When Civilizations Collide:
Power Surges inThe Tempest
by Jenny (Walicek) Clendenen
San Jose State University, 2017
Abstract: We all know that Shakespeare’s lyrical wisdom applies to all places and times, but The Tempest, with its caricatures of a would-be leader and his sycophants, seems especially relevant today. “When Civilizations Collide: Power Surges in The Tempest,” explores the division of power (and powers) between the play’s three “magical” characters, and the way that division informs notions of civilization. I counter the critical consensus that Shakespeare uses Caliban to personify humanity’s spirit of passion, and Ariel to personify its spirit of imposed restraint. This consensus supports the larger argument that Prospero’s apparent control of these creatures, interpreted as dual aspects of his own self, is what leads to the restoration of his civilized state.
My essay, however, argues that all three represent the best and worst of civilization, and that the parallels between Ariel, Caliban, and Prospero tend to equalize their status. This argument is made through analysis of their reactions, grievances, motivations, behaviors, speeches, origins, linguistic clues, manipulations, magical powers, and circumstances. It concludes by comparing their actions and effects to those of colonization, and asserting that Prospero, despite his apparent control, is no more civilized or powerful than his two captives are.
When Civilizations Collide: Power Surges in The Tempest
A tempest is a brief, destructive storm, and a powerful metaphor for the invisible forces that motivate and challenge mankind. Reading underneath this umbrella metaphor in The Tempest, it is easy to assume that Shakespeare uses Caliban to personify humanity’s spirit of passion, and Ariel to personify its spirit of imposed restraint. This is the conclusion of John Wilders, who states in his New Prefaces to Shakespeare that Prospero has recognized “the Ariel and the Caliban of which his own—and our—nature consists” (273). It follows that Prospero’s apparent control of these creatures, interpreted as dual aspects of his own self, is what leads to the restoration of his civilized (and political) state. That he succeeds by management rather than banishment of these aspects indicates that civilization cannot exist without the motivating lust of the savage nature and the tempering self-control of the refined.But is it the fate of Ariel and Caliban to be mere halves of the whole, subject to Prospero’s manipulation, and without their own rounded individuality? A closer reading of the behavior, language and circumstances of these three characters suggests that while the opposing natures of Caliban and Ariel undeniably exist within civilization, there is also a great deal of civilization undeniably present in these two creatures.
Caliban’s self-control is one positive crossover characteristic, as noted by Northrop Frye in “Three Themes in The Tempest.” “No character in Shakespeare,” says Frye of the witch’s son, “retains more dignity under so constant a stream of abuse” (172). The fully human characters in this play demonstrate continuous ignobility, from the selfish manipulations of the washed-up magician to the devious plots of the greedy nobles and servants to the sappy acquiescence of Ferdinand and Miranda. Caliban’s one sin has been committed before the play starts, and his unfulfilled plot against nobility is no worse thanAntonio’s. Caliban may be ugly on the outside, but not any uglier than the “nobles” are on the inside.
Caliban’s apparent restraint, however, is no stronger a mark of “civilization” than is his desire for autonomy—and beautiful women. Because he had betrayed Prospero’s kindness with attempted rape, Prospero has purposely inculcated Caliban’s hatred (Frye 173). Yet Prospero himself had betrayed his native guide first, by raping him of his sovereignty. In fact, the mage’s indignant speech about his brother’s usurpation (Shakespeare 1.2.90-105) could just as easily have been spoken by Caliban, who had also been betrayed, usurped, and confined by someone he loved, and who is also trying to regain both freedom and title. Prospero refuses to excuse in Caliban the rape and insurrection which he himself has committed against the native, even though the duke later forgives his own usurping, kidnapping, murderous brother Antonio.
These violations of each other by Prospero and Caliban are motivated by greed and revenge—basic instincts that “civilized” men (of all time) repress or disguise as something finer, such as patriotism or justice. Strip away the duke’s veneer of civilized accoutrements and the parallels between them solidify: these are two usurped, vengeful magic-makers manipulating “lesser beings” to regain their own freedom, title, and property. This view dovetails with Brower’s observation that different states of being and life forms are constantly merged throughout the play, so that there are no distinct boundaries between states—or even between the earthly and unearthly (194).
