Hegemony of the Common Good in Hamlet

by Jeremy Borgia

The political atmosphere of twenty-first century America is increasingly polarized and

contentious. Participants in this political system, jaded by the barrage of back-and-forth polemic,

have begun to withdraw, leaving the ever-more-hyperbolic discourse to the most rabid and

incendiary of participants. This observation demands serious questions: does our human nature

predispose us to such bifurcating polarization, or is there a larger construct of systems at play,

devoted to preserving the current power structure through the strategy of “divide and conquer”-

ing the nation? Without devolving into notions of conspiracy, it would be valuable for the

American citizenry to evaluate what type of leaders are bound to ultimately emerge from the

aforementioned system, and whether this type of leader is best to encourage the development and

maintenance of a healthy state. This national inventory of identity is enclosed within larger

epistemological questions: can a healthy state be ruled over by a corrupt leader? Does the law

draw ultimate legitimacy from inherent morality? What is one’s responsibility in reforming a

system observed to be corrupt?

In Shakespeare’s Hamlet, we are introduced to a family struggle encased within a larger

political conflict; Prince Hamlet’s loyalties are impossibly tangled between his mother and late

father, his king, and his country. An examination of the political and historical context into which

Shakespeare bore Hamlet, as well as a close reading of the play itself, will shed some light on the

contemporary issue of American politics; indeed, the political maelstrom within Hamlet offers us

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important insights on our own situation. This examination will reveal Prince Hamlet’s role as a

symbol of citizenry, torn asunder by immoral political leaders.

Scholars have long discussed the depths of meaning in Shakespeare’s Hamlet, and much

of that discussion relates directly. Many scholars have studied Hamlet through the lens of

political theory, elucidating Shakespeare’s story in the context of the prevailing political theories

of his time. In fact, many of the recent articles germane to this argument identify Machiavellian

themes of politics and governance in the play. In The Prince, Machiavelli argues that a leader

who gains power by evil means can never achieve glory. So then, in this the foundation of

sovereignty by force as described by Machiavelli, practiced by Claudius,

we should hear the death-knell of ancient natural law and of the Stoic idea of a

common equality and dominion of mankind as understood and endorsed in the

sixteenth century …a sixteen-hundred year jurisprudential tradition in the West

dedicated to expounding natural law and protecting it from encroachments on it

by emperors, sovereigns and civil lawyers was pushed aside. (DiMatteo ¶ 53)

This is significant because Claudius’s crime, to an Elizabethan audience, would appear as more

than a political power play; rather, it was an upsetting of the contemporary understanding of the

root of political power. Claudius, then, usurps more than the throne, but the cultural significance

of it by upending the essence of the political ideologies of the Elizabethan era. He, in his own

words, "bestows" himself "seeing unseen" (3.1.32), referencing his subversive plot. Hamlet, then

is a tragedy on the losing side of things, “lamenting the demise of a political belief in man’s

ability to govern himself more by reason than by force” (¶ 54). Suzanne Ost, however, states

that, “The work of theorists such as Machiavelli paved the way for a political doctrine that

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espoused the securing of the sovereign’s power and protecting the stability of the state.

Significantly, defining sovereign power in accordance with the Machiavellian concept of reason

of state does not reveal Claudius to be an illegitimate figurehead of law” (Ost 185). She goes on

to posit that in The Prince (1513), Machiavelli forgives any evil acts of the sovereign provided

he commits them to ensure the well being of the state. So, “whilst Claudius is unlikely to be

‘celebrated among the most excellent men,’ for Machiavelli, provided that the evils he commits

to obtain the crown are all committed concurrently and not repeated, the manner in which he

acquired his regal title should not preclude obedience from his subjects” (Ost 185). These

disparate views will be vital to this argument, as they directly color King Claudius’s legitimacy.

Indeed, the litmus test offered by Machiavellian political ideology—namely, whether his crimes

were committed for his own evil benefit vs. for the wellbeing of the state—will be a valuable

mechanism in plumbing the depths of the epistemological and ontological implications of

Hamlet.

Inherent in any serious study of Hamlet are the epistemological questions that naturally

stem from the play. Steve Roth said, “Unlike all previous revenge tragedies…in Hamlet nobody

even knows that the primal murder has occurred. Claudius knows, of course. Hamlet knows (sort

of). And Horatio knows (even more sort of). But no other character knows that King Hamlet was

murdered—even (especially) at the end of the play” (Roth 1). This is vital to a study of Hamlet,

because, unlike other revenge tragedies, it is precisely this uncertainty—introduced with the first

line of the play, “Who’s there?,” and echoed ever since—that drives the plot of the play. Indeed,

for the remainder of the play, the audience is witness to Hamlet’s twin quests: avenging his

father, and, concurrently, confirming that the crime really did occur. One of the most discussed

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scenes in Hamlet is the so-called “mousetrap,” or the play within the play, which Hamlet

produces in the hopes of engendering a damning guilty response from his murderous uncle.

