The Uncertainty of Will. A Conversation with Professor Lorenzo Zucca (King's College London)
The Uncertainty of Will. A Discussion with Professor Lorenzo Zucca (King's College London).
ABSTRACT:
This interview, hosted by Linda Cianci (Lindagine), with Professor Lorenzo Zucca, full professor in Law and Philosophy at King's College London, delves into his academic work in progress: "The Uncertainty of Will". The discussion traverses foundational questions in legal philosophy, including the relationship between law and morality, power and knowledge, the fragility of institutional legitimacy, and the epistemic crises that underlie constitutional conflict. Drawing from the traditions of poetic wisdom (Giambattista Vico), value pluralism and tragic dramaturgy, Professor Zucca argues for the role of literature in shaping legal consciousness. Particular attention is given to how the Bard’s plays—such as The Merchant of Venice, King Lear, Measure for Measure, and Coriolanus—reveal tensions between justice and mercy, power and legitimacy, and religion and law. Finally, the interview considers the role of uncertainty not as a limitation, but as a condition and resource for institutional renewal and human transformation and progression and it defends a pluralistic conception of justice and argues for the necessity of ethical imagination in legal interpretation and institutional design and constructions.
KEYWORDS:
Legal philosophy, Law, Philosophy, Will, Uncertainty, Law, Morality, Rights, Justice, Literature, Shakespeare, Poetic Justice, Poetic Wisdom
Full audio interview on "The Lindagine Podcast"
Prof. Lorenzo Zucca (King's College London) : The connection between law and literature, and more specifically law and theater in the case of Shakespeare, lies at the very core of my scholarship and teaching. Theater seeks to engage its audience emotionally, encouraging them to perceive the narrative as truthful and compelling. Similarly, a lawyer, when addressing a jury, endeavors to persuade by making the case that an injustice has occurred and that a resolution must be sought. Shakespeare’s work is particularly relevant in this context due to its historical and cultural ties to the legal milieu of London in the early modern period.When Shakespeare relocated from Stratford-upon-Avon to London, the theaters were often closed due to recurrent pandemics. During these closures, the Inns of Court—institutions responsible for training young lawyers—offered him a welcoming environment. These legal societies were not only centers for legal education but also for rhetorical training, where aspiring lawyers refined their skills through theatrical exercises. Shakespeare’s plays, such as Julius Caesar, drew heavily on classical Roman rhetoric, notably that of Cicero, which was integral to the legal and cultural education of the time. Thus, there is both a visceral link between law and literature and a more specific connection between law and Shakespeare’s theatrical work, forming a bridge between the two disciplines. Ultimately, both law and literature are fundamentally humanistic fields. I resist viewing law purely as a technical or scientific discipline. Rather, it is foremost a humanistic pursuit, grounded in an understanding of culture, traditions, norms, and rules, but also of human nature itself.
Interviewer -Linda Cianci (Founder & Director of Lindagine.it): That’s a fascinating point. I do agree with your point and vision. Building on this, may you discuss, and explain what is the method do you adopt in your philosophical investigation and why?
Prof. Lorenzo Zucca (King's College London): The method adopted for this new investigation is epistemological in nature, encompassing a comprehensive and systematic approach to the study of knowledge as it pertains to law and philosophy. Moreover, my approach to law and philosophy through the lens of literature is profoundly influenced by the work of the eminent Italian philosopher from Naples, Gian Battista Vico. I contend that Vico’s contributions remain insufficiently understood globally, and arguably even within Italy. His distinctive perspective on law, society, and philosophy is, in my view, among the most significant ever produced. Central to his thought is the concept of poetic wisdom. In Vico’s framework, poetic wisdom refers to the knowledge characteristic of early, primitive societies—those societies that existed prior to the advent of scientific reasoning or alternative explanatory systems. In these early communities, the world was engaged through imagination: the creation of gods, as in ancient Greece or other cultures, served to render the world comprehensible. From this arises the poetic wisdom of Homeric Greece, where Homer can be understood as the collective voice of the Greek polis. Through his epics, Homer symbolically represents how a society manages the inherent uncertainties and gaps in knowledge about the external world, while simultaneously organizing the city-state in a manner that provides stable frameworks for its citizens. This poetic wisdom thus functions as a foundational mechanism through which each member of the polis learns to understand their place and role in the world. Although much of this knowledge is mythopoetic and constructed, it nonetheless offers a vital way of narrating human experience. Poetic wisdom, therefore, encapsulates the essential human capacity to tell stories about ourselves—a necessary endeavor to impart meaning to our lives beyond purely instrumental, rational, or mechanistic accounts. It engages not only the intellect but also the emotions and imagination, aiming to create a coherent self-understanding that informs our actions. In this respect, Shakespeare’s work resonates deeply with the tradition of poetic wisdom and connects to other figures in Italian literature, such as Luigi Pirandello, the Sicilian playwright who similarly explores themes of human identity. However, this constitutes a distinct area of inquiry that I shall not address here.
