Christopher Marlowe
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Customer Reviews:
Total reviews: 2
Average rating: 4.0 of 5
Barabas, Scapegoat of Greed 4 out of 5 stars.
4 of 8 people found this review helpful.
Similar to Shakespeare's commercial epicenter, Venice, Malta bubbles with the primordial ooze of modern business. As David Thurn says, "The Jew of Malta may be understood as symptomatic of one phase in the prehistory of capitalism." Among other modern business practices, during the Italian Rennaissance, accounting found a rebirth and in the 16th century became common practice. By the end of Barabas's opening scene, Malta seems as globalized as today's economy. Malta is strategic to vilifying the Jew. Barabas is a merchant working the water hub of the Mediterranean, and like an overseer of a distribution center, squares his assets with his liabilities down to the last silverling. He dislikes accounting his petty cash, saying, "Fie, what a trouble `tis to count this trash!" (1.1.7). His irritation resonates today; like Barabas, large modern firms do not bother with accounting entries below certain dollar values, because of two reasons: time and money. Before "heaps of gold," Barabas hoards his money, and the characterization broadcasts the grossest kind of cartoonish greed, like that of Ebeneezer Scrooge. Instead of entrepreneurial visionary, we see a miserly, selfish, abominable grotesque of greed. Barabas awaits his incoming ships, which creates a striking similarity to Antonio in The Merchant of Venice. However, more important than the mood of the merchant is his religion. The motivation of the Christian merchant seems to be the common good, while the Jew works strictly in self-interest.
Like other great villains, Barabas keeps a master inventory of other people's weaknesses. It is a terrifying joy to watch a great villain arrange characters into annihilating arrangements. He has no qualms holding scripture in one hand, a knife in the other, as he explains to Abigail, "religion / hides many mischiefs from suspicion" (1.2.283). To get revenge with the government, he looks past Ferneze to his family, to Ludowick. In a disturbing introspection, Barabas tells what he has learned from years of oppression under the Christians.
We Jews can fawn like spaniels when we please;
And when we grin we bite, yet are our looks
As innocent and harmless as a lamb's.
I learned in Florence how to kiss my hand,
Heave up my shoulders when they call me dog (2.3.20-24).
Years of gross condescension and abuse taught Barabas cunning deceits, but that unfortunate education assists his revenge. Like an effective salesperson or manager, rather than lash out, he knows how to keep bridges intact, at least until he can ignite a blaze on his own terms. He knows to hold his tongue when provoked, to stoop in subordination when helpless, and to attack along appropriate avenues when the hour is right.
Before revenge clouds his judgment, Barabas opposes violence and has no political aspirations. Violence leads to temporary gains: "Nothing violent / Oft have I heard tell, can be permanent" (1.1.131-132). A surprising insight comes from his statement where he admits a preference for Christian rulers, saying, "Give us a peaceful rule, make Christians kings / That thirst for so much principality" (1.1.133-134). He prefers to stay in the shadows, behind the halls of government and the public eye. This adds to his Machiavellian persona, and almost indicates that the Christians are his puppets, who play childish games of glory while he stockpiles wealth. This is a wonderfully evil notion, and here another mapping could be made to Enron, industrial deregulation, and greed. Those in positions of government perceive control, but in effect take the risk for the real operators beneath them.
It is both exciting and nefarious to watch. Yet Barabas forgets his aversion to violence and political power. By the end of the play, he's slashed and burned his way to the governor's seat, and suddenly a high-profile bureaucrat, seeks to profit from his office and then magnanimously defer power back to Ferneze. Blinded by his successful raging revenge, once in power Barabas sees the danger: "I now am governor of Malta. True, / But Malta hates me, and in hating me, / My life's in danger" (5.2.29-31). Worse yet, he tells himself, "by wrong thou got'st authority" (5.2.35). Now he's pinned behind his earlier comment about the temporality of violence, and he cannot undo his power so easily. Instead of looking up at power, he is looking down, and now it is his weaknesses that are highlighted to the world.
Editorial Review:
Prejudice, the intricacies of Mediterranean politics, and Machiavellian strategy abound in this masterpiece of Elizabethan theater. The eponymous character in this suspenseful drama, a prototype for Shakespeare's Shylock, schemes desperately against Christian and Moslem hostility to cling to his wealth, his status, and his daughter.