Taking these fusions a step further, perhaps it was not only Caliban who lusted after Miranda—perhaps it was also the dark side of Prospero, as quickly repressed as the slave. Prospero may be inadvertently admitting this when he says of Caliban “This thing of darkness I / acknowledge mine” (5.1.275). After all, despite Prospero’s anger over Caliban’s attempted rape, he still retains him (and thus his own set of natural instincts) as useful, even essential. “He does make our fire, /” he concedes, “Fetch in our wood, and serves in offices / That profit us” (1.2.314). Prospero may resist the fact that the line between them is blurry and meandering rather than clear and straight, but as Frye comments, “There seem to be things about [human] nature that even Prospero doesn’t know” (173).
Neither does Prospero seem to recognize the correlation between his own speeches and those of his outcast slave. Caliban insists that the only benefit of his linguistic education was to be able to curse in English, but that insistence comes on the heels of a poetically eloquent speech in which he does far more than curse. He also stakes his claim to the island, laments the loss of his birthright, reminisces about his education, points out that he had returned the favor by acting as an island guide, declares he was betrayed, and curses his own foolishness. It may be, as Harold Bloom argues, that "Caliban has a legitimate pathos, but he cannot be interpreted as being somehow admirable." On the other hand, if this is the speech of an uncivilized brute, then we must label Prospero uncivilized as well, for he too has staked his claim, lamented his loss of title, reminisced about his education, pointed out the favors he has done Caliban, declared his betrayal—and cursed Caliban (665). In fact, the biggest distinction between the two seems to be Prospero’s wardrobe and wand-wielding.
Prospero’s implicit claim to be the superior, “civilized” being rests primarily on his European descent, his hereditary title to the dukedom, and his knowledge of the arts (by which he has survived). Again, if these are the hallmarks of civilization, then we must take another look at Caliban’s qualifications. He is of supernatural descent, he has hereditary title to the island, and he has an intimate knowledge of the earth (by which he has survived). The superiority of either set of qualifications is a matter of perspective—something that Prospero, who considers Caliban “a devil” (Shakespeare 4.1.188) subconsciously acknowledges when he says to the nobles that “some of you there present / Are worse than devils” (emphasis added) (3.3.36). At least Caliban has risen, as Frye notes, from the bottom rung of nature’s ladder to seek grace; it can be argued that Prospero, on the other hand, has actually sunk to a vengeful low (172-3). While Prospero does have superior powers, they do not seem to bring him any more freedom than his nemesis receives: Brower notes that “the ‘high-day, freedom!’ of which Caliban sings is ironically enough simply a change of masters,” and the same can be said of Prospero, whose reinstatement as duke will require that he answer to King Alonso (Brower 192). Furthermore, his superior powers are only the inevitable result of superior spells gained by superior amounts of time to study. Had Caliban’s teacher-mother Sycorax lived to educate him, he might have overpowered Prospero -- and, by the duke’s own standards, claimed the more “civilized” status.
It is easy to identify self-restraint as an ideal feature of civilization in the behavior of Ariel, the airborne “angelic” sprite. Despite his ability to control the elements, manipulate others, and become invisible, Ariel is careful not to cross authoritarian or territorialboundaries. Either his supernatural powers are impotent beyond the island, or something bigger holds him in place. The “something bigger” is indicated through nature imagery that is “an essential mediator of these supernatural powers which do not enter the play only through certain characters, as e.g. Ariel” (Clemen 182). He is in the same boat with Prospero and Caliban, whose acquired and inherent powers, respectively, could neither prevent captivity nor restore freedom. All three must all defer to (or conspire with) a greater power to pursue their liberty.
Ironically, the reason Ariel is not free is because Prospero had once freed him from a tree and “earned” the indentured servitude of the sprite. To take self-serving advantage of a less powerful being in a helpless situation seems uncivil, yet Ariel turns around and does the same thing to others all throughout the play. He affects an air of humility and obeisance when he realizes he has bumped up against a boundary, as when he is chastised for reminding Prospero of his promise to set him free (Shakespeare 1.2.241-244)—but his behavior indicates he is no docile victim of his circumstances. Rather, like the “civilized” Prospero, he seeks to capitalize upon them by manipulating others and his environment.
