But then Natasha pours cold water on the celebrating: She reads that the peasants have been are told they are free but they have to pay for the land that they till.  They are effectively debt slaves.  Peasants have rioted all over Russia and the army has massacred them.  Herzen moans that “Chernyshevsky must be laughing into his whiskers.”  Peaceful reform has succeeded in form but failed in substance.[39]

In the wake of their disappointments with the liberation of the serfs, Bakunin is back and ready for more secret societies and insurrections.  But the contradictions in his position are revealed once again in a tirade he directs against Herzen.  First he proclaims that “true freedom is spontaneity…All discipline is vicious.  Our first task is to destroy authority. There is no second task.”  But then claims that this will be done by “a dedicated group of revolutionaries under iron discipline, answerable to my absolute authority.”  So, first Bakunin says that all discipline is vicious and the revolution will rid humanity of discipline, and then he says that the revolution will be achieved through iron discipline.  Which is it?  And does he think you can make freedom through dictatorship?  In this sequence, Stoppard seems to be taking a swipe at the Bolsheviks who eventually did make a revolution in Russia.   In any case, Bakunin is still the self-centered adolescent who began the first play.  He has not grown.[40]

But Herzen has and that seems to be the point of the three plays.  When some young radicals attempt to assassinate the Tzar, Herzen condemns it.  He is then accosted by a young nihilist who condemns Herzen.  The nihilist says that “The young generation has understood you, and we have turned away in disgust.”  Fulfilling the prediction made by the old reformer whom Herzen had himself dismissed as being over the hill in the first play, the young radical snarls at Herzen: “Get out of the way, you’re behind the times.  Forget that you’re a great man.  What you are is a dead man.”  What goes around comes around, and Herzen is now on the receiving end.[41]

Thereafter, Herzen pronounces his final philosophy and what seems to be the moral of The Coast of Utopia.  The new generation of radicals, Herzen says, are “let down by the ancient dream of a perfect society where circles are squared and conflict is cancelled.  But there is no such place and Utopia is its name.”  We must stop killing each other, he insists, for an impossible perfection.  “Our meaning is in how we live in an imperfect world, in our time. We have no other.”  Our goal must be “To open men’s eyes and not tear them out.”  What is to be done, he concludes, is “To go on, and to know there is no landfall of the paradisal shore, and still to go on.”[42]

Commenting specifically on the weather but implicitly on the political future, Natasha has the last words in the plays: “There’s going to be a storm.”

A Socialist Candide?

“Let dreamers dream what worlds they please

Those Edens can’t be found

The sweetest flowers

The fairest trees

Are grown in solid ground.”

Candide.  Leonard Bernstein & Richard Wilbur

So, what are we to make of The Coast of Utopia?  Like Stoppard’s other plays, these plays raise more questions than they provide answers.  In his final peroration, Herzen sounds a lot like Candide in Voltaire’s novel and Leonard Bernstein’s musical of that name.  At the end of Candide’s long travails in search of a perfect society, he settles down on a small patch of land with his comrades.  And when the philosopher Pangloss begins a long discourse on the nature of perfection in the universe, Voltaire’s Candide stops him.  “That is very well put, said Candide, but we must go and work our garden.”   Bernstein’s musical likewise ends with Candide saying: “We’re neither pure, not wise, nor good. We’ll do the best we know. We’ll build our house and chop our wood. And make our garden grow.”  The ending of Candide is frequently taken as a pragmatic but anti-social avowal of individualism.  Herzen’s pledge to go on as best he and his comrades can seems instead, like a pragmatic avowal to go on as socialists, step by step and not in one big revolutionary leap.  But Herzen does not have the last word of the play.  Natasha has the last word in predicting a storm.

And a storm did come to Russia.  Although Herzen is the sympathetic hero in the plays, Bakunin could be seen in retrospect to have had the better of the argument.  It did take a violent revolution by a group of conspirators, the Russian Revolution of 1917 led by the Bolsheviks, to bring about significant changes to Russian society.  But were the consequences of that revolution good or bad?  By the 1930’s, Stalin had essentially made himself the Communist Czar of the Soviet Union, and ruled over a regime at least as oppressive as that in nineteenth century Russia.  So, from the vantage point of the 1960’s when Stoppard first started thinking about writing the plays, maybe Bakunin could be said to have been right about what it took to make a change in Russia, albeit wrong about what would be the outcome.

But then starting in November of 1989 in Stoppard’s birthplace of Czechoslovakia and continuing for the next two years, Communist regimes fell from power all over Eastern Europe and in the Soviet Union.  In Czechoslovakia, it was called the Velvet Revolution because it was completely peaceful and was led by intellectuals such as Vaclav Havel.  The other revolutions were also essentially peaceful and were disproportionately led by intellectuals.  In the wake of the downfall of Communism, liberal democratic regimes were established in Russia and the countries of Eastern Europe.  From the vantage point of 2002 when The Coast of Utopia was first published and performed, things looked very hopeful for these countries.  So, maybe from the perspective of 2002, Herzen looked right and Bakunin looked wrong.

But we are now almost twenty years down the road since The Coast of Utopia was first published and performed, and things do not look good any longer in Russia and most of Eastern Europe.  The liberal democracies are long gone from Russia and most Eastern European countries, and repressive authoritarian regimes have taken power.  So, from our vantage point today, it looks like both Herzen and Bakunin were wrong, and maybe it was Turgenev who was right.  Turgenev kept saying that you cannot make democracy through a political revolution, and that it takes hundreds of years of cultural development before people will be willing and able to live democratically.  If that is the case, the denouement of democracy in Russia and Eastern Europe is no surprise, and we have a long wait until the educational efforts of intellectuals like Turgenev take root there.

It isn’t clear who was right in these matters – Herzen, Bakunin or Turgenev. But there is one thing upon which all three agreed, even if they did not always practice what they preached in this regard, and which I think we can take away from The Coast of Utopia.  Ideological and generational factionalism that splits progressives into rival camps paves the way for right-wingers and reactionaries to take and keep power.  That is a lesson we need to heed in the present-day.

BW  6/20

Postscript Note on the Title of the Play:  In A Winter’s Tale, Shakespeare refers to the land-locked country of Bohemia as having a coast.  This has generally been considered a blunder by Shakespeare, albeit Bohemia may have in the past actually controlled some coast land.  In any case, in 1893, William Dean Howells, the dean of American letters at that time, albeit all but forgotten today, published a novel called The Coast of Bohemia.  The novel satirized the artistic dithering of a crowd of wealthy New York dilettantes, a bunch of would-be bohemians striving for a revolutionary cultural status that they could never really attain.  In naming his play The Coast of Utopia, Stoppard seemed to be playing on the title of Howells’ novel as he portrayed a bunch of would-be social revolutionaries, most of whom were nothing more than dilettante radicals, who could never attain their impossible utopian goal.

BW 7/21

Footnotes.

[1] Eric Erickson. Identity: Youth and Crisis. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1968.

[2] “An Open Letter to the New New Left From the Old New Left.”  Signed by 81 Former Leaders of the Students for a Democratic Society. The Nation  4/16/20.

[3] Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007. P.IX.

[4] E.H. Carr The Romantic Exiles. London: Serif, 1997.  Michael Bakunin. New York: Vintage Books, 1961.

[5] Yip Harburg. Quoted in Brian Greene. Until the End of Time. Alfred Knopf: New York, 2020. P.241.

[6] Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007. P. XII.

[7] See the wonderful historical fiction detective story The Daughter of Time about Richard III by Josephine Tey.

[8] E.H. Carr The Romantic Exiles. London: Serif, 1997. P.25

[9] E.H. Carr The Romantic Exiles. London: Serif, 1997. P. 57.

[10] E.H. Carr The Romantic Exiles. London: Serif, 1997. Pp.20, 22.

[11] E.H. Carr The Romantic Exiles. London: Serif, 1997 1997. Pp.78-79, 84-85, 89.

[12] E.H. Carr The Romantic Exiles. London: Serif, 1997. Pp.170, 175-177.

[13] E.H. Carr The Romantic Exiles. London: Serif, 1997. P.25.

[14] E.H. Carr The Romantic Exiles. London: Serif, 1997. P.14.

[15] E.H. Carr The Romantic Exiles. London: Serif, 1997. Pp.10, 30, 200, 320   See also E.H. Carr  Michael Bakunin. New York: Vintage Books, 1961. P.25.   Bakunin’s personality “left its mark on half of nineteenth century Europe.”

[16] E.H. Carr The Romantic Exiles. London: Serif, 1997. Pp.29, 320.

[17] E.H. Carr The Romantic Exiles. London: Serif, 1997. P.228   See also Isaiah Berlin:  Introduction to Alexander Herzen’s From the Other Shore. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson1956. Pp.XXI-XXII. Herzen was “a revolutionary without fanaticism,” a pragmatic problem solver who thought “that all genuine questions are of necessity specific, intelligible only in specific contexts.”

[18] E.H. Carr The Romantic Exiles. London: Serif, 1997. Pp.13, 183.

[19] E.H. Carr The Romantic Exiles. London: Serif, 1997. Pp.179,186, 189

[20] E.H. Carr The Romantic Exiles. London: Serif, 1997. Pp.198, 228, 231, 233

[21] Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007. Pp.14, 33, 51.

[22] Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007. P.64.

[23] Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007. P.64.

[24] Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007. Pp.100, 108-109, 110.

[25] Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007. Pp.114, 119.

[26] Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007. Pp.142, 143.

[27] Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007. Pp.160-161.

[28] Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007. Pp.162, 180.

[29] Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007.Pp.183, 188.

[30] Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007. Pp.192, 199, 208.

[31] Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007. Pp.223, 225.

[32] Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007. Pp.241-242, 248-249.

[33]Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007. Pp.268, 269.

[34] Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007. Pp.281, 282, 289.

[35] Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007. Pp.290, 292-293.

[36] Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007. Pp.297-298.

[37] Chernyshevsky actually wrote a revolutionary tract titled What is to be done? that later influenced Lenin who wrote a Bolshevik tract with the same title.

[38] Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007. Pp.306, 308, 311.

[39] Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007.  P.320.

[40] Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007. Pp.343.

[41] Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007. Pp.338.

[42] Tom Stoppard. The Coast of Utopia: Voyage, Shipwreck, Salvage. New York: Grove Press, 2007. Pp.346-347.

Lawrence and Lee’s “Inherit the Wind.” Theism, Atheism, Agnosticism and Evolution. Fundamentalism, McCarthyism, Trumpism and Democracy.

Lawrence and Lee’s Inherit the Wind.

Theism, Atheism, Agnosticism and Evolution.

Fundamentalism, McCarthyism, Trumpism and Democracy.

 Burton Weltman

The Relevance of Inherit the Wind: Problems with Democracy.

Inherit the Wind, by Jerome Lawrence and Robert Lee is a fictional dramatization of the celebrated 1925 Monkey Trial in which a Tennessee teacher, John Scopes, was prosecuted for teaching evolution in his biology classes.[1]  Teaching evolution in public schools was prohibited by Tennessee state law.  The play, which was first performed in 1955, was intended as an implied criticism of the anti-Communist witch-hunts then being conducted in the United States by Senator Joseph McCarthy and others.  The authors considered both the Scopes Monkey Trial and McCarthy’s loyalty hearings to be antidemocratic attacks on freedom of speech.

The play focuses on the dangers to democracy when a ruling majority persecutes less powerful minorities.  Majority rule becomes a travesty of democracy when elected officials and popular leaders abuse their positions of authority to bully dissenters and nonconformists, and when demagogues stoke fear and hatred in traditionalists by demonizing progressives, pitting religion against science, prejudice against reason, and promoting visceral reactions and simplistic solutions to complex problems.  The authors’ intention was to portray the crusade against evolution in the United States during the 1920’s as analogous to the crusade against Communism during the 1950’s, and to condemn both.

It is unfortunate for us in the United States today (April, 2019) that what with having to cope with the presidency of Donald Trump and the threats to democracy that his administration represents, the play continues to be relevant.  Demagogic bullying, authoritarian tactics, and fear-mongering that demonizes progressives and vilifies immigrants, pits religion against science, prejudice against reason, and fear against hope, have become Trump’s standard operating procedures.  Deja vu all over again.

Inherit the Wind was a Broadway hit when it first appeared and has been widely popular ever since.  It has been filmed four times, each time with a stellar cast, most memorably in 1960 with Spencer Tracy, Frederick March, and Gene Kelly in the main roles.  It is a brilliant play.  Facetiously funny.  Dramatically poignant.  Thoughtful and thought-provoking.  A vehicle for excellent acting.  It leaves readers and viewers with more questions than answers.  And its themes are easily accessible.  For these reasons, the play works as a perfect assignment for middle school and high school students, and it has been widely read in literature classes and performed in drama classes since its first publication.

Inherit the Wind is a pedagogic play.  Its authors are trying to teach us something about society and social change, and it contains lessons that the authors hope we will learn.  Given the play’s continuing popularity and widespread use in schools, I think it is important to understand what those lessons are and to evaluate their applicability to the present day.  What ideas about society and social change will students get from the play, and are they helpful ideas?  In my reading of the play and my perusal of educational websites that are designed to help students understand it, I have come to believe that the play teaches three key lessons, each of which is problematical in my opinion.[2]

The first lesson is about the relation between science and religion, and particularly the relation between the Book of Genesis in the Bible and the theory of evolution.  As portrayed in the play, the lesson is that science and religion are incompatible.  We have an either/or choice between one and the other, and science is the proper choice.

The second lesson is about the relation between liberty and democracy, and particularly the relation between individual belief and majority opinion.   As portrayed in the play, the lesson is that enlightened individuals must stand up against the ignorance and intolerance of the masses, and against the demagogues who manipulate the masses. The play depicts the descent of majority rule into mobocracy, and promotes individualism as the antidote to a tyranny of the majority.  We have an either/or choice between the dignity of the individual and the mandates of mass society, and individualism is the proper choice.

The third lesson is about the relation between people who politically disagree and the nature of political debate between them.  Political debate is portrayed in the play in the form of the criminal trial of the biology teacher.  A criminal trial is a conflict in which one side wins, the other side loses, and never the twain shall meet.  If political debate is like a criminal trial, then the goal is to defeat those who disagree with you, and not to try to find some common solution.  In this view, political and intellectual differences invariably involve either/or choices.

The play brilliantly teaches these lessons.  It is very convincing.  My problem with the play is that I do not think these are the best lessons to teach about the relations between science and religion, liberty and democracy, and the parties in a political debate.  Promoting science over religion, valuing individualism over democracy, and insisting on a winner in every political debate are, in my opinion, recipes for irreconcilable conflict and unresolved social issues.

I am especially concerned that the play leaves young people with a wrong impression about how things can and should work in our democratic society.  While some issues are inherently either/or choices, it can be unproductive and even counterproductive to approach most political and intellectual disagreements in that way.  Consensus, compromise, and coexistence are just a few of the possible alternatives to an all-out either/or conflict.  The purpose of this essay is to explain my concerns with the play, offer a way of teaching the play critically, and suggest some ideas of what might be more productive ways to approach the issues in the play.

Background: Testing the limits of the law at the real Monkey Trial.

The Monkey Trial was the result of a law enacted in 1925 by the State of Tennessee making it illegal to teach evolution in public schools. The American Civil Liberties Union decided to challenge the law as unconstitutional, and a volunteer to test the law was sought among Tennessee biology teachers.  John Scopes volunteered to be the test case.  He then sought to be arrested for teaching evolution in his classes, and recruited some of his students to testify that he had taught them about evolution.  The prosecution of Scopes was what might be considered a friendly litigation in which both proponents and opponents of the law sought clarification from the courts as to what was and was not permitted under the United States Constitution.[3]

Evolution was a cause celebre in the United States during the 1920’s among both opponents and proponents of the theory.  There was a major expansion of high school education in the country during that decade and the nature of the secondary school curriculum was still evolving. Fundamentalist Protestant Christians claimed that the theory of evolution contradicted the Bible’s account of creation and was therefore sacrilegious.  Teaching it in the public schools, they insisted, would be tantamount to government support for atheism.  It could even be considered promoting satanism in impressionable students. To scientists who supported the theory, evolution was an icon of scientific discovery and a key to understanding the world.  Teaching evolution was fostering human progress and even helping to do God’s work.

Both opponents and proponents of teaching evolution approached the Scopes trial as a high-stakes political contest.  As such, both sides wanted the trial to be conducted with a maximum of publicity so as to be able to get national attention for their respective positions.  Toward this end, the prosecution brought in William Jennings Bryan, former Secretary of State and three-time Democratic Presidential nominee.  Scopes’ defense was headed by the nationally renowned attorney Clarence Darrow.  H.L. Mencken, the famous, maliciously irreverent columnist for the Baltimore Sun newspaper, which helped pay for Scopes’ defense, covered the trial.  He invented the term Monkey Trial to mock the proceedings, an apt description that stuck in the public mind.

Scopes’ situation was ironic in many respects.  Among them was the fact that public school biology teachers were required by the Tennessee Department of Education to use a textbook that taught the theory of evolution, and it was the only biology book they were allowed to use.  Scopes was effectively caught in a double bind, violating one law in order to obey another.

The trial was conducted in a friendly almost circus-like atmosphere.  The site of the trial was the small town of Dayton, Tennessee, which warmly welcomed everyone involved in the case, whatever their position on evolution.  The trial was a major tourist attraction and the atmosphere in town was like a county fair, with entertainments, circus acts, and popular exhibits all around.[4]

The opposing parties were also mostly cordial.  Scopes was never jailed and he did not face jail-time if convicted.  The prosecution sought a $100 fine and Bryan offered to pay the fine if Scopes was convicted.  The judge in the trial was respectful to the defense but interpreted the scope of the proceedings very narrowly.  He refused to admit testimony from a battery of scientists and theologians that the defense had hoped would show the reasonableness of evolution and its consistency with the Bible.  The judge ruled that the only issue in the case was whether Scopes had taught evolution contrary to the law, not whether the law was reasonable or right.  The judge did, however, allow the experts to submit written arguments that the defense could use if the defense appealed a guilty verdict against Scope.  Which they did.

Contrary to popular opinion, the trial did not pit Christian believers against atheist non-believers.  It pitted fundamentalist Christians who believed in a literal reading of the Bible against modernist Christians who believed in a metaphorical and allegorical reading of the Bible.  To modernists a “day” in the Book of Genesis could, for example, stand for millions or billions of years in evolution.  There was, they claimed, no necessary conflict between the Book of Genesis and the theory of evolution.  In attacking the law, the modernists were not trying to force an either/or choice between the Bible and science.  They were offering an inclusive solution of the sort that the Catholic Church has generally taken in recent years.

Likewise, contrary to the situation today, opponents of the theory of evolution were not uniformly identified with political conservatism.  Just the opposite.  Bryan was a long-time champion of liberalism who opposed evolutionary theory mainly because it was widely associated with political conservatism.  Much to Charles Darwin’s chagrin, no sooner did he publish his theory of biological evolution by natural selection than the conservative philosopher Herbert Spencer coined the phrase “survival of the fittest” to describe the process and applied it to social evolution.  Spencer and his colleagues contended that not only did natural selection operate between species but also within species and that it explained social differences.

In what came to be known as Social Darwinism, Spencer claimed that evolution was essentially a free-for-all in which the stronger survived and thrived, and the weaker justifiably perished.  He compared evolution to free-market capitalism which he extolled as the best of all possible economic systems.  He claimed that among humans there were fitter races, in particular the so-called white race, and that among the fitter races there were fitter social classes, in particular the rich.  By dint of fighting their way to the top of the economic system, rich people demonstrated their fitness to rule over the lower classes.  Social Darwinism also discouraged labor unionism and higher wages for workers and philanthropy toward the poor as contrary to the laws of nature.

