The sovereign story, as we're told

Political power in Coriolanus appears throughout the entire story as the protagonist navigates the political sphere during times of war and times of peace. However, the message these maneuvers send and the moral they are meant to impart remains obscured. Indeed, many details of the play are elusive, indeterminate, or complex. Critics have put forth opinions that Shakespeare was trying to get across his fascist, republican, democrat, socialist, or communist leanings1; whether it portrays a Rome that is a "world of bloody passion and the love of death" or "a theater for exemplary heroism"2; what the role the mother plays3; whether the plebeians, senators, or Coriolanus should have our sympathy; and, at the most basic level, whether the play is a tragedy or a satire4. The moral, not to mention the workings of the story's politics, remain in doubt. Throughout all this confusion, however, the consensus remains that heavy political elements run throughout Coriolanus. In order to make sense of all these disparate readings, it would be necessary to construct the political story of Coriolanus (as well as the political story of Coriolanus) through the evident movements of power between the story's entities rather than impose a particular framework like Marxism or fascism on the story at the outset, though those elements can be (and have been) found. While this type of analysis may or may not bring to light a particular set of morals or illuminate whether or not the story of Coriolanus is a tragedy or satire, it should uncover the figure of Coriolanus as an entity that is more than "a terrifying automatic warrior, the inhuman mechanism of destruction"5 and, as a result of the heavy historical influence of the play, give insight into the broader workings of a political system.

Impressing the traditional juridico-political system that posits a single sovereign onto the story of Coriolanus is, at the outset, difficult. Power does not rest within a single entity, but shifts constantly throughout several different parties, the most pronounced of these include Coriolanus, the senate, the tribunes, and the plebeians.6 There is not a strict, hierarchical governmental structure in the Rome of Coriolanus, but rather an institution given to dysfunction in its parts; as John Plotz points out, "no one knows who's in charge."7 The "populace is consistently presented as unstable, fickle, anarchical, deficient in vision"8 and the senators change their minds just as quickly as the people. Only Coriolanus remains true and constant. As Matthew Proser points out in "The Constant Warrior and the State":

To be brief, all parties are responsible for the disunity which occurs in the city of Rome, but Coriolanus remains that disunity's commanding symbol (this, perversely enough, because of the kind of "constancy" which results in his treachery). At the same time, it is he who gives us, in an off-hand way, a recognition of his true function in the state.9

Proser points out that the main issue between Coriolanus and the rest of the Roman entities is not necessarily a "terrifying automatic warrior" against a generally peaceful Roman body, but a singular person with a constant story against a non-unified Roman institution without a constant story, a body Coriolanus labels as the "many headed multitude"10 The political struggles could then be said to be struggles between stories and the individuals or groups of individuals that embody those stories.

The state of the Roman government in the Coriolanus story closely resembles Foucault's sketch of the operations of power. Society Must Be Defended outlines the traditional theory of power that Foucault questions in his lectures:

In the case of the classic juridical theory of power, power is regarded as a right which can be possessed in the way one possesses a commodity, and which can be transferred or alienated, either completely or partly... .11

He brands this theory of power as an "economic" way of looking at power, as something more akin to a contractual relationship. In his lectures on power, Foucault then goes on to outline a "non-economic" version of power:

We have, first of all, the assertion that power is not something that is given, exchanged, or taken back, that it is something that is exercised and that it exists only in action. We also have the other assertion, that power is not primarily the perpetuation and renewal of economic relations, but that it is primarily, in itself, a relationship of force.12

Of the two definitions, the Rome of Coriolanus more closely mirrors the latter view of power. Power in the story may be viewed as a right granted through legitimacy—such as Coriolanus' successful war record, the Tribunes' election by the people, or the people as the foundation of Rome—but it does not move between entities as though it is a divine unquestioned right. The political structure of Rome lacks an absolute sovereign and is as "many headed" as its masses: the senators, plebeians, and tribunes all vie for power that expresses itself through their actions and, more important, through their words, the stories they tell. Plotz points out this feature of  power in Coriolanus, stating:

