Prospero

It has long been suggested by many Shakespearean critics and scholars that The Tempest, likely one of the English playwright's final works, is wholly concerned with the themes of forgiveness and reconciliation seen largely through the character Propsero. In many ways, forgiveness is, unquestionably, a major theme of the play. What is open to question and scrutiny, however, is Shakespeare's interpretation and representation of these two elements. Upon closer inspection, it becomes increasingly clear that there is indeed very little, if any, true forgiveness or reconciliation in The Tempest.

Much of Shakespeare's audience would likely have gained their standards of and beliefs about forgiveness from the early Christian doctrines of Scripture, particularly those found in Luke 6:27-35, Jesus' famous Sermon on the Mount:

"But I say unto you which hear, Love your enemies, do good to them which hate you, Bless them that curse you, and pray for them which despitefully use you... For if ye love them which love you, what thank have ye? For sinners also do even the same. But love your enemies, and do good, and lend, hoping for nothing again."

Through the early actions of Prospero, arguably one of the playwright's most enigmatic protagonists, Shakespeare begins to initially contradict this Scriptural notion and instead ventures to assert his own philosophical brands of forgiveness and revenge. After all, Prospero first takes advantage of the fate which has brought his enemies to his island, seeing this event as an opportunity to revenge against all the supposed wrongs he has endured. In many ways it is difficult for audiences to decide whether they are to sympathize with Prospero (he was obviously wronged by his brother) or resist him for his power, control, and domination over the other characters in the play.

"Desire for vengeance has apparently lain dormant in Prospero through the years of banishment, and now, with the sudden advent of his foes, the great wrong of twelve years before is stirringly present again, arousing the passions and stimulating the will to action" (Davidson 225). In a sense, Prospero becomes Shakespeare's voice, a near personification of his own philosophies, for conveying to the audience his personal understanding of the world and society. This is most evident when, in his final speech, Prospero compares himself to a playwright and even asks the audience for applause ("the help of your good hands," Act V, Epilogue, Line 10).

While Prospero does eventually inflict great harm and suffering upon the men aboard the ship through the power of the tumultuous storm, which is under his magical control (Act I), he is initially concerned for their safety, as is evidenced when he asks his servant sprite Ariel, "But are they, Ariel, safe?" (I.ii.218). However, any concern for these men we may have believed him to have is quickly eradicated when we encounter the great amount of distress he brings about; distresses which ultimately lead to the supposed death of Prince Ferdinand. For Prospero, the physical, mental, and emotional suffering of his enemies must occur before he is able to offer them his forgiveness. Even noble innocents and lords such as Gonzalo are forced to endure such pains, although Ariel's later appeal and description of Gonzalo's sadness and suffering seems to turn Prospero's hand of vengeance:

"The good old lord Gonzalo:
His tears run down his beard like winter's drops...
...if you now beheld them your affections
Would become tender." (V.i.15-16, 18-19)

It is ultimately not until Prospero has exacted his revenge that he undergoes a true conversion, one which some critics have termed a "Christlike" metamorphosis (Solomon, 232), possibly due in part to Ariel's concern for the safety of the sea-stranded men. This concern undoubtedly resonates with Prospero, considering that Ariel is a spirit being who, theoretically, possesses no human emotions or heartfelt attachments. And if, as a spirit, even Ariel is able to display a genuine care for these men, how much more should he (Prospero), being fully human and able to recognize and identify with their pain, care for their safety?

Prospero's response to Ariel may be interpreted as the magician's realization and embracing of the aforementioned Christian principle of "loving thine enemies." At any rate, it is an obvious turning point, albeit a brief one, in the actions and attitude of this once revenge-filled man:

"The rarer the action is
In virtue than in vengeance. They being penitent,
The sole drift of my purpose doth extend
Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel.
My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore,
And they shall be themselves." (V.i.27-32)

The entire interchange between Prospero and his sprite is "a revelation; indeed, it is a most unexpected turn in the drama that Ariel should be the one to remind the magician that the suffering of his enemies, under his charm, afflicts them so strongly that he would become tender if he saw them. This change of intention startles us. The idea suggested by Ariel has taken root, and the magician realizes the impotence of earthly punishment" (Neilson, 170).

Now victorious over his foes and seeing them finally as "penitent," the magician is released from his vengeance, having exhausted his retribution, and is free to truly forgive the individuals who have wronged and transgressed against him. But is it true and genuine forgiveness, and subsequent reconciliation, to forgive one's enemies only after exacting and executing revenge? This question lies at the heart of not only Prospero's psyche, but the play as a whole. To what extent does The Tempest realize forgiveness and does it provide a model for true reconciliation?

