Something Ventured in the Merchant of Venice

The Merchant of Venice embodies the fervor and excitement surrounding the birth of modern capitalism. And while it’s easy to look back with our revisionist goggles and identify Shylock as an early modern Gordon Gekko (their very names ooze sleaze), it’s important to see that everyone within the play is trying to capitalize on someone else, and that it works out just dandy for most of them. 

In order to understand this orgiastic embrace of capitalism, some context might be helpful. The play is centered in Italy, but at this time the most profound shifts in technology and society are occurring in Britain (I say this offhand, but I’ve read David Landes’s Prometheus Unbound, damn it, and he goes beyond insisting Britain’s status as the alpha and omega of early modern society). As such, there is a radical societal shift occurring moving people from the periphery to the center, to cities, and these cities are exploding as a result of one concept: capital. The formulation of a financial system based on speculation and interest created the first forms of venture capitalism. This unique moment in history represents a rupture with the past, a rupture with slow growth (or stagnation) for centuries. I’m not going to say whether this is good or bad, but in its earliest days it was all consuming.

One of the most significant outcomes for the individual in modern capitalism is the concept of upward mobility. With few exceptions, a person’s place in society pre-1500 was unlikely to change. However, In Shakespeare’s era we begin to see a modicum of fluidity in society; a fluidity concentrated in the classes of people above peasants and serfs, and below royalty. These are tradesmen, merchants, businessmen, etc. In The Merchant of Venice, this segment of society has yolked ambition and opportunism. 

While Shylock can certainly be considered something of a villain, he serves a larger societal purpose. He is opportunity—the financial locus of the play. None may get to the kingdom of riches except through him. To this end, he functions almost as a non-human entity. A bank of sorts. We can observe this even in the way he disposes Antonio, saying, “I hate him for he is a Christian; / But more, for that in low simplicity / He lends out money gratis, and brings down / The rate of usance here in Venice” (I. III. 43-45). Like any major financial entity, Shylock is endowed with personal prejudices (recall 2012’s Chic-Fil-A scandal, where a company owner’s personal beliefs became a public matter), but ultimately his largest issue with Antonio is how he effects the interest rate on loans. Meanwhile, Antonio is averse to any relations with Shylock, knowing that the dealings will not, in fact, be based on any morality, but rather on the impartiality of a contractual agreement. Nonetheless, Antonio will agree to the deal to help Bassanio achieve his ends. Portia will likewise try to capitalize on her inheritance, cashing in before it is her due, and doing so in a way which bends the obligations of her familial contract. 

None of this is meant to discount the clash of Christian and Hebrew culture. Antonio bears slight echoes of Jesus ousting the money changers, but ultimately everyone is attempting to gain something from the process.