Hamlet is Inhuman :: Shakespeare Hamlet

Hamlet is cold-blooded     Hamlet is inhuman. He has seen through humanity. And this inhuman cynicism, however justifiable in this case, on the plane of causality and individual responsibility, is a deadly and criminal thing. Instinctively the creatures of earth-Laertes, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, league themselves with Claudius they argon of his kind. They sever themselves from Hamlet. Laertes sternly warns Ophelia against her intimacy with Hamlet, so does Polonius. They are, in fact, all leagued against him, they are puzzled by him or reverence him he has no friend except Horatio, and Horatio, after(prenominal) the ghost scenes, becomes a queer shadowy character who rarely gets beyond Een so, my lord, My lord-, and suchlike phrases. The other(a) persons are firmly drawn, in the round, creatures of flesh and blood. But Hamlet is not of flesh and blood, he is a spirit of penetrating intellect and cynicism and misery, with out(a) credit in himself or anyone else, murdering his love of Ophelia, on the brink of insanity, taking wassail in cruelty, torturing Claudius, wringing his mothers heart, a poison in the midst of the vigorous bustle of the court. He is a venereal disease among men. And he is a superman because he has walked and held converse with dying, and his consciousness works in terms of Death and the Negation of Cynicism. He has seen the truth, not alone of Denmark, but of humanity, of the universe and the truth is evil. and so Hamlet is an element of evil in the state of Denmark. The poison of his psychical existence spreads outwards among things of flesh and blood, like acid eating into metal. They are helpless before his very inactivity and fall one after the other, like victims of an infectious disease. They are strong with the strength of health -but the goliath of Hamlets mind is a stronger thing than they. Futilely they try to get him out of their country anything to get rid of him, he is not safe. But he goes with a cynical smile, and is no sooner gone than he is ski binding again in their midst, meditating in graveyards, at home with Death. Not public treasury it has slain all, is the demon that grips Hamlet satisfied.