However, this exercise, intended to elucidate truth, fails. Roth, criticizing his fellow scholars for

their failure to see this point, and asserting the drastic implications, says,

The courtiers don’t see Gonzago as a reenactment of Old Hamlet’s murder; they

don’t even know about the murder. Just before the poisoning, Hamlet announces

that Lucianus is nephew to Gonzago. So what the courtiers see represented is the

king’s nephew poisoning the king and taking his crown. This is in a play put on

by the nephew of the current king, who only three months back preempted the

nephew’s succession and inheritance, and arguably whored his mother. To the

courtiers, the Gonzago play looks like a not terribly well-veiled threat against

the king’s life. (Roth 9-10)

This is significant, because Hamlet’s actions endanger the certainty necessary to his cause. In

attempting to prove—to himself and others—that the murder did in fact take place, Hamlet

provides Claudius a plausible false narrative, one that will ultimately lead to Hamlet’s demise.

The relevance to my own argument, though initially murky, becomes clear once one considers

the political implications of this epistemological statement; Hamlet hopes for his own political

legitimacy to be proven by proving Claudius’s crime. However, his failure to create his intended

narrative, or, his misstep in seemingly threatening Claudius, provides Claudius both bolstered

legitimacy in his rule and added strength in defending his role as potentate. Hamlet offers

Claudius an excuse to publicly dismiss and distrust Hamlet, and offers Claudius’s subjects an

alternate—if false—view of Claudius that weakens Hamlet’s claim that the king is an usurper. So

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then, to zoom back out to the larger implications, one’s very literal political authority rests on the

presentation and narrative of truth, rather than its existence.

In order to successfully demonstrate the political implications and themes contained in

Shakespeare’s Hamlet, allow me to pause for a moment to review the historical context into

which Hamlet was first introduced. The play is set in Denmark but, performed in England, would

be understood by the audience to comment more on the English political system than the Danish.

The system of government presented in Hamlet more closely resembles the English system of the

time of inherited kingship. John Dover Wilson, in What Happens in Hamlet, analyzes

Fortinbras’s eventual ascension in relation to James’s ascension following Elizabeth’s death as

proof that Shakespeare’s Hamlet is meant to represent the English system.

[James], like Claudius, owed his crown to the deliberate choice of the Council,

while the Council saw to it that he had the “dying voice” of Elizabeth, as

Fortinbras had that of Hamlet. The claims of Fortinbras and Horatio’s comment

upon them are indeed especially significant in this connection. Hamlet says:

“But I do prophesy th’election lights on Fortinbras, he has my dying voice.” And

when Fortinbras himself enters to find all the members of the royal house dead

before him, he declares: “For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune. I have

some rights of memory in this kingdom, which now to claim my vantage doth

invite me.” To which Horatio replies: “Of that I shall have also cause to speak,

and from his mouth whose voice will draw on more.” The three passages are a

perfect illustration of the English constitutional theory of the age. Claudius being

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dead, Hamlet while living is de facto king. His dying voice, therefore, goes some

way to secure the rights of his successor. (36-37)

So, then, if Claudius failed to secure King Hamlet’s dying voice, Shakespeare’s English audience

would be wondering why Claudius took the throne when the king’s son, Prince Hamlet, was very

much alive. Indeed, on two occasions Hamlet describes his uncle as a usurper, a view which an

Elizabethan audience would likely share within this context. Speaking of Claudius, Hamlet says,

“A murderer and a villain, a slave that is not twentieth part the tithe of your precedent lord, a vice

of kings, a cutpurse of the empire and the rule, that from a shelf the precious diadem stole and

put it in his pocket” (3.4.97-102), as well as that he “hath killed my king, and whored my mother,

popped in between th’election and my hopes” (5.2.69-70). These lines illustrate clearly Hamlet’s

opinion of his potentate uncle, and would have likely inspired the sympathies of his Elizabethan

audience. This knowledge should color our understanding of the rest of the play, revealing it as—

more than a simple familial revenge story—one of clearly usurped power.

