The Merchant of Venice is a play about insincere people, Christian and Jew alike ...

The Merchant of Venice: Shakespearean Insincerity

By Sean Fitzpatrick

Insincerity in people is recognized as a problem, which is why Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice is recognized as the “problem play.” The Merchant of Venice is a play about insincere people and, therefore, it is problematic. It is a drama that has duped audiences for centuries, posing as full of pure lovers, wise women, and noble friends—but this is not the case. The play pretends to be pure, wise, and noble but at its heart it is dark, deceitful, and devious. The only honest creature on the boards is the villain, who declares his villainy openly even he poses as what he is not. The insincerity of these famous characters, so often praised and revered, makes The Merchant of Venice rare and raw material for Lenten meditation. There is nothing more important in this time of spiritual springtime than to come to a sincere appraisal of self and remove the waxen masks every person is wont to wear.

Enter Antonio, the “noble” merchant of Venice, with pathetic complaints and manipulative lies. He claims to be unaccountably and incurably sad—which Gratiano, speaking as the infallible Shakespearean fool, insists is a mere show of gravitas. Though Antonio assures Salarino and Salanio that lack of money is not the cause of his depression, as soon as the wastrel Bassanio enters begging for further benefactions, Antonio claims he has no available moneys. Hearing Bassanio has fallen in love with the richly-left Portia, Antonio suggests that they borrow from the Jew, Shylock. Why support such frivolous passion? Why give the prodigal—one who admits he is in the habit of assuming a greater show of wealth than his means can supply—further funds? Does Antonio find strange pleasure in having Bassanio in his debt? By which debt, perhaps, he buys a false, sycophantic “friendship?” Is this friendship?

Enter Portia, the “virtuous” heiress of Belmont, who immediately speaks in prose rather than verse (a sign of low character in the world of Shakespeare’s stage), complaining how weary it is to be virtuous. She and her maid, Nerissa, review the harshness of her father’s dying wish that her marriage be determined by a lottery: every man seeking Portia’s hand and fortune must choose rightly between three caskets of gold, silver, and lead. For a so-called virtuous girl, Portia admits to tampering shamelessly with the riddle to avoid men whose aspect does not please her. But when she learns that the assembled undesirables wonder if she might be won by some means other than the caskets, she adamantly upholds their system and her father’s will. Then, with the announced arrival of the Prince of Morocco, she wrinkles her nose, insisting she would not marry such an ugly man even if he had the soul of a saint. Is this virtue?

Enter Shylock, the only “honest” one in the play because he is the only one to speak his heart to the audience and disclose his duplicity before enacting it. Even in his hypocrisy of seeming friendship, Shylock is a straight speaker, asking Antonio why he should loan money to one who has abused him for his religion and race, recalling how Antonio has called him cut-throat dog, kicked him, reviled him in public, and spit in his beard and on his Jewish gabardine. After tense discussion, Shylock lends Antonio the money for Bassanio’s quest, securing the penalty of a pound of Antonio’s flesh. Shylock presents this penalty as a joke—as a price impossible to pay and therefore to be interpreted as a sign of goodwill. Shylock seals this bond and thereby sets the scene for legal murder, smiling through to the moment of revenge, though his being retches with hate for Antonio and his Christian humbuggery. Shylock is not ethical. But he is, in a sense, honest.

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