May 28th, 2004
'Tis, finally, the man, who, lifted high,
Conspicuous object in a Nation's eye,
Or left unthought-of in obscurity,--
Who, with a toward or untoward lot,
Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not,
Plays, in the many games of life, that one
Where what he most doth value must be won:
Whom neither shape of danger can dismay,
Nor thought of tender happiness betray;
Who, not content that former worth stand fast,
Looks forward, persevering to the last,
From well to better, daily self-surpast;:
--Wordsworth
When asked to define heroism,
one runs into a bit of a quandary. Strangely enough, particular heroism is
based entirely upon success rate. Heroism is being faced with an
extraordinarily situation, and being able to judge what action to take, whether
required or not, and follow the action through decisively. But the difference
between heroism and insubordination is success. If successful, the perpetrator
is given honor because of extraordinary intuition, and if it fails he is shot.
Is it possible for heroism to be based upon such a fickle pedestal? Perhaps the
answer lies in more practical matters, or mayhap in the steady plodding. But
does that ring true? Is heroism as elusive as objective beauty? When we think of heroism, we think of an
action notable and conspicuous for the self-sacrifice it personifies. The
person who commits such an action is renowned for generosity, and thinking of
others over themselves, especially if it requires the sacrifice of a life.
Odysseus laboring to save his men despite their rebellion; the Danaan kings
sacrificing themselves and their men for Hellen; Monsieur Thenardier who saved
Marius’ father at Waterloo, or perhaps more accurately, the legendary Robin
Hood, who stole from the rich to provide for the poor. Or was it really heroism?
When a knight supplicated King Arthur to be allowed to escort a lady on a
mission, to sacrifice himself for a cause, was it for self-sacrifice or for the
glory and renown it gave to him? Was it rescuing Hellen coupled with pride and
loyalty for Menelaus and Agamemnon that caused all the Greek “heroes” to gather
around the lofty walls of Troy, or desire for fame and glory, as Achilles
openly admits? Though impossible to judge the heart of men, is heroism an
attainable object, or entirely subjective?
As defined, heroism is
cheeringly objective. It is considered the display of such qualities
characteristic of a hero, such as courage, bravery, fortitude, and
unselfishness. Easily attainable. In the ancient world the perception of
heroism was of success or failure, courage and ferocity, and loyalty to king. A
man was judged by his skills as a killing machine. He who killed the most men
won the greaquiz glory. Even biblically, the Israelites cried out that “Saul
has killed his thousands, and David his ten-thousands”, which factored
largely in their approval of him. In the ancient poems, if pity was given, it
was either intervention from the gods or a courtesy towards particular courage.
There was no pretension towards helping others and each man was for himself.
When betrayed by Aeneas, Dido cries:
Tolstoy holds a similar view.
In his book, War and Peace, he tries to accurately describe war and true
heroism. War is only a splendid hobby and a way of gaining valor for the
stupid, innocently ignorant, and uninvolved, while those who matter see it as
the devastation of a country, lives, and many decades of hard labor. It is a
confused jumble of orders issued, orders not carried out, and orders carried
out that shouldn’t have been. Misdirection and confusion reigned rampant and
the nobles struggled to enter important martial positions, where they would be
no use to anybody at all. In War and Peace, the individual idealistic
man saw war as a means to be a hero. Swaggering about a ball-room in full dress
uniform while the ladies fainted right and left seemed quite the ideal picture.
But Tolstoy mentions a certain officer saying that “...we are told of many
geniuses and heroes of that period of the campaign, but of Dokhturov nothing or
very little is said and that dubiously. And this silence about Dokhturov is the
clearest quizimony to his merit.” (War and Peace , bk. 13, ch. xv) This
officer was always in the thick of the battle and faithfully at his position,
and just as he took no initiative, he took no glory. Nor was it necessary.
In Tolstoy’s eyes, a hero was
not a man who found either honor or he who sacrifices himself for others. On
the contrary, the true hero fulfills his duty and works quietly, often
un-trusted and unvalued, and does as he’s told dependably. He fulfills the task
his duty exacts, and if a new and unexpected need arises, he does not shrink.
Consistent to bring home the bacon in a quiet way. Often, this man is the most
trusted, though openly distrusted, and though spoken against, is most often in
posts of heavy responsibility. On the contrary, Tolstoy considered heroes as we
see them to be quite superfluous. Their sole aim was to gain glory by rash and
brave deeds, and they did nothing but get in the way and cause the need for a
man-sized hole. In an endeavor to explain a “hero” fluttering about in the
mechanisms of war, he writes, “it is natural for a man who does not
understand the workings of a machine to imagine that a shaving that has fallen
into it by chance and is interfering with its action and tossing about in it is
its most important part. The man who does not understand the construction of
the machine cannot conceive that the small connecting cogwheel which revolves
quietly is one of the most essential parts of the machine, and not the shaving
which merely harms and hinders the working.” (War and Peace, 13, ch. xv)
Thus he concludes that the man who gains the lime-light is actually he who is
most noticeable. Not because of any particular action, for those go unnoticed every
day, but because he is blundering about getting into trouble needlessly, while
the rest of the clockwork is carried out on the tick of command issued and tock
of need fulfilled. Yet he is further correct, for it is natural to human nature
to praise the most noticeable object participating in the fact, forgetting
entirely the action leading up to and making the fact possible.
Petya Rostov is an excellent
example in an naive, small-scale fashion. His one desire was glory, though he
wanted it innocently and guilelessly. He desired to be a man before his time,
grown up and respected. To gain the esteem of warriors, he expected that he
must show himself the braver in drastic action. “Vasili Dmitrich, entrust me
with some commission! Please . . . for God’s sake . . . !” he begged
Denisov, his commander. In spite of his leader and friend’s order, he dashed
bravely in front of a regiment of marauding French and died a useless, but
conspicuous death. A hero is not he who throws away his life foolishly. The
very definition of heroism denies such rashness. Also, the seeking heroic
action is itself contradictory, and leads only to ridiculousness and waste.
Tolstoy showed war and heroism for what it was for the nobility, innocent and
not; a pseudo sacrifice in order to gain glory. To a point Tolstoy is correct,
but he knee-jerks to a cynical view of mankind, condemning conspicuous action
an automatic condemnation, when conspicuous action has nothing to do with
heroism, though it brings it to our attention.
In the ancient world, heroism
could easily be seen, as it was the simple course for glory. Achilles was given
the choice of a long life of peace and prosperity, or a short life culminating
in a blazing death full of glory. He spoke, "I
carry two sorts of destiny toward the day of my death, either, if I stay here
and fight beside the city of the Trojans, my return home is gone, but my glory
shall be everlasting; but if I return home to the beloved land of my fathers,
the excellence of my glory is going, but there will be a long life left for me,
and my end in death will not come to me quickly." (Iliad) The
ancient Greeks were at least epistemologically self-conscious, in that they
acted out their speech. Achilles complains because he was not given the fame he
was promised. He makes no mention of being given duties to fulfill and great
deeds to voluntarily surpass. On the contrary, Achilles lingers by the ships,
only roused out of his haughty languor and raging inactivity by the death of
his closest friend, Patroclus, who begged to fight in Achilles’ armor. Tolstoy
has nothing but contempt for this sort of hero, preferring to think that
heroism is a non-fact, in that anything heroic must be caused by a mistake in
the machinery.
But a hero as we
idealistically define one is not made by his actions, necessarily, but by his
thinking, as Tolstoy tried to show. The most popular definition for heroism is
“going above and beyond the call of duty.” Common courage isn’t enough. It must
be exceptional. However, what may be seen as heroic on one view of the
battle-line might very well be seen as great cruelty and massive slaughter by
the other side. In those terms, courage is reduced to ruthlessness and
brutality. Ancient knights are the best known for their heroic generosity and
continual self-sacrifice. Excepting Spenser’s Redcross Knight, their aim was no
greater than that of the kings who followed Hellen to Troy, that being the
glory of bringing back their queen. A small portion can be attributed to pity,
but even in the ancient tales, it was the fame and renown that inspired the
nobles and knights. Don Quixote de la Mancha was the sole honest knight among
the lot. When imitating Beltenbro’s Penance for his lady he cried “That is the beautiful part of it. What
thanks does a knight-errant deserve for going mad when he has a good cause? The
thing is to go out of my head without any occasion for it, thus letting my lady
see, if I do this for her in the dry, what I would do in the wet.” (Don
Quixote) Only he openly sacrifices, not for any good or heroic desire, but
to boast to his lady. He sacrificed for nothing but a the renown he supposed it
would bring. To Don Quixote this was a grand thing, but to all others, quite
absurd.
Is it justifiable to
assume that the ancients were more honest in their desires, and that heroes of
today are hiding their wish for fame and glory underneath a humble cloak? If
so, Rousseau’s creed is very apt: “Do good unto yourself with as little evil
as possible to others” (The Social Contract, pg. 76) However, it is
impossible to theorize on the general state of mankind, for there are three
different sorts of people: the man, like Petya Rostov, who is in love with the
idea of glory, and innocently, foolishly, and thoughtlessly follows it like a
star-struck boy; the man such as Achilles who selfishly seeks glory and fame
for their own sake; and finally, the many who feel they must do their duty. By
definition heroism is displaying the qualities of a hero, but in our culture we
define heroism as “going above and beyond the call of duty.” However, each one
of these seems to be answering some sort of necessity or fulfilling some
desire. Obeying the voice of necessity or fulfilling a desire isn’t anything
difficult or unusual, how then can it be considered heroic? Tolstoy indicates
that there is duty and heroism, and while duty may be difficult, heroism is a
non-fact and a cheap facade for glory.
If heroism is nothing but
an empty representation, man’s utmost insignificance is brought home sharply to
us. It is in man’s nature to worship heroes, yet the object of our worship for
ages has been nothing but the gleam of a light bulb filtered through some
magical object so that it resembles a silver moon-beam. Heroism has been the
basis for a great deal of music and countless works of art, and
heartbreakingly, some element of this pseudo-virtue in the great majority of
literature. However, we should question such a hopelessly cynical view and ask
ourselves if mankind could be mistaken so long. Is there nothing admirable in
the object of his praises for centuries? After silencing our hero-worship,
Tolstoy graciously allows us an out to preserve a few flapping shreds of our
dignity. He admits that heroism exists, and not only is it objective, but that
it is tangible, not in the uncommon, but the common.
Accordingly, mankind has only
misdirected its hero-worship for centuries. We are comforted. Our
foolishness afflicts us less. It is only those whose works are conspicuous that
men notice, but Tolstoy brings to notice the every-day matters of courage and
valor. Heroism is doing one’s duty wherever one is called, for it isn’t going
“above and beyond duty”, but fulfilling one’s duty. Perhaps it is leading a
nation, or only tapping the final nails into a coffin, but Tolstoy regarded the
hero as he who did his duty as best as he might, faithful instead of taking the
easy way out. However, the proverbial smoke must come from fire. The only man
who has been truly faithful is Christ, nor yet can any man who is humanly faithful
deserve the title of “hero.” Plutarch says that “we find these examples in
the actions of good men, which implant an eager rivalry and a keen desire to
imitate them in the minds of those who have sought them out, whereas our
admiration for other forms of action does not immediately prompt us to do the
same ourselves.” (Nine Greek Lives, Pericles) Heroism is something
large scale, obvious, and exceptional, for if Tolstoy were correct, and heroism
as easily approached as he states, there would be no glamour in it, nor
anything to admire.
There must be something that
runs through the different occasions and teeming definitions of heroism. There
must be a uniting common ground. Mankind daily displays the qualities of
heroism in pursuit of duty, yet it is not called heroism unless the action is
extraordinary. Heroism cannot be subjective, for it influences so much.
Plutarch, explaining his motives for writing biographical stories of Greek
heroes, goes on to say that “on the other hand virtue in action immediately
takes such hold of a man that he no sooner admires a deed than he sets out to
follow in the steps of the doer. . . . Moral good, in a word, has a power to
attract towards itself. It is no sooner seen than it rouses the spectator to
action, and yet it does not form his character by mere imitation, but by
promoting the understanding of virtuous deeds it provides him with a dominating
purpose.” (Plutarch) The purpose of our hero-worshipping nature is to
contemplate the good, true, and beautiful, and long to emulate it. Thus we see why mankind has a natural turn
for hero-worship. It inspires him and drives him on to endure and work greater
works on his own. Duty is noble: “...she will guide thee up to noble
heights, / Which he who gains seems native of the sky, / While earthly things
lie stretched beneath his feet, / Diminished, shrunk, and valueless...” (Woodstock)
Yet there is more than duty.
It is not possible for everyone to be a hero any more than “everyone be a
winner” and take home wee purple ribbons to paste upon the wall. Heroism goes
beyond the ancient glory-seeking, as Tolstoy tried to point out, but it goes
further even than he allows. There is the anchor aweigh spirit that takes on
duty and goes beyond. Based upon God’s calling, some labor in their homes while
others work in official positions, but it is all counted towards setting the
foundations of the future. It is easy to be carried away by the sight of past
and present heroes, and look down upon the smaller cogs, but each is terribly
important to the workings of the machine. This is obeying the calling and
following your duty. Not only that, heroism is having the ability to follow
your calling of spreading dominion. Not only will the hero be faithful in his
own life, but he has the ability to take on more. The man who endeavors to do
more than is expected of him, and can uphold it without upsetting the balance
of his other duties. It is not those who see their neighbors’ children unsaved
and go on a fiery crusade, forgetting about their own children at home, but
those who are faithful with the little they have before throwing themselves
into the greater duties given. It is a matter of stewardship. The missionary
who neglects his family is not faithful, no matter how much comfort he can
glean from lives “saved.” A man who neglects his family in favor of a “higher
calling” is like a man who strikes the heads off of his arrows before going
into battle. A hero is not he who seeks glory, nor he who works his own little
sphere dutifully, yet without vision, but he who is faithful in a little, and
not content, extends himself to take on more and distinguishes himself above
society for his faithfulness, emitting the fragrance of Heaven’s dominion,
whether he purposed to or not.
The Aeneid and the Odyssey: Synonymous, or Completely
Contrasting?
GBT V
Katherine Sepulveda
May 28, 2004
At first glance, the Aeneid
and the Odyssey appear to be quite similar, as both contain tales of wandering
men searching for a home, aided by gods and goddesses, and reaching their
destination at last. Yet, despite the apparent similarities, they inherently
possess multiple differences resulting from the differing missions of the
books.
The purpose of each is
related from the start. Homer’s intent is merely to tell the epic tale, and he
does so with the brilliance of a superb storyteller. “Tell me, O Muse, of that
ingenious hero,” begins the Odyssey (Book I, Line 1), and goes on to discuss
the fantastic feats of Odyssey. Here, it is obvious that the retelling of the
tale is for pleasurable purposes. Virgil’s intent is more focused, however. In
the Aeneid, he seeks to craft a work to portray the glory of Rome, and to instill
Roman pride. “I sing of warfare and a man at war...He came to Italy by
destiny...Till he could found a city,” (Book I, line 1 of the Aenid). It is
evident from the beginning that this is not only a narrative, but a history
lesson and almost Roman propaganda, as continually Rome is praised and Aeneas’
destiny to found it stressed.
As a result, Aeneas
encounters very few adventures, unlike Odysseus. Instead, Aeneas’ destiny and
purpose in life is continually underscored, as are promises of Rome’s future glory.
Virgil repeatedly emphasizes this through a variety of methods. Homer’s
purpose, however, is to tell the exciting tale in a fascinating manner.
Therefore, his story contains a plethora of adventures and fascinating
occurrences.
Resulting from these differing
objectives, Odysseus seeks to return to his home while Aeneas hopes to found a
home and a nation. Though they both undergo many of the same trials, Aeneas’
struggle is infinitely more difficult. Odysseus’ home is already built, and the
country of Ithaca flourishing. Aeneas must conquer a land and build up a nation,
with little or no aid, Virgil demonstrating the grit of the Romans in this task.
Moreover, Aeneas and the Trojans are driven from their homeland while Odysseus
and the Greeks are victorious conquerors. Homer depicts the overpowering of the
Trojans by the Achaeans as a final satisfying conclusion to the long and drawn
out war, yet Virgil describes the sacking of Troy as a brutal conquest, since
Virgil’s mission is to support and edify the Romans.
Because of these conflicting
goals, imagery in the Aeneid is used quite frequently as a way to accomplish
its end, whereas in the Odyssey it is almost non existent. Throughout the
Aeneid, Virgil utilizes metaphors to convey his point. “Now the goddess/Plucked
one of the snakes, her gloomy tresses...So that by this black reptile driven
wild/She might disrupt he whole house.” (Book VII, line 475). Here, the ‘serpent’
symbolizes her anger as Virgil likens bitter rage to that of a snake coiling
around the heart. Utilizing an image, Virgil is able to convey his message to
the reader. The gates opening is yet another symbol found within the epic. “Heaven’s
queen (Juno)/At this dropped from the sky. She gave a push//To stubborn
yielding doors, then burst the...Gates of war.” (Book VII, line 852). Here,
despite the will of the king, Latinus, the gates are opened by a goddess, Juno.
The gates are symbolic of the unyielding will of the human mind
“stubborn-yielding doors,” overridden by that of the divine. It is difficult to
find such imagery within the Odyssey.
An additional area of sharp
distinction evidences itself in the portrayals of nationalities. Throughout the
Odyssey, Homer, a Greek, continually portrays Greeks favorably. “...that horse,
within which all the bravest of the Argives waiting...” (Book VIII, line 16).
Continually, the Greeks in the tale are portrayed as heroes, and the reader is
drawn to support them. One feels sympathy for Odysseus and his unfortunate men,
and the disasters that overtake them are sorrowfully depicted.
Contrary to praising the
Greeks, Virgil often vilifies them, extolling the virtues of the Roman Empire
instead, in accordance with his mission. “I am justified/In dropping all
allegiance to the Greeks/As I had cause to hate them,” says a Greek deceiver to
the Trojans, who evidently appreciate and sympathize with his words. “This
fraud of Sinon, his accomplished lying,/Won us over,” says Aeneas. Virgil sides
with the Trojans, fathers of Italy, so it is but natural that he should
describe the Greeks in the worst possible light. Since Virgil’s mission is to
instill pride in Rome, the Trojans, founders of Rome, are repeatedly praised,
most often using foreshadowing. “Come,” he said, ‘What glories follow Dardan
generations/In after years, and from Italian blood/What famous children in your
line will come,” foretells Aeneas’ father in the land of the dead (Book VI,
line 1014). Throughout the interlude, Roman heroes are glorified and the future
of Rome up until the time period when Virgil lives, painted in rosy colors in
keeping with the intent of the author.
Yet another instance
displaying the two authors’ objectives is the portrayal of characters,
strikingly contrasted by the two authors, particularly the main characters of
each book: Aeneas for the Aeneid, and Odysseus for the Osyssey. For instance,
Homer paints Odysseus in a favorable light using varied methods. Since Odysseus
is the hero of his tale, Homer, as a born storyteller, realizes the necessity
of making Odysseus a character the reader admires. In Book I, line 6, Zeus asks
“How can I forget Odysseus than whom there is no more capable man on earth, nor
more liberal in his offerings to the immortal gods that live in heaven?” In
another instance, Mentor describes Odysseus as Homer sees him, “I hope that you
may never have a kind and well disposed ruler anymore...for there is not one of
you but has forgotten Odysseus, who ruled you as though he were your father.”
(Book II, line 30 of the Odyssey). Odysseus’ cleverness is an admirable
characteristic in Homer’s eyes, and one of Odysseus’ lauded traits is his quick
thought and brilliant mind, that is emphasized throughout the Odyssey. For
example, Helen says, “I alone recognized him and began to question him, but he
was too cunning for me,” whereupon Menelaus responds, “I have never seen such
another man as Odysseus. What endurance too, and what courage he displayed...”
Homer, a born storyteller, realizes that one cannot create an character overly
saintly character that the reader is unable to identify with.
As a result, he gives
Odysseus a few flaws which fail to diminish his numerous beneficial qualities,
yet bring an element of realism into the story. For instance, one of Odysseus’
faults remains his pride and admiration of his own cleverness. “Then they went
away, and I laughed inwardly at the success of my clever stratagem,” (Book IX,
line 14), says he of his deception of the Cyclopses. Additionally, despite Odysseus’
overall shrewdness, his pride makes him
unable to resist opportunities for mocking and ridicule. “Then, when I had got
as far out as my voice would reach, I began to jeer at the Cyclops,” he says in
Book IX, line 28), of the occasion when he tricks the Cyclops Polyphemus.
Virgil, however, portrays
Odysseus as a completely different man utilizing characters in the Aeneid to
illustrate his point with their words. In book II, line 8, Aeneas asks, “Who
could tell them,/Even a Myrmidon or Dolopian/Or ruffian of Ulysses, without
tears?” Contrary to Homer, who supported the Greeks, Virgil portrays them as
deceitful and ruthless murderers. “Be instructed now/In Greek deceptive arts:
one barefaced deed/Can tell you of them all,” says Aeneas, retelling the
sacking of Troy (book II, line 91). Since the Greeks plundered the city of the
founders of Rome, Virgil naturally holds little regard for them, in keeping
with his desire to emphasize Rome’s glory.
Odyessus’ cleverness, far from being
admirable, is viewed as treacherous craftiness, a characteristic held by the
rest of the Greeks in Virgil’s opinion. A Trojan termed ‘gallant’ by Aeneas
refers to Odysseus as “that ringleader of atrocity,/Ulysses, of the windking’s
line.” Reading one author would give the reader an entirely different perspective
than reading the other.
Aeneas, the grand hero of the
Aeneid, possesses miniscule flaws. Since Virgil presents Aeneid as a
role model, and an epic hero, Virgil minimizes and eliminates anything to
detract from Aeneas’ sterling character. The one aspect Virgil presents as
detrimental is Aeneas’ apparent side roads from his end goal, that of founding Italy.
Evidently, Virgil desires to portray steadfast patriotism as an essential
quality. On several occasions throughout the book, for example, Aeneas
necessitates a reminder of his destiny, such as during the sacking of Troy.
“For you/Long exile waits, and long sea miles to plow,” reminds the ghost of
his wife Creusa when Aeneas desires to engage in a futile fight against the
Greek invaders (Book II, line 1009). During the journey, Aeneas often
vacillates between his options various times, such as after the games in
Sicily. “Should he (Aeneas) forget the destiny foretold/And make his home in
Sicily?” (Book V, line 911), writes Virgil of Aeneas’ ponderings when Sicily
appears favorable. An additional
instance of this occurence is when he is distracted by Dido. “What have you in
mind? What hope, wasting your days/In Libya?” chides Mercury, reminding him of
his goal (Book IV, line 369).
The different intents are
additionally illustrated in the authors’ views of Helen, the beautiful wife of
Menelaus and the catalyst to the Trojan war. Since Helen plays an integral part
initiating a commencement of the war that would result in the destruction of
Virgil’s beloved, Troy, he remains quite naturally antagonistic and bitter
towards her. “Anger after years—Helen, that Fury/Both to her own homeland and
Troy, had gone/To earth a hated thing...” states Aeneas of Helen. Virgil
additionally refers to Helen as a ‘whore,’ hated by both Greeks and Trojans
alike and filled with sin.
Homer recognizes the appeal
and attraction of that a beautiful woman brings to the plot of a story, and
hence remains quite easy on her, depicting her as loved by husband and children,
and loveliness and justice personified. In Homer’s eyes, Helen’s transgression
is slight, and she retains many beneficial character qualities. “I was unhappy
of the wrong that Aphrodite had done me in taking me over there, away from my
country, my little girl, and my wedded husband, who is indeed by no means
deficient in person or understanding,” she says in the Odyssey, whereupon
Menelaus refers to her as his ‘dear wife.’ Far from being hated by all, she is
admired and shown deference by the Greeks. Again, as an excellent teller of
tales, Homer recognizes the need to add a touch of spice to an otherwise
‘saintly’ individual, and so she argues a bit over her proper place with
Menelaus.
In keeping with the differing
portrayal resulting from the differing intents, Homer and Virgil portray gods
and goddesses in stark contrast. Since Virgil favors the Romans so highly, any
being aiding their cause is regarded with great favor by him. In the Aeneid,
for instance, Venus is a gentle and loving asset to Trojans as is Neptune, while
Juno and Athena are cold hearted goddesses who work against the Trojans
continually. The reader is placed in the position of favoring those gods and
goddesses that benefit the side of Aeneas, looking on them as benevolent
workers of mercy, since they help the ‘righteous’ cause of the establishment of
Rome. Venus continually aids and guides Aeneas and enables him to complete his
work, such as when she pleads for the Trojans with Zeus. “Our ships being lost
(this is unspeakable!)/We are forsaken through one enemy’s rage.” (Book 1, line
340). Neptune is an aid to them as well, “Midsea a holy island lies, most
dear/To Aegean Neptune and the Nereids’ mother.../Here we put in, and the
serene island haven/Welcomed our tired men.”
This is quite the opposite in
the Odyssey, however. Homer acknowledges the benefit that helping deities can
add to a tale, and Hera (the Greek name for Juno), and Athena are the
benefactresses of Odysseus and his family throughout the saga, such as when Athena
pleads for him with Zeus. “Father...it is for Odysseus that my heart bleeds,”
she says in Book I line 23. Poseidon (the Greek name for Neptune), on the
contrary, works against the ‘good side’ in the story. “Bear in mind, however,
that Poseidon is still furious with Odysseus...” says Zeus in Book I, line 6. Throughout
the Odyssey, Poseidon is portrayed as a malevolent god against the cause of the
Greeks, the beneficial side in the book. Again, differing intents manifest themselves
in disparity.
Yet another difference in characters is
contrast between Odysseus and Aeneas’ wives. Penelope, the spouse of Odysseus,
is a strong woman and clever, similar to her husband. As a narrator, Homer
recognizes the necessity of women in a tale to appeal to a wider audience. “It
is your mother’s fault...she is a very artful woman,” (Book II, line 21 of the
Odyssey) say the suitors of Penelope, and further on, “she is so clever. We
never yet heard of such a woman; we know all about...the famous women of old,
but they are nothing to your mother.” (Book II, line 12 of the Odyssey). Penelope finds a way out of her predicaments
rather than relying to chance to save her from them, and hence wins the
admiration of the reader.
On the contrary, Creusa,
Aeneas’ wife, is a weeping woman who fails to display anything but
spinelessness, eventually getting lost behind him as they escape burning Troy.
“Alas,/Creusa...did she/Linger, or stray, or sink in weariness?” says Aeneas
(Book II, line 959 of the Aeneid). “She alone failed her friends, her child,
her husband,” (Book II, line 968 of the Aeneid). Not even possessing the
ability to keep close to her husband, Creusa hinders him and fails to use her
wits, quite the opposite of Penelope. Rome’s
male centered society remains upheld and glorified by Virgil, who portrays the
need for the stalwart hero (Aeneas), to save the day.
The disparity between the
plot sequences further emphasizes the varying motives. Virgil refrains from
bringing out the sensational or suspenseful in the plot, rather, he focuses on
fortitude, valor, and bravery in battle. One almost feels that he ‘skips
through’ the more interesting material in order to teach a character lesson and
instill patriotic pride in the fortitude of his Roman ancestors in battle. For
example, though Charybdis is present in the two novels, Aeneas escapes
virtually unharmed. “No doubt of it! Here is Charbydis!...They bent hard to the
rowing as commanded...we glided quietly onward” (Book III of the Aeneid, lines
740-757). Homer immediately recognizes the appeal of adventures, and the added
interest created when calamities are included in a story. As a result, Odysseus
undergoes severe tragedy and of damage, all described in detail, “While we were
taken up with this (watching Charybdis), and were expecting each moment to be
our last, Scylla pounced down suddenly upon us and snatched up my six best men.
(Book XII, line 9 of the Oddysey).”
Yet another instance is the
difference between the two men’s meeting with Polyphemus. When Odysseus arrives
in the land of the Cyclops, tragedy occurs as Odysseus’ men are eaten by the
Cyclops one by one. “With a sudden clutch, he (the Cyclops), gripped up two of
my men and dashed them down upon the ground as though they had been
poppies...then he tore them limb from limb and supped upon them.” Throughout
Oddysseus’ ordeal with the Cyclops, the Cyclops feasts on Odysseus’ men.
Aeneas, on the contrary, is
able to almost entirely evade the Cyclops. “Stung to impetuous action by our
fear/We hoisted sail to a fair wind.” Again, though the situations seem
apparently identical, they are in reality quite diverse.
The underworld clearly
evidences the contrasting goals of the authors. Here, Virgil highlights the
magnificence of Rome by glorifying Roman ancestors and foreshadowing its future
splendor. Hence, Aeneas spends quite some time in the underworld, receiving a
guided tour. Homer, however, realizes that not much appeal lies on bygone or
forthcoming heroes, and draws parallels to the immediate occurrences and keeps
events centered on the present, adding in a touch of apprehension in keeping
with the lurid attraction of the underworld by leaving Odysseus to mostly fend
for himself.
Furthermore, the instructions
given to each of them for the visit are dissimilar. “Lift your eyes and search,
and once you find it/Pull away the bough...A further thing is this: your
friend’s dead body...lies out there unburied...Entomb him; lead black beasts to
sacrifice.” (Book VI, line 213). Odysseus’ instructions given by Circe are
quite different, lengthy, and detailed; surprisingly so; for it would seem that
both directions should be the same if both are journeying to the land of the
dead. She instructs him: “raise your mast, set your white sails, sit quite
still...dig a trench a cubit or so....and pour into it as a drink offering to
all the dead....offer many prayers to the poor feeble ghosts...” and so on. It
may be that the aid and comfort of the Sibyl negated the acts required by
Odysseus.
The differences in the plot
line and incidents are clearly displayed at the end of each book. Those who
challenge this often point to the fact that each contains a battle at the conclusion,
and each results in victory for the hero of the story. This is, however, merely
yet another case of apparent similarity when dissimilarity lies deeper. While
it is true that there are battles, there are large differences between the two.
Homer realizes that to tell
an interesting tale, one cannot simply bring in outside aid to fight the
characters’ battles for themselves. In the Odyssey, therefore, the
suitors provoke an attack by their own selfishness, and their elimination is
portrayed as necessary. No god has a part in urging the suitors to their wanton
disregard for personal rights; though Poseidon is against Odysseus, he does not
aid the suitors or help to begin the war. On the contrary, all of the gods save
Poseidon pity Odysseus. “Nevertheless, all the gods had now begun to pity him
except Poseidon...I (Athena) will embolden him...to speak out to the suitors of
his (Telemachus’) mother Penelope.” (Book I, line 4 and line 19). Yet Virgil,
wishing to emphasize the fulfilling of destiny and the significance of deities,
a common thread throughout the Aeneid, utilizes the goddess Juno to
serve as the prime instigator of the war. “In blood,/Trojan and Latin, comes
your dowry, girl...When she (Juno) had said all this, she dropped to earth/In a
shuddering wind. From the dark underworld...she aroused Allecto...with her lust
for war,” (Book VII, line 434). Virgil goes on to relate how Allecto rouses the
Dardanians to war. Here, the hostilities are not the fault of the participants,
but orchestrated by a higher power, giving a more noble tinge to battle.
The differing nature and
purpose of the battles further illustrates disparity of intent. Fighting to
regain that which was unlawfully stolen resonates with the reader of the Odyssey,
especially after Homer depicts the infuriating disregard for personal property
by the suitors. Because of the gratuitous damage to Odyssseus’ land and owning,
his battle is more one of retribution and recapture.
For Virgil, however, the
climactic battle at the end represents the culmination of Aeneas’ heroic
struggle. Aeneas fights for an entirely different purpose of conquest and
defense. His mission is to acquire the land on which his new nation will be
founded, and to protect that acquisition. Virgil continually emphasizes that
this is not simply any nation, but a great nation, one that is worthy of such
struggle. Hence, the scope and size of the battle are much larger in the Aeneid
than in the Odyssey. Aeneas is fighting in yet another war with many men
in a strange land, with a goddess against him, increasing difficulties. The
stakes of defeat are higher for Aeneas. If Odysseus is unsuccessful, he loses
his home, wife, and all he knows and loves, yet if Aeneas fails, a not only a potential
home is cut off to him, but his very destiny becomes uncertain or snuffed out.
The Aeneid and the Odyssey remain
both epic works of literature, and the result of brilliant writing. Yet this is
not enough to term them ‘quite alike,’ or even ‘similar.’ They entirely differ
in their objectives. Though a quick read will give an erroneous opinion on
their differences, it is only by delving into the works and studying them with
care that their true distinctions may be uncovered. A reader who carefully
studies both works will truly be able to appreciate their significance as two
distinct pieces of some of the greaquiz literature in the Western World.
The Journey Toward Truth
Truth is a subject that has been
studied time after time by many who attempt to define, understand and attain
it. Plato, in The Republic, predominantly explores the relationship
between the government and the soul, which subsequently reveals the heart and
soul of his philosophy. He reveals what
might be appropriately termed, his “gospel”, by explaining how one can
intellectually achieve a complete knowledge of truth and God. Plato, in his famous cave allegory, likens
the soul's search for truth to the ascent from a world of darkness and shadows
toward a world of light and an acknowledgment of its' source. This paper will
present Plato's plan of salvation, as compared and contrasted to the
indisputable Biblical plan of salvation.
