My mum and I have a tradition where we’ll go down to Stratford (Ontario) two or three times a year to watch Shakespeare in the theatre. We’ve seen some great ones: Hamlet, Much Ado About Nothing, and (a wonderful parody of Shakespeare) Something Rotten. Personally, I’ve always loved Shakespeare’s tragedies the best, but I’ve come to develop a love for his comedies. In particular, there was one we saw recently, As You Like It, which struck me as a play for our times.

As You Like It follows the adventures and encounters of a group of exiles cast out from their homeland by a usurping Duke who, in this version, had also overthrown and exiled his ruling sister, the Duchess (originally Duke Senior in the text). He was an especially foul character when he appeared on stage—who I absolutely loved to hate—and he was often accompanied by guards dressed in military gear carrying rifles. (This was a modernized version of the play.) The grim and gloominess of his dukedom was always apparent, as was its stark contrast from the forest of Arden, which had become a new home for those whom he’d exiled.

I don’t want to spoil much of the story, but I shall relate to you one scene (Act 2, Scene 7) that struck me as especially beautiful. The young Orlando, an exile, is wandering through the forest with his loyal servant, who is on the verge of death from starvation. Moved to help his companion, he goes looking for food, and stumbles upon the camp of the Duchess and her companions. He threatens them for food, to which the Duchess says, “Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.” Relieved and perhaps amazed by this act of generosity, Orlando issues forth a heartfelt reply:

Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you.
I thought that all things had been savage here,
And therefore put I on the countenance
Of stern commandment. But whate’er you are
That in this desert inaccessible,
Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time,
If ever you have looked on better days,
If ever been where bells have knolled to church,
If ever sat at any good man’s feast,
If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear
And know what ’tis to pity and be pitied,
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be,
In the which hope I blush and hide my sword.

A world that treats human beings like animals will make them into animals. Having previously struggled under the viciousness and tyranny of others for the circumstances of his birth, you might understand why Orlando is, at first, so defensive. And yet his imposing outburst repaid with generosity by the Duchess’ rustic, woodland community. Likewise, though they have “seen better days”, the trauma of their exile doesn’t reduce their capacity for kindness. They are not pushovers, though perhaps they understood best what Christ meant by “turn the other cheek”.

Interestingly, we hardly see the Duke in the second half of the play. After the first half, my mum remarked that she didn’t think it was a comedy, but the second half saw Shakespeare’s humour in full force. There’s a bit of mischief, amorous deception, and of course a wedding or two before we see it all end happily. Again, I don’t want to spoil too much, but I think this point bears mentioning: they don’t dwell on the wickedness of their enemy. Despite their tough circumstances, they forge a path forwards regardless, building their own communities and relationships.

Now, what has this to do with any of us today? Shakespeare’s stories, I’d argue, are timeless precisely because they are so irrevocably human. There has not been an age that has seen not persecution, nor wickedness, nor destruction. The suffering and struggling of human beings is one of the pre-eminent concerns of philosophy and theology. How do people cope with such circumstances? Do we have any hope, or is life destined to be “nasty, brutish, and short,” as Hobbes opined?

That’s why the spirit of this play is ultimately a hopeful one. Particularly in our day, where we’re witnessing the growing popularity of fascist and far-right movements, it’s easy to lose heart. One philosopher, Franco “Bifo” Berardi, even wrote an entire book about the uptick in depression as disengagement from our civic and social world. However, Shakespeare does not content to give us theory or doctrine. Instead, we see our many characters find joy even amidst their struggles, and this is perhaps the hope we need: to believe in our fellow human beings and our capacity to work together in building a brighter future.

So, remember these, the words of the Duchess to Orlando:

Your gentleness shall force
More than your force move us to gentleness.