Ariel’s power to do this is evident in the language he uses to describe his actions. His description of the storm, for instance, is “from above, from the regions of the sky, and his reference to Jupiter and Neptune suggest his own god-like role in this storm” (Clemen 184). Vaughn notes that though the relationship between Ariel and his master is in Prospero’s control, it is Ariel who uncovers and defuses the plot to kill Prospero, and then mentions that he will advise the intended victim of the affair (219). Despite Prospero’s obvious lack of omniscience, he, too, sees himself as a god who, with the help of lesser beings, has dimmed the sun, caused storms and earthquakes, and even raised the dead (Shakespeare 5.1.40-50). These two powerful entities share egos and abilities in common.
There are multiple linguistic clues that Ariel actually exults in wielding power over others, particularly in his descriptions of the trouble he has caused on the ship (1.2.195-206) and to the three drunkards (4.1.171-183). Prospero’s responses to these escapades—“Why, that’s my spirit!” (1.2.215), “This was well done, my bird” (4.1.184), and “They now are in my power” (3.3.90) express his pleasure that his plot is moving forward while his own hands stay clean. Ariel is positively glad to do the dirty work, as evidenced in his speech condemning the “three men of sin” on behalf of Prospero. The speech is rife with first-person pronouns and self-aggrandizement: “I have made you mad” (3.3.58); “I and my fellows / Are ministers of Fate” (60-61); “[the elements can’t] diminish / One dowl that’s in my plume” (61-65); “For that’s my business to you” (69); “to pronounce by me / Ling’ring perdition” (76-77) (emphasis added). Ariel, like Prospero, flaunts and maximizes his ability to manipulate people and circumstances.
The circumstances in which Ariel and Prospero find themselves are similar in many important ways. Both are students of magic who had refrained from performing their official duties, and as a result had lost their jobs and freedom: Prospero had absorbed himself wholly in his books and assigned his ducal duties to Antonio, while Ariel was “a spirit too delicate / To act [Sycorax’s] earthy and abhorred commands” (1.2.273-4). Both were physically forced into a wooden structure by greater powers and their aides: Antonio, in alliance with the King and with the help of “the ministers for the purpose” (131), had forced Prospero “aboard a bark” (144) and abandoned both him and his daughter. Likewise Ariel’s mistress, Sycorax, had forced him into a tree “by the help of her more potent ministers” (276) and then abandoned both him and her son. Both suffer imprisonment for twelve years: Prospero has been on the island “twelve year since” (53), and Ariel “didst painfully remain / A dozen years” (1.2.279-80) in the tree. Prospero tells his daughter “By foul play, as thou sayst, were we heaved thence, / But blessedly holp hither” (62-63) by Providence; Ariel, too, was confined by foul play and assisted by the providential Prospero. Both had been saved only to find themselves once again constrained by forces greater than their own: Prospero by the “something bigger” that limits his powers and prevents his magical escape; and Ariel, by that and by his personal savior.
These parallels between Ariel, Caliban and Prospero tend to equalize their status, and detract from the idea of Prospero as an elevated cohesion of his two subjects. Their similarities extend much further than their mutual desire for freedom and revenge; in fact, the “symptoms of civilization,” for better and for worse, appear to be distributed rather evenly among the three of them. Although Prospero wears the wares and talks the talk of “civilization,” all three share some of its definitive characteristics: the ability to manipulate the environment and the power to subjugate marginalized peoples for personal gain.
The attributes of these characters, as delineated here, can also be connected to the colonizing efforts of Shakespearean England. Like the “civilized” colonizers, Prospero and Ariel both exult in their powers to control others and the environment. All three share an ability to harness natural resources, though only Prospero uses forced labor to do so. He and Caliban have no qualms about subjugating others to achieve their ends (even Caliban has taken advantage of marginalized “others” such as women and the lower classes); Ariel achieves his as an empowered henchman who balances his threats with self-serving compromise. All three can also be compared to colonized peoples, since they have pursued the freedom to be themselves and have been punished for it by more powerful beings. As a response to oppression, they have applied their own powers and subversive tactics to rebel, and to use their powers against even lesser beings.
There are modern political parallels to this trio that could easily be drawn as well—Shakespeare’s lessons will never be confined to just one era or place. Suffice it to say that each of the three stands alone and complete in his lust and capacity for power, and each masks his lust in various “civilized” ways to serve his goals. It is not possible to see Caliban and Ariel as simply two halves of Prospero. Shakespeare has wisely divided the attributes of “civilization” by three, for were those characters literally to merge in one man, that man would have unmitigated power. He would be able to run—and ruin--the island and his country and even the world beyond.