The premise of this paper is that there are two main differences between
the Bible and Plato's Republic:
their diagnoses of the human condition and their subsequent
remedies. In both the Bible and The
Republic, a problem arises: the ignorance of mankind to the truth and
knowledge of God. Both Plato and the
Bible present a vivid, but different description of man's subsequent
salvation. The prisoners in Plato's cave
are intellectually separated from the “Absolute Idea”, that is “God”, due to a
world of mere perception and faith. The
only remedy for the prisoners' ignorance is found in a turning-away from
perception and faith and reaching for newfound enlightenment through
understanding and reason. The Bible
presents a very different picture of the salvation of man. Mankind is ignorant of God because of its'
sin; thus, God must reveal himself, His truth and His understanding to
men.
Perception
Whether one is sitting in the
third row of a stirring performance of Bach's “St. Matthew's Passion” or at a
five-star restaurant with a meal “fit for a king”, one must employ the senses
in order to enjoy such marvelous experiences.
Perception is the tool which takes in thousands of images, tastes, and
sounds that flood our mind each day, and interprets them according to our
experiences. Most people would never
question whether the tree in their yard is truly a tree. Out of habit, most resolutely believe that
what one sees is simply what is.
Plato was not like “most people”, but one
of the greaquiz philosophic minds ever; he probed and pried at beliefs that
most would never question. Plato
generated much controversy, by believing all perceptions merely originate from
varying individual experiences and opinions; they were simply relative
truths. He believed the things which one
perceives are copies of the true objects that can only be grasped by the mind,
“that the copy is to the original as the sphere of opinion is to the sphere of
knowledge.” Many believe that in
perception they have found what is true, but often they have really only
grasped false reflections of real truths.
“Behold! Human beings living in
an underground den, which has a mouth open toward the light and reaching all
along the den; here they have been from their childhood, and have their legs
and necks chained so that they cannot move, and can only see before them being
prevented by the chains from turning round their heads.” According to Plato, this is the situation of
men who live in the lowly world of perception: a dark and gloomy prison. Men in a “world of sight” are prisoners,
forced to remain confined from the abundance of knowledge that exists beyond
their own paltry sense of sight. Their
only source of knowledge and recreation comes from the shadows cast upon a wall
in front of them. Plato conjured an
image of men walking and carrying various objects across a raised walkway or
bridge in front of a fire causing the various shadows, images and sounds the
prisoners experience upon the wall in front of them. In such a state, the prisoners are prevented
from ever discovering the truth behind the shadows and images, for they cannot
see the actual objects which create the images before them. They must ignorantly remain content with the
vague, useless, false depictions of truth before them.
The plight of the prisoners is
not that they simply cannot reach the truth; they are also blinded from any
recognition of their own ignorance.
Having only known the shadows, images and sounds of their prison house,
they take these reflections of truths and mistake them for truth itself, “And
if they were able to converse with one another, would they not suppose they
were naming what was actually before them?…To them the truth would be literally
nothing but the shadows of images.” The
faint light cast by the fire upon the men and objects creates a vague picture
of reality that hinders the ability for any true conclusions to be
obtained. Thus, prisoners left in this
first type of knowledge are condemned to live an unfulfilling idyllic life,
ignorant of true knowledge.
The allegory of the cave presents a frightening description of men who
have only reached the first stage in “the journey” to absolute knowledge:
reality is out of reach. Is the physical
world really as bad as Plato makes it out to be? Is it at all possible to gain truth through
observation? According to a Biblical
understanding of “general revelation” the use of sight and perception can
reveal truths about God to mankind. Psalm 19:1 says, “The heavens declare the
glory of God.” Physical objects that are
seen and experienced do reveal to truth to an extent. The physical world being
extremely glorious, thereby points to the magnificence of God. Paul said in Romans 1:20, “For since the
creation of the world His (God's) invisible attributes are clearly seen, being
understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and
Godhead.” Creation points to a powerful,
ingenious creator. John Calvin speaks of “general revelation” in his work Institutes
of the Christian Religion. He says,
“In atquization of his wondrous wisdom, both the heavens and the earth present
us with innumerable proofs, not only those more recondite proofs which
astronomy, medicine, and all the natural sciences, are designed to illustrate,
but proofs which force themselves on the notice of the most illiterate peasant,
who cannot open his eyes without beholding them.” Perception should not be
viewed as the chains that imprison men; rather, according to God's plan,
observation of creation reveals truth to all.
Though truth is
revealed through the visible world to all, many men are in a world of
ignorance similar to that of Plato's.
Men, due to sin, suppress the truths found in creation; again John
Calvin explains, “Whether they will or not, they cannot but know that these are
proofs of his Godhead, and yet they inwardly suppress them.” Men are not
ignorant prisoners due to any intellectual separation from God; rather they
reach for their chains and place them upon themselves willingly. “The Gentiles
walk, in the futility of their mind, having their understanding darkened, being
alienated from the life of God, because of the ignorance that is in them,
because of the blindness of their heart; who being past feeling, have given
themselves over to lewdness, to work all uncleanness with greediness,”
Ephesians 4:17-19. Here one can see
there are many similarities between Plato's “world of sight” and the life led
by those who refuse the truth of the Bible.
Just as Plato's “prisoners” live in darkness, separated from the real
world, and in complete ignorance, so non-Christians live in a “darkened”,
“alienated”, and ignorant state. The
crucial difference between the two scenarios is: Plato's prisoners live in
ignorance because they are not enlightened intellectually; non-Christians live
in ignorance because they are incapable of understanding or discerning truth
because of a systemic condition of sin.
Faith
“Faith is no
esthetic emotion but something far higher; it is not the spontaneous
inclination of the heart, but the paradox of existence,”
Soren Kierkegard,
Fear and Trembling.
This statement by Kierkegard
is one of many positions held regarding the nature of faith. Faith has remained a perplexing subject that
has caused many disputes, examinations, and debates. Many have tried to distinguish the complex
and beautiful “mystery” that is faith.
As Plato's second stage in the journey of the soul into the metaphysical
world, faith receives little exposition or acclaim. Plato described faith as that in which, “the
soul is compelled to use hypotheses; not ascending to a first principle,
because she is unable to rise above the region of hypotheses.” For Plato, faith was akin to mere
supposition, an opinion held when one blindly chooses between opposing ideas.
“Faith is a passion,” Kierkegard says; Plato would agree. The word “passion” encompasses many
definitions. Here passion, in context,
means the emotions as distinguished from reason. Plato described faith as an emotional choice
to believe in something without any reason for doing so. Consequently, Plato believed faith was an
extremely weak application of perception that does not ascend to the attainable
knowledge beyond.
In order for the prisoner to
enter the second stage in the intellectual ascent of the soul, that of faith,
Plato said there must be a momentous occurrence. The prisoners, who up to this point had lived
in blissful ignorance, chained to the limited life in which they lived, were
suddenly released. How the prisoners
were released was not a subject Plato greatly delved into. However, he did, at various points, cite an
“instructor” as the one who guided the prisoners out of the cave. Once the prisoners were led out of the cave
into the light of the sun, were they delighted at their great fortune? Plato stated, “when any of them is liberated
and compelled suddenly to stand up and turn his neck round and walk and look
towards the light, he will suffer sharp pains; the glare will distress
him.” The prisoners having only known
the false reality of the cave would be unable to grasp the actual realities of
the real world. If anyone were to
attempt to enlighten the prisoners by explaining the truth of the things which
they now see, the prisoners would deem him insane, “conceive one saying to him,
that what he saw before was an illusion, but that now when he is approaching
nearer to being and his eye is turned towards more real existence, he has
clearer vision….will he not be perplexed?” Plato explained that the confusion
of the prisoners regarding reality would proceed to increase the prisoners' belief
in the shadows and images of the cave, “Will he not fancy that the shadows
which he formerly saw are truer than the objects which are now shown to him?” The prisoners most likely would flee what
they believed to be the unfamiliar, unsure, ambiguous world of reality before
them and hasten to the comfortable world of the cave; what they believed to be
secure, certain and true. At first the prisoners accepted the only “truth” they
knew, the lowly world of perception, but now at the sight of truth the prisoners
made a conscious choice to return to the erroneous cave. The prisoners, after experiencing such a
decisive encounter, then hypothesized that the truth lay in the things which
they perceived rather than that which they could not understand. The prisoners knew there was something
outside of the cave, but nevertheless chose to place their faith in the images
of the cave.
Plato was correct in
believing something must occur before the prisoners can experience faith; some
outside help must be enlisted. Plato was
also partially correct in his definition of faith; unfortunately, Plato was
greatly mistaken in his understanding of the nature of faith due to his
misunderstanding of the human condition that was examined in the first section
on perception. Just as Plato credited an
“instructor”, one who guides ignorant men toward truth, and “mediator” between
that which is visible and that which is intelligible, so Christians need
Christ, the ultimate mediator, “For there is one God and one mediator between
God and men, the man Christ Jesus,” 1 Timothy 2:5. Jesus is the one who reveals God's truth to
ignorant mankind in order that they might no longer live in darkness. Plato was not completely wrong in his
definition of faith either. The Bible
says, “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things
not seen.” Hebrews 11:1. Faith to an
extent can be described, as Plato did, as a belief held without proof, faith in
things “unseen”. Christian faith
however, is not based on a complete whim; rather it is based on the evidence of
the Bible as Romans 10:17 says, “So then faith cometh by hearing and hearing by
the word of God.”
Where Plato went astray was in his
understanding of the nature of faith.
His false understanding of the role of faith stemmed from his
affirmation that men are ignorant because they are intellectually separated
from the truth. Therefore, faith, being
an irrational belief, cannot possibly be a source of truth. The Bible says in Romans 8:7, “the carnal
mind is enmity against God;” meaning men naturally regard God as an enemy. Romans 3:11-12 says, “…There is none who
seeks after God, They have all turned aside.”
Men are not simply intellectually separated from God; rather they are
morally separated from Him. Men have
rebelled and turned away from the truth that God has revealed through
creation. John Calvin asserts in The
Institutes on the Christian Religion, “In vain for us, therefore, does
Creation exhibit so many bright lamps lighted up to show forth the glory of its
Author. Though they beam upon us from
every quarter, they are all together insufficient of themselves to lead us into
the right path.” Something other than
“general revelation” through creation, which has been suppressed by sin, is needed
to aid men in coming to a knowledge of God; what is needed is God's “special
revelation”. Again John Calvin states,
“the invisible God-head is indeed represented by such displays (general
revelation), but that we have no eyes to perceive it until they are enlightened
through faith by internal revelation from God.” The Bible tells us that the objective work of
Christ which is apprehended by faith is the basis for reconciliation of men to
God, “a man is not justified by the works of the law but by faith in Jesus
Christ, even we have believed in Christ Jesus, that we might be justified by
faith in Christ.” Faith, by definition, is a response, toward an object,
defined by what one believes. Christian
faith is trust directed toward God and His promises ensured through Jesus
Christ.
Understanding
Faith left Plato's prisoners in
a very distressing state. The prisoners
had turned their back on reality which they could not understand and embraced
the established falsities. How could the
prisoners begin to understand reality?
According to Plato, truth exists in everyone, “the power and capacity of
learning exists in the soul already.” In
order to release the truth that has been suppressed by perception and faith, Plato believed constant exposure to reality, though painful
and stunning at first, would eventually lead to understanding; “He will require
to grow accustomed to the sight of the upper world.” By recurrent experience
with the real world the prisoners would begin the slow process toward
understanding; “And first he will see the
shadows best, next the reflections of men and other objects in the water, and
then the objects themselves; then he will gaze upon the light of the moon and
the stars and the spangled heaven and he will see the sky and the stars by
night better than the sun or the light of the sun by day.” At this point in the prisoners' ascent toward
truth, they were still unable to bear the light of the sun, the ultimate giver
of light, but they were able to distinguish between the true objects before
them and the false representations they saw in the miserable confines of the
cave.
Plato believed understanding was knowledge of truth. Here Plato was correct, biblical
understanding comes from knowledge of truth; but one must remember that God is
truth. In John
14:6 Christ says, “I am the way, the truth and the life.” Thus, understanding is knowledge of
God as Proverbs 9:10 states, “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom
and knowledge of the Holy One is understanding.” Where Plato went astray in his assessment was
in his belief that truth exists inside of man, that purely by constant exposure
to intellectual thinking which to Plato was truth, one would gain understanding. Since mankind is fallen and depraved, men's
understanding is also imperfect, therefore scripture states, “Trust in the Lord
with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding,” Proverbs 3:5. In order for men to understand truth, God must
give them understanding through His special revelation, “For this reason we
also, since the day we heard it, do not cease to pray for you, and to ask that
you may be filled with the knowledge of His will in all wisdom and spiritual
understanding….increasing in the knowledge of God,” Colossians 1:9. The Bible explains the Holy Spirit works
internally in man to give him understanding of truth; John 16:13 “however, when
He, the Spirit of truth has come, He will guide you into all truth.” Plato's understanding or knowledge of truth,
placed trust in the human intellect which he believed already contained all
truth. Biblically, it is clear that men
are imperfect and cannot come to a knowledge of truth without Jesus having
revealed it to them, “For it is the God who commanded light to shine out of
darkness, who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the
glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ,” 2nd Corinthians 4:6.
Reason
The weary prisoner journeyed through many stages in his ascent toward
complete knowledge. He passed through
the natural world of perception and faith, as well as, the intellectual world
of understanding. Plato believed understanding was the first level in
contemplating the intelligible, but that it was not the greaquiz stage one
could reach, “let there be four faculties of the soul, reason answering to the
highest.” Reason, for Plato, was the
highest calling for man because it was the means of knowing the absolute. Plato's absolute was the “idea of the good”,
which was Plato's god. Plato likens “the
idea of the good” to the sun, which up till now the prisoners were unable to
gaze upon; “Lastly of all he will be able to see the sun, and not mere
reflections of him in the water, but he will see him in his own proper place
and not in another; and he will contemplate him as he is.” The sun is that which shines upon everything
so that men may see and grasp the world around them. Likewise, the “idea of the good” was that
which shines truth upon objects for men to know, “Now that which imparts truth
to be known and the power of knowing to the knower is what I would have you
term the idea of the good.” Reason is
the Savior of the ignorant men because it was through reason the prisoner came
to a knowledge of the nature of Plato's god; “He (the prisoner) will then
proceed to argue that this is he (the sun) who gives the season and the years,
and is the guardian of all that is in the visible world…..Clearly the prisoner
would first see the sun and then reason about him.” Through reason, the prisoners were able to
acknowledge the attributes of the sun as sustainer, guardian and source of all
truth. When the sun (“idea of the good”)
was beheld it was through reasoning about it that the prisoner came to an acknowledgment
of it as god. Through the unalterable
transformation that reason bestowed upon the prisoner, Plato affirmed he was
finally purged of the fallacies which emanated from faith and perception.
“Then God said, 'Let Us make man in Our own image, according to Our
likeness,” Genesis 1:26. What does it mean to be “made in the image of
God”? This commonly read verse in
Genesis is easily understandable when viewed in context. In the preceding twenty-five verses of
Genesis, one can see exactly what God's “image” is. God is a personal, rational, intelligent,
creator who rules over the world he has made and does so morally. Men likewise, made in God's image, exist as
rational, intelligent beings with the ability to think and act. Reason is a
faculty that is employed daily in various tasks: anything from solving
mathematical problems and doing scientific experiments to making
decisions. There is also a place for reason
in coming to know God; Acts 17:2 says, “Then Paul, as his custom was, went in
with them, and for three Sabbaths reasoned with them from the Scriptures,
explaining and demonstrating that Christ had to suffer and rise again from the
dead…..And some of them were persuaded.”
God has given us our minds as instruments allowing us to utilize it for
His glory to understand His truth.
Though the fall of mankind did not annihilate man's ability to use
reason, the fall did change man morally.
Men were originally created without sin just as God himself is without
sin; however, after the fall, men's desires became inclined solely toward sin
and away from the things of God. Thus,
mankind is wholly dependant upon God's work of divine grace within him in order
to turn toward God. 1st Corinthians 2:11 says, “Even so no one knows
the things of God except the Spirit of God….But God has revealed them to us
through His Spirit.” Reason is not that which alters our life and ultimately
turns us from a world of darkness to a world of light in which one can finally
know “God” as Plato explained. God
Himself bestows grace upon ignorant men and reveals Himself to them.
The Conclusion
Plato's god was an idea without
which he thought the world was meaningless; “The idea of the good is the
highest knowledge, that all other things become useful and advantageous only by
their use of this….without which, any other knowledge or possession of any kind
will profit us nothing.” Therefore, it
was perfectly natural that the only way for one to come to know “God” according
to Plato was through the intellect.
Ideas themselves are products of the intellect, they are not real,
tangible objects, and they can only exist in the mind. Thankfully our God is
not a mere “idea”, but a real person who cared so much for us, who lived in
darkness, that he came down from heaven, took on flesh and died on a cross for
our sins, in order that mankind might receive understanding, truth and most
importantly faith.
Plato's journey began with perception, then faith, understanding and
finally reason; likewise, biblically the journey toward truth begins with
perception of God's creation which is “general revelation”. Conversely, the journey ends with faith which
reveals God in all His glory. Mankind is not ignorant of God purely due to a
lack of knowledge, but rather due to sin and as such, requires God's gift of
faith in order to be saved. Ephesians 2:8 says, “For by grace you have been
saved, through faith, not of yourselves; it is a gift of God.” Once Christ saves us, furnishing the moral
reconciliation with his gift of faith; the Holy Spirit gives one understanding
and guides one's reason. God himself is
living and breathing, and works in the hearts and minds of His chosen daily.
Joshua Mickahail
GBT V, Paper #2
April 30, 2004
Sculpting a Government with Play Doe, and History with
Plato
“The true quiz of
a good government is its aptitude and tendency to produce a good
administration,” said Alexander Hamilton, a founding father of the United
States and co-author of The Federalist Papers. Throughout the twists of time, numerous
philosophies of various sorts have sprung forth, and from them modern
intellectuals build their theories. Questions
regarding human government, however, stand as one pivotal pillar. Plato, bulwark of western thinking, said, “Do
you know…that governments vary as the dispositions of men vary, and that there
must be as many of the one as there are of the other?” Civilizations and governments of many sorts
and philosophies have risen and fallen, largely due to the natures and
philosophies of the people who have made up such institutions of governance. What makes a good state? How do the people in the state affect its
trends? What is the most honorable form
of government to possess? These
mysteries have gripped, rapt, and enthralled the attentions of all
nations. Peoples and countries wage
wars, conquer, surrender, strategize, and contemplate their ideas of government
all for the purpose of fortifying them. “The
states are as men are; they grow out of human characters,” Plato
continued. Being that Plato lived during
the Golden Age of Greece, he saw the clashing of many attempts to create,
“Perfect,” human government. It is little
wonder, then, why philosophers and western culture in general have consistently
looked up to this man—king of philosophy—for guidance, particularly in
reference to the aforesaid questions. In
this modern age, the United States is no exception.
Among all Plato’s works, The Republic in
particular has influenced society for centuries—a book surpassed only by
The Bible for its influence on western civilization. Although he
made mistakes in it, he discoursed superbly on the nature, purpose, and characteristics
of an excellent state versus a poor state. In Paper No. 47 of The
Federalist Papers, Hamilton expressed:
It
is impossible to read the history of the petty republics of Greece and Italy
without feeling sensations of horror and disgust at the distractions with which
they were continually agitated, and at the rapid succession of revolutions by
which they were kept perpetually vibrating between the extremes of tyranny and
anarchy. The science of politics,
however, like most other science, has received great improvement.
Because of mankind’s fallible nature, the
history of governments and their philosophies have—by means of philosophers
like Plato—shown the world the advantages and disadvantages in various
governments. Looking back at history and
wise individuals like Plato, which form of government is in fact the highest,
and which one should the United States pursue? Among all the questions mentioned so far, this
one has served as the pervading, philosophical question for society and the
modern United States. Again, which
system of human governance should nations pursue? Plato asked the same question, and the United
States listened.
Many types of governments have existed
throughout the course of history, and, by observing them and their worldviews,
the United States sculptured its own government. Aristocracies are ruled by the, “Excellent,” philosophers
who have found truth and wisdom as well as dominated their wicked desires. Plato believed that by tapping the mind into
the contemplations of philosophy one may find truth and morality, and the soul
would inevitably follow. This idea
erroneously put its faith in the power of man’s fallible reasoning. Humans cannot expect to find all the answers
to truth and righteousness in their own imperfect minds. Nevertheless, aristocracy—according to
Plato—stands as the most excellent, ruled by the excellent. Truthfully however, when excellent, wise
people rule, the state inevitably follows. As Plato said in VIII.544 of
his Republic, “…the states are as men are; they grow out of human
characters.” Plato believed that the good
soul is that which has mastered itself and conquered its fleshly passions and
lusts with, “Human reasoning,” the pursuit of truth. Taken as a whole, despite the flaws in
mankind, some people can in fact be more qualified to rule or less error-filled
than others; and so, Plato’s claim, however politically incorrect it may seem
in modern America, holds weight.
Timocracy is ruled by the honorable: namely,
those who have gained honor in the military or for the sake of the state. Timocracy sits in the middle between the
perfect form of aristocracy, and the rule of the rich in an oligarchy. In VIII.548 of The Republic Plato said
that it is, “…a mixture of good and evil.”
It values traits such as honor, but in its blinding gaze at honor and
prestige, it forgets about truth:
…in
the fear of admitting philosophers to power…they are no longer to be had simple
and earnest, but are made up of mixed elements…fitted for war rather than
peace; and in the value set by them upon military stratagems and contrivances,
and in the waging of everlasting wars… …but one thing, and one thing only, is
predominantly seen,--the spirit of contention and ambition…
Plato believed a timocracy is a corrupted
form, the first step down the ladder of perfect government. Verily, timocracy sets the stage for an
abandonment of truth and morality, craving rather for honor, self-importance,
and kudos in the politics of public service.
Oligarchy, the rule of the powerful, is
governed primarily by those possessing great influence by wealth. As a
state turns its gaze to fortune rather than fame, oligarchs strive for power by
use of their wealth. All people either
have hoards of wealth or they have virtually nothing, a middle class being
non-existent. “A government resting on a
valuation of property, in which the rich have power and the poor man is deprived
of it,” said Plato in VIII.550. Consequently,
this state lays one step lower than a timocracy, as Plato said, “And in
proportion as their riches and rich men are honoured in the State, virtue and
the virtuous are dishonored.” Power by
wealth instead of righteousness, in this unfortunate disposition, becomes the
aim of society, and any consciousness of truth and morality, justice and
tranquility, is vanquished.
Plato also described the form of
government that takes great fame in the United States, although few Americans
realize the true meaning and impact of pure democracy. This government is democracy—rule of all
people. However, a democracy by
definition implies not merely, “Rule of the people,” but rule of the people
with unlimited freedom and equality. Alexis
de Tocqueville said in IV.1 of his Democracy in America, “Equality,
which makes men independent of one another, naturally gives them the habit and
taste to follow nobody’s will but their own in their private affairs.” Democracy guarantees all citizens equality in
power and freedom, and so people, particularly those who arise out of a form of
government in which they are subdued, naturally cling to this idea of
equality. Just as people may pick out
their favorite meats at a bazaar, so would the democrats unwisely create laws
for the state—each one choosing for himself his own moral standards. Plato rightly said that a democracy in its
pure form is inherently evil because men are inherently evil in their fleshly,
human lusts. Democracy-lovers overstep
their moral boundaries and crime increases; when violators are confronted, “I believe
my actions are virtuous,” becomes a satisfying justification for
immorality. In VIII.557 Plato said:
Because
of the liberty which reigns there—they have a complete assortment of
constitutions; and he who has a mind to establish a State, as we have been
doing, must go to a democracy as he would to a bazaar at which they sell them,
and pick out the one that suits him; then, when he has made his choice, he may
found his State.
For this reason, Plato astutely condemned
democracy as a swarm of evils, teeming with unwise people deciding morality for
themselves, and making horrendous, contradictory laws.
Tyranny, the rule of one man, lies at the
bottom of all five aforesaid forms of governments—as low as a government can
go. Ancient Rome in its republican form would appoint dictators—that is,
regular citizens appointed to serve as a tyrant of the state during temporary
times of distress. Similarly even in
Plato’s view, a tyrant may not by definition be evil at first, but a guardian
and a ruler of the people who decides the law and regulates morality. However,
when a state appoints a guardian to regulate morality and justice, this
guardian of the laws would soon become the maker of the laws, and he would become
a tyrant.
Even though a tyrant, or king, may actually
serve in a good way, VIII.566, 567 of The Republic stated:
And
the protector of the people is like him; having a mob entirely at this
disposal, he is not restrained from shedding the blood of kinsmen… At first, in
the early days of his power, he is full of smiles, and he salutes every one
whom he meets; --he is to be called a tyrant, who is making promises in public
and also in private! Liberating debtors,
and distributing land to the people and his followers, and wanting to be so
kind and good to every one!
Then, the tyrant desires to enjoy his
authority, slaying any opposition, while at the same time pandering important individuals
so that he may keep his power. Power
corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Plato was likely a strong influence on John
Locke, a philosopher of the sixteen-hundreds, who said in his Second
Treatise of Government, “…tyranny is the exercise of power beyond
right, which no body can have a right to.
Where-ever law ends, tyranny begins…”
Tyrants in past history have usually
maintained hereditary states, in which the office of tyrant automatically passes
from one generation to the next. As
Machiavelli said in The Prince, “I said at once there are fewer
difficulties in holding hereditary states, and those long accustomed to the
family of their prince, than new ones; for it is sufficient only not to
transgress the customs of his ancestors, and to deal prudently with
circumstances as they arise…” Hereditary
states ensure that the reigns of power stay in the family, and no one can steal
them except by mutiny and force. Tyrants,
and all monarchs for that matter, hold much power over their tyrannies; hence,
they tend to grip their inherited reigns of power, raping the state, and they usually
do not relent them. For this reason, Plato
explained that the tyrant would be the most miserable and terrifying of all
rulers.
All forms of human governance inexorably
contain errors, even Plato’s beloved aristocracy; because of humankind’s flawed
disposition, any one type of government results in a corrupt state. “The states are as men are; they grow out of
human characters.” Thus, what should the
United States and the modern world pursue?
History has shown the world each of these five governments, and to be
sure, none of them merits full embracing. In sculpturing the United States’ government,
the founding fathers took into account not only Plato’s explanation of
governments, but also sought to understand what form the United States should
adopt. Then again, if all forms of human
government are erroneous pursuits, what kind of standard should America and the
world choose to pursue? Unless God Himself
was to come back to earth and take the place of human government, what should
society then do? In the formation of
this modern day government, the founding fathers sought the answer to this
philosophical question of politics. Each
of the five governments discussed by Plato manifestly has flaws, but many of
them also contain assets and admonitions which benefited the systematizing of
the United States government. Frequently the founding
fathers looked back to the teachings of Plato in his Republic, yet they
did not omit from their minds the burned hands shown throughout western
history, along with other philosophers’ critiques.
An aristocratic government contains a
major weakness: those who rule it actually possess fallacies, and in their
arrogance at being philosophers and possessors of truth, they can easily fall
into error. Just as a philosopher might
find truth by reason, he can just as easily stray into non-truth through reason. Almost two millennia after Plato, the French
philosopher Descartes—well-known for his belief in the power of reason—said,
“…if we frequently have ideas containing some falsity, this can happen
only…because we are not wholly perfect.”
Leibniz, another philosopher following Descartes, said, “…it is our
judgments, which come from ourselves, which deceive us.” All people by nature contain mortal
weaknesses. However, this does not
disprove Plato’s claim that some are less erred or more wise than others. Rather, the founding fathers recognized that
rulers should indeed possess wisdom, nobility, and dominion over sinful
desires. Taken as a whole, rulers should
be worthy and qualified for their offices, but they should not be hailed as absolute
professors of truth.
Therefore, aristocracy in all its
strengths and weaknesses took a major role in shaping American government. Alexander Hamilton, when describing the executive
powers of the United States, said in The Federalist Papers, No. 68, “The
process of election affords a moral certainty, that the office of President
will seldom fall to the lot of any man who is not in an eminent degree endowed
with the requisite qualifications.” Only
those qualified to lead the nation should serve as President, and so
Presidential candidates must lawfully have an adequate number of citizens
quizifying their worthiness for the office.
Furthermore, they must also win enough votes in order to win the
Presidency. This system ensures that
even if a Presidential candidate does not merit the office by virtue, he at
least possesses solid qualities that ensure strong leadership—although this is
not continuously the case in modern America.
Moreover, Plato said that rulers should
not be young, but they should be philosophers who have acquired truth and been
wizened by the experience thereof; similarly, the President of the United
States must have attained the age of at least thirty-five, and he can by no
means be elected without the approval of the people. Senators must have attained the age of at
least thirty, and Representatives at least twenty-five. Although the United States has strayed from
this original purpose, the founding fathers demanded that Senators must be
elected by their state legislatures, for those elected to the Senate must
abound in wisdom, maturity, and experience.
When the President appoints Ambassadors, Supreme Court Justices, or
other noble officials of high rank, he must have the consent of the Senate’s
astuteness. If the President fails to
live up to his responsibility as the nation’s chief executive or is ensnared by
immorality, the Senate has the power to impeach and remove him from office. In such a case, the Supreme Court’s Chief
Justice presides over the Senate.
Plato’s views on aristocracy, rule of the excellent, had a huge impact
on American Government.
In a timocracy, rulers come to power not
through wisdom, merit, or leadership skills, but through a prestigious
reputation among other officers of prestige. This would mean that the greaquiz and most heroic
warriors achieve power, rather than the wisest and most righteous. Military prestige does not, however,
guarantee good character or qualifications for public office, although the
President of the United States must also serve as Commander-in-Chief of the
armed forces. Rank and honor in the
military therefore do not determine a person’s political power. Rather, since honor gained in battle demonstrates
skill in war, military rank is bestowed upon those who have earned it in the
military.
Oligarchy had less impact on the American
Constitution, and so its marks reveal themselves less in the making of American
Government. This form lies vulnerable to
the leadership of foolish men lustful for riches and power, and the founding
fathers understood the dangers that Plato expressed in such a government. Evils found in oligarchy taught and convinced
society to shun it, and so the formation of American and several other modern
day governments often strive to abstain from oligarchy. Instead of oligarchy, the United States chose
economic prosperity for the general welfare of all citizens. John Locke said:
First,
they are to govern…not to be varied in particular cases, but to have one rule
for rich and poor, for the favourite at court, and the country man at
plough. Secondly, these laws also
ought to be designed for no other end ultimately, but the good of the
people. Thirdly, they must not raise
taxes on the property of the people, without the consent of the people…
Equality in economics defines the American
people rather than power by wealth, and free capitalism permeates rather than
oligarchy and anarchy.
Perfect equality derives itself from
belief in pure democracy, and so pure democracy demands that all people have
perfectly equal rights and beliefs. Jean-Jacques
Rousseau said in The Origins of Inequality:
If
we ask in what precisely consists the greaquiz good of all, which should be the
end of every system of legislation, we shall find it reduce itself to two main
objects, liberty and equality—liberty, because all particular dependence means
so much force taken from the body of the State, and equality, because liberty
cannot exist without it.
Tocqueville, who asserted many similar
things, said in his Democracy in America, “…the lines between authority
and tyranny, liberty and license, and right and might seem to them so jumbled
and confused that no one knows exactly what he is, what he can do, and what he
should do.” Chapter six continued: “In
aristocracies rents are not paid in money only, but also by respect,
attachment, and service. In democracies
money only is paid.” Every man of
democracy exists only for himself. As
Plato said, “In this kind of State there
will be the greaquiz variety of human natures.” In democracy, no absolutes exist and there
remains no standard for right or wrong.
Plato correctly explained how this anarchy would eventually turn into a
tyranny, thus defeating democracy’s purpose!
Pure democracy, despite its privileges,
paves a road to disaster. When molding
the United States, the founding fathers recognized that although democracy
ensures equality providing liberty to all people, it is deceptively
misleading. To stay pure and holy,
immune to corruption, would produce the perfect democracy—or the perfect form
of any government for that matter.
Still, this is unfortunately impossible.
Therefore, the founding fathers again chose to adopt the qualities of
democracy with the qualities of other types of government.
James Madison said in The Federalist
Papers, “On comparing, however, these valuable ingredients with the vital
principles of liberty, we must perceive…mingling them together in their due
proportions.” (Essay number thirty-seven.) Madison and other American founders wrote the
constitution to counter man’s sinfulness, yet they also wrote it to bring out the
good of man in government. The
Federalist Papers, No. 57 said:
The
aim of every political constitution is, or ought to be, first to obtain for
rulers men who possess most wisdom to discern, and most virtue to pursue, the
common good of the society; and in the next place, to take the most effectual
precautions for keeping them virtuous whilst they continue to hold their public
trust.
Aristocracy’s emphasis on truth, justice,
and virtue compliments a good government, but it requires the wisdom and input
of those whom the rulers serve—the citizens.
“The elective mode of obtaining rulers is the characteristic policy of
republican government. The means relied
on in this form of government for preventing their degeneracy… The most effectual
one, is such a limitation of the term of appointments as will maintain a proper
responsibility to the people.” James
Madison and the other founding fathers wisely used their history textbooks and
Plato’s discourses to properly mold their system of human governance. Rather than having all people rule, America
created a system in which people elect those who rule. By doing so, rulers are guarded against
degeneracy, but if corruption occurs, the corrupt rulers often either lose
their power or the other rulers push for restored righteousness.
