Caliban is one of the most interesting characters Shakespeare created--and Shakespeare has had no match in the ability to invent characters that are so vividly drawn, so disparate in their personalities, and so complex that we sometimes get the impression that those verbal constructs are more real than the flesh and blood around us. Having seen three productions of The Tempest over the past two decades, and having read and studied the play many times more than that, I have noticed that my fascination with this subhuman human being continues to grow. I think modern readers can derive not only pleasure from plumbing the profundities of Caliban's personality, but can also retrieve from those depths some gems of practical wisdom.
No Shakespeare scholar myself, I run the risk of being considered hubristic in writing about Caliban, about whom so much has been written. I have two responses to this potential accusation. First, I present a poet's view and not a scholar's view. My concern is with the text and not with articles about the text, the vast majority of which I admittedly have not read. (This approach might seem refreshing to some and desiccating to others; I invite the reader to read on and make up her own mind.) Second, an interpretation of Caliban that has wide currency among contemporary authors and--sadly, among directors--is, in my opinion, so far from what Shakespeare intended, and so damaging to a full appreciation of the subtleties of the text, that I feel a poet needs to write and take the reader several stories higher than the basement where at least some contemporary commentators reside.
This article is divided into five sections: the Educated Freak, The Sexual Predator, The Sensitive Monster, the Raging Masochist and, finally, a section entitled, Low-Caste Enlightenment.
All quotations from The Tempest referred to in this article are from William Shakespeare, The Complete Works, edited by Stephen Orgel and A.R. Brautmuller, Penguin Books, New York and London, 2002
The principle assertion of this essay is that much of Caliban's fascination lies in his remarkable transformation from an initial primitive equilibrium, followed by a descent into rage and abasement, from which he rises to a new equilibrium, chastened, but wiser. In addition, he reaches this new state on his own, without the aid of Prospero's magic.
1. The Educated Freak
"When we first meet Caliban, he complains about how he was disenfranchised by the European invader." "A modern audience is likely to view Caliban more sympathetically as we no longer consider indigenous people 'savages' or brutes.'" These two quotes--there are many like them--give one a good idea about much of the current "scholarship" regarding Caliban. (One of the quotes is from a professor at a major university.) This "contemporary" view is worse than superficial; it is erroneous and prevents one from looking deeper. It's a bit like trying to modernize the Mona Lisa with a magic marker. I am well aware of the brutal treatment of indigenous peoples by colonizers, but this is not what this play is about. (Just because one culture has brutalized another--history provides many examples--does not give anyone the right to brutalize Shakespeare. ) I imagine this view came about when some "genius" director decided to make Shakespeare more accessible. He got the bright idea to cast Caliban with a young, handsome African-American actor. (Such casting is just about de rigueur today.) Yes, the genius director wanted the audience to believe that the only reason Prospero considers Caliban to be misshapen is because of his prejudice--"The European invader" views all non-whites as savages. Genius director, kindly stop trying to make Shakespeare contemporary; he is much, much more contemporary than you have imagined.
Shakespeare is not a Rorschach test; interpretation is not free association. Good interpretations may not be obvious--it is always possible to discover something new--but they must never flout the text.
It is essential to our interpretation that Caliban is misshapen and half human. (I will explain why in the course of this essay.) Before Caliban appears in the play, Prospero refers to him as "a freckled whelp, hag-born," (Act 1,2 line 283). Significantly, Prospero refers to him in Act V as follows:: "This misshapen knave,/ his mother was a witch." (lines 268-269). Trinculo and Stephano each refer to him as a fish, indicating his strange shape and smell. Corroborating this, Antonio, upon seeing Caliban for the first time, in the company of Trinculo and Stephano, refers to him with the following words: "One of them/Is a plain fish and no doubt marketable." Act V,1 lines 265-266). There is obviously something more fishy about Caliban than mere smell--in any case, he is not wholly human. His lineage confirms this: his mother was the malevolent, ugly witch Sycorax who was banished to the island from "Argier" (Algiers) because of her evil deeds. The father was a demidevil, "the god Setebos." When Caliban appears on stage for the first time, Prospero greets him with the following words,"Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself/upon thy wicked dam, come forth!" (Act 1,2 lines 319-320). Here we have a good indication why Caliban is malformed. Quite possibly Sycorax was impregnated by this devil during a witch's sabbath. A devil's twisted inner life is traditionally indicated by a beastly shape. Caliban inherited his half-human shape from his father; Prospero's alleged "European prejudices" have nothing to do with it.