Although Darwin rejected Social Darwinism and tried to distance his theory from it, the theory was popularized in the United States by the distinguished sociology professor William Graham Sumner and was essentially adopted as the law of the land by the Supreme Court during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries[5]  Many populist progressives, such as Bryan, rejected evolution in large part because of what Bryan condemned as the “brutishness” of Social Darwinism.  Bryan embraced creationism on the grounds that Genesis established that all humans were created equal as was also proclaimed in the sacred Declaration of Independence.

Bryan was not initially a fundamentalist.  He began his career as an adherent of Social Gospel Christianity and what could be considered a modernist Biblical interpretation. The Social Gospel movement promoted Christianity as a benevolent religion, focusing on Jesus as a teacher, healer and comforter.  To Bryan, Christianity was a “gospel of collective good works.” In contrast, fundamentalism promoted Christianity as an antidote to human wickedness, and focused on the crucified Christ who died for our original and ongoing sins.  It was a harsh and rigid religion.

Bryan moved toward fundamentalism when his mainly small town and rural supporters rejected modernism as the theory of an upper class urban intellectual elite.  Ironically, fundamentalism evolved to promote what was essentially the harshly conservative Social Darwinist social message that had led Bryan to reject modernist Christianity and the theory of evolution.[6]

One of the great political and social transformations of the early twentieth century was the transmogrification of the corn and wheat belt Midwest from radical populism and socialism to anti-government and individualist conservatism.  Oklahoma, for example, at one time the state with the highest percentage of Socialist Party members and voters in the country, turned 180 degrees to become one of the most archconservative states in the union.  As a result, Bryan ended his career fronting for a much different message than the one he began with.

In a celebrated portion of the Scopes trial, Bryan took the stand to testify as an expert on the Bible and Darrow questioned him about such things as where did Cain get his wife if Cain and Able were the only two offspring of the only two humans in the world, Adam and Eve, and what would physically happen to the world if God had actually stopped the sun to help Joshua win the battle of Jericho.  Bryan was not very comfortable or convincing in his responses, essentially just claiming that an almighty God could do anything He wanted.  In asking these questions, Darrow, although himself an agnostic, was not trying to discredit the Bible but merely trying to promote the modernist Christian view of the Bible as metaphor and allegory.[7]

Scopes was found guilty, as was expected by all parties.  And then the defense appealed the case to the Tennessee Supreme Court, which was the defense’s plan all along.  The appeal was based on three key grounds.  The first was that the term “evolution” was too vague and too broad to be the subject of a ban. The term was used in many contexts and about many things that were scientifically and historically verified and that had nothing to do with the Bible.  The law was, thus, unclear and unenforceable.  In this ground of appeal, the defense was essentially offering the court a way to void the law without having to address the validity of evolutionary theory.

The second ground of appeal was that the law violated the separation of church and state and the protection of individual religious belief required by the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.  The third ground was that the law violated the free speech rights of individuals and groups guaranteed by the First Amendment.  In these latter two grounds of appeal, the defense was essentially offering the court other ways to void the law without having to address the validity of the theory of evolution.

The Court didn’t accept these offers but it upheld the law without addressing the validity of either evolution or the Bible.  The justices narrowly ruled that Tennessee had the right to set the curriculum for its public schools and that banning the teaching of evolution was within the state’s educational jurisdiction.  And that was the end of the matter in Tennessee until 1967 when the state legislature repealed the Butler Act.  Then in 1968, the United States Supreme Court ruled that banning the teaching of evolution in public schools violated the separation of church and state required by the First Amendment.  The position of the defendants in the Monkey Trial was thereby validated and vindicated.[8]

The Plot: Making monkeys out of the townspeople and the prosecutors.

Inherit the Wind was not intended to be historically precise.  That is a reason why the main characters were all renamed.  Bryan became Matthew Harrison Brady in the play, Darrow became Henry Drummond, and Mencken became E.K. Hornbeck.  And while the play follows most of the basic arguments that were made in the actual trial, including the famous Darrow-Bryan interchange on the Bible, it deviates from actuality in its characterizations of the protagonists, its description of the atmosphere around the trial, and, most important, its presentation of the debate at the trial.  The changes are significant and diminish the usefulness of the play as a model of political debate for progressives, which was a main purpose of the play.

Unlike the actual townspeople of Dayton, the fictional townspeople in the play are portrayed as almost unanimously hostile to outsiders, and act towards outsiders as though they are agents of the devil, which their preacher Reverend Brown continuously proclaims.  Reverend Brown, who does not represent anyone in the actual town of Dayton, is portrayed as a wild-eyed zealot who would sacrifice anything, even his own daughter, to the fundamentalist cause.  The fictional townspeople are depicted as ignorant yokels who are ready at the drop of a damnation by their preacher to become a lynch mob.  They are seemingly irredeemable to the cause of knowledge and progress that is being promoted by the character Drummond and the authors of the play.

Matthew Harrison Brady, the surrogate for Bryan, is portrayed as a blathering, publicity-seeking fool.  He is vehemently hostile to the teacher Cates.  Almost everything in the play is melodramatized to make the anti-evolutionists all seem like ignoramuses and extremists.  Unlike the actual case, the teacher in the play has been locked up in jail and remains there throughout the trial.  He is repeatedly damned to hell by Reverend Brown.  And when Cates is fined $100 after being found guilty, Brady, instead of offering to pay his fine as Bryan did for Scopes, goes on a rampage because the teacher wasn’t sent to prison for his heinous offense.

The religiosity of Scopes’ actual defenders is left out of the play.  They are portrayed as concerned only with promoting the sacredness of science, to hell with the Bible, and protecting the right of the individual to speak his mind, the interests of the community be damned.  In all, the play presents the discussion of religion and evolution as an either/or debate, and the relation between the individual’s freedom and the community’s concerns as an either/or choice, very different than the actual trial.  I think this is a mistake, both historically and politically.

Cognitive Dissonance as a Human Condition: Free Will Determinists and Agnostic Theists.

F. Scott Fitzgerald once said that “The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.” By that definition, I think that almost everybody must have a first-rate intelligence, because it is almost impossible for humans to live without holding contradictory ideas. Living with cognitive dissonance is seemingly part of the human condition, and may be one of the key things that distinguishes us from other animals.

One of the characteristics of an extremist is the unwillingness or inability to tolerate cognitive dissonance, and the insistence on adhering to only one side of the contradictions with which we have to live.  Extremists insist on posing all issues in either/or terms and refuse to recognize that some things, including some very important things, cannot fit within that framework of debate.  But, despite themselves, extremists can’t really avoid the dissonance in our lives and minds, and can only desperately try to fool themselves while making trouble for others.

Take, for example, the contradictory ideas of determinism and free will.  Determinism essentially means that everything is the product of a chain of causes and effects.  Present events are determined by past events.  What will be, will be.  And there is no choice about it.  Free will essentially means that people have the ability to make choices.  Things are not predetermined by a chain of causes and effects.  What I will, will be.

It is virtually impossible not to act as though you believe in both of these ideas.  Take, for example, the mindset of an evolutionary biologist.  In their professional work, biologists are generally proponents of determinism.  They look for the causes of things, and they professionally see the world in deterministic terms.  But the evolutionary biologist who proclaims determinism in her work will come home from her laboratory and choose what to have for dinner as though she has free will and a choice in the matter.  Likewise in more important matters such as whether to marry, whom to vote for, what medical treatments to take, and so forth.  She can’t not choose.  And she must live with the cognitive dissonance of accepting two contradictory ideas.

On the other side of this contradiction, fundamentalist Christians generally claim that people have free will and must choose what they will do and be.  Sin, for example, is generally not sinful to a fundamentalist unless the sinner has freely chosen to behave in that way.  But those same proponents of free-will will also generally have to accept that genetic predispositions, social circumstances, and psychological conditions will sometimes cause people to behave in ways that are not a product of free choice.  In sum, whatever our ideological presuppositions, the ideas of both causality and free will are engrained in our brains and we cannot pragmatically go forward without accepting them both.

It is the same with matters of religious belief in which it is virtually impossible not to be both a theist and either an atheist, agnostic or antitheist.  In fact, the evolution of the word “atheism” is an example of the wrongheaded consequences that can come from insisting on an either/or conclusion to a debate.  As a general rule, when you place an “a” in front of a word, it connotes that one is uninterested in the thing that the word denotes.  It is a matter of indifference, but not opposition.  An “a” is not the same as “anti.”

When, for example, you place an “a” in front of the word “political” and say that a person is apolitical, it means that the person is not interested in politics.  It does not mean that the person is opposed to politics, which would be “antipolitical.”  Likewise, with the word “social.”  An asocial person is not interested in society, but that is not the same as an antisocial person who would be opposed to being in society.  The same goes for lots of other words.

The word “atheism” was apparently coined in the sixteenth century during the European religious wars between Catholics and Protestants in which adherents of the two Christian religions were slaughtering each other over their differences as to how they thought God wanted people to believe and live.  In the midst of the carnage, a small group of pacifistic Protestants suggested that maybe people should be allowed to worship as they pleased and that social policy should be decided without reference to God.  They did not deny the existence of God, and were in fact true believers.  They just thought that there was so much confusion over what God wanted that maybe what He really wanted was for people to decide on their own.

These self-styled atheists proposed separating sacred worship from secular activities so that adherents of different religions could worship as they pleased on their own and at their own peril if they got it wrong in the eyes of God, but still work together within the same community.  This would allow space for the sacred and the secular to coexist side by side, albeit with a bit of cognitive dissonance.  As such, the word “atheist” originally denominated a person who just believed that God was irrelevant to the discussion of worldly affairs.  It did not mean that the person was opposed to belief in God, which would make him an antitheist.

The word “atheism” was not, however, allowed to keep that neutral meaning.  Both the Catholic Church and the Protestant churches, which could not agree on anything else, agreed on this one thing, that they would allow no middle ground between believers and non-believers in what each church deemed the true religion, and no secular cooperation between those they deemed the righteous and the damned.  They insisted that one either believe wholly in their God and do what they insisted He wanted or be cut down as an agent of the devil.  So, both the Catholic and Protestants churches deemed atheism to mean antitheism, which is how the word is generally used today, and together they righteously slaughtered the atheists.  A perfectly good word and useful concept was, thereby, ruined by either/or thinking.[9]

In the late nineteenth century, Thomas Huxley, who was a devoted follower of Charles Darwin and a ferocious proponent of the theory of evolution – he was known as “Darwin’s bulldog” — determined that there was need for a word that described what he saw as the neutral relationship between science and religion, and particularly between evolution and God.  Huxley’s point was not to deny the existence of God.  God may exist and may be in some sense the Creator.  But, Huxley insisted, His hands were off of evolution, which He allowed to work on its own.

Huxley took the word “atheism” which like “theism” is based on a Latin word for God, “deus,” and he substituted a Greek word for God, “gnosis.”  The result was the word “agnosticism,” which essentially denotes the same thing as the original meaning of the word “atheism.” That is, a middle ground between theism and antitheism, which allows people to believe in God but keep Him out of the discussion of scientific issues and social problems.  It was a peaceful resolution of the ostensible conflict between science and religion.  Although the meaning of the word “agnosticism” has devolved over the years into denoting someone who is unsure of the existence of God, rather than someone who just thinks God is irrelevant to worldly issues, it has retained at least some of its original connotations.

In any case, it is virtually impossible for an atheist, agnostic or antitheist not to harbor at least some hidden faith in some sort of god, even if the person finds the idea of God unbelievable or unacceptable.  The reason is simple.  It is impossible for humans to live from one moment to the next and to go on doing whatever they are doing without feeling that the universe is orderly.  That is, that things will not all of the sudden go haywire.  That we can have faith in the laws of gravity.  That we can count on counting.  And so forth.

Well, that assumption of orderliness in the universe is not unlike a faith in a god, even if it is a nature god.  A sense of confidence in the orderliness of the universe is a key thing that gods provide to the faithful, and when we act with that confidence, we are essentially acting out an assumption of god.  It may be merely a feeling and not a belief, that is, not an idea, but no matter what we think and say about God, actions speak louder than ideas and words.

It is, in turn, almost impossible for a theist or true believer in God to deny a certain amount of uncertainty and disorderliness in the universe, and some uneasiness about God’s intentions.  This is particularly the case with the existence of evil in the world.  A perennial question that has chronically plagued theists is how could an all-powerful and ostensibly all-good God permit so much evil to exist, particularly the suffering of innocent people, and especially little children.  No theologian has ever come up with an intellectually and ethically satisfying answer to that question.  As a result, intellectually and ethically honest theists have to accept that there are things in heaven and on earth that they cannot explain and that could justify in good faith an agnostic and even antitheist position on the question of God.

The inevitability of belief and disbelief in God going hand in hand, faith and doubt coexisting side by side in the same mind, is a case of cognitive dissonance that seems to call for tolerance among believers, doubters, and non-believers.  This was the position of those naïve sixteenth century pacifists who coined the word “atheism” and who were massacred for their tolerance by extremist Protestants and Catholics alike.

Fundamentalists for Evolution: Science meets Religion.

Although the play Inherit the Wind leaves the impression that there is no room for tolerance between religion and science, there are many ways for theists to accept both Genesis and the theory of evolution, and seemingly most theists do so even if it involves some cognitive dissonance.  The most pragmatic way to reconcile Genesis and evolution is to maintain that the Bible was inspired by God and reflects His core messages, but to accept that the Bible was compiled by fallible humans who expressed their religious views in the language and cultural concepts of their own time and place, which may not be the same as ours today.

In this view, the Bible should not be taken as the literal Word of God but as inspired words that have to be translated from ancient Greek, Aramaic and Hebrew into modern languages and into modern-day concepts of the universe.  The Truth may be there but you have to work your way past the literal words to get at it.  In this process, people will likely disagree about the meaning of the words, but that is the nature of words and translations, and it is seemingly what God intended.  It is cognitive dissonance in action and a God-given characteristic of humans.

A second way of reconciling the Bible with evolution is to see the Bible as an exercise in metaphor.  This is the modernist approach taken by the people who defended Scopes in the actual Monkey Trial.  In this approach, a day in Genesis can stand for billions of years.  Making humans out of dust can stand for the evolution of people from inorganic matter.  Interpreting the Bible as metaphor is inevitably a contentious process since different people will almost inevitably have different interpretations of the images and ideas in the Bible.  The same people may even have different interpretations at different times.  But that is the nature of metaphor and was seemingly intended by God.  It is cognitive dissonance at work and a test of our faith.

Fundamentalist Christians, such as those portrayed in Inherit the Wind, are unwilling to accept either a nonliteral or a metaphorical reading of the Bible, and they take an either/or view of Genesis. You either take Genesis in its literal sense or you are damned.  They have, in turn, historically insisted that this requires rejecting the theory of evolution.  The agnostic authors of the play also seem to take an either/or view of the Bible but in the opposite way.  To them, if you take a literal reading of Genesis and reject evolution, you are doomed.  I would suggest that within the terms of their own positions, neither fundamentalists nor agnostics need to reach such categorical conclusions about either Genesis or evolution.

Jesus famously warned about beholding the mote or speck of dust in another person’s eye while missing the beam or piece of wood in one’s own, or at least that is how the conventional translation goes.  I think this parable may apply to the authors of Inherit the Wind. The play portrays fundamentalists as dogmatic and dictatorial but the authors of the play seem to be just as doctrinaire and quite arrogant.  This is exemplified in the play’s title.  The title is drawn from the Book of Proverbs, Chapter 11.  The chapter contains a series of either/or propositions about righteousness versus wickedness.  Either follow the straight and narrow or be damned.

The chapter includes the admonition that is translated in the King James Bible as “He that troubleth his own house shall inherit the wind: and the fool shall be servant to the wise at heart.”  In the Jerusalem Bible, this sentence is translated as “He who misgoverns his house inherits the wind, and the fool becomes the slave to the wise.”  Interpreters of the play almost invariably focus solely on the first clause of this proverb about inheriting the wind, and generally conclude that the title of the play is a warning from the authors to fundamentalists who are like Brady and Brown that if they disturb the house of science and education, they will be blown away by history.  This is pretty high-hatted stuff.  But the second part of the proverb gets even harsher.

This second clause – about the fool becoming the servant or slave of the wise – implies that fundamentalists are fools to reject science and will rue their willful ignorance when they are essentially enslaved by those in the know.  That is, the world will inevitably be ruled by educated people who are capable of using scientific knowledge, such as evolutionary theory, to get things done and to gain power. Those who reject that knowledge will be ruled over by them and be second-class citizens, at best.  In sum, the play’s authors seemed to be giving fundamentalists an either/or choice: Either give up a literal reading of Genesis or be doomed to domination.

Blowing in the wind and bowing down to an educated elite was the fate predicted by Lawrence and Lee for fundamentalists unless they saw the light of science.  With respect to blowing in the wind, it seemed to many during the 1950’s, when Lawrence and Lee wrote their play, that fundamentalism had in fact been vanquished by science and was disappearing.  We know today that this was not so.  In the ebb and flow of religiosity in the history of the United States, fundamentalism may have ebbed in the 1950’s but it is blowing up a storm today.  So, Inherit the Wind conveys an incorrect impression of the fate of fundamentalism and the state of religiosity in America.  The snide journalist Hornbeck may have the last laugh in the play, but the winner, if any, of the reality show is still undecided.

With respect to wise men and the fools, it seemed to many during the 1950’s and 1960’s that scientists were, in fact, going to rule the world.  During this period, the idea of meritocracy was being widely promoted by members of the highly educated classes.  The idea was that the world had become so complex and required so much knowledge to succeed that only those with the most expertise and experience would and should control things.  That is, those who merited power based on their knowledge and skills would rule the world.  Those who held onto outdated superstitions and ideas, such as fundamentalism, would be relegated to second-class status.

The idea of meritocracy was effectively a new form of what could be called Social Darwinism with rule by the rich replaced with rule by the best and brightest, as this new elite was called.[10] The appeal of Trumpism today to those with less formal education, so-called low information voters, can be construed as in part a backlash against this idea.

But is the choice between subservience to an educated elite and rejection of a literal reading of the Bible the only option for fundamentalists?  Or might it instead be possible for a person to believe in both the literal truth of the creation story in Genesis and the theory of evolution?  Most fundamentalist believers in the Bible and most adherents of science would say “No.”  But I think the answer is “Yes,” and I would suggest that for a fundamentalist not to accept the theory of evolution could be considered blasphemy.  The logic behind this conclusion is simple.

Based on calculating the peoples’ lives and the events described in the Old Testament, an early eighteenth-century Anglican Bishop named Usher claimed that God created the universe in 4004 BCE.  His calculations essentially start with some historically known events, such as the Assyrian conquest of Israel in 725 BCE and the Babylonian conquest of Judah in 586 BCE, and proceed back to the beginning in Genesis.  Christian fundamentalists tend to treat this starting date of 4004 BCE as gospel, and it was an issue in the Scopes Monkey Trial.

