Philoctetes - Sophocles

Philoctetes centers around two interrelated themes; first, to what extent does an individual owe his society? Despite being jaded, neglected or abused is the individual responsible for the life and happiness of his fellow citizens? Second, to what extent do the ends justify the means? Does the harm of one outweigh the benefit of saving many?

During the height of the Trojan War, while guiding his fellow chieftains to a particular altar along their way to Troy, Philoctetes is bitten by a snake which leaves him crippled and repugnant to those around him who must continually be subjected to his festering and noxious wound. While the chieftains attempt to prepare their sacrifices and pay homage to the gods, none can concentrate with the perpetual cries of anguish coming from Philoctetes, a soundtrack that does not create an atmosphere of confidence and victory.

At last, Odysseus can no longer handle the constant barrage of screams, and the never ending foul smell and he maroons Philoctetes on the deserted island of Lemnos, where Philoctetes is left to live in a cave for ten years, with only the bow of Heracles as a companion. His lot is truly dire, and as he sits in his little cave, his snake bitten heal isn't the only thing that festers; his heart has become a cesspool of hate which he nourishes with a monologue of  bitterness.

And then the Greeks receive an oracle that the only way Troy can be taken is with the help of Philoctetes and his bow, so Odysseus (who Philoctetes hates more than anyone else) and Neoptolemus, the son of Achilles are sent to fetch the castaway. This is problematic, because as mentioned above, Philoctetes hates Odysseus...so how than can they convince him to let bygones be bygones and come along to save a country that has abandoned him? Odysseus believes the only way to convince Philoctetes to either come along or give up his weapons is to be cunning with a touch of guile and he debates with Neoptolemus who would rather be upfront and let the art of persuasion work its magic. Neoptolemus, the son of a hero, who has grown up listening to tales of his fathers chivalry, must now, as his first assignment, cheat a helpless cripple. And as he embarks on his mission, he is nervous and conscious stricken.  

As Neoptolemus slowly makes his way along the beachy shore of Lemnos, he ruminates over his recent debate with Odysseus.

Neoptolemus: When counsels pain my ear, son of Laertes, then I abhor to aid them with my hand. It is not in my nature to compass anything by evil arts, nor was it, as men say, in my sire's. But I am ready to take a man by force, not by fraud; having the use of one foot only he cannot prevail in fight against us who are so many. And yet, having been sent to act with you, I am loth to be called traitor. But my wish, O King, is to do right and miss my aim rather than succeed by evil ways.
Odysseus: Son of brave sire, time was when I too, in my youth, had a slow tongue and a ready hand; but now, when I come forth to the proof, I see that words, not deeds, are ever the masters among men.
Neoptolemus: What then is your command? What but that I should lie?
Odysseus: I say that you are to take Philoctetes by guile.

So Neoptolemus crafts a story of betrayal and as he finds the crippled Philoctetes he begins his narrative. He too has been deceived by Odysseus and he has fled the Greeks. Philoctetes does not need much encouragement, after being alone for ten years anyone speaking Greek within a proximity of five miles is destined to be his new BFF. After listening to his new friend's tale of betrayal and woe, Philoctetes says it is a story remarkably similar to his own, mentioning "well I know that (Odysseus) would lend his tongue to any base pretext, to any villainy, if thereby he could hope to compass some dishonest end." This last barb hits a little too close to home...isn't this exactly what Neoptolemus is in the process of doing? And in a moment, after fully gaining the trust of Philoctetes, while he is in a paroxysm of pain, Philoctetes hands his bow to Neoptolemus who now find himself in possession of the only thing that has kept this helpless cripple alive and his only belonging besides his rags and festering wounds that he can call his own.

He is about to run back to the ship that is quietly waiting along the coast for him and the bow of Heracles, when he is overcome by the suffering and heartache of Philoctetes. He instead tells him of the plot against him and after a bit of hesitation gives the bow back and tries to persuade Philoctetes to come with him to Troy where his victory has already been prophesied, but to no avail. Philoctetes is enraged by the audacity of a further betrayal, by taking his bow Neoptolemus has despoiled him of life and its return is only the merest salve on a gaping wound.

Odysseus eventually shows up and tries to persuade Philoctetes to put this recent betrayal behind him and return with them to Troy where he will "be the peer of the bravest, with whom you are destined to take Troy by storm and raze it to dust"...but the flattery and promises of grandeur do little to assuage his cosmic black hole of bitterness.

