Shakespeare’s Macbeth: A Lesson In Fate
There was once a merchant in the famous market at Baghdad. One day he saw a stranger looking at him in surprise. And he knew that the stranger was Death. Pale and trembling, the merchant fled the marketplace and made his way many, many miles to the city of Samarra, for there he was sure Death could not find him. But when at last he came to Samarra, the merchant saw, waiting for him, the grim figure of Death. “Very well,” said the merchant. “I give in. I am yours.” “But tell me: why did you look surprised when you saw me this morning in Baghdad?” “Because,” said Death, “I had an appointment with you tonight — in Samarra.”
This is quite an old tale — told from mouth to mouth from children’s bedtime stories all the way to harrowing folktales. I was told this story when I was five years old, and this short tale never ceases to fascinate me. It is a bit scary, if you think about it. Death, in hindsight, was something that was simply inevitable. Like fate.
When I read Shakespeare’s classic tragedy “Macbeth,” the very tale of the merchant of Samarra echoed in the back of my head. Macbeth hears a prophecy about himself becoming the King in the future by the three witches, and when prompted by Lady Macbeth to take action, he does. Thus the prophecy becomes true. However, since we humans are hard-wired to crave reward for input, we don’t think of this situation as an inevitable act of fate since there was motivation and action. In a way, Macbeth’s murdering of King Duncan is justified as an act to fulfill his prophecy, and it comes across to us as a conscious choice that he made, not fate compelling him.
Strangely enough, when the outcome is negative, it doesn’t feel the same way. Another prophecy is given to the now enthroned Macbeth. The armored head informs him to watch out for Macduff. Then, a bloody child tells him that nobody born of a woman can touch him. Later, a crowned child holding a tree tells him he shall be safe until Great Birnam trees approach the castle.
Macbeth gets terrified at the news that Macduff was approaching England and he kills his entire family. He becomes even more paranoid once he realizes that the army that Macduff was bringing along had shields made out of the very Great Birnam trees the child warned him about. Macduff, wanting to gain revenge on Macbeth for killing his entire family, faces Macbeth on the battlefield. Macbeth still tries to escape the situation by recalling the prophecy that nobody born of a woman can touch him. However, it turned out that Macduff was born from a Caesarean section and could, in fact, kill him. Thus, Macbeth faces his demise.
In this situation, it doesn’t feel like that last time. This feels like fate. Macduff heard the prophecy, chose to defy it, and couldn’t escape it in hindsight. This is because the motif of his action was not to reinforce the given prophecy but to counteract it. As humans, when we put in the effort, we expect aligned results, which in this case was not achieved. Thus, it is much easier to interpret that as fate’s doing.
I cannot say for sure whether or not fate or destiny is real by a mere prose analysis. However, when I saw the double-standard I placed when iterating the concept of fate based on the outcome of an event, I was able to deduce one thing.
If fate truly exists, then the prophecy should be the absolute truth. However, we, as human beings, are limited in our knowledge to determine whether or not that truth stands. But, as I was able to observe from reading Macbeth, we humans tend to use this abstract to justify our actions or consequences that occur in real life. Macbeth might have killed the King even if the prophecy had not existed — but it did exist, and that gave him an incentive since it would have felt less morally questionable if it was fate, and was going to happen nevertheless. It all works to justify the conscious choices we make as human beings.
I, for one, do not know if fate is real. But I do know that fate can be a dangerous religion. With a devout devotion to fate, we can sometimes disillusion the truth and justify the abstract. I remember when my mother told me she went to a fortune teller who told her that I was going to become someone notable. It was tempting to believe that. But I know my place and I know my objective accomplishments and I like to stick with rationality rather than a provocative possibility. In this day and age, truth is becoming rarer and rarer and, reading Macbeth, I felt the prerogative as a journalist wannabe to stick to the facts. When faced with fate and the truth, which will you choose?