Modern scientists, however, date the creation of the universe to some 15 billion BCE and trace the development of life as an evolutionary process since that time.  The problem for those fundamentalists who want to pit Genesis against evolution is that all of the factual evidence that exists, and there is an enormous amount of it, points toward a starting point for the universe and for life on earth, including human life, that precedes the year 4004 BCE by a large margin.[11]

Now, here is the point: if one believes that God created the universe in 4004 BCE as Bishop Usher concluded from Biblical sources, God created it in 4004 BCE to look and work as though it was created billions of years ago.  He also made it to look as though humans evolved from other animals some hundreds of thousands of years ago.  Why would God do that if He didn’t want us to treat the universe and human life as though they were the result of an evolutionary process lasting many billions of years?

Even a fundamentalist who believes in a literal reading of the Bible must consider God’s creation to be no less a statement of His thinking than the Bible.  And to a religious believer, whenever and however God created the universe, she has no choice but to read it in evolutionary terms.  To do otherwise would be to accuse God of being a liar and a trickster, of saying one thing in the Bible but then saying something else in His creation that He does not want us to believe.  Fundamentalists must, therefore, I think, believe in them both.  It is, seemingly, God’s will.

To a religious believer, we are put here on earth to do God’s will and to exercise a stewardship over His creation.  In order to do God’s will on earth, we must understand how the world works, and the only way we can understand that is through treating it as a product of a multi-billion-year evolution.  Almost all the modern sciences and developments in other areas depend in some way on evolutionary ideas.  So, fulfilling God’s will requires an acceptance of the theory of evolution.

In sum, fundamentalists may believe that the universe was created in 4004 BCE as seemingly described in Genesis, but they must leave that belief aside when they enter into the work of the world and their social relations with other people.  In their work and social relations, they must accept the theory of evolution and the cognitive dissonance that goes along with that acceptance.

In turn, evolutionists must be willing to accept the possibility that Genesis is right and that the universe was created in 4004 BCE.  After all, as the factual Bryan and the fictional Brady repeatedly argued, an almighty God can do whatever He wants.  If there is such a God — and it cannot be proven beyond any doubt that there isn’t — then God could seemingly create a universe in 4004 BCE that looks as though it is fifteen billion years old, and that for all practical purposes – and this is the key – it has to be dealt with as though it is fifteen billion years old.

Approaching the theory of evolution in this way will not convince dogmatic fundamentalists.  The Reverend Browns of the world will not be swayed by reason or practical rationality.  But if evolutionists were willing and able to treat fundamentalists with respect, rather than ridicule them as the authors do in Inherit the Wind, it might make pragmatic sense to some of them.  And that could make a difference in the debate over teaching and accepting the theory of evolution.

Problems of Democracy: Freedom of Speech for Individuals and Groups.

Inherit the Wind is a play about what happens when a popular majority is mobilized to suppress unpopular ideas and unconventional people.  In the play, the theory of evolution is the unpopular idea and the biology teacher Cates is the unconventional individual, but the target of popular enmity could be any innovative idea or person.  When this happens, democracy becomes mobocracy, as we see in the play when the townspeople become a rabid mob and the once-upon-a-time Democratic leader Brady becomes a raving fanatic.

As it is portrayed in the play, democracy is essentially defined as the sum of individuals’ rights, especially the right to free speech that is guaranteed to individuals by the First Amendment to the Constitution.  In turn, in portraying the problems that can undermine a democracy, the play focuses on the suppression of the rights of individuals, especially individuals’ freedom of speech.  Drummond, the Clarence Darrow figure in the play, repeatedly complains that Cates’ freedom of speech is being denied by the law that prohibits him from teaching about evolution.  The authors of the play condemned the crusade against teaching evolution during the 1920’s and, by implication, the crusade against preaching socialism during the 1950’s because the crusades suppressed the speech rights of individuals.  While I agree with their concerns, I am concerned that the authors’ view of democracy and the First Amendment is too narrow and individualistic.

In emphasizing individual rights, the play fails to address the equally important rights of unconventional minority groups and their suppression by a conventional majority.  The biology teacher Cates not only represents the right of an individual to speak and the right of an unconventional idea to be heard but the right of a minority group, the scientific community, to speak and be heard.  Cates’ lawyer Drummond lets pass all-too-easily the rejection of the scientific community’s testimony by the judge conducting the trial and the rejection of the scientific community’s expertise by the legislature that passed the law.  This is an important omission when it comes to the play’s real target, which was McCarthyism.

The suppression of individuals’ rights during the McCarthy period was egregious but the real targets of the witch hunters were political and intellectual groups.  It is the same with the Trumpists today.  In focusing solely on individual rights, the play leaves us with a too narrow view of the scope of the First Amendment, and a too shallow view of the problems posed by McCarthyism during the 1950’s and, by extension, Trumpism today.  The First Amendment does not merely guarantee the rights of individuals.  It encompasses and connects freedom of speech with freedom of assembly, and guarantees both.  Freedom for unconventional and minority groups is a key to democracy, as the Founders of the country repeatedly emphasized.

The Founders had two overriding political concerns in constructing and construing the Constitution: the potential for a demagogue to become a dictator, and the potential for a majority group to ride roughshod over minority groups.  By minority groups, they meant not merely the racial, ethnic, religious and other social groups with which we are much concerned today, but also economic, geographical and political groups.  Conflicts between the rich and the poor, urbanites versus rural folks, Easterners versus Westerners and Northerners versus Southerners, and reformers versus traditionalists, were among their concerns.[12]

The Founders were concerned that a majority group that gained power might attempt to keep that power through tyrannical means, thereby denying minority political and social groups the opportunity to possibly win enough support to rule as a new majority.  The First Amendment’s guarantees of free speech and assembly were efforts to thwart a tyranny of the majority.  The various checks and balances and divisions of powers that the Founders built into the Constitution, many of which are under attack and being overridden by President Trump today, were intended to deter potential dictators and protect the rights of minority groups.

Consistent with the Founders’ view of government, democracy can be described as a system of majority rule with minority rights, the most important of which is the right of the minority to someday possibly become the majority.  Groups are made up of individuals and, thus, the rights of individuals are fundamental to the rights of minority groups.  But it is the rights of minority groups that makes for democracy as opposed to mobocracy or a tyranny of the majority.  And this is a main concern of the First Amendment and the Constitution as a whole.

As it is portrayed in Inherit the Wind, democracy seems to consist merely of individual rights and these rights are endangered by majority rule.  “Majority” was a suspect term among intellectual circles during the 1950’s.  Concern for what was called a tyranny of the majority, in which individuals would be suppressed, was widespread.  The concern stemmed in large part from the fact that masses of people in Europe had supported Nazi and Fascist regimes during the 1930’s and 1940’s, seemingly mesmerized by the irrational appeals of Hitler, Mussolini, et al.

Concern with the potentially malign malleability of the majority was magnified by what were seen as the dangers of conformity in what was seemingly becoming a mass society, that is, a society in which individuals were being subjugated by the mass media and molded into whatever shape advertisers and demagogic politicians might want.[13]  In a mass society, progressive intellectuals such as the authors of Inherit the Wind worried, democracy can readily descend into a tyranny of the majority, as represented by the law against teaching evolution in the play, and into mobocracy, as represented by the rabid townspeople in the play.  To many people, seemingly including Lawrence and Lee, an assertion of individualism was the only way to save democracy.  I don’t agree.

The victims of McCarthyism were individuals but the real targets of McCarthy and his cohorts were political and social groups.  Most especially political liberals.  And that was for both sincere ideological reasons and cynical political purposes.  Liberal Democrats had largely controlled the federal government from 1932 to 1952.  Anti-Communism was a convenient way for Republicans to attack Democrats during the 1950’s.  Stoking paranoia was a political tactic.[14]

Communists were not even the main targets of the McCarthyite redbaiters. Their targets were usually those they condemned as so-called fellow travelers of Communism and Communist sympathizers who favored liberal policies that were also promoted by Communists. These liberal policies included support for labor unions, civil rights, civil liberties, national health insurance and other social welfare programs.  That Communists might like something was enough to taint it as subversive and un-American.  Liberals were condemned as facilitators of Communism.

McCarthyites claimed that Communists and especially their liberal allies were insidiously undermining American values, traditions and institutions, which McCarthyites equated with the dominance of white people and especially white men.  Senator Barry Goldwater, the Republican Presidential candidate in 1964, famously claimed that liberals were a greater danger to America and Americanism than Communists because liberals were pushing the country onto the slippery slope of creeping socialism.  Like the frog who was blithely boiled to death through small increments of heat, we would supposedly end up in thralldom to Communism through increments of liberal reform.  It might feel nice as it goes along, but the end would be fatal.

Trump and his collaborators today are working out of the same playbook.  This is not surprising since Trump’s longtime mentor, from whom he admits he learned his politics, was Roy Cohn.  Roy Cohn was McCarthy’s right-hand man and the brains behind McCarthy’s tactics.  Trump, thus, learned from the master.  Trump’s attacks on Muslims, immigrants, blacks, gays and other minority social groups are a means for him and his allies to attack the Democrats who have liberalized American society in recent years and even elected a black man as President.

We are even starting to hear warnings from Trumpists about creeping socialism.  Liberal social and economic policies will end in our enslavement, they proclaim.  In the name of public safety, liberals will take away our guns and in the name of climate change, they will take away our pickup trucks.  Democrats are Communists in fluffy sheep’s clothing.  The goal of this Trumpist demagoguery, along with gerrymandering and voter suppression, is to secure an enduring conservative Republican majority in the government and to suppress any opposition.  This is exactly the sort of thing the Founders were intent on avoiding.  Deja vue all over again.

In focusing solely on the rights of the individual, the authors of Inherit the Wind missed the greater threat of fundamentalism to the minority group of scientists during the 1920’s and the threat of McCarthyism to the minority group of liberals during the 1950’s.  Similarly, the play does not speak to the threat of Trumpism against progressive groups today.

Trumpists, like their McCarthyist forefathers, are extremists, mostly elderly people, who won’t or can’t accept the cognitive dissonance of living in changing times, even as they take advantage of the changes.  They are epitomized by the anti-government right-wingers who vehemently insist that the government keep its hands off of their Medicare, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Medicare is itself a relatively recent liberal government program.  But that incognizance could be an opportunity and not merely an obstacle to meaningful communication between liberals and these conservatives.  They like their Medicare.  So, what else might they like?

The Nature of Political Discourse: Setting the terms of debate.

Inherit the Wind is a play about political debate.  In a debate, two or more parties present differing points of view on an issue and try either to defeat the others or come to some agreement with them.  A key factor in which side will likely gain the upper hand is the way in which the terms of the debate are defined.  That is, the way in which the issues are presented, the way in which the participants are characterized, and the range of positions from which auditors of the debate are allowed to choose a winner.  This can be more important than anything that is actually said in the debate, and can determine what readers and audiences will take away from the debate.

For example, if you are setting up a political debate in which you are a participant and you want to fix it so that your position will most likely gain the audience’s approval, just make sure that your position is in the middle of the range of plausible options, and that there is someone more conservative than you on your right and someone more liberal than you on your left.  It often does not matter what your position is so long as you have people more extreme on both sides of you.  Most people naturally go for the middle and seemingly more moderate position in a controversy, and will most likely see your position as the most reasonable.

Another important factor in setting up a debate is whether the issues are presented in solely “either/or” terms or whether there are other options.  That is, do the terms of the debate present the plausible options in exclusively “Yes or No” terms or also provide for “Yes, but” or “Yes, and” options.  “No” is a dispositive response.  It effectively forecloses any negotiated solution.  A “Yes or No” debate is a fight to the finish with no chance of consensus.  In the end, one side will win and the other side will be disgruntled.  A “Yes or No” debate also usually favors the conservative alternative.  Most people will naturally choose the least disruptive solution to a problem and in an either/or debate that will usually be the more conservative choice.

“Yes” is a more nuanced and flexible response, and has more progressive possibilities.  It can open the door to possible agreement with the other side or at least to tolerance of his position for purposes of going forward on other issues.[15] “Yes, but,” for example, allows debaters to reach partial agreement or mutual tolerance, albeit with ongoing areas of disagreement.  “Yes, and” allows for partial agreement or acceptance with the possibility of additional areas of agreement or acceptance.  In both cases, tolerance of the other party’s position on an issue does not require agreement on the issue.  It just means the parties are going to ignore their disagreement on that issue in order to go forward on others.  “Yes, but” and “Yes, and” have agnostic connotations.

Some debates naturally fall into “Yes or No” either/or terms.  They must be fought to the end.  With most debatable issues, however, you have a wider choice.  And a debate that allows for “Yes, but” or “Yes, and” conclusions leaves open the possibility of agreement among at least some of the debaters on enough things to be able to go forward together, even if it requires some of them to accept, overlook or set aside things in which they don’t believe for the sake of going forward on others.  It may require them to live with some cognitive dissonance because they must simultaneously accept or at least tolerate opposed ideas.  But it gives peace a chance.

It is my conclusion that despite the best of progressive intentions on the part of its authors, Inherit the Wind does not depict a viable method for dealing with fear mongering demagogues and intolerant majorities.  To the contrary, I think that unless the play is approached with a critical eye, it could leave readers and audiences, particularly middle and high school students, with a counterproductive model of political debate.  In portraying the terms of political debate in either/or terms (science versus religion in the Monkey Trial) and rejecting any possibility of a “Yes, but” or “Yes, and” option (science plus religion, as was an option in the actual Scopes trial), the authors are playing into the hands of demagogues who thrive on irreconcilable conflict.  Likewise, in ridiculing as hopeless ignoramuses all those who fall prey to demagogues (the townspeople in the play), the authors eliminate any possibility of swaying some of those in the intolerant majority into switching to a more tolerant and reasonable position.

The fact of the matter is that the oppressive fundamentalism and arch-conservatism that dominated politics and culture during the 1920’s in America came to an end during the 1930’s as a consequence of the actions of political parties, labor unions, teachers organizations, and other minority groups that came together to make a majority and the New Deal.  It was the actions of groups, not just individuals, and it was a New Deal that reached out to fundamentalists and traditionalists through Social Security, support for small farmers, and other social programs.

Likewise, the oppressive anti-Communism and anti-liberalism of the 1950’s was brought to an end during the 1960’s by civil rights organizations, labor unions, anti-war demonstrators, progressive professors and students, and other minority groups to make a majority and the Great Society programs.  The great reform movements of that time were made up of groups as well as individuals, and it was a Great Society that reached out to traditionally conservative people through Medicaid and Medicare medical programs for the poor and the elderly.

The lessons of the 1930’s and 1960’s are that the way to counter reactionaries, demagogues and fear mongers is through organizing progressive groups and promoting inclusive social programs.  Reach out to unthinking opponents and encourage them to think, rather than ridicule them as the authors do in Inherit the Wind.  Ridicule the demagogue.  Try to reason with his followers.

In the present day, Trump’s proposed elimination of Obamacare would hurt proportionately more so-called Red State residents than Blue State residents.  His denial of climate change and tax cuts for the wealthy are hurting Red State residents more than Blue States.  There may, therefore, be opportunities for “Yes, but” and even “Yes, and” cooperation between progressives and some traditional conservatives, maybe enough to end the scourge of Trumpism.

In sum, I think Inherit the Wind is a great play and a potentially great teaching resource.  But I think it is important to approach the play both sympathetically and critically, balancing its dramatic strengths with its messaging weaknesses.

Footnotes:

[1] Jerome Lawrence & Robert E. Lee.  Inherit the Wind.  New York: Ballentine Books, 2003.

[2] Sparknotes.com “Inherit the Wind.” Accessed 3/8/19.  Cliff Notes.com “Inherit the Wind: Themes.” Accessed 3/8/19.  Shmoop.com “Inherit the Wind.” Accessed 3/8/19.  Wikipedia.org “Inherit the Wind (Play)” Accessed 3/8/19.

[3] Wikipedia.  “The Scopes Trial.”  Accessed 3/8/19.

[4] Frederick Lewis Allen. Only Yesterday: An Informal History of the Nineteen-Twenties. New York: Bantam Books, 1931/1946. Pp.227-233.

[5] Richard Hofstader.  Social Darwinism in American Thought.  Boston: Beacon Press, 1965.

[6] Michael Kazin. A Godly Hero: The Life of William Jennings Bryan. New York: Anchor Books, 2007. Pp.123-125.

[7] Ray Ginger. Six Days or Forever. Boston: Beacon Press, 1958.

[8] Wikipedia.  “The Scopes Trial.” Accessed 3/8/19.

[9] Norman Cohn. The Pursuit of the Millennium. New York: Oxford University Press, 1957.

[10] Michael Young. The Rise of the Meritocracy. London: Taylor & Francis, 1958.

[11] See for example Richard Dawkins. The Ancestor’s Tale: A Pilgrimage to the Dawn of Evolution.  Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 2004.

[12] Alexander Hamilton, James Madison & John Jay.  The Federalist Papers. New York: New American Library, 1961.  See especially James Madison’s famous essay Federalist #10.

[13] See for example David Reisman et al. The Lonely Crowd. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1950.

[14] See for example David Caute. The Great Fear: The Anti-Communist Purge Under Truman and Eisenhower.  New York: Simon & Schuster, 1978.

[15] See for example Jonathan Haidt.  The Righteous Mind: Why Good People Are Divided by Politics and Religion. New York: Pantheon Books, 2012.  Pp.58-59.

Hope for humanity in Stoppard’s “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead.” Just how dead are they? A fateful misstep need not be a fatal mistake.

Hope for humanity in Stoppard’s Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead.

Just how dead are they?  A fateful misstep need not be a fatal mistake.

 Burton Weltman

 “We cannot choose our circumstances,

but we can always choose how we respond to them.”

Epictetus.

 

1.Prologue: Existentialist Nightmares.

“We are our choices.”   Jean Paul Sartre.

We have all had this nightmare.  You are trapped in a scary place that you can’t get out of, or you are being chased by someone or something that you can’t get away from.  You almost get free, but then not.  You are baffled and can’t figure out what to do.  But, just before you are done in by whatever is threatening you, you wake up, shaking, but free of the danger.

That is essentially the experience of two minor characters from Hamlet as they are portrayed in Tom Stoppard’s comic play Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead.  Caught in what appears to them, and to us in the audience, as a nightmare, they stumble about, futilely trying to figure out what is going on, and how to get out of whatever it is.  The dreamlike quality of their existence is exemplified by their frequent inability to remember things, including the events of their own lives before they were caught up in Hamlet’s story.  They also repeatedly find themselves in scenes of Hamlet and not remembering how they got there.  It is like a nightmare.  Only they don’t wake up.  And they are done in at the end.[1]

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern is a play set inside another play, Hamlet, and it runs in tandem with the other play.  Whatever happens in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern is bounded and limited by what happened in Hamlet.  That is, nothing can occur in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern that would conflict with or contradict the script of Hamlet.  Rosencrantz and Guildenstern must work out their own fates within the confines of Hamlet’s tragedy.

Stoppard is generally considered to be an existentialist playwright.  Existentialism is generally considered to be a philosophy of choices.  In Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, Stoppard has created a situation of severely constricted choices.  He has, thereby, pushed the existential situation to its extremes.  Since Hamlet ends with an announcement of the deaths of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, we the audience watch the humorous antics of the two bumbling characters in Stoppard’s play with muted horror because we already know the ending of Hamlet.  But we still hope against hope that they will wake up to their situation and escape what seems to be their fatal fate.  They don’t wake up from their nightmare and they don’t escape, but could they have?  I think this is the crucial question of the play.