At the last minute Heracles shows up and convinces Philoctetes to go where mythic tradition requires him to go.

Heracles:...You shall go with yonder man to the Trojan city, where, first, you shall be healed of your sore malady. Then chosen out as foremost in prowess of the host, with my bow you shall slay Paris, the author of these ills. You shall sack Troy; you shall carry the spoils to your home, for the joy of Poeas your sire, even to your own Oetaean heights. And whatever spoils you receive from the host, take from them a thank offering for my bow to my pyre...

Heracles makes a compelling argument/ he's a god and no one can really argue with him, so Philoctetes, being persuaded,  puts his bitterness aside and makes his way to Troy for his glory and vindication.

According to Simon Goldhill, in his essay "The Language of Tragedy: rhetoric and communication" (The Cambridge Companion to Greek Tragedy, edited by P.E. Easterling) Goldhill says "Deception, persuasion, and the morality of how language is to be used are constant subjects of discussion in the play: it is a key sign of how men interrelate. Significantly, Philoctete's first delight in meeting Neoptolemus after many years of solitude is 'to hear a Greek voice again': that this voice should be a lure in a deceptive plot is typical of the ironies, powers and deception of language..."

Women of Trachis - Sophocles

"There is a saying among men, put forth long ago, that you cannot rightly judge whether a mortal's lot is good or evil before he dies. But I know, even before I have passed to the world of death, that my life is sorrowful and bitter..."
- Deianeira

Heracles opens with Deianeira bemoaning her lot as an unloved and routinely abandoned wife. While Heracles is off completing his labors and winning fame and glory, Deianeira sits at home and thinks about her other suitor, the river-god Achelous. Would her life have been different if she had swallowed her repulsion at the chimerical wooer, constantly changing shape between a bull, a serpent with shiny coils, and a man with the face of an ox...at least he would be a more constant presence. Instead, while Deianeira's praying that she might die rather than have to face a marriage bed with Achelous, along comes the glorious son of Zeus and Alcmena and challenges the dreaded Achelous for her hand.  

What a moment! One second you're thinking "crap...looks like I'm going to marry a water serpent." And the next second along comes the exemplar hero, all rugged and immortal. Yet, for Deianeira, married life did not go as she had planned.

"Since I have been joined to Heracles as his chosen bride fear after fear has haunted me on his account; one night brings trouble, and the next night in turn, drives it out. And then children were born to us, whom he has only seen as the farmer sees his distant field, which he visits at seedtime and once again at harvest. Such was the life that kept him journeying to and fro, in the service of a certain master."

Deianeira is referring,of course, to Eruystheus, who spent twelve years coming up with twelve virtually impossible tasks for Heracles to perform; these tasks being ordained by the priestess of Apollo and when completed would obtain for Heracles immortality. So, Heracles has a lot on his plate and parenting isn't really a priority. And while he runs around, becoming a legend, Deianeira is left to parent, alone and isolated. 

"For Deianeira, as I hear, hath ever an aching heart; she, the battle prize of old, is now like some bird lorn of its mate; she can never lull her yearning nor stay her tears; haunted by a sleepless fear for her absent lord, she pines on her anxious, widowed couch, miserable in her foreboding of mischance."

What Deianeira does not know is that Hera has had it out for Heracles from the beginning. Classic Zeus, had to run around and get beautiful, but mortal Alcmena knocked up. Hera, obviously annoyed by Zeus' constant, exhaustive infidelities decides she will destroy Heracles and she eventually smites him with temporary madness, during which he kills his wife Megara and his three children.  

After Heracles wins the hand of Deianeira, they head back to Tiryns and on their way must cross the river Evenus; at the rivers edge they happen upon the centaur Nessus, who offers to carry Deianeira upon his back. Midway across the river, Nessus gets a little frisky and Deianeira shrieks; Heracles immediately turns and shoots a feathered arrow that had been dipped in the poison of Hydra. In his last breaths the centaur tells Deianeira to gather some of his blood as a potion that would be efficacious in preventing Heracles from loving another woman. Thinking nothing of it and obviously not remembering the ancient proverb: "The gifts of enemies are no gifts and bring no good," Deianeira keeps the potion hidden for the unfortunate day when she may have need of it.

Now, completing his last labor, Heracles has made a pact that if he has not returned in fifteen months he would either be dead or return to uninterrupted peace. The fifteen months are up and Deianeira is anxious and worried not knowing what to expect.