This absence of true reconciliation is further supported by Prospero's subsequent confrontation with the other men: King Alonso, Antonio, and Sebastian. Prospero here insists that he alone is the real and "wronged Duke of Milan" (V.i.108), operating under the hope that his master plan will result in their acceptance and apologies for the wrongs he has been forced to suffer at their hands. Interestingly, King Alonso displays no initial signs of remorse in his response and, in fact, seems to be ecstatic that an islander has bestowed upon him a "hearty welcome" (V.i.113).

Although Alonso's subtle "pardon me my wrongs" (V.i.121) seems to initially satisfy Prospero's demands, and although Prospero admits he forgives him, we are left to wonder if Prospero ever truly embraces a genuine, unshakeable, undeniable forgiveness. To the audience, there appears on the surface to be reconciliation between these two enemies, evidenced by their embrace (stage direction, 114). But is it merely a depthless, shallow forgiveness, lost among the customary linguistic pleasantries of this society? A close analysis of Prospero's words to Antonio simply cannot be ignored:

"For you, most wicked sir, whom to call a brother
Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive
Thy rankest fault, all of them, and require
My dukedom of thee, which perforce I know
Thou must restore." (V.i.132)

These lines cause audiences, readers, and critics to question the sincerity with which Prospero forgives, as he makes it clear that he still believes Antonio to be a "most wicked sir" (line 132). There is additionally no response from Antonio, no apology or thank you, and no reconciliation or dialogue between Prospero and Sebastian. Antonio's silence, in and of itself, speaks volumes.

Aside from Prospero's interactions with these men, further consideration must also be given to the complex relationship between Prospero and his servant and island native, Caliban, one of the most fascinating minor characters in the play. In the beginning, Prospero and Caliban share a unique and healthy bond, as the magician sought to educate the savage native and teach him how to speak and behave in accordance with orderly social expectations. Caliban, as a form of repayment, "showed thee [Prospero] all the qualities o'th'isle. The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile" (I.ii.340-341).

Unfortunately, this relationship is quickly strained and subsequently transformed for the worse after Caliban, acting solely upon his natural instincts, sexually assaults Miranda, Prospero's innocent, barely fifteen year-old daughter who has seen no men during her life other than her father and the monstrous Caliban. Caliban is "unlike the incontinent man, whose appetites subdue his will, and the malicious man, whose will is perverted to evil ends...the bestial man [with] no sense of right and wrong, and therefore sees no difference between good and evil" (Kermode, xlii).

Because of Caliban's "bestial" nature, and likely out of revenge for the injuries inflicted upon his daughter, Prospero begins to threaten his monster-servant:

"If thou neglect'st or dost unwillingly
What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps,
Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar,
That beasts shall tremble at thy din" (I.ii.371-374)

Any forgiveness we see Prospero demonstrate in Act V, albeit after he has taken his vengeance, is utterly nonexistent in his early relationship with Caliban of Act I. In Shakespeare's comedy The Merchant of Venice, the wealthy heiress Portia pleads with the villainous Shylock to forgive the bond, saying "The quality of mercy is not strained" (IV.i.179). She is, in part, warning Shylock that without mercy, his search for justice could easily result in his own damnation. However, she also implies, in her beautiful description of mercy, that forgiveness ultimately benefits the forgiver.

Not unlike Shylock, Prospero's mercy, particularly insofar as his relationship with Caliban is concerned, is and has been strained. Unfortunately, Prospero does not come to fully know the benefits of forgiveness so eloquently described by Portia in The Merchant of Venice. Prospero may, to an extent, be aware of Caliban's inability to behave as a civilized individual, a fact which, some would argue, excludes him from accountability for his actions. However, it is clear that Prospero does not extend the measure of forgiveness and mercy to Caliban that one would expect. In fact, his final words to the "monster" seem to be the best he can do:

"Go, sirrah, to my cell.
Take with you your companions. As you look
To have my pardon, trim it handsomely" (V.i.295-297)

Indeed, if it were not for the happy uniting of Prince Ferdinand and Miranda, there would be virtually no reconciliation in The Tempest. Although the play ends in Alonso and Prospero's exulting, the audience is left wondering if genuine forgiveness and true reconciliation have occurred at all.

Works Cited

Davidson, Frank. The Tempest: An Interpretation . In The Tempest: A Casebook. Ed. D.J. Palmer. London: Macmillan & Co. Ltd., 1968.

Greenblatt, Stephen, Walter Cohen, Jean Howard, and Katharine Eisaman Maus. The Norton Shakespeare Romances. London: W.W. Norton & Company, 1997.

Kermode, Frank. Introduction. The Tempest. By William Shakespeare. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1958.

Neilson, Francis. Shakespeare and The Tempest . Rindge, New Hampshire: Richard R. Smith Publisher Inc., 1956.

Solomon, Andrew. A Reading of the Tempest. In Shakespeare's Late Plays. Ed. Richard C. Tobias and Paul G. Zolbrod. Athens: Ohio UP, 1974.