SARAH:  This stunning soliloquy is a complex meditation on at least two major themes:  our fear of the unknown nature of death and the tension between thinking and doing, between reflection and action.

RALPH:  Part of what’s so fascinating about it is the way Hamlet manages to interrelate these two themes.  Hamlet sees that his own reflections on the hardships of his life, and the possible alternative of ending those hardships through death, cause him to hesitate before acting.

SARAH:  Hamlet’s delay in seeking revenge, then, has to do with his own existential reflections about the mystery of the afterlife. And as valid as these reflections may be, it does rather seem like Hamlet’s having trouble keeping his promise to his father’s ghost.

RALPH:  Ah yes, when he swears that the ghost’s “commandment all alone shall live within the book and volume of his brain.”  It seems like there’s an awful lot of other stuff in that brain of his.

SARAH:  But this is precisely what makes Hamlet such a profound character – he seems to always see that his own life, and the concrete choices he must make, are related to the broadest and most difficult questions we face as humans.  He’s unable to stay grounded in his particular situation, constantly generalizing and seeing his condition as an example of the larger drama of existence.

RALPH:  And of course, one of the most disturbing elements of this larger drama of our life is how it ends:  What is death, and how can we know about this undiscovered country?

SARAH:  Hamlet’s tragic realization in this soliloquy is that you can’t simply push all of this out of your head, take action, and worry later about the big metaphysical questions – because how you act, what you do, depends precisely on what you think life – and death – are all about.

RALPH:  Ah, that reminds of something that’s been bothering me!

SARAH:  Yes, Ralph.

RALPH:  Sorry, it’s kind of a detail.  But it’s still been bothering me.  Isn’t it ironic that Hamlet describes the afterlife as “The undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns?” I mean, he’s  just been visited by his dead father’s ghost!  That seems like a traveler from the afterlife to me!

SARAH:  Good point, Ralph.  But does Hamlet really learn anything about death from his father’s ghost?  It seems all he learns about is what happened in the world of the living.

RALPH:  True enough. And frankly, that’s probably why we are so fascinated with the idea of ghosts coming back from the dead – precisely because a ghost would know about being dead.

SARAH:  Perhaps when Shakespeare wrote this amazing speech about the anxiety of “what dreams may come in that sleep of death”, he wasn’t thinking about Hamlet’s fears, but his own.

RALPH:  Sarah, one more thing. I know we just talked about whether or not Hamlet is considering suicide in this soliloquy, but I’m just not done with it yet.

SARAH:  Alright, Ralph, fine.  Go ahead.

RALPH:  Ok, look. In his first soliloquy, Hamlet was certainly seeming to consider suicide, or self-slaughter as he referred to it.  Right?  Ok.  So it’s not too far-fetched to imagine him returning to that question.

SARAH:  But remember that this first soliloquy occurred when Hamlet was thinking about his mother’s remarriage, and before his encounter with the ghost.

RALPH:  In other words, before he knew that Claudius had killed his father, and before he could have formed a plan for revenge.  Ok, fine.

SARAH:  Then the encounter with the ghost of Hamlet’s father might have eliminated Hamlet’s suicidal thoughts, and replaced them with thoughts of revenge.

RALPH:  Ah.  Well, Hamlet certainly became more energized after his conversation with the ghost; and in his soliloquy near the end in Act 2, scene 2, “Oh what a rogue and peasant slave am I,” his main concern is why he hasn’t taken action.

SARAH:  That’s right,  there’s no reference to suicide.

RALPH:  But surely Hamlet is referring to suicide later in this monologue when he says, “For who would bear the whips and scorns of time”, etc.  “when he himself might his quietus make with a bare bodkin?”

SARAH:  It seems likely – but we can’t be certain that Hamlet is thinking about his own suicide.

RALPH:  If not his, then whose?

RALPH:  Well, remember that Hamlet’s reflections are not just about his own situation – they expand into a meditation on the existential situation faced by all humans. His line about the bare bodkin could mean that almost everyone opts for a life of calamity, instead of suicide, because everyone is afraid of the uncertainty of the afterlife.

RALPH:  But we’ve been imagining here that Hamlet is both reflecting on his own situation while he is speaking to this larger human condition.  It would be a shame if Hamlet’s meditation stopped having to do with his own situation, wouldn’t it?  It should still come back to him, and make sense for his life, shouldn’t it?

SARAH:  Hmm, you’re right, Ralph, that does seem confusing. But to my min, that’s precisely the problem:  is he getting pointlessly lost in abstract concerns that simply further delay his plans to take revenge on Claudius? Hamlet himself seems to suggest that his philosophizing is making him a coward!

RALPH:  Well, Sarah, I think you’re kind of skewing this question towards the side that sees Hamlet as a coward.  You’re right that he says that conscience makes cowards of us all, but as usual, he’s being a bit too hard on himself.  And this philosophizing is actually crucial to what he must do – if it turns out that it’s simply not morally right to murder Claudius, even as revenge for King Hamlet’s murder, should he really do it?  I mean, eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, right?

SARAH:  Ralph, you’re more sympathetic to Hamlet than he is himself!  His father has literally come back from the grave to tell him to take revenge on Claudius, who’s clearly a horrible man, and you think that Hamlet should wander about for months, speculating on the nature of life, death, God and reality.  Sometimes I’m amazed that the audience has the patience for it!