As she ruminates about her luckless, neglected heart, a messenger approaches telling her that none other than Heracles is on his way home! And he is sending along a war bride, princess Iole...this does not bode well for Deianeira. The years have been unkind to her and here, before her, is a fair maiden that Heracles declared war for when he was unable to woo her into being his paramour. Now after conquering her country and killing her father, she has been dragged back to Tiryns to wait for the return of Heracles alongside Deianeira.

Deianeira, distraught, remembers the secret potion, and after quickly dousing one of Heracles' cloaks liberally with the stuff, sends it away with the messenger saying it is a token of her love for Heracles and a gift for his joyous return. Feeling nervous about the potency of the secret concoction, Deianeira oscillates between feeling joy that Heracles is finally, unalterably hers...and a growing unease and foreboding. She cautions the choir "do not act with zeal if you act without light" and waits for her husband to return.

Meanwhile, Heracles, after being given Deianeira's gift he is slowly being suffocated/flayed to death by the poisonous cloak. His only thought is revenge and with each agonizing step he demands that Deianeira be brought to him so that he can embrace her and she too can taste the agony she has wrought. But after hearing that her suspicions were confirmed and that she has essentially murdered her husband, Deianeira kills herself, unable to cope with the misery she has inflicted.

"So I do not know, unlucky me, where to turn my thoughts; I only see that I have done a fearful deed. Why or wherefore should the monster, in his death-throes, have shown good will to me, on whose account he was dying? Impossible! No, he was cajoling me, in order to slay the man who had smitten him; and I know this too late, when it is of no help." 

Like Ajax, impaling himself on the sword of his enemy, Heracles is killed by an enemy of the past, and as he realizes that his death is in accordance with a prophecy, he quickly insists that he be carried up a hill and burned on a pyre. His last demand that his son, Hyllus, marry Iole, his lover and ignorant accomplice to his death. Hyllus complies, only because she is insanely beautiful. As the mortal part of Heracles is burned away, he gains immortality, ascending to Oylmpus, there to be reconciled with Hera and to marry her daughter, the slender-ankled Hebe.

As the play ends, Hyllus chants to the chorus: "No man forsees the future; but the present is fraught with mourning for us, and with shame for the powers above, and verily with anguish beyond compare for him who endures this doom. Maidens, come ye also, nor linger at the house; ye who have lately seen a dread death, with sorrows manifold and strange. In all there is naught but Zeus."

Electra - Sophocles

Electra is super over the top emotional. When we first meet her she is mourning the death of her Father, a good cause for emotions, but she could have used a lecture or two from the Stoics. She's not really the heroine of the play, rather she's more of a lamenting foil, carrying the plot forward with her histrionics.

We learn from Electra's lamenting, that her mother, Clytemnestra murdered Electra's father, Agamemnon, after he returned victorious from the Trojan War with his war bride Casandra.  Clytemnestra murdered them, ostensibly for offering Electra's sister Iphigenia as a sacrifice to the gods to ensure success in battle. Clytemnestra argues it was a just killing:

"Your father - this is your constant pretext - was slain by me. Yes, by me - I know it well; it admits of no denial. For Justice slew him and not I alone, Justice whom it was your part to support if you had been right-minded. This Father of your whom you are ever lamenting was the one man of the Greeks who had the heart to sacrifice your sister to the gods - he the father, who had not shared the mother's pangs."

Electra's rebuttal is that rather than fighting for Justice, Clytemnestra, having taken Agamemnon's cousin as a lover, killed Agamemnon to get him out of the way of her tryst; far from a just killing. Furthermore, she argues, rather than offering Iphigenia of his own volition, Artemis demanded the offering be made in recompense for the life of a stag Agamemnon killed and then foolishly boasted of its slaughter. Who can argue with a god? So while Agamemnon had no choice in the matter, Clytemnestra could have handled matters much differently.

Now for the morally ambiguous part: so while Electra mourns the death of her father, she plots the death of her mother in the same breath, perceiving no moral inconsistencies with this behavior. When she can't convince her sister Chrysothemis to embark with her on a plan to murder her mother and her mother's lover, she wails and moans and wrings her hands anticipating her imminent banishment.

