Plato in Apology and Aeschylus in Eumenides - Essay Example

Plato in Apology and Aeschylus in Eumenides Jelena Petrovic The closing years of the fifth century BCE in Athens were tumultuous.The Peloponnesian War had been lost to Sparta and a division of the Spartan army garrisoned on the Acropolis. The democracy had been ousted in place of a group of thirty oligarchs—later to be called the Thirty Tyrants—who instituted a reign of terror against wealthy democrats, confiscating their properties and exiling or executing many. When at last, in 403 BCE, the democracy was reestablished, there was instituted a campaign of retribution against those perceived as having been allied with the Thirty. In their efforts to net the Thirty and their associates, these newly-restored democrats caught Socrates. Charged with being an associate of the Thirty and with subverting the thinking of Athenians, Socrates was brought to trial in 399 BCE. Plato’s Apology is his account of the proceedings against Socrates and, in particular, Socrates’ oratory at trial in his own defense.1 Thus, the Apology must be understood in the context of dramatic social changes taking place in Athens, particularly, the restoration of the Athenian tradition of democratic rule, and a pogrom to drive from Athens any vestige of the radical thinking associated with the Thirty. So, when we speak of reactionary sentiment in Athens at the time of Socrates’ trial, we are speaking of the force of the newly-restored democracy to return the city-state to the tradition of democratic principles.2 Plato’s Apology and Aeschylus’ Eumenides both present the transition from an old order to a new one and, in different ways, embody the human condition of duality. Whereas in the Apology Socrates pleads his case by asking questions that probe the deeper recesses of the mind, Aeschylus presents us with characters who engage in spirited debate and accusation. Thus, we are presented with two very different definitions of and perspectives on the subject of justice. Yet the entire spectrum of motivation toward and contemplation of justice is addressed in both. Let us first look at Aeschylus’ work. In Eumenides, the third in Aeschylus’ Oreseias trilogy, Apollo leads Orestes to kill his mother, Clytemnestra, who had previously killed her husband and Orestes’ father, Agamemnon. Orestes does Apollo’s bidding and commits matricide to avenge the murder of his father. Next follows an extremely complex argument but one representative of the state of Athens at the time of Aeschylus’ writing. A new order was emerging, and the composition of the pantheon shifting from the old to the new. A study of history suggests that, with the transition of power—whether religious or political—the concept of justice also changes: new laws are written, old ones repealed. Following his act of matricide, Orestes is pursued by the Furies, whose mission is to exact punishment on any who are otherwise unpunished. Apollo determines to stand by Orestes, insisting that the murder of Agamemnon by Clytemnestra cried out for justice. In support of Orestes, Apollo induces sleep upon the Furies. Knowing Orestes will not receive justice from them, he sends him to the goddess Athena, where the laws of Zeus might prevail on Orestes’ behalf. Though Apollo is powerful, the Furies are older in the pantheon than he, and thus immune to his power to destroy lesser deities. Yet they stand in stark contrast to Apollo and his new sense of justice: they are base and primal, Apollo is youthful and rational. The symbology of this contrast is powerful, demonstrating that old afflictions can be brought to their end by new ideas. In this case, the threadbare interpretation of justice as dispensed by the Furies is to be replaced by a more rational understanding as espoused by Apollo. Also, in this situation, by murdering his mother and recovering his right to the throne, Orestes has broken an old curse initiated by the acts of others. In sending Orestes to Athena, Apollo is certain that he will be exonerated and that his concept of justice will prevail. After Orestes has departed for Athens, the ghost of Clytemnestra appears demanding her own vengeance for her murder at the hands of her son. The Furies then awaken, insisting angrily that Apollo has acted wrongly by commanding Orestes to commit matricide, regardless of the purpose. This conflict between the Furies’ understanding of justice and Apollo’s reflects the logic of both sides of this argument; the Furies argue that the crime of matrilineal murder is a crime worse than Clytemnestra’s murder of Agamemnon because the bonds of blood are stronger than those of matrimony. Apollo counters that the bonds of marriage are as strong and valid as the bonds of blood because they are blessed by the gods. Here, again, the old form of justice is seen in contrast