Reason in madness

This week: King Lear by William Shakespeare

Madness! Gone ‘round the bend! Having lost the plot! Lunacy! How do we explain it? Supposing we respectfully leave to one side for now the afflictions of mental illness conditions, we can singularly deal with that other related state of mind where terms such as folly, idiocy, insanity and absurdity are difficult to avoid. Stupidity and silliness. But when does it take root? What was the trigger? Where and why did it all begin?

As human beings our lives are full of choices. And every choice we make brings us to where we are today, now, this minute, this point in time. Sometimes the seemingly wrong choices can bring us to the right place. Open different opportunities, teach us the right lessons we need to learn, arm us, prepare us, generate what we are. And sometimes not.

But the point is, it all stems from a choice, a singular choice. Life is a binary code, a black or white, a left or right, a yes or no. I will, I will not. It’s as simple as that. But is there any solace in tracking back the choices and isolating that fork in the road, as poet Robert Frost would have it, where the wrong option occurred? If we swam backwards in time would we see the moment? Does that bring reason, or deepen the madness? Are we capable of identifying that moment, and if so, in our state of madness have we, perhaps, now found the reason? In the world of literature, to bare testimony to this, we need look no further than Mr. Shakespeare himself.

Witness the work of any Leaving Certificate student sitting their English exams next month writing about King Lear, and doubtless the word ‘madness’ will appear in the opening paragraph. Written by William Shakespeare circa 1606, it is the tale of the king of Britain, Lear, who, having hastily made the decision to divide his kingdom among his three daughters, gradually slides into insanity. Two of the princesses, Goneril and Regan, have no conscience whatsoever when it comes to faking their love and respect for their father and are fully prepared to flatter him toward their own end. However, his favourite, the youngest, Cordelia, is incapable of behaving in any hypocritical fashion,

‘Good my Lord, you have begot me, bred me, loved me... Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, to love my father all...’

But Lear is furious and her refusal to respond to his demands for displays of affection finds her not alone omitted from any territorial division, but banished to France. Chaos ensues. He has backed the wrong horse, made the wrong choice. And pretty soon begins his own downward spiral.

Both daughters disrespect him and quickly deviate from their promises, but by trusting them he has left himself powerless and exposed. He is about to suffer the fate of madness in reason. Rapidly, his poor decision, this one decision, sees him rambling and abandoned to the elements like a lunatic, joined by other lost souls and victims of circumstance, Poor Tom, the loyal Kent and the court Fool, all of whom, on the face of it, might occupy a ward at Bedlam asylum between them!

But even though the behaviour and appearance of this small band of crazies convinces the reader of the unmistakable insanity of Lear, it is now, and only now that he begins to see clearly. Between his bouts of lunacy, there is wisdom and recognition of his errors of judgement, and like the storm raging all around him, he is willing to take it, prepared to suffer. But there’s even more, because when he and his band happen upon a group of suffering homeless souls, he for the first time in his life gives pause for thought to the poor within his kingdom. He should have helped, he should have done more as King.

‘poor naked wretches, whereso’er you are, that bide the pelting of this pitiless storm... that thou mayst shake the superflux to them and show the heavens more just.’

Lear, by torturing his mind to funnel back to it’s gravest single error of judgement, sheds light on a whole new perspective. Having been led by madness in reason, we now see the reason within madness. We are all equally vulnerable. John J Kelly is a multiple award-winning poet from Enniscorthy. He is the co-founder of the Anthony Cronin Poetry Award with the Wexford Literary Festival and co-ordinator of poetry workshops for schools locally.

Each week, John’s column will deal mainly with novels, plays and poems from both the Leaving Certificate syllabus and Junior Certificate syllabus.