Clytemnestra, having temporarily quieted Electra, proceeds to offer her supplications to the gods. She has had a terrible dream that Agamemnon has returned and planted his scepter in the floor of their house. She has a premonition that her son Orestes, if still alive, will be responsible for her death.  All of a sudden a stranger enters with sad news and an elaborate story about the death of Orestes, (Electra interjects: "I am lost, hapless one, I am undone!" With Clytemnestra quickly shushing her, telling the stranger to continue his story and trying her best not to look too overjoyed.)

The stranger proceeds to tell a stirring account of the chariot race where poor Orestes was trampled. Only there was no chariot race, and Orestes is waiting in the eaves to happily come to his sisters aid and murder their mother, which he does promptly.

Electra: "Orestes, how fare you?"
Orestes: "All is well within the house if Apollo's oracle spoke well.
Electra: "The guilty one is dead?"
Orestes: "Fear no more that your proud mother will ever put you to dishonor."

Very proud of themselves they gleefully plot the murder of their step-father, Aegisthus.  As Aegisthus comes on stage expecting to be met with the body of Orestes he sees a prostrate form covered in a shroud. Electra goads him into removing the covering from the face and instead of the face of Orestes, he sees that of Clytemnestra. Quickly he realizes he has walked into a trap and as he begs to be allowed to speak one final word, his demands fall on hardened and closed ears...

Electra: "In heavens name, brother, do not suffer him to speak further or plead at length! When mortals are in the meshes of fate, how can such respite avail one who is to die? No, slay him forthwith and cast his corpse to the creatures from whom such as he should have burial, far from our sight! To me nothing but this can make amends for the woes of the past."

Ajax - Sophocles

Sophocles (497-406)

After the death of Achilles, his armor was to be given to the worthiest of his successors, presumably Ajax, the king of Salamis and warrior of Agamemnon. Ajax, second only to Achilles in his extraordinary strength was also incommensurately headstrong and arrogant. When Ajax was passed over and instead the coveted coat of arms was bequeathed to Odysseus, Ajax' arrogance was only then surpassed by his hatred for Odysseus. In the Odyssey, when the two meet in Hades, Ajax turns his back refusing to speak or even acknowledge him.

As his hatred festers, Ajax develops a plan that will give him the ultimate satisfaction and somewhat assuage his pride; he will sneak up on Odysseus and the Achaean leaders in the middle of the night and slaughter them all; saving Odysseus and a few others, he will tie them up, drag them back to his tent where they will be shamed and humiliated to his hearts content; a little scourging here and there for good measure. He gleefully embarks on his plan, while unbeknownst to him the gods have had a bit of a tete-a-tete and have a different fate in store for our protagonist.

A messenger describes a conversation Ajax had with his father: "...His father said to him: "My son, seek victory in arms, but seek it always with the help of heaven." Then haughtily and foolishly he answered: "Father, with the help of the gods even a man of nought might win the mastery, but I trust to bring that glory within my grasp even without their aid."

If that wasn't bad enough, while Athena was urging him on in battle he has the audacity to say: " Queen, stand beside the other Greeks; where Ajax stands battle will never break our line."

The hornets nest has been kicked. The gods stand back appalled, none more so than Athena, who takes it upon herself to teach Ajax a lesson or two about fate and mortality.

As Ajax is creeping up on Odysseus and his men, Athena inflicts him with madness, wherewith he mistakes the army's livestock for men and after an expansive slaughtering, he drags his captives back to his tent, a few bulls, shepherd dogs and fleecy prisoners in tow.

Athena, to add further insult to injury, brings Odysseus to witness his rivals insanity, saying: "But I will show you this madness openly, so that when you have seen it you may proclaim it to all the Greeks. Be steadfast and of good courage, not look for evil from the man, for I will turn  the vision of his eyes away and keep them from seeing your face."

Athena finds Ajax sitting amongst the slaughtered animals, and with Odysseus looking on, further taunts him, asking him what he's doing and what is intentions for Odysseus are.

Athena: "...And the son of Laertes- in what plight have you left him? Has he escaped you?"
Ajax: "What, you ask me about that accursed fox?"
Athena: "Yes, about Odysseus, your adversary."
Ajax: "No guest so welcome, lady. He is sitting in the house - in bonds. I do not mean for him to die just yet."
Athena: "What would you do first? What larger advantage would you win?"
Ajax: "First he will be bound to a pillar beneath my roof-"
Athena: "The unlucky man; what will you do to him?"
Ajax: "-and have his back crimsoned with the scourge before he dies."
Athena: "Do not torture the wretch so cruelly."
Ajax: "In all else, Athena, have your will, I say; but his doom shall be no other than this."

