Shakespeare & the Danger of Entertaining
Thy mother’s of my generation. What’s she, if I be a dog?
“Your Mother’s of my generation. What’s she, if I be a dog?” — Timon of Athens, Act I, Scene 1, Lines 232-233.
Naturally, I must follow the fart joke of The Comedy of Errors with the ‘Yo Mama’ joke of Timon of Athens. But, lest I be accused of not providing quality intellectual content, I do offer a tip to decipher this multi-layered quote. Given the hearer’s mother is likely a woman, what do we call female dogs?
I hope you enjoyed that moment of levity, because this week’s play is dark, embittered, and hopeless. No, it’s not King Lear (we’ll get there eventually), it’s Timon of Athens (Note: Pronunciation is Tye-Moan not Teh-Moan like the cartoon meerkat).1 It’s unclear when it was written with academics proposing dates as early as 1604 to as late as 1613.2 It was included in the First Folio printed in 1623, but some suggest it was only included because of a gap created by rights issues over the inclusion of Troilus and Cressida (more on that eventually). Which given how demoralizing it is, I’m not sure I’d blame an editor for leaving it out. There is also persuasive evidence that the play was a collaboration with Thomas Middleton and, historically, people have held Shakespearean collaborative works in lesser esteem.
Hmmm… collaboration. I suppose that means it’s time for my favorite sermon entitled: All Shakespeare is a Collaboration. I’m going to attempt to not get too controversial in case you’re reading this before your morning coffee, but the gist is that Shakespeare wrote plays for a company of artists and the majority of the plots of those plays came from pre-existing works. The idea of Shakespeare as the solitary genius devising the entirety of these plays from scratch is made up. He collaborated with his source material. He collaborated with his company. And yes, occasionally, he collaborated with other poets and playwrights.
And that’s amazing.
Clearly I love the works of William Shakespeare (some more than others, let’s be honest). My idea of a fun time is putting together an irreverent newsletter analyzing the plays in the hopes of convincing more folks that Shakespeare is really cool. And to me, his virtuosity in collaboration just makes him all the cooler.
But enough hopeful thoughts about humanity. Time to descend into misanthropy.
The Shake-Scene
The play begins in the Athenian marketplace where a poet and a painter wait to ply their wares on Timon of Athens. A jeweler and a merchant arrive, also hoping to sell to Timon. Finally, our titular character enters amidst a fanfare, and we are immediately shown how gracious and magnanimous he is.
The stage directions say he addresses himself courteously to every suitor. He’s mid-conversation with a messenger who has told him a friend is imprisoned for being unable to pay his debts. Timon readily pays the debt so the man may go free. Then, another man comes complaining that Timon’s servant is courting his daughter but cannot match the dowry. Timon pays the money to match the dowry and the couple is allowed to marry. Then, he buys the poet’s poem, the painter’s painting, and the jeweler’s jewel.
But lest we the audience expect this to be a hopeful morality play about virtue of generosity, a dark cloud blows in to dim the festivities in the form of Apemantus. He knows that people are terrible and tries to warn Timon. He roasts the assembly of people like an ancient Athenian Bill Burr or Lewis Black. His insults range from harsh to lascivious,3 but no one heeds his warnings. He’s portrayed as a fool, but as any experienced theater-goer knows, the fool only speaks truth. Finally, we next meet Alcibiades. A real-life Athenian politician and military commander, and contemporary of Socrates. Timon invites this collection of society into his home for a feast.
At this feast, Timon continues to throw away money like the lead singer of an 80s hair band on a yacht. He forgives loans, gives gifts, and stages an elaborate play with Cupid and Amazons (the ancient Athenian corollary to a hotel rager with playboy bunnies and illicit substances). Apamantus continues to deride human nature. Everyone else is having a literal ball. Except for Flavius.
Poor Flavius.
Flavious is Timon’s servant and keeper of the books. He knows that Timon is nearly out of money and should not be living so lavishly. He wants to warn Timon not to continue giving jewels to his friends, but doesn’t think Timon will listen even if warned.
A few of Timon’s “friends” give him gifts of horses and hunting dogs. But Apemantus offers only truth: these friends flatter him because of his money, and, when they can no longer profit off Timon, they will no longer be friends.
And so it comes to pass.
