70 pages • 2 hours read
Lin Manuel Miranda, Jeremy McCarterA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
The opening line of the musical, rapped by Aaron Burr, is a musical motif that repeats in variations throughout the score, each time introducing his narration of Hamilton’s next steppingstone into self-advancement, both personally and professionally. The lyrics evolve over the course of the musical, but they’re almost always insulting. Burr, who comes from a wealthy, respected family, keeps watching enviously as Hamilton succeeds where he doesn’t. Burr asks Washington to consider him for the position of aide-de-camp, only to discover that he has already called for Hamilton to offer him the job. Hamilton goes on to become Washington’s surrogate son, and he still doesn’t seem to appreciate it, expressing jealousy over Burr’s command on the battlefield. Burr flirts unsuccessfully, however flippantly, with Angelica during “The Schuyler Sisters,” and later sees Hamilton win the affection of not only Eliza but Angelica as well. Burr’s frustration grows as Hamilton’s law career takes off and surpasses his, and when he sees Hamilton going into a private dinner to make high-stakes backroom deals that affect the creation of the country, while Burr is perpetually left out. Burr compares himself to Hamilton because having a respectable family has always signaled privilege. Even when he admits that Hamilton is a great writer, Burr is preoccupied with the question of how someone without his pedigree and upbringing can be so much more successful than he is.
The repeated motif of their differing families, level of refinement, and respectability relates to the symbol of nascent America and the developing notion of the American Dream. One of the reasons that Hamilton is so invested in the idea of America and the American Dream is because it’s his only hope to rise up by virtue of what he can offer as an individual rather than riding the privilege of familial wealth. Of course, generational wealth and familial respectability create undeniable privilege both in the contemporary world and within the world of the play. In “Cabinet Battle #2,” for instance, Jefferson sneers that Hamilton “smells like new money, dresses like fake royalty. Desperate to rise above his station, everything he does betrays the ideals of our nation” (192), suggesting that ambition is un-American, as if inheriting wealth is more legitimate than accumulating it through work and ingenuity. The American Dream describes the foundational premise that America is a meritocracy, and anyone can succeed based on their talents, abilities, and work ethic, regardless of their background or origins. However, the contempt for Hamilton based on his parentage and the newness of his fortune suggests that these values aren’t upheld by those who are shaping the country. Hamilton might be uncouth and sometimes obnoxiously outspoken, but his lack of refinement works against him and leads others to have prejudice against ideas that Jefferson and Madison both agree are brilliant after he’s dead.
Hamilton introduces this recurring motif in “My Shot,” in which Hamilton delivers an enthusiastic, quick-fire rap about seizing every shot, or opportunity. For Hamilton, who was stuck in the Caribbean with no money or family, the community around him saw his potential and offered him a shot at a better life by paying for him to go to New York. Even poor and hungry on the streets of New York at 19, Hamilton is ready and eager to grab the next shot, certain that he is meant for something bigger. He reprises “My Shot” when he realizes that Washington’s offer, which he initially tried to dismiss, is the important opportunity he’s been searching for. Hamilton maximizes every opportunity, overwriting his portion of The Federalist Papers, self-aggrandizing in court about the historical importance of the first murder trial, and creating a drastic financial plan for the country. He refuses to be polite or tactful because he believes that his work stands on its own merit. Burr, on the other hand, sings “Wait for It” because he believes that he has time to wait and can’t control what opportunities come his way regardless. In some instances, this is effective, as in his patience with Theodosia, who eventually leaves her husband for him when the British are defeated. However, he avoids potential opportunities that scare him, such as Hamilton’s offer to include Burr in the Federalist Papers.
The concept of a “shot” is represented concisely in the repeated symbol of the gunshot, which makes every mention of either type of shot foreshadowing of the final duel. From the first song, in which Burr identifies himself as the person who shot Hamilton, it’s established that Hamilton’s shot is coming before the end of the play. Much of the shot imagery is related to the decision to either shoot with deadly intent, or to throw the shot away. While leading his men in battle, Hamilton has the inspiration to order them to empty their guns so they can’t accidentally throw away a shot and put them at risk. When Laurens decides to duel General Lee on Hamilton’s behalf, Hamilton tells him not to throw away his shot. This introduces the concept that he will explain in the second act of deliberately throwing away one’s shot in a duel to fulfill the symbolic social obligation of participating without killing the other person, which Hamilton sees as honorable, and which any honorable opponent would follow. In the brashness of his youth, he wants Laurens to take his shot. However, when Philip is facing a duel, Hamilton wants to protect him, facing afterward the sorrowful lesson that dishonorable people don’t hesitate to take advantage. At the end of the musical, for the first time, Hamilton throws away his own shot. Whether the stakes are finally too high, or he simply doesn’t have a desire to kill Burr, or even if he has decided that he doesn’t care if he dies, his ongoing anxiety about throwing away his shot comes to fruition when it leads to his death.
This musical motif, introduced by Washington to a young Hamilton who is desperate to shape his own legacy, repeats throughout and is identified by Miranda as the central idea of the musical. Washington offers Hamilton the seemingly contradictory advice to remember that “history has its eyes on you,” but “you can’t control who lives, who dies, who tells your story” (120). On the one hand, he should cultivate his persona and choices with the knowledge of posterity, but he should also accept that certain things, including his own story, are out of his control. Hamilton, who frequently ignores good advice, pushes the limits of good will, even with the knowledge that he is under the watchful eyes of history. He also tries to record his own narrative, writing feverishly to document and disseminate his beliefs and agendas. When he is afraid that he will be publicly accused of embezzling federal funds through his authority as Treasurer, Hamilton decides that it’s better to be known as a philanderer than to mar his political legacy, and he destroys his marriage in the process. After Philip’s death, Hamilton learns that he can’t control who lives or dies, as he expresses his wish that he could trade his life for his son’s. When he throws away the shot in the duel, Hamilton is theoretically trying to save both their lives, but Burr’s bullet is out of his control. Hamilton’s story falls to Eliza, as does the shape and continuation of his legacy, and he’s fortunate that Eliza’s love leads her to devote her life to his memory.
As McCarter describes in Chapter 10, the winning of the revolution seems like a foregone conclusion in hindsight, but in the moment, it was something that had never been achieved in any other country. Similarly, those who end up preserved and remembered within the popular construction of history can rarely predict it because popular memory is fickle. Washington, who became one of the most iconic figures in popular American history, is still primarily recognized by his familiar appearance, snippets of facts, and mythic parables with no basis in truth. Hamilton serves as an excellent example of the fickleness of popular memory, as he has been relegated to a minor character in the popular imaginary. Certainly, historians of American history understand his role in the development of the country, but the average layman knew very little about the man whose face appears on the 10-dollar bill. Even with the bestselling Chernow biography, three potential films fell through. Though the musical was the event that catapulted Hamilton’s story into the forefront of national and international consciousness, it still portrays a fictionalized Hamilton.