After goading him on, they leave Ajax to revile a poor white-footed ram and Athena asks Odysseus, still looking on, if anyone can now doubt the strength of the gods. Odysseus responds with pity for Ajax, because he is "bound fast to a dread doom." He tells Athena that he realizes that "...we are all but phantoms, all we who live, or fleeting shadows."

And then, while the curses have barely left his lips, his arm raised in the act of flogging, Athena grants Ajax his sanity and then, by slow painful steps as he regains his reason, he sees the butchered livestock surrounding him and he cries "Alas the mockery! How I have been shamed!"

Tecmessa: "...Like a southern gale, fierce in its first onset, his rage is abating; and now, in his right mind, he has new pain. To look on self-wrought woes, when no other has had a hand in them - this lays sharp pangs to the soul."

Ajax, now completely humiliated realizes the only option he has left is to kill himself. In a further twist of fate, the sword Hector, a Trojan prince and one of the greatest Trojan warriors, gave him after their duel, in which  neither could outmaneuver the other, resulting in a stalemate and exchanging of gifts...Ajax now props in the earth and impales himself, the rivulets of blood engendering a brood of hyacinths. In his death the Trojans are victorious. As Teucer, Ajax's half brother, uncovers his body he cries "Now do you see how Hector, though dead, was to destroy you at last!" (Hector, who was given Ajax's girdle, was tied to Achilles chariot with it, his corpse being dragged around the walls of Troy...fulfilling the proverb "The gifts of enemies are no gift, and bring no good.")

Teucer: " ...I at least would deem that these things, and all things ever are planned by gods for men..."

Enter Menelaus. He argues that the corpse of Ajax must not be buried, but be left as carrion  for the birds. His fate is the will of the gods and "if we were not able to control him in while he lived, at least we shall rule him in death..." Ajax brought this upon himself is his pride and arrogance against the gods, anyone who boast  of their own strength, set themselves up to be destroyed by a light blow, (see David and Goliath or the Greek victory over the Persians at the Battle of Salamis.)

Menelaus: "...No, where fear is proper let me see fear too established; let us not dream that we can act according to our desires without paying the price in our pains..."  

Finally, Odysseus enters the fray (Teucer for burial, Agamemnon and Menelaus against) and argues that Ajax should be buried with respect.  He cautions Agamemnon: "Do not delight in gains which sully honor, son of Atreus."  Agamemnon argues that Ajax was Odysseus' mortal enemy and that they all would have been scourged to death if Athena hadn't intervened...what right does a man like this have of a decent burial? Should not, as an enemy, he be further humiliated in death? But Odysseus contends that many are friends at one time and enemies the next and for Ajax, "his worth weighs with me more than his enmity."

As the play comes to a close, Odysseus, with further grace, decides not to participate in the burial, giving preference to Ajax's pride and as Teucer prepares a fire for holy ablution the chorus cautions:

"Many things shall mortals learn by seeing; but before he sees no man may read the future or his fate."

It's interesting how much of an emphasis there is on destiny. Men are hardly masters of their fate or captains of their souls ("Invictus," 1875), but rather life is a delicate balance between appeasing the gods and of pursuing honor. Once again, when Ajax is tested against Odysseus, it is Odysseus that not only wins the coat of arms but who also becomes the hero, immortalized for his noble character.

Persians - Aeschylus

Aeschylus (525 BC-456 BC)

September. 480 BC. After a decisive victory against Leonidas' 300 at the Battle of Thermopylae, the Persian army, under King Xerxes, now having conquered most of Greece, floods into Athens razing it to the ground. All that is left of the Greco military contingent is their inconsequentially small navy, and as Xerxes prepares presumably the last amphibious battle of the Second Greco- Persian conflict, he can almost taste the victory and eternal deification.

The play opens with Atossa, King Darius' widow, waking from a nightmare with a premonition, a somewhat strange feeling for the Queen mother of the civilized world to have. Persia's strength and will have been virtually unchallenged as first Darius and now Xerxes have conquered more nations than any other previous empire, yet Atossa worries that the gods will punish them for their arrogance.

As the chorus describes the restless wives and daughters at home, alone in their beds, waiting for their husbands, fathers and sons to return, they too augur an ill sense of foreboding.

