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| Honor |
| The word “honor” generally is used with one of two implications: as adherence to a private moral code, or as public acclaim. Many of Shakespeare’s characters are preoccupied with the latter denotation of this word, but rarely does their concern benefit anyone, most of all themselves. Instead, when they feel the overpowering need to achieve such esteem, they end up committing foolish or destructive acts. Indeed, so often does mention of “honor” lead to ruinous behavior that whenever we hear someone in Shakespeare’s plays use the word, we anticipate the worst. The word “honor” generally is used with one of two implications: as adherence to a private moral code, or as public acclaim. Many of Shakespeare’s characters are preoccupied with the latter denotation of this word, but rarely does their concern benefit anyone, most of all themselves. Instead, when they feel the overpowering need to achieve such esteem, they end up committing foolish or destructive acts. Indeed, so often does mention of “honor” lead to ruinous behavior that whenever we hear someone in Shakespeare’s plays use the word, we anticipate the worst. Consider Brutus, the hero of Julius Caesar. In the play’s opening scene, Brutus reveals with virtually every line his overwhelming concern for how he is viewed by the Roman populace. Moreover, he ruminates over his status with a solemnity that suggests he has a huge ego waiting to be stroked. As he says to his best friend, Cassius: If I have veil’d my look, I turn the trouble of my countenance Merely upon myself. Vexed I am Of late with passions of some difference, Conceptions only proper to myself. (I, ii, 37–41) Thus we are not surprised when Brutus adds: For let the gods so speed me as I love The name of honor more than I fear death. (I, ii, 88–89) Cassius recognizes how such a preoccupation with honor makes Brutus vulnerable: I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, As well as I do know your outward favor. Well, honor is the subject of my story… (I, ii, 90–92) At the end of the scene, after Cassius has attempted to persuade Brutus to lead action against Caesar, Cassius concludes: Well, Brutus, thou art noble; yet I see Thy honorable mettle may be wrought From that it is disposed… (I, ii, 308–310) With his insight into human nature, Cassius recognizes how a man obsessed with his image may be manipulated, even to act against what he knows to be proper. Throughout the play, Brutus struggles to carry out an “honorable” strategy. Even on those occasions when he does not invoke the word “honor,” we nonetheless feel its values directing him. For instance, when Cassius proposes that the conspirators against Caesar should take an oath, Brutus reacts with dismay. He wants to believe that all these men proceed with the same noble intentions as he does, so he insists that an oath would be a violation of the spirit of their enterprise (II, i, 114–140). When Cassius suggests that Antony should be killed along with Caesar, Brutus again demurs: Let’s be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius. We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar, And in the spirit of men there is no blood… (II, i, 166–168) As Brutus seeks to carry out a gentlemanly assassination, his desperation to appear honorable at every step undoes him. Later, despite Cassius’s pleas to the contrary, Brutus insists that Antony not only be allowed to speak at Caesar’s funeral, but that he also be allowed to speak last. The result is calamitous. We see this same vulnerability to the allure of honor in Caesar himself. When one member of the conspiracy, Decius, comes to Caesar’s home to persuade him to go to the forum, Caesar refuses, for he has heard Calphurnia relate her dream of Romans bathing in blood from Caesar’s statue. When, however, Decius suggests that the citizenry of Rome will laugh at Caesar when they hear the reason for his absence (II, ii, 92–107), Caesar’s sense of honor is tapped, and he immediately changes his mind. The most dramatic use of the word “honor” occurs in the scene after Caesar’s death, when Brutus stands up before the Roman mob to justify his actions: Believe me for mine honor, and have respect to mine honor, that you may believe. (III, ii, 14–16) With no legitimate explanation at hand, Brutus is forced to rely on his own public reputation. The words themselves thus sound hollow, but even more telling is that they are offered in flat prose, not elegant blank verse. Antony surely recognizes this emptiness, for in his own oration over the corpse of Caesar, he mentions “honorable” so often in his characterizations of Brutus and the other conspirators that the word loses all dignity. Indeed, after hearing Antony invoke “honorable” some dozen times over approximately 150 lines, we can never take the word seriously again. It retains forever the connotation of hypocritical self-promotion. The concept of “honor” appears throughout Shakespeare’s tragedies. In the opening scene of Titus Andronicus, character after character speaks of honor as if it were a magic word that automatically elevated every action to nobility. Saturninus, son of the late Emperor, speaks of honor to Rome (I, i, 7, 13); Marcus speaks of his brother Titus’s military and political