A Farewell to Arms and Othello

The last mini-scene of 3.3. consists of Iago's further stretching Othello "on the rack" of mental torment (3.3.329-480). Here, in four symphonic movements of increasing psychological trauma, Othello expresses: 1) desolation; 2) desperation; 3) outrage; and 4) resolve. Each of these movements has its particular poignancy as Othello marches along the path from self-pity to self-destruction. This and the next three mini-essays will consider these four steps.

Good-bye to War

In his classic work on Shakespearean tragedy (1904), A.C. Bradley says that Othello "has felt as no other man ever felt (for he speaks of it as none ever did) the poetry of the pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war." But we ought not to miss the fact that Othello only gives this memorable tribute in the context of his conclusion that this life is over for him. When Iago returns to continue his mental torment of Othello, Othello has already decided that his life is finished. Othello would agree with the grief-stricken words of Job when he is also brooding over is loss, "My days are past, my plans are broken off, the desires of my heart (Job 17:11)." Part of Othello's tragedy, however, is that the reader/hearer of the play realizes that what has happened to Othello need not lead to such dramatic hopelessness. Let's first explore the language of desolation and then conclude with reflections on Othello's choices.

Ignorance is Bliss

'If only I had been ignorant of what I now know,' is Othello's feeling as the section opens. "He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stol'n,/ Let him not know't, and he's not robb'd at all (3.3.342-343)." He would even have been happy if the soldiers of lowest rank, the "Pioners," had all "tasted her sweet body,/ So I had nothing known (3.3.346-347)." But the irony here is overwhelming. Othello now "knows" what in fact is not true; his "ignorance" was the truth of the matter. Like Cassius in Julius Caesar, who asks his armorbearer to kill him when he thinks he sees Titinius taken by the Triumvirs, so it could be said of Othello, "Alas, thou hast misconstrued every thing (JC 5.3.84)."

Othello's pain begins when he begins the quest for knowledge. He has no confidence in himself to assess what is true or valid knowledge. Othello frightens us because he, like we, leaps to conclusions that may or may not have any validity. He, no less than the Bush Administration, relied on someone for crucial information whose interests were not aligned with the one asking for information. What is it that Othello thinks he knows? That Desdemona's infidelity has ended his life.

Desolate Words

And so Othello speaks his magnificently powerful words:

"O now, for ever/ Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content!/ Farewell the plumed troops and the big wars/ That makes ambition virtue!/ O farewell!/ Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump,/ The spirit-stirring drum, th' ear-piercing fife,/ The royal banner, and all quality,/ Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!/ And O you mortal engines, whose rude throats/ Th' immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit,/ Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone (3.3.347-357)."

Three things can be noted from this speech. First, the repeated "farewells" suggest a tone of finality and sadness. His limited psychological space has become yet narrower as he concludes that Desdemona's infidelity must mean the end of his life as he knows it. Second, he recounts the specific elements of his glorious past in war to which he is bidding adieu. But, the psychological effect of the visual language is to allow him to relive once more the experience of that war, to refract its dying glories through the prism of his shattered mind. He and we hear the neighing steed and the ear-piercing fife; we see the unfurled royal banner curling in the wind; we feel the surge of energy as the cacophony of battle's sounds mingles in a most pleasant dissonance. We see Othello, the man who reveled in the dissoance of the battle's sounds, falling apart under the pressure of dissonances in his domestic life.

Third, the final words, "Othello's occupation's gone," act as a bracing reality-check that brings him back from the reverie of remembered glory to the sickening realities of right now. After the dust of the glorious wars has settled and the words recreating those battles have died away, there is the stark and oppressive thought that "Othello's occupation's gone." Again like the Biblical sufferer Job who escaped the searing pain of his distress by imagining an escape into a wondrous mental land where peace and harmony prevailed, only to return to his painful reality with short and pithy sentences ("I am not at ease, nor am I quiet; I have no rest; but trouble comes"--Job 3:26), so Othello returns from his reveried tour to speak the flinty reality, "Othello's occupation's gone (3.3.357)."

"Is 't Come to This (3.3.363)?"

Iago responds to Othello's soliloquy in this seemingly startled fashion. Of course, Iago is secretly delighted that it has "come to this," but we might pose that question in another frame of mind. Our question is, 'Othello, aren't you overreacting a bit?' Othello could have done two things to stop his headlong charge into the abyss. Following his own advice, he could have "seen" and then "doubted." That is, he could have asked Desdemona. He could have given the matter some time. He could have checked out his information with someone else he trusted (if, in fact, there was anyone else). And then, even if the information had proved true, he had options, as we in our psychologically-aware culture might say. He might have been cuckolded, but he was not the first nor would he be the last prominent person to experience that. As we would say today, 'Othello, it doesn't have to be this way.'

But that is part of the mystery, tragedy and fearful character of Othello. Maybe we too have our own dissonances, dissonances that are so deep and so debilitating that even though we have "options," we too force ourselves into the same limited intellectual space as Othello and become in danger of courting our own self-destruction. Maybe we are scared that we too, who seem to want "ocular" proof of things, really want and need far less. Suspicion, prejudice and partial report is all we need to plunge into our own private abysses. Thus, we feel for Othello because we recognize in his vulnerability something of our own assailability, something of our own weakness, and we hope and pray that our own Iago is not waiting in the wings to help us to the "steep-down" cliffs leading to our own private lake of fire.

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