Banquo's Silence
Misplaced Loyalty, Servile Flattery,
and the Erosion of Dignity
He speaks with a mix of pride and weariness. "It tastes so good," he says. "The experience of being respected, of being close to power, of being seen as someone important. The approval of the king gives my life meaning—a sense of belonging, a feeling that my life matters. I am relevant! All I have to do is be loyal to him, flatter him, follow his every command - and to accept his division of the world into friends and enemies. His enemies become my enemies; his friends, my friends."
He pauses, his tone shifting. "At first, I wondered if this might involve an erosion of my own dignity, a compromise of my principles. There was a strange voice within me, a whisper that called me to respect the dignity of all people, even his so-called enemies; to seek unity, not division; to stay true to what I believed, namely kindness, even if it seemed disloyal to the king. But over time, I learned to bracket the voice of kindness, to push it away. I decided to be powerful, not kind."
A faint shadow crosses his face. "Things are better now. In time, the voice grew so quiet, so hidden, that it almost didn't exist. Many of my fellow courtiers were doing the same thing, and their actions made it easier for me to do the same. After all, 'everybody' was doing it—at least, all the courtiers were. Now," he says, "I don’t even hear it anymore."
I am speaking, of course, for the character Banquo in Shakespeare's play Macbeth.
From the moment he and Macbeth encounter the witches, Banquo is caught in a web of conflicting loyalties: loyalty to the truth, loyalty to his moral principles, and loyalty to the throne. Though he refrains from overt acts of betrayal, his silence and passivity reflect the compromises often made by courtiers who value proximity to power over the voice of conscience.
Banquo's Suspicions
Banquo’s journey begins with the witches’ prophecy, which foretells that while Macbeth will become king, Banquo’s descendants will inherit the throne. This prophecy sets the stage for his internal conflict. Unlike Macbeth, who actively pursues the witches’ vision through murder, Banquo struggles to reconcile his ambitions with his moral code. He suspects Macbeth’s treachery, saying, "Thou hast it now: King, Cawdor, Glamis, all, / As the weird women promised, and I fear / Thou play'dst most foully for't" (Act III, Scene i). Despite these fears, Banquo remains silent, neither confronting Macbeth nor acting to stop him.
From a process perspective, Banquo’s silence represents the suppression of an inner lure toward truth and integrity. The "quiet voice" within him—the divine call to justice and dignity. to kindness—beckons him to resist Macbeth’s tyranny. Yet the allure of the throne, the possibility of his descendants’ reign, and the fear of losing his position at court overpower this voice. Banquo’s hesitation to speak or act against Macbeth is a form of complicity, a reminder of how the culture of a court can erode the moral courage of even the noblest individuals.
Misplaced Loyalty and Self-Deception
Banquo’s misplaced loyalty to the throne—and by extension, to Macbeth—plays a central role in his self-deception. Loyalty, when rightly directed, reflects a commitment to values and relationships that nurture dignity and justice. But when loyalty is misplaced, it becomes a vehicle for suppressing the "quiet voice" of conscience and perpetuating systems of harm. In Banquo’s case, his loyalty to the throne blinds him to the moral consequences of his silence. He rationalizes his inaction by clinging to the promise of his descendants’ future reign, allowing fear and ambition to overpower his deeper commitments to truth and justice. This misplaced loyalty feeds a cycle of self-deception.
To preserve his position and avoid confrontation, Banquo selectively prehends his reality, focusing on the potential rewards of silence while suppressing his moral discomfort. Over time, this suppression becomes habitual, and the divine lure toward integrity—the inward call to resist tyranny—fades into the background. Like the courtiers described earlier, Banquo’s misplaced loyalty not only erodes his dignity but also isolates him, leaving him vulnerable to the very system he supports.
The Cost of Silence
Banquo’s silence ultimately comes at great personal cost. His inaction leaves him vulnerable to Macbeth’s growing paranoia. Although Banquo refuses to flatter Macbeth or participate in his schemes, his continued presence at court makes him a perceived threat. Macbeth, consumed by fear of the witches’ prophecy, plots Banquo’s murder to secure his reign. Banquo’s death is the price he pays for his unwillingness to challenge Macbeth openly.