The point to remember from this section is that Caliban is half-human; there is no one else like him on the island and quite possibly in the entire world.
I will now provide a few more indications why the view that Prospero is a "European colonizer" is absurd. Caliban is a young man when the play takes place. His mother died on the island when Caliban was probably no more than a toddler--this is why the latter tells the former that he "took pains to make thee speak" (Act 1,2 line 353). How could Caliban be considered to be an indigenous inhabitant of the island, when he has been there only about fifteen years, the most recent twelve of which Prospero and Miranda were on the island as well? How could he be considered to be representative of "indigenous people" when he is one of a kind and not even a person but only half human? How can one be considered to be a member of a people when there are no other people around? O how innovative and clever you are, genius director!
2. The Sexual Predator
Throughout the play, Prospero is furious with Caliban, and considers him morally as well as physically subhuman. This wasn't always so, however. He reminds Caliban of their former relationship with following words:
Abhorred slave,
Which any print of goodness will not take,
Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee,
Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour
One thing or other; when thou didn't not, savage,
Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like
A thing most brutish. I endowed 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.
(Act 1, 2 lines 351-362)
Caliban must have viewed Prospero as his great benefactor, from whom he leaned much. His teacher "pitied" him; he was pleased that his pupil was a good student--but certainly didn't consider Caliban, a misshapen half-beast, as his equal. He loved his daughter; he was fond of Caliban. What drove Prospero from fondness to fury? Caliban tried to have sex with his beloved daughter:
Thou most lying slave,
Whom stripes may move, not kindness! I have used thee
(Filth as thou art) with humane care, and lodged thee
In mine own cell till thou didst seek to violate
The honor of my child.
(Act 1,2 lines 344-347)
Attempted rape--a very serious offense. Yet behind every offence of Caliban there are extenuating circumstances. This does not excuse Caliban; Shakespeare, however, wants us to understand that Caliban is not as evil as Prospero's rage might lead us to believe. There is in fact no indication that Caliban had ever behaved badly prior to this event.
It is obvious that Prospero dotes on his fifteen-year-old daughter, Miranda. ("O, a cherubin /Thou wast that did preserve me!" Act 1:2 lines 152-153)--The irascible Prospero is never angry with Miranda and refers to her with great affection throughout the play. The proud father is in fact using his magic powers solely to arrange his daughter's marriage with Ferdinand, the Duke of Naples's son. His magic is successful; they fall in love with each other at first sight. He, after testing Ferdinand's devotion, gives his blessing to the young couple. He also issues a stern warning to Ferdinand:
Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition
Worthily purchased, take my daughter, But
If thou dost break her virgin-knot before
All sanctimonious ceremonies may
With full and holy rite be ministered,
No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall
To make this contract grow; but barren hate
Sour-eyed disdain, and discord shall bestrew
The union of your bed with weeds so loathly
That you shall hate it both. Therefore take heed,
as Hymen's lamps shall light you.
Act lV,1 lines 13-23)
We can assume that Prospero would treat Ferdinand as abusively as he treats Caliban if the pair had pre-marital sex. This is strange. Prospero doesn't seem to be religious; there is more than a simple devotion to tradition here. He is so obsessive regarding this issue that it is comical. During the pageant for the young couple, which Prospero has written and has performed by spirits of the island acting as gods, he has Iris, the messenger of the gods, say the following words, referring to Venus's and Cupid's attempt to "corrupt" the betrothed couple: "Here thought they to have done/Some wanton charm upon this man and maid,/Whose vows are, that no bed-right shall be paid/Till Hymen's torch be lighted." (Act lV,1 lines 94-97). Just in case Ferdinand didn't get the message!
What is the source of this obsession? We must recall that father and daughter have been isolated on the island for twelve years, and that Miranda is now a beautiful woman, to whom Prospero is a doting parent. It is safe to assert that there is some unconscious sexual desire on the part of the father. (Once again, Shakespeare anticipates Freud by centuries.) He loves her and wants to see her married. There is some reluctance in this however; there is an unconscious urge in him to keep her for himself. (As we shall see his life unravels after he loses her.) I assert that he unconsciously tells himself something like this: "Yes, I will give my daughter up. Yet until the very day of the marriage, Miranda is mine." Perhaps Caliban attempted to do what he, in a way, would--subconsciously, of course--like to do, too. He loathes this aspect in himself and, of course, would never touch her. Caliban, in his attempted rape, becomes the embodiment of this self-loathing. This could well explain Prospero's fury and obsession.