All the characters in Coriolanus are aware, underneath, that the linguistic games they are playing are fraudulent, that their talk is half to deceive others and half to keep themselves comfortably numb to their own motives: only Coriolanus says out loud what others keep under their hats.13

The inhabitants of Rome show the movements of power through their language and speech acts producing stories or truths that attempt to draw others in. These truths seem to be, as Foucault points out, "linked in a circular relation with systems of power which produce and sustain it, and to effects of power which it induces and which extend it. A ‘regime' of truth."14 They are not truths that are "true" per-se, but truths that are more like stories, believed to be true through logic, persuasion, or deception.

In Coriolanus, the story of Rome—as either the steadfast, bold, and strong State Coriolanus sees it as or as the shifting State that gives precedence to the plebeians' desires—is the story the inhabitants fight over. Both Coriolanus and the rest of the Roman denizens purport to be asserting the correct version of Rome. However, Coriolanus' constant story, built through his actions, are wrongly seen by the general Roman population and critics as self-interested.15 Instead, he is dedicated to his own idea of Rome and unwilling to give into any other interpretations. Defending his position against his mother, Coriolanus states that he "had rather be their servant in my way/Than sway with them in theirs."16 With this statement, Coriolanus puts his position into words that are easily taken the wrong way. It would seem that Coriolanus is saying that if he were to gain power, he would ignore the requests of the people of Rome in favor of his own ideas, but in actuality he is affirming his dedication to the idea of Rome and the necessary place of a ruler to do what's best for the country. He places both himself and the people underneath the power of the story of Rome that does not rest in an entity, but outside of individuals. His actions back this statement up, as when he refuses any of the spoils from his victory at Corioles:

I thank you general;
But cannot make my heart consent to take
A bribe to pay my sword: I do refuse it,
And stand up my common part with those
That have beheld the doing.17

By refusing a material reward, Coriolanus reiterates his intentions not for individual power or wealth, but for service to his version of the Roman story. He says that his actions are "common" with "those/That have beheld the doing," placing himself not above the plebians who see tyranny in his words, but on the same level. Coriolanus' words and actions adhere to a story of Rome, but are constantly misunderstood and, as a result, "the Rome in which Coriolanus finds himself is political in the worst sense of that word. Shakespeare envisions a continual war of each against each."18 This continual war is carried out not only on the literal battlefield, but also in the metaphoric sphere of the political when he returns home. Through this constant misunderstanding, Foucault's assertion that "politics is the continuation of war by other means" emerges, along with hints that even in an apparently non-unified political environment, a dominant entity akin to Agamben's notion of the sovereign actually does exist.19

Coriolanus and the general population of Rome (Menenius and, to a certain extent, Volumnia excluded) may be at "continual war with each other," but a dominating power does exist in the form of the dis-unified senators, tribunes, and plebeians who constitute the dysfunctional story of Rome. Even though they are often at odds with each other, they still have the power to deny Coriolanus the consulship and expel him from the city. The question is always whether or not to allow Coriolanus to be a part of this dis-unity.

Retaining the power to assimilate or expel Coriolanus, dysfunctional Rome is able to make Coriolanus (a singular person) the object of political power through disciplinary processes (expulsion, refusal of the consulship). Through this process, dysfunctional Rome acts in the same manner as Agamben's State, the persistent sovereign power that "corrects, or at least complete[s]" Foucault's notions of power.20 Looking at Rome as a State in Agamben's sense of the term also brings other important clues that will illuminate the political workings in the story and show how the dominating story/sovereign is able to manipulate power through inclusion and exclusion in the political sphere.

