Caliban & Miranda

Like Othello, Caliban is a character who is always being characterized/acted upon by others. We first meet him indirectly,  through Prospero, as “Caliban, my slave,” and Miranda as “a villain, sir” who she “do[es] not love to look on.” The very first words that follow his name brand him as a slave and villain. This identification of the character through the descriptions of others continues when he meets Trinculo and Stefano. Act II provides us with a deluge of  nouns with which Caliban is designated: fish, islander, dead Indian, devil, savage, a present, cat, servant, moon-calf, subject, and most often, monster. His identity transforms from that of an animal to something supernatural to a definitive and lesser “other.” Stefano and Trinculo never once affirm Caliban as a man, (indeed when Trinculo utters the word in relation to him it is followed by a question mark and Stefano’s use of it is “man-monster”), while Caliban only identifies himself as such when he’s addressing Prospero, telling him to “get a new man” -- meaning get a new slave. The word’s signification, then, is changed when applied to him: it does not mean “man” as in “human being” but “man” as in servant, as in being who is able to be bounded. (Caliban also calls himself Cacaliban; where does his name come from? Did Sycorax give it to him, or is it something Prospero imposed on him?) The irony of Trinculo associating Caliban to an animal (and the play’s general characterization of him as being close to nature, which is illustrated through his willingness to show both Prospero and Stefano how to live on the island) is that Caliban is being tortured and tormented by that very nature. Prospero uses the supposed abundance of the island--which Gonzalo fantasizes will sustain his utopia of idleness--and animals/nature (apes, hedgehogs, adders) against “his slave”  in order to control him.    
Caliban’s dehumanization is highlighted by the fact that both Trinculo and Stefano immediately see him in terms of profit: Trinculo affirms that if he were in England he would display him so that he could fetch “a piece of silver” and even though Stefano does not mistake him for an animal he still understands that “he shall pay for him that hath him, and soundly.” Both commodify him, both immediately recognize him for the profit that can be derived from him and so his ownership of self never even has the chance to be questioned--he is immediately and always belonging to others. Their fascination with Caliban’s body (“Legged like a man and his fins like arms!” “some monster of the isles with four legs”) and their insistence on displaying him for scopophilic fulfillment in return for monetary gain recalls the historical practices of early modern England, where natives would be brought over to the motherland to be ogled and marveled at, which in turn reminds me of the popularity of travel narratives in the 18th century. In fact, much of this play is reminding me of Robinson Crusoe, a text that was written over a hundred years later.
Like when Antonio remarks that “past is prologue,” Trinculo’s and Stefano’s interactions with Caliban are constrained by the past: they act towards him the way they know their fellow Englishmen have acted in similar situations. Likewise, Caliban’s past experiences with Prospero dictate his interactions with the two fools. He only knows Prospero as someone who exerts power over him, someone who hurts him. When the two fools don’t hurt him, then, they are comparably much better thanProspero--they are gods, and if they are gods and he already serves Prospero, then the only relationship he can have with them is also one of servitude. Interestingly, while everyone else in the play is trying to attain power, Caliban at first seems to be giving power/submitting to it by calling Stefano his god. A closer look will reveal that he may actually be doing the exact opposite: by calling Stefano his god he rejects Prospero and establishes his own agency. Also, he’s using Stefano to get rid of Prospero (“Revenge it on him”); he’s so far been unable to kill Prospero and now he wants this newcomer to do it for him. This is emphasized by how he gets his “god’ to punish Trinculo. He uses a kind of divide-and-conquer technique with the two, wherein he allocates more power to Stefano, thereby giving Stefano the right to enforce that power over Trinculo, as evidenced by when he demands that Stefano “give him blows/And take his bottle from him,” which makes Trinculo lower in hierarchy than even Caliban. As subject he must show deference to Stefano, but as leader/King, Stefano has responsibilities he must see to, the same responsibilities that Prospero ignored when he was Duke of Milan, and the same responsibilities Gonzalo hilariously divests himself of in his utopia. It makes me question Stefano’s claim that “His daughter and I will be king and queen.” If Caliban would not allow Prospero to own the island, then would he allow Stefano? I cannot help but notice how much “monster” sounds like “master.”

Both Caliban and Miranda are subject to Prospero. While Miranda calls him “father” Caliban calls him “master” and the only thing that keeps the two words from being synonyms is that Prospero pets one while he tortures the other. Just as he determined Caliban’s relationship with Stefano and Trinculo, he determines Miranda’s relationship with Fredinand. He doesn’t simply determine it, he orchestrates it. What is most disturbing about their relationship is that Prospero controls her desire (like Oberon did to Titania in AMND) and  she is not free to relieve that desire ("At mine unworthiness that dare not offer/What I desire to give, and much less take/What I shall die to want.”) Like Caliban, Miranda has tangible worth. She is valued for her virginity and she is aware of it: “my modesty, the jewel of my dower.” But how did Miranda come to value her “modesty” so? Was it because Caliban tried to rape her? That certainly colors it, but I believe it is also because Prospero taught her to value it. We have been emphasizing how Miranda has taught Caliban to speak and how that is in effect a way of controlling his identity and his worldview. But who taught Miranda? She was a baby when she came to the island. Prospero taught her. Prospero gives language to both Miranda and Caliban, and like his paradoxical relationship with Ariel in which he sets him free only to enslave him again, his “gift” allows his Miranda and Caliban to speak while simultaneously marking them as living within the world he's constructed. Their language is a tool of both subjugation and insubordination. Caliban curses as a way to lay claim to a language that is not his own; Miranda does the same by disobeying her father by giving her love to Ferdinand. It is a hollow claim on her part, because in the end she is simply doing as he wants her to, but the crucial fact is that she remains unaware of this; in her mind she really is rebelling against him. Unfortunately she seems to be establishing another disturbing relationship with a male in which she’ll either marry Ferdinand or "die [his] maid." He has similar sentiments for her, and I have to ask, is there no way to express love without making oneself subservient to the loved one?

Throughout the play it is Caliban who is portrayed by various characters as “the other.” However, they also recognize him as a native of the island. Caliban insists that the island is his, that Prospero stole it from him. If when we are in England foreigners who come to the country are made to be others, then why is it that on this island the foreigners who arrive are still the norm against which the native is measured? Should not Prospero, Miranda, Stefano, etc, with their initial ignorance about survival on the island and their preoccupation with the world outside of the island be the “others” in The Tempest? Or does the island remain simply a representation/metaphor for England itself?