One of the clearest memories which I retain from my high school days is from the time when my English Literature class was studying William Shakespeare’s Macbeth. A few of us remarked how much we were relishing “the Scottish play”. Our teacher, a most avuncular and kindly fellow, assured us that if we thought Macbeth was impressive, we should wait until we experienced Hamlet, which in his estimation was on a different level altogether.
That little interlude stayed with me in the ensuing decades. However, I never got around to reading Hamlet, much to my regret. Until recently, that is. As part of an effort to re-acquaint myself with Shakespeare, I read the play in its entirety.
My tentative verdict is that Hamlet is one of those works which demands repeated readings before its full philosophical and emotional depth can be appreciated. I find that one of the “perils” of reading Shakespeare is that one becomes so bound up and captivated by the rich and sinuous wordsmithery that some of the subtexts can slip through the cerebral net. Hamlet, with its sweep and ambition, is a case in point.
Some of the character traits and themes which I was led to believe played a central role in the tale seemed barely discernible on this first visit. Hence my suggestion that further readings should draw out the morals and nuances in the story. It will be nice for the numerous strands of Hamlet to fall into place. When they do, I will perform a knowing smile and a nod of approval, an acknowledgement of the portent of that exchange in a dusty classroom almost three decades ago.
This all served to remind me of the functions which aspects of our education fulfill at differing stages of our lives. In early adulthood, I was more concerned about the leverage to be gained by those little pieces of paper which the authorities called “certificates”, awarded to signify how well my powers of memory had coped in a hot and uncomfortable hall on a nerve-racking June morning. Eventually, after a prolonged period of “sleepwalking”, I became aware that for practical purposes, these adornments had actually counted for little, and less tangible “soft skills” were more desirable, the type with which schools don’t necessarily equip us.
As my life has unfolded, I have cultivated a healthy cynicism about much of the “advice” and counsel which I was given during my time in school. However, a few selected teachers did seem to have genuinely altruistic motives, going out of their way to share their enthusiasm for their subject, and not just blandly going through the professional motions.
Other than the aforementioned English tutor, there was a music teacher who exuded a genuine passion for his subject, which he was eager to transmit to us. It was only twenty-odd years later that the seeds of my love for classical music, planted back then but hitherto dormant, germinated and flourished. At an earlier stage, another teacher constantly sought to impress upon his pupils the importance of discarding our “blinkers” and appreciating the things around us, particularly nature and architecture.
It is perhaps significant, heartening even, that in among the morass of “knowledge” which was acquired and almost as quickly stagnated, those nuggets of encouragement still shone brightly. When and if we step off the treadmill, they are there to be picked up and harnessed, to genuinely enrich our lives. I don’t remember calculus and algebra helping me to savour beauty, humanity and creativity…..
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