Another exculpatory factor for Caliban's behavior: there is no reference that Prospero ever warned Caliban never to make advances to his daughter. Caliban shared the same cell with Miranda and Prospero. He had most likely never been taught about Prospero's sexual mores. One assumes that Prospero couldn't even imagine that a beast like Caliban would ever approach his daughter. They weren't children any longer, but were allowed to remain in close contact. Whose fault is that? Prior to Prospero's arrival, Caliban was a child; as a grown man it is not surprising that he had sexual desire for the only woman he had ever known. Yet it was very wrong to try to overpower Miranda. Shakespeare, like nature, is ambiguous and plays it both ways: Caliban is guilty and innocent at the same time.
3. The Sensitive Monster
We have already quoted Prospero admitting to Caliban that he was a good student, Although he was taught side by side with Miranda, he seems to be more intelligent. He is able to give Prospero back in kind for the insults with which his former teacher abuses him. (Prospero and Caliban seem to be the most intelligent of all the characters in the play.) To be fair to Miranda, we must recall that her character is part of the fairy tale aspect of the play, in which a handsome prince falls in love with a beautiful woman. Her gentleness and innocence are stressed, and not her intelligence. Ferdinand's princely behavior and his devotion are also emphasized, not his intelligence, although he is certainly capable. When he hears Miranda speaking in his language, he says, "My language! Heavens!/ I am the best of them that speak that speech,/ Were I but where 'tis spoken." (Act 1,2 lines 430-432). This is most likely an example of braggadocio; he seems no more articulate than anyone else in the play, and less so than Prospero and Caliban.
Music, the most inward of the arts, plays an important role in the play. The spirit, Ariel, uses it to cast spells on those who hear it, the music arising seemingly from nowhere. Ferdinand, hearing the invisible Ariel's song, says the following: "This music crept by me upon the waters,/Allaying both their fury and my passion/ With its sweet air." (Act 1,2 lines 392-294). This is magical music; it affects anyone who hears it. One gets the impression that Ferdinand is moved only while the music is playing; when it stops, he probably no longer thinks about it at all. This is in stark contrast to Caliban, who is deeply moved by music and always wants to listen to more of it. When Trinculo and Stephano hear Ariel's music, they are afraid. Caliban reassures them with the following words:
Be not afeared: the isle is full of noises,
Sounds and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ear; and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again; and then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me, that, when I waked,
I cried to dream again.
(Act lll, 2 lines 134-142)
This is a beautiful passage, and indicates the profound affect music has on Caliban. He not only hears Ariel's music while awake; he hears music in his dreams. It moves him so that he imagines that it can disperse the clouds and reveal the riches of heaven. No one else in the play is shown to have this profound inward relation to music. Caliban obviously has a very rich interior life, possibly more than anyone else in the play.
Another indication of Caliban's innate nobility is the fact that while the clown and the drunkard speak exclusively in prose, Caliban speaks in verse, a clear indication that Caliban is on a higher level. He makes a fool of himself--no one else in the play debases himself to the degree that Caliban does--but there are reasons that partially excuse his behavior; and, as stated previously, without any help from Prospero; guided by his own intelligence, he learns from his mistakes. No other character in the play undergoes an equivalent transformation.
Caliban is smart, Caliban is sensitive, Caliban has a rich inner life--not bad for someone who is subhuman.
4. The Raging Masochist
Caliban's life can be divided into three phases. First, the idyllic stage, when Caliban was instructed and cared for by Prospero; second, the precipitous fall, and third, at the end of the fifth act, the attainment of a new equilibrium. As the play begins, Caliban has already fallen from his privileged position and is treated like a slave. At this point, he has fallen from a mountain, as it were, onto a ledge, perhaps a third of the way down from the summit. It is a fall from heavenly innocence to earthly duress; he has further to fall, however--In the middle of the play, he reaches the lowest point in his life.
Act ll, 2, the scene of Caliban's humiliation, is one of Shakespeare's greatest comic encounters. This episode begins with the fallen subhuman's description of the torments he receives from Prospero by way of the invisible spirits of the island:
His spirits hear me,
And yet I needs must curse. But they'll not 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;
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 and adders, who with cloven tongues
Do hiss me into madness.
