H o w t o R e a d L i t e r a t u r e4 8The theatre can teach us some truth, but it is the truth of the
illusory nature of our existence. It can alert us to the dream- like
quality of our lives, their brevity, mutability and lack of solid
grounds. As such, by reminding us of our mortality, it can foster in
us the virtue of humility. This is a precious accomplishment, since
much of our moral trouble springs from the unconscious assump-
tion that we will live for ever. In fact, our lives will meet with as
categorical a conclusion as the end of The Tempest. This, however,
may not be as dismaying as it sounds. If we were to accept that our
existence is as fragile and fugitive as that of Prospero and Miranda,
we might reap some advantage from doing so. We might cling to
life in a less white- knuckled way, and so enjoy ourselves more and
injure others less. Perhaps this is why Prospero, rather strangely in
the context, urges us to be cheerful. The transience of things is not
wholly to be regretted. If love and bottles of Châteauneuf- du- Pape
pass away, so do wars and tyrants.
The word ‘character’ nowadays can mean a sign, letter or symbol
as well as a literary figure. It derives from an ancient Greek term
meaning a stamping tool which makes a distinctive mark. From
there it came to mean the peculiar mark of an individual, rather like
his signature. A character, like a character reference today, was a
sign, portrait or description of what a man or woman was like.
Then, after a while, it came to mean the man or woman as such.
The sign that had stood for the individual became the individual
herself. The distinctiveness of the mark became the uniqueness of
the person. The word ‘character’ is thus an example of the figure of
speech known as synecdoche, in which a part represents the whole.
This is of more than merely technical interest. The shift from
character as the peculiar mark of an individual to character as the
individual himself is bound up with a whole social history. It