Works Cited
Bloom, Harold. Shakeskpeare: The Invention of the Human. New York: Riverhead Books, 1998. 662-684. Bloom is a professor of Humanities at Yale, the author of over twenty books about literature, the recipient of many honorary awards and degrees, and an acknowledged authority on Shakespeare. In this essay he argues against the idea of Caliban as a heroic slave rebelling against colonization.
Brower, Reuben A. “The Mirror of Analogy: The Tempest.” The Tempest. Ed. Gerald Graff and James Phelan. Boston: Bedford / St. Martin’s, 2000. 183-202.
Brower, a Harvard literature professor, author, and influential critic during the mid-twentieth century, finds a theme of metamorphosis expressed through six continuous analogies: strange-wondrous, sleep-and-dream, sea-tempest, music-and-noise, earth-air, slavery-freedom, and sovereignty-conspiracy -- all of which serve to blend opposing states of being.
Clemen, Wolfgang. The Development of Shakespeare’s Imagery. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1951. 182-194. Clemen, English Professor in the University of Munich, writes that the profusion of nature imagery in The Tempest serves to balance the supernatural elements in the play, and are distributed primarily among Prospero and his two subjects. He notes in particular the control given to Ariel and the amount and quality of earthy lines spoken by Caliban.
Frye, Northrop. “Three Themes in The Tempest.” Readings on The Comedies. Ed. Clarice Swisher. San Diego: Greenhaven Press, 1997. 167-174. Frye is a well-known critic who holds degrees in philosophy, English and theology from Toronto and Oxford. In this essay he points out that Prospero is not the only one on the island with control over nature; he also discusses the dignity of Caliban in multiple abusive situations, and his human quest for grace.
Shakespeare, William. The Tempest. Ed. Gerald Graff and James Phelan. Boston: Bedford / St. Martin’s, 2000. 10-87. This is the edition of the play from which I will be quoting and to which I will be referring.
Vaughn, Jack. Shakespeare’s Comedies. New York: Frederick Ungal Publishing Company, 1980. 214-229. Vaughn notes that the relationship between Ariel, Caliban and Prospero is interdependent but always under the control of Prospero.
Wilders, John. New Prefaces to Shakespeare. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1988. 273. Wilders believes that Prospero has balanced nature and nurture, or the raw and the refined, to affect his successful reintegration into society.
San Jose State University, 2017
Abstract: We all know that Shakespeare’s lyrical wisdom applies to all places and times, but The Tempest, with its caricatures of a would-be leader and his sycophants, seems especially relevant today. “When Civilizations Collide: Power Surges in The Tempest,” explores the division of power (and powers) between the play’s three “magical” characters, and the way that division informs notions of civilization. I counter the critical consensus that Shakespeare uses Caliban to personify humanity’s spirit of passion, and Ariel to personify its spirit of imposed restraint. This consensus supports the larger argument that Prospero’s apparent control of these creatures, interpreted as dual aspects of his own self, is what leads to the restoration of his civilized state.
My essay, however, argues that all three represent the best and worst of civilization, and that the parallels between Ariel, Caliban, and Prospero tend to equalize their status. This argument is made through analysis of their reactions, grievances, motivations, behaviors, speeches, origins, linguistic clues, manipulations, magical powers, and circumstances. It concludes by comparing their actions and effects to those of colonization, and asserting that Prospero, despite his apparent control, is no more civilized or powerful than his two captives are.
When Civilizations Collide: Power Surges in The Tempest
A tempest is a brief, destructive storm, and a powerful metaphor for the invisible forces that motivate and challenge mankind. Reading underneath this umbrella metaphor in The Tempest, it is easy to assume that Shakespeare uses Caliban to personify humanity’s spirit of passion, and Ariel to personify its spirit of imposed restraint. This is the conclusion of John Wilders, who states in his New Prefaces to Shakespeare that Prospero has recognized “the Ariel and the Caliban of which his own—and our—nature consists” (273). It follows that Prospero’s apparent control of these creatures, interpreted as dual aspects of his own self, is what leads to the restoration of his civilized (and political) state. That he succeeds by management rather than banishment of these aspects indicates that civilization cannot exist without the motivating lust of the savage nature and the tempering self-control of the refined.But is it the fate of Ariel and Caliban to be mere halves of the whole, subject to Prospero’s manipulation, and without their own rounded individuality? A closer reading of the behavior, language and circumstances of these three characters suggests that while the opposing natures of Caliban and Ariel undeniably exist within civilization, there is also a great deal of civilization undeniably present in these two creatures.