For Agamben, modern politics, taking the form of biopolitics, no longer exercises its power over legal subjects. Instead, it focuses on living beings and "life itself has been brought into the realm of the mechanisms and calculations of power."21 Biopolitics "is politics concerned with man's everyday natural life, with issues such as health, leisure, and working practices," an indistinction between bios (the "form of life proper to an individual or group") and zoë ("the simple fact of living").22 As Agamben sums up:

...the most specific traits of twentieth-century biopolitics: no longer either to make die or to make live, but to make survive. The decisive activity of biopower in our time consists in the production not of life or death, but rather of a mutable and virtually infinite survival."23

Even though Agamben (and Foucault) locates biopower as a distinctly twentieth-century phenomenon, he still argues that there has always been an element of life as the object of politics. Modern biopolitics, then, "fulfills the potential of its origin in turning against that origin"; the categories of the ancient political schema had life as their focus, even though it was ostensibly to protect a realm of life, and thus set the stage for all life to be politicized.24 Some critics have even argued that the division between bios and zoë was not originally as defined as Agamben makes it out to be.25 Regardless of how specific the originary division between these terms, applying the notion of biopolitics to Coriolanus provides a reading that not only helps to make sense of the plot, but also of political structures in general.

This idea of biopolitics as the power that has as its goal "to make survive" also includes, or rather shows itself through, the idea of the homo sacer. Drawing upon Roman law, Agamben defines the homo sacer as the figure occupying this area of indistinction between bios/zoë. The homo sacer "is situated at the intersection of a capacity to be killed and yet not sacrificed, outside both human and divine law."26 Able to be killed by anyone, the homo sacer is kept alive only through the graces of the State that concerns itself with the non-political (e.g. medical, leisurely, economical) aspects of life. Included physically in the State and dominated by it, the homo sacer is also excluded from the State in the sense that it can be killed without punishment.

A number of different instances of inclusion/exclusionoccur in Coriolanus: the people excluded from senate's debate about corn even though they are included physically in the repercussions of that discussion; Coriolanus physically exiled from the city and people still continue to talk about him; Menenius included in the political sphere, but excluded from membership in both the plebeians and the patricians; etc. Throughout the story, however, there is only one entity that is "killed without being sacrificed" and constantly included and excluded from the story of the State: Coriolanus.27

Coriolanus then becomes a story not about the dangers of political power in the hands of the masses or the methods of dictators, but a story about the production of power through the creation of homo sacer and the different sites of dominating forces.28 At the beginning of the play, in Act I Scene I, Coriolanus' position within and without the Roman State story becomes apparent. The people rise up against him for denying them corn. Though Coriolanus has done great things for his country a large part of the population want to kill him for his transgression over the corn.29 The defense of Coriolanus (Caius Martius at this point) as a hero to his country is evidence of his inclusion through his deeds, but the people's desire to kill him is evidence of his exclusion from the political process as a whole. During this peacetime, Coriolanus has no immediate purpose for the Roman political apparatus, so he can be killed without consequence.

The people do not kill Coriolanus at this point, however, because of two factors: the intervention of Menenius and the announcement of war with the Volscians. In the first instance, Coriolanus is re-inserted into the story of Rome. An outsider, partially absorbed and partially unabsorbed by the Roman story, Coriolanus does not begin to get re-assimilated until Menenius' belly speech. He becomes fully re-absorbed into the story when news of the Volscian attack reaches Rome.30 Reinstilled with a purpose, Coriolanus cannot be sacrificed, temporarily losing his status as homo sacer.

When the battle ends and Rome proves the victor, Coriolanus is again thrust into the realm of the homo sacer, a metaphoric inclusion/exclusion followed by an actual act of inclusion/exclusion. In the first instance, Coriolanus enters the town to the praise of the citizens.31 He shows his modesty and debt to Rome as the important entity by refusing to take any of the spoils of war:

I thank you, general;

But cannot make my heart consent to take
A bribe to pay my sword: I do refuse it,
And stand upon my common part with those
That have beheld the doing.32

With these words, Coriolanus (still Martius at this time) positions himself as part of the larger body of Rome, those "that have beheld the doing," and takes no reward because the victory was not in self-interest, but for Rome. Though he is included in Rome with this refusal of a reward, he does consent to take on the name "Coriolanus," a reminder of his part in overcoming the town of Corioles. In this act of naming, Coriolanus becomes perpetually linked with a town that is not only outside of Rome physically, but an enemy, a direct affront to Rome. Every time anyone speaks of Coriolanus, he reaffirms the link between Coriolanus (Martius) and an enemy of Rome. At this point, Coriolanus' fate as homo sacer is sealed. He never again becomes a part of the Roman story.

