Structuralist Shakespearean Analyses: The Merchant of Venice

The Merchant of Venice First Impressions

            I’ve found myself enjoying each Shakespeare play even more than the last, and The Merchant of Venice was no exception. Part of this stems from the fact that I very much identified with many of its themes. For one, this play was perhaps the most overt in its homosexual allusions. As I speculated about the relationships between Orlando/Adam and Leontes/Polixenes, I think it's quite clear that there are queer overtones at play between Antonio and Bassanio. This suspicion bears out in the very first scene when Bassanio says, "To you, Antonio, / I owe the most in money and in love" (I.i.37-38). It is perhaps most explicit in Act IV when Bassanio thinks he is saying farewell to Antonio, whereupon he divulges that "life itself, my wife, and all the world / Are not with me esteemed above thy life. / I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all… / to deliver you" (IV.i.296-299). Furthermore, when Portia reveals to her husband that she is really Balthazar – the man to whom Bassanio gave the symbol of his ultimate devotion to her, he says, "Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow" (V.i.304). Though he says this in jest, it is evident that this scene is meant to conjure Bassanio's infidelity to Portia with a man – something that shocked me in its overt nature, even with Shakespeare's past allusions to homosexuality.

I was also astounded by how difficult the final two acts must have been for Shakespeare to write and how amazingly he handled them. Act IV takes up almost a third of the entire play and is (save for an exceedingly brief exchange in the 2nd scene) made up of a single scene! This structure reminds me of one of the many reasons why Wagner's opera, Tristan und Isolde is such a masterpiece – because it consists of entirely uninterrupted action, not broken up by things like recitatives, arias, choruses, etc. I know from experience that it becomes exponentially harder to sew thematic unity in these types of situations because the longer a self-contained artistic unit becomes, the more material the artist has to tie together and, consequently, the more can go wrong. (It's partly why operas have historically been one of the greatest litmus tests for a composer's skill, as they're so massive in scope). The fact that Shakespeare manages to keep the audience on the complete edge of their seat throughout this scene while resolving the action perfectly is nothing short of miraculous.

Looking at the driving action of the scene at hand, it seems clear by Act IV that Shylock is meant to be a metaphor for the devil. Aside from everyone’s references to him as such, his deal with Antonio is very reminiscent of Faust’s compact with Mephistopheles, in which he traded his soul for wisdom and magical powers (though in Antonio’s case, he barters his corporeal body for wealth). This trope is a common one throughout time and is frequently cited in the context of particularly talented musicians like Paganini or Liszt; it even comes up in Disney’s The Little Mermaid in the relationship between Ursula and Ariel! (And if I’m not mistaken, Marlowe’s famous adaptation of this legend would have been published for the stage just a few years before Shakespeare wrote The Merchant of Venice, so it’s possible that the latter was inspired by the former.)

These allusions would lead one to believe that Shakespeare intends Shylock to be the villain of the story. However, several aspects of his characterization gave me pause when considering this question. I was most struck by Shylock’s famous soliloquy, in which he says of the Jewish people, "If you prick us do we not / bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you / poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall / we not revenge?" (III.i.63-66). This quote and the monologue from which it comes would seem to point to the fact that Shakespeare hopes to convey the common humanity of Shylock – it's an incredibly moving account of the ways in which we are all the same and seems to cast his actions as a reasonable reciprocation of the wrongs that he's been dealt by Antonio and other Christians. However, at the end of the play, when the tables are turned and Antonio has power over Shylock, he forgives him out of the goodness of his "Christian heart," which seems antithetical to the point that Shakespeare makes here. I believe, however, that the audience is still meant to feel uneasy when Shylock is then forcibly converted to Christianity and left with nothing. I know I certainly did, even though he had been the story's main antagonist up until this point. I ended up concluding that, in true Shakespearean fashion, he portrays Shylock as neither victim nor villain. Rather, he is a sympathetic villain -- one that the audience pities but also hates, with an admixture of humanity and villainy, as this is more often than not the case in real life.

In saying that Shylock is sympathetic, I’m not making the case that Shakespeare intends us to completely ignore all of his pretty nasty traits, such as his history with usury and insistence that he be allowed to exact his pound of flesh from Antonio.  However, remarkably for his time, Shakespeare was likely making the antisemitism in the play so flagrant that it would force the audience to confront their own biases towards Jewish people (something that makes the ending of the story particularly impactful). This tactic actually reminded me of the excellent musical Cabaret, which does something incredibly similar, and when I saw it on stage as a teenager, it resulted in one of the most profound and chilling live theatrical experiences I've ever had. I would also argue that, while I am absolutely sympathetic to Shylock for the abuse he's received (particularly at the hands of the church, but that's a whole other subject unto itself), I don't think that gives him license to seek revenge in any way he wants. Though he attempts to do so without breaking the law, he still violates just about every moral law that's been devised by philosophy – whether that be Kant's Categorical Imperative or even Gandhi's adage, "An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind."