Lastly, not only did aristocracy and
democracy, along with other minor forms, influentially guide the making of
American Government, but tyranny also took a major role. This is because a nation with the combined
characteristics of aristocracy and democracy, yet also with the influences of
timocracy and oligarchy, demands the leadership of one, overall, executive
guardian—whom Plato named tyrant. As
said before, no system of human governance merits full embracing, but even the
combination of them all requires one, overarching executive. In America, this executive serves as
President. Although he holds more power
than anyone else in the nation, his power is limited, which prevents him from
becoming the same, “Tyrant,” that Plato abhorred. Like other offices, the President is elected. In The Federalist Papers Hamilton
raised the question: what if the President is only elected because of his
popularity? Popularity permeates the result
of any election in the United States, but as Hamilton explained, the office of
American President is so unique that it will seldom fall to anyone who lacks
the qualifications of an aristocrat.
Even if the President holds a warped view of moral standards, he would
at least have the wit and strength to lead, while the other branches of
government would prevent him from doing anything injudicious If his wickedness becomes manifest, the
President will not hold power for much longer.
Which is the highest one form of
government? Learning from millennia of
trials and failure, history has proven that no government merits full
embracing. Saint Thomas Aquinas, a
medieval church theologian, scholar of the classics, Platonic expert, and
philosopher said in his Summa Theologica that the perfect government
should contain a combination of them all. Perhaps he summarized the goal best when he said:
…the best
form of government is in a state or kingdom, wherin one is given the power to
preside over all; while under him are others having governing powers: and yet a
government of this kind is shared by all, both because all are eligible to
govern, and because the rulers are chosen by all.
Accordingly, the United States, avoiding
extremes of all sides, took the good traits out of each form of government and
combined them. Aristocracy means the
state is ruled by good people, but democracy provides the blessings of freedom
for all people, while tyranny means order and control in the state. As Aquinas said:
For this is
the best form of polity, being partly kingdom, since there is one at the head
of all; partly aristocracy, in so far as a number of persons are set in
authority; partly democracy, government by the people, in so far as the rulers
can be chosen from the people, and the people have the right to choose their
rulers.
All three of them combined, along with
splinters of timocracy, oligarchy and other systems, make for a good state. It is ruled by most likely good people,
blessing the citizens in freedom, and yet with moral order. With such a combination and checks and
balances, if one part of the body of this government goes astray, the other
parts will pull it back into place. When
this, “Republic,” fails or corrupts, looking back at the teachings of Plato and
other philosophers of western culture, as the founding fathers did, would prove
beneficial.
In The Federalist Papers, Hamilton
quoted the philosopher Hume:
“To balance a
large state or society, whether monarchical or republican…is a work of so great
difficulty, that no human genius, however comprehensive, is able…to affect
it. The judgments of many must unite in
the work; experience must guide their labor; time must bring it to perfection,
and the feeling of inconveniences must correct the mistakes which they inevitably
fall into in their first trials and experiments.”
Plato erred many instances of his life,
but his foundations provided the modern world with a solid foundation upon
which to build its thinking. Aristotle
said that people must respect the thinkers—even those who erred—who preceded
them, for upon their foundations do contemporaries build their ideas. History has accordingly proven that both the
soothed hand and the burned hand teach best.
Plato said:
A
man must take with him into the world below an adamantine faith in truth and
right, that there too he may be undazzled by the desire of wealth or other
allurements of evil, lest, coming upon tyrannies and other similar villainies,
he do irremediable wrongs to others and suffer yet worse himself; but let him
know how to choose the mean and avoid the extremes on either side… For this is
the way of happiness.
Although each effort to create an
infallible government fails unavoidably, a proper understanding of the
philosophies that have molded each attempt results in a more secure foundation
for human government. Plato stated, “And
thus…the tale has been saved and has not perished, and will save us…” Mankind has come a long way in his quest to
achieve perfection at human governance.
Although it will never become perfect, he must persist forward, eyes
fixed on God’s truth and righteousness—where true answers lie—and strive ever
for perfection. As that great, eminent
philosopher said in his Gorgias, “I shall keep my gaze fixed on the
truth and aspire to perfection, both in life and, when my time comes to die, in
death. Let us then allow ourselves to be
led by the truth now revealed to us, which teaches that the best way of life is
to practice righteousness and virtue, whether living or dying; let us follow
that way and urge others to follow it, instead of the way which you in mistaken
confidence are urging upon me; it is quite worthless, Callicles.”
Revenge: Passion’s Siren Call
“The anvil of Justice stands fast and Fate beats
out her sword. Tempered for glory, a child will wipe clean the inveterate stain
of blood shed long ago-Fury brings him home at last, the brooding mother Fury!”
-The Chorus in The Oresteia
Vengeance is never satisfied.
It is the passion that wells within us when suffering comes our way. Revenge is
its outpouring, action taken upon emotions. Revenge seems so just in the
moment, for it seems to provide a way to diffuse the heat of fury and to bring
justice. But does it really do either? Does our retaliation create justice or
does our vengeance produce the need for it? We believe that revenge ends with
us, but it does not. Inevitably, our actions hurt another, which in turn hurt
another, until it is unstoppable! The cycle is vicious, reducing us to debase
tactics to pacify our anger. Will resolve finally arrive? Aeschylus, a
playwright in ancient Greece, depicted revenge through the characters in his
play, The Oresteia, and through its examination, the end of this cycle
of revenge is revealed.
It was the house of Atreus, many years ago, when
Agamemnon, prince of Athens, came to the throne. He was a mighty king,
submitted to the gods of Olympus and a valiant warrior as was his brother King
Menalaus. Paris, prince of Troy, stole Menalaus’ wife, Helen. Zeus, the godhead
of Olympus, demanded that Agamemnon and Menalaus lead a war against Troy and
recapture the glorious Helen. The thought of war brought great distress to
Artemis, goddess of childbirth. For the sake of the innocents that would die in
this war, she demanded that the two kings make just sacrifice for the lives
they were about to kill. They must, “slaughter a suffering, trembling female
creature together with its young before coming to the birth” and “sacrifice
a suffering, trembling female creature, their own offspring, in front of the
armies.” Agamemnon was forced to obey. He killed his daughter, Iphagenaea,
before the eyes of both his army and his wife, Clytaemnestra. The fury of a
mother was ignited in Clytaemnestra the moment the knife slit her daughter’s
ivory throat. This began it all.
Passion is an insatiable
feeling within our human being that has the power to manipulate our behavior.
This strong emotion grabs our attention and immediately produces a
corresponding reaction. The sensation we feel in passion becomes so vivid that
all reason dims in comparison. It compels us to mindlessly react to
circumstances instead of prudently preparing solutions. Although the prudent
soul guides his or her passion for good, if unchecked, passion becomes a cruel
master driving us on as it did with Clytaemnestra. It holds such power that
when continually fueled, there are few things in the world that can stop it.
Clytaemnestra’s heart was
wounded by Agamemnon’s act of sacrifice. She loved her daughter and thought her
husband’s response to Iphagenaea’s death was heartless. “He thought no more
of it than killing a beast. His flocks were dense, teeming in their fleece, but
he sacrificed his own child, our daughter, the agony I labored in love to charm
away the savage winds of Thrace.” She was heartbroken and devastated. Her love had been devalued. She labored to
bring a child into the world, yet her husband acted as if the child mattered no
more than a calf and her labor less than that of the heifer that bore it. He took
that precious child away without her consent. She was helpless, unable to stop
this tormenting act. Agamemnon left immediately to fight the Trojan War, which
lasted for ten years. He left her behind, no love or care, bereft of daughter
and husband. In this time, Clytaemnestra’s grief and loneliness grew into
resentment and that resentment into hatred and bitterness. The townspeople were
appalled to find that their queen showed no remorse or guilt over her heinous
act. “Woman! -What poison from the soil or strained from the heaving sea,
what nursed you, drove you insane!” they cried. It was evident that her heart was hardened by
the welling emotions. She said, “And you, you try me like some desperate
woman. My heart is steal, well you know.” Her unchecked passion transformed
her once tender, loving heart into one of revenge. It became her master.
Revenge whispers false promises to the wounded heart’s
passions, promising healing, retribution and peace. Clytaemnestra believed
revenge’s promise. The only way to resolve the pain she felt was to destroy
that which had hurt her in the first place, her husband. Agamemnon would
receive the same measure of kindness he had afforded their daughter…none! When
the gods saw fit to spare Agamemnon during he war, much to the chagrin of the
hardened queen, Clytaemnestra took it upon herself to carry out her revenge.
She brought the sacred tapestries that were only to be used for the gods before
the king, entreating him to tread upon them in celebration of his great
victory! Agamemnon eventually succumbed to her urgings and tread upon the
crimson threads. She deceitfully led him inside the tent and gave him mixed
wine. When he was drunk, she stabbed him three times, mutilating his body. The
wounder of her soul was finally dead. Revenge triumphed.
However, revenge did not fulfill its promise. Her passion
was not satisfied with mere revenge. Murder did not quell her fury. Instead,
she grew more zealous. While Agamemnon was at war, another lover named
Aegisthus had already taken his place in her heart. She sought to have her
lover replace him on the throne determined to remove Agamemnon’s memory
entirely. Aegisthus became Argos’ new ruler instead of the rightful heir,
Prince Orestes.
Passion deceives people, blinding them to the truth. As
king, Agamemnon’s actions were completely justified. As fate would have it,
Agamemnon was forced to sacrifice his daugter in order to fulfill Artemis’
command. He sacrificed Iphagenaea as atonement for the lives to be taken by his
countrymen and himself during the Trojan War. He enacted the gods’ justice for
the sake of his country. He obeyed an
unpleasant command, demonstrating his devotion to the gods and seeking their
favor. Agamemnon’s act of obedience was justified, if for no other reason than
it was the will of the gods. In spite of all this, Clytaemnestra recognized
nothing but her own pain. She could not
see the truth that her husband was innocent, and deceived herself to believe
that her retribution was, “a masterpiece of justice.”
Passion seduces people to sacrifice all that they hold
dear, violating their own principles. Clytaemnestra was devoted to the sacred
rites of the gods, willing to sacrifice their many livestock to fulfill the
first part of Artemis’ command. However,
when they required the life of her daughter, she rebelled. Because it hurt her
personally, she no longer was willing to comply with the gods. Ultimately, she
resented the gods after her loss but carried out her passionate vengeance on
their instrument-Agamemnon. She initially did not believe that murder of a king
was just, yet she murdered a blameless man. She committed a crime that she
principally rejected. She dismissed her dedication to the ways of the gods to
pursue passion’s enticement. All that she valued, even her own son, was
forsaken in her fit of rage.
Submission to a higher entity
enables passion to serve the law of justice.
Orestes’ passions raged within him as well. His mother shamelessly
killed his father and her “womanhearted” lover, as he put it, had taken
his rightful place on the throne, his very birthright! He was just as
vulnerable to the temptations of passion as his mother had been. “So many
yearnings meet and urge me on. The god’s commands. Mounting sorrow for father.”
However, he did not submit to its power. Instead he subjected his will to the
gods. As he prepared to perform the burial rites, as commanded by the deities,
along with his remaining sister, Electra, Apollo, god of the moon, gave Orestes
a prophecy through the leader of the townspeople that commanded him to kill both
his mother and Aegisthus. The prince was taken aback by the god's command, and
when he came to his sister at the grave, he told her of his sorrow at its
requirement. “Oh she’ll pay, she’ll pay, by the gods and these bare
hands-just let me take her life and die!” he prayed. Though it grieved him
that his mother would die too, he knew that he must obey. She was wicked, and
the misfortune of her death had fallen into his hands. He did not act until
commanded and only in the way laid before him by Apollo. His passion was
submitted to the equitable law of the gods, and thus his retribution was not a
byproduct of passion with all its shortcomings, but of justice.
Justice brings righteousness to a wrong situation with no
wrongdoing in the process. It gives due retribution and resolve. It can only be
served within the boundaries of the law. It needs no reaction, and once it is
executed, it is complete. It is justice’s duty to deliver impartial
judgment. Passion cannot affect its
outcome or else it ceases to be just. Orestes brought justice to the house of
Atreus because he did the will of the gods. It did not please him to do so, but
he did it knowing it was his duty to obey despite the discomfort it brought
him. It is this submission to authority that brings justice. The authority’s
word is law, and since law brings about justice, action in submission to
authority produces justice.
Revenge is a counterfeit of justice. It imitates the
motions of justice, but it does not result in justice’s righteousness or resolve.
It is like the painted backdrop in an old movie that looks so alluring as its
singing stars drive beside it, but behind its glamour it offers no life. It
holds no true joy, but a cheap imitation of the great thing it replicates.
Clytaemnestra believed revenge’s illusion. She believed that its retribution,
like justice’s punishment, would resolve her emotions and would bring
righteousness to her household. She believed that she brought about justice
merely by punishment. However, revenge
cannot be justified for the very reason that it is partial. It does not deliver fair judgment, but favors
the urgings of passion. Therefore,
revenge is unjust and is in need of the righteousness of true justice.
Vengeance is a powerful force, but it is a choice. We can
choose to act against it or to concede to its power. This is true of any
emotion. Clytaemnestra chose to kill her husband when she could have taken the
time that he was away in Troy to forgive him and to pacify the anger and hurt
in her heart. Obviously she had cause for hurt but not for action. She could
have quelled her passion, but she nurtured it instead. Her son, though just as
angry and hurt as his mother had been, did not plot her and Aegisthus’ demise.
In fact, he only prayed that the gods would right the wrong his mother had
committed. He prayed that they would make him a better man. He made a choice
not to commit the same crime his mother had. The same vengeance, the same hurt,
but a different response. As his heart was in the right place, he was prepared
to do the will of the gods, not his own.
When revenge is taken, it is usually without consideration
of consequences. Those consequences affect not only you but also those around
you. When Clytaemnestra chose to take revenge, she did not consider that the
consequences to her actions would lead to the retribution of the gods. Her fury
blinded her vision and prudence. Her lack of prudence not only resulted in her
death but that of her lover. All she considered was that the man who hurt her
would be dead. Because she and her lover rebelled against the gods, the gods
commissioned Orestes to kill them. Her destiny to be the queen was foregone and
her son was forced to carry out justice upon her. This never should have
happened, but since she did not consider the consequences of her actions and
succumbed to the power of her emotions, the destinies of all around her were
affected or destroyed.
Revenge assumes the role of God. It places man in a
position of ultimate sovereignty. Instead of serving an entity, he serves
himself. This newfound independence is subject only to the dictates of his
passion. He thereby refutes God’s authority and disregards His wisdom.
Clytaemnestra did not acknowledge the gods’ wisdom and placed herself in a position
of supremacy. By refuting their righteousness in the matter, she challenged
their authority and their justice. If Agamemnon had done such a heinous thing
of his own accord, they would surely have killed him in the Trojan fields or
commanded Clytaemnestra to kill him. Her passion was not checked by a higher
authority, thus her actions served the passions that controlled them. Revenge
served her bloodthirsty sensations but left her vulnerable to the consequences
forged against her.
When you step outside of the authority of those in
control, you will reap destruction. The one who took revenge reaped the
destruction her life, the life of her lover, and her power, yet the two men who
obeyed the command of the gods were justified. Even outside of the play’s
context, the principle still applies. The Bible says in Psalms 7:14-16, “Behold,
the wicked brings forth iniquity; yes, he conceives trouble and brings forth
falsehood. He made a pit and dug it out, and has fallen into the ditch, which
he made. His trouble shall return upon his own head, and his violent dealing
shall come down on his own crown.” So many died in this debacle that were
unnecessary to fulfill the will of the gods because one woman took revenge to
heal a broken heart. She thought it her duty to bring justice, but it was not.
Because Clytaemnestra took it upon herself to essentially ‘correct’ the god’s
‘mistake’, she brought about more death. She defied the law of the gods for the
sake of satisfying her personal vengeance and incurred their wrath in the
process. Those around her in the play knew her end, “And there you will see
them all. Every mortal who outraged god or guest or loving parent: each
receives the pain his pains exact.” Orestes said it well: “They killed
an honored man by cunning, so they die by cunning, caught in the same noose.”
Clytaemnestra reaped the vengeance that she had so passionately sowed, but this
time from the gods.
If a man serves a greater entity, he has a glimmer of hope
in that he has a defender and protector.
As a sovereign, the deity executes justice how he sees fit. He protects
those under his care. Since he is omniscient, his perspective on how to
distribute vengeance is accurate and trustworthy. It requires faith, though, to
leave revenge in the hands of a supreme being. Clytaemnestra did not trust the
gods’ distribution of justice. In her distrust, she ignored their authority by
taking matters into her own hands. She took their authority as her own. It was
not her responsibility to execute such wrath, especially since the sacrifice of
her daughter was lawful. She felt that the gods had not done their duty
(killing her husband), so she would do it for them.
Orestes, however, trusted the gods implicitly. In this
trust, his passion was subdued and obedient to their commands, not his will.
Orestes trusted that they would make proper restitution and bring justice to
his dead father. He and his sister even prayed, “Hear me, make me far more
self-possessed than mother, make this hand more pure.” Interestingly
enough, Apollo chose him who believed in the gods’ sovereignty to destroy the
two offenders. Because Orestes believed that they were in control, the gods
rewarded him with victory and returned to him his rightful place on the throne.
Revenge had taken its course with his mother, but with him, justice had finally
come to the house of Atreus.
While the play occurred in a pagan environment, its
principles reveal the truth of human passion and the futility of revenge.
Passion was Clytaemnestra’s cruel master. Revenge looked so promising, yet its
fury blinded her to the truth. It brought about only more death. Deuteronomy
32:35 says, “Vengeance is Mine, and recompense; their foot shall slip in due
time; for the day of their calamity is at hand, and the things to come hasten
upon them.” Though the man who hurt her was dead, the subject of god-like
vengeance became herself. Revenge only creates a cycle of vengeance. This is
the futility of revenge. Its seeds are hurt, it is nurtured with passion, and
the harvest is more vengeance. It is the Siren call of passion, so enticing yet
so destructive. It does not end until justice is brought about. Justice came
only when Orestes quelled his fury and submitted his passion to the will of the
gods. As the passion lost its control, the
cycle of revenge ceased. He allowed for the will of the gods and of fate to be
carried out, and this was just.
Everett Quivey
GBT 5 Paper 2
30MAY04
Can History Be Objective?
Concerning the persecution of
Christians in Rome, Edward Gibbon writes:
"Punishment was not
the inevitable consequence of conviction, and the Christian whose guilt was
most clearly proved by the quizimony of witnesses, or even by their own
voluntary confession, still retained in their own power the alternative of life
or death. It was not so much the past
offense, as the actual resistance, which excited the indignation of the
magistrate. He was persuaded that he
offered them an easy pardon, since, if they consented to cast a few grains of
incense upon the altar, they were dismissed from the tribunal in safety and
with applause. It was esteemed the duty
of a humane judge to endeavor to reclaim, rather than to punish, those deluded
enthusiasts. Varying his tone according
to the age, the sex, or the situation of the prisoners, he frequently
condescended to set before their eyes every circumstance which could render
life more pleasing, or death more terrible; and to solicit, nay to intreat
them, that they would show some compassion to themselves, to their families,
and to their friends. If threats and
persuasions proved ineffectual, he had often recourse to violence; the scourge
and the rack were called in to supply the deficiency of argument, and every art
of cruelty was employed to subdue such inflexible, and, as it appeared to the
Pagans, such criminal obstinacy."(The
Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire Chpt16. III)
History may be entertaining,
but can it be objective? We expect
objectivity from other sciences, i.e. biology, physics, and logic. In fact, objectivity is used as an informal definition
of science. In the preceding example,
the author's unusual viewpoint appears to influence his facts and conclusions.
What is usual? Is usual objective? To determine if history can be objective, we
must first investigate history. Then we must study objectivity. Finally, we may discover how the two
interact.
History
"Thucydides, an
Athenian, wrote the history of the war between the Peloponnesians and the
Athenians."(Thucydides, The
Peloponnesian War 1.1) The
Peloponnesian War is a fine example of history.
There never was a "Peloponnesian War" or a "Persian
War". Neither did their counterparts " The Attic War" and "
The Greek War" possess any physical meaning. War is a name. What occurred was men fought
and cities burned. History created the
Peloponnesian War by bundling the battles and men together under one name.
This is history, to recognize
the significance of events by bestowing upon them names, causes, and
effects. In 433 B.C., Corinth, a
Peloponnesian city, struggled to maintain control of a rebellious province,
Corcyra. Both sides courted Athens for
naval support. However, Athens was bound
by the Thirty Years Peace Treaty against violence to Sparta, an ally of
Corinth. Nevertheless, the Athenians
were afraid that if Corinth was left unchecked, it might grow and threaten
Athenian naval superiority. "For it began now to be felt that the
coming of the Peloponnesian War was only a question of time and no one was
willing to see a naval power of such magnitude as Corcyra sacrificed to
Corinth." (The Peloponnesian War 1.44) With this view, Athens entered a defensive
alliance with Corcyra. A naval battle
ensued in which both sides claimed victory.
What is the significance? Why
does Thucydides recount on an indecisive battle? Thucydides recorded the event because he saw
it as the beginning of his history. The
antagonism between Athens and Corinth provided another spark of the
Peloponnesian War. "This was the
first cause of the war that Corinth had against the Athenians, namely, that
they had fought against them in time of Treaty" (Ibid. 1.55)
Thucydides the historian took events, and gave them significance to create
facts. With these facts, he was able to
create his story.
History is that "which
undertakes to record the transactions of the past, for the instruction of
future ages."(Gibbon The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire) Gibbon illustrates well this idea of
history. History is the events of the
past compiled and arranged in a meaningful manner. There is an expectation that these events
will reveal lessons, that history is instructive. History is of course separate
from literature in that it consists of facts and not emotions. "The absence of romance in my history
will, I fear, detract some what from its interest; but if it be judged useful
by those inquirers who desire an exact knowledge of the past as an aid to the
understanding of the future, which in the course of human events must resemble
if it does not reflect it, I shall be content." (Thucydides The Peloponnesian War
1.22) Therefore, history is not merely a
catalogue of events. It must also
instruct. History answers two
questions. What happened? What does it
mean?
The purpose of history
resembles that of poetry and philosophy, to instruct and inspire. Unlike the
poet who is free to speak exclusively of absolutes and generalizations, the
historian must remain rooted in particulars. "The distinction between
the historian and the poet is not in the one writing prose and the other
verse---you might put the work of Herodotus into verse, and it would still be a
species of history; it consists really in this, that one describes the thing
that has been, and the other the thing that might be." (Aristotle, On
Poetics Chpt. 9) When Gibbon
observes that Rome crumbled from within, he does so on the evidence of
events. "But that the decline of
Rome was the natural and inevitable effect of immoderate greatness. Prosperity ripened the principle of decay;
the causes of destruction multiplied with the extent of conquest; and as soon
as time or accident had removed the artificial supports, the stupendous fabric
yielded to the pressure of its own weight." (The Decline and Fall
of the Roman Empire General Observations)
History is written to instruct, but it must also be written in
fact. The absolute values professed must
be rooted firmly in the particulars.
The process of history is
circular. It has obligations to both
abstract values and particular events.
Unlike philosophy, history is not permitted to begin by postulating
forms or other abstract values. Neither
is it possible to begin with particulars alone.
Which particulars should the historian choose to use? He must use discernment.
This discernment takes the
shape of an abstract value with which he evaluates the particular events of the
past. The historian discerns which
events support or oppose his value and which events are irrelevant. Only after
this narrowing of subject matter can he proceed with the process of writing
history. The absolute value is the light
by which he views the particulars.
Thucydides viewed the
Peloponnesian War as a military and diplomatic affair. It was not the rise of a
superior race. It was not a development
of spirit. It was not a moral struggle.
As the title clearly illustrates, it was a war in the conventional
meaning of the word. The cynic may
credit Thucydides' military value to his own employment. This is permissible. Thucydides was an Athenian General, a student
and practitioner of warfare.
However, the events of the fifth century B.C.
are battles and they do imply war. This
is the egg under the hen. If the values
of the philosopher select the facts, where do the values themselves come from? The values of materialism, diplomacy,
progress and the rest are born of events.
Just as the technological inventions of the nineteenth century birthed a
progressive interpretation of history, the military aggression between
Peloponnesian and Attic allies inspired a military value. These values in turn
evaluate their establishing events as significant enough to become facts. The facts then become the supporting evidence
of the values.
This is the process of
balanced history, to write it simultaneous from both ends. The historian lets the facts speak and yet
selects which events in history are important.
The facts determine the values and the values determine the facts. The
process of history is therefore circular.
Objectivity
"The word itself is
misleading and question begging."(Carr,
What is History?) In defining
objectivity, we must first discount what it is not. Objectivity is not synonymous with accuracy.
Accuracy is the verification of facts and accounts. Accuracy is the careful notation of dates,
locations and spellings. When a historian presents his facts, we believe that
he has verified them systematically and that they are true. Accuracy is a prerequisite for a historian.
Until it has been satisfied, there can be no further discussion of meaning or
objectivity.
Initially, accuracy was a
challenge to early historians who had no written documents for
concurrence. Herodotus, in The
History, narrates the Persian War from oral accounts and legends. This is a daunting task of accuracy and
Herodotus does his best. "I
heard the following story about Heracles, to the effect that he was one of the
Twelve Gods; but I never could hear a word anywhere in Egypt about that other
Heracles, the one the Greeks know of."(The History 2.43) The question is whether the Egyptians had
adopted a Greek hero as a god. It must
be determined which legend is older.
Herodotus travels to Phoenicia to visit a temple of the god Heracles. Upon interrogating the priests on the
founding date of the temple, Herodotus discovers that Heracles was worshiped
many generations before the legendary birth of the Greek hero. This is
confirmed by visiting a second temple. "These
researches of mine indicate quite clearly that Heracles is an ancient
god." (Ibid. 2.44)
Herodotus also relates
stories of bizarre peoples and customs such as the Baldies (Ibid. 4.23), but he
does not defend these in the same vigorous manner. Altogether, Herodotus is careful to
distinguish facts from fiction by sighting sources and confirming accounts.
With this characteristic, Herodotus steps forward from the crowd of poets as
the first Greek historian.
Objectivity does not forbid a
direct address to the reader. For
example, Plutarch interrupts his biography of Solon to speak of love and sorrow. "We must not provide against the loss
of wealth by poverty, of friends by refusing all acquaintance or of children by
having none but by morality and reason.
But of this too much.” (The Lives of the Noble Grecians and
Romans Solon) Apparently, Plutarch is apologizing for a digression
from history into philosophy. However,
in the context of Solon's life this is appropriate. Solon had been deceived by
a false report of his son's death. The
author of this report was attempting to defend his own bachelorhood. Plutarch articulates the counter argument
that it is weakness, not affection that invites sorrow. The Lives of the
Noble Grecians and Romans, like all histories, is not a sterile
chronological collection of events. Instead, history is events collected into
stories that illustrate the characters of prominent men. History exists to illustrate the meaning of
the past.
We will use the following
definition. An objective standard is a
standard outside of the observer.
Objectivity is the use of this standard. The statement, "I think
this lecture is too long" is not an objective statement, because "I
think" indicates that the observer has chosen himself as the
standard. If the observer chooses an
outside standard, such as measured time, he can make an objective
statement. An objective statement would
be, "This lecture is thirty-eight minutes long".
Event Certainty
The historical narrative is built upon
historical events. In judging the whole,
we should not refrain from inspecting the parts. When looking at past events we attempt to
discover what really happened. It is
here that most minds turn to upon hearing the word objectivity.
Concerning historical events,
objectivity indicates knowledge of the event equal to an omniscient
observer. The particular experiences of
each participant are valuable not as history but as literature. The historian
ingests the various particular experiences of an event and attempts to create a
synthetic objective account.
Another difficulty of event
objectivity is the position of the observer.
The observer of an event occupies a unique time and place. In the case of Herodotus, all original
observers of the Persian war were dead.
The record of events was filtered through a generation. Such a passage of time mars the objectivity
of an event in several ways.
The first is memory. Human memory forgets, resulting in details
and entire events disappearing forever to historical study. Even more destructive to the objective goal
are the events that are remembered. When
an event is remembered, it is invariably because the observer considered it
important. The important events are
retold as stories and written in journals.
This brings us to the previous problem, how is an event judged important
or significant? The observer considers the event significant
if it was unusual or an illustration of a larger trend. Because of time, the importance of an event
has already been judged before it reaches the historian. Therefore, any objectivity provided by the
outside historian has been preempted.
Time's second handicap is its
own perceived character. In the common
progressive view, prior events in time are primitive and inferior. It is fundamental to the notion of progress
that early, rude events are followed by future, more desirable events.
Countering is the view that
the past was superior to whatever followed it.
The existence of this view is evident in the colloquialism, the
"good old days". A superior
past is central to the world's golden age myths and a convenient scapegoat for
an age's current woes.
There is a third view that
attempts to rectify this opposition, namely that the past is the same as the
present and future. In practice,
however, this does not settle the argument but only muddles it. This theme of chronological homology is
observable in medieval art and literature. In the Canterbury Tales,
Geoffrey Chaucer relates the Knight's Tale; a love story set in ancient
Greece. "That there once was a
Duke called Theseus / Ruler of Athens, Lord and Governor."(Knight's
tale part I) In a noble defeat of the
evil King Creon, Theseus took prisoner two knights, Arcita and Palamon, whom he
imprisoned in "the great, grim tower-keep, so thick and strong"(Ibid.
part I). From their tower, the knights
contended for the affections of Emily, the beautiful Theban lady with yard-long
golden tresses. Chaucer's purpose is to
entertain. However, his tale serves as
an example of a misunderstanding of time.
With an equivocation of time, the historian subjects both the past and
present to a confusing cross-dressing.
We will assume that the early citizens of Greece were not the same sort
of people as the feudal lords of the fourteenth century. Therefore, to equate them for a sense of
empathy is to destroy their true character.
In order that an objective truth emerge from history, the standard of
history must exist outside of history and time.
The position in space of an
observer is just as problematic in the judgment of events. Humans have a horizontal field of vision of
approximately one hundred ninety degrees.
The other, less developed, senses are similarly limited. Therefore, a
significant portion of each event occurs undetected by each observer.
For this reason, the
historian researches the experiences of all available and significant
participants and observers of an event. This is the best history can offer of
event objectivity. We assume that men
can know truth through the divine gift of reason. Therefore, if the historian reviews the
accounts of one hundred observers, and ninety-eight observers concur to one
record of the event, the historian may safety dismiss the two dissenters. They misused their reason. In practice, however, the historian is not
always so fortunate. "What
enabled Agamemnon to raise the armament [against Troy] was more, in my opinion,
his superiority in strength, than the oath of Tyndareus, which bound the
Suitors to follow him. Indeed, the
account given by those Peloponnesians who have been the recipients of the most
credible tradition is this."(The Peloponnesian War 1.9)
Contradictions will occur and the historian must consider reason and the
greater narrative in his selection and synthesis.
The last difficulty of event
objectivity concerns the selection of events considered. This is the evolution from event to
fact. Historians are interested in
facts, not events. What is the
difference? An event is an occurrence or
non-occurrence of the past. A fact is a
significant event. It is the
responsibility of the historian to determine the difference.
For example, when a historian
is attempting to explain the fall of Rome, it will be useless and impossible to
record every event before the fall. On
January 1,14 AD, the Roman Senate posthumously deified Caesar Augustus. That same day, Senator Marcellus Justus ate
some rancid fish for lunch and felt nauseous during the remaining legislative
session. Which is a fact? The deification of Augustus is certainly
unusual to the modern mind. It concerns
the imperial family and the Roman public that will worship them. Combined with other events of Augustus' rule,
a narrative of Roman decline may emerge. More information is needed about the
sick senator. Was the fish
poisoned? Did his discomfort alter his
voting? If the answers to these and
similar question are "no", then the historian may easily discard the
event as having no historical interest.
It simply was not extraordinary enough to merit ink.
The selection of facts
therefore pivots on the historian's judgment whether an event was out of the
ordinary. Each question of event
certainty relies on the historian's interpretation of the greater narrative.
The objective certainty of
events is not reliable. We assume men
can know truth when the way is clear and distinct. Reason is divine, but the certainty of events
also requires perception. Therefore, an
objectivity of events will require a close attention to detail and Herculean
effort. When paired with a subjective interpreting value, however, an objective
event is meaningless.
The Interpreting Value
Now, we have reached a point
from which we may examine the interpreting value. Objectivity describes two interdependent
processes. History selects events for
facts and then constructs a narrative.
There is a process of selection for the facts and another for the
narrative. In practice, the historian
also uses the narrative to select the facts.
The sequence is
unimportant. However, objectivity is a concern in both selections.
We will call the first
selection an interpreting standard. In
this instance, objectivity describes a metaphorical meter-stick laid beside the
passage of time. There are historical
standards and unhistorical standards. A historical standard is a view or school
of thought that has developed in time. Hegel's Phenomenology and Marx's Capital
are results of such measurement.