to the new. The Furies represent the ancient law that the bond between mother and child is so compelling and instinctive as to be understood by even the beasts. Apollo, on the other hand, represents a newer and higher understanding of justice based upon an equally-compelling bond—that of a chosen life partner. This choice is made from the heart and is volitional rather than being the result of a biological union. It is this appreciation for a bond imposed by choice that separates humans from other animals, creates a civilized society, and is the basis for a higher order for humanity. The core of this argument is that without the higher order of a court, dispensing justice in accordance to the laws of the land, vengeance would be one’s only recourse to wrongdoing. Aeschylus presents the complexities of determining guilt or innocence based upon strong emotions and tradition rather than logic and rationality. Unfortunately, both Apollo and the Furies each have a certain logic on their sides. In Athens, the goddess Athena hears the Furies, in whose world-view fear and violence are part and parcel of justice, and where the degree of punishment is proportional to the degree of the crime. Athena then determines that justice can best be served by holding court comprised of herself as arbiter and a jury of twelve male citizens of Athens. She is also made to suggest (by the pen of Aeschylus) that her court might serve as a model for all Athenians in the future. Reflected in this story are the very complexities of justice in a democracy; the gathering of facts, debate, representation and an impartial jury are the hallmarks of a civilized and intelligent society. In the end, this new system wins out over the old. The acts themselves are weighed in the balance of severity and Orestes is set free. Thus we see Aeschylus’ view of justice as being best served through a court system. However, the conundrum remains: murder is murder (no matter the reason), yet, on the other hand, self-defense is justified. It could be argued then that Orestes acted in a manner of self-defense (i.e., on behalf of one who could not act for himself), given the times and beliefs of a transitional paradigm. Plato views and defines justice with much more depth and eloquence. In his Apology, Socrates is on trial for disturbing the city of Athens by bringing to light the fact (“truth”) that through a complete lack of self-accountability, they have failed themselves as a society. By questioning religious dogma, Socrates has become an “enemy of the state,” so to speak. By cross-examining citizens in his gentle and logical manner, he brings about a transformation that challenges the present authority of Athens; the city leaders fear that anarchy will prevail should people begin to think for themselves. We have here, as in the previous tale, a modified act of revenge: the city was, in a sense, put on trial by Socrates for its neglect of rational thought and introspection, so now Socrates has been placed on trial so that the city can avenge itself and re-establish authority as it sees fit. Rather than appealing to arguments of blood and murder, Plato’s Apology reflects justice as a rather warped system in which another dichotomy presents itself—the question of virtue. Rather than an accusation of such obvious acts as murder or thievery, Socrates is accused, in a sense, of attempting to murder the conventions of custom and the reverse the thinking of unquestioning minds that pass that custom to the next generation (without regard as to whether such conventions are for the greater good of the community). Socrates was threatening the old order—as was Apollo—but in a very different way. Socrates intent was to raise the awareness of virtue for no other purpose than the betterment of humanity at large in Athens. At work against Socrates in the Athenian system of justice was his status as a non-Athenian. He was an educator and a foreigner. He taught their youth the virtues, how to think and prioritize and value citizenship. He taught them how to think, not what to think, and that was his crime. Those in positions of power wanted the citizenry to remain under their control by way of doing as they were told. Standing in his own defense, Socrates denied that he knew anything of what is the ideal. Instead, he claimed to be a seeker, one continually transformed through self-improvement by self-understanding. Through Plato, Socrates said of the charges against him: What do the slanderers say? They shall be my prosecutors, and I will sum up their words in an affidavit. "Socrates is an evil-doer, and a curious person, who searches into things under the earth and in heaven, and he makes the worse appear the better cause; and he teaches the aforesaid doctrines to others." That is the nature of the accusation […] but the truth is, O