Macbeth uttered this line just before listening to his conniving wife’s scheme, hence rendering him a depressed, paranoid murderer.
I am especially fond of Macbeth, but really anything by Shakespeare turns my head. I have a passionate love afair with Shakespeare. Whether reading his plays or sonnets, I find myself frequently stopping to let the words, words, powerful words sink into my brain. Whoa. If I were to memorize every line of his that resonates deeply with me, I would quickly run out of RAM space.
I am not sure if you are aware…there are conspiracy theories of a sort regarding Shakespeare and his writings. Namely, that they are not his writings. He had help, he pilfered work from Christopher Marlowe (a contemporary rival), or he never wrote it at all, but was some sort of front-man. I say stuff and nonsense. Of course I am a smidge biased and have emotional reason to believe in the veracity and complete originality of Shakespeare’s writing — who, after all, likes to hear that the actor portraying their favorite film character is quite the opposite in real life?. Yet I mainly dismiss these theories because I think their origin stems from ungodliness. Hear me out.
We, as humans, are all reflective of God, correct? We each possess different talents that stem from Him. Some reflect God as Creator, others as Artist, others as Thinker, etc etc. I believe that these talents possessed at the genius level scares the Dickens (another genius, if you ask me) out of people. Why? Because I believe it points so definitively to God as Creator and Master. Maybe that is why we like to hear of the failings or oddities of geniuses. Does it make the unsaved feel better to know that Einstein failed elementary school? Do they like hearing that Bill Gates didn’t finish college? That revolutionary musicians like Elvis Presley struggled with drug addictions? Of course they tsk-tsk the findings and feel sorry for the poor soul, but I think secretly they are relieved to have the geniuses brought down to a more primal level. It is hard to argue that we are accidents, animalistic in nature and darn lucky to have protruding thumbs when you see such gifts in people. How can you deny a Creative being in the face of such incredible giftings?
All that to say regardless of the opinions of others, I shall always adore Shakespeare and believe his writings to be his own, given to him only by the One whom he reflects.