I would do anything for love, but I won’t do that …
Going back to the archives is always an interesting experience. Sometimes I find things I still stand by; on other occasions I’ve come to disagree with my former self; sometimes I discover ideas that have acquired new significance with the passing of time.
Revisiting my 2017 post about Buckingham and Richard III, I still stand by the argument that there’s real poignancy in how their relationship ends. There’s something almost heartbreakingly intimate about Buckingham’s assumption that, after everything they’ve done together, Richard will spare him the courtesy of an explanation. Or even a farewell.
Yet another act of spite and cruelty from my all-time favourite character.
Unpick that if you like!
But I’m increasingly interested in another question:
When we draw the line, what happens next?
I’ve spent years teasing students who’ve enjoyed Richard’s villainy, watching as they reach the point where the pleasure becomes uncomfortable. For me, that point comes early. For others, it’s the fratricide of Clarence, the extra-judicial execution of Hastings, or, finally, the murder of the two young Princes.
At some stage almost all of us recognise the cruelty. We withdraw our sympathy. We step off the ride.
Do we carry on watching, though, perhaps occasionally laughing at the sheer audacity of it all? Do we condemn Richard while allowing him to carry on unopposed? Or do we actively resist, even when doing so is inconvenient, uncomfortable, or potentially dangerous?
Buckingham, after all, isn’t an innocent bystander. His help has been invaluable in Richard acquiring the crown. He’s participated in the plotting, and assumed that their relationship would somehow protect him from the consequences. His tragedy is that he discovers too late that being useful to power is not the same as being safe from it.
And so, inevitably, I’m reminded of another line: “First they came for …”1
It’s easy to recognise injustice when we’re the ones suffering from it. It’s harder to recognise our responsibility when the victims are other people, particularly when the person causing the harm is entertaining, useful, or on our side. But how do we distinguish a failure of self-interest from a genuine moral epiphany?
And Shakespeare offers us another way of thinking about this, through Macduff. People often overlook the fact that Macduff drew his line very early indeed, refusing to attend Macbeth’s coronation. His character arc demands a much closer look, I think — he’s so much more than a cat’s paw for Malcolm …
Would we speak? Would we act? And what might it cost us?
Or would we simply step off the ride, congratulate ourselves on having recognised the problem, and leave it running for everyone else?
References and Further Reading
- https://encyclopedia.ushmm.org/content/en/article/martin-niemoeller-first-they-came-for-the-socialists?utm_source=chatgpt.com ↩︎
Music: Meat Loaf, “I’d Do Anything for Love (But I Won’t Do That),” Bat Out of Hell II: Back into Hell, Virgin Records, 1993.
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