An interpreting standard also
acts as the light by which the historian views the past,
"That in every
historical epoch the prevailing mode of economic production and the social
organization necessarily following from it, form the basis upon which is built
up, and from which alone can be explained, the political and intellectual
history of that epoch; that, consequently, the history of mankind (since the
dissolution of primitive tribal society, holding land in common ownership) has
been a history of class struggles…This proposition, which in my opinion is
destined to do for history what Darwin has done for biology, we, both of us,
had been gradually approaching for some years before 1845."(Engels, Manifesto of the Communist Party
Preface). In this example, the red light
of material dialectic illuminates only the objects that reflect the same
frequency. When the interpreting standard is a material dialectic, the events
of the past arrange into slave, feudal, and capitalist societies.
Here the standard is
identified and applied. However, there
are complications. The idea of a
material dialectic does not exist out side of history. Therefore, using it to
judge the past is equivalent to measuring history with history. The ideas of progress and freedom are the
most commonly assumed historical standards.
This is why Athenian Democracy, the Magna Carta, the invention of the
airplane, and the development of a polio vaccine are considered facts of
history. Likewise, the Spanish
Inquisition, European Expansionism, The American Civil War, and the publication
of Mein Kampf are facts. The
problem with progress and freedom as standards is that they become defined as
they are realized.
The historical standard
circumvents objectivity. This is analogous to the statement, "This lecture
is too long because it is still in progress." There is no reference to an outside standard
such as measured time. With a historical
standard, history can judge the past with the results of the past. There is no use of a standard independent of
the object studied.
The possibility of historical
objectivity therefore rests in an unhistorical standard. The unhistorical standard must possess
meaning outside of history. This is the
dominion of faith. We will assume the unhistorical standard to be Judaism and
its consummation, Christianity.
The unhistorical standard
succeeds where the historical failed. It
can provide a reference outside of history and time. An immoral event is clearly an immoral
fact. It does not appear to be different
things in different ages. Lucian extorts
the historian to be " one who as the poets say, calls a fig a fig and a
spade a spade."(Lucian The Way to Write History) The unhistorical standard provides the
absolute identity of the spade. The
unhistorical standard is objective.
The allure of the historical
history, however, is its independence.
It means nothing but also requires nothing. The use of an unhistorical standard changes
its nature completely. To paraphrase
Jane Austen, it would be much more rational, but it would not be near so much
like history. Language even has a name
for such a result, theology.
Can history be objective? The
question has been poorly formatted. In
its self-referential process, history is not concerned with objectivity. History can continue in its present model and
process or it can be objective.
Submitting to the unhistorical standard buys objectivity at the expense
of the independence of self-reference.
History has been practiced in a circle.
The application of an objective standard will break this historical
circle. Similar to a stone released from
a whirling sling, objective history will fly a different path. This new path will not resemble the old and
therefore deserves a new name.
Elena Valle
GBT V, Paper #2
May 28, 2004
Heroism of the Loom
Andromache and Dido, two
prominent female characters in Homer’s Iliad and Virgil’s Aeneid
respectively, both lose the men they love to the call of duty. Andromache must say a final farewell to her
husband Hector, the great warrior, as he returns to battle for the last time,
while Dido’s lover Aeneas is called away to complete his mission to Italy,
which the gods ordained. Although both
women suffer grief, they approach their inevitable losses differently. Andromache fears, not only for her own
well-being, but also for her husband’s life, and this allows her to honor and
love him, even when he leaves her for the last time. Dido, however, seems solely concerned with
her personal misfortune, and this leads to terrible wrath, incredible sorrow
for bother her and Aeneas, and ultimately, to the betrayal of her own calling
in life. By examining these two women’s
attempts at dissuading the men they love from leaving and the actions they
choose when their attempts fail, one comes to a greater understanding of love
and vocation.
Andromache’s initial reaction
to seeing her husband return to visit her demonstrates her undying love for
him. Hector finds her at the Scaean
Gates: “There his warm, generous wife came running up to meet him, / Andromache
the daughter of gallant-hearted Eetion / . . . / . . . / . . . / She joined him
now” (Iliad, Book 6, Lines 466-467, 471). Although Hector has no good news to bring
Andromache and his return to Troy is overshadowed with the probability that he
will die in battle, his loving wife remains faithful and hurries to meet
him. Her first thoughts are that harm
will come to her husband when he returns to the fight: “Andromache, / pressing
close beside him and weeping freely now, / clung to his hand, urged him, called
him: “Reckless one, / my Hector—your own fiery courage will destroy you!” (Iliad,
Book 6, Lines 480-483). One can see
Andromache’s deep love for Hector by these impulsive, emotional lines, the
first words to come to her mind. Just as
the first line of the Iliad reveal that the book is about rage, so
Andromache’s first words in her speech to Hector indicate what is truly in her
heart. They reveal that she has no
concern for her own well-being and, first and foremost, struggles with the
knowledge that her husband may die. She
is purely selfless in her thoughts of fear for Hector’s life.
In
sharp contrast to Andromache’s unconditional love, Dido’s love for Aeneas in
Virgil’s Aeneid becomes selfish at the first sign of a threat to her
happiness. Her immediate emotion is
rage, when she hears word of Aeneas’ plans to depart: “Furious, at her wits’ end,
/ She traversed the whole city, all aflame / With rage” (Aeneid, Book 4,
Lines 409-411). Despite her love for
Aeneas, Dido cannot control her anger, unlike the “warm, generous”
Andromache. Dido’s love buckles under
her wrath, and so she does not seek to understand why he must leave or how his
own emotions must be in turmoil. Dido
can feel only anger, and so she rebukes Aeneas harshly and accuses him of
plotting against her:
You even hoped to keep me in the dark
As
to this outrage, did you, two faced man,
And
slip away in silence? Can our love
Not
hold you, can the pledge we gave not hold you,
Can
Dido not, not sure to die in pain?
Even
in winter weather must you toil
With
ships, and fret to launch against high winds
For
the open sea? Oh, heartless!
Aeneid, Book 4, Lines 419-421
Unlike
Andromache’s compassionate words to Hector, Dido’s first words to Aeneas after
she has discovered that he will leave reveal nothing but rage, hardly an action
of enduring love.
Although
Andromache’s love keeps her from attacking her husband, she nevertheless
attempts to persuade him to remain home from battle. Her first method of persuasion is an appeal
to his love and compassion for her and for their son, Scamandrius:
Have you no pity for him, our helpless son? Or me,
and
the destiny that weighs me down, your widow,
now
so soon? Yes, soon they will kill you
off,
all
the Achaean forces massed for assault, and then,
bereft of you, better for me to sink beneath the earth.
What other warmth, what comfort’s left for
me,
once you have met your
doom? Nothing but torment!
Iliad, Book 6, Lines 484-490
Andromache
knows Hector’s fervent love for her and their child, and so she hopes that she
can use his pity for them in order to entreat him to stay home. She reminds him of the agony she will suffer
if he is killed, the anguish of being a widow.
Because Andromache has no other family left in the world besides her
husband, she also pleads with him to remember that she will be utterly alone in
the world should he die in battle: “You, Hector—you are my father now, my noble
mother, a brother, too, and you are my husband, young and warm and strong!” (Iliad,
Book 6, Lines 508-510). Her father and
mother are dead, and her husband is all Andromache has left. Although Andromache speaks of her own
hardship, her own misery she will face when Hector is dead, one remembers that
her words flow from her initial outcry of fear for her husbands life. Thus, her true concern is not for herself but
for her husband, and knowing his compassion, she hopes to move him by pity.
Dido
also employs compassion as a means to stop Aeneas’ departure. She, like Andromache will be alone once he is
gone, and she uses this in an attempt to dissuade her lover from leaving her:
. . . I beg you,
By these tears, by your own
right hand, since I
Have left my wretched self nothing but that—
.
. .
If
ever I did well and you were grateful
Or
found some sweetness in a gift from me,
Have pity now on a declining house!
Aeneid,
Book 4, Lines 429-430, 433-435
Although
Dido’s words sound close in content to those of Andromache, one remembers that
Dido began her speech to Aeneas with anger and resentment, not
benevolence. There is no tenderness in
her voice as she admonishes him for what he must do. Because of this, one sees that she cares only
for her own happiness. She demonstrates her
self-pity, by the spite with which she hurls her arguments at Aeneas:
Because of you, I lost my integrity
And
that admired name by which alone
I
made my way once toward the stars.
To
whom
Do you abandon me, a dying woman,
Guest that you are—the only name now left
From that of husband? Why do I
live on?
Aeneid,
Book 4, Lines 440-446
Her
words here do not seem to proceed from any concern for him, but rather from
cares for herself only. Dido’s
incredible grief is appropriate at the loss of her lover, yet her love for him
seems to extend merely as far as he fulfills her own needs. Unlike Andromache’s supplications, in which
she called Hector “my husband, young and warm and strong,” Dido insults Aeneas
by calling him “Guest,” instead of her lover.
While Dido and Andromache use the same method of persuasion in their
attempts to secure the men they love, Dido’s words stem from her anger and
self-pity.
The
entreaties of both Andromache and Dido, however, fail to prevent the men they
love from leaving. Hector and Aeneas
each feel great sorrow, not only for the hardship their beloveds will suffer,
but also because they themselves will yearn for their women. Yet each man knows what his calling, his
vocation given him by the gods, requires him to do. Hector explains to Andromache:
Andromache,
dear one, why so
desperate? Why so much grief for me?
No man will
hurl me down to Death, against my fate.
And fate? No one alive has ever escaped it,
neither brave man, nor coward,
I tell you—
it’s born
with us the day that we are born.
So please go
home and tend to your own tasks,
the distaff
and the loom, and keep the women
working hard
as well. As for the fighting,
men will see
to that, all who were born in Troy
but I most
of all.
Iliad, Book 6, Lines 579-588
With
these beautiful words, Hector seeks to comfort his wife and convey to her that
it is his duty and destiny to defend Troy.
As much as he loves her, it is not within his power to go against what
the gods have ordained. He must fulfill
what is laid out for him to do. In the
same way, Aeneas describes to the angry Dido why he must go. Because Fate is his master, it is not truly
his own choice whether to stay or to leave.
Were a choice given him, he certainly would not choose to sail for
Italy:
If Fate
permitted me to spend my days
By my own
lights, and make the best of things
According
to my wishes, first of all
I should
look after Troy and the loved relics
Left me
of my people. . . .
. . .
The gods’
interpreter, sent by Jove himself—
I swear
it by your name and mine—has brought
Commands
down through the racing wind! . . .
. . .
I sail
for Italy not of my own free will.
Aeneid, Book 4, Lines 461-473
Like
Hector, Aeneas cannot escape what Fate has in store for him. He must fulfill his calling. Both men respond to the supplications of the
women they love by explaining that every person must follow his vocation.
When
Andromache hears the words of her husband Hector, her response is one of love
and submission. Because of her
understanding and her acceptance of fate, their final parting is tender and
full of love: “And his loving wife went home, turning, glancing / back again and
again and weeping live warm tears” (Iliad, Book 6, Lines 591-592). Instead of despairing because she may never
see the man she loves again, she takes to heart his advice, “go home and tend
to your own tasks.” She fondly honors
her husband by calling together the women in her household:
[She]
found her women gathered there inside
and
stirred them all to a high pitch of mourning.
So in his
house they raised the dirges for the dead,
for
Hector still alive, his people were so convinced
that
never again would he come home from battle
never escape the Argives’ rage and bloody
hands.
Iliad, Book 6, Lines 595-600
Because
Andromache’s concern for her husband’s well-being is always at the center of
her thoughts and actions, she is able to obey his words and continue to love
him, even in the face of incredible sorrow.
The
reaction of Dido, however, when she hears Aeneas’ response to her arguments, is
utter fury and despair. Rather than
honoring the memory of her lover, she insults him: “Liar and cheat! Some rough Caucasian cliff / Begot you on
flint. Hyracanian tigresses / Tendered
their teats to you” (Aeneid, Book 4, Lines 505-507). Yet it is not even enough for Dido to burst
out in offensive language against Aeneas.
So far has she come from her love for him that she is able to pray for
judgment on him:
If
divine justice counts for anything,
I
hope and pray that on some grinding reef
Midway at sea you’ll drink your punishment
And
call and call on Dido’s name!
. .
.
.
. . You will pay for this,
Unconscionable! I shall
hear! The news will reach me
Even among the lowest of the dead!
Aeneid, Book 4, Lines 529-532, 536-538
This
reaction of Dido is the opposite of Andromache’s. As Dido’s love fades into madness, she drives
herself to the ultimate action of despair.
She will not accept Aeneas’ duty given by the gods, and she will not
continue to live with the reality of what fate has laid out. Dido thinks only of her own misery and acts in
complete disregard for her own civic responsibilities as queen of
Carthage. Her final words before
plunging a sword into her own chest display her rage and hopelessness:
“I
die unavenged,” she said, “but let me die.
This way, this way, a blessed relief to go
Into the undergloom. Let the cold
Trojan,
Far at sea, drink in this conflagration
And take with him the omen of my death!”
Aeneid, Book 4, Lines 915-919
Dido’s
action of taking her own life and calling
Aeneas “the cold Trojan” in her final words demonstrate her refusal to honor either
Aeneas’ vocation or her own.
The
last time the reader meets Andromache is the heart-wrenching scene in which she
learns of Hector’s death. In it one sees
the result of her enduring love for her husband and her acceptance of
fate. Ever full of compassion for
Hector, she is still busy preparing for the return for which she dares to hope,
when she hears wailing in the city:
And she
called her well-kempt women through the house
to set a large three-legged cauldron over the fire
so Hector could have his steaming hot bath
when he came home from battle—poor woman,
she never dreamed how far he was from bathing,
struck down at Achilles’ hands by blazing-eyed Athena.
Iliad, Book 22, Lines 519-524
Never
despairing, Andromache hopes for her husband’s safety and finds constructive
work to keep her busy as she longs for him.
When she hears the voices of Troy weeping, she knows what her Hector’s
fate has been, and she rushes to the ramparts and sees his body being dragged
by Achilles. Yet even in the midst of
her anguish, when fate has snatched away her husband, she perseveres in her
duty to respect him. She calls out to
her husband’s dead body, “It was you, Hector, you and you alone / who shielded
the gates and the long walls of Troy” (Iliad, Book 22, Lines
594-597). As she fondly remembers her
husband’s power and might, she vows to give him honor:
“Though we have such stores of clothing laid up in the halls,
fine things, a joy to the eye, the work of women’s hands,
now, by god, I’ll burn them all, blazing to the skies!
No
use to you now, they’ll never shroud your body—
but
they will be your glory
burned by the Trojan men and women in your honor!”
Her voice rang out in tears and the women wailed in answer.
Iliad, Book 22, Lines 600-606
Although
her husband followed his vocation to death, rather than save himself in order
to care for his wife, Andromache nevertheless understands his calling, and this
reveals that she also recognizes her own duty.
She never ceases to honor Hector, even when her own personal happiness
is lost. Because of this, all her fears,
entreaties, and sorrow are not in vain, and Andromache achieves her own dignity
and heroism through quiet suffering.
Dido’s
last scene in the Aeneid, however, is filled with even greater sorrow
than Andromache’s. By burning in anger
against Aeneas, Dido causes him incredible grief. When, on his journey through the underworld,
Aeneas sees that “Phoenician Dido wandered the deep wood” (Aeneid, Book
6, Line 607), the reader learns that he cries and speaks gently to her: “I left
your land against my will, my queen, / The gods’ commands drove me to do their
will, / . . . / Do not leave my sight. /
Am I someone to flee from? The last word
/ Destiny lets me say to you is this” (Aeneid, Book 6, Lines 620-621,
626-628). Yet Dido will not even honor
their last words together, though Aeneas weeps with sorrow at what has befallen
them. Her love has turned to hate, and
she refuses to give him the smallest satisfaction when they meet in the
underworld:
.
. . But she had turned
With gaze fixed on the ground as he spoke on,
Her face no more affected than if she were
Immoble granite or Marpesian stone.
At length she flung away from him and fled,
His enemy still, into the shadowy grove.
Aeneid, Book 6, Lines 630-635
Dido
proves by her last actions that her love was always selfish, because she cared
for her own good more than for the good of her lover. The final result of all her rage and insults,
her self-pity, and her suicide is greater pain and anguish for both herself and
Aeneas. While Andromache is able to
persist in honoring her husband, despite her woe, Dido accomplishes nothing by
her misery and loses her own dignity.
Thus,
the reader sees that, although both Andromache and Dido suffer similar
hardships, their love for their men takes different paths. Andromache’s love is one of selflessness, as
she thinks always of Hector’s well-being.
She accepts her husband’s calling and loves him in spite of it. Dido’s love, however, is a love that cannot
survive sacrifice and loss. Because her
love is selfish, she cannot endure Aeneas’ vocation, and as a result, not only
her life, but also her love perishes. It
would seem then, that Andromache and Dido are merely helpless victims, poor, abandoned
women. It would seem as though Hector
and Aeneas are the characters with the callings, while the women can only sit
at home and mourn. Yet, by comparing
Andromache and Dido, one begins to see that there are different types of
vocations. Not all are glorious and heroic,
leading a person off to fight great wars or conquer foreign lands. Perhaps the most difficult vocation is that
left to Andromache and Dido, the calling to return to the loom or to draw the
bathwater, the calling to wait and hope and pray, the calling to accept what
must be, the calling to love even when there is no reward.
GBT V Paper #2
David Ensley
Perhaps no civilization has had as rich a tradition of
amazing heroes as the Greeks. With such
easily recognized names as Heracles, Odysseus, Jason, and Theseus overflowing
books about the Greeks, it is clear that they did not have an ordinary national
composition. On the contrary the
character of the Greek culture conquered the ancient world with its art,
mythology, language, philosophy, and civics.
And an excellent method of delving deeper into this amazing culture is
through the heroes of Greece who provide a vivid portal of vision into the
character of this nation that has had such an impact on the world through the
ages. Through an analysis of Greek statesmen,
leaders, and heroes the reason for the exalted status of Greek culture becomes
much more apparent.
Of course whenever anyone thinks of a hero the trait that
probably comes to mind first is strength, so that is a fitting place to begin a
discussion of Greek heroes and the insight they provide into their
culture. In The Lives of the Noble Greeks and Romans, Theseus provides the
clearest example of this Greek ideal of strength. During his journeys he repeatedly sought out
danger to prove his courage and valor.
“With Theseus the valor of Heracles became his dream by night and in the
daytime his desire to emulate the hero seized hold of him and spurred him on to
achieve such exploits himself.” So
Theseus, with images of Heracles’ feats of strength consuming his imagination,
set out from his childhood home on the dangerous road through inland Greece to
show himself to his father and claim his lawful place as his son and heir. When he met the thug Periphetes along the
way, despite his lack of training, he immediately answered the challenge set
down by his opponent and killed him.
Likewise, he is said to have killed Sinis the Pine-Bender, Sciron,
Cercyon, Damastes, and all other lawbreakers along his way—each according to
the way they would kill innocent travelers.
He even went out of his way to kill the wild sow of Crommyon to prove
that his courage did not depend on self-defense.
Now that examples of Theseus’ courage and strength have
been seen, what conclusions about the Greek people can be drawn from his
life? First, it is obvious that the
Greeks held strength in extremely high esteem.
Instead of going to college and getting a degree in law before he goes
to see his father, Theseus displays his strength and valor by vanquishing
enemies. So it is obvious that Theseus
thought that strength would most impress his father. Also, the Greek people expected their heroes
and generals to be able to fight in the front battle line with their men. They did not want generals that had spent
five years at “Greek West Point” and could recite every maneuver and strategy
by heart, but generals who would lead by example. Furthermore, Theseus’ participation in the
Greek Olympics also provides insight into the psyche of his people. Why else would every skilled runner, discus
thrower, or wrestler participate in the Games unless they would be revered by
the people for their efforts?
Nevertheless, if the only trait that a people prize in a hero is
strength, then their society will never surpass that of a barbarian culture. So there must be more to the Greeks than just
strength and brawn.
Much of the rest of the equation for the Greeks came in
the form of brains—their philosophy. No
civilization before had amassed such a compendium of knowledge or developed a
culture that facilitated the development of philosophy anywhere near as good as
the Greeks. And while there were
numerous others who surpassed him in fame and prestige, perhaps no other
surpassed Solon, the great law-giver, in the application of philosophy and
wisdom to practical situations. It surely
was a great honor and a sign of Solon’s great wisdom that when the Athenians
wished to enact a new constitution and laws, they gave full power to Solon to
make any law that he wished. And even
though some of the laws Solon enacted seem a little strange or useless, it is
doubtful that the Athenians were disappointed in their trust.
One of the first changes Solon put into place was an
ingenious division of power between the rich and the poor. By giving most of the offices to the rich but
allowing appeals in most matters to juries and councils of the poor, Solon
effectively limited the power of the rich to oppress the poor. He said himself that, “To the mass of the
people I gave the power they needed, neither degrading them, nor giving them
too much rein: For those who already possessed great power and wealth I saw to
it that their interests were not harmed.”1It
was a system remarkably similar to that in place in the United States—only it
was devised 2600 years ago.
Modern men seldom think about the fact that even though
the Greeks did not invent computers or automobiles, they managed to enact
constitutions that are comparable to those today, build buildings that stood
for millenniums, and discover mathematical principles still in use. And so the picture continues to develop as
the Greek’s strength is complemented by their ingenuity, wisdom, and
philosophy.
With all these strengths of mind and body, and an ever
growing empire it is little surprise that the Greek culture gave rise not only
to strength and wisdom but also to pride—even arrogance. And what Athenian gives a better example of
this personal and national pride of the Greeks than Themistocles? Like a cocky basketball player Themistocles
never tries to hide the fact that he is the star and everyone else is just
following along for the ride. In
consequence, whenever anyone attempted to ridicule him he was quick to reply
that, “he had never learned how to tune a lyre or play a harp, but that he knew
how to take a small or insignificant city in hand and raise it to glory and greatness.”2 And even though arrogance is almost
universally despised, if anyone had the right to pride it would have to be
Themistocles and his Greek people. He
was after all one of the chief architects of the stunningly improbable
repulsion of the Persian army by a small band of Greek allies.
Pride is not only a personal characteristic but also can
be very apparent in a group of people or a nation. National pride often separates winners and
losers, conquerors and conquered, prosperous and desolate. The Greek’s victory over the Persians was not
only built by military strategy and fierce fighting, but was spurred on by an
intense awareness that one Greek fighter could take on any ten barbarians—in
other words, pride. The pride that was
behind the use of that simple word “barbarian”, that the Greeks used to
describe, not the uncivilized, but anyone who was not Greek, might possibly
have been the deciding factor in the Persian war. This is because most civilizations that rise
to greatness inevitably develop a fierce and prominent awareness of national
pride that drives them to higher levels of achievement through any difficulty,
and the Greeks were no exception.
As the portrait begins to broaden from the basic
foundation of strength and intelligence into more precise characteristics, it
becomes obvious that a well ordered justice system plays a vital role in higher
civilizations. And not only should
justice be found in the courts but in the heart of every citizen. And among the Greeks none surpassed Aristides
for his justice. Comical though it may
sound, Aristides was so just that he was ostracized for it. One story tells of how during the voting
process an illiterate rustic handed his ostrakon to Aristides and asked him to
write “Aristides” on it. When Aristides
asked what the man had done that he should be ostracized the rustic replied,
“Nothing, I do not even know the fellow, but I am sick of hearing him called
The Just everywhere!”3 In fact,
Aristides’ justice was so prominent that his bitter enemy, Themisticles, was
worried that Aristides would abolish the public courts because everybody
brought their disputes to him in private for arbitration.
But Aristides’ justice, contrary to Themistocles
objections, was exactly what the Greeks needed, for without a strong sense of
public and personal justice a nation is nothing. It is little more than a group of ruthless
men where right and wrong are defined by the will of the stronger. The Greeks, however, would have none of this
chaos and oppression. By following just
leaders like Aristides and cultivating a love for justice among the common
people Greece was freed from the restraining influence of injustice and allowed
to grow unfettered.
Another characteristic that the Greeks possessed was a
trait that is seldom mentioned and easily goes undetected, but nevertheless
still has a large impact on the makeup of a culture. This almost invisible trait is the virtue of
moderation, embodied in the life of Cimon.
Plutarch says that Cimon was a “moderate statesman who succeeded better
than any other in giving his country a breathing space in which to recover from
the violence of party strife.”4 And not
only were his actions in politics marked by moderation, but likewise he carefully
controlled his private actions and passions.
When he was accused of accepting bribery he defended himself saying he
did not care to be paid to represent the Ionians or Thessalians, but preferred
the Spartans whose simplicity and moderation he was eager to imitate. As riches and prestige grew in Athens it
became easier and easier to give in to a life of extravagance and vice, but
Cimon maintained his love and practice of moderation through it all.
This is one case in which a leader of Athens did not
represent the common state of virtue in its citizens at his time. While moderation is usually found in
abundance at the beginning stages of a great culture, it usually deteriorates
as the culture advances and becomes richer and more luxurious. This pattern is seen over and over again from
Athens, to Rome, to Modern America—and it often leads to the fall of an
empire. If all of the citizens of Athens
had remained as Cimon—moderate amongst riches—Athens might have stood for
centuries longer. Also, while many other characteristics of a great culture
become easier to attain as the culture advances, (i.e. wisdom, justice,
national pride) moderation becomes more and more difficult to maintain. These two qualities of moderation, its
necessity and its increasing difficulty to maintain when it is needed most,
coupled with its rare mention are why it is such an underrated virtue.
Unfortunately, even the most virtuous of peoples will
wander about aimlessly without a strong leader.
A leader unites a nation, giving it a direction in which to focus its
energy and providing it a clear vision of the goal. The Greeks had many such leaders, but
Pericles stands out among this crowd because of the extreme pains he took to
become a leader and because of his sparkling rhetoric—a vital attribute of a
leader. Pericles’ leadership is also
atquized to by the large amount of power he enjoyed. Plutarch says that, “The fact is that for
forty years Pericles held the first place among men such as Ephialtes,
Myronides, Cimon, Tolmides, and Thucydides, and after the fall of Thucydides
and his ostracism, he excercised for no less than fifteen years a continuous,
unbroken authority through his annual tenure of the office of general.”5
While the wisdom of his liberal spending, pandering to the masses, and
hoarding of power might be disputable, there is no doubt about the
effectiveness with which he used them.
He also demonstrated the restrain necessary of a leader by encouraging
the Athenians to use their newfound power to consolidate and protect their
gains instead of squandering them in extended conquest attempts.
Alexander the Great, Napoleon, Hannibal, George
Washington, Pericles, Cimon and the list goes on, the fact is that great deeds
always have a great leader behind them.
And the need for a leader is not confined to military matters but is
imperative for any undertaking that involves large groups of people. So this trait of leadership is not to be
found among the Greek people—their job is to follow—it is found in all of the men
who were prominent in decision making and the “public eye”. Like a tiny rudder steering a ship with the
proportions of a Leviathan, so one skilled leader can direct the path of a
multitude. And based on the success of
the Greeks, it follows that their statesmen must have possessed a great deal of
leadership.
Another characteristic that is found in every culture,
but affects each culture differently is religion. While one culture’s religion may be
completely detrimental to its development, another culture may benefit greatly
from its religion. Among the Greeks
there were few who did not worship the plethora of gods, but for some it was
just a ritual while for others it was the central point in their lives. Nicias was just such a man. “He was one of those who stood in great awe
of the supernatural and he was particularly subject…to the influence of divination.”5 At some times his piety was a helpful
aid, at others a crippling detriment.
During his campaign against the Syracusans, as he was preparing to move
his army, an eclipse of the moon occurred.
Terrified of the bad omen, and now “absorbed in sacrifice and
divination”, Nicias refused to move his army as the enemy closed in about him. This example is definitely an example of the
detrimental effect the Greeks religion had on them, however, apart from the
proquiz that a false religion can never be helpful, the Greeks were often
buoyed by their firm belief in their gods.
If leadership is one extreme in which the character of
leaders is not reflected in the people than piety is the exact opposite. Nine times out of ten if a leader follows a
religion fervently the people will follow along. That was the rule in ancient Israel as a bad
king would lead the people astray and a good king would lead them to repent,
and it was no different in ancient Greece.
Literature is filled to overflowing with accounts of the Greeks
piety. Whether it be Orestes praying to
Hermes at the beginning of The Libation
Bearers, Agammenon sacrificing his daughter Iphigeneia in order that the
Greeks might be given fair winds, or the multitude of religious festivals and
feasts, there are plenty of examples to choose from of the Greeks piety.
As mentioned earlier moderation was not the norm at the
time of Athens peak. Although many
citizens did moderate their desire for riches and luxury, a large majority gave
themselves over completely to the consuming desire for riches and avarice. Athens’ leaders were no exception and it can
be argued that Alcibiades was among their number. Plutarch says that, “Alcibiades lived a life
of prodigious luxury, drunkenness, debauchery, and insolence.” While his antics annoyed and concerned many
of the citizens he was allowed to get away with them because of his talent in
public affairs. As Aristophanes put it,
“They long for him, they hate him, they cannot do without him.”
And
not only does greed extend to monetary riches, but in the ancient world land
and territory were also great objects of desire. In this respect the Athenians out did themselves,
and eventually brought about their own destruction with their extensive
conquest attempts and their disastrous expedition into Sicily. The people also clamored for public works and
were often pandered to by free lunches and other gifts. To magnify the problem, Athens was a
democracy. In a democracy any defects in
the citizens become much more disastrous because of the power that they
hold. When the people became crazed in
their desire for conquest a cool headed leader or council might have been able
to hold them back but instead they pressed on to their destruction.
And
finally, a fitting characteristic to save for last is craftiness—skill in
deceit and trickery. This trait, if no
other, resided in the Greeks to the highest degree. And with Athens crippled by their extensive
expeditions and squabbles, Lysander, the Spartan general, exploited the tool of
craftiness in every way he could in his battles against the Athenians. Many at Lysander’s time thought that he was
“an unprincipled man… who disguised most of his actions in war in various forms
of deceit.” 6 As Lysander said himself,
“Where the lions skin will not reach, we must patch it out with the fox’s.”7 A good example of his trickery occurred
when he was attempting to help his friends take over a city. In public he pretended to be an arbitrator
bringing peace and reconciliation; In
private he encouraged his friends to revolt and overthrow the government. When the uprising finally came he immediately
stormed into the city, denouncing his fellow rebels, and feigning that he would
punish them—once again encouraging his friends secretly to continue the
uprising. Thus, according to his plan,
none of the leaders of the city escaped, and they were instead slaughtered by
the revolutionaries.8
Though
he might not have compared with Odysseus in his craftiness, and certainly not
in his fame, Lysander was an excellent example of the multiplicity of crafty
and deceitful men in Athens. And it is
needless to repeat the common proverb, “Monkey see, monkey do.” That is, if a people see their leaders do
something they are apt to imitate that same action. No doubt there were many children running
about Athens claiming that their names were “Nobody” in imitation of
Odysseus. As to the morality of their
deceit most Greeks laughed and insisted like Lysander that “whatever was most
profitable was best.”
The
insight of events in Greek history should not be ignored either. Was The
Iliad the story of the ten year war incited by a massive invasion of Attica
and the desecration of numerous sacred temples?
No. The Iliad was about how the Trojans stole one woman and the Greeks
sailed all the way to Troy and fought for ten years just to get this woman
back. First among the traits easily
discerned from the Greeks conduct in the Trojan war was their pride that has
already been discussed. What other
motivation would have so universally outraged and united them, causing them to
start a war, than their pride? Secondly,
their brotherhood and unity—even among divided city-states—became quite
apparent. It is amazing that Menelaus
was able to convince most of Greece to fight with him when all that was at
stake was his wife. Finally, the
determination, resolve, and stubbornness of the Greeks was shown to all the world
as they fought, year after year, miles and miles away from their own families
and homes.
The
Persian war also brought out the best in the Greeks. In this instance, the
freedom that the Greeks enjoyed was not a luxury, but their salvation. A people accustomed to living in freedom will
not easily lay that liberty down. So
even though many of the Greek city-states hated each other, they stood shoulder
to shoulder, stared the Persians in the eye, and with the courage of a lion
decided that their freedom and their homes were more important than their
lives. Without their beloved freedom it
would have been easy for the Greeks to decide to exchange one master for
another.
And
so, having looked through the telescope of the lives of these nine statesmen, and
some of the major events of their history, we can finally piece together the
puzzle of the Greek people—a people who defeated the greaquiz empire on earth,
a nation that spread their language throughout the world, a country whose
philosophy and learning still influence thought today. The portrait begins with the Greek’s
democracy, the bedrock of their society.
Through democracy the virtue of every man in their number was nourished
and prodded to grow. In this democracy
free men strove to rule their city and conquests, direct their own affairs, and
build wealth in the process. Engaging in
debate about public issues, competing to show their strength in the Olympics,
or sacrificing to the gods, each citizen stretched his capacities to the limit
awakening pride in the state and confidence in themselves. Democracy caused the Greeks to avoid becoming
a society of a few nobles ruling over numerous serfs, degrading the humanity of
each of the miserable surfs and ruining any chance of great deeds coming from any
of the enslaved masses. Instead, with
the fire of freedom flowing through their veins each Greek proudly stood in the
front line independently, but still in perfect discipline, fighting for the
country that they owned and ruled—not just the tiny plot of land they slaved in
to give half of their produce to their lord.
No,
the Greeks were by no means perfect.
They were quite often a promiscuous, arrogant, and luxuriously spoiled
bunch. Usually greedy for conquest and
riches and most importantly pagan, they still managed to combine wisdom with
strength for the betterment of the weak.