Were there options that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern could have taken within the confines of Hamlet that would have allowed them to survive, despite the announcement of their deaths at the end of that play?  Were there choices that Stoppard could have had them make that would have enabled them to survive, despite being constrained by the terms of Hamlet.  I say “Yes,” there were.  They could have survived, and that is the main point of Stoppard’s play.

2.The Plot: Such as it is.

“Man is conditioned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does.”  Jean Paul Sartre.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are two young Danes, apparently Prince Hamlet’s childhood friends and classmates at Wittenberg University in Germany.  They have been summoned by the newly installed Danish King Claudius to the King’s castle to spy on Hamlet.  Hamlet has recently returned from Germany to attend the funeral of his father, the late King Hamlet.  Prince Hamlet is behaving in suspicious ways, which is of concern to the new King since he had secretly murdered Hamlet’s father in order to gain the throne, and he would not want the Prince digging up the dirt on him.  Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, seeming to have no real option but to obey the command of their King, agree to watch Hamlet and report on him.

The two characters spend the rest of their own play, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, wandering around inside Hamlet’s play.  They show up at key dramatic moments of Hamlet, openly appearing in the action of Hamlet where they have been written into the script of that play, secretly behind the scenes of Hamlet where they are not in the Hamlet script.  They observe the action in Hamlet, but play no active role in the course of either Hamlet or Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.  They are passive actors in both plays.  But, although Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were by the terms of their play unable to alter the course of Hamlet’s play, that does not mean they were without options and choices.

3. A story inside a story: An existentialist dilemma.

“I rebel; therefore, I exist.” The Myth of Sisyphus Albert Camus.

Every story, whether factual or fictional, begins with some sort of “Once upon a time” scenario.  “Once upon a time” creates the existential situation within which the characters in the story will make their way.  It provides the background and the setup of the story, that is, the status quo from which the story proceeds.  The story’s plotline will then disrupt the status quo – that is the gist of the story – and the story will generally end with some new ordering of things.

The opening is critically important to a story because the opening usually portends the story’s ending.  The setup of a story generally indicates who and what is important, and inclines events in a certain direction.  The options allowed to the characters, and the existential choices they can make, are defined and constrained by the opening setup.  It is like setting up a debate.  Whoever gets to set the terms of the debate is most likely to win, and if you join the debate on someone else’s terms, you are most likely to lose.

It is often the case in a fictional story that if you are not there at the beginning, you are likely to meet a bad end.  That is one of the problems facing Rosencrantz and Guildenstern in their play.  They are there at the beginning of their own play, but they are almost an afterthought in Hamlet’s story and, as such, they were expendable to Hamlet.  But that does not mean they weren’t important to themselves, or that they were expendable to the play Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

Tom Stoppard did something quite unusual in this play, for which there isn’t even a name.  He told a story about two minor characters in Hamlet, and did so within the confines of that play.  It is a story inside a story, which is different than a play within a play, such as the one Shakespeare included in Hamlet.  The play within Hamlet was part of the plot.  It was a device used by young Hamlet to further his goal of unmasking Claudius as a murderer.  But Stoppard’s play is not part of the plot of Hamlet.  It occurs in, but is not of, Hamlet.  

It is not uncommon for an author to piggyback his work onto an existing popular story, either a story by another author or by him/herself.  This can be done in a variety of ways.  There are prequels that tell the backstory of the original work; interquels that fill in happenings taking place between events in the original story; sidequels that tell of things taking place at the same time as the original story; and sequels that tell of what happened after the end of the story.

In the case of Hamlet, a prequel might have described young Hamlet’s childhood. An interquel might have described what Laertes did while he was away from Denmark during the middle of the play.  A sidequel might have described what Fortinbras was doing before he appeared at the end of the playAnd a sequel might have described what happened in Denmark after all the main characters in the play were dead and Fortinbras had taken over.  In composing each of these types of “quels,” an author must be consistent with the original story, but he/she is essentially operating outside of that story and has a good deal of latitude in composing his/her own plot.

But Stoppard did something else.  He placed his story directly inside the story of Hamlet and, thereby, narrowly limited the scope of his invention and his characters’ options.  His two main characters must repeatedly come up to the mark of their roles in Hamlet.  Whatever they do or wherever they go, they must be back to make their scheduled appearances in Hamlet, and nothing they do can conflict with their roles in that play.

But that does not mean that Stoppard had no latitude within which to play, or that his characters could not act on their own behalf in their own play.  There was wiggle room in Hamlet within which he could create and they could react.  So, how could Rosencrantz and Guildenstern have escaped their seemingly fated deaths, and why didn’t they?

4. Free Will, Determinism, and Compatibilism: Finding Existential Wiggle Room.

“Freedom is what we do with what has been done to us.”   Jean Paul Sartre.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern is a philosophic play that raises many questions, including questions about whether people are capable of willing freely what they choose, or are bound by deterministic chains of cause and effect.  Most critics claim that the play is intended to illustrate the randomness of the universe as it appears to us and the determinism of the universe as it is in reality.  The play, they say, emphasizes the contradiction between the way in which we experience the world as freedom and the way in which the world really is.

Stoppard, these critics argue, portrays Rosencrantz and Guildenstern as “moving towards an inescapable fate,” despite what they experience as “the randomness of life.”  The two characters are chronically befuddled, and have no real options or choices.[2]  The play shows people “at the mercy of external forces,” and “unable to make any significant choices.”[3]  It is “a play about the tricks of fate” which render Rosencrantz and Guildenstern “incapable of helping themselves,” and make them symbols of  a helpless and hopeless humanity.[4]  In this view, Stoppard portrays the world as “absurd” and “uncertain,” and the “hapless” Rosencrantz and Guildenstern exemplify humanity’s inability to make significant choices and take meaningful action.[5]  In sum, the moral of the story is the futility of free will and the fatality of determinism.

In support of this reading, critics point to views in the play expressed by the Player and seconded by Guildenstern.  Stoppard identifies the Player as the chief of the actors hired by Hamlet to enact the play within his play.  These actors play a small role in Hamlet but a big role in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.  Much of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern consists of discussions between Rosencrantz, Guildenstern and the Player about life and living.  Consistent with his vocation as an actor, the Player holds that all of life is scripted for us, and that our role in life is to follow the script.  “We have no control,” he declaims. “Wheels have been set in motion,” and “Events must play themselves out,” he insists.[6]

The Player’s is essentially a deterministic view of life.  It is a view, however, that relegates most of us to playing subordinate roles in scripts written by and for others, putting ourselves in the service of others, and without any say-so.  The actors in the Player’s troupe are, in fact, willing to perform any script and any action for anyone.  They don’t even need to be paid money.  They merely need an audience.  Significantly, they apparently moonlight as male prostitutes.  Guildenstern buys into the Player’s rationale, and it is on this basis he and Rosencrantz act.

Many critics claim that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern represent anti-existentialist characters because they repeatedly refuse to choose, and just meander along within Hamlet’s play.  The play, in this view, is a refutation of existentialism.  But that is not accurate.  Existentialism claims that we cannot refuse to choose.  We are choosing all the time, even when we refuse to choose.  Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, and especially Guildenstern, may not want to choose, but they are choosing anyway.

While the setup of the play mitigates against the idea of free will – Rosencrantz and Guildenstern must perform their roles in Hamlet and are not free to choose otherwise – there is a third way of looking at the human condition that encompasses both free will and determinism.  And it is a way that is consistent with the existentialist point of view with which Stoppard is usually associated.  It is called compatibilism, and I think it is what the play is mainly about.  Compatibilism proposes that “My action is free, because the event which immediately precedes it is an act of will; it is necessitated because it comes at the end of a series each of whose items is a necessary consequence of its predecessor.”[7]

That is, in retrospect, we can look at a result and see how a chain of causes and effects led to the result.  But, we can also see the choices that were made in creating that chain of events, and we can see that if different choices had been made, the chain would have been changed and the result would have been different.  In turn, we can prospectively see the options we have and choices we must make, which will be the beginning of another chain of events.  We have free will, but it operates within the constraints of our context which consists of chains of events that we cannot change.  For Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, their context is the play Hamlet, but they are free to move about within the constraints of that play.

Compatibilism essentially encompasses what existentialists describe as the facticity and anxiety of the human situation.  The facticity is that we find ourselves in a universe that we didn’t make or choose, that we don’t control, and that is essentially indifferent to our existence.  The anxiety stems from the fact that we must choose what to do, and how to make our way.  Refusing to choose, which we are free to do, is still choosing.  And we can’t make choices or make our way on our own.  We must do what we can with what we have, and do it with others.  Others are part of our context.  The stories of our lives are inevitably intertwined with others, and we can do nothing without the cooperation of others.

“I’ll let you be in my dream if you’ll let me be in yours,” intones Bob Dylan in a song about surviving the nightmare of nuclear war.  No one’s survival is secure without the survival of the others.[8]  Hamlet tried to compose and enact his story on his own, not trusting to include even his best friend Horatio in his plans, and Hamlet failed badly.  His story became a bloody nightmare that none of the principles escaped.  If only he had confided to Horatio about his interactions with the Ghost, the play may have ended very differently, and he might have survived.  So might have Ophelia, Polonius, and Laertes, who were innocent bystanders to Hamlet’s story, as were Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.  Rosencrantz and Guildenstern made a similar choice to spin out their tale on their own, without confiding in Hamlet or anyone else, and they, too, did not survive.  But they could have.

5. In for a penny, in for a pounding: Rationale vs. Rationalization.

“Try again.  Fail again.  Fail better.” Samuel Beckett.

Literature is full of twosome heroes and heroines.  The pairs can take different forms and serve different functions within the stories in which they appear.  Sometimes, as with Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson, the dominant character is the smarter of the two and comes up with the answers to their problems.  Other times, as with Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, it is the subordinate character who is smarter and has the answers.  Quixote is a scholar while Panza is illiterate, but Quixote is also a fool and Panza is clever.  In the play Waiting for Godot, to which Rosencrantz and Guildenstern is often compared, the dominant character, Vladimir, is the more intellectual of the two.  He frequently philosophizes and rationalizes about the predicament in which he and his sidekick, Estragon, find themselves.  And his conclusions generally help.  So, the two of them are able to work through their crises, and make their situation bearable.[9]

In Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, the dominant character, Guildenstern, is the more intellectual of the two, but his rationalizations of their situation only lead the two of them into deeper trouble.  Rosencrantz is intellectually feeble, but intuitively a genius.  In the 1990 movie version of the play, which was directed by Stoppard, Rosencrantz repeatedly stumbles into inventing all sorts of modern devices.  He also repeatedly tells Guildenstern that something is dreadfully wrong with the situation they are in and that they should get out of there fast.  Guildenstern, however, dismisses Rosencrantz’s inventions in the movie as silly and, in both the movie and in the script for the play, he dismisses Rosencrantz’s rationales for leaving as foolish.  Guildenstern, instead, constructs rationalizations for their staying the course.  So, they stay.

Guildenstern’s rationalizations essentially take the form of what in scientific circles during Shakespeare’s time were known as “saving the appearances.”  “Saving the appearances” was a phrase that from ancient times through the seventeenth century was applied to the attempts of astronomers to make sense of the geo-centered Ptolemaic model of the universe.  The Ptolemaic model put the Earth at the center of the universe and portrayed the other planets and the stars as revolving around the Earth.  Over the course of the centuries, however, astronomers discovered new planets and stars that did not fit within the original geo-centered model.  So, they adduced increasingly weird orbits for these planets and stars – epicycles and other wrinkles – in order to save the appearances of the model.  It was a brilliant construction that occupied some of the best minds for two millenniums, but it became very complicated and convoluted.

The Ptolemaic system was finally rejected by Copernicus and his followers during the sixteenth century in favor of a simpler helio-centric model that encompassed all of the observations of the planets and stars without all of the complications of the geo-centered model.  Conservatives, including the Catholic Church, resisted the new model on the grounds that it demoted the place of humanity within God’s creation and conflicted with passages in the Bible.  For the Catholic Church of that time, science was supposed to serve dogma, and facts were supposed to be massaged to uphold what was considered Gospel.  Willingness to go along with saving the appearances in astronomy and other scientific fields became a life and death issue for scientists in some Catholic countries, as Galileo, among others, found out.[10]

The Copernican system was, however, readily accepted in Protestant countries such as Shakespeare’s England, where the practice of saving the appearances of preconceived notions through rationalizing away inconsistent evidence was rejected by empiricists such as Frances Bacon.  For many Protestants, science was a means of discovering God’s word as it was embodied in the physical universe.  So, facts mattered, even in the study of alchemy, magic and ghosts, which were important subjects of study for scientists such as Bacon and, later, Newton.  And theories must conform to the facts.

The conflict between facts and preconceived notions, and the problems that arise when people try to save the appearances of preconceived notions, is a theme in many of Shakespeare’s plays.  This includes Hamlet, as when Hamlet adjures Horatio that “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”  Facts count, Shakespeare repeatedly emphasizes, even if they don’t fit our cherished theories.  The problem with trying to save the appearances is also a main theme in Stoppard’s plays, as exemplified in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern by Guildenstern’s rationalizations of his and Rosencrantz’s situation.

Guildenstern seems unable to think outside the box, to use the current terminology for the problem of trying to save appearances.  He has been caught up within the Hamlet story and cannot think his way out.  He is brilliant and knowledgeable, but terminally narrow-minded.  “We are presented with alternatives,” he intones, “But not choice.”  “We’ve been caught up” in Hamlet’s story, he explains, and “there is a logic at work.”  So, he concludes, he and Rosencrantz should just relax and “be taken in hand and led, like being a child again.”[11]

Rosencrantz is slow-witted and ignorant, and doesn’t even seem to know there is a box.  But that enables him to be inventive (look at all the things he unwittingly contrives) and intuitive.  He can think outside the story, and can think pragmatically rather than dogmatically.  He knows trouble when he senses it.  Rosencrantz is a wise fool, a type that is a favorite of Stoppard.[12]

6. What is to be done?

 “There is only one day left, always starting over: it is given to us at dawn and taken away from us at dusk.”  Jean Paul Sartre.

Given that they are caught in Hamlet and can’t contravene that script, there are still things Rosencrantz and Guildenstern could have done in their own play that might have saved them from the death announced in Hamlet.  Built into Stoppard’s play are opportunities for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to make choices that could have changed things for them.  They were not fated to act as they did, even if they failed to take advantage of the opportunities that Stoppard provides for them.   They could, for example, have confided in Hamlet at various points of their play.  Shakespeare provides a perfect opening for such a confidence in Hamlet when Hamlet first encounters Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

After welcoming Rosencrantz and Guildenstern as old friends, Hamlet asks “Were you not sent for?…Come, come deal justly with me.”  Hamlet wants to know whether the King has set them to spy on him.  Rosencrantz and Guildenstern equivocate.  Hamlet repeatedly presses them, conjuring them “by the rights of our fellowship, by the constancy of our youth, by the obligation of our ever-preserved love.”  Prompted by Rosencrantz, Guildenstern finally admits “My lord, we were sent for.”  The three of them then engage in desultory conversation, ending in the coming of the actors whom Hamlet will hire for his play.

This was a perfect opportunity within the context of Hamlet for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to consult with Hamlet in the context of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.  Having admitted that the King had sent for them to spy on Hamlet, they could reasonably have followed up that admission with a discussion with their old friend about what was going on.  This is particularly the case since in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, the two of them quickly come to their own conclusion that Claudius murdered Hamlet’s father.  Once they have reached that conclusion, it is unreasonable of them not to open up with Hamlet.  But they choose not to.

There were many opportunities within both Hamlet and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern for them to consult with Hamlet.  But Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hem and haw throughout the play, saying to themselves that they want to talk with Hamlet, but unable to get themselves to do it.  They even practice various ways in which to begin conversations with Hamlet, but never carry them out.  In any case, Guildenstern’s rationalizations in defense of doing nothing keep them from saying or doing anything that might change their situation.  That was their choice.

Their rationalizing and equivocating come to a head when the two of them discover in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern that the letter from Claudius that they are carrying to England requests that the King of England kill Hamlet.  At that point, Rosencrantz has had enough.  He wants to confide in Hamlet.  “We’re his friends,” Rosencrantz insists.  How can they be accomplices to the murder of Hamlet?

But Rosencrantz’s humanity is overridden by Guildenstern’s callousness and cowardice, as he once again rationalizes in favor of doing nothing.  Death isn’t so bad, he claims, and Hamlet’s death would be just one man dying so, “from the social point of view…the loss would be well within reason and convenience.”  Besides, Guildenstern concludes, “there are wheels within wheels,” and who are they to try to change things.  It is bad faith rationalization at its worst, and it is that which leads to their own deaths.[13]

If Rosencrantz and Guildenstern had confided in Hamlet at any point in the play, the three of them could have worked out a joint plan for saving all of their lives.  Since Hamlet was explicitly doomed by the script of Hamlet – he dies onstage in full view of the audience – such a plan would not have saved him.  But it could have worked for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.  Their deaths are only announced in Hamlet, not actually seen by the audience.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern could, for example, have colluded with Hamlet to change Claudius’ letter as Hamlet does in Hamlet. They could then have faked the deaths of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, so as to avoid any blame and punishment that Claudius might hit them with because his scheme for Hamlet’s death had failed.  Hamlet’s later comment to Horatio in Hamlet that he cared not that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern might be dead could then be part of this joint plot.  Stoppard could have written something like this into his play – the key is faking the deaths of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern – without contradicting Hamlet.  He didn’t.  Why not?

7. Comedy, Tragedy, and a Good Conscience.

“Life begins on the other side of despair.”  Jean Paul Sartre.

“The play’s the thing wherein to capture the conscience of the king,” Hamlet proclaims.  So, too, the play may be the thing to capture the consciences of the audience for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, or maybe touch their vanity.  Hamlet is a tragedy.  A tragedy has been described as a story of too much of a good thing becoming bad.  Tragedy generally involves a character who pursues a too narrowly prescribed good too far until it turns on itself, becomes bad and precipitates a disaster.  The character’s “tragic flaw” is a lack of perspective, the failure to see things in a broader context, for example failing to recognize that one person’s good may be someone else’s bad, and an individual’s good ultimately depends on the good of all.[14]

Tragedy is a story of hubris versus humility, the failure of the tragic character to recognize his/her personal limits, and to reconcile contradictions within him/herself, within his/her society and/or between him/herself and society.[15]  In the case of Hamlet, it is arguably his hubris combined with his gullibility toward the ghost who, I think, is an agent of the Devil, that leads almost inevitably to disaster.[16]  In any case, a tragedy may contain humor, but it is not expected to be funny.

In contrast with Hamlet, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern is a comedy.  It is expected to be funny.  A comedy has been described as a humorous conflict between folly and wisdom, foolish people and wise people, with a happy ending that results from the wise peacefully overcoming the fools and their foolishness.  In comedy, the problem is created by someone acting out of stupidity or ignorance, “the intervention of fools.”  The solution is for the fools either to be corrected or constrained.[17]

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are both fools.  Much of their story is also very funny.  But the play ends with their being hanged.  That’s not funny.  And while they don’t know what’s in store for them as they wander through their play, we do.  How can an audience in good conscience laugh at the high jinks and foolishness of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern knowing that the play will end after the somber line “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead?”

I don’t think an audience can in good conscience laugh at the thought of the deaths of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.  I think that either members of the audience must be people of bad conscience, smug in their superior knowledge to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, and callous at the death of two fools – losers in the parlance of Donald Trump – or audience members must believe that somehow Rosencrantz and Guildenstern aren’t really dead.  And maybe they aren’t.