The actual act of inclusion/exclusion occurs in Act 3, Scene 3 when Coriolanus ultimately refuses to court the graces of the plebeians and, being spared death, is instead thrown out of the city. He cannot yet be killed because, as Menenius and Cominius remind the people, his function within the State as a soldier has not entirely disappeared and he cannot be killed without sacrifice. To put Coriolanus into a position where he can be sacrificed, he is banished from Rome, a literal exclusion from the community. Coriolanus still holds the belief that his story of Rome is the correct one and, thus, remains oriented towards Rome, still retaining a mental presence within the State that has excluded him.

After his banishment, Coriolanus becomes a refugee. He is not stateless (still belonging to and oriented towards Rome), but cannot return to his state. Wherever Coriolanus goes, he is a refugee, a "denizen" in the sense of Agamben and Hammar.33 In any place he decides to dwell, he no longer carries the rights of a citizen and, as Agamben asserts:

...that is when human beings are truly sacred, in the sense that this term used to have in the Roman law of the archaic period: doomed to death.34

As the rest of the story of Coriolanus shows, he is indeed doomed to death. A s soon as he is expelled, Coriolanus goes to the Volscians and joins with Aufidius to march on Rome.35 This march on Rome proves to be Coriolanus' last attempt at re-inserting himself in the story of Rome, but from a state of exclusion, the state of homo sacer. His attempt falls short when his mother convinces him not to destroy Rome.36 Unable to re-assert himself into the story of Rome, Coriolanus remains homo sacer and a refugee in Volsces. As a result, Aufidius and his conspirators are able to kill Coriolanus in the last scene without any repercussions.37 Coriolanus dies, at last as a refugee, a homo sacer.

It would also be possible to see Coriolanus as a metaphoric refugee constantly attempting to become a full citizen throughout his stay in Rome. In a sense, he is stateless as well, since the Rome built through his story does not match up to the current Rome. Only during wartime can he become a citizen, but when the war is carried out through politics, Coriolanus shows no interest in being assimilated into the new, peacetime national identity.38

This archaeological investigation of the movements of power throughout Shakespeare's play would not necessarily mirror an analysis of the historical account. However, it does put a framework into existence—Coriolanus as a refugee and homo sacer—that could call into question the primary texts that relate the story of Coriolanus. Through looking at how the production of stories "produces" Coriolanus as the homo sacer in the Shakespearean play, a doubtful shadow is thrown over the historical Coriolanus in Plutarch and Livy and further analysis of the originals could be rationalized. The questions would then arise: Is it possible that the historical Coriolanus is not a citizen of Rome? Is the position of the refugee within Western society always one of an exclusive inclusion that cannot be covered up through even a skewed historical account?

The answers to these questions can begin to be uncovered (and already have) through documents written in the early part of the twentieth century that question the historical figure of Coriolanus. As E. T. Salmon (through Mommsen) points out, there are a number of factors that would destroy any notion of the story being true:

First, it is incredible that the Volsci would either choose a renegade Rome to be their general, or, even if they did, allow him at the last minute to rob them of the fruits of victory. Secondly, inconsistencies in the version of the story which we possess induce us to suspect its historicity; for example, Dionysius of Syracuse is made to send corn to the starving Romans—yet Dionysius lived some hundred years later; a youthful Coriolanus is represented as having considerable influence in the senate—yet most senate meetings were held in secret; Volsci are allowed to attend the ‘ludi' and to met at the Spring of Ferentina—yet in the fifth century none but Latini could do this; the Roman Marcius is given an honorific cognomen, Coriolanus, because of his behaviour at the capture of Corioli—yet such cognomina were not granted until the third century or even later and even then only to the general and not to the subordinate...39

