Othello final draft

[chu_totoro]

yay the dratted essay is over with!

to be honest, I still didn't take it in all seriousness even to the end, but I managed to cut out much of the rambling digressions and retain only relevant babblings. mostly. :)

(best viewed in Mozilla Firefox - IE messes up formatting...)

Thus Shalt Thou Say, I AM NOT Hath Destroyed Thee           There are two kinds of people in this world. The smart... and the stupid. To be sure, no precise borderline defines where one merges into the other, and indeed many people can be quite brilliant yet extraordinarily stupid at the same time--but at the radical ends of the spectrum the division is clear. Those of lowest intellect rarely realize their lack, and lead some of the happiest lives in the world (if they survive). Those of the intelligentsia have no trouble surviving, though being blessed with such faults as pride, arrogance, extreme narcissism, and laziness, they occasionally bring about their own downfall. Iago of Shakespeare's Othello is one such. He is special, however, in that he possesses the ability to suppress unwanted traits beneath the cold mask of reason--which does not, by any means, remedy the faults. If anything, it bolsters them (save perhaps laziness). Certainly, in observing the skillful way in which he manipulates people, playing upon their fears, their faults, their desires: one must admit he has grounds for conceit. As such, he takes a narcissistic delight in the execution of his mental faculties. Now, combine that with a pinch of elitist sadism, and Shakespeare has created a creature for all to fear. He wreaks havoc! Why? Why, because he can. (There is a certain vindictive satisfaction to be found in these three words.) Truly, his soliloquies of explanation are nothing more than the "motive-hunting of motiveless malignity," as Samuel Taylor Coleridge so rightly observed.            To fully understand this quote, readers must first understand Coleridge's view on motives. Dictionaries define a motive as "a reason or set of reasons for engaging in a particular behavior," and the usual consensus is that of something external; say, a bad lesson motivates a student to work harder. Coleridge believes otherwise: It is a matter of infinite difficulty, but fortunately of comparative indifference to determine what a man's motive may have been for this or that particular action. Rather seek to learn what his objects in general are. What does he habitually wish, habitually pursue? and thence deduce his impulses which are commonly the true efficient causes of men's conduct; and without which the motive itself would not have become a motive. (Coleridge 297) The original nature of the student, claims he, formulates the "impulse," or the true motive for improvement. A student who begins lazy will continue to feign his way through classes, making little real effort when pushed, while a diligent student who simply had a bad day will grind his heart out at a rebuke, and more than make up for it next lesson. Their inner selves, rather than external admonition, dictate their behavior. Similarly, Iago, in claiming "but I, for mere suspicion of that kind, will do as if for surety," confirms this theory--his explanations ring false, weak with a lack of evidence (I iii 380). His innate sadistic impulses drive him, while the given reasons are no more than excuses, a rationalization to himself of his own actions.            What, then, is Iago's true nature? Readers can best understand him through the conclusion of his ruminative speech to Roderigo: "I am not what I am" (I i 66). At first glance, this seems to be no more than a reference to his duplicity, his facade of "honest Iago." However, Shakespeare could just as easily have chosen to write "I am not what I appear" or "I am not what I seem." The emphatic wording "I am not what I am" specifically puts readers in mind of the Bible, where Moses asks God for his name and He responds, "I am what I am" (Exodus 3:14). Iago places himself on the same footing as God with this allusion, and indeed one could say he has a bit of a god-complex, for certainly he looks down upon all he considers lesser to his intelligence (read: everyone). He abuses Emilia, calls Roderigo "my fool," and scorns even noble Othello as one "[who] will as tenderly be led by th' nose / As asses are" (I iii 367, 385-386). Then, take into account his self-modification of God's words and the sadistic desire to make, say, Othello "thank me, love me, and reward me / For making him egregiously an ass," and his god-complex may be more accurately described as a devil-complex (II ii 292-293). Iago is not a control freak, not in the strictest sense of the word. He enjoys not straightforward oppression, but rather playing Satan, tweaking perceptions here and there, subtly helping to turn an opinion or plant a seed of doubt, then sitting back and watching in gleeful satisfaction as the changes he set in motion spiral uncontrollably downwards into a snowball of doom, him nudging it from time to time to keep it on track.            Looking through the play for Iago's self-justifications, readers see that he jumps from one reason to the next to the next, with never a decisive reason set in stone. Indeed he remains ambiguous to the end, when Othello demands explanation of him and is met with: "What you know, you know; / From this time forth I never will speak word" (V ii 300). A last act of defiance, perhaps, or more likely his way of retaining power even in a losing situation. Yet think: were he to answer truthfully, what could he say? At the start of the play he relates to Roderigo how Cassio has usurped his position, clarifying why he hates Othello, but one must bear in mind that he says this to placate Roderigo, to distract him from his anger through sympathy and mutual hatred. How much weight can be allotted the words of a practiced liar and known hypocrite when he speaks, not to himself, but someone else? Two scenes later already his reason changes, and the original argument finds no more than a brief mention. He brings Cassio into the plot only as a "proper man" who happens to serve his plans to ruin Desdemona, and it is not until afterwards, upon reflection, does he add: "To get his place, and to plume up my will" (I iii 376-377). As for the fear of first Othello and later Cassio sleeping with his wife, well, he himself admits a lack of concrete proof. Furthermore, though he claims such tales to be "thought abroad," readers can find them nowhere else in the play (I iii 371). They do find, however, that Othello and Cassio each have their own sweethearts and seem to be committed to them.            Ultimately, Iago's excuses are blasphemous lies. They could, when logically explained, be potential motives for his actions, but the defect then lies in that had these reasons not been present, Iago would most certainly have found some other sensible excuse for his behavior. His soliloquies are nothing more than "motive-hunting," while the real source comes from innate "motiveless malignity," or rather his devil-complex. Indeed, a good lesson other brilliant human beings ought take from him is to not self-deitize if they are, in the end, not deities. Though Iago reaped plenty of enjoyment from his Satanic puppeteering, he had not really the godly power to do bad things with no good excuse, and it backlashed upon him at the end of the play. Brilliance, after all, is no substitute for transcendence. Works Cited Bible in Basic English, revised edition. S. H. Hooke, ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965. Coleridge, Samuel Taylor. The Literary Remains of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. New York: AMS Press, Inc, 1967.