Prof. Lorenzo Zucca (King's College London): The initial impetus for my research emerges directly from the contemporary world and, more specifically, from my personal engagement with the conditions that define it. It is hardly controversial to suggest that the past two decades have been marked by an unprecedented degree of uncertainty. Multiple crises underscore this climate of unpredictability: the growing existential threat of climate change; the 2008–2009 global financial crisis, which caught even the most rigorous economic models unprepared; the political upheaval initiated by the Trump presidency and the ensuing geopolitical tensions between the United States and China; and, finally, the 2016 Brexit referendum, which illuminated the fragility not only of individual lives but also of institutions long regarded as stable and immutable. These events, taken together, suggest that systems presumed to be foundational require only a moment of vulnerability to begin unraveling. This is the foundation of my inquiry. In this context, the work of Shakespeare proves particularly resonant. In many respects, Shakespeare inhabited a world that mirrored ours—a world marked by epistemological instability and cultural transformation. His was an era of profound skepticism, shaped by figures such as Montaigne and, more broadly, by a European philosophical landscape stretching from Erasmus of Rotterdam to Descartes. Descartes famously sought to counteract this pervasive uncertainty by proposing a new foundation of rational certainty, one grounded in methodical doubt and mathematical clarity. Alongside contemporaries such as Francis Bacon, Johannes Kepler, and Galileo Galilei, Descartes contributed to a broader intellectual project: the emergence of the scientific method and the pursuit of objective, demonstrable knowledge. While I acknowledge the profound achievements of this tradition—and its vital contributions to science, epistemology, and human progress—I approach it critically. For me, the fact of uncertainty is not simply a problem to be solved but a fundamental, even existential, condition of human life. Whether in the early modern period or the present day, we exist in a state of ontological indeterminacy. The future remains unknowable, and no amount of empirical data or probabilistic modeling can entirely dispel the ambiguity that accompanies it. What concerns me, then, is not only how we cope with this uncertainty, but how we might resist the compulsion to neutralize it through artificial certainties. In my view, the overreliance on rational frameworks often serves to suppress rather than engage the complexity of human experience. What is required instead is a re-centering of the humanistic imagination—a turn toward our narrative and creative faculties as tools for making sense of our uncertain world. Paradoxically, it is perhaps this very uncertainty that enables us to envision new possibilities, to imagine alternative futures, and to forge meaningful coexistence with others whose values and beliefs may differ from our own.
Interviewer -Linda Cianci (Founder & Director of Lindagine.it): Thank you for these thoughtful reflections. There is a clear consonance of perspectives on this subject. Particularly compelling is the observation that it is essential to resist the compulsion to pursue certainty at all costs. It is worth noting, in this regard, that uncertainty may be understood not merely as a deficiency to be overcome, but as a generative resource—one that enables new forms of thought and action. Rather than impeding knowledge or decision-making, uncertainty can serve as a source of creativity, openness, and transformation. It is from this standpoint that the discussion can turn to a theme central to your work: the relationship between power and knowledge. Of particular relevance here is your reading of Shakespeare, whose dramatic works offer a powerful meditation on the fragility of judgment and the intrinsic limits of human perception. In King Lear and Othello, for instance, justice is not only postponed but, at times, entirely undermined—largely as a result of distorted perception and epistemic breakdown. In such instances, it is precisely the desire for definitive certainty that leads to tragic consequences. In light of this, an important question arises: how might Shakespeare’s exploration of uncertainty inform our contemporary understanding of institutional life—whether legal, political, or epistemological? Is the problem primarily one of institutional design and structural limitations, or does it indicate a more fundamental need for cultural or ethical transformation? And how might such a transformation be theoretically framed or articulated? Finally, since the theme of power is closely interwoven with these concerns, it is pertinent to ask: what is, in your view, the most widely misunderstood aspect of power in contemporary legal thought? Whether considered at the level of individual agency or in relation to institutional and academic discourses, where does the most urgent need for critical re-examination lie?
