MACBETH                  But in these cases

We still have judgement here, that we but teach

Bloody instructions which, being taught, return

To plague th’inventor. This even-handed justice

Commends th’ingredience of our poisoned chalice

To our own lips. He’s here in double trust:

First as I am his kinsman and his subject,

Strong both against the deed; then as his host,

Who should against his murderer shut the door,

Not bear the knife myself.    (1.7.7-16)

Macbeth’s so tormented, and the speech continues dense, knotty, ambiguous. But in these cases we still have judgement here: where is here? It could be here, within our own hearts, own consciences; we still have free will—or it could be here, in this life, this world, where we face judgement as much as in the life to come. In that case, the suggestion is that the judgement, the outcome, the payoff, is that our terrible deeds set a terrible example to others, bloody instructions which, being taught, return to plague th’inventor. A pragmatic, politician’s reasoning (and a prescient one too): the trouble with doing bad things is that they are eventually imitated by others. They come back to bite you. And this even-handed justice commends th’ingredience of our poisoned chalice to our own lips. Justice is even-handed because she holds a balance in her hand; she is impartial, not least because she is also blind, another (appropriately) unseen instance of sightlessness, blindness in the play. That impartiality is a burden: it means that we can’t escape the consequences, and the bad things that we do, the ingredience of our poisoned chalice, which is both the ingredients, the drink itself—it’d be reinforced even further if Macbeth had one in his hand as he spoke—and the entering into sin and misdeeds, ingredience; ingress, entry—a sense of setting foot, crossing a line, perhaps—we have to drink them. We are poisoned by the poison that we create, that we enable and authorise. A choking image; no choice but to drink. A chalice can simply be a cup, but it does have the sense of the communion cup of the Eucharist—so the sense of violation, a poisoned chalice, a poisoned community, blasphemy and blasphemous, profane rites—that’s all there too.

He—still not named in this scene—is here in double trust, bound to me twice over. (Double, again, although Macbeth names three relationships which he will violate.) He’s family. He’s my king. Both of those matter; I’m bound to him by blood, by oath, by loyalty; I hold my titles, my identity and status from him. And I’m his host, he’s my guest. I should keep him safe: I should against his murderer shut the door, not bear the knife myself. Finally, a concrete imagining, an admission, albeit indirectly. A murderer. A knife. And an attempt to bar the door.