8. Epilogue: Life after reported death?

Estragon: “I can’t go on.” 

Vladimir: “That’s what you think.” 

Waiting for Godot.  Samuel Beckett.

When his demise was wrongly reported in the newspapers of his day, Mark Twain quipped “The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”  Might the same be true of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern?  In his last speech before seemingly being executed, Guildenstern muses that “Well, we’ll know better next time.”  Next time?  What’s with this “next time?”

In the movie version of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, the actors that Hamlet has hired show Rosencrantz and Guildenstern how to fake being hanged.  At the end of the movie, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are shown being hanged.  But are they?  Maybe it’s a fake hanging.  In the play, they merely disappear at the end, and it is not clear how they died.  Or maybe they didn’t.  Rosencrantz and Guildenstern make farewell speeches, but maybe they are just fooling everyone, including us in the audience.  Are Rosencrantz and Guildenstern actually dead?

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern is full of trickery and slight-of-hand, starting with the opening scene in which a flipped coin repeatedly comes up heads, seeming to contradict the laws of probability.  Then there are the numerous inventions that Rosencrantz stumbles onto in the movie version of the play, which was directed by Stoppard.  In the movie version, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are also repeatedly saved by chance or random choice from discovery or death.  Faking their deaths at the end of the play could be Stoppard’s last bit of trickery, a trick played on the audience.

In any case, dead or alive, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern is, I think, ultimately a hopeful play.  Despite operating within an extremely narrow range of options, being tied into and almost tied up by the script of Hamlet, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern still had options to survive the demise announced for them in that play.  If they didn’t survive, it was a result of their own lack of imagination and their own choices.  In his farewell speech, Guildenstern muses that they should have just said “No” when they were summoned by the King.  And they should have.  A moral of their story is that you don’t want to get caught up in someone else’s story in which you are just a throwaway bystander.

So, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern made a fateful misstep into Hamlet’s story.  But that fateful misstep need not have become a fatal mistake.  Rosencrantz and Guildenstern implies that in even the tightest and direst situations, there still may be leeway and hope.  And just when you may seem to be without options, there may still be choices you can make.

B.W. 12/17

[1] Tom Stoppard. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead.  New York: Grove Press, 1967. pp.16, 38.

[2] Evar Johnson. “Characters in search of a purpose: Meaning in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead.” belmont.edu

[3] “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern as Existential Antiheroes.” The Stanford Freedom Project. Fall, 2015.

[4] Peter Travers. “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead.” Rolling Stone. 2/18/91.

[5] Shmuel Ben-Gad. “A Semi-Existentialist Comedy: Tom Stoppard’s ‘Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead.’” American Culture. 5/20/15.

[6] Tom Stoppard. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead.  New York: Grove Press, 1967. pp..25, 63, 79.

[7] Anthony Kennedy. A New History of Western Philosophy. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2010. p.666.

[8] Bob Dylan. Talkin’ World War III Blues.

[9] For an analysis of the play as a love story, see my post on this blog “Waiting for Godot: Why do we keep waiting? Hope among the Hopeless.”                       

[10] Thomas B. Kuhn. The Copernican Revolution. New York: Vintage Books, 1959.

[11] Tom Stoppard. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead.  New York: Grove Press, 1967. pp.39- 40.

[12] For an analysis of Arcadia that discusses this theme, see my essay on this blog entitled “Entropy, Negentropy and Chaos in Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia: Must We Face the Music or Can’t We Just Dance?”

[13] Tom Stoppard. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead.  New York: Grove Press, 1967. p.110.

[14] Paul Goodman. The Structure of Literature. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1954. pp.35, 172.

[15] Kenneth Burke Attitudes toward History. Boston: Beacon Press, 1961. p.37.  Aristotle. Aristotle’s Poetics. New York: Hill & Wang, 1961. p.81-83.

[16] For a discussion of the ghost in Hamlet as an agent of the Devil, see my post at this blog website “Better Dead than Red: Hamlet and the Cold War against Catholicism in Elizabethan England.”

[17] Aristotle 1961, 59.  Burke 1961, 41.  Goodman 1954, 82-100.

Entropy, Negentropy and Chaos in Tom Stoppard’s “Arcadia”: Must We Face the Music or Can’t We Just Dance?

Entropy, Negentropy and Chaos in Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia:

Must We Face the Music or Can’t We Just Dance?

Burton Weltman

“Hegel remarks somewhere that all facts and personages of great importance in world history occur, as it were, twice.  He forgot to add: the first time as tragedy, the second as farce.”    Karl Marx.  The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Napoleon.

Prologue: Dancing in and out of time.

Tom Stoppard’s play Arcadia is the story of a family and some friends of the family that takes place in two different time periods, the early 1800’s and the early 1990’s.  The play is billed as a dramatization of the theories of entropy in physics and Chaos in math.  The characters and events of the later period appear to be pale reflections of those in the earlier period.  Their seeming insipidity could arguably be a result of entropy, that is, the eventual decline of the universe from vividness and order into blandness and disorder, as predicted by the Second Law of Thermodynamics.  But, maybe not.  Arcadia is a funny play, full of witty byplay and intellectual conundrums.  It challenges our minds, hearts and funny-bones, and leaves us much to ponder.

At the end of the play, two couples, one from each time, are dancing.  The first couple consists of a sparkling intellectual in his early twenties and a brilliant girl of sixteen from the 1800’s.  They are waltzing gracefully in time to the music.  We know that the girl will tragically die in a fire later that evening, and that the man will then spend the rest of his life as a hermit.  The second couple consists of a run-of-the-mill scholar in her late thirties and a mute boy of fifteen from the 1990’s.  They are dancing awkwardly, and they are often out of time to the music.  The difference in the ages of the people in this second couple, along with their clumsiness, makes them look almost farcical.  We don’t know what will become of them in their futures.

So, is this a funny but depressing play about human history repeating itself in cycles that descend toward decrepitude?  Are we supposed to perceive the moral of the story as the inevitability of entropy in human affairs?  In this context, must we see the waltzing of the first couple as a symbolic evocation of Irving Berlin’s melancholic “Let’s Face the Music and Dance,” as one critic has suggested?  Is their dancing an omen of the end of things, and a warning that we must stoically resign ourselves to it?[1]

Or might we instead focus on the efforts of the second couple, and maybe see their stumbling about as the first tentative steps toward a new way of dancing, something less formal than a waltz, but perhaps more energetic. Something like “rock & roll,” not as graceful as a waltz, but reeking with negentropy, the opposite of entropy.  In sum, does this last scene foreshadow the inevitable decline of humanity, or might it be a sign and source of hope for the future?  The conventional view of the play takes the former view.  I take the latter, and I think it matters.

Fractals, Feedback Loops, Self-Similarity, and Strange Attractors: Chaos in Action.

Stoppard has said that Arcadia was inspired by James Gleick’s book Chaos: Making a New Science in which Gleick explains the origins and evolution of Chaos Theory in mathematics.  It is a relatively new theory because it requires an immense number of calculations to apply it, and it is only recently that computers have been developed that can effectively perform those calculations.  The play discusses Chaos Theory, but also exemplifies it in many ways.

Chaos Theory (capital “C”) is an attempt to find order in what seems to be disorder and, as such, is not the same as chaos (small “c”), which is actual disorder.  Chaos Theory is an antidote to the helplessness and hopelessness of what seems to be chaos in those cases where order actually prevails beneath apparent disorder.  It is also, thereby, arguably a counter to theories of entropy that take every appearance of disorder as an instance of the descent of the universe into universal randomness, blandness, and disarray.  The moral of Chaos Theory seems to be that all may not be as bad as it seems.

Gleick says that while “the Second Law [of Thermodynamics] is a rule from which there appears no appeal,” it is still the case that “Nature forms patterns.  Some are orderly in space but disorderly in time, others orderly in time but disorderly in space.”  It is the goal of Chaos Theory to identify patterns where they least seem to exist.[2]  In the course of the play Arcadia, the waltzing teenage girl from the early 1800’s, whose name is Thomasina, ostensibly discovers the basic ideas of both the Second Law of Thermodynamics and Chaos Theory.  Lacking computers, she is unable to fully develop her ideas.  It remains for later generations with adequate technology to rediscover these theories and be able to develop them.

The development of Chaos Theory was inspired in recent years in large part by the inability of meteorologists to reliably predict the weather more than two days in advance, despite having computers and algorithms that can accommodate a myriad of factors that make up the weather.  Beyond two days, the algorithms go wild and chaos ensues in the calculations.  This apparent chaos in the weather, and in other systems that are similarly unpredictable, seems to be a function of two main factors.[3]

First, systems that do not have strong foundations and/or built-in inertia are liable to undergo big changes in their behavior as a consequence of small changes in their surrounding conditions, and long-range predictions thereby become precarious.  Since most systems inevitably experience at least some small changes in their operating conditions, long range predictions about those systems will be thrown off unless they have strong foundations and/or inertia.  This is the problem with predicting the weather.  A host of volatile elements determines the weather, and small changes in any of those elements can throw off weather forecasting.  The oft cited example is that of a butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil leading to a typhoon in Asia.

Chaos Theory seemingly has democratic implications.  It claims that the smallest actions can initiate the biggest results, such as the flapping of a butterfly resulting in a typhoon.  It is, thereby, bottom-up in its implications.  It stresses the importance of little guys and factors that are often considered too unimportant to be respected.  In this regard, Chaos Theory can be regarded as a cautionary tale, akin to the warning sounded by Cinderella in Stephen Sondheim’s musical Into the Woods, “You move just a finger, Say the slightest word, Something’s bound to linger, Be heard.”  But it can also be taken as a hopeful idea, as in Dr. Seuss’s Horton Hears a Who, in which the slightest squeak by the smallest Who is enough the save the universe of the Whos.  So, when Gus and Hannah dance at the end of the play, maybe the song is “This Could Be the Start of Something Big?”

A second factor involved in creating chaos is the feedback that a system encounters.  If the feedback that results from a system’s operations is stronger than the system’s foundations and/or inertia, then the system’s patterns and predictions will be thrown off.  This is the case with weather.  A strong wind can literally blow a weather system in a different direction.[4]  At the same time, implicit in this theory is the hope that if you build a strong enough foundation, your system or structure may withstand the whirlwinds of change.  And that foundation may be democratically made up of many small individuals or things, as represented in the political slogan “The people united cannot be defeated.”

It is not the case, however, that chaos is always disorderly.  Chaos theorists claim that one can often find orderly patterns underneath the superficial disorder of many systems, albeit they are likely to be patterns that are unstable and cannot be predicted in advance.  Chaos Theory holds that systems may behave in logical and deterministic ways, even though their patterns can only be discerned in retrospect.   And the patterns may change in an instant.  Gleick notes that Chaos (capital “C”) is “a delicate balance between forces of stability and forces of instability.”[5]

Two of the main types of Chaos patterns are fractals and attractors, which can exist separately or can combine to make what is called a strange attractor.  It is not possible to predict the behavior of either fractals or attractors in advance, but they can be seen in retrospect as orderly and deterministic.  A fractal is a shape that reproduces itself through self-similarity.  A fractal can be successively subdivided, with each iteration essentially the same as the previous one, albeit slightly different and smaller than the last.

Fractals can be fitted together like pieces of a puzzle so that an infinite number of ever smaller replications can be fitted within a delimited space.  Fractals are, thereby, the most efficient way to maximize the coverage of the surface of a space with shapes.  Fractals are also the most efficient way to create a complex orderly pattern because all that needs to be done is to replicate the initial shape in decreasing sizes that fit in with the rest.  Blood vessels in a human body are spaced in a fractal pattern, thereby most efficiently distributing blood throughout the body.  Veins in a leaf are also spaced in a fractal pattern, as are many other natural systems.

A formula for producing fractals is to take the solution of an “X & Y” equation, plug the “Y” back into the equation as the new “X” and repeat the equation, then do this again and again ad infinitum.  When you plot the results of the equation on a graph, you get new shapes that are similar but not the same as the previous ones, thereby adding a new layer of complexity to the system.  This is the formula that Thomasina ostensibly discovered during the early 1800’s.  In the case of fractals, smaller does not mean lesser.  The new shapes are as complex as the previous ones.  And there are an increasing number of the new shapes as they decrease in size.  Fractals can seemingly, therefore, function as agents of negentropy, as they energetically reproduce themselves in an ongoing and orderly complexity toward infinity.

An attractor is the locus of another form of Chaotic pattern.  It is a point around which successive iterations of a loop swirl.  It represents a form of topology, which is the twisting and stretching of a loop into an everchanging series of shapes.  The loops that swirl around an attractor can take on weird shapes that seem unrelated except that they focus on the attractor point.  The loops may or may not decrease in diameter as they replicate, and may or may not descend toward the point.  Weather patterns apparently swirl around attractors.  Finally, there are strange attractors that combine a swirling motion with a fractal structure.[6]

So, what does all this have to do with Arcadia?  The question is whether the plot of the play might be interpreted as exemplifying entropy theory, Chaos Theory, or both.   And if the plot exemplifies Chaos Theory, is it in the form of an attractor, a fractal, or both as a strange attractor?  I think the answer to both questions is “both” and, again, it matters.

The Plot: Back to the Future, Back to the Past, Again and Again.

Arcadia is set in a mansion on the English country estate of Sidley Park.  All of the action takes place in one room, and cycles back and forth in that room between the early 1800’s and the early 1990’s.  There are four main human characters in each period.  The estate of Sidley Park also functions as a major character in the play, in that it is, I think, the strange attractor around which the play revolves.  It is a place of civility that fosters intellectual curiosity and honest, if sometimes heated, debate.  It is also a locus of romance and amorous adventures.  The two different time periods are like loops that whirl around an attractor, and the human characters and events are like fractals, that is, iterations which are similar but still significantly different.

The main character from the early 1800’s, and for the entire play, is Thomasina, a precocious teenager who critiques the conventional Newtonian physics of her time by asking why when she stirs jam into her pudding, she cannot then unstir it.  Likewise, when a pudding has cooled down, why won’t it ever spontaneously heat back up.  “Newton’s equations,” Thomasina contends, “go forwards and backwards, they do not care which way.  But the heat equation cares very much, it only goes one way.”  Based on her pudding question, and speculations on why steam engines run down, she ostensibly discovers what was later known as the Second Law of Thermodynamics.

Similarly, based on her critique of conventional geometry, which focuses on simple shapes such as squares that go through predicable changes, Thomasina develops the formula described above for creating self-replicating fractals. Fractals are complex geometric shapes that go through unpredictable changes based on repeatedly taking the “Y” from an “X & Y” equation and plugging it back into the equation as the new “X.”  Thomasina takes a leaf and proposes to graph it using her new ideas.  The formula she ostensibly developed is a mainstay of Chaos Theory.

The second key character from that time is Septimus, who is Thomasina’s tutor.  He is a genial Enlightenment intellectual and a friend of the poet Byron, who is himself an unseen visitor at Sidley Park.  A third character is Chater, a second-rate poet with whose wife Septimus has been sleeping.  He provides a frequent target for Septimus’ wit.  The fourth main character is Noakes, a landscape architect who is transforming the Sidley Park terraces from a Classical formal garden into a Romantic wilderness, complete with an ersatz hermitage.  This change is taken by characters in both the earlier and later periods to symbolize the decline of reason and orderliness and the rise of emotional and intellectual disorder.

The main characters in the later period are similar to those in the earlier, almost fractal-like, but with different genders and roles.  The central character is Hannah, a second-rate historian who has written a biography of one of Byron’s mistresses.  She is doing research on a hermit who might have lived in the hermitage in the Sidley Park gardens during the early nineteenth century.  She is a mundane but solid thinker, and is intellectually similar to Septimus but less brilliant.

Hannah’s main foil is Bernard, a second-rate literary critic who is doing research on the poet Chater, and is trying to prove that Byron killed Chater at Sidley Park in a duel over Chater’s wife.  He is a bold thinker, like Thomasina, but a cad and usually wrong in his speculations.  He is an egotistical and cynical proponent of the idea that nothing ever really changes.

Valentine is a graduate student in zoology and a computer geek, who is trying to apply Chaos Theory to the reproductive cycles of grouse.  He comes to realize that Thomasina developed the basic ideas of entropy and Chaos Theory before her time, and before there were computers that could do the complex mathematics required to fully explicate and apply those theories.  Valentine explains the theories to Hannah and to the audience.  He is a proponent of the idea that things really do change, and that science makes a positive intellectual difference.

Gus is a mute teenage member of the Sidley Park family.  He gives Hannah an apple that she puts down on a table, and that is eaten by Septimus later in the play, albeit earlier in time, which is a paradox.  The apple incident seems to be an instance of time working backwards as well as forwards which, in turn, seems consistent with Newtonian physics and contrary to the Second Law of Thermodynamics.  Gus does not talk, but his actions provide a link between the two periods, and they are perhaps vehicles of energy and a symbol of negentropy.

The main action in the earlier period centers around Thomasina’s scientific discoveries and Septimus’ amorous adventures.  Septimus is repeatedly confronted by Chater for having slept with Mrs. Chater, and for having written a scathing review of Chater’s poetry.  Septimus also later sleeps with Thomasina’s mother before finally falling in love with Thomasina.  There is a lot of witty dialogue among the characters in this earlier period, full of high cultural references.

The main action in the second period centers around Bernard’s researches and theories as to Byron and Chater, and Hannah’s researches on the alleged hermit.  Bernard makes some shrewd initial deductions about Byron being at Sidley Park in 1809, but then his thinking goes awry as conflicting evidence overwhelms him, and he repeatedly misconstrues the evidence.  His theories about Byron killing Chater prove to be nonsense.  It is much like what happens to weather forecasting when you try to extend your predictions too far.  Under persistent challenging from Hannah, he is finally forced begrudgingly to admit the failure of his theories.

Meanwhile, Hannah comes to the correct conclusion that Septimus was the hermit who was reported to have lived in the garden, and that a mass of papers covered with odd scribblings that had been discovered in the hermitage were his futile attempts to work out Thomasina’s theories by hand.  Hannah’s work is conducted in a less speculative way than Bernard’s, and she gets assistance from Valentine in explaining entropy and Chaos Theory.

Much of the dialogue in the later period consists of insulting repartee between Hannah and Bernard, civil but biting.  Hannah wins that battle.  There is also some unconsummated sexual tension between Hannah and Bernard, and a pervasive sextual tension among the other characters, with an occasional offstage consummation.  This keeps things lively in the house and in the play despite all the talking.

But the brilliance of the characters and conversation in the earlier period are in sharp contrast with the more desultory dialogue in the later period.  The earlier period is filled with poets and innovators.  They are creators.  The second period is dominated by historians and critics who merely study the work of past creators, and a guy who is studying the mating habits of grouse.

The play ends with the characters in the earlier period having a formal ball, and the characters in the later period having a costume ball in which they dress up as imitations of people in the earlier period.  Characters from both periods are on stage at the same time, but are seemingly unaware of each other.  The universe of the play seems to be winding down until, I contend, Gus asks Hannah to dance.

Conventional Interpretations: Facing the Music.

“Soon, we’ll be without the moon…So while there’s moonlight and music and love and romance, let’s face the music and dance.”  Irving Berlin.  Let’s Face the Music and Dance.  [7]

Arcadia is widely considered to be “a masterpiece.”[8]   It has been hailed as “the finest play written in my lifetime” by Brad Leithauser[9] and “the greatest play of our age” by Johann Hari.[10]  Like Hari, most critics see the play as “a laugh-filled tragedy”[11] with a depressingly resigned conclusion about life, the universe, and everything.  Entropy is the reason for this.