Prof. Lorenzo Zucca (King's College London): That is indeed a crucial and complex question. The interrelation between power and knowledge has long been central to the human condition. Within the European cultural and literary tradition, one of the most enduring articulations of this nexus can be found in the myth of Doctor Faustus—a foundational narrative in which the pursuit of absolute knowledge is linked to a desire for ultimate control, even at the cost of one’s soul. The Faustian bargain represents a recurring allegory for the dangers inherent in the conflation of epistemic ambition and unchecked authority. This motif is echoed, though in a more nuanced form, in Shakespeare’s The Tempest, often regarded as his final work and a kind of valedictory reflection. The figure of Prospero—both magician and scholar—functions as a reimagined Faustus. In the early modern period, the magician was often seen as an alchemist or proto-scientist, and the distinctions between magical, scientific, and academic knowledge were not yet clearly demarcated. Prospero’s arc reveals the double-edged nature of such power: through knowledge, he gains mastery over the elements and control over others, yet he ultimately confronts the ethical and existential cost of such domination. A key insight that emerges from this reading is the paradox that excessive power, even when grounded in knowledge, tends to be self-defeating. The more one seeks to control, the more one becomes isolated. Trust—both the capacity to offer and to receive it—erodes in the presence of absolute authority. Relationships, no longer based on mutual recognition or shared vulnerability, become instruments of subjugation. This lesson, dramatized in Shakespeare’s work, carries profound implications for contemporary political and institutional life. In this light, the fragility of modern institutions cannot be attributed solely to internal dysfunction or procedural failure. Rather, it reflects a deeper epistemic and cultural crisis—one exacerbated by technological acceleration and the fragmentation of public discourse, especially through social media. What we are witnessing is not merely institutional decay, but an erosion of the cultural and normative foundations that sustain institutions. The so-called “culture wars,” particularly visible in the United States, are symptomatic of this dynamic. They are not incidental skirmishes but strategic efforts to delegitimize shared epistemic and moral frameworks, thereby weakening public trust and social cohesion. This dynamic opens the door for concentrated power to exploit institutional fragility. We see efforts to reshape or neutralize the very structures designed to constrain authority—whether through attempts to influence the Federal Reserve, restructure the judiciary, or bypass international institutions that regulate conflict, trade, and diplomacy. Such maneuvers are part of a broader political project: the weakening of institutional checks in favor of centralized control. This cycle—cultural erosion leading to institutional decline, which in turn accelerates cultural fragmentation—has historical precedent. The fall of the Roman Republic, for instance, cannot be explained solely through the lens of constitutional failure. The collapse of Roman republican institutions was preceded by a profound cultural disintegration. The values, narratives, and collective bonds that once underpinned republican life began to deteriorate, leaving a vacuum in which authoritarian solutions appeared both desirable and inevitable. The transition from republic to empire, therefore, was not simply a political reconfiguration but the culmination of a deeper cultural unraveling. In sum, the crisis we face today may be institutional in form, but it is cultural and epistemic at its core. Addressing it requires not only structural reform but also a renewed commitment to the shared narratives and ethical commitments that make institutional life possible in the first place.
Interviewer -Linda Cianci (Founder & Director of Lindagine.it): Thank you once again for your illuminating response. Your reflection on the circular nature of the current crisis is particularly compelling, as it invites us to consider not only the structural and functional dimensions of institutional failure, but also the historical, cultural, and epistemological origins from which these institutions emerge. Such an approach calls for a deeper investigation into the narratives, values, and assumptions that underpin our collective systems of governance, education, and social organization. This line of inquiry evokes Shakespeare’s Henry IV, and in particular the oft-cited line, “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.” Here, power is portrayed not merely as an administrative burden or political challenge, but as a moral and existential weight—one that risks isolating the sovereign figure from the broader social fabric. Power, in this light, becomes not only a position but a condition—marked by disconnection, vulnerability, and a loss of reciprocity. This raises a set of urgent contemporary questions: How might Shakespeare’s dramatic insights be actualized in present-day contexts, not forcing the outlook though? How can the connections between ruler and people, legislator and citizen, be reimagined or reconstituted in ways that resist the isolating effects of authority? In short, how can societies respond to the recurring waves of disconnection that threaten to widen the gap between power and responsibility? What is at stake is the preservation—and perhaps the renewal—of a system, legal or otherwise, that maintains its integrity without collapsing under the weight of its own contradictions. This necessarily leads to the question of origins: if we are to trace the current crisis of connection back to its roots, where should such a genealogy begin? Is the source of disconnection to be located in individual subjectivity, in psychological conditions such as fear, insecurity, or narcissism? Or does the issue arise primarily from institutional design—flawed architectures of governance, education, and decision-making? Might it lie, instead, in deeper organizational logics or cultural scripts that systematically undermine reciprocity and accountability? In your view, where does this disconnection begin—and, more importantly, how might it be meaningfully addressed? To be clearer, the questions address both the core question of the crisis and origin. In light of this: is this disconnection something inherent to human nature—something we carry within us—or is it rather something we have created through our social, legal, or institutional constructions? Or perhaps these two dimensions—what is human and what is constructed—are so deeply intertwined that we can no longer separate one from the other?