Futhermore, Hamlet’s bitter dialogues with his mother and uncle signify an awareness of

wrong against him. In 1.2, Claudius greets Hamlet, beginning “But now my cousin Hamlet, and

my son,” (64) to which Hamlet responds (in an aside to the audience), “A little more than kin,

and less than kind” (65). John Dover Wilson, speaking of this exchange, posits that “The

alliteration will fix the words in the memory of those who hear them, and later they will perceive

in the quibble ‘less than kind’ a sinister point not immediately apparent. But the surface meaning

is clear enough. It refers to Hamlet’s disappointed hopes of the succession” (32). To elucidate the

“sinister point,” we turn to the Oxford English Dictionary entry for “kind,” which offers two

insightful definitions that were used in the Elizabethan period: “Belonging to one by right of

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birth, descent, or inheritance; lawful, rightful,” and “That is, or exists, in accordance with nature

or the usual course of things” (OED). Thus the line “less than kind” references—in Hamlet’s

eyes—not only Claudius’s lack of legitimacy as a ruler, but also his unnatural usurpation. This is

further supplemented by what follows, as the king continues, “How is it that clouds still hang on

you?” (66) to which Hamlet responds with the more telling and defiant “Not so, my lord. I am

too much i’ the sun” (67). With the matter of succession and usurpation in mind, this line takes

on weighty significance, the dual meaning of “sun” to “son” would be unambiguous to

Elizabethan ears (Dover Wilson 32). Hamlet—unnaturally misplaced from his throne—comes to

represent national citizenry displaced and misused by corrupt political leaders. This occurs

because Hamlet’s right to the throne represents the natural order of the kingdom, usurped and

upended by Claudius’s unnatural rise to power. His displacement would symbolize to

Shakespeare’s audience a misappropriation of political power, ultimately harming and disturbing

the subjects of England. On a larger scale, this represents the harm done to a nation’s citizenry

when political power and authority is misplaced.

To supplement the assertion that Claudius’s usurpation of the throne was more than

criminal, but unnatural, it is valuable to place Hamlet in the context of theological beliefs

surrounding royalty, namely the relationship between the king’s physical body and the body

politic. Benjamin Parris explains that “the king was held to possess a natural body common to all

humans, as well as a mystical ‘superbody’ that perpetuates the life of the state and lends an aura

of divine perfection to the sovereign” (101). When the king’s physical body died, it was believed

that the body politic automatically descended upon the proper heir to the throne. With an

understanding of this tie between the king’s two bodies, the truly chaotic nature of Hamlet fully

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emerges: King Hamlet’s murder constitutes a failure of the body politic to protect the king’s

mortal body. Furthermore, if Hamlet was true heir and Claudius usurper, then the divine body

politic would rest with Hamlet. Thus, “the physical ties between the sleeping body of King

Hamlet, his son, and the body politic itself, map a crisis of state that is at once a crisis of bodily

life and ontological presence” (Parris 118). Essentially, this crisis lies at the heart of many

important ontological questions in Hamlet. The monarch’s legitimacy relied on his or her identity

as something more than human, or more than the physical body. If the body politic naturally

descended upon the rightful heir, Hamlet, then the king, Claudius, would be lacking the

supernatural power and identity crucial to the survival of the state. To an Elizabethan audience,

this situation would demand intense ontological questions regarding the true role of the monarch,

the monarch’s relationship with their subjects, and the basis of a monarch’s legitimacy. This

further reinforces the view of Hamlet as a symbol of a political body of citizenry; with the divine

body politic resting upon him, but separate from kingship, Hamlet represents the collective

English political identity and national well-being. Moreover, Hamlet’s threatened legitimacy,

role, and very life then come to represent a very real threat to the English national identity itself.

As Parris concludes, “The crisis of kingship in Shakespearean tragedy stems not from a common

truth of human frailty in the king, but rather from the problematic knot entangling biological and

cosmological forms of life with the long duration and eventual collapse of political

institutions” (135-6). In other words, the story of Hamlet becomes much more than a plot

revolving around a son avenging his father; indeed, it invokes fears and insecurities—then raging

in English society in the context of Elizabeth’s decline without a clear heir—regarding the very

real safety and health of the state.

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Let us now turn to the effect of Claudius’s rule upon Hamlet and, likewise, upon the

common good of his subjects. It is here that we will examine the questions posed in the

introduction: Can a healthy state be ruled over by a corrupt leader? Does the law draw ultimate

legitimacy from inherent morality? If law is inherently moral, then the legitimacy of a monarch’s

rule who gained the crown immorally could clearly be challenged. Suzanne Ost analyzes this

topic in conjunction with that of the king’s two bodies, questioning specifically whether the inner

corruption of Claudius’s physical body impacts his body politic.