men of Athens, that God only is wise; and in this oracle he means to say that the wisdom of men is little or nothing; he is not speaking of Socrates, he is only using my name as an illustration, as if he said, He, O men, is the wisest, who, like Socrates, knows that his wisdom is in truth worth nothing. (Plato Apology). Independent of religion, Socrates sought to liberate his own mind from the confines of the known and practiced to expand beyond the paltry definitions of the religious order of the time. This type of freedom was thought of as very dangerous, and still is. By probing politicians, merchants, scholars and poets and leading them through the flawed labyrinth of their own minds, Socrates inadvertently humiliated the wrong people. By leading them to reveal to themselves that they really did not know much at all—a process that could have brought about their own attainment of “wisdom”—he instead made them his enemies. Of course, their revenge was to put Socrates on trial even though he had not harmed anyone physically or stolen anything. One of Socrates’ more explosive theories was that wrongdoing harmed the doer more than the victim. This was, to the Athenians, a blatantly heretical idea, since crime was crime, plain and simple, and deserved punishment. Yet Socrates’ statements fell on deaf ears in court, for the ears that heard his defense were not capable of understanding the depth from which his words came. Socrates pointed to the injustice of his trial insisting that he did not commit any intentional wrongdoing. He continued by insisting that, rather than putting him on trial, the leaders of Athens ought to have explained to him his wrongdoing so that he could have corrected his course. The factor of instilling fear as a means of promoting social order again showed itself, but Socrates was unimpressed. Instead, he pointed out that, as he had no fear of death, he would not be dissuaded from seeking justice since at some point or other everyone must die. The Athenian court called for 500 jurors to hear Socrates’ case. Their verdict was “guilty,” and so punishments were proposed. Since Socrates was a lover of truth above all else, he did not seek to sway the system by displaying extreme emotions or by presenting his family to the court. To Socrates, the facts were as they were and needed no embellishment, no appeal to emotion, other than his elucidation of them in pleading his case. Thus we see that then as now, an appeal to fact can be easily swayed by emotional spectacle. Plato’s Apology presents Socrates as a seeker of truth, a teacher of wisdom, and a humanitarian, but to the people Socrates had offended, he was a criminal. Once all was considered, Socrates chose death rather than exile, and the city had its vengeance. In comparing these two works, Eumenides and the Apology, it is important to remember that one is rooted in myth whereas the other in fairly credible history. Yet, the similarities are striking: the protagonists in both are on trial, the charges against both protagonists grow from the clash between the old and new orders, both are accused of subverting tradition. Obvious, also, is the power of myth to mirror truth found in the concrete world: the Furies’ death grip on tradition is replayed in the Athenian democrats’ efforts to protect that tradition from the likes of Socrates. Aristotle, in his Poetics, defined tragedy as “[…] an imitation of an action that is serious, complete, and of a certain magnitude […] through pity and fear effecting the proper purgation of these emotions.” (Aristotle, Poetics). In this sense, we could say that both Eumenides and the Apology are tragic tales. Both elicit the emotions of pity and fear, and both, through the exposition of the character of their protagonists, afford the audience (i.e., the attendee or reader) the opportunity to purge those same emotions. In Eumenides, we experience the testing of Orestes as he is hounded by the Furies, flees to Athens, and there is placed on trial. In his appeal to a new and higher order of justice, Orestes first submits himself to the law. Clearly admitting his deed, he calls on Apollo as both expositor of the law and advocate for it: It is thine hour, Apollo—speak the law, Averring if this deed were justly done; For done it is, and clear and undenied. But if to thee this murders cause seem right Or wrongful, speak—that I to these may tell. (Aeschylus Eumenides). The dramatic tension is heightened by the fear we both sense in Orestes and feel for him. We are empathetic toward his plight as we remember our own trials. The tension grows as each of the judges casts his ballot. Athena then voices her opinion before the ballots are counted: Mine is the right to add the final vote, And I award it to Orestes cause […] I vouch myself the champion of the man, […] Thus will I not too