Prof. Lorenzo Zucca (King's College London): Thank you for this question. The Roman plays indeed offer a fascinating lens through which to explore the evolving relationship between power and the people. I find Paul A. Cantor's interpretation of what he terms Shakespeare’s “Roman trilogy”—Coriolanus, Julius Caesar, and Antony and Cleopatra—particularly insightful. Cantor traces an evolution across these works that corresponds broadly to the historical phases of the Roman state: the early republican era depicted in Coriolanus, the late Republic in Julius Caesar, and the onset of imperial rule in Antony and Cleopatra. Shakespeare’s treatment of these periods reflects a remarkable flexibility and responsiveness to social and political change. Unlike a philosopher engaged in abstract theorization, Shakespeare does not present a fixed or monolithic vision of “the people” or political power; rather, his works acknowledge that societies are dynamic, evolving entities. The concept of “the people” itself is therefore historically contingent, shaped by the specific institutional and constitutional context of the city or polity in question. In Coriolanus, for instance, the notion of the city and the people appears intimately connected with the early Roman Republic—a time when Rome was a relatively small city-state composed primarily of native-born citizens. It is likely that Shakespeare, influenced by the intellectual milieu of Renaissance England, drew on Machiavellian ideas. Machiavelli, whose influence permeated early modern political thought, celebrated the early Roman Republic as the most virtuous and stable of regimes precisely because it was grounded in the agency of the people. For Machiavelli—and, it seems, for Shakespeare as well—the people do not seek to dominate others; they do not possess a will to power in the traditional sense, but rather a will to freedom. Their desire is neither to rule tyrannically nor to be subjected to despotic rule. In this light, Coriolanus stages an exploration of the people as both the foundation and embodiment of the city itself.
Interviewer -Linda Cianci (Founder & Director of Lindagine.it): One point in particular that stood out was your observation that Shakespeare’s thought is far from monolithic. This idea invites further reflection not only on the nature of power, but also on the concept of justice itself. If, as you suggest, social and political structures are historically contingent—subject to variation across time, place, and perspective—then it is worth asking whether justice, too, in Shakespeare’s dramatic world, is similarly mutable. The question, then, is not simply whether Shakespeare portrays justice as context-dependent, but whether he challenges the very possibility of grounding justice in any stable or universal foundation. This is not necessarily to adopt a relativist position, but rather to inquire into the nature and limits of normative claims within a world characterized by flux. In Shakespeare’s plays, justice may appear rooted at times in divine order, at other times in law, custom, or political necessity. But is there, one might ask, an underlying vision—however provisional—of what justice is or ought to be? A related question concerns the risk of justice becoming a tool of tyranny. If justice depends upon interpretation and enforcement, then it is vulnerable to appropriation by those in positions of power. In this respect, one might recall Hans Kelsen’s legal positivism, which locates justice as an "irrational ideal". Yet Shakespeare’s plays often dramatize moments in which procedure is followed, and yet the outcome still appears deeply unjust. Might this suggest a critique of purely formalist conceptions of justice, even considering late 20th centuries tragedies? To what extent, then, can Shakespeare’s vision be placed in conversation with modern legal philosophy? Is it possible to draw a compatible analysis, or would this constitute an overextension of categories foreign to his time? These questions do not admit easy answers, but they do seem to open a productive line of inquiry—one in which literature, philosophy, and jurisprudence intersect in meaningful ways, respecting though the lens of their times and beliefs.