(Act ll,2 lines 3-14)
This amounts to torture; we begin the scene with Caliban in a state close to madness, which partially excuses his subsequent behavior. A second exculpatory factor is that Caliban has never seen any other humans except Miranda and Prospero; it is not surprising that Caliban would mistake the ridiculous duo of Trinculo and Stephano as being god-like, since Prospero had been the god, as it were, of his youth. Another factor that leads to Caliban's pathetic lack of judgment is that Stephano plies him with alcohol; this is his first encounter with the liquid which has been a major cause of unseemly behavior since time immemorial. The drunken Caliban acts like an idiot, and we're not surprised. All these, however, are secondary causes; the root cause of Caliban's self-abasement is rage, which distorts his judgment. His physical torment and mental anguish, for which he believes with some reason that Prospero is responsible, has broken his spirit. He is now hell-bent on the removal of the source of his torment; his passion now is to revenge himself by seeing to it that Prospero is murdered.
This desire is as irrational as it is immoral. Previously, when Prospero verbally abused him, Caliban, despite the threat of torment, gave Prospero as good as he got. Now he is willing to be the most debased slave imaginable, provided that Stephano follows his will and murders Prospero. (Note that even here Caliban's intelligence is not completely impaired; he quickly realizes that the jester, Trinculo, is indeed a fool and commences to worship only Stephano, the less ridiculous member of this ridiculous pair.)
I would like to call attention to the imagery of Caliban's self-abasement. One of the starkest demonstrations of social inferiority occurs when a man kisses another man's foot. One would think that kneeling before Stephano would be enough for him; Caliban, however, offers to kiss Stephano's foot not once, but four times:
I'll show thee every fertile inch o' th' island;
And I will kiss thy foot. I prithee be my god.
(Act ll,2 line 45-46)
I'll kiss thy foot. I'll swear myself thy subject.
(same scene, line 149)
How does thy honor? Let me lick thy shoe.
(Act lll,2 line 24)
And finally:
Do that good mischief which may make this island
Thine own forever, and I, thy Caliban,
For aye thy footlicker.
(Act lV,l lines 252-254)
The monster seeks disgrace too much. This very striking and very consistent imagery of self-abasement indicates that Caliban is now, to use a modern term, mentally ill. Once again, Shakespeare anticipates psychological discoveries that were to come centuries later. We would now call Caliban a masochist; underlying masochism, as psychologists assert, is anger. Caliban can't handle his rage; he eliminates himself, as it were, by becoming Stephano's 'footlicker'. He 'solves' his dilemma through fantasy--he imagines Stephano to be the god that will accomplish what the broken Caliban desires but cannot do himself. Caliban is relieved of his anxiety by projecting his rage onto Stephano; he eliminates his own self by creating an imaginary ideal self who will do his will. The prescient Shakespeare knew full well what we know now: masochism is much more about control than about abasement.
That Stephano, a god only in Caliban's fantasies, has become the latter's ideal self is readily apparent. Caliban, who had thought of himself as the rightful king of the island, now wants Stephano to reign in his place. Caliban, who is sexually attracted to Miranda and had wanted to create Calibans with her, now wants his new god to have her:
Ay, lord. She will become thy bed, I warrant,/And bring thee forth brave brood.
(Act lll, 1 lines 104-105)
When Stephano seemingly agrees to murder Prospero, Caliban is deliriously triumphant:
No more dams I'll make for fish,
Not fetch in firing
At requiring,
Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish,\
'Ban, 'Ban, Ca-Caliban
Has a new master: get a new man,
Freedom, high-day! high-day, freedom! Freedom, high-day, freedom!
(Act lll, 1 lines 176-184)
Freedom? Exchanging servitude for abject slavery is hardly liberation. Poor Caliban!
The tragi-comedy of Caliban's debasement approaches its climax in Act lll, scene 2. Caliban instructs Stephano as to how to murder Prospero:
Why, as I told thee, 'tis custom with him
I' th' afternoon to sleep; there thou mayst brain him,
Having first seized his books, or with a log
Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake,
Or cut his wesand with thy knife. Remember
First to possess his books; for without them
He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not
One spirit to command.