Early in the play, when Thomasina explains her theory of entropy to Septimus, he complains “So we are all doomed!”, to which Thomasina replies “Yes.”  Similarly, later in the play, after Valentine has explained entropy to Hannah, she asks him “Do you see the world as saved after all?” and he replies “No, it’s still doomed.”  Thomasina’s and Valentine’s replies have been taken by most critics as reflecting the viewpoint of the play that entropy is unstoppable and irreversible.  The play, says Leithauser, is “a sort of dance to the music of time,” and the song is Irving Berlin’s melancholic “Let’s Face the Music and Dance.”[12]  “The elegance of the past is gone,” was similarly the summary of the play by another reviewer.[13]  “Ergo, the future is disorder,” concluded yet another.[14]  The play, in this view, is all about entropy, and about history repeating itself in cycles that spiral downward, with each iteration duller and deader than the last.

The moral of the story according to these critics is that since entropy is humanity’s fate, the play’s main message is a challenge to our courage.  The play forces us to face the question of “How should we live with the knowledge that extinction is certain – not just of ourselves, but of our species?”[15]  In this conventional view, the play’s answer is contained in Hannah’s stoical statement that “It’s the wanting to know that makes us matter,” even if we are doomed.  For most critics, the play confronts us with the tragedy of knowing our fate and being unable to do anything about it.  I don’t agree.  I think these critics missed the point that the play is not only about entropy, but is also about Chaos.

An Alternative Interpretation: Dancing in the Streets.

  “Callin’ out around the world, are you ready for a brand new beat?”                        Marvin Gaye.  Dancing in the Streets.[16]

“Septimus, what is carnal embrace?”  This is the opening line of the play, spoken by thirteen-year-old Thomasina to her tutor Septimus.  She goes on to say that she had heard the butler saying that Mrs. Chater had been discovered in a carnal embrace in the gazebo, and she wants to know what that means.  Septimus is nonplussed.  He has set Thomasina the task of finding a solution to Fermat’s famous Last Equation, which was still unsolved in the early 1800’s.  It is clearly not a problem that he expects her to solve, and the task is merely intended to keep her busy while he is doing other things.  But Thomasina finds questions about sex more interesting.

Sex and sexual tension play a big role in this play.  There is a lot of sexual attraction and action.  It keeps the characters in motion, and keeps up the audience’s interest, in the midst of all the mathematical, historical and philosophical discussions that are the meat of the play.  In turn, while sex is a source of confusion and disorder in the play, and in human society generally, it is also a vehicle for bringing couples together and a means of fractal-like human reproduction.

Thomasina’s opening question, therefore, introduces the basic themes of entropy and negentropy, and order and disorder, that the play explores.  The subsequent dialogue between Thomasina and Septimus is itself like a Chaos pattern spiraling toward an attractor.  Septimus wants to avoid her question about carnal embrace, but Thomasina persists.  Their discussion circles around and around the definition of sex, and around what Septimus has been up to with Mrs. Chater.  It homes in eventually on the point to which it has been tending, a biological explanation by Septimus of sexual intercourse and an admission by him that he has had sexual intercourse with Mrs. Chater in the gazebo.

Sex is an attractor in this instance and throughout the play.  It is an unpredictable wildcard that can disrupt the most orderly patterns of life.  But it is also follows a pattern, especially in the case of Mrs. Chater, who will seemingly sleep with any male in sight.  There is an underlying order and a negentropic energy to life with her around.  But the same is the case with the others in the play, as the characters buzz around each other like bees in a Sidley Park flower bed.

Entropy in the universe seems to be accepted as a universal law in and by the play but, I would contend, entropy in society and human affairs is not.  While the characters in the later period of the play are less interesting than those in the earlier period, people of that later time have computers that can deal with the mathematics of Chaos and entropy that people in the earlier time couldn’t.  Valentine can do computations in a minute that Septimus apparently could not do in a lifetime.  And women like Hannah in the later period do not have to hide their lights under a bushel, as did Thomasina in the earlier period.  This addition of women to full equal status might make for greater social chaos in the 1990’s, but also for complexity in the play that is energizing.

I think that Septimus’ message to Thomasina about things that are seemingly lost in history trumps Hannah’s resignation to historical entropy. When Thomasina laments that so many of the great books in the ancient Library of Alexandria have been lost to us because of the destruction of the Library, Septimus says that nothing is lost in the long course of history.  “The missing plays by Sophocles will turn up piece by piece,” he says, “or be written again in another language,” as will everything else that makes life interesting.  Things come and go, and come again, just as good and maybe even better.  This is exactly what happens in the course of the play as Thomasina’s lost copy books that contained her ideas turn up, and it turns out that her lost ideas had been perfected by subsequent generations.

Chaos Theory is two sided as to the ability of humans to predict and plan.  On the one hand, it introduces uncertainty in planning by telling us that many things tend to fall apart at the slightest touch and then seemingly become chaotic.  On the other hand, it provides us with some measure of comfort by telling us that what seems like chaos may in fact be orderly, albeit unpredictable. That things can’t be exactly predicted does not mean they can’t be planned and prepared for.  And a way to avoid chaos in the first place is to construct systems that have foundations strong enough to withstand changes in conditions and blowback, whether they be social systems, computer programs, political organizations, healthcare plans, or whatever.  In the play, this seems to be the case with Sidley Park, despite periodic changes to the gardens.

I think the moral of the play may be that just when things looked bleak, in the midst of a costume party in which characters from the 1990’s were dressed up as pale imitations of characters from the early 1800’s, a mute boy gets up and dances with a pretty woman.  And maybe, you get yet another rebirth of an even better rock ‘n roll.  That, I think, is a better interpretation of the play.

So why does it matter?  It is not appropriate to read things into a play that are not there.  But when one can interpret the play as proposing either that the glass is half empty, which is the conventional view of Arcadia, or that it is half full, which is mine, I think it is important to at least recognize the plausibility of the latter interpretation.  It matters because we live in an age that seems to have abolished utopian ideals, big dreams of social justice, and theories of universal harmony that energized people during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.  We no long hear much about fulfilling the political ideals of liberty, equality and fraternity, or the ethical ideal of doing unto others as you would have them do unto you, or the social ideal that the self-development of each should be the basis of the self-development of all.

As exemplified by the conventional interpretations of the play Arcadia, we seem to be overwhelmed with weltschmerz and demoralized by the idea of entropy.  But Arcadia seems to say that this is a self-fulfilling prophecy.  The big ideals that we think we have left behind, that we think we are too mature to entertain any longer, are promoted and practiced in the play by the characters at Sidley Park and by the place itself as an institution.

Marshall McCluhan used to claim that the medium was the message, and I think that is the basic message in this play.  Underneath all of the swirling and the cyclical recurrences that characterize the people and events in Arcadia, the hopefulness of the place, Sidley Park, is the underlying message of the play.  And it is the sort of place that can perhaps be replicated on ever larger scales, so that the great ideals and the big negentropic dreams of the past might in the future be resurrected and implemented.

Postscript: Karl Marx and Historical Cycles.

Karl Marx is more commonly known for his economic theories of capitalism, and for having his name misappropriated in support of oppressive Communist regimes, than for the historical and political writings for which he was better known during his own day.  Marx was for many years a highly regarded foreign correspondent for Horace Greeley’s New York Tribune newspaper, and was well known in the United States for his analyses of political events in Europe.[17]

Marx’s famous comment that history repeats itself, occurring first as tragedy and then as farce, was directed at the ascension of Napoleon III to the title of Emperor of France in 1851, a title previously held by his Uncle Napoleon I during the early 1800’s.[18]  The tragedy to which Marx was referring was the overthrow of the first French Republic in the early 1800’s by Napoleon I.  That republic had emerged out of the French Revolution against King Louis XVI in the early 1790’s, and had reflected the hopes of the revolutionaries for a society based on the political ideals of liberty, equality and fraternity.  Napoleon I was a villain, but he was a great villain who did enormous things, until he was himself overthrown as a result of losing the Napoleonic Wars (he even had a twenty-year series of wars named after him), and he was replaced by a new King.

Napoleon III became emperor by overthrowing the second French Republic that had emerged after a second French Revolution, this time against King Louis Philippe.  The second republic had projected even greater social goals than the first, with economic justice as well as political democracy as one of its aims.  Napoleon III was a villain, but a pale and paltry replica of his uncle.  Marx, with his comment about history repeating itself, was mocking this cycle of kings, republics, and emperors, that had resulted in the poltroon Emperor Napoleon III.

In proposing that history repeats itself, occurring first as tragedy, then as farce, Marx did not suggest what the third, fourth and subsequent cycles of history would be like.  When he wrote about the ascension of Napoleon III in 1852, he could not have foreseen the way in which the cycles would continue in France.  What actually happened was that Napoleon III was overthrown in 1871 as the result of losing a war with Prussia.  He was followed by another French Republic, which was itself overthrown by the Nazis and the dictatorial Petain government during World War II.

The Nazi and Petain regimes were, themselves, then overthrown as a consequence of losing the war, and were replaced by yet another French Republic.  This republic extended its goals even further than the previous republics to encompass religious, ethnic and gender justice, but it has wavered between more and less democratic forms to the present day.

Marx’s comment about history repeating itself came at only the beginning of this cyclical series of absolutist and republican, authoritarian and democratic, progressive and reactionary regimes in France.  Similar cycles ran their courses in other parts of the world.  Do these cycles represent entropy, with the later regimes invariably paler and farcical reflections of the earlier.  Are these cycles evidence of an entropic decline of society into lameness and listlessness?

If one looks at the stature of the leading characters involved in these changes, one might answer this question with a “Yes.”  With respect to France, comparing Napoleon I with Napoleon III, or Charles de Gaulle with Emmanuel Macron, the differences seem obvious.  But if one looks at the lot of ordinary French citizens, comparing the lives of most people during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries with the lives of most French people today, I think one must conclude with a “No.”  As part of each cycle, republican governments have become socially and politically more progressive.  And this has been the case in most places around the world, despite problems of poverty, oppression and warfare that many people in many countries are still forced to endure.

Life is less oppressive today, and living standards are higher, for a higher percentage of the world’s population than in the past, and life is also more complex.[19]  While the physical universe may be falling prey to entropy, the social universe seems to be subject to negentropy.  The relatively simple order of a slow-moving agricultural society has been replaced in most parts of the world by the complex structures and the high-powered energy of urban, industrial and post-industrial societies.  The setting of Arcadia in Sidley Park exemplifies this change.  In the early 1800’s, places like Sidley Park were at the economic, social and political center of English society.  In the 1990’s, Sidley Park is merely a resort for recreation and reflection, surviving on the fringes of an urban society.

This is by no means to say that life has become the best in the best of all possible worlds, or that things might not get much worse rather than better.  The political cycle in the United States that has given us the horrendous farce of President Donald Trump following close upon the tragedy of President George W. Bush, with the decency of President Barack Obama as an interlude, is proof of this.  The problem we most urgently face today, however, is not the entropic death of a cooling universe, but the negentropic heat-death of a nuclear war or global warming.  It is the catastrophic danger of too much heat, not too little, that is the problem.

When facing the possibility of disaster, finding hope where it can be sighted is an important part of trying to avoid catastrophe.  In this context, conventional interpretations of Acardia that pessimistically focus on the inevitability of entropy seem not only wrong but wrongheaded in contributing to the disaster the critics bemoan.  Even if history is sometimes tragical and sometimes farcical, sometimes for better and sometimes for worse, Arcadia seems to support the conclusion that as unpredictable as historical comings and goings may be, there is hope for a better future.  So long as the music plays on and people continue to dance.

[1] Brad Leithauser. “Tom Stoppard’s ‘Arcadia,’ at Twenty.”  The New Yorker. 8/8/13.

[2] James Gleick. Chaos: Making a New Science. New York: Penguin Books, 2008. p.308.

[3] James Gleick. Chaos: Making a New Science. New York: Penguin Books, 2008. p.20.

[4] James Gleick. Chaos: Making a New Science. New York: Penguin Books, 2008. p.284.

[5] James Gleick. Chaos: Making a New Science. New York: Penguin Books, 2008. p.309.

[6] James Gleick. Chaos: Making a New Science. New York: Penguin Books, 2008. pp.103-105, 109, 139, 227.

[7] Irving Berlin. Let’s Face the Music and Dance. 1936.

[8] Chris Jones. “’Arcadia’ brims with intelligence in Writers’ bright new house.” Chicago Tribune. 3/24/16.

[9] Brad Leithauser. “Tom Stoppard’s ‘Arcadia,’ at Twenty.”  The New Yorker. 8/8/13.

[10] Johann Hari. “Is Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia the greatest play of our age?” Independent. 5/21/09.

[11] Johann Hari. “Is Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia the greatest play of our age?” Independent. 5/21/09.

[12] Brad Leithauser. “Tom Stoppard’s ‘Arcadia,’ at Twenty.”  The New Yorker. 8/8/13.

[13] Sharon Kilarski. “Theater Review: ‘Arcadia.’” Epoch Times. 8/31/16.

[14] Chris Jones. “’Arcadia’ brims with intelligence in Writers’ bright new house.” Chicago Tribune. 3/24/16.

[15] Ben Brantley. “The 180-year Itch, Metaphysically Speaking.” The New York Times. 3/17/11.”

Johann Hari. “Is Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia the greatest play of our age?” Independent. 5/21/09.

[16] Marvin Gaye. Dancing in the Streets. 1964.

[17] Isaiah Berlin. Karl Marx: His Life and Environment. New York: Oxford University Press, 1959. pp.184-185.

[18] Karl Marx. The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Napoleon. New York: International Publishers, 1963. p.15.

[19] Richard Easterlin. “The Worldwide Standard of Living Since 1800.” Journal of Economic Perspectives, Vol.14, #1. Winter, 2000. pp.7-26.

Parsing Jean Paul Sartre’s “Huis Clos.” Is it “No Exit” or “Closed Door?” “The Gaze” or “Bad Faith?” It’s your choice and it’s a Rorschach Test of your character.

Parsing Jean Paul Sartre’s “Huis Clos.”

Is it “No Exit” or “Closed Door?” “The Gaze” or “Bad Faith?”

It’s your choice and it’s a Rorschach Test of your character.

Burton Weltman

“Freedom is what we do with what is done to us”

          John-Paul Sartre.

Prologue: Looking for an Honest Man.

Diogenes the Cynic, so the story goes, spent his life searching for an honest man.  So, too, I think, did Jean-Paul Sartre, and his play No Exit is an instance of his search.  The thesis of this essay is twofold: (1) The play is best seen as a dramatization of Sartre’s philosophical concept of “bad faith” rather than, as it is usually interpreted, his concept of “the gaze” or “the look.”  The behavior of the characters is intended to be seen as a function of their dishonesty toward themselves and each other, rather than their scrutiny of each other; and, (2) The play essentially functions as a sort of Rorschach Test of the good faith of its readers and viewers.  People who see the play as a reflection of “the gaze” will likely tolerate “bad faith” in themselves and expect it in others.  And that is the moral and morality of the story.

No Exit or In Camera: What’s in a Name?

“But, my dear man, reality is only a Rorschach ink-blot, you know.”

            Alan Watts.

No Exit is a one-act play written in 1943 by Jean-Paul Sartre.  First performed in 1944 in Nazi occupied Paris, its title in the original French is Huis Clos.  It portrays the tribulations of three recently deceased people who find themselves together in a small room in what they think is Hell.  They quickly realize that they are completely incompatible as roommates, with each one grating horribly on the other two.  They conclude that the almighty authorities of the universe have condemned them to being psychologically tortured by each other for all eternity.

The play is a dark drama that has been a mainstay of the stage from the mid-1940’s to the present day.  It is widely held to “capture Sartre’s existentialism,” and to dramatize the essentials of existentialist philosophy.[1]  Although reviewers rarely cite Sartre’s philosophical concepts of “the gaze” and “bad faith,” their interpretations almost invariably reflect those concepts because they are deeply embedded in the play.  Most reviewers focus on aspects of the play that reflect “the gaze” as representing the meaning and moral of the drama.  This essay presents an argument to the contrary.

There is very little action in the play.  It consists mainly of the three main characters talking to each other and looking at each other.  Each of the characters, a man and two women, has a long history of sociopathic behavior, the truth of which emerges as the play unfolds.  They all initially claim to be innocent of wrongdoing, but each one wilts under the grilling of the other two, and they all eventually admit to having repeatedly in their lives betrayed and abused those who loved and depended on them.

The man, Garcin, regularly abused his wife, and was executed for betraying his comrades and deserting the army in time of war.  Estelle, one of the women, was a female philanderer, who betrayed her husband, killed her unwanted baby, and effectively drove her lover to suicide.  Inez, the other woman, was a lesbian, who was killed by her abused lover, who also killed herself.

The characters constitute an anti-menage-a-trois.  Inez immediately becomes sexually attracted to Estelle, but Estelle is repelled by lesbianism.  Estelle is sexually attracted to Garcin, but Garcin insists on getting emotional support from her that she is incapable of giving.  Garcin, in turn, looks to Inez for emotional support, but she despises him and won’t give it.  They are committed narcissists, and are unwilling or unable to connect with each other.

Having realized their incompatibility, the characters make ineffective efforts to ignore each other.  But they are goaded and galled by the existence of the others.  So, the three of them emotionally torture each other in a vicious cycle of attraction and repulsion, and conclude that tormenting each other for eternity is their hellish fate.  This is also the conclusion that most interpreters of the play reach.  I don’t agree.

The French title of the play, Huis Clos, has usually been translated into English as No Exit. But the phrase huis clos literally means “closed door” in French, and colloquially means in camera.  In camera refers to a court proceeding that is conducted privately in a judge’s chambers behind closed doors.  Translating the play’s title as No Exit implies that the trial of the three characters is over, the judging has been finally done, and they have been conclusively sentenced to Hell.  In this view, the characters have become what they really are, their essences have been exposed to view, and there are no choices available to them to change their ways and their fates.

Translating the title as In Camera, however, implies that their trial is still ongoing, final judgments have not been rendered, and the characters might still be able to do things that could change their fates. That is, they have been placed in a sort of Purgatory, and are not necessarily permanently ensconced in Hell.  In this view, the action in the play is part of their trial, the authorities are watching and waiting to render a final judgment, and there are still choices the characters could make to change their ways and alter their fates.

The majority translation of the title is No Exit, the minority is In Camera.  Although few commentators on the play make explicit reference to Sartre’s philosophical works, their differences in translating the title of the play, and corresponding differences in interpreting it, can be translated into Sartrean philosophical terms.  Sartre published his major philosophical work Being and Nothingness in 1943, the same year as the play.[2]  In this book, he developed his ideas of “the gaze” and “bad faith” that are represented in the play

The majority view that the title should be No Exit corresponds with a view of the play that emphasizes Sartre’s philosophical concept of “the gaze.”  The minority view that the title should be In Camera corresponds with Sartre’s philosophical concept of “bad faith.”  Proponents of each view can point to elements of the play in support of their positions, and the play does not conclusively back either.

In fact, the play may function as a sort of Rorschach Test of the social inclinations of its audience.  A Rorschach Test is a bunch of images that a person is asked to make sense of.  The sense the person makes of the images is ostensibly an indication of how the person thinks, and what the person is like.  No Exit/In Camera seems to function in this way.  The way a person interprets the play may be an indication of how the person views him/herself and the world.