They were prideful but still humbled themselves before their gods. They were crafty and deceitful however they
revered justice and virtue. The people
were independent but followed their leaders to the death. They were fierce fighters who did not kill
for the enjoyment of cruelty, instead defending their land or vying to conquer
new lands. And their courage in the face
of danger is legendary. It is amazing
how much can be gleaned about a whole group of people just by analyzing their
leaders. And so what we discover of the
Greek spirit lives on for all to learn from and emulate. And if a people are to remain wise, brave,
wealthy, and free it is paramount that they learn the lessons of history so
that they don’t repeat old mistakes. And
so that they too can be a people complete with strength, wisdom, pride,
justice, moderation, leadership, piety, and a total lack of greed, and deceit.
Dave Martina
The Final Great Books Paper
Final Draft
May 2004
The Truest Love
The words resounded upon the girl’s ears, echoing deeper
and deeper into her head, implanting themselves more and more efficaciously
upon her mind: “I love you”. Yes,
it was everything she had ever hoped for, everything she had ever dreamed, and
he knew it. But as he walked back to his
car that evening, having concluded his night with Anne Brown, Alex hardly
realized the error he was making. Upon
his arrival at home, he burst into his brother Charlie’s room and announced
heartily, “I am in love! I’m sure of it!”
“In love, eh?” Charlie rejoined, looking up from his
Pascal reading inquisitively. Charlie
was by far the greater reader of the two young men. “And what is it that makes this
emphatic affirmation any different from last month’s?”
“Oh,
it’s so wonderful! You’re such a stoic, Charlie; you should enjoy life a little
more.” Alex’s tone was scoffing but gentle.
“This is what living is all about! Falling in love with the woman of
your dreams…but she is wonderful.
To answer your question, this time I am sure. I get such a tremendous feeling when I’m with
her!”
“And
I get such a tremendous feeling when I eat too much of Mother’s bean
soup. The flutters in the stomach, the
heart going flippity flop, the head growing light. Indeed, all your “feelings” could be just an
‘undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an
underdone potato’.”
“Oh Charlie,”
cried Alex, quite missing the allusion to Mr.
Dickens, “don’t be such a clod. For
all your reading, I bet you wouldn’t know true love if it bit you in the face!”
“Well,
that happened once…but we needn’t go into it.
Since you are feeling so well—or perhaps unwell, rather—I shall bid you
good night. I must sleep, and you must
dream.”
“Goodnight,
Charlie. Someday you will fall in
love, I know it.”
The
door closed upon Charlie, leaving him alone with his thoughts. “Well, I suppose I have always somewhat liked
Emily Johnson. Perhaps that’s all love
really is. I’ve known her all my life,
it seems. We know each other so well…”
He reopened his book and found his place
again: Pensee 688. “Therefore, we never
love anyone, but only qualities.” He lay back in bed and turned out the light,
still clutching the book. His eyes grew
heavy, and almost as soon as his head touched the pillow, he was fast asleep.
Before
any time had passed, or so it seemed, Charlie’s mind was transported through
that mystical portal of sleep into the world of dreams. Opening his eyes, he found himself in the
middle of a strange, busy city. Stranger
still, everyone was dressed funnily, and they all spoke with an accent. Even though he felt for some reason that he
shouldn’t understand them, Charlie overheard many conversations going on which
piqued his interest.
“Of
course!” one man croaked to his friend, “King Louis has just appointed a new
principal master!”
“King
Louis?” Charlie wondered, “I must be in France! But which Louis?”
As
he wandered about, he came across a man selling small boxes with numbers on the
side. “What’s it do?” a man piped up. “Why, it can add and subtract!” the owner
replied. “I’m calling it the Pascaline,
and everyone’s sure to want one!”
“The
Pascaline!” Charlie echoed to himself. “That
was invented in 1642! My goodness!”
As
the crowd cleared, bored with the new little machine, Charlie walked up to the
man. “You must be Blasé Pascal”, he said. “I am Charlie [last name] and I’ve read many
of the things you’ve written.”
“Read?
All my writings are here,” Pascal said, opening his coat. Inside one of the pockets were hundreds of
tiny scraps of paper, wadded up and tucked away. “How have you read?”
“Well,
err…heard! Yes, I’ve heard. There was
one thing that particularly interested me,” he plowed on, ignoring the man’s
confused stare. “When you said that “we
never love anyone, but only qualities”, what did you mean? I can see how my
brother, who has a new lover every other week, could only love particular girls
because of qualities they possess; but this is not love! True love must
go deeper than that. I love my mother
because of all that she has done for me, and my brother merely because he is my
brother. How are these ‘qualities’?”
“Well,
young sir,” Pascal replied, “your mother simply has the characteristic of
responsibility, if you will. She owes
you, as your mother, good care and protection.
She also, I might add, may love you because you love her, and because
you treat her well, and are kind. These
are all qualities. The fact that your
brother is your brother is yet another quality that is not even inherent in him. It is mere chance that he happened to be your
brother, and you love him for that. All
qualities…yes, yes.”
“But
true love must be directed at the self of a person. You must love a person for who she is,
not how that is manifested. For,
as even you have written—err, said—, ‘what about a person who loves someone for
the sake of her beauty; does he love her? No, for smallpox, which will
destroy beauty without destroying the person, will put an end to his love for
her’”.[1]
“Yes,
I do remember writing that somewhere”, the man answered, searching among his
scraps. “Ah yes, here we are. And also, I see, that ‘If someone loves me
for my judgment or my memory, do they love me? No, for I could lose
those qualities without losing my self. Where
then is this self, if it is neither in body nor soul?’”
“Ah
ha!” Charlie cooed with glee. “The soul?
What is the soul? You mentioned a physical trait, (that is, the beauty) and a
mental trait (that is, the judgment), but never is the soul mentioned. Yet you jump from physic to soul as if it
were nothing. So then, what is the
soul?’
“I
only meant, good lad, that the mind is the soul. They are one and the same. Here, again, I’ve written, ‘And how can one
love the body or the’—mind, shall we say?—‘except for the sake of such qualities,
which are not what makes up the self, since they are perishable?’”
Charlie
shot back, “The self is not perishable, then? I believe you go on to ask
(switching mind for soul, again), ‘Would we love the substance of a person’s
mind, in the abstract, whatever qualities might be in it?’ Then you must mean
by ‘self’ what I would call the ‘soul’.”
“And
what, dear boy, do you call the ‘soul’?”
“The
soul is just what you say: ‘the substance of a person’s mind, in the abstract’. The soul is an intangible part of every man,
and because it is intangible, there is no way to know it as a characteristic. There is no one quality that sums up the
soul, for it cannot be experienced. That
is why we can only know the soul of a person through the ‘substance’,
or ‘essence’ of the mind, ‘in the abstract’. Thus, if you take the sum total of all the
characteristics which make up a person and contemplate them as an abstract
whole, then you can begin to conceive of that which is the soul.”
“Yes,
but characteristics are necessary to form this—”
“No!”
Charlie interrupted, “because a characteristic, or trait, is something you can
experience. Name any characteristic:
sweetness, beauty, wit, blue eyes even; they are all things you can see, hear,
sense in some way. But taken as an
essence, that is, in an abstract form which, by definition, hinders any sense
perception, these cease to be characteristics.
They are ideas. This, then
is the soul, precisely as you described it, but in equivalent terms: ‘The
substance of a person’s mind, in the abstract’.”
“Very
well, young sir. Then what do we love,
if not qualities?”
Charlie
was becoming very animated, and a crowd began to gather again, this time
interested not in the Pascaline, but in the young man who so ardently argued
with the town philosopher, as he had come to be known. “Exactly that, sir. The soul.
We love the soul.”
“What?”
Pascal laughed. “Love something we can’t
know? That’s absurd!”
“Not
as absurd as you may think. A short
while ago, in this same country, a man by the name of Descartes—Rene
Descartes—conducted some experiments with a ball of wax. In one, he examined a piece of wax and found it
to be hard, cold, fragrant; of a certain color, size and figure; it made a
noise when dropped or struck. However,
after making these observations, he found that the wax melted, and having
melted, lost all of the defining characteristics it previously possessed. Descartes says that even though his senses
argue that the substance is no longer wax, his mind refuses to allow this
change. He must admit that it is the
same wax, though physically altered.”
“Yes,
yes, boy, but what does this have to do with love and the soul?” Pascal was
growing impatient.
“Well,
take a person the same way: a young lady may have those same dancing blue eyes,
the same soft sweetness, innocent beauty, and coy wit that I mentioned before. Now, imagine that, as you have made an
example, some of these characteristics change—in fact, all of them. If she were to go blind, and her eyes lost
their first color; her beauty faded with age; her mind and personality became
weak and infirm with years; none of these qualities for which I first supposedly
loved her remain. Is she the same
person?
Certainly
it is absurd to think that she is a different person merely because her body
and mind have changed! No, she remains as she was in spirit. Her soul has not changed. This is because the soul is not defined by
the person, but the person by the soul. What
a person really is, no matter how she looks, is the abstract, intangible
summation of all that she has ever been.
This,
sir, is how true love may continue beyond qualities. We love the soul, not the body or the mind. These are only temporal things. These things will eventually die, but the
soul lives on.”
The
crowd was silent. Who was this young
man, who wore funny clothes and spoke in a funny accent? They looked back and
forth from Pascal to Charlie: as they continued to wonder, murmuring among
themselves in low voices, Charlie took a step backward. To his surprise, the people started to
dissipate. A deep fog set in, and before
long he could not see his hand in front of his face, so thick was the mist. He shut his eyes, and when he opened them, he
was in his own bedroom. He turned on the
light and looked around.
The Pensees had been thrown across the
room and lay in a heap against the wall.
Charlie closed his eyes again, scarcely believing the dream he had just
had. What had he said? What had gone on?
Crawling out of bed, he grasped his worn, old Bible. Opening it to 1st Corinthians 13,
he began to read in verse 4:
“Love
suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade
itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not
provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the
truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all
things. Love never fails…”[2]
“Pascal
was so wrong!” he said to himself. “None
of these things have anything to do with the qualities of the loved! In fact,
they are to accept those qualities and remain constant: it bears all, endures
all, never fails. This is love! My poor
brother is so misled!”
Overcome
with his zeal, he ran to his brother’s room and burst in. “Alex! I have just made a most important
discovery!” Shaking his brother awake, he pointed to the verses. “My dear brother, you have made a mistake!
Look at this!” He read it again: “Love never fails! Alex, you have a new girl
friend every few weeks! How can that be love, if love lasts forever?”
Alex
rolled over and fell out of his bed. Picking
himself up off the floor, he stood up and looked his brother in the eyes. “What? I have a new girlfriend every week?”
He rubbed his eyes. “I’d never be that
lucky…”
Frustrated,
his brother tried again: “No, Alex, that’s what I mean. You’re on a constant quest for true love, and
yet all you get is false love. Maybe
you’re pursuing the wrong thing.”
By
this time, Alex was mostly awake. “What
are you talking about?”
“Ok,
look,” Charlie explained. “Why do you
love…”
“Anne?”
“Yes,
Anne. Why do you love her?”
“Well,
she’s funny, she’s sweet, and she’s drop-dead gorgeous…”
“Exactly. Now, what happens when you grow tired of her
funniness, her sweetness, her particular beauty? You move on. Apparently, then, this isn’t true love! It’s
only a shadow of what true love should be.
If you truly loved any of these girls, you would not move on like you
do.”
“So
what’s your point? So maybe I don’t love all these girls—what’s the big deal?”
“Look
at it this way. In Ephesians 5:25, Paul
tells husbands to ‘love their wives as Christ loved the church’. Now, obviously this love that Christ had for
the church was not a romantic one; Christ came to earth and called men his
brothers and friends, just as a husband and wife should be friends. Apparently, then, the purest love of Christ
is that of supreme friendship and brotherhood.
Paul used the word ‘agape’ when he wrote this: ‘agape’ is the word used
for the purest, most perfect love, the kind of love only Christ could have. And yet, we are to exhibit this love,
imperfect though we are.”
Alex
looked confused. “Is that even
possible?”
“No,
Alex. It’s not. But that does not mean we should not strive
to be as perfect in our love as we are able…” Charlie’s voice trailed off. “I need to think about that some more. Good night, again.”
“Good
night”. As Charlie padded back to his
own room, he pondered all that had taken place.
What a strange thing was love! But even though he had discovered what
it was, it was the question of why that still puzzled him. Why is love so important?
It
was with this thought in mind that he crawled back into bed and pulled the
blankets up around him. As he closed his
eyes, he half expected the image of Pascal to appear before him; but instead,
his mind was transported to a place even stranger than the French street that
had before greeted him. He found himself
in a small, stone room, lit by a small candle on a small desk. Before it loomed a large man, writing with a
very large feather. One look at the
man’s aquiline nose and strong features told Charlie that he stood in the
presence of none other than Dante Alighieri, one of whom he had only read and
seen in portraits. The man seemed so
absorbed in his thoughts that Charlie was afraid to move, lest he make a noise
and disturb his reverie.
Suddenly,
Dante stood up and strode across the room to consult a manuscript. Seeing his opportunity, Charlie spoke up:
“Excuse me, sir. Are you Dante Alighieri?”
Taken
aback and startled, the man whirled around to see who it was that addressed him. “I am indeed Dante Alighieri”, he said in a
tone much haughtier than his quarters indicated. “Who are you? And how did you
get here?”
“Never
mind how I got here. I am Charlie. I have read some of your material and have a
few questions about it.”
“By
all means, ask.” The austere man returned to his chair and sat down. “What would you know?”
“Well,
I have always wondered about one of the main themes of your great work, The
Divine Comedy. It seems that all the way
through your narrative, the traveler is driven onward by the hope of seeing
Beatrice, his true love.” Dante winced slightly at the mention of this name,
but his expression did not change. Charlie
continued, “Yet it is only when he has passed through hell and purgatory and
been purged of all his sins that he is allowed to finally see her in all her
glory. I am sure it was not mere
coincidence that only after purgation, when his motives were sinless and pure,
was he allowed to be with his love, and that that Love had brought him closer
and closer to God’s presence, until he was finally in heaven.”
“No,
of course it was not coincidence. True
love brings us closer to God. I must—the
traveler must have struggled and been finally purged of all sin so that his
love for Beatrice might be pure, uncorrupted, and true. Only then could he be worthy of heaven, and
this true love was what drew him closer to God’s presence.”
“It
seems that Plato meant something similar in his Phaedrus. His notion of what true love was and what its
purpose was sprang from his idea of what the soul was. He said that the soul could be described a ‘pair
of winged horses and a charioteer… and one of [the horses] is noble and of
noble breed, and the other is ignoble and of ignoble breed; and the driving of them
of necessity gives a great deal of trouble to him.’[3]
This is the soul: a good driver of two horses, one good and one bad. Whenever the wicked horse sees something it
loves, or desires, he ‘plunges and runs away, giving all manner of trouble to
his companion and the charioteer’[4]. Thus, the bad part of the soul drags the good
horse and charioteer toward that which the bad desires, dragging the other two
with it. The charioteer and good horse
must fight bitterly to subdue the insubordinate steed, and it is only after
completely suppressing its evil desires will it be able to pursue what is good. ‘With a still more violent wrench’, Plato
writes, ‘[the charioteer] drags the bit out of the teeth of the wild steed and
covers his abusive tongue and jaws with blood, and forces his legs and haunches
to the ground and delivers him into agonies…[the horse] is at length tamed…and
follows the will of the charioteer. And
so then at last the soul of the lover follows the beloved in modesty and holy
fear.’[5]”
Charlie
continued on, “If this is what the soul is, according to Plato, then once the
vicious part of the soul has been constrained and made to obey the virtuous,
the soul is able to fully pursue good, which will in turn lead him closer to
the Supreme Good, what you and I would call God. Plato says that by ‘enslaving the vicious and
emancipating the virtuous elements of the soul…when the end comes, they are
light
and winged for flight’[6]
upward to the heavens. In short, love,
after all vicious elements have been purged from the soul and is thus in purest
form, is what brings us to closer knowledge of the Divine Being.”
Dante
sat back in his chair, astonished at the amount of knowledge this young man had
accrued. Charlie was pleased that he had
learned so much, and was thankful for all the years he had spent in Escondido
Tutorial Service. Plato was always more fun than Aristotle anyway. Now how to
get around that fling payment...
Finally,
Dante spoke up, breaking into Charlie’s thoughts. “Yes, this is Plato’s view of love. You have done well to see it in my
journey—err, writings. It is a very
clear understanding of the nature of love.”
Charlie
thought for a moment, and then said, “There seems to be a slight problem with
this idea. Yes, it is so that true love
brings us closer to God. You and I both
adhere to the Bible as God’s word, and what we find therein may be counted as
wholly true. You agree?”
Dante
merely nodded, somewhat wary of what problem might be found with his beloved
work.
“Good. In 1st John 2:3, the author
writes, “Now by this we know that we know Him [i.e., God], if we keep His
commandments”[7]. Therefore, the way we know God is to obey His
word and do His law. In Chapter 1, verse
5, it is written, “God is light and in Him is no darkness at all.” Thus, if we
know Him, we know the light and not darkness, for darkness is sin and there is
no sin in Him. John also says, “If we
say that we have fellowship with Him [that is, to know Him], and walk in darkness,
we lie…But if we walk in the light as He is in the light, we have fellowship
with one another.”[8]
What John is saying is four-fold: We can know God by obeying him; if we know
God, we are in the light; if we say we know him, or have fellowship with him,
and yet walk in darkness, then we lie, for we are not obeying him; conversely,
if we truly are walking in the light, that is to say, walking in Him, we have
fellowship with our fellow men, who are in Him.”
Dante
was growing bored. “What is your point?”
Charlie
grinned. “I’m getting there. From all this, we can also see that if we
love our brother, we can know God. For
John says, “He who loves his brother (that is, one who is also in Christ) abides
in the light’ [9]
(and therefore has fellowship with God)”.
“Exactly!”
Dante interrupted. “So it is just as
Plato said, and as I support: true love is, indeed, what brings us closer to
God and to a clear knowledge of Him. As
long as we obey God’s commands and do works of love, we may grow in our
understanding of Him. So where is the
problem?”
“Well,
the problem lies not in the purpose of love, but rather in how it can be
pursued. You see, according Plato (and
you, consequently), there is a good part of the soul and a bad part of the soul. The way that the soul can love in the purest
sense is by overcoming the vice within it and thereby only pursuing the good. But the problem is three-fold: First, there
is no good part in the soul. The soul of
man is completely bad. Jeremiah 17:9
says, ‘The heart is deceitful above all things, And desperately
wicked; Who can know it?’ The Hebrew word for ‘heart’ is also used for the
‘soul’ or ‘inner being’ of a man. It is
the same thing, and Jeremiah tells us that it is utterly wicked. Again, in Genesis: “The Lord saw that…every
inclination of the thoughts of [man’s] heart was only evil, all the time’[10]. Hereby we see that there is no goodness in
the soul of man. While there is a
capacity for goodness to exist, this is not natural. It may exist only after the second problem is
addressed, which is that man needs Christ to have any possibility for true goodness
within his soul.
“Christ
must do a work in the heart of man before there can exist any good motive or truly
good deed, and, subsequently, for the love which flows forth from that heart to
be truly good. You see, if the heart of
man is wholly wicked, and true love is an indication of being in the light,
then the person must already be a Christian to truly love.
“The last problem is the
question of ‘who’. Man cannot exhibit
this true love toward just any man: the object of this love must be a fellow
believer in Christ. Again, 1 John 2:10
states: ‘He who loves his brother abides in the light’ Therefore, we must love
our ‘brothers’. Who are these brothers? Obviously
it is not limited only to our physical brothers, for then we must love an
extremely limited group of people. Not
only this, but the love Christ exhibited for us was more than merely a familial
one, and yet he calls those who do His father’s will his brothers in Matthew
12:49-50. Therefore, we are to love all
those who do God’s will, for they are also in the light and are our brothers. John also says, “But if we walk in the light
as He is in the light, we have fellowship with one another.’[11]
Therefore, again, if we are walking in the light and doing the will of His
father, we will love our brothers! It all ties together so beautifully,
doesn’t it?”
Dante seemed to have shrunk to match the size of the desk
at which he wrote. But before he could
utter another word, the room began to swirl before Charlie’s eyes. He grew dizzy and closed his eyes. Shaking his head, he opened them and found
himself in his room again, daylight streaming through his window. It was not until he had leapt out of bed,
thrown on his clothes, and was halfway downstairs before he realized he had a
horrid headache. After taking two
aspirin, he headed back downstairs and was greeted by Alex, in the kitchen.
“So, my dreaming philosopher brother, have you found the
answer to my question? Is the sort of love you claim to be “true love” even
possible for humans to attain?”
Charlie opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle
of orange juice. “Of course not”, came the simple reply.
“So what’s the point?” Alex questioned. “What good is all
your philosophy if it’s unattainable and you can’t live by it? ‘This is the way
we must live!’ you say, but then you ignore it because it’s ridiculous. Sounds
like Hegel to me…”
“Since when do you know what Hegel said?” Charlie
answered. “Anyway, just because we cannot love in the truest sense as fallen
people, we are still without excuse. The answer is quite simple, really. We
must rely upon the grace of Christ to accept our imperfect love and make it
perfect.” Reaching for an empty glass, he continued, “It is like this: you see
this glass? The way Dante would have it, human’s works are like this empty
glass, apart from Christ. It is only by God’s grace that we can do truly good
works and be saved.” Charlie poured the orange juice into the glass, filling it
all the way to the top. “Once the grace of Christ has been given to us, we are
able to do truly good works, and therefore love truly.” Charlie drank the glass
of orange juice, leaving it empty. “In all reality, according to the
Scriptures, it is more like this: the empty glass is man before salvation. When
he becomes a Christian, he is able to love more fully, although still
imperfectly. Thus, the glass is filled part of the way. Now, the only way that
our works can meet God’s law and be accepted is if we rely upon Christ’s grace
to fill the glass all the way up. I suppose it could be said that for the
non-Christian, the glass is not half empty, but completely empty. For the child
of God, the glass is half full in terms of life; the way we act, the deeds we
do. But with Christ completely fulfilling the law for us, the glass is all the
way full.”
Alex took the now full glass of orange juice out of
Charlie’s hand and drained it. “So what happens when the loving feeling dies?”
Looking him squarely in the eye, Charlie replied, “If
it’s true love, it will always exist, whether or not it feels good.” Glancing out the window, Charlie saw Emily
Johnson walking up the drive way.
Grinning, he said, “I think I may have finally fallen in love, Alex”,
and running out the door, he proceeded to relate all his new-found knowledge to
his dear friend.
Chris Woodruff
GBT 5, Paper #2, final draft.
April 29, 2004
Be
Happy
The boy struggled within
himself as he loitered before the small building. The deep, throbbing sensation
inside his gums nearly brought tears to his eyes. Each time anything touched
his tooth, it felt like someone was
hammering a sharp nail into his gum. But the alternative seemed just as
excruciating. To have the tooth ripped out with a blunt instrument by the rough
doctor’s hands had to feel like pulling a horribly infected splinter—only ten
times worse. Finally, as a rush of adrenaline surged from his heart, the boy
stumbled into the doctor’s office, unable to endure the torture any longer.
This dilemma that was rather common in the 18th century provides an
interesting case for what motivates human action. What was it exactly that made
the boy conquer his fears and have his tooth pulled? The question of what
motivates human action is a question that has plagued philosophers, and the
answer to this question is crucial. This paper will examine this question, as
well as ponder how one should decide what is the best action to chose.
In Nichomachean Ethics,
Aristotle examines the question of what the greaquiz good is. By the greaquiz
good, Aristotle means the eventual purpose of every action that man undertakes,
which is nearly the exact question we are asking. Before determining what the
driving force, or greaquiz good is, it must be understood that there is,
indeed, a greater good. An inquiry into the reason behind every action would be
pointless if one common reason does not exist. Aristotle explains the reason
for the greaquiz good in Chapter 2 of Book 1. :
“If
we do not choose everything for the sake of something else(for at that rate the
process would go on to infinity, so that our desire would be empty and vain)…”
Aristotle’s argument for the
existence of a chief good is quite simple: There must be a stopping point for
the reason behind the action. One cannot simply say that one does such and such
for the sake of such and such for the sake of such and such, because this
process would continue ad infinitum and would make no sense. Therefore
there must be an ultimate, driving reason behind every action.
After more discussion about
the basics of the attributes of the yet-to-be discovered chief good, Aristotle
explains what the chief good must be in Chapter 7 of Book 1.
“Since
there is evidently more than one end, and we choose some of these…for the sake
of something else, clearly not all ends are final ends, but the chief good is
evidently something final…Now we call that which is in itself worthy of pursuit
more final than that which is worthy of
pursuit for the sake of something else, and that which is never
desirable for the sake of something else more final than the things that are
desirable both in themselves and for the sake of that other thing, and
therefore we call final without qualification that which is always desirable in
itself and never for the sake of something else. Now such a thing happiness,
above all else, is held to be; for this we choose always for itself and never
for the sake of something else, but honor, pleasure, reason, and every virtue
we choose indeed for themselves…but we choose them also for the sake of
happiness, judging that by means of them we shall be happy.”
To begin, Aristotle
references the fact that there is more than one good. For instance, the purpose
of carpentry may be to build a house, the purpose of being ballerina to dance,
but the point is that there is one final good, for which each of the smaller
goods works towards. The chief good answers the question: Why do I want a
house, why do I want to dance? The chief good is happiness. The purpose for a
house? So one can be happy—free from the elements, and in a comfortable living
situation. The point of dancing? Happiness—to have the knowledge of being good
at something, and the pleasure that comes from providing others with visual
entertainment. Take any action that any human being does, and the eventual
purpose will be happiness.
Take, for example, the
dilemma the boy in the opening of this paper was faced: To continue in his
pain, or to relieve the pain with a pain that in the short term will be more
painful, but in the long-term give relief. The boy chose the second option
because he felt that it would bring him more happiness, both to have the
dreaded moment over with, as well as to have less pain in the long term, both
of which would cause happiness.
With this proven explanation
for human action it is important to explain it more. Taken the wrong way, this
maxim can lead to hedonism. It is important to note that Aristotle’s
explanation for the reason behind every human action is just that, an
explanation. When taken the wrong way, some people conclude that they should
live life for what they think makes them most happy at that point in time. This
ideology clearly does not lead to happiness, as can be seen by the disastrous
affects of drugs, casual sex, and alcoholism. Aristotle’s thesis not only is
meant to entail both long term and short term happiness—which would prevent
wise people from indulging in the actions described earlier—but it is
important, and quite logical to note that many, if not most of the time, we
don’t know what’s best for ourselves.
There are various methods of
determining how to most successfully obtain happiness, but analyzing literature
is one of the more useful tools. Literature represents a combination of
philosophy, real life, and many times, history. By analyzing important pieces
of literature, we cannot only see one gifted author’s point of view on the
human spirit, but also observe it as it is acted out in a realistic way.
Aeschylus’s Orestia is
one of the oldest, most famous plays in existence. The majority of it is a
chronicling of revenge. As opposed to a more light-hearted novel, where more
good things happen, and hence one derives a positive message from the author,
the Orestia, for the most part presents a mainly negative message. This
means when bad things happen, the reader is meant to analyze what the
characters did wrong, and hence find the bad things that caused the various
predicaments.
The nearly unstoppable
torrent of revenge is started by actions that are very harmful to others, as
well as dishonest. The first two players most important in the Orestia
are Agamemnon, and his wife, Clytaemnestra.
Agamemnon’s first, and principle crime is the sacrifice of his young
daughter for success in war. After her brutal murder of Agamemnon,
Clytaemnestra explains her grudge against Agamemnon,
“He
thought no more of it than killing a beast, and his flocks were rich, teeming
in their fleece, but he sacrificed his own child, our daughter, the agony I
laboured in to love to charm away the savage winds of Thrace. Didn’t law demand
you banish him?”
In a way, Agamemnon brought
his destruction upon himself. Agamemnon’s sacrifice of his daughter was one of
the most selfish, harmful actions he could do. His daughter, for whom he was
entrusted to raise, love, and nurture, he killed for his own selfish
accomplishments. Though it could be argued that he sacrificed her for the good
of his crew, and Menalaus, Clytaemnestra’s speech clearly implies that there
was an alternative; even if there was not an alternative, it is not
justification for severely violating the trust of, and killing, his daughter.
But Clytaemnestra’s revenge
is what propels the bloody cycle of the rest of the novel, and introduces the
idea of vigilante justice. She makes a
cleverly-placed speech where she paves the way for Agamemnon to enter
his house,
“Quickly,
let the red stream flow and bear him home to the home he never hoped to
see—Justice, lead him in! Leave the rest to me.”
This speech is actually made
to Agamemnon and foreshadows Clytaemnestra’s coming revenge. The red stream of
carpet is a metaphor for the blood of Agamemnon that she plans to flow. But
more importantly, this represents Clytaemnestra’s determination to exact
justice by herself. As she said in the earlier quote, she rebuked the “chorus”
for not exacting what she felt was justice, and hence took it upon herself to
exact it. Though the ideas of justice do not explicitly deal with the basis for
every action, it represents the most important theme in the Orestia, and
hence must be analyzed in our evaluation of the Orestia.
Just like Agamemnon, however,
Clytaemnestra’s action represents a principally selfish action. In one sense,
it can be seen as done on account of her daughter, but her daughter is already
dead. It is the loss of her daughter, and the intense, devastating emotional
impact that makes the murder of Agamemnon like a salve for her wounds.
Therefore Clytaemnestra’s murder of Agamemnon is a principally selfish action,
done mainly for self-gratification, and not for the good of anybody else.
The cycle of selfish,
vigilante justice continues as Orestes arrive on the scene. Orestes introduces
himself upon the scene, and explains his principle reason for coming,
“Dear god, let me avenge my
father’s murder—fight beside me now with all your might!
As Orestes meets his sister,
beguiles his way into his mother’s house, and finally kills his mother,
Aeschylus intentionally parallels Orestes’ murder of his mother to Clytaemnestra’s
murder of Agamemnon. As Clytaemnestra pleads for her life with Orestes, she
tells Orestes that destiny had a hand in her murder of Agamemnon; Orestes
responds that destiny will have a part in her death. Immediately before killing
her, Orestes says,
“You killed and it was outrage—suffer outrage now.”
Thus he parallels his murder
of his mother to Clytaemnestra’s murder of her husband. Even the leader of the
chorus says
“I even mourn the victims’ double fate.”
This continues the parallels between
Clytaemnestra and Agamemnon’s deaths. Just as Clytaemnestra killed Agamemnon
and his lover, Orestes killed Clytaemnestra and her lover. Even the
descriptions of the scenes emphasize the murder of Clytaemnestra, describing
the viewing and later the displaying of the dead bodies as paralleling
Clytaemnestra’s display of Agamemnon and Cassandra. More minutely, even the
letters, “A and C,” that are the first initial in Agamemnon and Cassandra are
the same as Clytaemnestra and Aegisthus. Orestes’ murder of his mother almost
parallels his mother’s murder of his father to a letter. Even more ironic, from
the perspective of justice, is that Orestes is murdering his mother for the
very thing that he is doing, condemning himself to the seemingly unstoppable cycle
of revenge.
This is the principle part of
the Orestia in terms of analyzing it for the purpose of discovering the
consequences and purposes behind action. Just like his mother, Orestes’ murder
was for reasons that did not truly help anyone other than himself, and only
caused harm to others. Aeschylus shows that selfish actions that harm others
does not bring long-term happiness, but instead triggers a devastating cycle
that harms all.
It would be a crime, and the
play would not have nearly the philosophical depth if it ended on this note. In
the final element of the book a good system of justice is implemented. The
vigilante justice exacted individually is sternly rebuked, as it should be by
the introduction of Athena as an impartial judge. The final conclusion is that
individual justice is truly an oxymoron, and will only continue a selfish
endless tale of revenge. In order for true justice to be exacted, an impartial
judge must be elected to decide the matter.
Huckleberry Finn represents a quite different style and theme, but
also provides a final, delightful look at the driving force behind human
action. It also provides an answer to the question of the best way to make
choices. As opposed the Orestia, Huck provides a positive message
for deciding actions. It is in general a light-hearted book, and with something
of a deus ex machina finish, provides a happy ending for nearly all
involved.
The principle theme in Huckleberry
Finn is the relationship between Huck and Jim, as well as Huck’s relationship
with society as a whole. Huck’s relationship with Jim presents a tremendous
amount of dilemmas which provide a gold mine for analysis in terms of what
provides the most happiness. Huckleberry Finn is an especially useful
tool for analysis, since most dilemmas involve Huck’s decisions, and how they
affect others, something that this paper will bring to a conclusion. In
addition to looking at the success of Huck’s actions, just as the theme of justice could not be
ignored in the Orestia, the theme of society’s corruptness cannot be
ignored in Huckleberry Finn.
Huck’s meeting with Jim on
the island starts the beginning of the most important part of the novel. From
there Huck’s unique, evolving relationship with Jim is introduced. The incident
of the snake skin on the island, where Huck tried to play a trick on Jim and it
backfired, provides interesting analysis of the beginning of their
relationship. When Huck put the snake skin next to Jim’s bed, it was almost an
afterthought. Jim’s welfare and feelings were essentially ignored by Huck in
favor of the selfish satisfaction of pulling a prank. The result of this
selfish action is that Jim was severely injured, and could have died. Huck also
felt somewhat guilty, but not guilty enough. Twain describes Huck as only
deciding that,
“I
wouldn’t ever take a-holt of a snake-skin again with my hands, now that I see
what had come of it. Jim said he reckoned that I would believe him next time.”