achievements (I, i, 35–45); Titus himself, the aging general, insists on couching all his decrees under the banner of “honor” (I, i, 150, 156, 198). In Hamlet, the Prince, who is unable to rouse himself to action against his uncle, Claudius, offers this testament in his last soliloquy: Rightly to be great Is not to stir without great argument, But greatly to find quarrel in a straw When honor’s at the stake. (IV, iv, 53–56) When all other reasons for action fail, this contemplative man seeks to find motivation in his wounded pride. The claim makes him sound as if he acts only to avoid personal humiliation, not to support a righteous cause. In Othello, the Moor is perpetually conscious of how he presents himself to Venetian society. As a stranger, probably the only free black man in the city, and husband to Desdemona, he is sensitive about his status. Perhaps here is one reason he accepts his ensign Iago’s insinuations about Desdemona’s supposed infidelity. The concept of “honor,” therefore, pervades the text, although the word itself occurs most notably in the final moments. After Othello has strangled his wife, and the two of them are discovered in their bedroom, he looks down at her lifeless body, then turns to the others for exoneration: An honorable murder, if you will; For nought I did in hate, but all in honor. (V, ii, 294) This tragic excuse reminds us how empty the claim of honor can be. We are reminded again in Coriolanus, in which Martius, the title character, fights not for his own renown, but for that of his mother, Volumnia. As she says in her opening lines: If my son were my husband, I should freelier rejoice in that absence wherein he won honor than in the embracements of his bed where he would show most love. (I, iii, 2–5) The image of a mother substituting her son for her husband is already discomfiting. That she compounds the unpleasantness by imagining the military honors that he might win further taints the idea of such triumph. We realize that Volumnia lives vicariously through her son’s exploits, that she seeks glory not for him, but so she can bask in his reflected light. Throughout the play, such references to honor recur, but the reminder is perhaps most painful in Act V, after Martius, now bearing the title “Coriolanus,” has been accused of treachery, fled the Roman side, and allied himself with his old enemy, the Volsces, who are readying themselves for war against Rome. Volumnia pleads with her son to restrain himself: Thou hast never in thy life Show’d thy dear mother any courtesy, When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood, Has cluck’d thee to the wars, and safely home Loaden with honor. (V, iii, 160–164) Her desire for his honor, she explains, justifies everything. No matter how unhappy he may be, because she has inspired him to achieve public acclaim, she expects him to obey her. Her pleas, however, fall short, and Coriolanus’s subsequent flouting of her wishes soon leads to his demise. Honor is equally valuable to Hector in Troilus and Cressida. In this play, Shakespeare’s topsy-turvy version of the Trojan War, scarcely a decent character is to be seen, and the pervasive spirit of the work may be found in the oft-repeated line of Thersites, the cynical Greek, whose very presence belittles the most famous episode in military history: “Lechery, lechery, still wars and lechery, nothing else holds fashion” (V, ii, 194–195). This senseless carnage is taking place, we are reminded regularly, because the Greek commander Menelaus’s wife, Helen, ran off with the Trojan prince Paris. In the midst of the war, Hector, Paris’s brother and the greatest of the Trojan heroes, can no longer tolerate the loss of life: Thus to persist In doing wrong extenuates not wrong, But makes it more heavy. (II, ii, 186–188) Suddenly, though, Hector switches his point of view: My spritely brethren, I propend to you In resolution to keep Helen still, For ’tis a cause that hath no mean dependance Upon our joint and several dignities. (II, ii, 190–193) Troilus then clarifies his brother’s perspective: Why, there you touch’d the life of our design! Were it not glory that we more affected Than the performance of our heaving spleens, I would not wish a drop of Troyan blood Spent more in her defense. But, worthy Hector, She is a theme of honor and renown, A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds, Whose present courage may beat down our foes, And fame in time to come canonize us… (II, ii, 194–203) How ironic that Troilus himself has stood outside most of the fighting thus far. We may interpret this exchange to mean that Helen herself is worthless, but that since the Trojans are already fighting and dying for her, they have no choice but to continue. Besides, if they win, how much honor that victory will furnish. We can only speculate how many bloody conflicts throughout the history of the world have continued because of such misguided motivations. In the midst of the turmoil, Hector is challenged by Achilles, his Trojan counterpart, but Andromache, Hector’s wife, urges him not to fight: …for I have dreamt of bloody turbulence, and this whole night Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter. (V, iii, 10–12) His wife’s warning is but one piece of evidence which suggests to Hector that by going into