Later, an Athenian Senator computes how much money Timon owes him and decides to collect. He sends his servant to demand payment. And he isn’t the only one. Various men arrive at Timon’s door, shaking their bills and demanding money. Apamantus roasts the usurers, while Flavius updates Timon on his tenuous financial position. Timon is shocked. He suggests all his land be sold! But it already has been. So, he sends his servants off to all these people for whom he’s done favors and bought gifts, assured that they will help him in his time of need.
He’s wrong.
These false-friends welcome Timon’s messengers with open arms when they think they’re bringing gifts. And slam the door in their faces when asked for money. Passing strangers condemn Timon’s “friends” and praise Timon, but praise don’t pay the mortgage. All of his creditors gather at Timon’s gates. He rages at them, daring them to cut out his heart and take his blood. But his distress does not stave the tide of demanding bill collectors. He yells “Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon you!” and leaves. The bill collectors, sure Timon has lost his mind, leave for the night.
Alone, Timon devises a plan. He invites everyone back to a large banquet. Flavius also worries he’s lost his mind, but Timon assures Flavius that he and his cook shall provide.
As we wait to see the results of Timon’s banquet, we check in on Alcibiades. Remember him? He’s a politician and commander of an army whom Timon once entertained. Now, he stands before the Senate of Athens, pleading them not to put one of the soldiers in his command to death (he just committed a little manslaughter, I mean… c’mon). His honor had been challenged and he fought the other man to the death. Alcibiades pleads for mercy, outlining this soldier’s feats of valor and imploring the Senate to at least let the man have an honorable death in battle. But the Senate has made up its mind, the soldier dies. Even so, Alcibiades does not abandon his compatriot. Perhaps there’s a theme here? Idk, I’m just a Shakespeare nerd. Instead, rather than let the man die, Alcibiades enrages the Senate to the point that they banish him. He takes his army and leaves Athens.
Now for a pro-tip: In ancient times where an army is more loyal to its general than its country, don’t banish the general without just cause. Remember Coriolanus? B
But back to Timon (nope, still not the meerkat). Everyone has gathered for this great feast. They banter about how they knew the whole ‘Timon needs money’ thing was a hoax and daydream about the great food and gifts that surely await them. Timon enters, teasing them with visions of rich food and offering a scornful prayer to the gods that ends ‘For these my present friends, as they are to me nothing, so in nothing bless them, and to nothing they are welcome.’ He then bids his guests to ‘Uncover [their dishes], dogs, and lap.’4
And once the dishes are uncovered, there is revealed only water and stones.
He berates them for their unfaithfulness to him. He attacks them, throwing water in their faces. He drives them from his house. And, once outside, his ‘friends’ are worried about their caps and their cloaks, not their destitute friend. They wander away.
Pro-tip 2: If you ever want to be *really* petty with someone that owes you money, Timon offers superior hosting tips to Martha Stewart.
But, man cannot live on justified rage and pettiness alone. So, Timon banishes himself to the woods. And, on the way out, he curses the woods. His servants split up the pennies left among themselves and go off to seek new employment.
Once settled into the woods, Timon, intent on eschewing humanity and all of its trappings, digs for roots. And finds gold. Ain’t that always the way? Well, Timon has now seen what it like to have gold and to need gold, and has decided that humanity is… well, I’ll let him tell you:
“Come, damnèd earth [i.e. the gold],
Thou common whore of mankind, that puts odds
Among the rout [disastrous defeat] of nations, I will make thee
Do thy right nature.”
Meaning, the man that used wealth to court his friends will now use this gold to destroy them. And, lucky for him, Alcibiades arrives with an army and a grudge. At first, Timon berates Alcibiades for “showing me again the eyes of man!” [There are, in fact, no therapists in ancient Greece and even fewer in the woods outside]. Alcibiades then asks his name and he says ‘Mysanthropos’ because Shakespeare is not always subtle. (Hint: ‘Misanthrope’ is defined as ‘a person who dislikes humankind and avoids human society’). But he can’t fool Alcibiades who recognizes him and offers him gold (bit late on the gestures of friendship, alas). Timon declines the gold and Alcibiades mentions he’s off to raze Athens. This, Timon is interested in. Assured that Alcibiades is intent on destroying Athens, Timon gives him some of his newly-found gold and sends him off with glee. He also gives some money to the sex workers traveling with the army… different time and all that… *whistles past.*
Once that caravan departs, Apemantus arrives to gloat about being right about people and to coerce Timon to return to the city. But Timon isn’t having it. Apemantus hasn’t lost what Timon lost. He flatters Timon for being embittered, and Timon is done with flatterers (alas, Apemantus is not our Pumba). They quarrel—
TIMON Where feed’st thou a-days, Apemantus?