Huck makes no acknowledgement
that he will trust Jim. He only admits that shouldn’t have touched the
snake-skin. Twain’s choice of detail is crucial, as any true remorse,
responsibility, or even care for Jim is not strongly exhibited.
The next time Huck plays a
trick on Jim, thanks to the development of their relationship, we see a change
in how Huck views Jim. The trick Huck plays is when he tells Jim that the
horrible storm the night before had just been a dream. As Jim finally realizes
that Huck is just playing a trick on him, Jim bears his heart to Huck, and
sadly bemoans Huck playing a cruel trick on a friend. Huck’s responds,
“But
that was enough. It made me feel so mean I could almost kissed his foot to get
him to take it back. It was fifteen minutes before I could work myself up to go
and humble myself to a nigger; but I done it, and I warn’t even sorry for it
afterward neither. I didn’t do him no more mean tricks, and I wouldn’t done
that one if I’d ‘a’ knowed it would make him feel that way.”
Huck’s response to this
represents a stark contrast with his reaction after the first trick. We finally
see that Huck cares deeply for Jim, and Huck is devastated because he has hurt
Jim. It is almost to the point that Huck now acknowledges Jim as a fellow human
being and an equal.
Immediately following this,
Huck is presented with a perfect opportunity to turn Jim in, and rid himself of
his bothersome “conscience.” This manifests itself in Huck’s meeting with the
men on the river. As Huck mulls over whether to turn Jim in, Huck’s
relationship with his conscience comes to a forefront. Huck explains to us that
his conscience begs him to give up Jim and his conscience tortures him severely
with the idea that Huck could be responsible for Jim’s freedom. It is crucial
to note that Twain does not intend us to view this as actually being Huck’s
conscience. Instead it reflects the values instilled on him by society. The
idea of slavery being a good, not an evil, represents the view of society, not
his conscience. As the reader sees Huck refuse to give Jim up, he almost feels
like cheering. Twain has made it so that we, just like Huck, after seeing what
Jim is really like, recognize him as a human and can only hope he reaches
freedom.
Huckleberry Finn continues with Jim and Huck’s adventures on the
Mississippi, but the next story that we will examine is quite a bit further on
in the book. After the duke and king sell Jim into slavery, Huck is faced with
a final dilemma of what to do with Jim. He resolves to write Miss Watson a
letter explaining what has happened and allowing her to come and get Jim. But
his own innocent nature once again gets the best of him, and his true
conscience triumphs over society’s false one. He resolves, now taking a
proactive approach, to free Jim. This represents the conclusion of Huck’s
development pertaining to Jim. He has rejected society’s wrong values, and
found the true values of being good to other people, coming in touch with his
true conscience.
Indeed, Huckleberry Finn
as a whole is an indictment of society’s treatment of not only slaves, but
human beings as a whole. Looking at Twain’s tone toward society shows this. The
most obvious rebuke of society is for its overall treatment of slaves. As has
already been mentioned, as we see what Jim is truly like, just as Huck, we
become attached to him and hope that he will finally become free. Huck is a
tremendous vehicle for Twain’s presentation because Huck represents someone who
is somewhat free from society. He was raised outside society, and hence retains
some the basic good of human nature that has not been corrupted by society.
Another important player to note in Huck’s relationship with society is Tom
Sawyer. Tom is a foil for Huck just based on his personality. But Tom was also
brought up entirely differently from Huck. Tom has been corrupted by society,
and this is obvious as we see Tom and Huck’s interaction. Tom is someone who is
foolish, illusionary, and completely impractical, not to mention completely
oblivious to the well-being of Jim. Tom represents society as a whole, and
provides a stark, annoying contrast with Huck.
But more importantly, as we
have already seen from Huck’s positive mentions of Tom previously, Huck desires
to be like Tom. As Huck and Tom interact, Huck starts to become more like Tom.
Huck assumes everything Tom says and knows is right, and goes along willingly.
Twain uses this to show how society corrupts people. As a whole people have a
desire to be liked, and accepted by everyone else. Twain implies society corrupts
by luring us through the desire to be like everyone else, and hence enslaving
us to its harmful values. As the book closes,
“But
I reckon I got to light out for the territory ahead of the rest, because Aunt
Sally she’s going to adopt me and siviliize me, and I can’t stand it. I been
there before.”
The book ends happily as Huck
is able to finally reject society and carry on with his basic, good nature.
One might ask why this has
anything to do with the reason behind human actions and how we should decide
what to do. The answer is Twain represents society as being intensely selfish
and harmful to others. There are horrifying feuds, evil tricks,
tars-and-feathering, and overall foolishness. Huck is able to escape society’s
confines by doing good to others. He tries to aid the two sisters nearly done
in by the king and duke’s scheme. He even is kind to the king and duke, and
more importantly, does not do what is best for him, but rather what helps Jim.
This brings us back to
Aristotle. As Aristotle explained so well, everyman’s eventual purpose is
happiness. As The Orestes showed so well, people often do not know the
best way to obtain happiness. Huckleberry Finn showed that true
happiness comes from being good to others. Huckleberry Finn obtained happiness
by going against a society that treated others, especially slaves, poorly. The
idea of doing good to others actually makes sense looking at observations of
nature. Just think of what bothers people’s consciences, in general, the most.
It is when they feel they are in discord with someone else. A kind of
satisfaction and happiness overcomes a person when they know they have done
good to other people. This view even lines up perfectly with what the Bible
tells us in Matthew 22: 37-40,
“Jesus
replied: ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and
with all your mind. This is the first and greaquiz commandment. And the second
is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself. All the Law and the Prophets hang
on these two commandments.’”
Jesus instructed us that
along with loving God with all our heart soul and mind, we were to love our
neighbor as much as we love ourself. Jesus even equated loving our neighbor
with loving God, implying that loving our fellow man was a good way of loving
God.
Aristotle showed that the
purpose of every action was happiness. Aeschylus showed that doing harm to
others through selfish actions did not bring ultimate happiness, and that many
times people do not know what is best for themselves. Finally, an analysis of
human nature and God’s Word confirms what Mark Twain conveyed in Huckleberry
Finn, that ultimate happiness comes in doing good to other people.
Christi Larsen
GBT V, Paper II
May 28, 2004
Is Rebellion Justifiable?
Rebellion: A word that automatically evokes either
admiration or condemnation. Many declare rebellion a
horrific offence while others claim it a heroic feat. After studying the
fictional rebellion of Sophocles’ Antigone and the historical rebellion
of the Revolutionary War, one wonders if rebellion can be both admirable and
dequizable. If not, which is it? Further, what motivates man to rebel? To what
extent and for who is this rebellion is effective? Is there a difference in organized
vs. unorganized rebellion? By evaluating the motives, actions, and outcomes of
the rebellion in Sophocles’ Antigone and the Declaration of Independence
by Biblical standards, perhaps the answers will begin to reveal themselves.
In Sophocles’ Antigone, King Creon made a decree
refusing his nephew, Polynices, his lawful burial. Creon’s motives for making
and enforcing this decree shift throughout the play. They are based on his
immediate reactions to each passing event. Initially this decree was intended
to show respect for the gods. Creon says,
“Why its intolerable-say the gods
Could have the slighquiz concern for that corpse?
…The hero who came to burn their temples ringed with
pillars,
Their golden treasures-scorch their hallowed earth
And fling their
laws to the winds.
Exactly when did you see the gods
Celebrating traitors? Inconceivable!”
Antigone, Lines 319-327
A man’s burial was a time to
celebrate his life and mourn his loss. In rebelling against Creon, Polynices
had shown immense disrespect to the gods. He did
not only turn against his own country physically, but spiritually as well.
Creon could not imagine the gods willing the burial of such a man. Although he
was Creon’s nephew, he had to be punished. The country’s well-being was
dependent on it. Thebes would only compound Polynices’ offence against the gods
if Creon did not address this dishonor.
Creon also knew that if
Polynices, and later Antigone, were not punished, the country would lose its
stability. If rebellion were not treated like a terrible offence, many might be
tempted to rise against the government. A country consumed by anarchy is
doomed. As Creon says,
“Anarchy-
Show me a greater crime in all the earth!
She, she destroys cities, rips up houses,
Breaks the ranks of spearmen into headlong rout.”
In Creon’s mind, it was
essential for his country’s health to avoid the rebellion of his citizens at
all costs. Although Polynices was his nephew, Creon thought it was better to
sacrifice the life of an individual for the good of the country as a whole. The
fact that Polynices was a blood relative made it even more essential to punish
him.
“Why, if I bring up my own kin to be rebels,
Think what I’d suffer from the world at large.”
If Creon couldn’t handle
his own family, his country would lose reverence for him. Without reverence for
their king, Thebes wouldn’t hesitate to rebel for even the smallest of causes.
Creon knew a country consumed with rebellion would surely perish. Ironically,
he himself rebelled to stop the rebellion of his citizens. The gods’ law said
that all must be buried. By refusing burial to Polynices, Creon didn’t appease
the gods’ anger at Polynices. Creon added to it.
As it is seen, Creon’s
original motives for his decree and its enforcement appear to be for the good
of the country as a whole. However, as events progress his motives gradually
shift from the good of Thebes to his personal authority.
After Haemon informs Creon of
Thebes’ sympathy with Antigone, Creon responds,
Creon: And
is Thebes about to tell me how to rule?
Antigone, Lines
820-825
When Thebes didn’t support Creon’s actions, which were
done for their benefit, his pride became the motivation behind enforcing his
decree. As king, Creon had the right to do what he pleased. The gods allowed
him to be king giving him that authority and right. Creon’s rights became his
motivation. His pride restrained him from changing his mind. He didn’t want his
authority to be compromised.
After being confronted by the prophet, Tiresias, Creon’s
motives shift once again. Tiresias’ speech opened Creon’s eyes. His decree was
not putting a stop to the confusion in Thebes-it was adding to it. By
condemning the burial of Polynices, Creon was rebelling against the law of the
gods. In his efforts, he was rebelling against the same gods he wanted to
please. If things were not corrected, the wrath of the gods would fall on
Thebes. Creon struggled with this truth,
It’s a dreadful thing to yield…but resist now?
Lay my pride bare to the blows of ruin?
no more fighting a losing battle with necessity”
Although it was difficult, Creon was eventually able to
shed his pride and seek the good of Thebes once more. However, his actions
could not be undone; Creon and Thebes had to suffer the consequences. Creon
couldn’t free Antigone, because in her captivity she had killed herself. This
eventually led his wife, Eurydice, and son, Haemon, to commit suicide as well.
Because of Creon’s past mistakes, even when he had a right mindset it was too
late undo his wrongs. In the end neither his own good nor the good of the
country had been accomplished.
A look at Antigone in the
play shows that unlike Creon, Antigone maintains many motives simultaneously
throughout the play, instead of a series of changing motives. Immediately after
hearing of her brother’s condemnation her dialogue with Ismene reveals the many
passionate desires that overtake her and become her motives for rebelling
against Creon.
“ …There’s nothing,
no pain-our lives are pain-no private shame,
no public disgrace, nothing I haven’t seen
in your grief’s and mine. And now this:
an emergency decree…
The doom reserved for enemies
marches on the ones we love the most.”
This quote from Antigone during her dialogue with her
sister Ismene reveals some of the multiple motivations for her rebellion. She
is motivated by her family’s pride. Before Polynices’ condemnation, her family
had already lost most of their pride; Antigone didn’t want to lose what was
remaining. She also wanted her brother to be put to rest by receiving his death
rites. Lastly, she addresses the gods’ wills. When Creon, condemned Polynices
to go unburied, he was rebelling against the gods’ laws. The irony of this is
that although Antigone was a rebel to Creon, she rebelled as a law abider,
appealing to the law set by the gods.
Although these were all
motives that grew out of concern for other individuals, they were all done for
her own good as well. Antigone says,
“And even if I die in the act, that death will be a
glory.
I will lie with the one I love and loved by him-
An outrage sacred to the gods! I have longer
to please the dead that please the living here:
In the kingdom below I’ll lie forever.”
Antigone, Lines 86-90
In seeking the gods’
happiness, she also longed to be glorified by them. She wanted the gods with
whom she would spend eternity to be happy with what she had done. Antigone also
wanted to vent her own rage against Creon for her brother’s unrest. Finally,
she didn’t want herself to be disgraced. The burden of grief and shame of
having an unburied brother was not one she wanted to bear.
Although Creon and Antigone
share the motive of pleasing the gods, their ulterior motives differ. Creon
wants to please the gods for their sake, and the well being of his people.
Antigone wants to please them for their sake, and her own glory. She doesn’t
aim for the good of her country, and in the end, she has not benefited it.
Thebes was continuing to fall apart because of her rebellion.
The price of Antigone’s rebellion
was high; she lost her life and threw Thebes into confusion. However, she
gained what she sought for herself, the praise of the gods and fellow Thebans.
Thebes says, “Death? She deserves a glowing crown of gold!” Antigone, Line
732 Her martyrdom resulted in her own exaltation by Thebes while adding to
the peoples growing hatred for Creon.
She also gained Polynices his
rites, but in losing herself, she robbed Haemon’s of his fiancé and caused him
to take his own life. In burying Polynices, Antigone not only sacrificed her
own earthly happiness, but Haemon’s as well. She comments on her reasons,
“Never I tell you.
If I had been the mother of children
Or if my husband died, exposed and rotting-
I’d never have taken this ordeal upon myself,
Never defied our people’s will. What law,
You ask, do I satisfy with what I say?
A husband dead, there might have been another.
A child by another
too, if I had lost the first.
But mother and father both lost in the halls of Death,
No brother could ever spring to light again.”
In his play, Sophocles
contrasts the rebellion of Antigone with that of Creon but shows how each
character’s rebellion was only a link in the chain of the rebellion
throughout the play. However, to more fully understand the nature of rebellion,
one must study historical in addition to fictional rebellion. By contrasting
the motives, actions, and outcomes of the rebellion in Antigone with
those put fourth by the United States of America in the Declaration of
Independence a greater understanding of rebellions’ efficacy is achieved.
The Declaration of Independence clearly states the
universal motives of the colonists. Like Creon, their greaquiz motive began as
the country’s good. However, they sought the good of their future country and
not the country of England who was treating them poorly. The Declaration
says,
“…The history of the present King of Great Britain
[George III] is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in
direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States…”
Declaration of Independence
The colonies believed they
had been captive to a ‘tyrant king’ like Antigone. He refused necessary laws,
kept them surrounded by armed troops, cut off their trade, imposed taxes on
them, and eventually waged war against his own colonies. Although both the
colonies and Antigone claimed to be abused by a tyrant king, the colonies as a
whole suffered under George III while only Antigone’s brother and his immediate
family suffered under Creon. Polynices had lost his rights to burial while the
colonies had lost their right to ‘life, liberty, and the pursuit of
happiness’.
Another difference between
the rebellion in the Declaration and the rebellion in Antigone is that
the motives are always for the benefit of the colonies as a whole and not the
individual writers of the Declaration. They wanted to have a stable nation even
if they never got to experience it. The colonists suffered many loses, however,
the colonies as a whole survived because of it.
Another difference is that
the colonies waited and tried to work things out before resorting to rebellion.
“…In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned
for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered
only by repeated injury. A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act
which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people...”
Declaration of Independence
Instead of acting in an outburst of rage, the colonies
petitioned many times trying to avoid the rebellion that eventually came about.
When Antigone and Creon rebelled, it was an immediate response to a problem.
They didn’t take the time to pace themselves and think through their means of
action. The colonies took the time to organize their actions. However, their
petitions were rejected. The colonies felt that rebellion was the only answer
to their distress so they took the time to organize.
The thought and organization produced a much better
outcome than the results Creon and Antigone achieved. In their rebellion many
of the colonists lost their lives but ultimately the colonists gained a free
country. They were no longer in bondage to George III. Founded on man’s right
to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, the United States of America
has become one of the strongest nations in history. The organized rebellion of
the colonies produced a mighty nation.
“To obey is better than sacrifice,
and to heed is better that the fat of rams.
For rebellion is like the sin of divination,
and arrogance like the evil of idolatry.”
1 Samuel 15:22b-23a
Although Creon’s motive was
to please the gods, the way he chose to do so broke their laws. Instead of
bringing them glory, he robbed them of glory by disrespecting their law because
he thought he knew best. Creon’s motives were consistent with Biblical
standards, but because his actions were rebellious against the gods’ decree, he
was wrong.
The final outcome of
his righteous motive and unrighteous action was not honoring to the gods. The
gods’ commands had been disobeyed and Creon’s decree caused their temples to
continue being desecrated.
“And it is you-
Your high resolve that sets this plague on Thebes.
The public altars and sacred hearths are fouled,
One and all, by the birds and dogs with carrion
Torn from the corpse, the doom struck son of Oedipus!”
Antigone, Lines 1122-1126
Because Polynices
body was left unburied, the birds and beasts were spreading his flesh on the
temples. Creon made his decree in hopes that the temples would no longer be
defiled, however, his decree allowed Polynices to disgrace the temples even
after his death.
Antigone, like Creon, wanted
to please the gods, which has been shown to be a Biblically righteous motive.
However, she was proud. She didn’t want to be put to more shame.
Psalm
10:4
“Everyone
must submit himself to the governing authorities, for there is no authority
except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been
established by God. Consequently, he who rebels against the authority is
rebelling against what God has instituted, and those who do so will bring
judgment on themselves.”
Romans 13:1-3
Paul wrote this to the Christians in
Rome who were under the power of Nero. Nero had tortured the Christians and
would use them as live torches at his parties. He was not what many would
consider worthy to be an authority. However, Paul says that all authorities,
including Nero, were to be obeyed. God
put them in authority. Obedience should be for Christ’s sake. Antigone did the opposite. Instead of submitting to
Creon to glorify her gods, she rebelled against him for her gods’ sake.
Antigone had both righteous and unrighteous motives for
her unrighteous action. The results accomplished what Antigone wanted, but were
mostly damaging. By burying her brother, the gods’ burial laws were kept.
However, Antigone had rebelled against her king, dishonoring the man the gods
had given authority. Finally, because of her rebellion Thebes continued to fall
because she had contributed in the destructive chain of rebellion started by
Polynices. Although Antigone wanted the gods’ law to be kept, she was also
motivated by and acted on her immediate selfish passion, and didn’t try to work
things out differently.
Unlike Creon or Antigone, the colonists’ rebellious action
was not created as an immediate reaction to an event. The colonies had been
tormented for a long time but instead of reacting immediately, they waited
while the justification for their motives became clear. The Declaration clearly
states that they expected their God-given rights to life, liberty and the
pursuit of happiness. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are Biblical
ideas, but are not guarantees. God placed the desire to live, to be free, and
to pursue happiness within each man.
Motivated by this God-given desire, the first action of
the colonists was to petition for redress. Petitioning to those with whom there
is a problem is also a Biblical principle. If
there is a problem, it should be worked out in peace, not in rebellion. The colonists’
motive was based on Biblical ideas and they had a Biblically righteous initial
action to obtain these desires.
Unfortunately, the colonists’ petition was rejected. They
continued to petition, but to no avail. So the colonists eventually rebelled
against their king like Antigone. This brings up an interesting question. If
Antigone was wrong Biblically to rebel against her king, were the colonists
wrong to rebel against theirs? As stated before, Paul was very clear to the
tortured Christians that they should not rebel against their king, but serve
him for Christ’s sake. Compared to Paul’s audience, the colonists’ king was no
tyrant. Didn’t Paul’s words apply to them, too? It is difficult to think that
the colonists might have been wrong. As stated before, the country that
resulted from their rebellion is the greaquiz nation. Could such a great nation
be the result of disobedient people? These questions are difficult, yet
important questions that Christians need struggle with.
Judging the motives and actions put forth in the
Declaration of Independence by the same standards as Creon and Antigone seems
to show that America was wrong to rebel. It has been shown that it was not
Antigone’s place to correct her king’s mistakes through rebellion. In the same
way, the colonists were wrong to correct their king through rebellion. Although the colonists were treated poorly
by England, the Bible doesn’t give permission to rebel for their own earthly
comfort.
The only Biblical example of righteous rebellion is found
in Acts 5. An angel of the Lord came to Peter and the other apostles in prison
and told them to, “Go, stand in the temple courts…and tell the people the full
message of this new life.” Acts 5:20 However, the high priest had given them
strict order not to teach in the name of Jesus. When confronted by the high
priest Peter replied, “We must obey God rather than men!” Acts 5:29 Peter
didn’t rebel for earthly comfort. He himself said, “Submit yourselves for the
Lord’s sake to every authority instituted among men” 1 Peter 2:13. However,
when the worldly authority and God gave him opposite instruction had to obey
what God had told him. God’s word is the highest authority.
One sees three
different combinations of motives, actions, and results when looking at the
rebellions of Creon, Antigone, and the colonists. Creon acted on impulse and
tried to do what he thought was best for the moment. However, this resulted in
nothing but disaster. Antigone was filled with passion; she would not shift her
course. While this method saved Polynices’, it resulted in her destruction. The
colonists took time to develop their motives and actions eventually rebelling
against George III. As a result, The United States of America, a great nation
was born. Regardless of the positive or negative effects of these actions, none
were Biblically justified. The Bible is clear that earthly laws must be obeyed
unless they put us in direct disobedience to God.
Note:
I.
All Bible
references are taken from the New International Version
II.
All Antigone
references are taken from the Robert Fagles translation published by Penguin
Classics
Bennett McDonald
GBT5 Paper #2
5/28/04
Fall of Nations
For thousands of years, great
and mighty nations have ruled the earth, their military might unequaled by
their allies and enemies. Yet with all their might and military strength, they
still crumbled and fell in the prime of their greatness. The Iliad,
written by Homer, The History by Herodotus, and The Rise of the Noble
Men of Greece by Plutarch, all give classic examples of mighty men, cities,
and empires who all rose in power, but through greed, ambition, hate for
others, materialism, and a complete disregard for God and the principles that
He ordained, were destroyed. These men
all lost their reputation, their countries, and their lives, simply because they
lacked the godliness and self-control to defeat their own worst enemy,
themselves.
Reading the Iliad, you see
the classic example of greed and the fulfilling of the lust of the flesh, which
in turn leads the city of Troy to its ruin. The Iliad is about the rage of
Achilles, but almost the entire Iliad focuses on the Greek and Trojan War,
which, was started by the lust of Paris, who was a prince of Troy. In his lust, he stole Helen, wife of Menelaus,
to be his own wife and thus ten years of bloodshed was spent between the Greeks
and the Trojans. The Greeks at the end
of ten years were finally able to destroy the city of Troy and carry off their
hard fought prize, Helen. The city of Troy, prior to Paris’s immature choice of
taking another man’s wife, was a city of immense strength and size; its walls
were tall, broad and no man was able to scale the cities walls. The society of
Troy was prosperous and rich; it was one of the most modern civilizations of
its time. In all of Troy’s aspects such as government, social structure, trade,
and business, it was a leading city well above other cities of that day. It had
many allies who supplied them with troops and numerous cities that paid them
tribute. Clearly, Troy was a very prosperous city and not one to be defeated
very easily.
However, the day Paris returned with Helen,
the downfall of the city of Troy was imminent. For whenever any government lowers
their standards with regard to moral values that city or nation is bound for
corruption, which leads to ruin. Priam,
the King of Troy, allowed his son to live a life of adultery rather then
addressing the problem as soon as it appeared.
If Priam had denounced his son’s lust and sin, the city of Troy would
not have been subject to the total defeat it suffered at the hands of the
Greeks. Thus, the fall of Troy was due largely in part to the moral decay of
the government that ruled it at the time of its fall, for when any government
allows its morals to be corrupted by evil it has started down the spiral of
self-destruction.
However, if the government of
Troy had followed one of the biblical standards for government, which is to
restrain evil and reward those who do good, the city of Troy never would have
been destroyed by the Greeks. For the
Greeks never would have had cause to wage war against Troy if Priam had simply
done his duty as king and restored Helen back to her rightful husband. Due to the unrelenting nature of the
government of Troy, it, and most of the citizens of Troy were killed when the
forces of the Greek army launched a surprise attack on the city of Troy and
were successful in entering the city, they destroyed homes, businesses’,
temples, and killed most of the inhabitants. Thus, through the greed of Paris
and those who supported him in his decision to live with and marry another
man’s wife, destroyed Troy, a beautiful and enormous city of great strength and
social standing among the neighboring cities. Having seen the problems from the
Iliad that occur when government leaves its moral standards, we will next will
see the problems that occur when a group of greedy men disregard their moral
principles.
The Rise by Plutarch recounts the lives of nine men, who were
government leaders in the city of Athens.
Among the men Plutarch writes about is Nicias. Nicias was a man whose entire life was
controlled by others around him. He was
a queer man, one who restrained from eating with other people during his time
in office because he was afraid of public criticism. One author says that,
“Nicias observed that the public will make use of talented men, but they always
view them with an envious eye and are ready to pull them down.” Nicias knew that others around him were ready
and willing to “pull him down” from his position of power if they could find
one small area in which to criticize him. Envy was also another problem facing Nicias;
he knew that other leaders were envious of his position of authority but he was
not willing to stop even tyranny if the change in leadership helped Athens in
some positive way. Envy and the lust for power was one major problem facing
Nicias during his time in power because all the political leaders were trying
to destroy each other in order that their party might be in complete control of
Athens. The hate that the leaders had for each other stemmed from their hatred
of those leaders who helped Athens prosper during their time in power. Thus, hate
was instrumental in the fall of the Athenian empire.
Athens, at the time Nicias was in power, was a
mighty empire that had many allies and subjects who paid them tribute. They
were a prosperous city that relied on their supremacy at sea to defeat their
enemies and because of their ability to import and export goods, became a
leading city in commercial trade. However, when Nicias was in power, Athens was
in the midst of a war with Sparta. During this war, in which Sparta slowly
gained the upper hand, Nicias had commanded his army with skill and accuracy
and had been victorious over the Spartans in every battle that he faced them. Although Nicias expertly commanded his troops
and was a brilliant soldier, he wanted Athens to withdraw from the war and be
at peace with Sparta. Unfortunately, he
was the only leader who anyone would listen to who wanted peace and was being overshadowed
by the young and brash individuals Cleon and Brasidas “whose personalities
offered the greaquiz obstacles to peace.” These two men loved fighting and
encouraged Athens to continue their fight against Sparta. However when Cleon
and Brasidas were both killed in a battle near Amphipolis, “Nicias quickly
grasped the fact that the Spartans had for some time been anxious for peace,
while the Athenians no longer had the same appetite for the war, in short, that
both parties were exhausted and ready to drop arms.” Thus, Nicias was able to
negotiate a peace treaty between the city of Athens and the city of Sparta. By
being able to negotiate this treaty, Nicias was highly praised by the people of
Athens, which raised his political status in the city of Athens.
However, unfortunate for
Nicias, two different political parties, a group of older men who favored
Nicias and peace for the city of Athens, and a group of younger men, united by
their ambitious leader, Alcibiades, who wanted to continue the war in hopes of
conquering more land and becoming even greater, controlled the city of Athens. Plutarch wrote that it was a “conquiz”
between the older and younger generations. Nicias tried to persuade the people
of Athens that war, at this time, would be disastrous but Alcibiades, through
his smooth, persuasive speaking skills, was able to persuade Athens to go back
to war with Sparta. Thus Alcibiades,
through his lust and ambition for more wealth and land, deceived the people of Athens
and was successful in breaking the peace treaty between Sparta and Athens. He
was even successful in persuading the people of Athens to wage war against
Sicily. He persuaded the people of Athens by promises of the great wealth
Athens would receive if they defeated Sicily. He even thought that a victory in
Sicily would be the springboard Athens needed in order to wage war against
“Carthage and make themselves masters of Libya and the whole Mediterranean up
to the Pillars of Heracles.”
Thus, much to the dismay of
Nicias, Alcibiades was able to persuade the Athenian assembly to vote in favor
of the war against Sicily. Nicias knew that whenever people and the government
of that people become blinded by their own greed and want of gain, the city in
which they live, is bound to see decay and eventually will fall in spite of the
city’s strength and social standing among their neighbors. The city of Athens
did fall, however some time after the death of Nicias. Alcibiades, Lamachus, and Nicias were voted
to be in command of the expedition to Sicily, Nicias despite not being in favor
of the war. His argument against the war was this: they were still fighting in
the Peloponnesian war and the cruise too Sicily was too long thus if the army
needed supplies, it would take too long for another expedition to reach them.
Yet despite the wisdom Nicias offered, the assembly from Athens still went
forward in their plans for the expedition. The army that went to Sicily was a
complete disaster right from the beginning.
First, there were charges that Alcibiades had defamed the gods in Athens
and was forced to return there. Next, Lamachus
was killed in battle against the Syracusans leaving Nicias in sole charge of
the army in Sicily. Alcibiades, upon being convicted of the charges brought
against him, fled Athens to Sparta and urged them to send an army to Sicily and
fight against the army of Athens. This Sparta did, and the forces of the Athenian
army were destroyed by a joint effort of Sicily and Sparta. Nicias did all he
could to keep his troops together and fight their way out of Sicily, but he was
unable and the entire army was either killed or sent to mines as slaves. In
addition, Sicily captured Nicias, the one man in Athens who spoke out against
the war to Sicily, and later stoned him to death.
Now that the foundation for our study on the
downfall of Nicias and the fall of Athens is set, we are able to understand the
problems facing Athens at this time and the problems facing Nicias prior to his
death. All throughout the career of Nicias, he was subject to the leading men
of Athens, always wanting their rivals to fall in some way, whether being exiled
or condemned to die by the assembly for some minor offense. This caused great
tension and hate among the men, thus causing much division among the political
parties. Although Nicias was not one who lusted after wealth, his counterparts
did. Material objects, such as money drove them, and they cared only for
themselves and not for the good of the Athenian people. Through lies and deceit,
these men were able to persuade the general populace that continued fighting
was to their advantage. Their continued want for material things and their
willingness to destroy anyone who showed them their folly was the direct cause
for the fall of Athens. Athens was destroyed from within their own walls by men
who were looking out for their own interests and not for the interests of the
Athenian people.
While learning the causes
that led to the fall of Athens, one can see the deep hate and greed that the
nature of man has within him. While at the same time, see the unselfishness of
Nicias, who, despite being forced into a position he did not agree with, still
carried out his duty to the city of Athens, and paid the ultimate price in
doing so. Hate for others, a desire for more wealth, and ambition brought about
the fall of the once mighty empire of Athens. Ambition by its self, on the part
of the Athenians was not wrong, because ambition is what makes any man, city,
or nation successful. However, when
ambition is bridled with a corrupt power that is blinded by their own ambition
then it becomes wrong, as is the case with Athens because they do not see their
own folly. Having seen what moral corruption does to a city when the men who
govern it think only of their own personal interests, we will next see the
problems that occur when government is led by one man and that one man lets
greed and materialism guide his every major decision.
In The History, by
Herodotus, we see two men driven by ambition and a desire to control the entire
known world, Darius
and his son Xerxes. Darius started conquering city by city and then country-by-country
until he had enlarged Persia’s territory by an enormous amount. When Darius
tried to conquer Greece, however he and his army were defeated by a combined
effort of most of the cities of Greece. This left Darius angry and disappointed
by not conquering the whole of Greece. Therefore,
for the reason of conquering the whole of Greece, Darius started gathering the
largest, strongest, and most modernly equipped army ever known at that point in
history. However, during the preparations, Darius died, and his son Xerxes
carried on his father’s wish that the whole of Greece might come under the
supremacy of Persia. The nation of Persia was not accustomed to defeat and had
sometimes gone to great lengths, including changing the course of a river in
order to enter and defeat Babylonia, to stay unaccustomed to defeat. Babylonia,
at this time, had walls that measured twenty-feet tall and twenty-feet wide and
was the strongest city in the known world. This nation’s army had put
one-hundred and sixty canals on the mighty river Gyndes so that an, “old woman
could cross it in ease.” Moreover, they had been unbeatable until they were
defeated by the cities and states of Greece. Hence, angry at his fathers’
failure, Xerxes decided that a much larger army was needed in order to conquer
the whole of Greece. That is why he assembled the largest army ever recorded at
that time in history. This army consisted of around five-hundred-thousand men,
including an armed cavalry. However, this number does not take into account the
twelve-hundred-ship navy that Xerxes had. Thus, the total number of fighting
men under king Xerxes is unclear.
Xerxes, by invading Greece,
was abusing his authority as king by trying to force other cites and nations to
give him, “earth and water”. By doing this,
he roused the feelings of most of the Greek cities and they banded together to
defeat the army of Xerxes. Xerxes did not realize that might does not mean
right. Abraham Lincoln, the sixteenth president of the United States, once
said, “Let us have faith that right makes might.” Lincoln realized the
importance of a nation that was firmly grounded in what was right. King Xerxes
did not make the same observation and his armies, with all their military
strength, were unable to withstand the armies of the men of Greece who were
fighting a just war in order to keep their freedom, family, homes, and way of
life.