heinously regard A womans death who did her husband slay, The guardian of her home; and if the votes Equal do fall, Orestes shall prevail. (Aeschylus Eumenides). The ballots are counted and the judges have deadlocked. Athena’s final vote frees Orestes, and we breathe a collective sign of relief. Our empathy and fear are purged—together with his. A similar purgation is experienced as we move through the courtroom drama in the Apology. Socrates presents his defense, yet refuses to pander to the emotions of the court by parading his family before them. We pity his wife and children. We fear for their pending loss—for children who must grow up fatherless and bearing the ignominy of this trial. We fear for the fate of Socrates (though we already know the outcome). The jury’s decision is announced and Socrates is condemned, yet our empathy and fear are again purged as they give way to grief, anger and frustration born of injustice. But Socrates rises above his emotions (and ours) as he proposes his own sentence—death. It is in this that his true nature—his character—is revealed, and our emotions are again purged by his heroic stand. In enumerating the essential elements of tragedy, Aristotle considered character as second only to plot in its importance. Aristotle defined character as “[…] that which reveals moral purpose, showing what kind of things a man chooses or avoids. Speeches, therefore, which do not make this manifest, or in which the speaker does not choose or avoid anything whatever, are not expressive of character.” (Aristotle Poetics). Orestes’ character—his “moral purpose”—is first revealed in his decision to avenge the murder of his father, all the while knowing the consequences of that decision. Later, at his trial, Orestes’ character is again evident as he—like Socrates—submits himself to the law rather than mounting an appeal to mercy or emotion. In the case of both these protagonists, we are caught up in the tension between a strict adherence to the law, and the costly penalty it will impose upon an honorable man—a man of character. It is undeniable that both Socrates and his accusers knew well the story of Orestes and of Aeschylus’ stage adaptation of that myth. It could also be suggested that the parallels could not have been lost on all who were present at Socrates’ trial. We then are left to wonder why the lessons of Orestes’ prosecution by the Furies, Athena’s decision to temper the law with her new-found wisdom, and her ability to broker an armistice with the vengeful Furies seem to have been overlooked by the jury hearing the case of Socrates.3 The new role opened to the Furies by Athena worked for the good of all—including the vengeful goddesses themselves. How is it that Socrates’ jury failed to apply that same truth to his case? Orestes was freed leading to a deeper understanding and application of the law. However, Socrates was condemned and Athenian society, and all of humankind with them, were denied the wisdom of one of the greatest minds born of Western civilization. Therein lie the makings of real tragedy. As one relives these two epic conflicts between religious dogma and critical thinking, tradition and innovation, the law and mercy, it is impossible to avoid the application to our own society of the lessons conveyed through them. Despite human progress in technology, we remain fearful of any thing, person or idea presenting itself in opposition to tradition. We fear those who would teach our children to think critically—the earth was created in six 24-hour days regardless of any fossil evidence to the contrary! Our society seems more and more prone toward a “one-size-fits-all” application of justice and punishment. We resist, sometimes violently, those who would call our ideas or beliefs into question or who would challenge us to question authority or conventional wisdom. We shrink back and allow the narrow thinkers among us to hound to ground any who challenge the status quo or insist on accountability to future generations. In spite of our abilities to better understand and shape our physical world, our inner selves have remained, for all these ensuing centuries, unchanged. We are still the furies of our own intellects and continue to seek to remove from among us any who would cause us to look, with any measure of honesty, either beyond or into ourselves. Bibliography Aeschylus, Eumenidies (458 BCE). Morshead, E.D.A. (trans.). MIT Internet Classics Archive. Retrieved 14 December, 2005 from: Aeschylus, The Oresteia – Agamemnon, The Libation Bearers, The Eumenide (n.d.). Fagles, Robert (trans.). Penguin Group. Aristotle, Poetics (n.d.). Butcher, S. H. (trans.). MIT Internet Classics Archive. Retrieved 15 December, 2005 from: Plato, Apology (n.d.). Jowett, Benjamin (trans.). MIT Internet Classics Archive. Retrieved 19 October 2005 from: Read More