Chorus: "But how crafty, the scheme of God! What mere man outleaps it? What human foot jumps fast enough to tear loose from its sudden grip? For with gestures of kindness as bait, Blind Folly fawns a man into her net, nor can he hope to work loose and escape unhurt...(137-149)

Here double beds, bereft of men, are filled with tears, and each wife, who has rushed to war a headstrong spear, is left to spend her gentle elegance, bereft of love, one yoked but alone." (173-181)

Atossa describes her dream to the chorus, which is comprised of old men and regents of Persia. In her dream Xerxes is trying to subdue two women, one robed in Persian luxury, the other in a plain Greek tunic; the Greek woman challenges Xerxes authority and ultimately shatters the yoke she wears and topples Xerxes from his throne, shredding his kingly tunic and shaming him.

The chorus assures her "all shall turn out well"...but an ominous cloud still overshadows Atossa as she waits to hear from the front. And then before Atossa's fears can be fully assuaged, a messenger comes with the terrible news that all is lost.

Messenger: " Listen! cities that people vast Asia, Listen! Persian earth, great harbor of wealth, One stroke, one single stroke, has smashed great prosperity, and Persia's flower is gone, cut down. Bitter, being the first to tell you the bitter news, but need presses me to unroll the full disaster. Persians, our whole expedition is lost." (117-125)

The chorus, not the soothsayers they thought they were, are shocked and quickly despair.

Chorus: "Life stretches long, too long for grey old men who hear of all hope undone..." (131-134)

The messenger then begins to describe the concatenation. Although the Persian fleet greatly outnumbered the Greeks, they were lured into the narrow channel around the island of Salamis, thinking they would create a blockade so the timorous Greek sailors would be surrounded and outflanked, but in the narrow channel, all of a sudden their great numbers became a hindrance and as they were wedged, ship upon ship, the waters became unnavigable and the Persian contingent became sitting ducks, trapped and waiting to be slaughtered.

Messenger: "Then the Greek ships, seizing their chance, swept in circling and struck and overturned our hulls, and saltwater vanished before our eyes - shipwrecks filled it, and drifting corpses. Shores and reefs filled up with our dead and every able ship under Persia's command broke order, scrambling to escape. We might have been tuna or netted fish, for they kept on, spearing and gutting us with splintered oars and bits of wreckage, while moaning and screams drowned out the sea noise till Night's black face closed it all in."

Although the Athenians that had barricaded themselves on the Acropolis had been defeated, the Persians are wary of these Greek gods that seemed to tip the scales of luck and cut the Persian forces down, clearly their own gods have abandoned them.

Atossa and the chorus decide to chant the ghost of Darius up from the grave to get his opinion on the matter at hand. After hearing about his headstrong sons mishandling of the army, and  Xerxes attempt to yoke the Hellespont and close the mighty Bosporos, Darius is convinced the gods have enacted the law of Hybris-āte; a law that in its simplest definition entails the "visitation of God's ferocious punishment on anything that is unduly great, whether physical or mental." (C.J.Herington, Persians, (1981) p. 9)

His response after hearing that the Persian army, victorious under his command, has been destroyed is thus:

"Mankind is bound to suffer, the hurts of being human. Many evils spawned in the sea and many on land, for you who must die. And the longer you live the greater the pain....when a man speeds toward his own ruin, a god gives him help..." (1145-1153)(1203-1209)

As the play ends, Xerxes mourns the loss of his men and the catastrophe that has befallen him.

To an audience of Greeks, this play, written only a few years after these events took place, would have been the ultimate voyeuristic pleasure. What better than to watch a play, from the perspective of your mortal enemy, and have an insiders view into their mental anguish at the news of their empires destruction. The play ends with Xerxes and and chorus weeping, but I presume the audience would be standing on their feet rejoicing in the divine retribution their one stubborn little country exacted.

The Assemblywomen - Aristophanes

Aristophanes (446 BC- 386 BC)

Athens. Sometime during the Corinthian War (395-386), the Assembly has traditionally been poorly attended and ordinary citizens have been discouraged from speaking up, but after Agyrrhius successfully proposes the introduction of assembly pay, for the first time the Assembly becomes crowded and men rush to be the first 6000 into the assembly and receive their 3 obols. This creates an atmosphere of political experimentation, where endless theories are created and ideal systems of government are debated. It is in this climate that Aristophanes writes his satire.