The Persians were destroyed by the want of
gain that their king desired. He desired to see his empire enlarge not only
land wise but he also wanted to increase the revenue that he received from
nations who paid him tribute. Thus, through Xerxes’ want for material things,
he and the whole Persian Empire was slowly destroyed. One commentator gives a
modern day example saying that, “Down through the centuries, men have sought to
establish governments that would last. Some governments have merely been the
monuments to a man’s ambition, and these empires, like their founders, appeared
‘for a little time, and then vanished away’ Adolf Hitler declared that his
Reich would last a thousand years; however it scarcely survived for a dozen.”
Adolf Hitler also had a problem with greed and ambition like the Persians and
was destroyed because he valued material things rather then valuing the objects
that would help his nation and people prosper. King Xerxes was a man who was
led by ambition, but instead of living content with the things he had, led his
nation into a war, in which they were defeated and from that point on Persia
diminished and was eventually destroyed. Ambition is a great tool but if used
improperly can, and will, bring about the downfall of an empire, because those
in charge are blinded by their ambition.
Niccolo Machiavelli once said, “He, who blinded by ambition, raises
himself to a position whence he cannot mount higher, must thereafter fall with
the greaquiz loss.” King Xerxes did just that, he was blinded by his own
ambition and fell because of it. The Persian Empire was destroyed due to their government
being blinded by ambition and lusting after material objects rather than being
content with what they had.
From viewing books that
contain material about the histories of different cities, men, and nations. The
reader is able to grasp the overwhelming responsibility of government and the
role it plays in the success of any nation. The reader is also able to realize
that if government allows those in charge to become corrupted by greed they are
doomed to fail as a nation as is the case with the city of Troy. If government
is allowed to function as the Athenians ran theirs, then government becomes a tangled
web of hate and greed among those in charge and it will fall because of the turmoil
that rules the government. Lastly, if any government puts materialistic
possessions before the common good of her people then it, like the Persians,
will crumble and fall in their moment of glory. From the writings of Homer,
Plutarch, and Herodotus, we are able to learn from the past mistakes of other
nations and hopefully we will not repeat those same mistakes. As George
Santayana, once said, “Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat
it.” We too will repeat the same
mistakes if we allow greed, blinded ambition, hate for others, and materialism,
to reign in our own society today.
Audree Heath
GBT5 Paper #2
May 28, 2004
Choosing Wise Words
Speech – the transformation
of formless thought into tangible words – is one of the most important means of
human interaction. The spoken word
allows men to share and discuss their ideas, define common goals, and
ultimately act together for a single end.
Without speech, each individual is isolated and ineffective. However, when men share a common language, each
man can increase his own sphere of influence simply by persuading others to
contribute to a common goal.
Unfortunately, the power of
speech has often been used for sinful purposes.
At the Tower of Babel, perhaps the most infamous example, men used the
unity of their language to taunt their Creator.
Interestingly, it was by confusing their tongues that God destroyed
their most effective tool of wickedness and rebellion. Indeed, the tongue continued to be
maliciously potent centuries later when James described it in the New quizament,
“…the tongue is a fire, the very world of iniquity; the tongue is set among
our members as that which defiles the entire body, and sets on fire the course
of our life, and is set on fire by hell.” (James 3:6) Countless evils can be ignited by the
reckless use of our tongues. They are
used to deceive, slander, betray, gossip, blaspheme, wrongfully accuse, envy,
and incite a host of other evils. It
seems that without speech man is miserably isolated, yet through it he
purposely drives others away.
The twofold nature of speech
– its power for both and evil – introduces an interesting question:
is speech subject to moral boundaries?
Two answers are commonly given to this question: the first affirms
oratory’s subjection to morality, but the other rejects this objective standard
and allows each man to harness speech’s power for his own end. The tension between these two mindsets is
clearly portrayed in the dialogue Gorgias, written by the renowned Greek
philosopher Plato (428-347bc). Through the mouth of his protagonist, the
venerated Socrates (469-399bc),
Plato argues that the true end of oratory is to encourage moral rectitude, not
chase worldly ambition. In contrast, his antagonists – Gorgias,
Polus, and Callicles – see oratory as an effective manipulative tool that is
entirely disengaged from the moral worth of the speaker’s ideas or
motives. Plato uses this contrast
between Socrates’ apparent idealism and these men’s blatant utilitarianism to
expose the relationship of speech to morality.
Yet, Plato does not discuss
this relationship in abstract for he understands the direct relation of a man’s
words to his actions. Individuals act
according to their own impulses, but if numerous men work together they must
identify their common goals. They do
this by discussing various viewpoints, each man trying to persuade the others
to accept his own ideas. In this way
oratory has an influence over the actions of many men and even over the
movements of society. Hence, Plato
cannot adequately discuss the relation of morality to speech unless he also
considers the rightness of those actions that our words influence.
Speech may control the
majority of human action, yet it is our worldview, i.e. our fundamental beliefs
about what is true and right, which first shape these thoughts and words. Nothing man does therefore is done apart from
some underlying philosophy of action.
What we say, and consequently what we do, reflects our life
priorities. Hence, rather than dealing
with the superficial elements of persuasive speech, Plato probes for the
fundamental beliefs behind our words. He
sees two basic distinctions in worldview: one held by men like Gorgias,
Callicles, and Polus who think only of the pleasures and pains of the present
life, and one held by men like himself who simply endure this life while
waiting impatiently for the next. The
crux of Plato’s philosophy is this belief that a life lived for the soul is
superior to one lived for the body, i.e., that a life of self-denial and
discipline will ultimately be more rewarding than one spent feeding the desires
of the body. In the Gorgias he
applies this belief to human speech, arguing that everything we say, and hence
everything we do, should strive toward eternal rewards rather than
temporal.
Socrates begins by asking
Gorgias, a renowned rhetoric teacher himself, what he considers the best use of
a speaker’s skill. Gorgias answers that oratory’s proper realm is politics,
which he calls “the greaquiz and best of human concerns”. (Pg. 28) It has great power in this sphere for “…it
is the orators who dictate policy and get their proposals adopted.” (pg.33) It
is clear from his statements that Gorgias’ worldview is one concerned solely
with the “here and now” of life. He sees
the art of oratory as little more than a tool useful in the temporal dealings
of government.
Yet, there is an obvious
danger in such blatant temporality. For
example, Gorgias says he can more convincingly influence an audience on any
matter than could a man actually experienced in the subject, simply by
appealing to their emotions rather than reason.
Hence, oratory “…embraces and controls almost all other spheres of
human activity.” (pg.34) It creates a conviction of truth concerning what
is right and wrong even when the speaker is only superficially acquainted with
the issue. It persuades men under false
pretences of truth, for as Socrates summarizes, “The orator need have no
knowledge of the truth about things; it is enough for him to have discovered a
knack of convincing the ignorant that he knows more than the experts.”(Pg. 38) Such oratory runs dangerously against all
social sensibilities, virtually sanctioning the pervasion of politics by
skilled but ignorant young rascals.
Realizing this, Gorgias
attempts to justify himself by adding that orators should also be taught right
and wrong so that they will use their skill with discernment. He says, “The orator can speak on any
subject against any opposition in such a way as to prevail on any topic he
chooses, but the fact that he possesses the power to deprive doctors and other
professional men of their reputation does not justify him in doing so;” (pg. 35) Although he first praised
oratory’s emancipation from traditional wisdom, Gorgias now admits that orators
should be able to discern right from wrong.
Hence, Socrates concludes from this statement that, “…it is
impossible for the orator to make a wrong use of his oratory and to will to do
wrong.” (Pg. 41) He reasons that, inasmuch as all speakers must be taught
right from wrong, they are therefore all righteous men.
At first it appears that
Socrates is praising oratory by reaching this conclusion. In reality however, he is slyly asserting
that Gorgias and other popular speakers like him are not true orators at
all. They themselves must realize that
they usually act entirely oblivious to moral standards. By
saying all orators are righteous men, Socrates is in essence concluding that
men like themselves are not true orators but only poor imitations of the same. In this way Plato demonstrates the importance
of morality even in the “here and now” of oratory and politics. Even when all other things can be excluded,
it must remain.
It is at this point that
Polus interrupts the discussion, impatient over Socrates’ subjection of oratory
to moral authority. He accuses Socrates
of using tricky words rather than sound reasoning to shame Gorgias into
agreeing with his conclusions: “After all who do you suppose is going to
admit that he doesn’t know and can’t teach the nature of right?” (Pg. 41) Polus believes Gorgias only said that
oratory requires a proper knowledge of right and wrong because he recognized
how harsh the “truth” of the matter would sound to the socially conscious.
However, when Polus enters
the conversation himself, he soon personally experiences Socrates’
characteristically unconventional ideas and the difficulty of controlling
them. To begin with, Socrates argues
that oratory should not be defined as a true art at all, at least not according
to Polus’ idea of it.
“Socrates: I should call
it a sort of knack gained by experience.
Polus: You think oratory
is a sort of knack?
Socrates: Subject to your
correction, I do.
Polus: A knack of doing
what?
Socrates: Producing a kind
of gratification and pleasure.” (Pg. 43)
Socrates believes that the
typical “oratory” used by popular speakers requires no real artistic talent but
only an experience in pleasing listeners.
Yet, while Polus calls this ability to please a “fine thing”,
Socrates is far from admiring it.
To illustrate his position,
Socrates constructs a simple yet effective analogy. He says that oratory is
like cookery (i.e., sweets making), which panders to its customers by
satisfying their hunger rather than guarding over their health. Just as sweet food entices the ignorant to
stomach ache, oratory deceives its audience by promises of transient pleasure
while thinking nothing of their true welfare. Hence, Socrates calls it, “a spurious
counterfeit of a branch of the art of government.” (Pg. 44) By
impersonating justice, popular oratory disrupts the proper government in man’s
soul, exchanging the rule of reason and truth for emotion and deceit. Turmoil is the ultimate result of this
deception for, while the soul is governed by such a shoddy imitation of
discipline, it is not really governed at all.
Polus finds it hard to ignore
the opportunity for power that speech extends for he believes happiness is only
found in great power. He likens an
excellent orator to a sort of dictator, whom he considers the happiest sort of
man since he does whatever he wishes.
Just as the dictator needs power to restrain rebellions, the orator uses
his skills to retain a position of influence in the state and avoid unwanted
litigations. However, Socrates warns him that true happiness is not having the
power to do what you please but having the wisdom to discern what you
need. After all, physical strength does
not always include the power to accomplish your agendas. If the dictator or the orator does not
understand his own best interest, all his efforts will be misguided and bring
him no closer to his goals than if he had been unable to act at all.
Yet, though the dictator may
lack wisdom, Polus still argues that he is the happiest of all men because of
his ability to defend himself against threats without the fear of punishment,
i.e., without the restraint of moral conscience. Although Polus admits that committing a crime
is morally wicked, he sees suffering wrong as even a greater evil. Socrates on the other hand, argues that doing
wrong is always worse than suffering it.
The answer to this question – is it a greater evil to do or to suffer
wrong? - clearly depends on the accepted definition of evil. Polus defines evil as whatever destroys a
man’s temporal s, family, property,
reputation, etc. He considers it a
greater evil to be deprived of these things than to lose one’s moral
innocence. Hence when a man must choose
between his moral or physical security he thinks that the latter will ensure
happiness. In contrast, Socrates
believes that to do wrong, and consequently to violate moral standards and
objective truth, is a greater evil than to suffer injustice.
Yet, Socrates does not simply
argue that crime is morally reprehensible.
He also believes that, in the end, it can bring no lasting happiness,
not even to the supreme dictator who is never held responsible for his evil
deeds. He disagrees with Polus’ opinion
that injustice can sometimes save us from experiencing unhappiness and
pain. He says, “… men and women are
happy if they are honorable and upright, but miserable if they are vicious and
wicked.” (Pg. 56) Hence, he believes
that righteousness alone ensures happiness and likewise that wrongdoing
consistently brings disadvantage.
But, if only the righteous
man is happy, wicked men will never be blessed unless they first become .
Hence, Socrates concludes that it is better for them to suffer
punishment for their wrongdoing than to escape from it. He says that wrongdoers are the “most
miserable of men, [but] those who are punished are less miserable”. Evil souls will only be cured of wickedness
by allowing justice to run its course.
Hence, just as it is better to be healed from an illness than to remain
unhealthy, likewise it is better for them to be purged of wickedness than to
continue in it.
This then is Socrates’ own
idea of the best use for oratory. He
does not see it as a means to political success like Gorgias or as a way to
avoid hardship like Polus. Rather, he
believes it should be used precisely for this purpose: to cure the illnesses of
the soul by advocating justice. Speech
ensures long-term benefit for the wrongdoer, be it friend, foe, or self, by
chastising him. Hence Socrates says, “Whatever
the punishment which the crime deserves he [the orator] must offer
himself to it cheerfully, whether it be flogging or imprisonment or a fine or
banishment or death. He must be the
first to accuse himself and members of his family, and the use that he will
make of oratory will be to ensure that by having their misdeeds brought to
light wrong-doers are delivered from the supreme evil of wickedness.” (Pg. 73) Speech’s noblest end is to facilitate the
punishment, and thereby the moral improvement, of evildoers. Only by first bringing evildoers to justice
can one bring them to happiness.
At this point another dissatisfied
bystander, this time Callicles, interrupts the conversation. Callicles tells Socrates that he was able to
place oratory under morality’s thumb only because Gorgias and Polus were afraid
to shock society by admitting the truth: that “…right consists in the
superior ruling over the inferior and having the upper hand.” (Pg. 78) While weak men give in to Socrates’
arguments, all nature itself displays a contrary truth: “might makes right”. In essence, if a man is sufficiently powerful,
he cannot be restrained by the moral beliefs of the weak, but has the right to
define for himself what is right and what is wrong.
Callicles defines the man
with natural authority to rule as whoever has the most courage and aptitude for
politics. Natural rulers then are, “…people
who have the ability to carry out their ideas, and who will not shrink from
doing so through faintness of heart.” (Pg. 89) Callicles believes such people experience the
zenith of human happiness because they are unrestrained by authority and social
convention. To him, moderation is only a
virtue which conventional society praises because most men are too weak to
seize the objects of their desire.
Instead, virtue, as defined by the true nature of things, is the
unrestrained growth and encouragement of man’s sensual appetite.
Socrates however is skeptical
that the man who lives in unrestrained debauchery because of his “natural
right” is truly happier than the temperate man.
His conversation with Callicles revolves around the question: Does
happiness lie in moderation or in dissipation?
Callicles’ answer to this question is determined by his understanding of
and evil.
His definition of these two terms is in fact quite simple - he equates
all pleasure with and all pain with evil. He says, “the height of excellence
consists in keeping oneself and one’s property safe, regardless of one’s
character” (pg. 124) All things are lawful therefore so long as they keep
one from experiencing pain.
Socrates however does not believe
that pain is necessarily synonymous with evil or pleasure with .
Rather he distinguishes both and bad pleasures and and
evil pains. pleasures are those that bring benefit while
bad pleasures are those that bring harm.
The difference is that, while Callicles thought of harm in a purely
temporal sense, Socrates realizes that immediate pains are often the harbingers
of eventual benefit. Hence they should
not be avoided, but embraced. Moderation
- a purposeful endurance of pain in order to gain future –
should therefore be chosen by all who wish for true happiness.
Indeed, even the pleasures of
the intemperate man are bad, for as Socrates points out, he must always be
working to satisfy their uncontrollable impulses. He likens the immoderate to leaky pitchers
and hole riddled casks that will never be completely filled despite the
continual effort poured into them. While
these men experience a never-ending frustration of their passion, Socrates
argues that a disciplined man is the one who is truly happy because he enjoys a
certain order and “rightness” in everything he does. Clearly this conclusion originates in Plato’s
underlying philosophy that true happiness is found in the afterlife and in
preparation for it. Hence, a man like
Callicles whose priorities are concerned only with the present cannot see
beyond the immediate desires of his intemperate soul.
Socrates brings these
conclusions on moderation back to bear on the original discussion of morality’s
relation to oratory. Just as a soul
requires regulation and law, likewise the orator
will make the regulation of the state his sole object, rather than the
satisfaction of his own ambition. True
oratory edifies men’s souls; anything that simply manipulates its audience by
attractive yet fleeting pleasure is merely base “clap-trap”. Hence, although many speakers seek prosperity
through deceptive words, the orator prospers only when he allows rhetoric to
follow its proper end: the encouragement of discipline as a means to the .
But, if the sole purpose of
speech is to regulate and restrict the soul’s appetite, the orator himself must
first understand the distinction between and
evil. Hence, Socrates has returned to
his former assertion that true orators must be intimately connected to moral
truth. The genuine art of statesmanship
always seeks the best interest of its subjects, but to do this the orator must
be able to discern these needs and to choose his words wisely. His duty is to direct men in the way of
truth, not just in specific issues of state but ultimately with a view to all
eternity.
The idea that the orator
should strive to establish an upright character in his audience rather than
indoctrinate them with his personal agenda contradicts the traditional attitude
of persuasive speakers. Men like
Gorgias, Polus, and Callicles believed the pleasures of life they acquired
through their speaking skills would bring them happiness. Socrates however has shown each one of them
in turn that satisfaction is only found beyond the lures of temporal life. Men should not preserve their lives at all
costs, but rather use them as wisely as possible. He says, “But I beg you, my friend, to
conceive it possible that nobility and ness
may be something different from keeping oneself and one’s friends from danger,
and to consider whether a true man, instead of clinging to life at all costs,
ought not to dismiss from his mind the question how long he may have to live.
…and let him devote himself to the next problem, how he can best live the life
which is allotted to him…” (Pg. 125)
Rather than using his power to purposely do wrong, the orator
must purposely avoid wrong if he wishes to attain true “nobility and ness”.
Political orators are commonly absorbed in their own ends, yet to be
truly happy they must seek the well being of other men over these.
Hence, the orator
will be more like the well-disciplined man than like the miserable tyrant
completely absorbed in his own impulses.
Speakers who try to satisfy the infinite desires of their evil souls are
merely panderers bringing more misery on themselves than happiness. Rather than abandoning his own interest the
well-disciplined orator is safeguarding it, for a man’s best defense is his own
innocence, not his speaking skills. It is better for him to die because he could
not pander to the rabble than because he could not remain virtuous.
By means of Socrates’ three
discussions, Plato has attempted to show that, indeed, man’s ability to speak
persuasively must be subject to certain moral standards. The
Gorgias is fundamentally a demonstration that the life of the just man
will be intrinsically preferable to the life of the unjust, regardless of their
individual circumstances. Socrates summarizes: “All the other
theories put forward in our long conversation have been refuted and this
conclusion alone stands firm, that one should avoid doing wrong with more care
than being wronged, and that the supreme object of a man’s efforts, in public
and in private life, must be the reality rather than the appearance of ness.” (Pg. 148) Plato’s underlying point throughout the
dialogue has been that all men will lead lives of misery unless they set an
example of righteousness, justice, and moderation.
Yet, once again, all these
ideas Plato put forward rest on his philosophy that present enjoyments must be
forfeited to attain the rewards of the next life. For this reason, he urged orators to give up
worldly s in order to claim the ultimate
: the eternal happiness of a clear
conscience. Indeed, these ideas seem
very similar to a Christian understanding of ethical living, which encourages
men to shun evil while seeking discipline and righteousness. Yet, how accurately do Plato’s philosophies
replicate Christian doctrine?
Both Platonism and
Christianity seem to put a great emphasis on the denying of self. The idea is that the more man is separated
from the lusts of his flesh - from his desire for riches, glory, fame, etc. –
the more his attention will be directed to eternal things of true value. Indeed, Proverbs seems to confirm this belief
saying, “Riches do not profit in the day of wrath, but righteousness
delivers from death.” (Proverbs 11:4) However
this idea raises an interesting question: how far should we attempt to “remove”
ourselves from this world by forsaking its s and pleasures while we are still forced to
be bodily present?
The relevant Biblical texts
addressing this question can at first seem contradictory. While God often promises temporal blessings
to the Old quizament Israelites (Jeremiah 32:36-42), in the New quizament He
tells the rich young ruler that he must forsake his great wealth to find
eternal life (Matthew 19). Should we
then, wait expectantly for God’s increased material blessing or should we
instead shun the ones we already have?
The answer to this complex
question is not found in either extreme, but in a delicate balance between the
two. Although the riches of this world
can be a great danger to the Christian if they distract us from heavenly
things, they are never inherently evil.
If they were, Christ would have told the rich young ruler to take all he
had and destroy it rather than inflicting it on the needy. Rather than setting up a mandate of Christian
poverty, Christ was showing the young man that he was too attached to his
earthly s. The right balance between riches and poverty
comes only when we have a right heart – when rather than using our wealth to
claim earthly recognition we use it to honor God. As with the rich young ruler, often times
this heart of generosity comes only through harsh lessons. .
The persistent question
remains however: how much of our worldly blessings should we give away and how
much should we keep? This question
betrays a common misconception that there is some sort of distinction between
funding God’s work and providing for our own needs. The truth is that we are not only called to
care for the poor, but also to raise our families, care for our elderly
parents, etc. Whether or not we
specifically earmark our earnings for charity, everything we have will
ultimately be used for God’s work when we live according to His will. Indeed Ecclesiastes says, “…as for every
man to whom God has given riches and wealth, He has also empowered him to eat
from them and to receive his reward and rejoice in his labor; this is the gift
of God.” (Ecclesiastes 5:19) We must
never think that we are forced to choose between using our possessions for
God’s purposes or for our own. He has
given all to us, in order that we may utilize whatever is needed for the tasks
He calls us to.
Hence, while both Plato and Christ taught self-denial, Christian denial is
not a shunning of life itself, but a wisdom, temperance, and generosity in how
we use it. We must strike the balance
between those like Plato who distrust all earthly pleasures and those like
Gorgias, Polus, and Callicles who reject all spiritual fruit. Yet, Plato does teach us an important truth:
just as he exhorts orators not to use their earthly skills for their own ends
but for the of others, likewise we must learn to use our
earthly blessings for God’s glory and not our own. Unlike Plato however we know that, because
our God is the creator and ruler of both this world and the next, we need not
completely reject the present in order to enjoy the eternal. Thanks be to Christ therefore, who left His
heavenly glory to wear the humble form of an infant, in order that we may one
day rise to the next life in the glorious forms of saints.
Amanda Meyncke
GBT 5, Paper 2
May 1st, 2004
On Transparency and the Infinite Goodness
Certain books have influenced the world over, and with that
influence comes a certain degree of respect for the weight the book
retains. The books that have wielded
power have gained the right to be called the great books of western
civilization. A book in particular that
has been excessively important in the church especially, has been St.
Augustine’s ‘Confessions’, which is Augustine’s highly emotional and worshipful
love letter to God. Augustine pours out
his heart, and presents an interesting autobiography of his life, as well. His
struggles, his triumphs, and his utter humility and devotion to God is
encompassed entirely in this, his greaquiz work. What makes this book so enduring and
magnificently prolific is not only Augustine’s complete honesty and
transparency, but ultimately his utter humility and dependence upon God. ‘Confessions’ is a sincere and intimate portrayal
of a life ridden with sin, yet the evidence of God’s mercy and love are inlaid
throughout.
In
the very beginnings of his book, Augustine begins to confess all of his sins,
starting almost from the very first breath he drew. There is no pride here,
only a humble account of one man’s failings. He speaks first however, of the
greatness of God, and the infinite nature of His glory and grace. In fact, the vast majority of the book is
spent in eloquent praise of God, interspersed with the auto-biography of
Augustine. Confessions could be considered
a ‘catalog’ of sins. Augustine’s family
life seemed to be fairly happy, his parents weren’t rich, but they had enough
money. His mother Monica was a
Christian, and his father died after just barely coming to Christ, this was due
entirely to Monica’s tireless efforts.
Her continual prayer and love for her son, even during his darkest and
most trying times was wholly evident, and Augustine loved her deeply, often
thanking God for her endless love and support.
Augustine first speaks of his infancy, where he was completely
helpless and wholly dependant on others.
Even here he thanks God repeatedly for the marvelous nature of
Augustine’s own character and marvels that even in one so young, God’s attention and care was evident. Augustine then begins to speak of his
boyhood. In his boyhood, he attended a
school where he was frequently beaten for laziness, and he describes his sin as
that of “…transgressing the commands of my parents, and those of my masters…I
disobeyed, not from a better choice, but from love of play…” he continues with this thread of thought,
telling of how he stole from his parent’s table to play and barter with other
young boys in the various games that they all played together. Unscrupulous and
deceitful behavior, he despised and reprimanded in others, yet he employed
those same tactics and if he was caught or found out, he would vehemently lie
and deny it. Augustine makes a very
interesting connection when he says that these lying and immoral behaviors
learned in childhood, if left uncorrected or unchecked, they usually continue
on into manhood, with countries and gold and people replacing the things that
are bartered, and with much harsher punishments than to be beaten.
Augustine
continued to grow up, and also continued in his immoral ways, recounting a time
when he and his friends stole pears from a pear tree merely to enjoy the act of
stealing. They neither needed the food,
nor had any good plans for it, but only stole for the pleasure that stealing
brought. Augustine grieves heavily over
his actions, and notes that he desired to do wrong because he had “had his fill
of well-doing and was a glutton for evil doing.” Once again there is no pretence or attempt to
justify or rationalize his own sin nature other than to say he had absolutely
no desire to do that which is good.
When Augustine was at Carthage, in his seventeenth and
eighteenth years, he grew to love stage plays, and the miseries depicted within
them. He states that he never wished to
encounter the problems portrayed within the plays that he watched, but he
delighted when the characters were happy, and sorrowed when they were
unhappy. Augustine says that a deep love
of this sort of false sorrow, or indeed a love of any sorrow, is unhealthy to
the soul, and a foul disease. It is
obvious that Augustine loved his idleness, and even sought it, over learning
and knowledge.
While
at Carthage, and while continuing to spend his parents money on schooling,
Augustine was to read a book called ‘Hortensius’, which was written by
Cicero. This book of philosophy was to
excite Augustine’s thirst for knowledge, and bring back to his heart an earnest
desire to seek God, and to discover God’s truths for his own, once again. Augustine describes trying to read the Holy Scriptures,
and the problems he ran into, because his heart was almost hardened against
them. “…My swelling pride shrank from
their lowliness, and my sharp wit could not pierce their interior.” Augustine soon fell in with men who claimed
to be speaking of the truth, and to be following in the ways of Jesus and the
Holy Spirit, but these men were in all actuality false prophets, and were
called Manicheans. Even through all of
this, Augustine admits that his soul veritably panted for the goodness and
wholeness of God’s ultimate truth. He
likens his small understanding of God’s truths to someone who is attempting to
protect himself without the proper amount of armor. Augustine began to scoff at God, once again,
and darkness began to creep back into his very soul. Monica, during this time, would weep and pray
for hours for the redemption and sanctification of her dearly loved son, and
finally, attempted to enlist the help of a Bishop. This Bishop, who usually would attempt to
help any man see the light of God, told Monica that Augustine’s heart was
hardened with the false teachings of the Manichees, and he refused to talk to
Augustine. Monica persisted, and the
Bishop told her that Augustine would eventually come to see the light, for the
Manichean doctrines were not very strong.
From nineteen to twenty-eight, Augustine lived the life of a Manichean,
misleading others and himself with false doctrines and committing many varied
sins, such as those of consulting with astrologers, delighting in all forms of
rhetoric and deceitful logic, and teaching others in these deceitful ways.
Augustine speaks of a friendship that he had, a close friend
with which Augustine had grown up with, but had never become close to until he
was a Manichean. Augustine states that no
friendship can truly be cemented without the love of God as the glue that holds
it together, but the two were as close as they could be, for they shared very
similar interests. When they had only been friends for about a year, the other
man died, and Augustine’s absolute grief is fully apparent. “my heart was
utterly darkened, and everything I saw was death to me… whatever I had shared
with him became a distracting torture without him. My eyes sought him everywhere…I hated to go
anywhere because he was not there.”
Augustine, in his grief, inquired of his soul why it was so sad with the
loss of his dear friend, but he says that “…if I said ‘trust in God’, my soul
did not rightly obey me, because my dear friend, whom I had lost, was, being a
man, both more true and more good than that illusion in which it was told to
trust.” Augustine clearly outlines a
common problem had by every soul which delights in perishable things. His soul
wanted to hold on to the temporal, and the transient, rather than sink itself
into the invisible goodness of God.
Remarkably, Augustine was turned away from the false teachings
of the Manicheans by one of their own. A
very beloved and important man within the sect, Faustus, would speak frequently
with Augustine, and the more they spoke, the more convinced Augustine was as to
the possibility that there were better doctrines and philosophers out there,
for he could not wholly continue on, he felt, when he could no longer sensibly
believe their views and doctrines. He
resolved to enter the Church of his mother, until he could discover his purpose
and “steer [his] course”.
It is truly remarkable how Augustine could be so immune to the teachings of
outsiders against his sect, but God could use a man within the Manicheans
themselves to bring the falsity of the doctrines to Augustine’s mind.
Monica traveled to see her son, and
Augustine told her that while he was not yet a Christian, he was now no longer
a Manichean, and she thanked God, and trusted that “[God] who had promised the
whole, would one day give the rest.” Augustine had for a guide and mentor the
Bishop Ambrose, who would prove monumental in Augustine’s Christian
development. Augustine knew the Truth of
God, and His infinite love and the sacrifices that had been made on his behalf,
but Augustine states that he “…day to day I continually put off living in You,
and I daily postponed dying to myself.
Desiring a happy life, I was afraid to look for it where it could truly
be found and actually fled from it while seeking it.” A simple statement, yet revealing the real
heart of Augustine, his basely human fear of letting go and letting God have
His way.
Around
this time, Augustine desired to be married, and Monica agreed to help him find
a wife, thinking that it would somehow help him to draw closer to God. Augustine found a girl that he desired to
marry, but she was two years under the age limit for marriage, so he decided to
wait for her. At this time, he had a
mistress and a young son already. He
decided that it was not at all proper to have a mistress while waiting for his
wife, so he sent her away, as she was an impediment to his upcoming
marriage. His sorrow was great; “my
heart which clung to her, was torn and wounded and bleeding. She returned to
Africa, vowing to never know any other man.”
But Augustine found that he could not live without the pleasures of the
flesh, and so took to himself another woman, but this did little in all
actuality to comfort him. Augustine’s
main problem was the sins of the flesh, this was one of the most difficult
problems in his life to overcome, and he thanks God for his salvation from it.
Augustine
turned thirty one, and with this came more inquiry into his own heart, and the
nature of God. Augustine finally came to
understand and accept God through the writings of the Apostle Paul,
especially. Augustine describes God as
light, and his own understanding of how he was made by that light; “he who
knows [the light] knows the Truth, knows what Light is, and he who knows It, knows
eternity. Love knows it, O Truth who is
Eternity, Love who is Truth, and Eternity who is Love! You are my God; to You
do I sigh night and day.” His final and
ultimate conversion to Christ was achieved in his thirty-second year. It was all started by a man named Ponticianus
discussed the Christian faith with Augustine and his friend Alyspius. They were so excited by Ponticianus’
quizimony that Augustine and Alyspius gave their lives to Christ that day,
after both overcoming personal demons.
Augustine’s was that of lust, and he finally submitted his life to God’s
keeping, being no longer able to deal with the flesh, now had he any desire to.
Monica’s vision for her son was fulfilled at long last.
Shortly
after this, Augustine decided that he would no longer teach rhetoric or logic,
as was his profession, but would retire, and be baptized with his good friend
Alyspius, with whom he had become a Christian.
They traveled to the church in Milan, bringing with them Adeodatus,
Augustine’s fourteen-year-old illegitimate son.
He was baptized with them as well.
Augustine thanks God many times over for the gift that his son was to
him, speaking of Aerodatus’ strength, intellect and pleasant company.
Augustine’s
mother Monica was hugely influential in bringing her wayward son to Christ, her
constant prayers, open affection and deep love for her son was evident in all
her interaction with or towards him.
Towards the end of the book itself, Augustine gives a brief retelling of
Monica’s life, mostly praising God for her wonderful quizimony and
devotion. Monica had many of her own
sins to deal with, including what would today be called alcoholism. She married a strong willed and temperamental
man, but she was so full of God’s graciousness that they never had a fight, and
many wives asked her for her advice. She
died when she was fifty-six, on the road to Milan, with her son. Monica is revered as one of the most
influential women in the early church, because of her personal piety and
inspiration to Augustine. Augustine
speaks of her often, of her quiet grace and unaffected example that would
change the lives of not only her son but so many others.
The
remarkable thing about Augustine is just how honest and real he becomes to one,
after the reading of this book. His total reliance on the grace and mercy of
God was not only inspiring in his day, it has continued to inspire and
encourage people even unto the present day. His excessively detailing of every
sin is endearing in its simple honesty and harsh in its brutally inexcusable
nature. Pure honesty isn’t enough, while admirable, to be considered
remarkable. Many books and authors
strive to be presented, or present themselves, in the best light possible, but
Augustine confessed every sin, down to the most embarrassing or painful.
Transparency is a frightening thought for many people who strive to be
presented in the best light, but Augustine has acknowledged that neither he nor
any man has a ‘best light’, but that we are all miserably sinful creatures who
can only be redeemed through God’s saving grace. His journey to redemption was a long one,
taking nearly thirty one years to reach the truth of God’s infinite love. The
base message of Augustine’s Confessions is that no one can be fully separated
from the love of God, nor can they separate themselves with sin. God can find even the most far gone sinner,
and bring them back into the goodness and infinite power of His love.