The tragedy of Banquo is that his silence, born of self-preservation and moral conflict, isolates him. Unlike Macduff, who actively opposes Macbeth, Banquo remains caught between his conscience and his loyalty to the throne. His failure to resist Macbeth’s tyranny enables the very culture of fear and flattery that leads to his demise.
Banquo’s story reflects the dangers of throne culture, where proximity to power often demands the suppression of moral integrity. In such a system, loyalty to the throne outweighs loyalty to truth, and flattery becomes a survival strategy. Banquo’s reluctance to act reveals the complexity of the courtier’s role: he must navigate a treacherous landscape where silence and complicity are safer than dissent. Yet this safety is an illusion, as Banquo’s fate demonstrates.
The Christian Critique
From a Christian perspective, Banquo’s silence underscores the importance of heeding the "quiet voice" of conscience. Jesus’ teachings emphasize courage in the face of wrongdoing, as in His declaration, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled” (Matthew 5:6). Banquo’s failure to speak truth to power contrasts sharply with this call to action. His story serves as a cautionary tale for Christians, reminding us that silence in the face of injustice is itself a form of participation in evil.
The roundtable symbolizes a different kind of power—not one that dominates, but one that empowers. It is a place where decisions are made not through coercion but through conversation, where ideas are debated openly, and where unity arises from shared purpose rather than fear. At the roundtable, the "quiet voice" of conscience is not stifled but amplified, becoming a guiding force for the community.
This image offers an alternative to the toxic culture of the throne. It reimagines leadership not as a solitary figure wielding control, but as a shared responsibility where each person contributes to the whole. It calls us to move away from systems of hierarchy and into relationships of mutual care and accountability.
A Call to Action
The roundtable challenges us to reflect on the systems we uphold in our own lives. Do we, like Banquo, remain silent in the face of injustice for the sake of safety and proximity to power? Or can we embrace the courage to act, to speak, and to listen? The roundtable reminds us that true power lies not in domination but in connection, not in silence but in honest and open dialogue. It invites us to create spaces where the voice of conscience is heard and where dignity and justice are shared by all.
He pauses, his tone shifting. "At first, I wondered if this might involve an erosion of my own dignity, a compromise of my principles. There was a strange voice within me, a whisper that called me to respect the dignity of all people, even his so-called enemies; to seek unity, not division; to stay true to what I believed, namely kindness, even if it seemed disloyal to the king. But over time, I learned to bracket the voice of kindness, to push it away. I decided to be powerful, not kind."
A faint shadow crosses his face. "Things are better now. In time, the voice grew so quiet, so hidden, that it almost didn't exist. Many of my fellow courtiers were doing the same thing, and their actions made it easier for me to do the same. After all, 'everybody' was doing it—at least, all the courtiers were. Now," he says, "I don’t even hear it anymore."
I am speaking, of course, for the character Banquo in Shakespeare's play Macbeth.
From the moment he and Macbeth encounter the witches, Banquo is caught in a web of conflicting loyalties: loyalty to the truth, loyalty to his moral principles, and loyalty to the throne. Though he refrains from overt acts of betrayal, his silence and passivity reflect the compromises often made by courtiers who value proximity to power over the voice of conscience.
Banquo's Suspicions
Banquo’s journey begins with the witches’ prophecy, which foretells that while Macbeth will become king, Banquo’s descendants will inherit the throne. This prophecy sets the stage for his internal conflict. Unlike Macbeth, who actively pursues the witches’ vision through murder, Banquo struggles to reconcile his ambitions with his moral code. He suspects Macbeth’s treachery, saying, "Thou hast it now: King, Cawdor, Glamis, all, / As the weird women promised, and I fear / Thou play'dst most foully for't" (Act III, Scene i). Despite these fears, Banquo remains silent, neither confronting Macbeth nor acting to stop him.