The primary thesis of this essay is that the play is best titled in English as In Camera, and best seen as a criticism of the three main characters as people who are guilty of “bad faith.”  A secondary thesis is that interpreting the play in terms of “the gaze” could reflect an inclination on the part of interpreters towards tolerating bad faith in others, and possibly themselves.

To See or Not to See, that is the Question: The Gaze and Bad Faith.

“You are not what you are, and you are what you are not”

            John-Paul Sartre.

Sartre’s concept of “the gaze” describes an ontological and psychological process that he claims is characteristic of most elementary interactions between people.  This process can be analyzed into three main components.  First, we live surrounded by other people who are continually trying to foist on us their image of what they think we are.  They take a sample of things we have done, and fashion out of those things a fixed and finished persona which they then use to judge us.  Second, we are continually being watched and judged by other people.  In the face of all that scrutiny, we are inclined to accept and act in accordance with the fixed and finished personas they have crafted for us.  Third, in accepting those fixed and finished images of ourselves, we end up being robbed by others of our freedom to choose who we will be and what we will do in the future.  The net result is that we can end up trapped in our past as it has been interpreted by others.  Ontologically and psychologically, we become their prisoners.[3]

In Sartre’s words, “the gaze” is an attempt by “the Other” to objectify me based on things I have done, and make me conform to his/her conception of me.  The Other tries to make me one-dimensional and predictable, which robs me of choice and a future different than my past.  In turn, I try to do the same to him/her.  “While I attempt to free myself from the hold of the Other, the Other is trying to free himself (sic) from mine; while I seek to enslave the Other, the Other seeks to enslave me.”[4]  Existence, in the face of “the gaze,” is a war of each against all, and all against each, with each person trying to assert his/her freedom by psychologically imprisoning the others.  In turn, other people are enemies that one must battle to be free.

In the majority view of No Exit, the most telling line in the play is Garcin’s despairing cry toward the end that “Hell is other people!”  This declaration has become an oft-repeated, iconic Sartrean line, and most critics would seemingly agree with the statement of one commentator that “No dramatist ever summed up a work more succinctly than Jean-Paul Sartre did in that line from No Exit.”[5] Garcin was prompted to this cri de coeur by his frustration at being stuck with two incompatible and incorrigible roommates, their mere presence galling him, especially their continually watching him.  He is in agony at being imprisoned by their scrutiny.    

The plight of which Garcin complains is an example of “the gaze.”  In the play, each of the characters attempts to pin a label on the others, and pin them down so that they can be controlled thereby.  Inez labels Garcin a coward.  Estelle labels Inez a pervert.  Inez labels Estelle a baby killer.  And so on.  In turn, each tries to escape the labeling of the others.  Looking is labeling, which is shaming, which is controlling.

Most commentators on the play seem to accept this situation as the moral of the play and of Sartre’s existentialist philosophy.  They claim that the characters are being seen by the others as they really are, that the characters cannot change who they are, and that the same goes for us in the audience.  Like the characters in the play, “We constantly feel scrutinized by others,” and this scrutiny reveals our essence, something we may have tried to cover up, but can do so no longer.[6]   The three characters in the play have become “finished fully formed souls facing who they are,”[7] and Hell is other people because other people “see us as we really are.”[8]

Or as another critic put it, Hell is “where the accumulated failures of a lifetime are endlessly enacted.”[9]  We are our history, and we are forever bound by the causal chains of past events as those events are seen by others.  Others’ views of us, thereby, become a prison from which we cannot escape, even in death.[10]  At least, that is what the characters claim and complain about.

But their views may not be Sartre’s view.  The three characters are, after all, sociopaths who seem to be continuing their lifelong practice of blaming everyone and everything else, other than themselves, for their problems.  I think the play is better seen as a portrayal of Sartre’s concept of “bad faith,” something of which the characters, and maybe many of us, are guilty.

Bad faith is the other side of the ontological coin from “the gaze.”  It, too, can be analyzed into three main components.  First, we tend to want to settle on fixed and finished images of ourselves.  These images may be of own fashioning or the fashioning of others, and may be favorable or even unfavorable.  In any case, we accept them as who we really are.  Second, we try to foist those fixed and finished images of ourselves on others.  We insist that the images represent the real and unchangeable us.  Third, we try to renounce our freedom to choose what we will do and be in the future, and thereby try to avoid responsibility for those choices.  We pretend that we have no choice but to be what we are, and no exit from where we happen to be.

Bad faith is an attempt to escape freedom.  But it is a lie, because ontologically we cannot escape from the fact that we freely choose our fates.  We exercise our freedom of choice even as we choose to renounce that freedom, and try to avoid committing ourselves to a future.  “We can define man only in relation to his commitments,” Sartre claims, and we are continually committing ourselves to one thing and then the next, whether we like it or not.  Commitment cannot be avoided.  “Bad faith is obviously a lie,” Sartre concludes, “because it is a dissimulation of man’s full freedom of commitment.”[11]  In this context, the attempt of the characters in the play to blame their miserable situation on the looks of their roommates or on the almighty authorities, rather than on their own choices, can be seen as an example of bad faith.

The problem of bad faith, but also its solution, arises from the fact of human self-consciousness.   As soon as a person becomes something, the person’s self-consciousness of that fact puts him/her beyond that something.  The person must then choose and commit to be something else.  Bad faith is an effort to deny the ontological reality that you are your future choices, and to avoid having to choose what one will do and become next, by holding permanently onto what one has already done or become.[12] It is an attempt to use the past to avoid having to make present choices toward the future.  But, Sartre counsels, the past is not who we are, but merely the material out of which we construct our future selves.  The future is everything.[13]

Self-consciousness is the source of the problem by making us aware of the fragility of ourselves, but it is also the solution in providing us the means of choosing to commit ourselves to the next thing, and to do it with others, not against them.  In this view, others are not the enemy, we are the enemy when we try to imprison ourselves in ossified self-images.  The only way out of that bind is to work with others.  We cannot escape others, and we would be nothing without them.  It is only through cooperating with them that we can be free.  When we freely commit with others to a common cause, we pull all of us into the future.

In this interpretation of the play as a portrayal of bad faith, the telling line is uttered by Garcin toward the middle of the play, when the characters are considering ways they might cooperate with each other and make their coexistence tolerable.  He says that “A man is what he wills himself to be.”  But Garcin does not follow up on this insight.  He merely talks about committing himself to change, but does not put that talk into practice.

The telling moment in this view of the play comes shortly after, when Garcin beats on the door, demanding to be let out, and the door opens.  He and the women are then faced with the choice of leaving or staying.  After brief consideration, each of them chooses to stay, and they close the door.  They then rationalize their decision along the lines of the devil you know is better than the one you don’t know, but it is clear they are committed to staying where and how they are.  They don’t want to change, and this is their free choice.  This commitment is an instance of ontological cowardice and bad faith in Sartrean terms.

“Bad faith” and “the gaze” are essentially two sides of the same coin.  Both are violations of the Sartrean principle that we are all caught up in a perpetual stream of becoming.  But seeing things in terms of “bad faith” forces you to take responsibility for where and what you are, and for making choices about what and where you will be next.  Seeing things in terms of “the gaze” gives you a way to rationalize doing nothing, and resigning yourself to the status quo.  It can be a cop out, and an instance of bad faith, as I think it is for the characters in this play.  Sartrean existentialism means that we are never a fixed and finished product, and that we are continually having to choose what we become next, whether we and others want to recognize it or not.

Existentialism and the Human Condition: Resignation or Resistance?

“Commitment is an act, not a word.”

            Jean-Paul Sartre.

If No Exit/In Camera was intended by Sartre to be what I have loosely called a sort of Rorschach Test, he does not make it easy to pass the test.  There is a lot of looking and a lot of “the gaze” in the play.  As it opens, all of the three characters are absorbed in watching what is being said about them by people they knew who are still alive on earth.  They complain that they are being defined and defiled by people whom they did not like and who did not like them.  Their past deeds are being used to hang a fixed image on them.  And they cannot do anything about it.  This is an example of “the gaze” in operation.

When these visions fade away, and the characters are cut off from life on earth, they begin watching each other.  The room they are in is small.  It contains three couches and an ugly little statue.  It has no mirrors.  There are no books.  The characters are unable to sleep.  There is nothing to do except think, talk, and look at each other.  With no mirrors and no one else with whom to talk, each can see him/herself only through the eyes and the words of the other two.  Since they are in perpetual conflict with each other, it is not a pretty picture that they each see of themselves.  This is another example of “the gaze” in practice.

From these scenes comes the majority’s interpretation that the play is based on “the gaze,” and that it espouses a misanthropic anti-social individualism.  The majority view accepts the resignation of the characters to their situation at the end of the play as the message of the play.  It is the triumph of “the gaze,” and the last line of the play ostensibly sums it up.  In this line, Garcin declares his and the other characters’ acceptance of an eternity of mutual incrimination and self-incrimination with the sigh “Eh bien, continuons.”  This line is usually translated as “Well, let’s get on with it,” but it literally means “OK, let’s continue” which is, I think, a better translation.  With this line, Garcon declares that the three of them have no choice but to continue what they have been doing, and most commentators agree.  But is that the intended message of the play?  I think not.

I think that “bad faith” trumps “the gaze” as the primary message of the play.  “The look” is what others try to do to me when they recognize my separate existence, and what I try to do to them in return if we are not mutually committed and engaged in a joint enterprise.  Social relations are antagonistic unless we are mutually committed and engaged in a joint enterprise.  Sartre explains that “I will always depend on my comrades-in-arms in the struggle, inasmuch as they are committed, as I am, to a definite common cause.”[14]  Comradeship in a commitment to a common cause can dissipate the effects of “the gaze.”  Failing to join with others, and merely accepting the effects of “the gaze,” is bad faith.

This view of the play is supported by the context of its original production.  Huis Clos was first performed in Paris during the Nazi occupation of France in World War II.  Sartre had previously been incarcerated by the Germans as a prisoner of war, but had escaped and then joined the underground French Resistance to the Nazis.  Working in the Resistance required intense collaboration with others, and perilous reliance on the courage and good faith of others.  It also required vigilance against Nazi collaborators and bad faith infiltrators.

Even as he was risking his life in the Resistance, Sartre daringly produced writings that could be interpreted as encouraging that resistance.  In this context, Huis Clos can be seen as having been “written in direct response to the intellectual paralysis of German-occupied Paris,” that is the hell on earth that was Nazi rule.  The intent of the play was to encourage people to “embrace honesty and hope,” rather than the cowardice, dishonesty and misanthropy of the three characters.[15]  The play, in this view, implicitly calls for resistance rather than resignation to hellishness.  This includes resistance to “the gaze” with which the Nazis were trying to demoralize and imprison the French, but also “the gaze” with which the French were demoralizing and imprisoning themselves.

Praxis makes Perfect: Existence precedes Essence.

Inez: “They’re waiting.”

Garcin: “They’re watching.”

The majority view of No Exit reflects a very cynical view of social relations, more so than even that of Diogenes the original Cynic.  Diogenes at least continued his search for an honest man.  In the majority view of the play, Sartre has given up.  The play portrays the views of three narcissistic sociopaths, who have betrayed everyone around them, and who seemingly have no significant experience of commitment to anyone.  No choice and no exit could be the mantras of their lives.  In the majority view, the three characters represent us in the audience and their predicament represents ours.  In turn, the majority view is that the characters’ cynical views of the world represent Sartre’s views.

But maybe that isn’t the case.  Maybe the play has a less cynical message.  At several points in the play, the characters claim that the higher authorities seem to be looking down on them.  They rationalize this scrutiny as the authorities’ controlling the characters’ every move, after having planned their punishments down to the smallest details.  This scrutiny from on high becomes a further excuse for the three characters to do nothing to change their ways.  “The Devil made me do it” is essentially their excuse.

But this excuse is essentially a cop-out, and another instance of bad faith.  It seems just as likely that the authorities are watching the three of them to see what the three are doing, and to see if they warrant any further punishment.  It is just as likely that the fates of the three are not sealed, and that their present behavior is being judged by higher authorities, which includes us in the audience.  We, too, are watching them, judging them, and waiting to see if they can take steps to change their ways and their situation.  Like maybe walking out the door when it opens.  I have watched the play many times, and I keep hoping that the characters will someday walk out that open door.

As to the Rorschach Test, those who interpret the play in terms of “the gaze” are, in effect, giving the characters a pass on the characters’ ongoing responsibility for their predicament.  These interpreters are willing to accept the characters’ bad faith rationalizations of their resignation, and their bad faith excuse for continuing to do just what they had always done.  If these interpreters are willing to accept others’ bad faith excuses for inaction, maybe they would also be inclined to rationalize their own unwillingness to take responsibility for their own choices and for joining with others to make a better world?

In this majority view, the play promotes resignation to the fact that the human condition is hell on earth, and in the hereafter.  I don’t buy that view.  I think that view is itself an instance of bad faith thinking, and represents the sort of cynicism that led Diogenes to become a Cynic.  I contend that Huis Clos is a call to arms against bad faith, and that the message of the play is that you are never fixed in who you are or by what you have done.  You can always do something different, because the next opportunity to choose immediately succeeds the last choice.  And the only way to realize your own freedom is through promoting the freedom of others.

June 23, 2017.

[1] Francesca Baretta. “Review ‘No Exit.’” The Oxford Cultural Review. 6/2/16.

[2] Jean Paul Sartre.  Being and Nothingness: An Essay on Phenomenological Ontology. New York: Philosophical Library, 1956.

[3] Jean Paul Sartre.  Being and Nothingness: An Essay on Phenomenological Ontology. New York: Philosophical Library, 1956. pp.252 et seq.

[4] Jean Paul Sartre.  Being and Nothingness: An Essay on Phenomenological Ontology. New York: Philosophical Library, 1956. p.364.

[5] Lawrence Bommer. “Review of No Exit.”  Chicago Reader. 9/6/90.

[6] Francesca Baretta. “Review ‘No Exit.’” The Oxford Cultural Review. 6/2/16.

[7] Leah Frank.  “Theater Review; ‘No Exit,’ Sartre’s Version of Hell.” The New York Times. 10/22/89.

[8] Leah Frank.  “Theater Review; ‘No Exit,’ Sartre’s Version of Hell.” The New York Times. 10/22/89.

[9] Lawrence Bommer. “Review of No Exit.”  Chicago Reader. 9/6/90.

[10] Robert Hurwitt. “’No Exit’ Review: Welcome to Hotel Sartre.” SFGATE. 4/14/11.   Zachary Stewart. “No Exit.” Theatre Mania. 3/9/14.  Mike Fischer. “Theater Review: Self-absorbed pay the price in ‘No Exit.Milwaukee Wisconsin Journal Sentinal. 8/12/16.

[11] Jean-Paul Sartre. Existentialism is a Humanism. New Haven, CN: Yale University Press, 2007. p.46, 48.

[12] Jean Paul Sartre.  Being and Nothingness: An Essay on Phenomenological Ontology. New York: Philosophical Library, 1956. p.66.

[13] Jean-Paul Sartre. Existentialism is a Humanism. New Haven, CN: Yale University Press, 2007. p.47.

[14] Jean-Paul Sartre. Existentialism is a Humanism. New Haven, CN: Yale University Press, 2007. p.35.

[15] David Rooney. “The Other People Are Back: Do They Ever Leave? Sartre’s ‘No Exit’” The New York Times. 3/12/14.

Beckett’s “Waiting for Godot”: Why do we keep waiting? Hope among the Hopeless.

  Beckett’s Waiting for Godot: Why do we keep waiting? Hope among the Hopeless.                       

                                       Burton Weltman

A country road.  A tree.  Evening.

Estragon, sitting on a low mound, is trying to take off his boot.

He pulls at it with both hands, panting.

He gives up, exhausted, rests, tries again.

Setting and action at the beginning of Act I of Waiting for Godot.

A guy trying to take off his boots, and failing.  That is how Waiting for Godot opens, and it is a prime example of the sort of action that takes place during the play.  There is, in fact, very little dramatic action at the beginning of the play, and none at the end.  In between, two ragged men, Estragon and Vladimir (Gogo and Didi for short), wander back and forth on a bleak stage and talk at each other as they wait for the arrival of someone named Godot, whom they may never have met (it isn’t clear) and know almost nothing about.  They are briefly interrupted by four other characters, a poltroon named Pozzo with his slave Lucky, and two messenger boys sent by Godot.  That’s it.

Godot was completed in 1949 by Samuel Beckett in the wake of the Great Depression and World War II.  It was a time when many Europeans were suffering from what we might today call post traumatic stress disorder.  They were still trying to figure out what had hit them and what they could do about it.  Godot was part of a flood of existentialist works produced during the 1940’s and 1950’s by Beckett, Jean Paul Sartre, Albert Camus, Simone de Beauvoir and other writers.  Sartre and Camus, the leading figures in the existentialist group, emphasized the helplessness, hopelessness, and pointlessness of human existence.  Godot has been compared with their works.  The setting of Godot is bleak, the main characters wander about to no obvious purpose, and the play has no obvious plot.  I intend to show, however, that Beckett makes a very different point than Sartre and Camus.

Godot has also been compared in recent years with the television comedy show Seinfeld.  Seinfeld has been famously characterized and satirized by its own characters as a show about nothing.  And although Seinfeld is amusing, it really is pretty much about nothing.  Godot has been similarly characterized as being about nothing because the play seems so unfocussed and nothing dramatic happens.  But this comparison is weak.  Godot is amusing, but there is also something to the play that has led critics to describe it as “mesmerizing,” and induced many to rate it as a great work of art.  One may ridicule Godot, it has been said, but one “cannot ignore it.”[1]  Very few people would say that about Seinfeld.  What is it about Godot that accounts for its hold on audiences?  I hope in this essay to show what that is.

A great work of art has been described as one that can be experienced repeatedly with something new gained each time.  A great book is, for example, one that can be read over and over, with the reader getting more and different things each time.  A great play is one that can be seen many times with new insights each time.  The more a work can be profitably reread or re-watched, the more there is to it and the greater it is.[2]

That is something we can do with the plays of William Shakespeare and the novels of Charles Dickens, and that is why people today frequently read and reread, watch and re-watch works by these authors.  It is not something that most people can do with the plays of Shakespeare’s contemporary and friend Christopher Marlowe or with the books of Dickens’ contemporary and friend Edward Bulwer-Lytton.   Marlow and Bulwer-Lytton were considered innovative and widely popular authors in their day.  But they have not stood well the test of time, and their works are not often performed or read.[3]  Bulwer-Lytton has even had the singular misfortune to have named after him an annual contest for the worst opening sentence for a novel, having opened one of his novels with the oft ridiculed line “It was a dark and stormy night.”[4]

Great literary works like those of Shakespeare and Dickens appeal to us to consider them carefully.  They connect with us in a way that says that there is more to them than meets the eye at our first glance, and that we are missing something important if we don’t try to find it.  Great works are also multidimensional, not merely one-dimensional, sentimental appeals to our emotions or didactic appeals to our intellect.  They appeal to us and challenge us in a variety of ways, intellectually, experientially, imaginatively, and emotionally.

