The Quality of Mercy
Last night, I watched the most recent film version of The Merchant of Venice, released in 2004. Tonight, I watched it again while I was cooking supper. It is not, strictly speaking, William Shakespeare's version. Several notable passages have been removed and bits of dialogue here and there are finessed to serve the filmmaker's vision.
What this production does very well is making clear that this is not a comedy, like "Much Ado About Nothing" or "Love's Labours Lost". There is seriously weighty drama. Very little is "funny" in the traditional sense. This production also tries to justify everyone's actions. Shylock does not crave Antonio's flesh because "he is a Christian," but because he has lost control of his world. His daughter has run away, turned her back on her faith, and stolen from him, but the one thing he can control is the redemtion of the bond.
Even though he is consumed with an irrational bloodlust, it was excruciating for me to watch Shylock collapse in on himself as all his legal grounds for claim to flesh are removed. To watch him lose the settlement offer. To watch him lose all of his worldly possesions, half to the state, half to Antonio. And then for him to suffer the last and greatest punishment, as he is forced to convert to Christianity.
This last punishment seems needlessly heartless and vindictive to me. In the logic of the play, it is an expression of dearest mercy. Antonio sees that in order to save Shylock's soul, the Jew must become Christian. So he wishes the conversion to save Shylock from himself. But it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Perhaps because I realize that women don't have to masquerade as men to be heard in the courtroom, and fathers don't set elaborate tests for their daughter's suitors long after the father dies. Lending money for interest is no longer described as an un-Christian evil and deplored by all religious scholars. We've left many of the more deplorable attitudes of the play behind as our culture advances.
But we still have the many religious leaders (of many faiths) declaring that their way is THE way. All others (the incorrect believers) will be consigned to either Hell or the "not quite as nice" Heaven or Purgatory or left behind while the faithful proceed. What does it say about our cultural advancement when people still use the basest method of convincing: the threat? In our country, the law doesn't have the power to make you change your religion. But what about countries where the law is the religion? I would not be suprised that forced conversions still occured somewhere.
Is it moral for me to feel sorry for and attempt to convert other people who I may not believe are going to "Heaven"? Is our worth in how much we prostrate ourselves before the Unknowable? Or is it how much we strive to resemble the paradigm of perfection? Who makes the better follower: one who has seen much and chooses to follow, or one who protects themselves from disorder and strives for purity?
If the Eternal creates us and gives us free will, should not everyone's personal faith be sacred? Like a river, it flows from beginning to end and carries us along.
What this production does very well is making clear that this is not a comedy, like "Much Ado About Nothing" or "Love's Labours Lost". There is seriously weighty drama. Very little is "funny" in the traditional sense. This production also tries to justify everyone's actions. Shylock does not crave Antonio's flesh because "he is a Christian," but because he has lost control of his world. His daughter has run away, turned her back on her faith, and stolen from him, but the one thing he can control is the redemtion of the bond.
Even though he is consumed with an irrational bloodlust, it was excruciating for me to watch Shylock collapse in on himself as all his legal grounds for claim to flesh are removed. To watch him lose the settlement offer. To watch him lose all of his worldly possesions, half to the state, half to Antonio. And then for him to suffer the last and greatest punishment, as he is forced to convert to Christianity.
This last punishment seems needlessly heartless and vindictive to me. In the logic of the play, it is an expression of dearest mercy. Antonio sees that in order to save Shylock's soul, the Jew must become Christian. So he wishes the conversion to save Shylock from himself. But it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Perhaps because I realize that women don't have to masquerade as men to be heard in the courtroom, and fathers don't set elaborate tests for their daughter's suitors long after the father dies. Lending money for interest is no longer described as an un-Christian evil and deplored by all religious scholars. We've left many of the more deplorable attitudes of the play behind as our culture advances.
But we still have the many religious leaders (of many faiths) declaring that their way is THE way. All others (the incorrect believers) will be consigned to either Hell or the "not quite as nice" Heaven or Purgatory or left behind while the faithful proceed. What does it say about our cultural advancement when people still use the basest method of convincing: the threat? In our country, the law doesn't have the power to make you change your religion. But what about countries where the law is the religion? I would not be suprised that forced conversions still occured somewhere.
Is it moral for me to feel sorry for and attempt to convert other people who I may not believe are going to "Heaven"? Is our worth in how much we prostrate ourselves before the Unknowable? Or is it how much we strive to resemble the paradigm of perfection? Who makes the better follower: one who has seen much and chooses to follow, or one who protects themselves from disorder and strives for purity?
If the Eternal creates us and gives us free will, should not everyone's personal faith be sacred? Like a river, it flows from beginning to end and carries us along.
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