Another reason why I’d argue that Shylock is still villainous is that, throughout The Merchant of Venice, one of the things that Shakespeare grapples with is what Western philosophy would later define as the question of determinism – i.e., to what extent are we authors of our own lives and actions? I was immediately struck by this in the play’s very first scene, when Antonio remarks on the fact that his fortunes are literally subject to the whim of the tides – in other words, entirely out of his control. He later goes on to talk about how the world is “A stage where every man must play a part, / And mine a sad one” (I.i.82) (a sentiment similar to the one Macbeth expressed in his famous soliloquy, though with this deterministic twist). Both instances beg the question that philosophers have grappled with for some time: if our behaviors and lives are to some extent pre-ordained – after all, every cause is proceeded by an effect, which, when taken to its logical conclusion, extends before the time we were all born; are we ever morally culpable for our actions?

Many theories have been postulated as to why we are ultimately responsible for our actions, whether that be Kant’s theory of “transcendental freedom” or the more intellectually defensible “compatibilism.” But I think that, intuitively, we all know that we almost always have a choice to act morally – otherwise, there would be no point in the criminal justice system, and societies would collapse. And it seems self-evident that, while he was horribly wronged, Shylock's desire to kill Antonio is not morally defensible (even if the way in which he was held accountable in the story was also not moral, though as I’ve mentioned, I think Shakespeare realized that). Perhaps my position is somewhat influenced by the production of this play that I watched, Laurence Olivier's 1973 portrayal, but because he chooses the immoral action until forced to abandon it by external forces, I would therefore maintain that Shylock is, at least to some extent, villainous.

I would just conclude with a note that, on a deeper emotional level, I really empathized with several things that the main characters throughout the play said, whether it be Antonio dismaying how it is his lot in life is to be sad, or how Shylock recapitulated this in the court scene when he said, "Some men there are love not a gaping pig, / Some that are mad if they behold a cat, / And others, when the bagpipe sings i' th' nose, / Cannot contain their urine; for affection / Masters oft passion, sways it to the mood / Of what it likes or loathes" (IV.i.48-53). Aside from also potentially speaking to the nature of sexual orientation, I think both these point towards a ubiquitous facet of humanity. Namely, it's easy for all of us to get frustrated that we are not the perfect authors of our own lives and that, even when we know what we should do or think or feel, the self can rebel nonetheless and cause us needless suffering. 

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Portia as Eros: A Comparative Analysis of Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice and Freud’s Civilization and its Discontents

Shakespeare’s characterization of Portia in The Merchant of Venice is perhaps the most complex and seemingly self-contradictory of anyone in the play, particularly when viewed through the lens of contemporary feminist attitudes. However, further analysis reveals that Shakespeare conveys through her sentiments what wouldn’t be explicitly codified for another 400 to 500 years, specifically in the work of Sigmund Freud and, to a lesser extent, Judith Butler. In light of these insights, it becomes clear that Portia represents a perfectly self-actualized human being by the end of the play, free from the societal constraints put on her by dint of her gender in Elizabethan England.

The scene in which we are introduced to Portia is a crucial one in her characterization. In it, she bemoans the state of her life to Nerissa, saying that her “little body is aweary / of this great world” (I.ii.1-2), whereupon Nerissa replies, “You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries / were in the same abundance as your good fortunes / are. And yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that / surfeit with too much as they that starve with / nothing” (I.ii.3-7). There are quite a few ways to interpret this and the ensuing exchange. A more typical feminist reading would likely point to the fact that her agency has been robbed from her by a patriarchal society that treats her like a piece of property – i.e., her life is subject to the whim of her (dead) father and (currently non-existent) husband. However, this conversation between Portia and Nerissa speaks to something that perhaps runs even deeper and cuts to the core of humanity’s search for happiness and fulfillment. Specifically, it’s a topic that Sigmund Freud would expound upon in his book, Civilization and its Discontents.

In Civilization…, Freud made a stunning observation. He wrote, “During the last few generations mankind has made an extraordinary advance in the natural sciences… and has established his control over nature in a way never before imagined…” (Freud 87). Yet “subjugation of the forces of nature, which is the fulfillment of a longing that goes back thousands of years, has not increased the amount of pleasurable satisfaction which (mankind) may expect from life” (Freud 88). This insight is an incredibly profound one: even though the basic needs of most people in the West (those for food, water, shelter, clothing, and sanitation) are met on a daily basis, particularly in the 21st century, it is arguable whether or not there has been a commensurate rise in self-reported rates of happiness and fulfillment. This facet of existence is something that Portia and Nerissa note in their aforementioned exchange. Portia should be quite content, as she comes from a vast amount of wealth, is shrewd and well-educated, and has many men (albeit of dubious character) fawning over her. However, something is still very much lacking in her life.

