Saturday, December 31, 2022

Swiftly Seen Shakespeare III: Who is Sylvia? What is She?

 

            Of all the things I learned from watching the complete dramatic works of Shakespeare, no doubt one of the most interesting has been my realization that Shakespeare made a distinction in his use of language that we have since forgotten how to use, to the massive impoverishment of our capacities as both thinkers and speakers.  If you watch much of Shakespeare, it will eventually become obvious to you—even if you are a slow learner like me—that in Shakespeare’s language, “who is he?” and “what is he?” are completely separate and quite different questions.  The first is simply the request, “Please point out which of these men bears this name.”  The second requests a description of the man and his qualities.  For us, today, poor, benighted souls that we are, this distinction is lost, and we often use “Who is he?” for both of these inquiries, or for the second alone.  If we wish specifically to ask the first, without getting the second in the bargain, we are forced into such awkward locutions as “Which of these men is Benedick?”

            This, among other things, explains one rather foolish bit of exegesis some have foisted upon a rather mysterious section in The Lord of the Rings.  While in the house of Tom Bombadil and Goldberry, Frodo asks the lady of the house, “Who is Tom Bombadil?”  Her response is simply the two words, “He is.”  Those of us who understand Shakespeare’s distinction realize that we should imagine Goldberry gesturing in Old Tom’s direction as she says this, for though Frodo may have meant to request an explanation of what sort of creature Tom is, she has no doubt taken his question in the Shakespearean sense, and merely indicated which of the beings present is called “Tom Bombadil.”  After reading the Bard, I now see that Frodo should have asked “What is Tom Bombadil?”  I suspect Tolkien is having a little fun with his heroes here, having them make a subtle mistake of interrogation which he and Goldberry both understand, but the hobbits and many readers do not.  Goldbery’s response is the sort of gentle rebuke—if it is a rebuke, rather than, as I take it to be, pure linguistic innocence—we find when we as children mistakenly ask “Can I do this?”, and we receive the adult response, “I don’t know?  Can you?”

            The proper question is: “May I use the chainsaw?  Of course you may!”[1] 

            However, since most people fail to see that Goldberry is simply answering the question Frodo has asked, rather than the one he intended to ask, they find some deep theological meaning in those two words: He is.  In Christian tradition, the expression “I am” has come to be associated with Jesus’ claim to be God—for God said to Moses at the burning bush “I am…therefore, tell them, I am has sent you.[2]  Thus, when Jesus says “Before Abraham was, I am,” he is seen as laying claim to being the eternal Creator who sent Moses with the message, “Let my people go!”

            Thus, when Goldberry says “He is” of Tom Bombadil, some have seen in this some suggestion that Old Tom is a manifestation of Eru, the One, Creator of Middle-Earth.  But, in the words of Daniel “Oz” Osborne, “I call that a radical interpretation of the text.”  Rather than see here some deep theological idea which I think would run rather counter to Tolkien’s own deep devout Catholicism, we should instead see yet another bit of linguistic humor, a variation on the old gag of answering the question asked, rather than the one intended.  And Shakespeare, with his distinction between “Who is Sylvia?” and “What is she?” (the two questions  occur precisely in that order in a song in one play, so they are clearly different questions) helps us to see what is really going on here.  This illustrates the point of the great Oscar Wilde: life is too important to be taken seriously.  A light heart and a sense of humor is necessary if we are to avoid excessive overinterpretation of the text.  Hanlon’s Razor states: never attribute to malice what can be sufficiently explained by stupidity; likewise, we should not go searching for deep theological mysteries when the presumption of a pun will suffice to explain the text, and fits the preferences of the author better, anyway.



[1] Thanks to an old episode of The Jeff Foxworthy Show for this joke.

[2] Yes, I know it probably should be translated in the future tense—but this is about theological tradition, not Hebrew philology.

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