Parent-Child Relationships in The Merchant of Venice

Introduction: The Parent-Child Dynamic in Literature and Drama

The parent-child relationship is deeply complex, and given the combined factors of biological and social imperatives, it represents a nearly universal dimension of human experience. This does not mean, of course, that all parent-child relationships are the same — far from it. There are cruel parents with kind and obedient children, permissive parents with unruly and uncontrollable ones, and parents who grant as much freedom as they can but whose children still find a major way to rebel. These are just broad brushstrokes typifying a few of the most basic types of family dynamics. The various manifestations and iterations of familial relationships — especially those between a parent and child — have been a major and recurring focus of literary and dramatic texts.

All My Sons stands as one example from modern American drama, as does Arthur Miller's other great work, Death of a Salesman. Both deal largely with the struggles that arise between sons and a father who is not only an imperfect being but may in fact be deeply and profoundly flawed. Yet Miller by no means created nor cornered the market on filial disappointment.

In one of Shakespeare's best-known works, The Merchant of Venice, several parental and pseudo-parental relationships are explored as major constituent parts of the play's overarching plots. It is the connection between parent and child, in its various manifestations, that lies at the heart of each individual story and drives the action toward its final convergence. The actions of both parents and children, in their respective roles, are necessary for the momentum of the play. But these relationships are not employed by Shakespeare as mere devices serving only as motivation for larger schemes. While the text upholds the duty of the parent to the child, it is conspicuously ambiguous in asserting the reverse claim.

Launcelot Gobbo and Old Gobbo: Disrespect and Class

One particularly striking example of the father-son relationship in The Merchant of Venice comes in Act II, scene two, when Launcelot Gobbo, servant to Shylock, meets his near-blind father on the street. Old Gobbo is searching for his son, and his deferential attitude toward Launcelot — whom he assumes to be of a higher social rank — instantly evokes a kind of pity for the old man. Instead of revealing himself right away, however, Launcelot toys with him, first insinuating that his son is dead and may in fact have been murdered. He does not even do this in a straightforward manner; rather, he is obviously playing with the old man's emotions for the sheer enjoyment of it: "for the young gentleman . . . is, indeed, deceased; or, as you would say in plain terms, gone to heaven" (II, ii, lines 55–59). His speech is full of anything but plain terms, and this treatment of his father reveals a definite lack of respect.

Old Gobbo, meanwhile, seems genuinely eager to help Launcelot in any of his endeavors. When the two happen to meet, Launcelot has just decided to leave Shylock's service and seek employment elsewhere. As they are talking, Bassanio happens along, and old Gobbo does his best — which is, admittedly, not very effective — to speak his son into the gentleman's service. He shows a clear interest in his son's welfare, which stands in direct contrast to his son's treatment of him. When lamenting his son's supposed death, Gobbo refers to Launcelot as "the very staff of my age, my very prop" (II, ii, lines 60–61). Launcelot responds, "Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a staff, or a prop?" (II, ii, lines 62–63). Though he is still joking to some degree, his flippant attitude toward his father's fears reveals the lack of concern and respect he bears for the elder generation.

It might be assumed that, given the importance class played in Shakespeare's time and in his scripts, this scene is meant to indicate a lack of moral worth in the lower classes — to which Gobbo and Launcelot, as servants, belong. The rather low sense of duty and morality Launcelot displays here could be read as a reflection of his social standing. This reading is consistent with the opening monologue of the scene, in which Launcelot debates the morality of running away from his master Shylock, who might be understood as a secondary father figure. Interpreting Launcelot's flaws as a matter of class is complicated, however, by the way he is portrayed alongside Jessica. His relationship with Shylock's daughter appears to be one of absolute devotion and honorable loyalty — suggesting that his character is not wholly flawed in matters of fidelity, but rather that he simply does not feel a particular duty toward his own father.

Jessica and Shylock: Betrayal and Filial Duty

Jessica, in fact, mirrors Launcelot to a large degree. Her own devotion to her father does not run especially deep. As Shylock bids her to lock up the house while he is away, she already knows she is planning to run away and steal a large portion of his wealth — yet she shows not the slightest sign of her impending treachery. It is only at the very end of the scene, when she is alone onstage, that Jessica says to her father's retreating back: "Farewell; and if my fortune be not cross'd, / I have a father, you a daughter, lost" (II, v, lines 57–58). During the scene of her actual flight and theft — for which Launcelot is present — she mentions her shame at being dressed as a boy, but expresses no shame whatsoever regarding the theft itself or the betrayal of her father.

Launcelot's loyalty to Jessica, set against his disrespect for his own father, and Jessica's betrayal of Shylock without apparent remorse, together suggest that the play's treatment of filial duty is selective rather than universal — shaped by personal affection and social allegiance rather than by any absolute moral code.

Portia and Her Deceased Father: Obedience and Reward

There is only one instance of genuine filial devotion in this play, and that is Portia's loyalty to her deceased — and therefore mercifully absent — father. He has devised a test to determine her husband, and though it is made clear from the outset that Portia would much rather choose a husband on her own terms — preferably terms built on love and equality rather than male dominance and possession — it is equally clear that she fully intends to respect her father's instructions and abide by the rules of the test. Though she complains to her handmaid Nerissa that "so is the will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father," she accepts Nerissa's reassurance that "Your father was ever virtuous; and holy men at their death have good inspirations; therefore, the lottery that he hath devised . . . will, no doubt, never be chosen by any rightly, but one who you shall rightly love" (I, ii, lines 21–22; 25–30).

Though she shows obvious reluctance to obey her father's will, Portia ultimately decides that it is her duty as his daughter to uphold his final wishes. As it turns out, things work out best for Portia — and for Bassanio and Antonio — precisely because of that decision. Her obedience is rewarded in a way that neither Launcelot's irreverence nor Jessica's betrayal could be.

Works Cited

Frye, Northrop. "The Argument of Comedy." Shakespeare, Russ McDonald, ed. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2004.

Shakespeare, William. The Merchant of Venice. New York: Folger, 1997.