A Year of Shakespeare

Why is there a clown in Othello? He only makes two brief appearances, neither of any seeming importance. So why have him at all?

I scoured my sources and searched the internet for a satisfying answer. “He’s absurd,” I thought. Is he here to add levity? Amusement? That sounds plausible. But probably too easy. That’s generally what clowns do.

I wasn’t satisfied until I reread the farce attack at the start of Act V. No matter how many times I scan the lines, the action doesn’t add up.

Iago is an experienced soldier. I can’t believe he only manages to wound Cassio in the leg. Not when so much rides on his removal in order for Iago’s plans to succeed.

Then again, from a distance, there really is a farcical element to the play. Iago’s treachery is held together by chewing gum and baling wire. Appearance is mistaken for reality, reality for appearance. This tragedy is almost an inverted comedy. We might laugh at Iago’s wit the way Desdemona does until we realize that the consequences are so dire.

My theory, therefore, is that the clown is Shakespeare’s concession to the audience that yes, yes, certain aspects of the plot strain credibility. No more than clowns do and yet get a laugh.

Othello may indeed be a farce when viewed from a certain direction. But then comes the climax with its unjust murders, suicide and torture – hardly laughing matters.

The consequences are somber and real, even if the story itself is fiction. That’s why the clown doesn’t stay long.

He appears as a reminder that absurdity dwells among us, then just as quickly is gone again, leaving us to clean up what’s left after our actions have collided and fate has run its tragic course.

I’m going there.  I have no choice.  The matter will come up eventually so we may as well get to it now.

In rereading the tavern scene from Act II in which Iago manages to get Cassio drunk in order to stir up trouble, what struck me most was how Cassio curses the wine as a “devil” that transformed him into a beast.

O though invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil!

(…) Oh, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains!  That we should, with joy, pleasance, revel and applause, transform ourselves into beasts!

(…) To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast!  Oh, strange!  Every inordinate cup is unblessed and the ingredient is a devil.

We get the point.  Cassio is upset because he has allowed himself to let his guard down, to enjoy a little wine, get a little drunk, and to make a big ass out of himself – which leads directly to his demotion by Othello.  The critical issue here is that Cassio blames his suffering on the loss of his reasoning faculty, that the impairment of his judgment has led directly to a loss of reputation.

Iago, speaking to Roderigo later in the same act says:

Thou know’st we work by wit and not by witchcraft.

So how different is the reasoning faculty of Cassio from Iago’s?  Why is Cassio a moral being while Iago is not?  What quality separates them – and how is Iago able to exploit Cassio to his own advantage?  Is that a matter of misplaced trust, of bad judgment?  How can Iago be so precise, so exacting in his villainy and yet so in charge over himself?

His plans, like that of any great villain, make cold, cruel, logical sense.  What then is the human capacity that separates us from being beasts?

To further complicate the issue, Iago relishes a sadistic, twisted moral inversion when he contemplates how he will undo Cassio and Desdemona by their own virtue and goodness.  My blood turns to ice when he says:

(Of Cassio)

How am I a villain 

To counsel Cassio to this parallel course,

Directly to his good.  Divinity of hell!

When devils will the blackest sins put on

They do suggest at first with heavenly shows

As I do now…

(And of Desdemona)

And by how much she strives to do him good

She shall undo her credit with the Moor.

So will I turn her virtue into pitch

And out of her own goodness make the net

That shall enmesh them all.

Othello gets into trouble by allowing jealousy to overcome his faith and intuition.  Iago unleashes his lechery out of revenge.  Cassio is unbalanced by drink and a misplaced trust in friendship.  Emilia (who catches herself) in her husband.  And poor Desdemona behaves with reverence and regard for everyone else’s welfare but her own.  Each of these is “reasonable” in their own way…and yet for each, reason is not enough.

What might Desdemona do differently to change her fate?  Or Cassio?  Or Othello?  Or Emilia?  Or Iago?  What is their downfall, their Achilles heel, their fatal flaw?  Is there a single moral thread here that runs through them all?

I would argue that there isn’t; that Shakespeare confounds our simple attempts at explanations.  Just as, when Iago entertains Desdemona by witty wordplay, he pronounces that even the most perfect of women will end up suckling nitwits and cutting coupons, we all have our virtues and our undoings.  Each of us is subject to a host of individual vices.

Is logic enough? Not for Cassio.

Is virtuousness enough? Not for Desdemona.

Is heroism enough? Not for Othello.

Is loyalty enough? Not for Emilia.

Is civic duty enough? Being a good parent? Not for Brabantio.

