The Imp of Macbeth's Perverse

 Whenever I approach a text, I’m less interested in what critics tell me I should get out of it than I am in what simply fascinates me about it. This is the authentic experience of a work of art, a meeting of two spirits, one within the reader and the other within the text. One such point of fascination for me when rereading Macbeth recently was the main character’s imp of the perverse.

The imp of the perverse is an expression that comes from Edgar Allan Poe’s story of that name. The story is narrated by a man in prison who murdered someone and then could not subdue an irresistible urge to confess it. He did these things precisely because he knew he should not. Furthermore, he insists that everyone has these urges:  

With certain minds, under certain conditions, it becomes absolutely irresistible. I am not more certain that I breathe, than that the assurance of the wrong or error of any action is often the one unconquerable force which impels us, and alone impels us to its prosecution.

Macbeth and Lady Macbeth demonstrate exactly this weakness. They cannot stop themselves from their crimes, and afterward cannot refrain from divulging them. In Lady Macbeth’s case, her weakness comes from a mental breakdown, whereas Macbeth himself, despite hallucinations and wild raving, maintains a slight grip on sanity. Nonetheless, he just . . . can’t seem . . . to stop himself. And the result is a lot of trouble. Having gained the throne of Scotland through murder, he can’t enjoy it, for his secret is out and he worries it will lead to his doom:

     We have scorched the snake, not killed it.
     She'll close and be herself, whilst our poor malice
     Remains in danger of her former tooth. 

On the surface, we may view the witches’ magic as driving Macbeth’s fate, but they are also representative of a force within Macbeth himself: his imp of the perverse. For this reason, I always feel sorry for Macbeth. He can’t hold back from his evil deeds and suffers as a result. Are we not all like this? Do not our personal failings frequently steer us into trouble? Even worse, we can tell ourselves, “You do not want to do that,” all the while knowing we will do exactly that. It’s as if there is a little demon inside driving our actions.

In Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human, Harold Bloom raises Nietzsche and Freud as subsequent thinkers who also believed that “we are lived, thought, and willed by forces not ourselves,” and certainly thinkers have long seen this externality to our very selves as the essence of being human. I think of the transcendental philosophers of the Enlightenment, as well as Heidegger and his concept of Dasein. Human beings are distinguished by their ability to step back from and look at themselves, and even to step back and look at themselves looking at themselves. In that light, the imp of the perverse is merely a term for a mischievous aspect of our innermost nature that acts independently of our conscious control.  

Shakespeare is full of protagonists with this problem. Like Macbeth, Hamlet sees a ghost that may be of his own imagination, and his fitful response lays waste around him, eventually leading to his own death. Romeo and Juliet’s drives are obviously hormonal and lead to self-immolation. Coriolanus is an interesting twist on the theme, for he willingly follows his nature to his doom. In fact, he insists on it, and this very stubbornness is part of his imp.

There are many reasons to read Shakespeare, but his insight into human nature is the most compelling. He wasn’t the first to present audiences with the dual nature of their species (surely examples can be found stretching back to antiquity), but he was able to do it in a way that has mesmerized audiences for centuries and will continue for centuries more. If you haven’t already seen the latest screen version of Macbeth, I recommend you watch it. And when you do, keep your eyes open for the character unlisted in either the dramatis personae or the credits:

The imp of Macbeth’s perverse.

 

 

Other posts on Shakespeare:

Bottom in A Midsummer Night's Dream (and Baltar in Battlestar Galactica)
Who Would Win a Fight Between Hamlet and Coriolanus?