Caliban’s self-control is one positive crossover characteristic, as noted by Northrop Frye in “Three Themes in The Tempest.” “No character in Shakespeare,” says Frye of the witch’s son, “retains more dignity under so constant a stream of abuse” (172). The fully human characters in this play demonstrate continuous ignobility, from the selfish manipulations of the washed-up magician to the devious plots of the greedy nobles and servants to the sappy acquiescence of Ferdinand and Miranda. Caliban’s one sin has been committed before the play starts, and his unfulfilled plot against nobility is no worse thanAntonio’s. Caliban may be ugly on the outside, but not any uglier than the “nobles” are on the inside.
Caliban’s apparent restraint, however, is no stronger a mark of “civilization” than is his desire for autonomy—and beautiful women. Because he had betrayed Prospero’s kindness with attempted rape, Prospero has purposely inculcated Caliban’s hatred (Frye 173). Yet Prospero himself had betrayed his native guide first, by raping him of his sovereignty. In fact, the mage’s indignant speech about his brother’s usurpation (Shakespeare 1.2.90-105) could just as easily have been spoken by Caliban, who had also been betrayed, usurped, and confined by someone he loved, and who is also trying to regain both freedom and title. Prospero refuses to excuse in Caliban the rape and insurrection which he himself has committed against the native, even though the duke later forgives his own usurping, kidnapping, murderous brother Antonio.
These violations of each other by Prospero and Caliban are motivated by greed and revenge—basic instincts that “civilized” men (of all time) repress or disguise as something finer, such as patriotism or justice. Strip away the duke’s veneer of civilized accoutrements and the parallels between them solidify: these are two usurped, vengeful magic-makers manipulating “lesser beings” to regain their own freedom, title, and property. This view dovetails with Brower’s observation that different states of being and life forms are constantly merged throughout the play, so that there are no distinct boundaries between states—or even between the earthly and unearthly (194).
Taking these fusions a step further, perhaps it was not only Caliban who lusted after Miranda—perhaps it was also the dark side of Prospero, as quickly repressed as the slave. Prospero may be inadvertently admitting this when he says of Caliban “This thing of darkness I / acknowledge mine” (5.1.275). After all, despite Prospero’s anger over Caliban’s attempted rape, he still retains him (and thus his own set of natural instincts) as useful, even essential. “He does make our fire, /” he concedes, “Fetch in our wood, and serves in offices / That profit us” (1.2.314). Prospero may resist the fact that the line between them is blurry and meandering rather than clear and straight, but as Frye comments, “There seem to be things about [human] nature that even Prospero doesn’t know” (173).
Neither does Prospero seem to recognize the correlation between his own speeches and those of his outcast slave. Caliban insists that the only benefit of his linguistic education was to be able to curse in English, but that insistence comes on the heels of a poetically eloquent speech in which he does far more than curse. He also stakes his claim to the island, laments the loss of his birthright, reminisces about his education, points out that he had returned the favor by acting as an island guide, declares he was betrayed, and curses his own foolishness. It may be, as Harold Bloom argues, that "Caliban has a legitimate pathos, but he cannot be interpreted as being somehow admirable." On the other hand, if this is the speech of an uncivilized brute, then we must label Prospero uncivilized as well, for he too has staked his claim, lamented his loss of title, reminisced about his education, pointed out the favors he has done Caliban, declared his betrayal—and cursed Caliban (665). In fact, the biggest distinction between the two seems to be Prospero’s wardrobe and wand-wielding.
Prospero’s implicit claim to be the superior, “civilized” being rests primarily on his European descent, his hereditary title to the dukedom, and his knowledge of the arts (by which he has survived). Again, if these are the hallmarks of civilization, then we must take another look at Caliban’s qualifications. He is of supernatural descent, he has hereditary title to the island, and he has an intimate knowledge of the earth (by which he has survived). The superiority of either set of qualifications is a matter of perspective—something that Prospero, who considers Caliban “a devil” (Shakespeare 4.1.188) subconsciously acknowledges when he says to the nobles that “some of you there present / Are worse than devils” (emphasis added) (3.3.36). At least Caliban has risen, as Frye notes, from the bottom rung of nature’s ladder to seek grace; it can be argued that Prospero, on the other hand, has actually sunk to a vengeful low (172-3). While Prospero does have superior powers, they do not seem to bring him any more freedom than his nemesis receives: Brower notes that “the ‘high-day, freedom!’ of which Caliban sings is ironically enough simply a change of masters,” and the same can be said of Prospero, whose reinstatement as duke will require that he answer to King Alonso (Brower 192). Furthermore, his superior powers are only the inevitable result of superior spells gained by superior amounts of time to study. Had Caliban’s teacher-mother Sycorax lived to educate him, he might have overpowered Prospero -- and, by the duke’s own standards, claimed the more “civilized” status.
