William Hogarth, A Rake's Progress 8

On a surface level, we can now say that Tom has reaped what he sowed, and his vices have finally brought him to Bethlem, London's infamous "hospital" for the insane. In Twelve Step programs, the old-timers will often warn about the three places that await us if we don't address our compulsions: prisons, asylums, and morgues. There is a bitter wisdom to this prediction, and while the method may seem crude, there is nothing quite like being scared straight. 

And though I could say that Tom gets what he deserved, on a deeper level the scene fills me with sorrow, and inspires me to compassion. There but for the grace of God go I. For all of his mistakes, Tom still possesses the dignity of a man, and I now find myself less concerned about blaming him than on how we go about treating those who struggle with their own inner demons in this life. 

Most modern viewers will note the barbarism of Hogarth's "ignorant" times, and yet I have experienced more than enough of how we still cast aside those we deem to be criminal, deranged, or undesirable. The poor lie in the streets, the addicted are thrown into cells, and the sick find no comfort unless they can pay for it handsomely. 

Tom Rakewell just wanted more money, after all, and in this he seems no different than the decadent world that raised him up. If Fortune had acted only slightly differently, he would still be back in his fancy parlor, instead of rotting in the madhouse. Would we consider Tom a success in life if he had, by chance, continued living the high life, despite the blackness remaining within his soul? 

For me, this final installment in the series asks me to ponder how the world of the asylum sadly reflects the insanity of the world at large, Tom is no longer the object of pity—our whole crooked society is the object of pity. 

The rich ladies come to view the freaks for their amusement. An astronomer and a cartographer have lost their minds seeking the secrets of the stars and the solution to calculating longitude. A tailor brandishes his measuring tape, though it is not clear if he knows what he is measuring. One man pretends to be the Pope, while another, probably engaged in a lewd act, pretends to be the King. A zealot has surrendered his reason to the frenzy of religion. A dog barks at a depressed and suicidal fellow, a noose still around his neck from the last attempt to take his own life. 

And through it all, there is one figure of hope, one standard of unconditional love who offers her care to the bitter end. Sarah Young still stands by his side, having gained absolutely nothing in her circumstances, but having gained absolutely everything in her character. 

William Hogarth, A Rake's Progress VIII: The Madhouse (1734)