battle, he will probably die. Nonetheless, he is devoted to his city and its cause, and therefore his acceptance of inevitable defeat might exude tragic dignity. When he articulates his reasons, however, they seem far more mundane: Mine honor keeps the weather of my fate. Life every man holds dear, but the dear man Holds honor far more precious-dear than life. (V, ii, 26–28) In the center of a war that is raging because of the humiliation of one cuckolded fool, and while dozens of selfish, egoistic men pout, whine, and bully, all the while seeking their own sexual gratification, Hector’s attempts to obey a superior moral code seem sadly out of place. To note how the word “honor” may be used in countless inappropriate contexts, we need only consider any of Shakespeare’s history plays, where conspiracies, treacheries, assassinations, and other despicable acts are couched in the most elevated terms. Here we shall focus on Henry IV, Part 1, in which the concept of honor swirls around two characters, Hotspur and Falstaff. In the opening scene, Henry IV first speaks of Hotspur, more formally known as Henry Percy. He is the son of Northumberland, the leader of the nobles who supported Henry in his usurpation of the English throne: Yea, there thou mak’st me sad, and mak’st me sin In envy that my Lord Northumberland Should be the father to so blest a son— A son who is the theme of honor’s tongue, Amongst a grove the very straightest plant… (I, i, 78–82) The King further contrasts this aggressive soldier with his own son, who is currently wasting time and energy among the scoundrels of the taverns in Eastcheap. Yet the more we see of Hotspur, the more we grow suspicious of the man and the honor he claims to seek. For instance, in Act II, Hotspur joins with his father and his uncle, Worcester, to rail against Henry IV’s policies. In the midst of his anger, Hotspur bursts out: By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap, To pluck bright honor from the pale-fac’d moon, Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fadom-line could never touch the ground, And pluck up drowned honor by the locks… (I, iii, 201–205) The more Hotspur talks, the more we realize that his goal is not the good of his country, nor even the achievement of power for his colleagues, but simply glory for himself. Because of his own ego, he has refused to turn over prisoners to King Henry. Ultimately, Hotspur is revealed to be the symbol of a chivalric tradition that is as outdated as the feudal world it complements. Just as Richard II, Henry IV’s predecessor on the throne, was out of touch with political reality, so is Hotspur, in his own way, equally obsolete. In this scene, his closing rallying cry rings particularly hollow: O, let the hours be short, Till fields, and blows, and groans applaud our sport! (I, iii, 301–302) He anticipates a gallant death. But to what end? The only one he articulates is his own honor. In dramatic opposition to Hotspur is Falstaff, the Prince of Wales’ joyously hedonistic companion, whose reflections on honor sound different indeed: What is honor? A word. What is in that word honor? What is that honor? Air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? He that died a’ Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. ’Tis insensible then? Yea, to the dead. But will[’t] not live with the living? No. Why? detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I’ll none of it, honor is a mere scutcheon. And so ends my catchism. (V, i, 133–141) The speech is crucial for several reasons, not the least of which is that it reveals so much of Falstaff’s character: his wit, insight, and cowardice. It is equally important, however, as part of Shakespeare’s vision of war, to be examined more closely in the chapter on that subject. The futility of the spectacle may be wrapped up in the meaninglessness of glory for “he that died a’ Wednesday.” Above all, Falstaff loves life. The pursuit of honor, at least as Shakespeare dramatizes it, often leads to ignoble death. We see as much in the fate of Sir Walter Blunt, one of the King’s staunchest allies. He dies at the battle of Shrewsbury, slain by the valiant Scot Douglas, and at that moment, Blunt may appear to have died an “honorable” death. Yet as Falstaff waddles onstage, his presence lampoons both the savagery of the battle and any cause for which it is exerted: “There’s honor for you!” (V, iii, 32–33) he says over the dead Blunt. The death of Hotspur is also grimly ironic. When the one-on-one combat between Hal and Hotspur finally takes place, Hotspur is defeated after a brutal struggle. Gazing down on the corpse, the Prince generously calls Percy “great heart” (V, iv, 87), but also notes that the dead soldier is food “For worms” (V, iv, 87). Thus after all the talk of honor, after all the bunkum and braggadocio, Hotspur is left to rot. The word “honor” appears hundreds of times in Shakespeare’s plays, almost always with unpleasant consequences. Many of the characters who invoke it, like Brutus, Othello, and Hector, are respected figures whose moral code turns into a drive to secure public renown, the other kind of “honor.” In their efforts to do so, however, these decent people who seek to gain so much only lose themselves. |
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