Prof. Lorenzo Zucca (King's College London): Thank you again for your thoughtful observations. I would like to add that Shakespeare’s work invites a critical and skeptical stance toward the notion of justice as an autonomous political value—particularly when justice is understood primarily through a formalist legal lens. Two plays in particular—The Merchant of Venice and Measure for Measure—underscore this skepticism. While Shakespeare does not necessarily reject the concept of justice itself, he problematizes certain conceptions of justice that are deeply entangled with prevailing social and ideological interests. In The Merchant of Venice, for instance, the society portrayed is a proto-capitalist republic where commerce and the accumulation of wealth are paramount. Justice, as administered through the courts, initially appears to uphold the strict terms of a commercial contract: Shylock’s demand for a pound of flesh from Antonio, a legally binding though cruel clause. Yet the play reveals how this formal legal justice ultimately becomes subservient to communal interests and prejudices. The court, while bound to enforce the contract, ultimately rescinds Shylock’s claim in favor of protecting the Venetian Christian community’s cohesion and values. Here, justice ceases to function as an impartial value and instead reflects the power dynamics and ideological commitments of the society. Moreover, the value often seen as mitigating justice—mercy—is itself depicted as vulnerable to manipulation within such a context. Mercy, rather than serving as a genuine corrective, may become another instrument within the ideological framework that shapes legal outcomes. Thus, Shakespeare compels us to look beyond the surface and question the foundational assumptions and social conditions that underpin the political value of justice. This invites a broader inquiry into how justice is understood and operationalized in any given society, and cautions against an uncritical acceptance of justice as a fixed or universal ideal.
Interviewer -Linda Cianci (Founder & Director of Lindagine.it): Thank you for your thoughtful question. Shakespeare’s works provide a profound resource for grappling with the inherent tensions between justice, power, and moral judgment. Let me add that many authors introduced the notion of “poetic justice” in Shakespeare’s plays, which can be understood as a form of justice that transcends strict legal formalism, incorporating ethical and moral dimensions that legal systems alone may not fully capture. This concept echoes earlier political-philosophical reflections, such as those by Giambattista Vico at very beginning of our discussion, which emphasized the "poetic wisdom", "albeit with due differences. Moreover, regarding your inquiry about constitutional dilemmas, your second monograph, it would be considerable to analyze whether or not you would consider it appropriate or fruitful to compare Shakespeare’s dramaturgical exploration of justice and moral complexity with the constitutional dilemmas you deal with in your work. Might there be a constructive dialogue between these two frameworks, or would such a comparison risk overextending the literary into the legal-philosophical domain?
Prof. Lorenzo Zucca (King's College London): In my view, the answer is unequivocally affirmative. This position stems from the recognition that what may be described as constitutional dilemmas often reflect a deeper conflict between fundamental values—values that are essential to the moral and political life of any community. Beginning with The Merchant of Venice and Measure for Measure, Shakespeare offers a compelling dramatization of the tension between justice and mercy. On one side, we find a formalist conception of justice: the idea that the law must be applied uniformly in order to ensure fairness and prevent arbitrariness. This approach rests on the principle that equality before the law requires consistent application, irrespective of individual circumstances. Without such uniformity, legal decisions risk becoming inconsistent, subjective, or even discriminatory. On the other side, however, there is the equally important demand for mercy—a recognition that individuals act within specific contexts, shaped by personal histories and particular motivations. Each person has a story, and while this does not always constitute a justification or excuse, it nonetheless calls for consideration. In some cases, these narratives are marked by misfortune or tragedy, and they evoke empathy. In such situations, strict adherence to formal justice may appear insufficient or even unjust, and mercy may call for a more contextual and humane response. This tension between justice and mercy exemplifies a broader phenomenon: the clash of values that cannot always be harmonized. In this respect, I would argue that Shakespeare can be understood as a value pluralist. Like Isaiah Berlin, who distinguished between the “hedgehog” (who knows one big thing) and the “fox” (who knows many things), Shakespeare appears as a thinker of plurality, aware of the coexistence—and at times, irreconcilability—of competing moral commitments. Unlike Dante, whose work may be interpreted as expressing a unified and systematic vision of the moral order, Shakespeare resists closure. His plays suggest a more fluid, dynamic conception of value, attentive to historical and cultural contingency. In this sense, his ethical vision aligns with a pluralist understanding: one that affirms the existence of multiple, often conflicting, values without assuming that these conflicts can always be resolved in a definitive or comprehensive manner.