It is easy to identify self-restraint as an ideal feature of civilization in the behavior of Ariel, the airborne “angelic” sprite. Despite his ability to control the elements, manipulate others, and become invisible, Ariel is careful not to cross authoritarian or territorialboundaries. Either his supernatural powers are impotent beyond the island, or something bigger holds him in place. The “something bigger” is indicated through nature imagery that is “an essential mediator of these supernatural powers which do not enter the play only through certain characters, as e.g. Ariel” (Clemen 182). He is in the same boat with Prospero and Caliban, whose acquired and inherent powers, respectively, could neither prevent captivity nor restore freedom. All three must all defer to (or conspire with) a greater power to pursue their liberty.
Ironically, the reason Ariel is not free is because Prospero had once freed him from a tree and “earned” the indentured servitude of the sprite. To take self-serving advantage of a less powerful being in a helpless situation seems uncivil, yet Ariel turns around and does the same thing to others all throughout the play. He affects an air of humility and obeisance when he realizes he has bumped up against a boundary, as when he is chastised for reminding Prospero of his promise to set him free (Shakespeare 1.2.241-244)—but his behavior indicates he is no docile victim of his circumstances. Rather, like the “civilized” Prospero, he seeks to capitalize upon them by manipulating others and his environment.
Ariel’s power to do this is evident in the language he uses to describe his actions. His description of the storm, for instance, is “from above, from the regions of the sky, and his reference to Jupiter and Neptune suggest his own god-like role in this storm” (Clemen 184). Vaughn notes that though the relationship between Ariel and his master is in Prospero’s control, it is Ariel who uncovers and defuses the plot to kill Prospero, and then mentions that he will advise the intended victim of the affair (219). Despite Prospero’s obvious lack of omniscience, he, too, sees himself as a god who, with the help of lesser beings, has dimmed the sun, caused storms and earthquakes, and even raised the dead (Shakespeare 5.1.40-50). These two powerful entities share egos and abilities in common.
There are multiple linguistic clues that Ariel actually exults in wielding power over others, particularly in his descriptions of the trouble he has caused on the ship (1.2.195-206) and to the three drunkards (4.1.171-183). Prospero’s responses to these escapades—“Why, that’s my spirit!” (1.2.215), “This was well done, my bird” (4.1.184), and “They now are in my power” (3.3.90) express his pleasure that his plot is moving forward while his own hands stay clean. Ariel is positively glad to do the dirty work, as evidenced in his speech condemning the “three men of sin” on behalf of Prospero. The speech is rife with first-person pronouns and self-aggrandizement: “I have made you mad” (3.3.58); “I and my fellows / Are ministers of Fate” (60-61); “[the elements can’t] diminish / One dowl that’s in my plume” (61-65); “For that’s my business to you” (69); “to pronounce by me / Ling’ring perdition” (76-77) (emphasis added). Ariel, like Prospero, flaunts and maximizes his ability to manipulate people and circumstances.
The circumstances in which Ariel and Prospero find themselves are similar in many important ways. Both are students of magic who had refrained from performing their official duties, and as a result had lost their jobs and freedom: Prospero had absorbed himself wholly in his books and assigned his ducal duties to Antonio, while Ariel was “a spirit too delicate / To act [Sycorax’s] earthy and abhorred commands” (1.2.273-4). Both were physically forced into a wooden structure by greater powers and their aides: Antonio, in alliance with the King and with the help of “the ministers for the purpose” (131), had forced Prospero “aboard a bark” (144) and abandoned both him and his daughter. Likewise Ariel’s mistress, Sycorax, had forced him into a tree “by the help of her more potent ministers” (276) and then abandoned both him and her son. Both suffer imprisonment for twelve years: Prospero has been on the island “twelve year since” (53), and Ariel “didst painfully remain / A dozen years” (1.2.279-80) in the tree. Prospero tells his daughter “By foul play, as thou sayst, were we heaved thence, / But blessedly holp hither” (62-63) by Providence; Ariel, too, was confined by foul play and assisted by the providential Prospero. Both had been saved only to find themselves once again constrained by forces greater than their own: Prospero by the “something bigger” that limits his powers and prevents his magical escape; and Ariel, by that and by his personal savior.
