The Shakespeare Authorship question.

 

There are a lot of people who claim that Shakespeare was not really the man who wrote the plays associated with him. It is a growing conspiracy. It is shocking and distressing. These jerks are mostly people who are geeky academic nerds and probably don't wipe properly.

The Myth of the Mask: Decoding the Shakespeare Authorship Question

The "Shakespeare Authorship Question" is a modern historical myth that suggests William Shakespeare of Stratford-upon-Avon was merely a front for a more "sophisticated" writer, such as the Earl of Oxford or Francis Bacon. Proponents of this theory argue that a provincial commoner with a grammar-school education could not have possessed the specialized knowledge of law, courtly life, and geography found in the plays.    However, this position is rooted more in class snobbery and proportionality bias than in historical reality.

I hate these people. They are idiots.

The theory is effectively dismantled by the massive contemporary "paper trail" that no other candidate possesses. First, the First Folio of 1623 contains direct testimonials from Shakespeare’s fellow actors and his rival, Ben Jonson, who praised him as the "Sweet Swan of Avon"—a specific geographical link to Stratford. Second, the chronology of the plays nukes the leading alternative, Edward de Vere, who died in 1604, long before masterpieces like The Tempest and Macbeth (which contains references to the 1605 Gunpowder Plot) were written.

Finally, the frequent geographical and historical blunders in the plays—such as giving landlocked Bohemia a coastline or placing a striking clock in ancient Rome—point directly to a self-taught, London-based playwright rather than a world-traveling aristocrat. In the end, the authorship controversy relies on a complex web of "secret codes" and "invisible conspiracies," whereas the historical record offers the simplest, most documented truth: the man from Stratford was exactly who his peers said he was.

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The Bard Attack! or, Leave My Swan Alone!

Oh goodie. The Shakespeare authorship question. At last, humanity has returned to tackling the real mysteries: Who really wrote Hamlet, and why does dropped toast always land Jelly side down?

For those blessedly unfamiliar, the Shakespeare authorship question is the idea—cherished by a devoted, tireless, and bafflingly confident group of people—that William Shakespeare of Stratford-upon-Avon did not write the plays and poems attributed to William Shakespeare of Stratford-upon-Avon. Instead, they believe the works were written by someone else: Francis Bacon, Christopher Marlowe, the Earl of Oxford, Queen Elizabeth, a secret committee of nobles, or possibly a literate golden retriever with access to quill and ink.

The argument usually begins like this:
“Shakespeare was just a simple actor from a small town. How could he possibly understand kings, politics, romance, war, jealousy, madness, ambition, betrayal, or the basic human experience?”

Which is a fascinating claim, because it suggests that human beings only experience life if they possess a throne and a velvet cape. 

Let’s pause and appreciate the underlying logic. According to authorship skeptics, Shakespeare—who lived in London, worked in the theater, mingled with nobles, performed for royalty, and wrote plays for a living—somehow lacked sufficient “life experience.” Meanwhile, the proposed alternative authors are often aristocrats whose primary hobbies included not working, not traveling, and writing exactly zero plays under their own names.

This is like arguing that a professional chef couldn’t possibly cook dinner, but a duke who once glanced at a carrot definitely could.

Another popular argument is vocabulary. Shakespeare used around 20,000–25,000 words! This is presented as if he personally invented them all while locked in a tower, cackling maniacally. In reality, English was exploding with new words at the time, and Shakespeare—brace yourself—was a writer who listened to how people talked. Shocking. Next you’ll tell me musicians hear music.

Then there’s the education argument: Shakespeare didn’t attend university. Therefore, he could not possibly write intelligently. Or read.

This is an especially charming claim when you consider that universities in the late 1500s specialized in Latin drills, theology, and arguing about Aristotle. Meanwhile, Shakespeare was out in the real world, watching humans behave terribly and magnificently, which turns out to be extremely useful if you’re trying to write King Lear.

But wait! The skeptics cry. There are gaps in the historical record! We don’t have handwritten manuscripts!

Correct. We also don’t have handwritten grocery lists from most people in the 16th century. This was not a time known for its robust archival system. Paper was expensive, fires were popular, and nobody thought, “We should preserve every scrap in case people 400 years from now lose their minds.”

The authorship theorists then unveil their favorite rhetorical flourish:
“Why would such a genius come from Stratford?”

This is where the snobbery really puts on its fancy hat. Stratford was a market town, not a cave. It had schools, books, lawyers, theaters, and—most importantly—people. Genius does not require a castle. If it did, we’d have to explain why so many castles produced absolutely nothing except bad haircuts and cousin marriages.

Also, and this is key: there is zero evidence that anyone else wrote the plays. None. No letters saying “Dear Diary, today I secretly wrote Macbeth and let some actor take the credit.” No drafts. No witnesses. Just vibes. Very confident vibes.

Meanwhile, there is abundant evidence that Shakespeare wrote Shakespeare: contemporaries said so, publishers said so, actors said so, rivals mocked him for it, and his name is on the plays during his lifetime—which would be a bold move if he were committing the greatest literary identity theft in history.

But the conspiracy persists, because some people simply cannot accept that a regular person could be extraordinary. They need a shadowy noble mastermind pulling the strings, preferably while wearing a codpiece.

In the end, the Shakespeare authorship question tells us far more about us than about Shakespeare. It reveals our deep discomfort with the idea that genius might be messy, inconvenient, and—worst of all—ordinary. That brilliance can come from a guy who grew up, worked hard, paid taxes, and didn’t leave behind a convenient and dramatically convincing paper trail.

William Shakespeare wrote Shakespeare because that is what happens when a wildly talented writer lives in the right place, at the right time, and actually does the work.

The real mystery isn’t who wrote the plays.
The real mystery is why, after four centuries, some people still refuse to read them closely—but have read every conspiracy blog on the internet twice.