Our heroine is Praxagora, and like Lysistrata, she has grown jaded by the ineptitude of the men to govern society and decides to take matters into her own hands. But while Lysistrata's solution is temporary, withhold sex until the men call a truce to the Peloponnesian War and return home to a more sedentary lifestyle, Praxagora wants a completely new system of government. She decides to create a communal utopia under female governance. Polis management should be like household management and her plan is to replace the polis with an expansive household. As she prepares to approach the Assembly, dressed as a man, her compatriots likewise dressed and in tow, she hones her argument, demonstrating why women would be natural leaders.

After a long monologue arguing for the steadfastness and predictability of women, who choose to stay with the tried and true customs rather than this constant political muddling she ends with these final points:

"Consider only these points: First, as mothers they'll want to protect our soldiers; and second who would be quicker to send extra rations than the one who bore you? There's nobody more inventive at getting funds than a woman, and when in power she'll never get cheated, since women themselves are past masters at cheating. I'll pass over my other points. Adopt my resolution and you'll lead happy lives."

The Assemblymen, after being successfully duped by Praxagora's fake beard, believe her to be an intelligent male orator with an intriguing political solution to their current stagnation. Praxagora humbly takes the role of government officiator and rather than staying true to the customs of yore, instead changes everything. No more work, the slaves will see to everything. The government halls will turn into dining rooms for the now communal dinners, all private property will be abolished and citizens will be encouraged to bring their belongings to the government for proper utilization. The family unit is no longer necessary, instead all older women will be seen as mothers and all older men as fathers, and since no one will be able to verify their paternity no crimes will be committed against the elders and all will equally support and care for them. Any man may copulate with any woman, as long as he first makes the old and ugly a priority...and here is where things begin to break down.

What begins as a utopian sexual revolution goes terribly awry and becomes more of a sexual revulsion. Even when the only form of taxation is obligatory sex with the old and ugly, this tax is ultimately too high a cost to pay, even for paradise.

To illustrate this point we are first introduced to Blepyrus, Praxagora's constipated old codger of a husband. As he wakes up and finds his wife and his cloak missing he wanders outside to whisper sweet nothings to his bowels. A neighbor is produced as a foil for him to continue to explicitly talk about his digestive system. The only thing that can momentarily preoccupy him from his troubles, is the thought that he's slept through the assembly and therefore won't receive his 3 obols for doing nothing but taking up space.  When Praxagora returns and tells them new legislation has passed making working unnecessary, all political necessities will be seen to by the women and all manual labor will be seen to by the slaves, Blepyrus is in a state of disbelieving ecstasy. His life can now be as carefree as that of a little boy, with his only concern now being where to eat and who to have sex with. When he mentions his concern that no one would want to have sex with him, he being an an ugly old man, Praxagora reassures him that having sex with him is now compulsory. And with a sigh of relief he wanders off to find some appreciative young maidens.

We then meet an old woman and young maiden both sitting and waiting for the first eligible bachelor to head their way. As the old woman tries to sing a melody to entice a young suitor her way the young girl laughs at her attempts to be desirable. It is beyond belief that the old hag would every be slept with, even under government authority and the young girl, coquettishly sits back, confidant in her good looks and many physical attributes.

Enter Epigenes, bemoaning this new edict. After dining at the communal feast, he hopes to take his pleasure with a young woman he's had his eye on for some time, but doesn't see a way around the compulsory sex with the old hags that seem to come out of nowhere each more haggish that the last. By law the ugliest have first priority, but when two of the women are both of equal abhorrence, he finds himself being dragged away by both simultaneously, it being impossible to resolve the question of priority.

Second Old Woman: Hey You! Where are you taking this man, in violation of the law? It's plainly stated that he's got to sleep with me first.

Epigenes: Good grief, where did you pop out of, you apparition of damnation? This horror is more revolting that the last one!

Second Old Woman: Get over here!

Epigenes: Don't let her drag me away, I beg you!

(Girl runs away)

Second Old Woman: It's not me but the law that drags you away.

Epigenes: No, it's some kind of Empusa (bogey-woman) covered with one big blood blister!

As his protestations are ignored and the second woman is dragging him away along comes the third:

Third Old Woman: Hey You! Where are you going with her?

Epigenes: I'm not going anywhere; I'm being kidnapped! But whoever you are, bless you if you don't just stand by and watch me be tormented (turning to see Third Old Woman) Heracles! Pan! Corybantes! Dioscuri! Here's another horror, and much more revolting that the last! Please, someone tell me what in the world it is! A monkey plastered with makeup? A hag arisen from the underworld?