Amanda Helland
GBT 5, Paper #2
April 20, 2004
Rise Up, O Men of God!
Ominous clouds filled the
sky, black waves crashed upon the shore, anguished screams filled the air as
men died, and one man sat alone in his ship, brooding. A perceived slight kept
him from the desperate comrades that needed a champion to spur them to victory.
One by one, contrite kings filed into the cabin, and tried to reconcile the
enraged warrior. Hot words sprang from the lips of all, and all around was the
clash of weapons and the cries of the wounded and dying, echoing…echoing…The
thunder is still deafening; millions of souls struggling in mortal combat. It
is a spiritual battle for the allegiance of man’s heart, and whether he will
follow his Creator, or refuse to fight. The great battles recorded in history
cannot be mentioned without a defining hero who overcomes all odds and rises to
victory. While the expected characteristics of a hero have changed from the glory-seeking
warrior of the ancient Greeks to the pious Christian seeking to give all his
glory to God, these heroes all shared the power to draw men to themselves and
inspire them. Man’s endless quest to follow and emulate heroes is based in
man’s God-given desire to worship and imitate Christ, his Savior. But, in the
midst of this great conflict for man’s soul, millions of men are suddenly
sitting down, refusing to fight. By reasoning that all of history is simply a
flow of fate dependent upon millions of small causes they conclude that heroes
are not necessary or heroic deeds even possible. By this eradication of heroes,
they rid themselves of an outlet for the desire to imitate a hero’s deeds and instead
become infected by a cancer of despair. Why have they forsaken their will to
become great, to revere heroes and strive themselves to rise above the general
mass and become somebody?
“Rage—Goddess, sing the rage
of Peleus’ son Achilles.” (1.1) Homer’s Iliad sings the praises of great
heroes, each one vital to the battle which raged on: ‘fighter’s killing,
fighters killed, and the ground streaming blood’ (4.523). The ancient Greeks
were among the first to create a perfect ‘heroic ideal’. Their ideal was founded
in the belief that they could attain a sort of immortality by performing great
deeds that men would forever remember in song and legend. Though the Greeks
believed the soul continued after death, it led a shadowy existence that could
not really be called ‘life’ at all. Achilles exclaimed, ‘It is better, I say,
to break sod as a farm hand for some poor country man, on iron rations, than
lord it over all the exhausted dead.’ (Odyssey, XI.579-581) Death, for all
practical purposes, was the end of all opportunities to achieve the glory that
would live on after them. Only in life could the hero strive to fill his days and
death with a blaze of glory. Though the hero constantly faced death in battle he
exclaimed, ‘as it is, the fates of death await us…so in we go for attack! Give
our enemy glory or win it for ourselves!’ (Iliad 12.374-381) Men of ages
hence would sing of the hero’s glorious life, and in that way the hero would
remain ever strong, ever victorious. Every warrior would strive to be
remembered in song and story, as Homer illustrated with Achilles, as he sat in
his ships. He ‘lifted his spirits…singing the famous deeds of fighting heroes’
(9.227-228) and wished he could join their ranks in song and legend. The Iliad
itself is such a song, recounting the legend of this great warrior Achilles, the
epitome of the ancient Greek’s heroic ideal; whose whole being was consumed
with the quest for glory and honor. However, in the midst of the battle, instead
of defeating all who challenged him, the ‘golden boy’ of the Achaeans was
pouting on his ship. The King Agamemnon had seized Achilles’ war prize and sent
Achilles into a rage that seemed unappeasable. Honor, glory, and plunder were
inseparable to the heroic ideal; the hero achieved glory with his great victories
and the immense stores of plunder were proof of a hero’s conquests. Thus, when
Agamemnon seized Achilles’ plunder, Achilles viewed the action as a direct
attack upon his reputation. It may seem strange that sulking in his ship would
be consistent with the heroic ideal, but Achilles had calculated his withdrawal
to enhance his glorious reputation as an invaluable fighter, exclaiming that
‘someday…a yearning for Achilles will strike Achaea’s sons…But then Atrides,
harrowed as you will be, nothing you do can save you…Then, then you will tear
your heart out, desperate, raging that you disgraced the best of the Achaeans!’
(1.281-287) Achilles prophecy was fulfilled and without him the Achaean army,
the ‘defenseless Achaeans, panicked, routed.” (15.385-386) Achilles’ fearless
ferocity in battle inspired the Achaeans to endeavor to match his skill and
valor and strive with all their hearts for victory. It was only the death of his beloved friend
Patroclus that turned Achilles’ rage away from Agamemnon and toward Hector,
champion of Troy. Achilles descended like a raging lion upon the battlefield
and led the Achaeans to glorious victory: the ultimate Greek hero, achieving a
glorious death and forever remembered in Homer’s tale.
As the Greeks became
centralized into city-states the need for shrewd, cool-headed political leaders
began to push the hot-headed warrior from the focus of men’s admiration, and a
new type of hero began to emerge. The historian Plutarch chronicled the lives
of the great heroes of Athens, beginning with the founder of the Athenian
empire, Theseus, who possessed not only physical strength, ‘but courage and a
resolute spirit, combined with good sense and intelligence.’ (sec 6) Plutarch
wrote that the times of Theseus ‘produced a race of men who…were indefatigable
and far surpassed the human scale, but who did not apply these gifts of nature
to any just or useful purpose”, (sec. 6) but rather terrorized the countryside.
They were only checked by the legendary Heracles who either destroyed them or
caused them to ‘cower and shrink into hiding as he passed by.’ (sec 6) Theseus
‘had long been fired by the renown which Heracles had won through his
courage…and his desire to emulate the hero seized hold of him and spurred him
to [yearn for] such exploits for himself’. (sec 6) And he succeeded in his
quest, as Plutarch recounts in tale after tale of marvelous feats which deliver
the people from numerous dangers, from wild men to vicious boars. Theseus’
greaquiz exploit however, was not on a battlefield subduing the unruly and
dangerous, rather he ‘conceived a wonderful and far-reaching plan, which was
nothing less than to concentrate the inhabitants of Attica into a capital.’
(sec 24) Hitherto, the people had been living in widely scattered cities and it
was nearly impossible to bring them together for the common interest. But
Theseus was determined to bring them together into one unified people belonging
to one city. As he traveled about the country, ‘the common people and the poor
responded at once to his appeal, while to the more influential classes he
proposed a constitution without a king.’ (sec 24) He suggested a democracy ‘in
which he would be no more than the commander of the army and the guardian of
the laws.’ (sec. 24) Theseus had been inspired by the deeds of Heracles to achieve
greater and greater feats and through the creation of a centralized nation he
introduced a new heroic ideal; a leader not only skilled in battle, but
fearless in politics and unmatched in virtue.
This new hero, in all his
glory, can be found in Pericles, who brought Athens to her greaquiz glory and
wealth. Plutarch described Pericles as a man who ‘through his moderation, his
uprightness, and his ability to endure the follies of his peoples and their
colleagues in office, rendered the very greaquiz service to his country.’
(Pericles, 2) Plutarch believed that through all the dissension and quarrels
which naturally occur in an empire such as Athens, ‘Pericles was the only man
capable of keeping each of these under control.’ (sec 15) Though Pericles was skilled
in battle, his greatness and power lay in his virtue. Plutarch argued that
virtue, or ‘moral good…has a power to attract towards itself’ (166) and inspire
men to develop it in themselves. Through Pericles’ leadership, Athens was
presented with a model of ‘…virtue in action’ which ‘immediately takes such
hold of a man that he no sooner admires a deed than he sets out to follow in
the steps of the doer.’ (166) Through his virtuous leadership, ‘great as Athens
had been when he became her leader, he made her the greaquiz and richest of all
cities, he came to hold more power in his hands than many a king and tyrant.’
(sec 15) The Athenians realized the worth of Pericles’ leadership only after
his untimely death when his power to check the corruption threatening the city ‘stood
revealed in its true character as the saving bulwark of the state.’ (sec 39)
Pericles, as an example of virtuous, moderate leadership, had drawn men’s
allegiance and admiration to himself. The loss of this one man and the subsequent
lack of strong leadership led to the fall of Athens.
As the clash of weapons and
the cries of the wounded and dying have formed a song which has echoed in the
halls of earth’s history, the battle being fought over man’s soul has its story
and heroes as well. After the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, the
Christian church grew and blossomed. It was directed by great heroes who, like
Pericles, were men of virtue with the power to captivate men and inspire them
to follow their examples. They created a framework for the church to grow upon
by defining its theology and doctrines and thereby establishing unity among
believers. These men became revered as saints and their words and teachings
almost as venerated as the Bible. But instead of becoming like the Greek hero,
who sought the admiration of men for himself, these Christian heroes chose to
give their glory to God. St. Augustine, a man who confessed that ‘in his youth,
he burned to get his fill of hellish things’ (Confessions, 2.1) was one of the
first in this glorious tradition of Christian heroes. He wrote during a time
when the morally bankrupt Roman Empire collapsed, resulting in a time of
intense animosity and suspicion towards Christians. The pagans blamed the
Christians for the demise of Rome, arguing that it was under the pagan gods
that the Empire had bloomed and it angered the gods to promote or tolerate this
new God. In defense of the church, and to encourage the persecuted Christians,
Augustine wrote her biography; ‘The City of God’. Augustine argued that
since the ascension of Jesus into heaven, all of history was concerned with one
purpose: to build and perfect a ‘City of God’. This city was very different
from the City of Man, or the earth. The division arose from the different loves
they were founded upon. “These cities were made by two loves: the earthly city
by the love of self unto the contempt of God, and the heavenly city by the love
of God unto the contempt of self.” (Bk. 14, c. 28) Augustine believed that
strife and suffering were inevitable and served to further the construction of
the City of God, an undertaking which should be the sole concern of every
Christian. From a prodigal beginning to sainthood, God used Augustine to define
the Catholic Church and defend her in the time of strife following the sack of
Rome. The philosopher and theologian St. Anselm also contributed to the
development of the church through his quest for arguments to prove God’s
existence which were based entirely upon logic, rather than experience. He
argued that every person can conceive of, ‘a being than which nothing greater
can be conceived’, (Proslogium Ch. 2) and concluded from this ability that
absolute perfection or greatness conceived in the mind implies existence.
Something which is real is greater than something which is only imagination. By
this reasoning Anselm concluded that, ‘than which nothing greater can be
conceived…exists both in the understanding and in reality’ (Ch. 2) and the
thing is God. Augustine and Anselm not only had the inspiration from God to
tell their stories to the world and defend Christianity, but were able to draw
men to themselves and inspire them to follow their teachings.
This new City of God grew and
developed, destined to shine with God’s glory. But it soon became corrupted by
greedy, un-virtuous leaders once its righteous leaders had died, much as Athens
did after the death of Pericles. The church was no longer a ‘City of God’ but a
cesspool of immorality, bribery, and oppression. This decline was a victory for
the enemy of God in the great cosmic struggle for man’s soul. But the victory
was short-lived, as one man rose up and stood against the tyranny and
corruption of the Catholic Church and nailed his grievances to its door. By so
doing, Martin Luther drew the battle lines and positioned himself against the
formidable Catholic Church. His virtue,
contrasted with the immorality and pettiness which plagued the Church, inspired
others to join him in his fight. It also paved the way for theologians such as
John Calvin to stand with him against the heresies of the Catholic Church and begin
to define and shape a reformed church and guard it against corruption. These
men inspired believers to resist those practices of the Church which were
clearly against God’s principles, and gave them the courage to create a new
‘City of God’.
Heroes: men of legendary valor
in battle like Achilles, founders of empires like Theseus, men of great virtue
like Pericles, and the humble and holy men of God like Augustine, Anselm,
Luther, and Calvin. Men have always sought a hero to follow and imitate. This
desire is rooted in the Christian’s quest to follow Christ. The Christian is
called to ‘be conformed to the image of Christ’ (Rom. 8:29), to emulate and
become as much like Him as is possible in a fallen world. It is this God-given
desire which prompts men to find someone greater or more skilled than they to
follow and imitate. The Greek hero sought immortality by becoming the
inspiration to the men who followed him. Plutarch’s description of virtue’s
power to attract men’s allegiance is echoed by Martin Luther’s exhortation to
develop the fruits of the Spirit, as ‘those who have them give glory to God and
attract other people by them’ (Commentary on Galatians, pg. 280) The Christian’s
ultimate hero is Christ, and in order to imitate Him, John Calvin argued that
the Christian ‘must meditate on Him as He is portrayed in Scripture…His is a
brightness which hides the stars, a strength which melts the mountains, an
anger which shakes the earth, a wisdom which outstrips all intellectuals, a
purity which makes everything seem impure, a righteousness beyond the angels
and a vengeance which reaches the deepest hell.” (Calvin, Institutes, 12.1) God
has given man the perfect Hero, one that the church can follow ‘as her Captain
and Guide.’ (Galatians, pg 268)
But Satan determined with all
his might to bring down the mighty army of God, and mankind was slowly gripped
by the creeping fingers of a philosophy which devalued heroes, and threatened
to eradicate them altogether. In the battle over man’s soul, there were heroes
who rose above the collective will, inspired future generations, and became
powerful forces. But this is only one side of the battle. There was also the
enemy battling fiercely to force these heroes back into the general masses and
wither any expression of individuality. The battle lines were drawn in the
Garden of Eden, when the serpent said to man “ye shall be as gods”. (Paradise
Lost, 9.708) Through Satan’s temptations, man began turning his thoughts inward
and, instead of trying to emulate heroes and bring glory to God, he began to worship
himself. He distorted his own sense of significance and glorified himself to
the point where he saw no need for God, forgetting that God was the very source
of his significance. As the serpent whispered quietly into his ear, he took his
eyes off of God, and gazed instead in the mirror, enraptured with his new god.
In the golden age of the
Enlightenment, philosophers were able to completely free themselves from what
they considered to be a superstitious belief in God that had so plagued their
predecessors, and thus free themselves from the relentless desire to emulate
noble, virtuous leaders. Few men were more influential in this ‘liberation’
than the philosopher Immanuel Kant, who denied the existence of God. His
philosophy centered each man as the sole creator and director of his own world.
He proposed that since ‘we can know objects only as they appear to us (to our
sense), not as they are in themselves”, (par. 283) man creates and defines the
world through his understanding. “The understanding does not derive its laws
from, but prescribes them to, nature.” (par. 320) Kant’s radical philosophy
placed man directly at the center of the universe, creating and setting down
the laws for the world. The philosopher G. W. F. Hegel continued to center man
as the ultimate being in the universe by contending that every man contained ‘a
self-assured Spirit which has its truth within itself, in its knowledge.’
(Phenomenology, sec. 646) Truth was not an absolute standard outside of man,
but was inside of man. Man put ‘whatever content he pleases into his knowing
and willing…’ (sec 655) Man’s contemplations became self worship; as it studied
its creations and their creator, ‘its action was the contemplation of its own
divinity.’ (sec. 655) Each man became his own standard and ‘hero’ since each
man defined his own set of values. Greatness and virtue became relative; with
no man any different from the rest. Man placed himself triumphantly in the
center of the universe, ignoring his Creator, and priding himself on his
ability to free himself from archaic superstition.
What seems to be ‘man triumphant
and free’ is really man cast adrift. Man, by eliminating God from the universe,
eliminated his purpose for living and lost his sense of being significant.
There was nothing more than this life on earth, and no reason to conquer the
unconquerable. A sense of God and of a future in eternal communion with Him
lifts man out of himself and inspires him to strive for greatness. When God is
taken out of the world, so is man’s purpose and will to become a hero. A
purposeless man is prey to apathy and despair, and resigns his fate to chance.
The repercussions of this
philosophy are seen in Leo Tolstoy‘s novel, War and Peace. Tolstoy contended
that the great men of history were not really great at all, but simply ‘labels
serving to give a name to the event, and like labels they have the least
possible connection with the event itself.’
(Book 3, Part 1, pg 719) To him it was ‘incomprehensible that millions
of Christian men killed and tortured each other because Napoleon was ambitious,
or Alexander firm’. (pg 716) He reasoned instead that these men’s actions,
which gave them the name of ‘hero’, depended entirely upon the collective will
of the men behind them. Thus Napoleon’s decision to advance into Russia was as
much a cause of the war as the decision of his sergeants to fight with him. The
real power lay in the collective will of the millions of men who consented ‘to
carry out the will of those weak individuals’, (pg 717) the so-called heroes. Tolstoy
believed the collective will to be a tyrant who controlled every aspect of
life, and that rising above this ‘fate’ to become a hero was impossible. For
Tolstoy, heroes were ordinary human beings who were vain enough to accept
responsibility for the course of history, but unable to recognize their own
impotence in the cosmic flow. While his philosophy is startling when examined
after the examples given by history of men who were heroes and leaders, it is,
however, a natural consequence of a changing philosophy and focus.
When the focus of mankind was
taken from glorifying God to glorifying man, the result was a despair which spread
through every element of life. Mankind was created to emulate Christ in every
way possible and to worship and glorify Him for eternity. The Greek hero
desired to become god-like through the immortality of his story by living and
dying in a blaze of glory. The Christian hero recognizes the innate need in man
to emulate something and points to Christ as the ultimate hero to follow. When
philosophers challenged the very existence of God and Christ they questioned
the source of man’s purpose for living. Tolstoy’s philosophy is a reflection of
the despair which strikes a purposeless, unfulfilled man, causing him to throw
down his weapons and resign his fate to the inevitable tide of the collective
will. In order to justify his surrender he tries to convince himself that there
is no God or eternity, and that he has no soul. But all he hears is the empty
echo of despair. Struggling vainly to create his own purpose for his life, he
is faced with his own insignificance and gives up his life to ‘suffer the
slings and arrows of outrageous fortune’ without proquiz. He has taken from
himself his heroes, the great men who by their valor and virtue cause him to
look past himself and contemplate eternity. Just because man has decided to
ignore the battle, does not mean the thunder of weapons clashing and men’s
screams disappears. The Christian plays a vital part in this battle; he is a hero
for mankind, the one who can show the world eternal peace, the visible,
tangible figure of Christ on earth. And, unlike Achilles, we are not allowed to
sit out the war.
Randy Walker
GBT 5 Paper #2
05/28/04
The
Democracy versus The Tyrant
Democracy and Tyranny are words almost all people have
heard before. But, do they really
apply? And even if they do, how do they
apply to the everyday person? After all,
most people do not dream of becoming a Tyrant or ponder the most effective way
to manage a democracy. However,
Democracy and Tyranny do involve all people under their rule. No matter how minutely, each person does
influence government affairs. Democracy
and Tyranny have existed throughout history, and their diversity shrouds them
in mystery. Many authors have attempted
to illuminate this darkness. It is with
this intention, many ideals are to be combined, with the reflection that maybe
they may discover the unknown.
What better way to begin this investigation, than to
examine the evolution of government; how democracy came to pass, and how a
Tyranny arose out of it. Fortunately
history of these changes have been recorded, and so these documents may
instruct. The Rise and Fall of
Athens: Nine Greek Lives very effectively gives an example of the beginning
of democracy to the downfall thereof.
Thus let the Athenians bestow their wisdom through experience. And may all learn from their mistakes, and
benefit from the successes. The
beginning of democracy in Athens is the place to begin, that from them,
knowledge may be gained
Athens Develops a Democracy
Shockwaves of amazement roll through Athens, citizens
pause to chat with merchants in the marketplace, as each retell their local
gossip to one another. This day,
however, the gossip has turned to real news.
“Athens is to become a Democracy.”
Some are delighted, their knowledge is small concerning what a democracy
shall entail, but they are sure it is better, “Finally all men are equal!” Others are not so certain of the truth, “Most
likely it is just another rumor, or a trick.”
But even these begin to trust his sincerity when he begins to “abolish
the town halls, council chambers, and magistracies in the various
districts. To replace them he built a
single town hall and senate house for the whole community.”
“Is it true?”
Now even the most doubtful are believers. Theseus is no longer King of Athens. This proclamation resounds throughout the
city. Instead of Monarchy, a new epoch
has arisen. Through careful planning,
and the council of the Oracle at Delphi, Theseus has writ a constitution to
govern the people. The King is now
designated as ‘Guardian of the State’.
Simply put, he was in charge of the military, so that Athens should be
protected from their enemies, and he was to make sure that the laws were kept.
Each man possessed equality, but for the sake of an
efficient state, Theseus divided the citizens into three classes. These consisted of noblemen, husbandmen, and
artisans.
Three Sorts of People are Grown in Democracy
The lower classes benefit most from this ‘New
Deal’. Now their freedom seems
boundless. Formerly unimportant and
sometimes degraded, poor men now share their opinions openly. These are the
‘People’, those who make up the majority of the nation. When assembled together they form the
strongest part of the democracy.
The noblemen were assigned duties which were becoming
to their position in life. Since they
already occupied a position of authority, there is no need to change their
status. Thus they were appointed to care
for religious rites, and to teach and uphold the laws, “for the rest of the
citizens he established, as it were, a balance of privilege, on the assumption
that the noblemen would excel in dignity, the husbandmen in utility, and the
artisans in numerical strength.”
Not
all are completely satisfied though, murmurs of complaint from the wealthy are
common. “Why should men of power be
degraded so, with peasants and priests?”
Formerly these men occupied the main positions of power, once great
rulers over a select amount of people, their power now taken away. Now
they are on equal status with all men.
Their part in the game is unique, they will be depended on to support
the government.
Solon
is now ‘Guardian of the State’. Truly
marvelous is the day when Solon‘s wise counsel charms the heart of Athens.
Often the wise prosper, while the righteous starve;
Yet I would never exchange my state for theirs,
My virtue for their gold. For mine endures,
While
riches change their owner every day.
The three parties formed after Theseus’ death are to
be rejoined under Solon’s wisdom.
Extreme oligarchy, extreme democracy, and the indifferent united again
through democracy. Athens seemed to be
on the brink of a Tyranny, how else could peace be attained? Thankfully Solon shied from a tyrannical
rule.
“And if I spared my country
Refrained from ruthless violence and tyranny
And chose to keep my name free from all taint
I feel no shame at this; instead, I believe
It will be
my greaquiz glory.”
The sun shines bright on Athens, their days of
democracy seem to stretch before them.
Like all good things though, the time of democracy is limited, and
clouds are just beyond the horizon.
Athens’ Democracy Ended
“Too long has the democracy reigned supreme,” these
thoughts begin to take hold, the enemies of democracy have not been idle. The opportune moment is come, and they strain
to break the hold of democracy. Their
lust for power is great. Too long have
they waited for this moment they will not let it pass by. Their efforts are worthwhile, and for some
years Athens once again is in turmoil.
The plot is clever, a guise which would be hard to
distinguish. Pisistratus contrived a
plan to take Athens for his own glory, his ploy was to wound himself, and gain
followers to achieve his goal. His plan
worked, “when Solon approached them and said to him, “Son of Hippocrates,
this is not the way to play Homer’s Odysseus.
When he wounded himself, it was to deceive his enemies , the Trojans,
but you are doing it to mislead your fellow-citizens!”” However, his speech came to late, and the
people of Athens were convinced to side with Pisistratus. And so Athens fell into the trap conceived by
a Tyrant and lay there for thirty-five years, until a new deliverer came forth
to save them.
A democracy sounds like a good ideal on paper, so why
does it almost always fail? Perhaps some
of the reasons why have been gleaned by carefully examining the downfall of
Athens. As Socrates’ wise counsel
charmed and influenced those of his day, so let him instruct in the ways of
government.
Delightful Democracy
Firstly, all governments can be classed among four
principal forms of government. These
are; Timocracy, Oligarchy, Democracy, and Tyranny. Naturally they will not be exactly alike, but
in major beliefs they can be classed in one of
those four. Plato probably
summarizes this thought best when he says that, “governments vary as do
men.” Quite interesting is the
evolution between democracy and tyranny.
Plato’s book The Republic gives a very thorough evaluation of
these two governments.
The democracy attracts attention in much the same way
as a flower. The delicate petals, the
brilliant splashes of color here and there, and the pleasing shape. The whole organized in such a fashion to
delight the viewer. Join in this
examination of the flower of democracy!
First to be examined are the petals of the democratic
state. These could be perhaps thought of
as the People. As each petal in a flower
is unique, so each man in democracy is unique.
The petal displays attraction, and also makes up the body of the
flower. The common people make up the
majority of the nation, and when properly managed can appear very
pleasing.
The brilliant splashes of color are evident throughout
a flower; each part varying in color to create a delightful picture. So many freedoms combined to create a careful
sprinkle of color. One of these many
freedoms being that of freedom of speech and or opinion. This freedom creates such diversity of thought,
all making for a very enchanting state.
Many more freedoms exist in the democratic state, one
being the variety of democracies available!
Much like combining many sorts of flowers make an attractive bouquet, so
the combination of democracies appeal to the viewer. So many various combinations are available to
choose from.
This flower is not flawless, the beauty is not
boundless. Like anything flaws are
present, some more visible than others.
Enemies exist of even flowers, small pests eat away the petals and
leaves, without much damage visible at first.
But, as the bug trail progresses, his trail of harm becomes
evident. At this point the flower begins
to deteriorate in beauty, care must be taken to prevent this from
occurring. Likewise the democracy is
subject to fall into ruin much like the flower often eventually does. Read on to discover the extent of hardship
awaits the fallen democratic state.
Tyranny Spawned
The insatiable desire of freedom creates a demand for
tyranny.
Freedom means - A state of exemption from the power
or control of another; liberty; exemption from slavery, servitude or
confinement. But as the democratic
state becomes more unruly, the definition seems to change. Often man desires that which is wrong. Reasoning why he should be allowed to do vice
can be an arduous task, but by using the laws of democracy the mission is
reasonably easy to accomplish. In
democracy man is charged with freedom.
He reasons that this freedom allows him the right to fulfill his every
craving. This ideal results in the downfall of democracy. Instead of becoming free, the people enslave
themselves in their quest for freedom.
Freedom is relative to desire. If someone desires something so much they
cannot resist its charms, then their
freedom changes to slavery. Take for the
example, drinking wine. While it is not
wrong to drink, and in fact can be quite enjoyable, moderation must be
exercised. Self-control is necessary,
otherwise man can become addicted to drink.
He considers himself free to drink to his heart’s content, when in
reality his addiction enslaves him.
When all men give into their every desire, they begin
encroaching upon another’s freedom.
Murder and theft are the obvious examples which come to mind. Whereas one man may think his freedom allows
him to kill another, the other loses his right to life. Freedom endures so long as it does not take
away another’s rights.
The citizens in democracy grow more unruly, as their
desire for corrupt freedoms increase.
They cannot lead the path of democracy any longer, it will soon be
anarchy according to Webster’s dictionary, when the laws are not efficient,
and individuals do what they please with impunity. Anarchy cannot last, eventually the citizens
will destroy themselves. The solution to
this disagreeable mess? Unfortunately it
is tyranny.
“Then come impeachments and judgments and trials of
one another…The people have always some champion whom they set over them and
nurse into greatness.” The revolution has begun.
Terrible Tyranny
This is the beginning of the Tyranny. “He who has tasted the entrails of a
single human victim minced up with the entrails of other victims is destined to
become a wolf.” Much in the same way
the ‘Champion’ begins to innocently rule, but the unchecked power given unto
him is quite tempting. With the mob at
his back, he dissolves enemies by false accusation and cold-blooded
murder! He has tasted of the blood, and
now wants more.
These days, he is always so grim, pacing back and
forth, deep in thought. What goes on in
that head of his? He has changed so
much! Perhaps age has caught up with
him. But, he has not been in power that
long. How marvelous he was at the
beginning of his rule, no wonder the throngs followed his every command. How handsome his appearance, with smiles for
all. Now his lips are drawn tightly, one
almost wonders how a smile could come from such a formidable face. How could he become so cold?
Now everyone must obey the harsh commands that so
often bark from his mouth. All long for
his old cheery self to return, and for this cursed new form to disappear. Some have even spoken of assassination,
though always in whispered conversations among trusted friends. It could be the solution to this problem, if
it were not for his many bodyguards. How
ironic, the same people who appointed the bodyguards to protect him from his
enemies, now wish to murder him!
He is wary, one can see in his eyes distrust, even
hate. “Therefore he must look about
him and see who is valiant, who is high-minded, who is wise, who is wealthy;
happy man, he is the enemy of them all, and must seek occasion against them
whether he will or no, until he has made a purgation of the State.” Much like surgery to remove the bad and
leave the good, this purgation does the opposite. The tyrant takes the good and eliminates
them, so that he may keep the bad.
Some, strive to become part of his band. These few, he trusts the most. Their loyalty is bought through money, and
fear. Some are slaves he liberated, who
through gratitude work for him. They are
his most trusted allies, who can show more gratitude than he that owes?
Where does all this money come form with which he so
freely spends? It is rumored, that he is
funded by those he oppressed. The irony
is sickening, he repays those who appointed him by taking funds from them! “If there are sacred treasures in the
city, he will confiscate and spend them; and in so far as the fortunes of
attainted persons may suffice, he will be able to diminish the taxes he would
otherwise have to impose upon the people.”
Once this well of wealth from the people has run dry, he will resort
to gaining money any way he can.
At this point the situation is grave, the tyrant is
ruthless. His eyes focused on his goal,
no one must oppose his will or they risk his wrath. The goal has been accomplished, and tyranny
is no longer needed. Carefully a tactic
must be devised to remove this scourge from the government.
Prevention of Tyranny
To keep democracy wholesome, some preventative
measures have been enforced in America.
Alexis De Tocqueville, writes on this topic during his travels through
America. Numerous instances of
prevention are found throughout his book Democracy in America. However one chapter is dedicated solely to
the maintenance of democracy, it is from here the most important ideals can be
gleaned.
To begin, America was founded upon biblical
principles. Most came from countries
where their religious freedom was being encroached upon. These people founded a new form of
Christianity, the democratic and republican sort. Many sects have been formed since then, and
the worship found in their churches varies as do night and day, but all agree
on the duties man owes one another.
Americans generally agree upon morality, and that strengthens the
democracy.
In the United States, religion governs not only
behavior but extends its influence to men’s minds. Very nearly
all in America profess some sort of religious affiliation. This may be out of genuine faith, or
sometimes fear. Even if the imposter
does not believe, his fear drives him to act as if he believes in Christian
morals. Either way, each influence the
majority to stay moral. One thing is
sure, if it were not for Christianity, the democratic republic would
collapse.
Laws contribute more to the maintenance of the
democratic republic in the united states than physical conditions of the
country and customs even more than laws. Physical causes in North and South America
are similar, but only North America sustains a prospering democracy. Arguably they are equal in fertility for
planting, and both offer boundless economic supplies for industry, so why does
democracy prosper in America? Religion
has been proven to have an effect, but joining the list are laws and
customs.
Laws and customs are not by themselves protectors of
democracy, but used wisely can be an effective tool to maintaining pure
democracy. Laws are important; American
laws are, therefore, good and must account for a great part of the success of
the democratic government in America but I do not believe they are the
principal cause. An interesting
proposal can be made here, Mexico has adopted federal law, and yet they still
lack good democracy.
Customs account for much of the success of
democracy. Whereas in the western
portion of the United States some disorder arises from the inexperienced and
somewhat primitive man residing there, in the eastern half democracy has
gradually permeated their customs, opinions, and social habits.
Summing it up
The path modern day Americans are taking is quite
unwise. Their thoughts are beginning to
turn as did the Athenians. Each man
pursues pleasure, mindless of the consequences which will befall
democracy. Their unchecked freedom,
leading into slavery. How much longer
can the democracy last?
The democracy truly is marvelous, the benefits
many. So much variety, each man free to
express his opinions. Differing so much
from any other government, all men given unchecked freedom. Is it wise to give up all this to become a
slave to corruption? Should the bug of
corruption become a pet, when it is that which will eventually destroy the
flower of democracy?
Tyranny is an awful spectacle, its true nature
revealed. The Tyrant changing from
friend to foe, never to be trusted. He
abuses his friends and closest allies, and worse yet for his enemies. People do not wish to be ruled by a Tyrant,
and yet when will the Tyrant become necessary for America?
Careful laws have been put in place to keep the Tyrant
in check, and leave democracy pure. If
the United States returns to its original background, the democracy is
protected. Americans have a religious
background, but many have strayed from it, their morals have been
corrupted. Hope remains but the path of
Athens is easy to take, and the tyrant will rule, without morality!
[1] Pensee 688
[2] 1 Cor. 13:4-8a, New King James Version
[3] Phaedrus, ln. 246b
[4] ibid. ln. 254a
[5] Ibid, 254e
[6] Ibid, 256b
[7] New King James Version here and subsequently.
[8] John 1:6, 7
[9] 1 John 2:10
[10] Genesis 6:5, New International Version
[11] 1 John 1:7, NKJV
1 The Lives of the Noble Greeks and Romans, Solon no. 18
2 The Lives of the Noble Greeks and Romans, Themitocles no. 2
3 The Lives of the Noble Greeks and Romans, Aristides no 7
4 The Lives of the Noble Greeks and Romans, Cimon no. 3
5 The Lives of the Noble Greeks and Romans, Pericles no. 16
6 The Lives of the Noble Greeks and Romans, Nicias no. 4
7 The Lives of the Noble Greeks and Romans, Lysander no. 7
8 The Lives of the Noble Greeks and Romans, Lysander no 7.
9 The Lives of the Noble Greeks and Romans, Lysander no. 8
Note: All quotes taken from Penguin Edition “The Rise and Fall of Athens: Nine Greek Lives”