These parallels between Ariel, Caliban and Prospero tend to equalize their status, and detract from the idea of Prospero as an elevated cohesion of his two subjects. Their similarities extend much further than their mutual desire for freedom and revenge; in fact, the “symptoms of civilization,” for better and for worse, appear to be distributed rather evenly among the three of them. Although Prospero wears the wares and talks the talk of “civilization,” all three share some of its definitive characteristics: the ability to manipulate the environment and the power to subjugate marginalized peoples for personal gain.
The attributes of these characters, as delineated here, can also be connected to the colonizing efforts of Shakespearean England. Like the “civilized” colonizers, Prospero and Ariel both exult in their powers to control others and the environment. All three share an ability to harness natural resources, though only Prospero uses forced labor to do so. He and Caliban have no qualms about subjugating others to achieve their ends (even Caliban has taken advantage of marginalized “others” such as women and the lower classes); Ariel achieves his as an empowered henchman who balances his threats with self-serving compromise. All three can also be compared to colonized peoples, since they have pursued the freedom to be themselves and have been punished for it by more powerful beings. As a response to oppression, they have applied their own powers and subversive tactics to rebel, and to use their powers against even lesser beings.
There are modern political parallels to this trio that could easily be drawn as well—Shakespeare’s lessons will never be confined to just one era or place. Suffice it to say that each of the three stands alone and complete in his lust and capacity for power, and each masks his lust in various “civilized” ways to serve his goals. It is not possible to see Caliban and Ariel as simply two halves of Prospero. Shakespeare has wisely divided the attributes of “civilization” by three, for were those characters literally to merge in one man, that man would have unmitigated power. He would be able to run—and ruin--the island and his country and even the world beyond.
Works Cited
Bloom, Harold. Shakeskpeare: The Invention of the Human. New York: Riverhead Books, 1998. 662-684. Bloom is a professor of Humanities at Yale, the author of over twenty books about literature, the recipient of many honorary awards and degrees, and an acknowledged authority on Shakespeare. In this essay he argues against the idea of Caliban as a heroic slave rebelling against colonization.
Brower, Reuben A. “The Mirror of Analogy: The Tempest.” The Tempest. Ed. Gerald Graff and James Phelan. Boston: Bedford / St. Martin’s, 2000. 183-202.
Brower, a Harvard literature professor, author, and influential critic during the mid-twentieth century, finds a theme of metamorphosis expressed through six continuous analogies: strange-wondrous, sleep-and-dream, sea-tempest, music-and-noise, earth-air, slavery-freedom, and sovereignty-conspiracy -- all of which serve to blend opposing states of being.
Clemen, Wolfgang. The Development of Shakespeare’s Imagery. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1951. 182-194. Clemen, English Professor in the University of Munich, writes that the profusion of nature imagery in The Tempest serves to balance the supernatural elements in the play, and are distributed primarily among Prospero and his two subjects. He notes in particular the control given to Ariel and the amount and quality of earthy lines spoken by Caliban.
Frye, Northrop. “Three Themes in The Tempest.” Readings on The Comedies. Ed. Clarice Swisher. San Diego: Greenhaven Press, 1997. 167-174. Frye is a well-known critic who holds degrees in philosophy, English and theology from Toronto and Oxford. In this essay he points out that Prospero is not the only one on the island with control over nature; he also discusses the dignity of Caliban in multiple abusive situations, and his human quest for grace.
Shakespeare, William. The Tempest. Ed. Gerald Graff and James Phelan. Boston: Bedford / St. Martin’s, 2000. 10-87. This is the edition of the play from which I will be quoting and to which I will be referring.
Vaughn, Jack. Shakespeare’s Comedies. New York: Frederick Ungal Publishing Company, 1980. 214-229. Vaughn notes that the relationship between Ariel, Caliban and Prospero is interdependent but always under the control of Prospero.
Wilders, John. New Prefaces to Shakespeare. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1988. 273. Wilders believes that Prospero has balanced nature and nurture, or the raw and the refined, to affect his successful reintegration into society.