Salmon also points out that there are many similarities to Greek legends and the sources give different versions of the story. Amidst all of these questionable parts of the Coriolanus story, Salmon, quoting Last, says, "That the figure of Coriolanus contains a kernel of truth is certain."40 This kernel of truth is brought out when "we refuse to believe that Coriolanus was a Roman," in which case "all the absurdities disappear, for they are all concerned with his life at Rome."41 Instead, Salmon reads Dionysius and Fabius Pictor and comes to the conclusion that Coriolanus was most likely a Volscian.42

This historical analysis reflects the evidence found in Shakespeare's Coriolanus, placing the figure Coriolanus in the position of the refugee, a non-citizen resident of Rome. The difficulties Coriolanus has fitting into the story of Rome death as homo sacer at the hands of the Volscians would then be explained because he is an actual, historical refugee in addition to occupying a metaphoric refugee status. From this, the original conclusion—Coriolanus not as a great Roman warrior that is a bad leader, but as an individual with a story that differs from the dominant story—would hold true. More important, this historical outlook combined with the evidence in the Shakespearean account would show that incongruous facts among many accounts—fictional, historical, and from several time periods—are the bits of information that can be pieced together to reveal the true workings of a system and illuminate how power and the production of truth operates in those systems.

Works Cited

Agamben, Giorgio. Homo Sacer. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998.

——. Means Without End. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2000.

——. Remnants of Auschwitz. New York: Zone Books, 2000.

Campbell, Oscar James. "Shakespeare's Satire: Coriolanus." Twentieth Century Interpretations of Coriolanus. Ed. James E. Phillips. New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1970. 25-36.

Chare, Nicholas. "The Gap in Context: Giorgio Agamben's Remnants of Auschwitz." Cultural Critique 64 (2006) 40-68. Project MUSE. New York University Library, New York, NY. 1 May 2008.

Dubreuil, Laurent. "Leaving Politics: Bios, Zoë, Life." Diacritics 36.2 (2006): 83-89. Project MUSE. New York University Library, New York, NY. 1 May 2008.

Enns, Diane. "Bare Life and the Occupied Body." Theory and Event 7.3 (2004). Project MUSE. New York University Library, New York, NY. 1 May 2008 < http://ezproxy.library.nyu.edu:2115/journals/theory_and_event/v007/7.3enns.html>.

Foucault, Michel and Colin Gordon. Power/Knowledge. New York: Pantheon Books, 1980.

Foucault, Michel et.al. Society Must Be Defended. New York: Picador, 2003.

Norris, Andrew. "Giorgio Agamben and the Politics of the Living Dead." Diacritics 30.4 (2000): 38-58. Project MUSE. New York University Library, New York, NY. 1 May 2008.

Rabkin, Norman. "Coriolanus: The Tragedy of Politics." Shakespeare Quarterly 17.3 (1966): 195-212. JSTOR. New York University Library, New York, NY. 1 May 2008 < http://www.jstor.org/stable/2867716>.

Phillips, James E. "Introduction." Twentieth Century Interpretations of Coriolanus. Ed. James E. Phillips. New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1970. 1-14.

Plotz, John. "Coriolanus and the Failure of Performatives." English Library History 63.4 (1996) 809-832. Project MUSE. New York University Library, New York, NY. 1 May 2008 < http://ezproxy.library.nyu.edu:2115/journals/elh/v063/63.4plotz.html>.

Proser, Matthew. "The Constant Warrior and the State." College English 24.7 (1963): 507-512. JSTOR. New York University Library, New York, NY. 1 May 2008 < http://www.jstor.org/stable/372876>.

Salmon, E. T. "Historical Elements in the Story of Coriolanus." The Classical Quarterly 24.2 (1930): 96-101. JSTOR. New York University Library, New York, NY. 1 May 2008 < http://www.jstor.org/stable/636594>.

Shakespeare, William and Philip Brockbank. Coriolanus. City: Arden, 1976.

Notes