The Age of Reason posited a notion that man’s rational faculties could lift him from out of a primitive state of darkness.  Through laws, by education, with conversation and debate, men and women could raise themselves from a bestial mode into one of sound judgment, equitable treatment, civic fairness, and societal goodness.

But is Iago not a rational creature?  And if so, what chances do we mortals then have?  To what higher sense of self or divinity can one turn to improve the lot of everyone?  Religion?  Government?  To our elitist minds and thinkers?

Why can’t Iago stop himself?  What prevents the other characters from seeing through his charade, to stop trusting him at face value?  What defenses do we have to prevent ourselves from being taken advantage of in this same way?

I told you I didn’t want to go there.

But these are questions that needed to be asked, not just now but over the course of the entire year.  Especially when we arrive at Romeo & Juliet – and address the nature of true love.

The Devil is in the details.

I mentioned that I’m spending an extra week with Othello in order to reread the play from the beginning.  Throughout the first reading, certain passages struck me as important without my knowing exactly why.  Others rang bells of thunderous musicality, despite my inability to make complete sense out of them.  The play is just too damn good to rush through.

I’m only on Act 1 so far, but already something has caught my attention that I missed the first time.  I may have mentioned my theory that Shakespeare self-consciously employs a Moor in the role of hero in order to play cat-and-mouse with audience expectation regarding light and darkness.  Already in the first few scenes I see this, rather than merely later on, after Othello enters.

The story begins at night, in darkness, introducing the theme of ignorance as a form of Jungian shadow that mischief (or the Devil) can easily prey upon.  Roderigo is unaware both that Desdemona, the lady of his unrequited affections, has married, and that Iago, whom he trusts with his money, is frittering away or embezzling funds.  When Iago presents the “truth,” he’s able to shape it to suit his own ends.

Iago’s lies (or half-truths) are abetted by false trust, or, as Cassio later laments, “reputation, reputation, reputation.”  Without that, Iago’s schemes would never get off the ground.  He’s a grifter, exploiting blind spots where people willingly fill in what they want to see.  Iago’s craftiness lies in his ability to nudge these tendencies along

Doubt, greed, lust, envy – those are but a few of the raw materials that Iago works with – not his own, though there is that as well which will bite him in the end.  But in his victims.  Roderigo’s thwarted desire for Desdemona has created within him a vulnerability that cunning Iago leverages to his own advantage.  In fact, Roderigo is such an emotional puppydog that Iago manages to manipulate him in all sorts of fiendish ways.

Roderigo has put emotion above fact, ego above reality, perception above truth – and thus he lives in a form of self-induced darkness.  No wonder then that he is on the streets, hanging out with Iago instead of being in bed asleep like upstanding city folks such as Brabantio.  This is the hour when good men and women ought to be indoors awaiting the light of new day to dawn.

Roderigo is awake and yet asleep, a sheep who misplaces his trust in a false shepherd.  “Truth” is more about perception than facts when people believe what they wish.  Credibility comes down to reputation – and what the listener chooses to hear.

Again to this point, Roderigo and Iago awaken Brabantio to the news that his daughter, Desdemona, has stolen away (under cloak of darkness) to lie with Othello.  Had she been a good daughter, she would be inside along with the rest of Brabantio’s household.  But instead, off she has fled, defying her father’s will and convention to be with the man she loves.

The striking line, the telling line, the line that literally leaps off the page and smacks me in the face comes after the warnings have hit home and Brabantio rouses his house to find out if the scandal is indeed true.

The setup begins:

Brabantio: Strike on the tinder, ho!

Give me a taper, call up all my people!

This accident is not unlike my dream,

Belief of it oppresses me already.

Light, I say, light!

And now here comes the key:

Iago (to Roderigo): It’s time for me to say goodbye to you.

Forget his excuses.  His exit follows hard on Brabantio’s cry for the light!

The light, the light, the light.

Ignorance festers in darkness.  It cannot withstand the light.  This Devil operates in shadow, where he is most at home.  Once the light is struck, Iago must make haste and withdraw.  He may be a vampire, for the light of truth will pierce his lies and expose him.

If Roderigo, Cassio and Iago knew the truth, they each would have rooted Iago out and ended his scheming long before it ended in tragedy. Because the darkness persists, whether by naiveté, willfulness, or a preference for illusions, humans will continue to be suckers for the hucksters, con artists, thieves and murderers who are more than happy to take ruthless advantage.

Let there be light!

UPDATE: the concluding lines of the first act only convince me further.

IAGO: Hell and night
Must bring this monstrous birth to the world’s light.