In his same book, Freud went on to postulate that the discontentment that Portia describes is attributable to the fact that “the price we pay for our advance in civilization is a loss of happiness through the heightening of the sense of guilt” (Freud 134). Freud believed that society in his time was incredibly repressed. In other words, people, by and large, were not self-actualized and were unable to act upon their wants and desires healthily. To this end, he said that “any kind of frustration, any thwarted instinctual satisfaction, results, or may result, in a heightening of the sense of guilt” (Freud 138) by way of an overactive superego. This model is one way to interpret Portia’s lot in life when Shakespeare first introduces the audience to her. She has little agency at this point in the story, so her desires cannot be fulfilled, resulting in her superego sublimating them, which heightens a sense of “guilt” or dissatisfaction. However, this changes when she and Bassanio become engaged.

When Bassanio sees through the complicated riddles posed by the stipulation in her father's will and successfully proposes to Portia, she says, "I was the lord / Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, / Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now, / This house, these servants, and this same myself / Are yours, my lord's. I give them with this ring" (III.ii.171-175). While, on its face, this statement may not seem like a particularly "feminist" sentiment, upon further reflection, it becomes apparent that there is more going on here than it appears. According to Freud, Portia's engagement with Bassanio, with whom she is actually in love (as opposed to her other suitors), represents the moment where she becomes self-actualized. Consequently, her intrapsychic makeup falls into equilibrium, resulting in her self-reported happiness. Shakespeare furthermore portrays this equilibrium as a two-way street, for when Portia gives Bassanio her ring (an inversion of the traditional gender dynamic, partly because Portia is the one coming from affluence in this situation), he follows by saying, "every something being blent together / Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy / Expressed and not expressed. But when this ring / Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence" (III.ii.185-189). Not only is this an expression of his similar bliss in light of their engagement, but it has further implications for the ultimate ends of humanity's various endeavors.  

Freud concluded in Civilization and its Discontents that "Civilization is a process in the service of Eros, whose purpose is to combine single human individuals… into one great unity, the unity of mankind… But man's natural aggressive instinct... opposes this programme of Civilization. This aggressive instinct is the derivative and the main representative of the death instinct" (Freud 122). This concept could indicate that Shakespeare intends Portia to be a metaphor for Eros or God, as she is the one who inspires the aforementioned reaction in Bassanio. This interpretation is further borne out, as she is the one who foils Shylock – the embodiment of this "death instinct," as he is frequently referred to as the devil and attempts to kill Antonio out of spite. Furthermore, her successful attempts to resolve the story's conflict result in the paradisiacal state described by Lorenzo and Jessica in Act V. Specifically, in their many references to "a night as this," they draw parallels between their state of being and that of various famous figures from antiquity. In doing so, they inadvertently evoke the dynamic that Freud outlined in his description of Eros' ultimate aim, as they are expressing unity with other members of the human race throughout time and space.

The fact that it is Portia who brings about this godlike resolution to the story’s conflict (and that she does so by dressing in drag) has further feminist implications. Regardless of the verisimilitude of her theories, Judith Butler’s postulations about gender have gone on to become staples of the 3rd and 4th-wave feminist movements, as she was a pioneer in describing what she saw as the performative nature of gender roles. In “Performative Acts of Gender and Constitution: An Essay in Phenomenology and Feminist Theory,” she writes that “Gender is in no way a stable entity or locus of agency from which various act proceed; rather, it is an identity tenuously constituted in time – an identity instituted through a stylized repetition of acts” (Butler 519). This assessment is very much in keeping with Portia’s characterization, for even though she is not a biological male, she successfully adopts many traditional male roles, whether it be marriage-proposer, lawyer, hero, or God. In doing so, she becomes the protagonist of the story and, by extension, Shakespeare subverts what Butler would call the “phallogocentric” zeitgeist of the society in which Portia finds herself.

Though it is to some extent a matter of definitions, it should be clear from this analysis that Shakespeare intends to convey that Portia, sometimes with the help of Nerissa to provide context, takes a very active role, both in the story and in her own life. She does so by adopting many traditional male roles, all of which are in keeping with the general aim of feminism, which is to ensure the equality of the sexes. Moments where this is not readily evident in the play yield to this proposition when viewed through a Freudian lens: they are instead attributable to Shakespeare commenting on the broader human condition, the implications of which have warranted centuries-long elucidation.

Works Cited

Butler, Judith. “Performative Acts and Gender Constitution: An Essay in Phenomenology and Feminist Theory.” Theatre Journal, vol. 40, no. 4, Dec. 1988, pp. 519–531., https://doi.org/10.2307/3207893.

Freud, Sigmund. “Civilization and Its Discontents.” The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, Volume XXI (1927-1931): The Future of an Illusion, Civilization and Its Discontents, and Other Works, University of Pennsylvania, https://www.sas.upenn.edu/~cavitch/pdf-library/Freud_SE_Civ_and_Dis_complete.pdf.

Shakespeare, William. “The Merchant of Venice.” The Folger Shakespeare, Folger Shakespeare Library, https://shakespeare.folger.edu/shakespeares-works/the-merchant-of-venice/.