Interviewer -Linda Cianci (Founder & Director of Lindagine.it): Thank you. These will be my final questions. You previously spoke about mercy, and I was particularly struck by your remark that “we are not in the same predicament.” You also referred to The Merchant of Venice, which introduces another important theme: the relationship between law and religion. I would be interested to hear your perspective on how we should interpret the forced conversion of Shylock in this context. Can this moment still be actualized or made relevant today, particularly in Europe or similar legal-cultural frameworks? What kind of justice are we assisting here? When we talk about the relationship between law and religion, there are many layers to consider, but perhaps this is a useful starting point. In The Merchant of Venice, we clearly see that religious identity is not confined to the private sphere—it enters the public and legal domains in a powerful way. Have you reflected on the distinction between the private sphere versus public matter? And what kind of implications might this have within legal reasoning and institutional practice? To conclude, more broadly—and perhaps more practically—what message would you offer to younger readers, especially those engaged in legal studies? Why should Shakespeare still be studied and actualized today, without forcing the concepts of those times? And more importantly, what practical tools can his work offer to help us move from abstract knowledge to concrete action—even in small, everyday ways? In a legal world shaped so deeply by language and interpretation, how might Shakespeare help us think more critically, and more responsibly?
Prof. Lorenzo Zucca (King's College London): Thank you for the questions.The relationship between law and religion—both in Shakespeare’s work and in contemporary scholarship—remains a subject of enduring relevance. Historically, this relationship has often taken the form of a complex theological and political struggle. While at certain moments it may appear that this struggle has been resolved in favor of a secular worldview, the current global landscape suggests otherwise. In fact, the number of states identifying as religious, or invoking religion as part of their public narrative and political justification, appears to be increasing rather than diminishing. We see this, for instance, in the Russian Federation’s use of Orthodox Christianity as part of its nationalistic discourse, as well as in various contexts across the Middle East, where religion continues to play a central role in public life and governance. This reality highlights the continued necessity of engaging seriously with religion—not in order to reinforce its most regressive tendencies, but rather to understand how it might serve as a moderating and constructive force. Religion, when interpreted thoughtfully, can temper violence, support ethical governance, and guide leaders and citizens toward more humane forms of political and legal decision-making. As a secularist, I recognize and respect religion in both its private and public dimensions. It is important to study, interpret, and clarify the function of religious belief and discourse so that it may serve as a source of solidarity, moral imagination, and the reduction of human suffering, rather than as a justification for injustice or violence. This brings me to the practical reasons for studying Shakespeare in the context of law and ethics today. There are at least three central considerations. First, Shakespeare offers profound psychological insight. He demonstrates an extraordinary understanding of the human mind—its motivations, contradictions, and vulnerabilities. Engaging with his work allows us to better understand the psychological steps that lead individuals and societies into tragedy, as well as the paths that might help us avoid such outcomes. One of the key insights here is the danger of seeking certainty in moments of uncertainty—turning to oracles, ideology, or external authorities that cannot provide definitive answers. Shakespeare encourages us instead to rely on our own judgment, to proceed with humility, and to accept the slow and uncertain process of ethical deliberation. Second, Shakespeare fosters what might be called ethical imagination. In his plays, even amid collapse and despair, there remains the possibility of imagining the world otherwise—of envisioning alternative futures that do not follow the paths of Othello, Hamlet, or King Lear. This imaginative capacity can serve as a source of hope, suggesting that ethical and political renewal is always possible, even in the darkest of times. Finally, and most significantly from the standpoint of personal and ethical development, Shakespeare insists on the possibility of transformation. Human beings, in his vision, are not bound by predetermined scripts—whether imposed by parents, society, or political structures. Rather, we have the capacity to become the authors of our own lives. This openness to transformation entails risk and discomfort, but also the potential for growth and fulfillment. A life that feels constrained or frustrated can, through reflection, wholesome effort and courage, become one marked by opportunity and meaning. These three elements—psychological insight, ethical imagination, and the affirmation of human transformation—together provide a compelling argument for the continued study of Shakespeare, particularly in relation to questions of law, ethics, and political life.
Interviewer -Linda Cianci (Founder & Director of Lindagine.it): Thank you for your insightful response and powerful suggestions, Professor Zucca. It provides much to reflect upon. As we reach the conclusion of our interview, I would like to extend my sincere thanks for your time and for your clear explanation that helps clarify the complexities involved in your future book in a manner that is accessible to everyone. Good luck. I look forward to our next conversation.
Prof. Lorenzo Zucca (King's College London): Thank you very much, Linda, for the invitation and the today discussion. I look forward to our next conversation to investigate even deeper, exploring the relationship between law and literature.
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