Jeff Baldwin’s Christianity & Literature

Othello

Can any man who kills his wife be accurately described as heroic?  It seems unlikely—Until we meet Othello.

Of course, Othello's actions at the end of William Shakespeare's tragedy—including his jealousy and his cold-blooded murder of Desdemona—could never be called heroic, but there is enough about the man himself that makes the reader suspect he has met a hero.  If not heroic in practice, Othello certainly has the potential—a larger-than-life presence and basic character traits that make us root for him and even, desperately, believe in him.

When we meet Othello, he is urged by Iago, his betrayer, to dodge a confrontation. His response is the response of a righteous man: "[M]y perfect soul shall manifest me rightly."  He faces the world with a clear conscience.

This clear conscience seems justified. He has proven himself in battle, he has won the heart of a discriminating lady, and he is more than once described by others as "valiant."   Othello appears to us as calm, frank, and confident without being arrogant. Put simply, if you found yourself in a war, you would choose Othello to lead you into battle.

But like many of Shakespeare's tragic heroes, Othello has a dramatic flaw.  The essence of his character contains the seed of his demise; his greatest strength becomes his greatest weakness.

The play opens with Iago, the man Othello has just passed over for a promotion, displaying his fascination with rumor-mongering and deceit.  Iago seems bent on causing grief for everyone, with a special emphasis on Othello.  Nothing he does throughout the play changes our opinion of him—he is a bitter man, and his bitterness has become the ruling passion in his life.

How could anyone trust such a man? Perhaps a fool like Roderigo, one of Othello's rivals for Desdemona's affections, might fall into Iago's hands—but who else would choose to listen to Iago's crafty lies?

Unfortunately, the answer is: Othello. Herein lies the tragedy. Othello's heart and mind are open—what he says, he means, and what he promises, he does.  He knows himself to be true, and he trusts that everyone else is equally true. Othello's greatest strength—his trustworthiness—becomes his greatest weakness— he trusts everyone, even a knave like Iago.

When Iago; realizes this, and exploits it, Othello's downfall seem almost predetermined. Look at it through Othello's eyes: everyone is trustworthy, therefore Iago is trustworthy.  Iago tells me that my wife has been unfaithful to me. Though it is difficult to imagine Desdemona betraying me, Iago must be telling the truth (doesn't everybody?). And so I am consumed with jealousy and rage, and decide (ironically) that the one person I should trust the most—my wife—is the one person I cannot trust (after all, Iago warned me).

Once the reader recognizes Othello's tragic flaw, the irony of the situation envelops us. What does Desdemona's father warn Othello?   "She has deceiv'd her father, and may thee." And Othello's Response?   "[M]y life upon her faith!" How tragic that Othello places equal faith in the words of Iago, and then allows those words to destroy his faith in his beloved.

And how tragic that the story of Othello is the story of every man!

As Alexander Solzhenitsyn discovered when he realized the truth of Christianity, every man has a line that cuts down the middle of his heart—a division between good and evil.  Each one of us is a "house divided"—a strange mixture of good intentions with sin nature.   "For what I want to do," says Paul in Romans 7:15, "I do not do, but what I hate I do"— and he speaks for all of us.

Do you have the mindset of a mule? Your greatest strength can become your greatest weakness. The stubbornness that allows you to persevere in the face of overwhelming obstacles can turn into the "hardened heart" of a man too set in his ways to see that he is wrong.

Do you have the personality of a butterfly?  Your greatest strength—your ability to bring joy into others' lives—can become your greatest weakness—an inability to sit still and listen long enough to encourage others who need much more than a bright smile.

Do you have the courage of a rebel? Your greatest strength—your ability to buck the tide of an immoral "everybody's doing it"—can become your greatest weakness—rebellion against genuine authority established by God.

This paradox is built into each one of us. We are created in God's image. We have the capacity to reason and create, and we have free will. We have the marvelous gifts of laughter and tears and wonder and tenacity. Those who spend eternity with God will bear what C.S. Lewis called the "weight of glory"— delighting in our position as sons and daughters of God. We are built for great things, and by the power of the Holy Spirit we can do great things.

But we also are descendants of Adam. We sin, often in the very areas that we should excel. Just when we think we are improving, we backslide. If we take our eyes off God, even for a moment, we fail.

This paradox, of course, can amount to bad news or good news. Your greatest strength can become your greatest weakness—but not necessarily. It's just possible that your weakness can become strength. God delights in using broken vessels: "But we have this treasure [knowledge of the glory of God] in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us" (2 Corinthians 4:7). When we are weak, God's power shines most brightly through us.

The difference, quite simply, is Jesus Christ. Those who trust in Him are set free from sin, and the sky is (literally) the limit. Those who turn their backs on Him will face the tragedy of enslavement to sin.

Othello falls squarely between the perfect hero and the perfect villain. He is not nearly as depraved as Iago; nor is he as pure as Desdemona (who, even as she dies by Othello's hand, strives to take the blame away from him). We, too, start somewhere in the middle. But the decisions we make about the Lordship of Christ move us along the spectrum, closer to Iago or to Desdemona. On the Judgment Day, we will find ourselves ready to become the perfect hero or the perfect villain. Will our life story be recalled with joy or will it, like Othello's, be a "heavy act" related with a "heavy heart"?

Serious students should read The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame before the next issue of New Attitude arrives.