A Most Delicate Monster

Caliban; one of Shakespeare's most complex and ambiguous characters; deformed, instinctive, malevolent… and misunderstood. He is the only inhabitant of the island not to take a human form, a distortion that extends well beyond his physical appearance: "as disproportioned in his manner as in his shape". Left alone on the island after the death of his mother, he is befriended by Prospero, trained by him, taught language and for a short time, it seemed, remained in his favorable company. Through a combination of circumstances gone unmentioned by the play, Caliban seeks to "defile the honor of [Miranda]", which prompts Prospero to cast him out of kindness; riddling him with agonizing pain and enslavement. Realizing he has been brought into servitude on the island he believes to be inherently his own, Caliban turns to his more instinctive and violent tendencies and plots to usurp Prospero. Though it may seem strange, I find in more ways than one I identify with Caliban.

Unusual, it might seem, that I align myself so much with this monster so many believe to be a cursing, malignant, and brutish villain. But a closer look reveals the link to have much deeper symbolical meaning. But first, a few reasons why you might believe Caliban to be the sluggish, malignant monster many have portrayed him as. Of course, the most pressing issue is the several-times mentioned actions of Caliban that brought him dangerously close to "defiling [Miranda's] honor", which, of course, you can assume what that means. But when we take a look at how Miranda is portrayed in the original play and other since adaptations of it, there begins to shine a different light on the subject of Caliban's debated villainy. 

In particular, the version of The Tempest that our Shakespeare class was watching, Miranda was headed down the same path with Ferdinand… that is to say, Ferdinand was also going to 'defile her honor', per sae, before they were married; and Miranda was in full compliance. The only difference being, that Prospero was more in support of this relationship, as opposed to Caliban. Mayhap because Ferdinand was more worthy, or a prince? Perhaps Caliban did have softer feelings for Miranda, and he took the blunt of Prospero's wrath in a similar situation. This isn't to say that Caliban's actions were entirely justified. However, I think he is entitled to more merciful and just treatment than that which Prospero gives him.

With this perspective, Prospero being somewhat interested in the status Ferdinand offered, it is easy to see Prospero as being someone who would act in syrupy kindness towards Caliban until a point where Caliban would begin to trust him. Then, Prospero gained control of the island by forcing Caliban into slavery with both physical and psychological abuse. With a 21st Century mindset, we can compare Caliban's situation to that of the victims of European colonization. In a broader sense, Caliban stands for the countless injured parties of European imperialism and injustice; those who were disinherited, exploited, and subjugated. Like him, the learned a conqueror's language and perhaps even some of their values; and like him, they endured enslavement and contempt from their usurpers and eventually rebelled. Like him, they were torn between indigenous culture and culture superimposed on them.

Caliban is berated several times for being one angst and cursing, but many neglect to notice that Prospero (or Miranda, depending on which version of the play you are reading) was the one who taught him language. Would he have learned culture-specific swear words in a language he was not by birth raised up in? I think not. Quoting section 1.2.24 of the play, in which Prospero (or, again, Miranda) says 

[...] I pitied thee,

Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour

One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage,

Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like

A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes

With words that made them known. But thy vile race,

Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures

Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou

Deservedly confined into this rock,

Who hadst deserved more than a prison.

In other words, Prospero suggests that Caliban's "vile" race and lack of language makes him deserving of the status of a slave. Hmmm, isn't this exactly what the European imperialist philosophy was? When Caliban declares "This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother"  we are reminded that Prospero effectively took over the island and made Caliban his slave. 

Whilst Caliban is coarse, vulgar, and misshapen, his speech differs from that of Shakespeare's other rogues in that his speech contains a remarkable amount of passages in verse- an inspiring and poetic form normally reserved for noble and dignified heroes. For example, in this passage where he describes the inflictions set upon him by Prospero:

            All the infections that the sun sucks up

            From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall and make him

            By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me

            And yet I needs must curse. But they’ll nor pinch,

            Fright me with urchin–shows, pitch me i’ the mire,

            Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark

            Out of my way, unless he bid ‘em; but

            For every trifle are they set upon me;

            Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at me

            And after bite me, then like hedgehogs which

            Lie tumbling in my barefoot way and mount

            Their pricks at my footfall; sometime am I

            All wound with adders who with cloven tongues

            Do hiss me into madness.”

In another, he speaks of the island homeland he feels he has been robbed of, and produces some of the most beautiful and stirring imagery in the whole play:

 “Be not afraid, the isle is full of noises,

            Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.

            Sometimes a thousand twanging instruments

            Will hum about mine ears, and sometimes voices,

            That if I then had waked after long sleep,

            Would make me sleep again; and then in dreaming,

            The clouds methought would open, and shew riches

            Ready to drop upon me: when I wak’d,

            I cried to dream again.”

Caliban seized upon the ability to articulate his sense of identity and sensitivity to his treatment as something incredibly humanizing. It's this delicate, poetic side that I have combined with my own experiences to produce what I believe is Caliban's true self, underneath the monstrous exterior and bitter angst. Caliban reminded me of what it feels like to be someone alienated, someone who has set themselves at a distance and underneath a shell of anger to avoid being hurt again. If you don't fit in, people treat you differently; they are harsh with their words and with their hands and some may deceive you outright for their own personal gain. They try to tear away your inner strength and you right to feel loved. When you are told that you are credulous, stupid, ugly, slow, sub-normal, even vile… you start to become it. Because you think that's all the identity you can have. I think it was the same for Caliban.

Caliban gives us a concept difficult to grasp and painful to think about. Despite being the least human appearance-wise, deep down he has suffered pains whose crippling agony most of us suffer on a daily basis. Like all of us, he has made mistakes and continued to make mistakes. He has plotted, been plotted against, and more than once fallen under deceit. To some he is a villain and to others he is not, and things aren't perfect for him in the end. In a way, Caliban is like each of us. 

Perhaps it is the decay of our own sense of self-worth that leads us to toss the mirror aside in fear and to resent Caliban for the allegory he so portrays.

^A portrayal of Caliban in one production of Shakespeare's The Tempest