If we consider the course of events which enabled Claudius to become king, then

Claudius’ succession to the throne clearly does not favour the common good…

The principle of justice requires the sovereign to look to the common good of

the relevant community, not to the good of any individual or group in disregard

of the well-being of others. Such an emphasis upon the common good and

justice is not new. Aquinas stipulated that “law is nothing other than a

promulgated rational ordering to the common good by the one who has charge of

the community.” Aquinas’ writings on the common good were influenced by

Aristotle’s conception that injustice caused by the desire for goods which ensure

prosperity interfered with the achievement of the common good. (190)

So, yes, the law does ultimately draw power from its inherent morality. Thus, the king likewise

draws power from his or her own morality, and immorality reduces one’s hegemony over the

body politic. Continuing along this same argument, we can conclude that a healthy state suffers

from the immorality of its leaders. Hamlet, as a symbol of a nation’s citizenry, suffers greatly at

the hands of Claudius’s immorality, harming Claudius’s own rule. In the storyline of Hamlet we

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can follow this immoral usurpation of authority to its natural and unfortunate conclusion:

Claudius dies, Hamlet dies, and power is taken by a foreign political leader. Ergo, the authority

of immoral leaders, if left unchecked, can ultimately result in the demise of a nation and society.

The question remains, then, what is one’s responsibility in reforming a system observed

to be corrupt? Should dutiful subjects merely accept their ruler, however he obtained power, or is

it their civic duty to oppose him? It is with this very question in mind that we turn to Hamlet’s

famous soliloquy, which gains new meaning through this lens of a political ontological crisis.

To be, or not to be? That is the question—

Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And, by opposing, end them?…

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

Th’ oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,

The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,

The insolence of office, and the spurns

That patient merit of th’ unworthy takes (3.1.57-61, 71-5)

In this speech, Hamlet hesitantly embraces violence as a solution to his political woes, though it

is not clear whether he plans to end his own life or Claudius’s. What is clear is that Hamlet is

torn between holding his tongue (“suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune”) and

claiming his throne (“to take up arms against a sea of troubles”). Andrew Hadfield extrapolates

further, saying, “the desire to achieve ‘quietus’ (settling a debt) through the use of a ‘bare bodkin’

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(dagger) does not indicate whether the intended target is his own breast or another’s, and the

mention of ‘oppressor’ and ‘office’ in the immediately preceding build-up of phrases indicates

that Hamlet’s mind is at least partly on the sins of Claudius” (575). Still, whether he or Claudius

is the intended target of his violence, this much is clear: Hamlet’s observation of immoral

injustice has brought him to action. Returning to Hamlet’s role as symbol of citizenry, this carries

weighty implications, implicating those that would sit idly by while political injustices rage

about them. Indeed, Hamlet specifically invokes “the law’s delay,” suggesting his understanding

that leaving the health of a nation in the hands of a political system is not an acceptable response

to corruption.

Ultimately, subjects of the modern American political system can read Hamlet as a voice

of warning. As we allow immoral multifarious demagogues to steer our political system, we will

continue to witness usurpers reallocate political power to themselves at our expense. Like

Hamlet, we can turn the dagger on ourselves by dawdling in contentious designs to pursue

vengeance in epistemological fog, or, we can quickly and resolutely turn the dagger on the guilty

system, reclaiming for ourselves the mantle of democratic body politic. Just as Hamlet calls us to

action, it also offers a glimpse of the consequences of inaction. Left unchecked, Claudius’s

power—immorally obtained and preserved—destroyed his nation. Likewise, allowing immoral

potentates to prevail can ultimately precipitate the demise of our society.

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Works Cited

DiMatteo, Anthony. "Shakespeare and the Public Discourse of Sovereignty: ‘Reason of State’ in

Hamlet." Early Modern Literary Studies 10.2 (2004). Literature Resource Center. Web.

27 March 2014.

Hadfield, Andrew. “The Power and Rights of the Crown in Hamlet and King Lear: ‘The King:

The King’s to Blame.’” The Review of English Studies 54.217 (2003): 566-86. JSTOR.

Web. 25 March 2014

“kind, adj.” OED Online. Oxford University Press, March 2014. Web. 10 April 2014.

Ost, Suzanne. “But is This Law: The Nature of Law, Sovereign Power and Justice in Hamlet.”

Law and Humanities 1 (2007): 183-208. Hein Online Law Journal Library. Web. 25

March 2014.

Parris, Benjamin. “‘The Body is with the King, but the King is not with the Body’: Sovereign

Sleep in Hamlet and Macbeth.” Shakespeare Studies 40 (2012): 101+. Literature

Resource Center. Web. 25 March 2014.

Roth, Steve. “Who Knows Who Knows Who's There? An Epistemology of Hamlet.” Early

Modern Literary Studies 10.2 (2004). Literature Resource Center. Web. 25 March 2014.

Wilson, John Dover. What Happens in Hamlet. Cambridge: University, 1959. Print.