From a process perspective, Banquo’s silence represents the suppression of an inner lure toward truth and integrity. The "quiet voice" within him—the divine call to justice and dignity. to kindness—beckons him to resist Macbeth’s tyranny. Yet the allure of the throne, the possibility of his descendants’ reign, and the fear of losing his position at court overpower this voice. Banquo’s hesitation to speak or act against Macbeth is a form of complicity, a reminder of how the culture of a court can erode the moral courage of even the noblest individuals.
Misplaced Loyalty and Self-Deception
Banquo’s misplaced loyalty to the throne—and by extension, to Macbeth—plays a central role in his self-deception. Loyalty, when rightly directed, reflects a commitment to values and relationships that nurture dignity and justice. But when loyalty is misplaced, it becomes a vehicle for suppressing the "quiet voice" of conscience and perpetuating systems of harm. In Banquo’s case, his loyalty to the throne blinds him to the moral consequences of his silence. He rationalizes his inaction by clinging to the promise of his descendants’ future reign, allowing fear and ambition to overpower his deeper commitments to truth and justice. This misplaced loyalty feeds a cycle of self-deception.
To preserve his position and avoid confrontation, Banquo selectively prehends his reality, focusing on the potential rewards of silence while suppressing his moral discomfort. Over time, this suppression becomes habitual, and the divine lure toward integrity—the inward call to resist tyranny—fades into the background. Like the courtiers described earlier, Banquo’s misplaced loyalty not only erodes his dignity but also isolates him, leaving him vulnerable to the very system he supports.
The Cost of Silence
Banquo’s silence ultimately comes at great personal cost. His inaction leaves him vulnerable to Macbeth’s growing paranoia. Although Banquo refuses to flatter Macbeth or participate in his schemes, his continued presence at court makes him a perceived threat. Macbeth, consumed by fear of the witches’ prophecy, plots Banquo’s murder to secure his reign. Banquo’s death is the price he pays for his unwillingness to challenge Macbeth openly.
The tragedy of Banquo is that his silence, born of self-preservation and moral conflict, isolates him. Unlike Macduff, who actively opposes Macbeth, Banquo remains caught between his conscience and his loyalty to the throne. His failure to resist Macbeth’s tyranny enables the very culture of fear and flattery that leads to his demise.
Banquo’s story reflects the dangers of throne culture, where proximity to power often demands the suppression of moral integrity. In such a system, loyalty to the throne outweighs loyalty to truth, and flattery becomes a survival strategy. Banquo’s reluctance to act reveals the complexity of the courtier’s role: he must navigate a treacherous landscape where silence and complicity are safer than dissent. Yet this safety is an illusion, as Banquo’s fate demonstrates.
The Christian Critique
From a Christian perspective, Banquo’s silence underscores the importance of heeding the "quiet voice" of conscience. Jesus’ teachings emphasize courage in the face of wrongdoing, as in His declaration, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled” (Matthew 5:6). Banquo’s failure to speak truth to power contrasts sharply with this call to action. His story serves as a cautionary tale for Christians, reminding us that silence in the face of injustice is itself a form of participation in evil.
The roundtable symbolizes a different kind of power—not one that dominates, but one that empowers. It is a place where decisions are made not through coercion but through conversation, where ideas are debated openly, and where unity arises from shared purpose rather than fear. At the roundtable, the "quiet voice" of conscience is not stifled but amplified, becoming a guiding force for the community.
This image offers an alternative to the toxic culture of the throne. It reimagines leadership not as a solitary figure wielding control, but as a shared responsibility where each person contributes to the whole. It calls us to move away from systems of hierarchy and into relationships of mutual care and accountability.
A Call to Action
The roundtable challenges us to reflect on the systems we uphold in our own lives. Do we, like Banquo, remain silent in the face of injustice for the sake of safety and proximity to power? Or can we embrace the courage to act, to speak, and to listen? The roundtable reminds us that true power lies not in domination but in connection, not in silence but in honest and open dialogue. It invites us to create spaces where the voice of conscience is heard and where dignity and justice are shared by all.