The Shakespeare Conference: SHK 18.0802 Saturday, 1 December 2007
[1] From: Nicole Coonradt <This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.>
Date: Wednesday, 28 Nov 2007 16:12:46 +0000
Subj: Re: SHK 18.0788 Presentism
[2] From: Donald Bloom <This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.>
Date: Wednesday, 28 Nov 2007 15:34:51 -0600
Subj: RE: SHK 18.0788 Presentism
[3] From: William Godshalk <This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.>
Date: Thursday, 29 Nov 2007 16:00:15 -0500
Subj: Re: SHK 18.0788 Presentism
[1]-----------------------------------------------------------------
From: Nicole Coonradt <This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.>
Date: Wednesday, 28 Nov 2007 16:12:46 +0000
Subject: 18.0788 Presentism
Comment: Re: SHK 18.0788 Presentism
While one certainly might query a definition of Hawkes' "harsher edge of
history" (sounds "edgy" but what is it, exactly?), one might also get
bemused trying to understand Bill's closing line: "Obviously, anyone
who can transcend the present is in line for a Nobel prize in magic." If
we only "live and know in the present, it cannot be otherwise," who
would be awarding this Nobel Prize? Wouldn't it follow that only the
*magician* supposedly receiving the Prize would actually *know* that he
had achieved transcendence? Maybe he magically made the governing body
award him the prize in the first place, unbeknownst to them? He could
celebrate alone. Whoopie.
Sound silly? It's meant to, but in a "self-destructive" way, of course.
What, however, was meant by "wrong" concerning "idea"? Does it mean
"false" (as in "incorrect") or, perhaps, "impossible"? Or, is there some
sense of moral transgression attached to the word, like right vs. wrong?
One could, depending on one's *present* stance, read it variously. Since
the post is now, effectively "history," and hence part of the past--
ergo, no longer "present"-- can the writer even recall what was meant by
his use of the word, given that he is only trapped in the *now* of time?
Or would that be wrong? But maybe it doesn't even matter, maybe all that
matters is what I think, right now, this moment, how I read it, since I
can do no other. And then the moment passes...
Best to you all: then, now and evermore!
Nicole Coonradt
[2]-----------------------------------------------------------------
From: Donald Bloom <This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.>
Date: Wednesday, 28 Nov 2007 15:34:51 -0600
Subject: 18.0788 Presentism
Comment: RE: SHK 18.0788 Presentism
With all the talk about "presentism" going on, I would like put forward
a still newer non-theory: "absentism." Partly derived from several
theories that I won't go into here, absentism is predicated on the idea
that what is not in a text is as important as - sometimes more important
than - what is present. In the larger sense, of course, everything in
the universe is absent from a text except for the words found in it, a
fairly large category. But more specific absences define meanings and
effects no less than presences.
An easy place to start with is the Battle of Shrewsbury in "1 Henry IV,"
where those who are missing from the battle (Northumberland, Mortimer,
Glendower) determine its outcome as much that those who fight it. This
is very simple and straightforward, but Shakespeare does not hesitate to
complicate it with the presence of Prince Hal, whom no one expected to
be present but was, and (ironically and comically) the presence of
Falstaff, who might as well not have been there.
This case is paralleled by several other instances in the play, such as
Hal's absence from court and his pretended absence (along with Poins) at
the robbery on Gad's Hill. The Percy family, by contrast, is present at
court until their absence is demanded by the king.
A still more complex example of the absent / present conflict can be
seen in the ghosts that periodically haunt the tragedies. The dead are,
of course, spiritually absent, being resident, as Hamlet notes, in
heaven or the other place. Physically, they are more or less present,
but only as mouldering corpses in some churchyard or tomb. They are not
allowed to be present anywhere else, and thus assumed to be safely
absent. But then suddenly they aren't. Physically they are both present
and absent - present enough to be seen and heard (and feared), absent
enough to appear out of nowhere, walk through walls and the like.
Spiritually, they are present, but are they? Both Hamlet and Horatio
question whether the ghost of King Hamlet may not really be some demonic
illusion sent to lure him into a damnable sin like suicide or murder. In
this case, a "something" is spiritually present but the actual dead
person is absent.
