A Eulogy for Othello
The first time I saw the general was on the battlefield. That was the one and only place a lowly foot soldier like me could aspire to catch a glimpse of the man, every line of whose face, it seemed, was drawn with bold strokes of nobility by a steady artist’s hand. There was something nearly godly in those eyes of his. They were two bright suns into which one could not stop staring, despite the pain and the fear of being blinded. Blinded, that is, by the stark honesty of their glare. He was one of those rare men who had nothing to hide, nor the slightest hint of human pretense.
Those around Othello unwittingly gravitated to him. A shift in his stance could change the atmosphere of a room, while he was so comfortable in his own skin that he made those around him squirm. He did not curse himself for the darker skin and the thick lips that others saw as his greatest demerits. He understood better than anyone else that virtue would shine through any man, no matter how dark his shell.
Unlike most men, Othello's reputation was not an abstraction. Every fiber of his being was that of a soldier, a leader, a husband, and a Moor. He was a man who, purely through his own strength and willpower, had risen above the seemingly inescapable label of an “other.” Othello was so whole within himself that he made those around him feel unneeded. This was a man who did the work and had the wisdom of a thousand men.
But we all saw a change come about him when he first laid eyes on Desdemona. Their meeting marked the first time that Othello saw something- someone- he was not sure he deserved. All of which he had prided himself on the day before- the scars that proved that he had earned every rank he rose through, the stories that told of his early misfortunes and how he rose above them- became things of which he was ashamed. His scars, his exotic heritage, his station in life, were all the more evidence that he was of a different world from Desdemona’s. And in the eyes of the many who saw him more as black than fair, these were all the more proof that she was not meant to be his.
Othello lived by a simple philosophy; he stoutly believed that a man’s standing in society and in life was directly proportional to his effort, and, of course, his natural born talent and ability to draw others. But the game of love was not like that of war, in which you either conquered or were conquered. With Desdemona, he could call her his all he wanted, but never her appetite.
As Othello was a man who only knew how to live in the light of truth, this newfound idea of "uncertainty" drove him crazy the many nights of his courtship. His closest friends hoped that his insecure fears would be assuaged when he bound Desdemona to him with the contract of marriage. Perhaps once Othello could call Desdemona his wife, he would let himself believe that he owned her completely. Yet we are here today as evidence that the more he loved, the more he tried to take ownership of Desdemona, the more the possibility of losing it all tore him apart.
Othello’s only sin, in the end, was not jealousy or insecurity. It was love.
But if loving too much is a sin, then may we all sin until we die.
Those around Othello unwittingly gravitated to him. A shift in his stance could change the atmosphere of a room, while he was so comfortable in his own skin that he made those around him squirm. He did not curse himself for the darker skin and the thick lips that others saw as his greatest demerits. He understood better than anyone else that virtue would shine through any man, no matter how dark his shell.
Unlike most men, Othello's reputation was not an abstraction. Every fiber of his being was that of a soldier, a leader, a husband, and a Moor. He was a man who, purely through his own strength and willpower, had risen above the seemingly inescapable label of an “other.” Othello was so whole within himself that he made those around him feel unneeded. This was a man who did the work and had the wisdom of a thousand men.
But we all saw a change come about him when he first laid eyes on Desdemona. Their meeting marked the first time that Othello saw something- someone- he was not sure he deserved. All of which he had prided himself on the day before- the scars that proved that he had earned every rank he rose through, the stories that told of his early misfortunes and how he rose above them- became things of which he was ashamed. His scars, his exotic heritage, his station in life, were all the more evidence that he was of a different world from Desdemona’s. And in the eyes of the many who saw him more as black than fair, these were all the more proof that she was not meant to be his.
Othello lived by a simple philosophy; he stoutly believed that a man’s standing in society and in life was directly proportional to his effort, and, of course, his natural born talent and ability to draw others. But the game of love was not like that of war, in which you either conquered or were conquered. With Desdemona, he could call her his all he wanted, but never her appetite.
As Othello was a man who only knew how to live in the light of truth, this newfound idea of "uncertainty" drove him crazy the many nights of his courtship. His closest friends hoped that his insecure fears would be assuaged when he bound Desdemona to him with the contract of marriage. Perhaps once Othello could call Desdemona his wife, he would let himself believe that he owned her completely. Yet we are here today as evidence that the more he loved, the more he tried to take ownership of Desdemona, the more the possibility of losing it all tore him apart.
Othello’s only sin, in the end, was not jealousy or insecurity. It was love.
But if loving too much is a sin, then may we all sin until we die.