(Act lll,2 lines 86-93)
Notice that Caliban has not only lost respect for himself, but has also lost respect for Prospero. In Caliban's mind, the only difference between the two "sots" is the brute force that stems from the possession of magic books. Although Shakespeare, as we have demonstrated, gives reasons which help us understand Caliban's behavior, that behavior is nonetheless vile. We have reached the low point of Caliban's moral life. The climax of the comedy occurs in Act lV, 1. Trinculo, Stephano and Caliban approach Prospero's cell. Caliban tries to control and direct the action--Prospero's murder--in a way that mirrors Prospero's spectacular and successful attempts to control events. Ariel, the invisible spirit, foils Caliban's plans by putting "glistening apparel" on a tree. Trinculo and Stephano are diverted by these garments like little children. Caliban desperately tries to make Stephano stick to the plan, to no avail. It is interesting to note that Caliban, who is more capable than Stephano but doesn't know it, feels incapable of killing Prospero himself. His ideal self must do that. His ideal self, however, turns out to be an fool. It is too late for escape; Prospero, having been warned by Ariel, appears, foils the plot, and severely punishes all three. The stage direction is as follows:
A noise of hunters heard. Enter diverse Spirits in shape of dogs and hounds, hunting them about. Prospero and Ariel setting them on.
(Act lV, 1 immediately after line 254)
Poor Caliban!
5. Low-Caste Enlightenment
Shakespeare's Shakespeare of this play, Prospero, who has been directing much of the action like a playwright from the beginning, accomplishes his goal at the end of the play: reconciliation with former enemies and the imminent marriage of his daughter with the son of a king. The king of Naples, his brother, Prospero's brother, all of whom had been rendered immobile by Ariel's spell, are now, once again, able to speak and move, and are brought into Prospero's presence. He forgives Alonso, the king, who repents: "Th' affliction of my mind amends, with which,/ I fear a madness held me" (Act V, 2 lines 115-116). He is soon united with his son, Ferdinand, whom he had presumed to be dead, and introduced to his future daughter-in-law, Miranda. The happy ending of the fairy-tale portion of the plot has arrived. There are, however, examples of a less happy resolution. Prospero forgives his brother, Antonio, who had planned to murder him, with the following, understandably harsh words:
For you, most wicked sir, whom to call 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
Thous must restore.
(Act V, 2 lines 130-134)
How does Antonio, who has very much enjoyed political power and intrigue, react to this? We don't know; he remains silent for the remainder of the play. One assumes he acquiesces to Prospero's demand because he must; he most likely remains unreconciled.
The last loose end to be tied up is the fate of Caliban. The spirits in the form of hounds who have been pursuing Caliban, Trinculo and Stephano, are called off and the three are brought before Prospero. He introduces them to the rest with the following severity:
Mark but the badges of these men, my lords,
Thous say if they be true. This misshapen knave,
His mother was a witch, and one so strong
That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs,
And deal in her command without her power.
These three have robbed me, and this demidevil
(For he's a bastard one) had plotted with them
To take my life. Two of these fellows you
Must know and own; this thing of darkness
I acknowledge mine.
(Act V, 1 lines 267-276)
No forgiveness here--Prospero is as pitiless as ever to Caliban, even though he has forgiven his much more evil brother who had been guilty, without any exculpatory factors, of the same crime, attempted murder. And yet, although we presume that Antonio has remained unrepentant, Caliban has changed, even though no one else notices.
Shortly before the end of the play, as mentioned previously, Prospero orders Ariel to "set Caliban and his companions free"--that is, to call off the hounds who have been pursuing them since the murder plot was foiled. (I like to think that the hounds are, as it were, the hounds of hell, which inflict by far the most terrifying of all of Prospero's punishments. I suggest that it is the terror of an imminent, horrible death which drives out all the vanity from Caliban and makes him a new (half) man.) When Caliban is brought before the recently shipwrecked entourage--consisting of Antonio, Alonzo, Sebastian and Gonzago--he is amazed and says the following:
O Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed!
How fine my master is! I am afraid
He will chastise me.
(Act V, 1 lines 261-263)
It is very significant that this is the only time Caliban mentions his father, the demidevil Setebos. Caliban apparently now accepts his origin without bitterness. He doesn't pretend to be what he is not, one among "the fine spirits indeed." Note that he now refers to Propero as his master. He accepts this; there is no longer even a trace of anger in his demeanor. Prospero had been his master by force; now Caliban not only acknowledges his inferior status, but is in agreement with it.
