Crumbs: Hamlet and Consciousness

The title to this blog involves two of my perennial interests, especially so when I was in college. Hamlet the Shakespearian play and Hamlet the character are each among my favorites in literature. Consciousness lists near the top of my curiosities in whatever field I happen to be reading at the moment, usually philosophy or theology or literature (I admit ignorance regarding psychology, which makes me an unequivocal layperson on the topic). Needless to say, Hamlet and consciousness overlap to a large degree.

Harold Bloom, a noted literary critic, regards Shakespeare as the inventor of the human (in literature) due to Shakespeare’s creation of Hamlet. Many people “see” consciousness in Hamlet, and this seems to be due to Hamlet’s soliloquies. Hamlet seems to demonstrate a keen self-awareness and disillusionment. It is little surprise then that many writers (Kierkegaard, Dostoevsky, Joyce, Sartre, etc.) of varying classes have been drawn to Hamlet, for Hamlet displays all the qualities of a self-aware individual. He is an excellent case study for phenomenology.

Consciousness is often proclaimed to be a mystery – Hamlet himself says so, and indeed it seems to be the case. It is elusive, and sometimes strikes me as a mere philosophical muddle that we are guilty of describing poorly and consequently consider it inscrutable.

There is a twist with Hamlet’s self-awareness. Walker Percy remarks on consciousness in general saying, “The paradox of consciousness is that the stranger we meet on the street and glance at for a second or two we see more clearly than we shall ever see ourselves” (“Is a Theory of Man Possible?”). Percy seems to be a bit facetious here, but there may also be some truth to his analysis. If Percy isn’t too far off the mark, then it is we the readers/hearers who see Hamlet more clearly than he could ever have seen himself; and yet we see him only with processes and patterns of thought that seem largely out of our control.

Hamlet is considered to be a self-aware individual, and yet he is mostly unaware. We see Hamlet, but we see him according to patterns of which we are unconscious. Are he and we interacting in an ambiguous Bermuda Triangle of the unconscious? But what am I saying?

When we “see” Hamlet’s consciousness and when we speak of consciousness in general, we should likely speak briefly of anthropology more generally, for what we are doing – when we are seeing Hamlet and speaking of our own consciousness – involves anthropological constitution. If it is accepted that humans are constituted by materials, then it might also be said that these materials working together create a synergy that produces what we often call “consciousness.” These materials are basically “unconscious.” This means that we humans, though you could say we are “conscious” beings, are largely “unconscious.” It is this immense “unconscious” side of us that paves the roads for consciousness and consequently has much to do with determining our patterns of thought, albeit not entirely because our contexts also seem to contribute to paving the roads for our patterns of thought but to this we indeed are also largely unconscious.

It may be the case in literature or philosophy that we consider the degree of a person’s self-awareness according the perspicacity of their phenomenology. And yet a portrait of a person’s phenomenology is only a single window into their dynamic being. And this single window only sees a product, and this product is seen only by a product. What is called “raw realism of subjectivity” is not raw (though “raw” may denote “less polished”); it is a polished product, polished by the seemingly unconscious materials that contribute to our constitution and by our context.

It is in part because we are largely unconscious beings that we need to practice habits, for it is with physical habits that have the potential to condition those “unconscious” aspects of who we are and consequently those conscious aspects of who we are that we contribute consciously to forming our unconsciousness. It is habits then that have the capacity to train us comprehensively. With habits we can train those tangible “unconscious” aspects of who we are, which contribute to that synergy that contributes to the rise of consciousness. It is difficult and elusive for “me” to discern the line between what is conscious and unconscious, for I find myself stumbling into habits of thought all the time, which seem random and largely unconsciously engendered. This would, I suppose, be an example of “slipping” into habits. However, I would contend that we need to learn to practice “intentional” habits of thought and behavior, lest we “slip” into detrimental habits, which have comprehensive ramifications.

This blog may seem as if I am going down a dead end road of materialism, which of course I am not. I have not said a word about God and God’s relation to humanity, which entails involvement of consciousness but does not require consciousness to be “immaterial.” Consequently, I have also not commented on the nature of spirituality, though spirituality also entails involvement with consciousness. Needless to say, speaking of consciousness as inadequately as I have done here does not insinuate nor necessitate a completely materialistic anthropology.

In this blog, I have spoken generally and as such rather vaguely, but I am merely emphasizing that we humans are indeed physical beings. This is obvious, but it is often (it seems) overlooked. We are quite physical, and as oxymoronic as it may seem, we need to become aware of just how unaware we actually are that we might use our infinitesimal consciousness to train our immense unconsciousness. If human consciousness is an ocean, then human unconsciousness is a galaxy.

Hamlet said, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” and I might add, “there are many things in heaven and earth, Hamlet, that give you dreams of philosophy.”