A literary work is said, for example, to have intellectual appeal if it challenges our ideas about things.  It has experiential appeal if it relates to things with which we are familiar but focuses on things we have ignored.  A work has imaginative appeal if it is couched in imagery that opens our eyes to something we are capable of seeing but have not seen before.  It has  emotional appeal if it evokes empathy and emotionally involves us in unexpected ways.  A great work makes the strange familiar and the familiar strange.[5]  Godot does just that.  As I hope to demonstrate in this essay, the play appeals to our intellects, personal experiences, imaginations and emotions, and provokes us to think and feel about things in new ways.  It can also be seen over and over without exhausting its appeal.  In sum, it is well worth waiting for Godot.

Estragon: Nothing to be done.

Vladimir: I am beginning to come around to that opinion.  All my life I’ve tried to put it from me, saying Vladimir, be reasonable, you haven’t tried everything.  And I resumed the struggle.

Opening lines of Act I of Waiting for Godot.

“What is to be done?” asked Vladimir Lenin in the title of his famous book of 1901.  The book was written at a low point in working class struggles in Europe, at a time when apathetic workers seemed to be adapting to their oppression under the capitalist system.  Lenin’s answer was to build a revolutionary movement led by a vanguard cadre of radicals who would energize workers and show them the way.  Estragon parodies and critiques Lenin with his “Nothing to be done” as the opening salvo of the debate between him and his comrade Vladimir, which largely constitutes Godot.  Vladimir responds in Leninist fashion that whenever he feels at a low point, he thinks of all the things he has not yet tried, and then he resumes the struggle.

But there are limits to Vladimir’s stamina.  He is beginning to despair.  His despair recalls that of his namesake Lenin, wasting away in exile in Switzerland during January, 1917.  Lenin told a group of visiting comrades that they must reconcile themselves to the fact that there would probably be no revolution in Russia during their lifetimes.  But, he adjured, they must keep the faith and wait things out.  Quite unexpectedly, revolution broke out the next month in Russia and Lenin returned to lead it.  One never knows what can be done if one has not tried everything.

What is to be done, Estragon and Vladimir are continually asking?  How should they spend their time while they wait for God knows what?   So, they play with words and play verbal games, just as Beckett wrote plays and played with words.  They goad each other with what are seemingly intentional misunderstandings of the other, a way of making something of a conversation out of nothing.  “Let’s contradict each other,” Estragon suggests and later insists “Let’s ask each other questions.”  After one such episode, Estragon rejoices that “We always find something, eh Didi, to give us the impression we exist.”  “Yes, yes, we’re magicians,” Vladimir responds.

They sprinkle their conversation with allusions to books, events and ideas that they have difficulty recalling and construing, just as Beckett sprinkles Godot with allusions to things for us, the audience, to try to decipher and ponder.  Vladimir, for example, referring to the story that one of the two thieves who were to be crucified with Jesus was spared, notes that only one of the four Gospels mentions the story.  Estragon’s reply is “Well?  They don’t agree and that’s all there is to it.”  Vladimir’s response is “But all four were there and only one speaks of a thief being saved.  Why believe him rather than the other four?”  This is not only a question about the New Testament, it is a question about evidence and testimony of all sorts, and about ethical choices.

“It is a game, everything is a game,” Beckett once supposedly said about Godot.[6]  There is an almost endless number of things in the play for Estragon and Vladimir to think about, and us too.  The play has enormous intellectual appeal and appeal for intellectuals.  Philosophy, religion, politics, and ethics are just a few of the themes with which it deals, and which the characters discuss.  It is not clear that Estragon and Vladimir make any progress in their speculations, but they greet each day and each other with an embrace and a celebration.

Vladimir: It’s a scandal!

Pozzo: Are you alluding to anything in particular?                                                            

Vladimir: To treat a man…like that…I think that…no…a human being…no…it’s a         scandal.

Estragon: A disgrace.

Vladimir and Estragon reacting to Pozzo’s treatment of his slave Lucky in Act I.

“When Adam delved and Eve span, Who was then the gentleman?,” asked the Lollard priest John Ball, one of the leaders of the English Peasant Revolt of 1381.  In fighting against the oppression of the peasants by their overlords, Ball exhorted his followers to return to the simplicity and social equality of the Garden of Eden, where there was no private property or social hierarchy.  Ball’s appeal tapped into a traditional Christian utopian dream of the sort that in modern times was voiced by John Lennon in his song Imagine.  “Imagine there’s no heaven…Imagine there’s no countries…Imagine there’s no possession,” John Lennon asks us.  And then, he says, imagine the wonderful consequences, with everyone living in peace, sharing the world, and living for today.

Lennon’s words are a surprisingly plausible way of describing the situation of Estragon and Vladimir in Godot.  They own virtually no property, and share what they have.  They do not demonstrate any tribal loyalties or prejudices.  They bicker a lot, but they do not actually fight.  They sometimes envy the seemingly wealthy Pozzo and hope for riches for themselves, but they don’t do anything about it.  They live totally for the day.  So, is Godot intended as a description of utopia?  Or a portrait of dystopia?  Is it a parody of the Garden of Eden?

Godot been called “a mystery wrapped in an enigma.” [7]  It has also been declared so ambiguous as to be “Whatever you want it to be,” let your mind make of it what you will.[8]  Although I think that is an overstatement, the play does make a strong appeal to the imagination.  A big part of this appeal stems from its minimalism.  Godot has a minimalist script calling for a minimalist setting and a minimalist performance.  It strips life down to a bare minimum of things, and focuses on the moment-to-moment and day-to-day survival of its two main characters.  This minimalism makes for a maximum of interpretations.  Godot has been produced as a comedy, tragedy, tragic-comedy, farce, and melodrama.  It has been interpreted as a psychological, political, sociological, metaphysical, and/or religious drama.

The setting is stark, and the play has been described as “about nowhere and therefore about everywhere.”[9]  The stage set consists essentially of a dying tree and a rock.  If it is Eden, it is a devastated garden.  Beckett sets his characters in a barren physical and psychological environment in which they are starving for stimulation.  They seem to suffer from sensory and intellectual deprivation and, as a result, they often imagine things.  Upon first meeting Pozzo, for example, they mistake him for Godot.  Estragon explains: “That is to say…you understand…the dusk…the strain…waiting…I confess…I imagined…for a second.”  We, the audience, too thought that our waiting might be over, that Godot had arrived.  But no, we must wait further.

The imagery is haunting.  It is a post-apocalyptic setting that is befitting a Europe devastated by economic depression and war.  But the setting also befits a post-Holocaust and post-Hiroshima world that has been stripped of its moral veneer.  It is a world that needs an imaginative revival.   Beckett provides a structure for our imaginations, and forces us to think about the possibilities.

Estragon: Well, shall we go?

Vladimir:  Yes, let’s go.

They do not move.

End of Act I of Waiting for Godot.

 “To be or not to be, that is the question,” Hamlet proclaims, as he contemplates suicide and ponders what he should be and how to be it.  Hamlet’s answer is essentially a cop-out.  He claims that killing oneself may not end one’s problems because there may be an afterlife in which one’s tribulations may continue and even increase.  But Hamlet then goes on to pontificate in terms that seem to negate taking action of any sort, and do not apply merely to committing suicide:

Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all,

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprises of great pitch and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry

And lose the name of action.

This is an elaborate excuse for inaction.  Hamlet is a play about someone who does not want to choose, and does not want to act.  Godot is a play about people who are making choices and taking action.  This is the case even when the result looks like indecision and inaction.

In a seeming parody and rebuke of Hamlet, Vladimir claims that “What are we doing here? That is the question (emphasis in original).”  Suicide is not the question.  Action versus inaction is not the question.  The question is what should we do and why should we do it, since we are always doing something whether we like it or not.  This is the core question of the play and one that almost all of us ask ourselves at least sometimes, some of us a lot.  With this question, the play appeals to the personal experience of the audience, all of us wanderers in a time and place not of our choosing, searching for some meaning and for something meaningful to do with our lives.

Vladimir’s question is also arguably a response to Albert Camus’ influential book The Myth of Sisyphus.  Sisyphus was written in 1942, while France was under Nazi occupation and Camus was involved in the seemingly hopeless struggle of the French underground against the Nazi occupiers.  The opening words of Sisyphus are “There is but one truly philosophical problem, and that is suicide.”  As with Hamlet, suicide is the question.  For Camus, living without hope is the answer.[10]

Sisyphus was a character from Greek mythology who was condemned for eternity to push a rock up a mountain, only to have it roll back down, so that he would have to push it back up again.  Camus claims that Sisyphus embraces this “futile and hopeless labor” because “There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn,” and Sisyphus’ scorn for the gods sets him free.  “Sisyphus,” Camus claims, “teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks.”  He concludes that “One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”[11]  Heroic endurance, an acceptance of hopelessness, and happiness through scorn for one’s oppressors is Camus’ answer to the question of suicide.

Although Beckett’s main characters in Godot repeatedly consider killing themselves, boredom seems to be the main philosophic question for them, not suicide.  In contrast with Sisyphus, Godot was written at a time when economic depression and war were giving way to economic and political recovery, and the conformity of mass society had become a main worry among intellectuals.  Cultural critics such as Theodor Adorno and Max Horkheimer were warning about the coming loss of individuality in what was becoming a homogenized Western society.[12]

Adorno and Horkheimer were the advanced guard of a legion of critics concerned that an age of coerced uniformity by fascist dictators was being succeeded by an era of voluntary conformity, and by the boredom that comes from a paucity of imagination, genuine choices and meaning in people’s lives.  Beckett was writing at the dawn of the age of David Reisman’s The Lonely Crowd[13] succeeded by Vance Packard’s The Organization Man,[14] which eventually became Herbert Marcuse’s One Dimensional Man.[15]  Self-suppression and willful conformity were their main concerns.  Western culture, they complained, was becoming a domain of intellectual, experiential, imaginative, and emotional vacuity.

Physical suicide was not the problem for these intellectuals.  Psychological suicide was.  Both Act I and Act II of Godot end with Estragon and Vladimir saying they will kill themselves tomorrow.  But we know they won’t.  They are merely bored, and are entertaining themselves with speculations about committing suicide.  It is just one of the many things they think of doing, but don’t do.  Estragon and Vladimir are continually thinking about how to be, even when they are speculating about how not to be.  They seem to be Beckett’s response to the complaints of mass society theorists.  Beckett’s everymen are as shabby as they can be, but they are anything but conformists.  There is no “Keeping up with the Joneses” with them.  Beckett seems to be saying that a tawdry tedium should not be confused with a vacuous conformity.        

In a contrast with Hamlet, who does not really answer his own question about being, Vladimir answers his.  He says “And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in this immense confusion one thing alone is clear.  We are waiting for Godot to come.”  Unlike Hamlet, Estragon and Vladimir are not dithering around in a quandary about whether or not to do something.  They are doing something, according to Vladimir, even if, like Lenin biding his time in Switzerland, it is only keeping the faith and keeping themselves together while they wait for things to unfold.

“We are not saints,” Vladimir concludes, “but we have kept our appointment” with Godot, and that is something to be proud of.  It is also something with which we in the audience can empathize.  “Eighty percent of success is showing up,” Woody Allen once said.  “I can’t go on,” Estragon complains at one point.  “That’s what you think,” Vladimir responds, and they go on.  Vladimir and Estragon show up every day to wait for Godot.  Most of us would do well to do the same in our own lives.

Estragon: Well, shall we go?                                                                                                        

Vladimir:  Yes, let’s go.

They do not move.

End of Act II of Waiting for Godot.

 “It’s all symbiosis,” Beckett is supposed to have once said about Godot.[16]  Beckett was extremely reluctant to comment on the meaning of his plays, but he seems hereby to have acknowledged that Godot is above all a play about human relationships.  Strip life down to its bare bones and what you have left is relationships.  Godot is frequently paired with Jean Paul Sartre’s No Exit as a play about people who are trapped physically and psychologically, and who cannot get out of the vicious cycles in which their lives, or their afterlives in the case of No Exit, unhappily revolve.  No Exit portrays what Sartre saw as the contradiction between being metaphysically free but psychologically imprisoned, which is a frequent theme in existentialist writing.

Similar to Camus’ writing of Sisyphus, Sartre wrote No Exit in Paris during 1944,while France was still under Nazi occupation.  It is a story about three dead people, a man and two women, who are locked in a room. The room is ostensibly Hell.  In the beginning, they marvel at the idea that where they are is Hell, and they anticipate that they will be okay if being in a locked room is the worst they will suffer for their misdeeds in life.  But then their personalities start to come into play.

The man is chronically depressed and despondent.  One of the women increasingly lusts after him.  The other woman increasingly lusts after the first woman and scorns the man.  He, in turn, seeks the scornful woman’s approval.  The net result is a vicious circle in which each of them preys on the others.  Toward the end of the play, the door to the room opens so that they apparently could exit the room.  None of them, however, chooses to leave.  They seemingly want or need to be tortured.  Psychologically, there is no way out for them.

The man sums up what the play says about the human condition with the phrase: “L’enfer, ces les autres” or “Hell is other people.”  He also voices the moral of the story in the last words of the play: “Eh bien, continuons,” that is, “Let’s continue” or “Let’s get on with it.”  Written in circumstances similar to those in which Camus wrote Sisyphus, Sartre’s moral in No Exit is similar to Camus’ in Sisyphus.  We must resign ourselves to a living hell.  The moral of Godot is different.

There are three sets of symbiotic relationships in Godot: Estragon and Vladimir, Pozzo and Lucky, and the two messenger boys and Godot.  As Pozzo appears in the first act of the play, he is a pompous braggart and a wealthy bully.  He drags his slave Lucky around with a rope and routinely denigrates him.  Although Pozzo looks down upon Estragon and Vladimir for their poverty and for hanging about waiting for Godot, he goes hither and yon without seeming to get anywhere.  In the second act, Pozzo shows up having been accidentally blinded.  Now the slave is pulling him around by the rope.  Pozzo has gone from bumptious to pathetic, but Lucky remains his slave and neither knows how to get away from the other.  Theirs is a symbiotic master-slave relationship that has enslaved and degraded them both, but with no way out.

The two boys have an ambiguous relationship with Godot.  One is a shepherd, the other a goatherd.  Godot apparently mistreats and beats one of them, but it is not clear which.  This is like the Cain and Able story in the Bible in which God favors the shepherd Able over the farmer Cain for no apparent reason.  From passages such as this, many interpreters of the play claim that “It seem fairly certain that Godot stands for God.”[17]  In this view, waiting for Godot would seem like an act of religious faith.  This view is reinforced by Vladimir’s response to Estragon’s question about Godot.  “And if he comes?” asks Estragon.  “We’ll be saved,” answers Vladimir, with salvation generally regarded as a religious goal.  But Godot and salvation could stand for any number of things for which people hope, from God to Lenin’s revolution.  I do not think it matters to the moral of the play.

The moral of the play, I think, resides in the relationship between Estragon and Vladimir.  Most interpretations of the play focus on the dourness of the characters’ situation and the hopelessness of their enterprise.[18]  It has been said that the play has “a unique resonance during times of social and political crisis,” and that its appeal is as a catharsis for people’s despair.[19]  I do not see the play as a catharsis for despair.  I propose, instead, that the play is a success story with a happy ending, thus making for the strong emotional connection that we feel for the characters.

Waiting for the arrival of Godot is primarily an excuse for Estragon and Vladimir to stay together.  The real reason they sit and wait is that they complement each other, care about each other, and take care of each other.  They bicker constantly and repeatedly consider going their separate ways, but they don’t go and they don’t separate.  “It’d be better if we parted,” Estragon suggests for the nth time.  “You always say that,” Vladimir responds, “and you always come crawling back.”

Beckett has been quoted as saying that “Estragon and Vladimir are like a married couple who’ve been together too long.”[20]  They go nowhere, but they have each other.  They seem pathetic at first, but not later.  In the repetition of their daily tedium, Estragon and Vladimir encourage each other to assume a dignified posture, and they appeal to us in their striving for integrity and meaning in their lives.  As they struggle at one point with Estragon’s boots, he observes that “We don’t manage too badly, eh Didi, between the two of us.”  “Yes, yes,” Vladimir agrees, and the conclusion seems to apply to more than just the boots.

Pozzo looks down on Estragon and Vladimir in the first act when he is flying high, but envies them in the second act when he has fallen and they have stayed the same.  Vladimir asks Estragon at one point whether he thinks Pozzo and Lucky have changed.  “Very likely,” Estragon responds, “They all change.  Only we can’t.”  It has been said that the play mocks us, the audience.  We sit in the theater doing nothing while watching actors who do nothing.  We fill our meaningless time watching characters who fill their meaningless time waiting for a phantasm.[21]  I do not agree.

I think the play is in the end a love story, a story of endless love that abides through boredom and makes the tedium of daily life worthwhile.  “How long have we been together all time now?,” Estragon asks.  “I don’t know, fifty years maybe,” Vladimir answers.  Out of almost nothing, out of merely their meager selves, Estragon and Vladimir make meaningful lives through caring about each other and taking care of each other.  The hopefulness in their relationship belies the sparseness of their situation.  It does not matter whether Godot ever shows up.  And that, I believe, best explains the hold that the play has on audiences, and why people continue to sit time and again with Estragon and Vladimir, waiting for Godot.

[1] Atkinson, Brooks. “Beckett’s ‘Waiting for Godot.'”  The New York Times. 4/20/56. at The New York Times>

Beckett-Godot

[2] Adler, Mortimer. How to Read a Book. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1940.

[3] Bulwer-Lytton is even reportedly responsible for convincing Dickens to change the ending of Great Expectations to leave open the possibility that Pip and Estelle will get together, a change that clearly weakened the ending.

[4] The contest has been held annually since 1982 by the English Department at San Jose State University.

[5] Bruner, Jerome. Actual Minds, Possible Worlds.  Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1986.

[6] Quoted in www//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waiting_for_Godot

[7]  Atkinson, Brooks. “Beckett’s ‘Waiting for Godot.'”  The New York Times. 4/20/56. at The New York Times>

Beckett-Godot

[8] Smith, David; Imogen Carter; & Ally Carnwath.  “In Godot we trust.” 3/7/09.  The Guardian. at http://www.the guardian.com

[9] Smith, David; Imogen Carter; & Ally Carnwath.  “In Godot we trust.” 3/7/09.  The Guardian. at http://www.the guardian.com

[10] Camus, Albert.  The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays. New York: Vintage Books, 1955. p.3.

[11]  Camus, Albert.  The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays. New York: Vintage Books, 1955. pp.90-91.

[12] Adorno, Theodor & Max Horkheimer.

[13] Reisman, David, et al.  The Lonely Crowd.

[14] Packard, Vance. The Organization Man.

[15] Marcuse, Herbert. The One Dimensional Man.

[16] Quoted in www//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waiting_for_Godot

[17] Atkinson, Brooks. “Beckett’s ‘Waiting for Godot.'”  The New York Times. 4/20/56. at The New York Times>

Beckett-Godot

[18] Atkinson, Brooks. “Beckett’s ‘Waiting for Godot.'”  The New York Times. 4/20/56. at The New York Times>

Beckett-Godot

[19] Smith, David; Imogen Carter; & Ally Carnwath.  “In Godot we trust.” 3/7/09.  The Guardian. at http://www.the guardian.com

[20] Smith, David; Imogen Carter; & Ally Carnwath.  “In Godot we trust.” 3/7/09.  The Guardian. at http://www.the guardian.com

[21] Gardner, Lyn. “Waiting for Godot review – a dystopian Laurel and Hardy after an apocalypse.” 6/7/15.  Theatre. at http://www.theguardian.com