Hamlet 2.2

I will tell you why: so shall my anticipation

Prevent your discovery and your secrecy to the king

And queen moult no feather. I have of late—but

Wherefore I know not—lost all my mirth, forgone all

Custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily

With my disposition that this goodly frame, the

Earth, seems to me a sterile promontory,

This most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave

O'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted

With golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to

Me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.

What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason!

How infinite in faculty! In form and moving how

Expresss and admirable! In action how like an angel!

In apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the

World! The paragon of animals! And yet, to me,

What is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not

Me: no, nor woman neither, though by your smiling

You seem to say so."

(2.2.293-312)

This is one of my favorite speech from Hamlet in many aspects, at least to me, there seems to be a connection between this speech, and Macbeth's "tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow," speech. I may be reaching, but I have since perceived both speeches to allude to the search of meaning in a world where reality and the appearance of reality is always in question. Hence, the absurdist* in me finds Shakespeare's tragic vision of man compelling, because in spite of the world's beauty…of the mystery that is man, in the end what are we left with?  In the end…"what is this quintessence of dust?" Is it simply this, a "tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury/signifying nothing" (Macbeth 5.5.26-27)? When one looks at the "slings and arrows" that is suffered onto man it is difficult not to fathom, and at least in some way share the bard's tragic vision of the world. 

Notwithstanding, the humanist in me, however, is in the same frame of mind as Picard, of the Star Trek Generations, that man can transcend this tragic existence. Therefore what Shakespeare would, through Hamlet, say with irony, I see as a declaration of what we, as humans ,may one day become "What a piece of work is a man!, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving, how express and admirable in action how like an angel in apprehension, how like a god" (2.2.303-307)

"November in my soul"

I'll be the first to admit that Moby Dick is not the most exciting book I've read, a good 10-20 chapters of it is pretty dry, which is rather curious given its subject matter...ok, ok that's neither here nor there. Fact of the matter is Moby Dick does explore many interesting motifs, I definitely recommend reading it, at least once, (preferably when you're not feeling under the weather which is when I read it). If that doesn't appeal to you, well  it's also lauded as being the epitomy of "American Romanticism" whatever that means, but I digress. I was experiencing the Melvillian  "November in my soul" as it were, and I thought I'd share with you the opening of Moby Dick, which beautifully captured what I was feeling....   


Call me Ishmael. Some years ago--never mind how long precisely--having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off--then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.



My philosophical flourish, however, was not as tragic as Cato the Younger, nor as 'romantic' as Ishmael's "quiet take to the ship". No, I instead did something far more sensible-well, it seemed sensible at the time- I chose to explore the philosophical concept of 'lightness and weight', meaning that I had to revisit some the writings of Nietzsche, Parmenides, Kundera etc...needless to say that the "November in my soul" have been replaced with...well I think frustration is the right word. It would seem that my current venture is far more cumbersome then I thought, but like Zedd is fond of saying "nothing's ever easy", no matter I'm certain I'll figure out the puzzle behind 'lightness and weight' at least enough to gratify my intellectual curiosity.