The other episode that illustrates the complexity of a communal society deals with the issue of the "selfish" man. What happens when someone refuses to give up their property and take part in a communal society and yet still goes to the communal feasts enjoying the pleasures of the new system without paying any of the associated costs? Although this scenario is not resolved, and the "selfish" man goes off to the banquet while managing to avoid turning over his property, Praxagora argues that private property makes no sense in a communal society, since everyone will be amply provided for.

Aristophanes, rather than creating a pragmatic political treatise instead creates a comic world where he can obliquely critique the contemporary Athenian political institution. It's interesting how similar some of his ideas created in jest are to those of Plato's Republic. Plato argues for a similar abolition of riches to create an egalitarian society that has abandoned the traditional family construct. With no concept of family there can be no nepotism. With no concept of ownership and private property, there will be no inequality or motive for civic selfishness. While Aristophanes creates a hilarious predicament of compulsory sex, Plato crafts a system of eugenics and social cohesion based on dictated breeding criteria.

The Heart of the Matter - Graham Greene

Graham Greene (1904-1991)

I am now completely enamored with Greene. I didn't want this book to end, or rather I wanted to crawl into the book, shake Scobie, give him a slap or two and say "Pull yourself together man! She's not worth it! They're not worth it!..." But instead, I was forced to sit idly by, while Henry Scobie came one step closer to his own crafted destruction, an accomplice to his despair and an accessory to his fate.

This is the second Greene book I have read, the first The Power and the Glory, left me somewhat nonplussed. The narrative was engrossing, but the characters seemed a little out of reach, a little underdeveloped perhaps, and even though they battled against their own private hell and against their own personal demons, neither felt tangible, their sorrows felt contained to the pages of the book, rather than the creeping sensation of Scobie's pain that wraps it's tendrils around your heart.

Henry Scobie is a Holden Caulfield type, alienated by his need to protect and care for those around him, his purpose echoes that of Holden, if he could stand on a cliff in a field of rye, catching the little children as they come hurtling towards the edge, that is what he would do, and in a sense does. His one definitive purpose is to cause his loved ones minimal harm, to protect them from the pain and heartache of the world, at whatever cost. As he plods through the drudgery and monotony of his daily life, his duties as a police officer of a small British colony somewhere on the west coast of Africa, create the backbone of his persona. He has been without leave for over 15 years, he endures the torpor, the isolation and all with the gravitas of a good catholic.  A man of character and honor, he has preferred his work over everything else, and as the book opens, despite his sacrifice and diligence, he has been passed over for the commissionership.

As he goes home to his nagging wife, the sweat drips off his brow, and he prepares himself for the habitual misery he has come to endure. His wife is dissatisfied with Scobie's ineffectual career, she desires prestige and a bit of conspicuous consumption here and there rather than the scrimping and saving and character without accolades. She is more disappointed than Scobie at his failure to obtain the commissionership and she, needing a change of scenery, adds her need to get away with some friends to the more luxurious South Africa to her repertoire of nagging.

Scobie has kept his life simple and straightforward up to this point, careful not to embroil himself in any untoward behavior, but he has no money and so one simple, careful step at a time he slowly becomes entangled in an unnavigable web of lies and dishonesty. And yet after the departure of Louise, it is not long before another has taken her place, another person he must provide comfort for and protect and when Louise unexpectedly returns, he must now balance the needs of all those he loves, like a tightrope walker, balancing between hope and despair. Unable to be honest with his wife, and unwilling to renounce his mistress he find himself committing the unpardonable sin, receiving communion in a state of mortal sin.

Now completely desperate to unshackle himself the constant never-ending demands of his loved ones and the incessant reminder of his damnation, and the shame of unrepentance, he decides to free himself. He carefully feigns illness, play acting angina so that Louise will receive the life insurance he has been quietly accumulating. His death will free Louise from the knowledge of his affair, the desperate fact that he loves another, simultaneously freeing Helen from the quiet charade of their love.

Yet, even this doesn't go according to plan, and after he has carefully choreographed everything down to the last seconds of his life, the moment he is gone, we realize Louise has known all along about the affair, and his carefully constructed journal entries only serve to toss suspicions on his sudden death.  Louise cannot believe her husband would throw away his life, that he would commit the one unforgivable sin for anything so purposeless as love...but life is short and she quickly moves on, exchanging Scobie for another man and leaving his fate to God.