A Case of Unfair Proportions: Philosophy in Literature

The degree of his actual ugliness is still difficult to determine. Various sources tell us that he was short, that one of his arms was smaller than the other, that his legs, too, were of unequal size, and that his shoulders were disproportionate. We are also told that he was not merely crook-backed, but had a “mountain on his back,” and that his face was ugly, that he was a crab-faced impotent who was born feet-first and toothed. The historical soundness of this description has been challenged many times. But whether or not it constitutes an adequate description of the historical Richard III is unimportant for the purpose of an aesthetic exploration of the psychological links between alienation and villainy, and even less so for a philosophical inquiry into a literary presentation of ethical skepticism. What is significant for such an undertaking is close scrutiny of the details with which a literary work configures a context that permits a uniquely powerful presentation of a conceptual claim. ¹

Moral experience through literary works has become a focal point of much discussion into the relations between philosophy and literature. ² The attractiveness of the idea partly lies in the way in which it can accommodate and justify the belief that greater comprehension of philosophical concepts requires literature. The challenge that faces proponents of this approach is to suggest ways by which to avoid conceiving the connections between moral experience and fiction solely through general or programmatic terms. Most of this paper will be devoted to a detailed investigation into the characterization and motivation of Richard III. My broader theoretical aim is to use these details in order to point to one avenue by which the specifics of the connections between the rhetoric of literary texts and philosophical response patterns can be explored.

Let us call “ethical skepticism” the position according to which there are no compelling reasons for choosing morality. There are other terms that have been used to designate this position (meta-ethical skepticism, amoralism, immoralism, and so on), and there are other kinds of ethical skepticism (verities of relativism). But for our purposes the ethical skeptic is one who answers negatively the “Should I be moral?” question. Ethical skeptics can put in practice such a rejection of morality in two ways: they can simply ignore ethical considerations, or—more palpably—they can challenge morality through choosing immoral conduct. In Shakespeare’s terms the second option would amount to willfully choosing villainy, a theme that he explores in Richard III. ³

“Exploring a philosophical theme through literary means” can mean various things. One can try to “confirm” or “refute” a position by, for example, showing how an agent who chooses it flourishes or is made to regret his choice. ⁴ If he would have chosen such routes, Shakespeare could have “taken sides” in disputes concerning skepticism, a position which gained considerable strength in Renaissance theological and intellectual polemics. ⁵ The subtleties of Shakespearean rhetoric, however, cannot be reduced to such simple modes of contact with a conceptual position.

Richard’s Justification of Evil

When the atrocity of an action is itself considered an advantage, the notion of evil suggests itself strongly. Richard’s justification of his actions in the opening soliloquy of Shakespeare’s The Tragedy of King Richard the Third is unique in that, unlike Edmond, Iago, or Macbeth, for whom villainy at least appears to start off as a form of revenge or as instrumental for future gain, Richard finds merits and pleasure in the villainous action itself and chooses it as such. ⁶ How exactly this is marshaled becomes apparent from a scrutiny of his opening soliloquy:

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this son of York; And all the clouds that low’r’d upon our House In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, 5 Our bruised arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums chang’d to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visag’d War hath smooth’d his wrinkled front...