And even this degree of presence vs. absence is questionable. King
Hamlet's ghost is present to the guards before the play opens, to the
guards plus Horatio in the first scene and to the former plus Hamlet in
the fourth and fifth. But when it returns to Gertrude's bedroom, it is
present only to Hamlet, and remains absent to Gertrude. This sets up one
of the most delicious ironies in all of Shakespeare, wherein Hamlet
orders his mother not to reveal the fact of his sanity, while the
mother, having just seen her boy talking urgently to the empty air,
believes that such sanity is completely absent and will have no
difficulty keeping the secret.
We may see that the situation of Gertrude's bedroom also pertains to the
Macbeths' party, where the ghost of Banquo is present to Macbeth but
absent to everyone else, leading to a great deal of stress all round.
This absence/presence also has a related irony, since Macbeth has just
remarked ruefully about the absence of his friend, assuming that
Banquo's absence is complete and permanent. The sudden presence of the
utterly absent would necessarily cause a breakdown of Macbeth's sense of
order and reality whatever guilt and fear he may endure over the evil
that he has perpetrated.
I will mention only in passing other examples, such as the presence of
great Caesar's ghost at Philippi and the ominous quality of the
present/absent emperor for Brutus's future political career. Likewise,
and moving from the occult, the absence/presence of Hero in the window
scene of "Much Ado" is mirrored by her presence/absence at the wedding.
Variations can also be found in "The Winter's Tale" (Hermione),
"Cymbeline" (Iachimo in Imogen's bedroom), "All's Well" and "Measure"
(more dark bedroom scenes) and so on.
Arguably the most complex and ironic use of absence is found in Viola's
sexual organs in "Twelfth Night." In relation to Olivia, what is absent
from Viola is precisely what Olivia wants to be present, while what is
present she has no need for (having one of her own). But by
impersonating a man, Viola makes Cesario, who is actually absent (being
non-existent), present in the mind of Olivia (and everyone else).
Contrariwise, in relation to Orsino, the reverse applies; she has what
he wants and lacks what he doesn't want. But she doesn't feel that she
can risk uncovering the truth and exposing herself.
(Several critics have noted the eunuch motif that Viola first mentions
and then, at some point, rejects. A eunuch is like a woman only in a
negative sense, having an absence in common. There is no compensatory
presence to make him romantically attractive. The absence "possessed by"
the absent eunuch can be seen as one of the keys to the play, and to the
seriousness with which the author took the romantic possibilities of
absence/presence.)
Viola's perplex is, of course, resolved by the presence of the
previously absent Sebastian. Having the correct set of sexual absences
and presences, he can replace the falsely present "Cesario" in the
desires of Olivia, and allow his twin to reveal at last the actuality of
her present and absent sexual organization. Not on stage, of course.
These and other cases are gone into in greater depth in the book that
Peter Quince and I have put together, "'All for Your Delight We Are Not
Here': Absent-Mindedness in Shakespeare's Plays" (McMurdo Station, Ant.:
Penguin UP, 2006).
Any newly hatched scholar might well consider getting in on the ground
floor of this new offering, which might take off at any moment.
Cheers
don
[3]-----------------------------------------------------------------
From: William Godshalk <This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.>
Date: Thursday, 29 Nov 2007 16:00:15 -0500
Subject: 18.0788 Presentism
Comment: Re: SHK 18.0788 Presentism
Joe Egert writes to Terry Hawkes: "I'm afraid, Terry, my (your?)
limitations deprive me of the truth of your assertion, which I find not
just absurdly self-destructive, but defeatist and pernicious in RA
Cantrell's sense as well."
Joe Egert finds Terry Hawkes' position "not just absurdly
self-destructive, but defeatist and pernicious." But true and honest,
I'd add. Yes, it may be difficult to accept and applaud human
limitations, but these limitations do not go away. They are part of
human life on this planet. We live in the present, and history is a
human reconstruction. Of course, something happened in 1600, but our
narrative of what happened is conjectural, based on artifacts that must
be interpreted in the present. If you think otherwise, tell us the
"truth" about the relationship of Q1 Hamlet to Q2 Hamlet. Or take
Pilate's position.
Bill
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