Macbeth's Descent into Violence

For brave Macbeth - well he deserves that name - Disdaining fortune, with his brandished steel, Which smoked with bloody execution... Till he unseamed him from the nave to the chaps, And fixed his head upon our battlements!

"Unseamed him from the nave to the chaps." He sliced a man open from his navel to his jaw. That is incredibly gory. It is. It's horrific. But how does King Duncan react to hearing that his cousin has just butchered a man on the battlefield? He loves it. He says, "O valiant cousin! Worthy gentleman!" Spot on. And that is the crucial starting point. In the world of 11th-century Scotland, violence in the service of the state is not just acceptable; it is deeply moral. It is celebrated. Macbeth's entire identity, his status, his honour - it is all built on his capacity to commit extreme, physical violence on behalf of his king. He is "Valour's minion". But what happens when that violent capability is turned inward? Against the state? Against the king himself?

So the witches plant the idea of him becoming king. But Macbeth's initial reaction to the prophecy isn't exactly joy, is it? He seems terrified. Yes! And that terror is entirely internal. This is where Macbeth is brilliant, and totally unique among Shakespeare's tragic heroes. He is a man of action, but he is cursed with an incredibly vivid, terrifying imagination. Oh, like when he first thinks about murdering Duncan. Exactly. Listen to what happens to his mind the moment the idea of treason takes root in Act One, Scene Three.

Why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature?

Notice the physical reaction. His hair stands on end. His heart knocks at his ribs. He is a man who literally wades through blood on a battlefield without blinking, yet a thought - an image in his own mind - paralyses him. Because battlefield violence is natural to him. It's sanctioned. Murdering a king, his guest, his kinsman... that's deeply unnatural. It breaks the Great Chain of Being. Exactly. You've hit the nail on the head. He knows the moral cost. His internal conflict is agonising. Lady Macbeth has to practically batter his ego to get him to go through with it. And even as he is walking to Duncan's bedchamber, his mind projects his guilt outward.

Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.

The dagger of the mind. He is hallucinating before the murder even happens. He does it. He kills Duncan. But note how it happens. Shakespeare doesn't show it on stage. The celebrated, public violence of Act One is replaced by secretive, shameful, hidden violence. And the moment it's done, Macbeth's relationship with violence changes forever. It is no longer a tool of honour. It is a disease.

Okay, so he's king. But he's not secure. This is where the paranoia kicks in, right? Because if he can kill a king to get the crown, someone else can kill him to take it. Precisely. "To be thus is nothing, but to be safely thus." That's his great fear. And who does he fear most? His former brother-in-arms, Banquo. Because Banquo knows about the witches, and the witches promised Banquo's children would be kings. But he doesn't kill Banquo himself. He hires assassins. Yes. Think about what that means for his character. The brave warrior who fought on the front lines now sits in a dark room, manipulating desperate men to do his dirty work. He is distancing himself from the physical act of violence. It's becoming bureaucratic. But the guilt cannot be delegated. We see this brilliantly in the banquet scene. He has ordered Banquo's death. He sits down to feast with his lords... and the bloody ghost of Banquo takes his seat.

Avaunt, and quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee! Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold!

He's completely losing his grip. Lady Macbeth has to send all the guests away. It's a massive public humiliation. It's the turning point of the entire play. Once the lords leave, Macbeth and his wife are left alone in the ruins of their feast. And Macbeth comes to a chilling realisation. Listen carefully to this metaphor.

I am in blood Stepped in so far that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er.

"I am in blood, stepped in so far." He imagines himself standing in a river of blood. He's exactly halfway across. Going back to being the good, loyal man is just as hard, just as "tedious", as wading all the way across to the other side. So he chooses to just keep going. To keep killing. He does. He becomes desensitised. The internal conflict that tortured him over Duncan? It vanishes. His violence shifts from being targeted and ambitious, to being reactive, paranoid, and utterly senseless. He orders the slaughter of Macduff's wife and children. People who pose no political threat to him whatsoever. He has become the tyrant. The state-sanctioned hero has become the state's greatest terror.

It feels like by Act Five, he's completely isolated. Lady Macbeth goes mad and dies. His lords are deserting him. An English army is marching on his castle. He is entirely alone. And the terrible tragedy of Macbeth is that he knows what he has lost. He is highly self-aware. He knows he has sacrificed everything - his soul, his honour, his wife, his friends - for a crown that brings him absolutely no joy. How does he react to Lady Macbeth's death? Because they were so close at the start. They were partners. His reaction is one of the bleakest moments in all of literature. When he is told the Queen is dead, he doesn't weep. He doesn't rage. He is just... empty.

She should have died hereafter... Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.

"Signifying nothing." He thinks life is completely meaningless. Nihilism. Absolute darkness. The violence hasn't just destroyed his victims; it has destroyed his capacity to feel anything at all. He is emotionally dead before Macduff ever raises a sword against him. But he does fight at the end, right? When Macduff comes for him, he doesn't just surrender. No, he doesn't. And that is the final irony. Cornered, knowing the prophecies have tricked him, knowing he is going to die... he reverts to his original identity. The warrior. He straps on his shield. He fights like a demon. But it's hollow. The violence of Act One was full of honour and glory. The violence of Act Five is just the desperate thrashing of a trapped animal.

So, when you are writing about Macbeth, don't just say he is a "violent character". That is too simple. Track the trajectory. Right. He goes from heroic, state-sanctioned violence... to transgressive, guilt-ridden murder... to paranoid, senseless slaughter. Spot on. And ultimately, to a numb, meaningless end. The play is a brilliant, terrifying exploration of what happens when a man allows his ambition to override his conscience, and uses violence as the tool to bridge the gap. He gains the whole world, but loses his soul. That's all for this episode. I highly recommend going back and reading the "Tomorrow and tomorrow" soliloquy aloud - it really helps you feel the rhythm of his despair. Thank you for listening, keep interrogating the text, and I'll catch you next time.