Prospero, however, is still angry and addresses him with the following words;
He is as disproportined in his manners
As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell;
Take with you your companions. As you look
To have my pardon, trim it handsomely.
(Act V, 1 lines 297-299)
In the recent production of The Tempest which I attended, the inevitably white Prospero says these words to the inevitably black Caliban. He puts his hands on Caliban's shoulder, who is standing beside him; they give each other a broad smile. This is what the director wants, a Brechtian lesson of racial reconciliation. This is, however, not what Shakespeare wants and I view it as a bit of a desecration. Racial integration is one of the most important tasks of modern society, but that's not what is occurring here. (We must recall that Caliban is a unique "freak," a minority of one, and not a member of any other minority. To present Prospero and Caliban as having become friends and perhaps even equals is a ridiculous interpretation. No one who knows anything about Elizabethan language knows that "sirrah" is not the way one addresses one's equal--Not to mention Proserpo's harsh final words to Caliban: "Go to! Away!" (In this context, one might translate "Go to! with the vernacular, "Get the hell out of here!" Hardly the language one uses among friends!
After Prospero says the words quoted above, (lines 297-299), Caliban replies:
Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter,
And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass
Was I to take this drunkard for a god
And worship this dull fool!
(Act V, 1 lines 291-294)
Caliban might still be half beast, but he is no longer a raging half-beast. Since he is no longer blinded by anger, he no longer replies to Prospero's abuse with abuse of his own. Although he acknowledges Prospero as his master, he does not bow down and kiss Prospero's foot as he had done with Stephano. Prospero is more or less now his master teacher; Caliban no longer has a slave mentality and stands before Prospero like a man. Yes, Caliban remains and will always remain in a subordinate position; it is a low-caste enlightenment, but an enlightenment nevertheless.
One pities Caliban at the beginning, one despises him in the middle, and one admires him at the end. Shakespeare accomplishes this great transformation with a character that has fewer than 200 lines to say in the play. Shakespeare's depth and aesthetics are truly amazing!
Conclusion
What will happen to Prospero and Caliban? Perhaps it is not quite correct to imagine the lives of fictional characters after the play is over. Prospero and Caliban are so vividly drawn, however, that I can't help but imagine their future.
I don't see great happiness in store for Prospero as the general reconciliation at the end of the play might have us assume. His whole life was his daughter; she will soon be married and live far away. His magic was aimed at one thing: seeing to it that his daughter was happily and properly married. Losing her will be a kind of death. I think this is the source of Prospero's despair at the end of the play. (He states that when he returns home, "Every third thought shall be my grave," (ActV,1 line 312). He was never a good politician; now that he has abjured his magical powers; now that his brother probably remains unrepentant--both these facts will not make his return to Milan easy.
What about Caliban? If he is left on the island, he will be quite unhappy; he will miss humans greatly. If he is taken to Milan, which is likely, things will not be easy for him, either. Both the low-born Trinculo and the high-born Antonio view him as a commodity with which one can make a profit by charging people money to see him. He will have to accept it that many will view him as a freak. He will also be lonely. In Mozart's opera, The Magic Flute, the bird-man Papageno is given a Papagena. There will be no Calibana for Caliban. However, despite these burdens, I image that Caliban will be at least content, and happier than Prospero. He not only accepts himself for what he is, but vows to "seek for grace." You can't go wrong with that combination. I think, in time, Prospero will forgive him and, perhaps, even be fond of him again.
I view Caliban as the role model for those who, for whatever reason, are viewed by others as different, and who fail at "fitting in." Society is anything but kind to those who are different. Imagining that one has a higher status than one has, however, doesn't work for long; raging at those who are not only in a superior position but who treat one with disdain doesn't work either; accepting oneself for what one is and striving for grace, however, does work.
For me, among all the incredibly complex characters of the greatest writer that the world has seen to date, Caliban has a special place. I certainly do not view him as an oppressed aborigine; I view him as a man--half-man, that is--who had lived alone in paradise, (which never existed, but that's how Gonzago would see it); who then lived and learned from a great teacher who took pity on a monster (which is a distorted view, but that's how Prospero would see it); who then fell into the hell of abuse and rejection (which is partially self-caused, but that's not how Caliban would see it), and who finally reaches--that's how the audience should see it--a new stage of dignity.
Shakespeare's apparent "monster" proves to be profoundly human, even noble--good news for the Caliban in us all.