APEMANTUS Where my stomach finds meat, or rather where I eat it.
TIMON Would poison were obedient and knew my mind!
APEMANTUS Where wouldst thou send it?
TIMON To sauce thy dishes.
There truly are a lot of sick burns in this play. If you ever want to convince a sixteen year old boy to read Shakespeare, this might be the one.
Timon throws a stone at Apemantus. Apemantus, fed up, agrees to leave but threatens Timon that he will tell everyone of his golds so everyone comes to him. Ugh, people. Am I right?
Then, thieves arrive. Timon gives them gold without a fight. He instructs them to go to Athens and rob and loot and destroy. The thieves take the gold but are so off-put by Timon’s hatred of humans that they decide to give up thieving.
Finally, Timon’s right-hand-man (not Hamilton, Flavius) arrives. Flavius weeps to see Timon and offers him the little money he has. Timon is touched and declares that Flavius is the one honest man. He gives Flavius some of his gold and bids him to avoid humanity.
But, alas, even then Timon cannot find peace. Word is out about his gold and soon the poet and painter arrive seeking money. He listens in on their conversation where they devise ways to flatter him into giving them gold. He is once again convinced of the horrors of humanity. He promises them gold… if they’ll kill each other. And then he drives them away.
But the parade of horribles continues. The Senators have convinced Flavius to bring them to Timon, to beg Timon for gold to stop Alcibiades’s attack. They send him greetings and he offers to send them plague. Talks devolve from there. The Senators plead that Athens will fall and people will die. But Timon repeats his refrain: “I care not.” The Senators give up and begin to leave, but Timon seems to relent. He gives a long speech about the kindness he will show on the Athenian people, which culminates in this offer: “Tell my friends . . . come hither ere my tree hath felt the ax, and hang himself. I pray you, do my greeting.” He then goes off to die.
The Senators return to Athens and tell all there is no hope. They open their gates to Alcibiades and surrender. Alcibiades’s terms are that he will stop his siege and only kill his enemies and those of Timon. A soldier then brings him a rubbing of Timon’s headstone and Alcibiades reads it.
Here lies a wretched corse [corpse], of wretched soul bereft.
Seek not my name. A plague consume you, wicked
caitiffs [contemptible persons] left!
Here lie I, Timon, who, alive, all living men did hate.
Pass by and curse thy fill, but pass and stay not here
thy gait.
And so the play ends with Alcibiades walking into Athens and promising peace. And Timon dead and alone.
I really wish there was some fun or hopeful thing to leave you with in this play. But there isn’t. King Lear is often thought of as the most disheartening play. But I think it’s this one. No one is changed for the better or redeemed. Everyone is made worse. And everyone dies. King Lear shows us that there is hope that hardship will change us for the better. Timon of Athens shows us the other side, that people who don’t wish to change, won’t. No matter the cost. The Senators, the poet, the painter, and all, still don’t see how they’ve destroyed the innocence of Timon. Sure, they die as a result, but is that really a just result?
Speak the Speech, I Pray You
Bring Shakespeare’s words into your own life by:
Shouting it at the car behind you that keeps honking at you even though there is clearly nowhere for you to drive forward;
Using it to pick a fight at a football game (yay! football is back!);
And… Retaliating against that Gen Z who dares call you a ‘Boomer’ (even though you’re clearly a Millennial):
Additional Resources
Find a copy of the entire play here.
Read about the real-life Alcibiades here.
Cheer yourself up by watching Timon & Pumba do the hula.
But, given that The Lion King is a re-telling of Hamlet and the meerkat and his friend the warthog were cast out of society, perhaps there is some overlap after all…
See The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works, page 1097.
There’s a truly delightful exchange between Timon and Apamantus at Act I, Scene 1, Lines 234-241, if you come here for the bawdier side of Shakespeare.
There’s a lot of dog slander in this play. Very rude.