Transcript
KNOWLEDGE, OPIKION, A;,D TRAGEDY: A SURVEY FRCM
^TThIC ORIGINS TO ELIZABETHAN TRAGEDY
by
ROBERT LEE LITTLEFIELD, B.A., M.A.
A DISSERTATION
IN
ENGLISH
Submitted to the Graduate Faculty of Texas Technological College in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for
the Degree of
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
APPROVED
Accepted
May, 1965' (J
^0> I
/ 7^ o ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
(LoP' ^ 'Appreciation is gratefully acknowledged to Dr. Joseph
McCullen, chairman of the committee, for his kind assist
ance in directing this dissertation. My sincere thanks
also to other members of the committee, Dr. Roger Brooks,
Dr. Alan Gunn, and Dr. Lowell Blaisdell, for their help
ful criticism.
ii
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Acknowledgments ii
Preface iv
Chapter I The Mythic Origins 1
Chapter II The Greek Logos 12
Chapter III The Roman Despair 54
Chapter IV The Medieval Interlude fS/f
Chapter V The Elizabethan Triumph Ill
Conclusion 132
Bibliography 139
111
Preface
According to James Joyce, art may be divided into
three forms. Progressing in importance from one to the
next are the lyrical, the epical, and the dramatic.^ Of
the dramatic forms,- critics, since the time of Aristotle,
have agreed that tragedy provides the supreme experience,
for, of all literary genres, tragedy most nearly reflects
the human condition.
The importance and the complexity of tragedy have
given rise to much speculation concerning tragic motiva
tion. Whence comes the conflict which sustains tragedy?
Is there any recurring pattern, any common problem which
influences the substance of tragedy in spite of changes
from age to age? Is there a single thread which runs
throughout the fabric of tragedy, throughout dramatic
action, climax, catastrophe, and finally catharsis?
Although a host of critics, dealing with the litera
ture of all ages, have hinted at the impact which the
clash of knowledge and opinion has upon tragic motivation,
none has ever really explored the problem. It is the pur
pose of this study to show that tragedy springs from the
tragic hero's imperfect knowledge of the truth. Such de-
Ijames Joyce, Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (New York: The Viking Press, 1916), pp. ZT^-^lTT*
IV
V
ficient knowledge arises from several sources: from fusing
and thereby confusing knowledge and opinion; from.being
unaware that good and evil coexist in all things; and
from lacking the understanding that good and evil, in cer
tain situations, produce contrary effects. It will be
shown that the price of acquiring wisdom is always suffer
ing; on the other hand, the rewards of gaining wisdom are
always spiritual triumph and a strong, new faith.
In dealing with representative plays from the Peri-
clean and Elizabethan periods, an attempt has been made to
show that the direct source of tragedy is man's inadequate
knowledge. The degree to which this thesis is applicable
to other tragedies written during these two great moments
of drama depends upon the extent to which such tragedies
adhere to the humanistic tradition.
Throughout the survey, emphasis has been placed upon
man's propensity for error and upon man's long struggle to
separate opinion from knowledge in the hope of arriving at
a proper basis for faith.
CHAPTER I
THE MTHIC ORIGINS
The study of knowledge in relation to tragedy may
properly begin some centuries before the emergence of
Greek drama. Aristotle pointed out that tragedy grew
out of the dithyramb, sung in honor of the god, Dio-
nysius. During the last century scholars have shown
that the dithyramb sprang from ancient ritual, designed
to insure annually the fertility of the earth. The
purpose of this chapter will be to explore the mythic
origin of tragedy and to determine its relationship to
the problem of knowledge.
Fear of the unknown and a need for physical secur
ity were probably great driving forces in the mind of
primitive man, who found himself born into a world of
sinister uncertainties. More particularly, ancient man
needed to conceive a world picture which would make
meaningful all of his experiences and provide him a
definite orientation in the midst of the frightening
forces of nature. Ignorant of the real causes of nat
ural phenomena but desirous of knowledge to dispel that
ignorance, he took refuge in mimetic ritual in an attempt
to influence and control, at least partially, the great
cycle in nature.
1
Throughout the tide of human history man's attempts
to arrive at certain knowledge have been characterized
by three factors: a degree of factual observation, a
great deal of assumption, and some faith. The ingredient
of faith is essential to knowledge, since no knowledge
has virtue beyond the amount of faith men have in it.
As he watched the seasons revolve, man could equate the
spectacle with his own life and death. His assumption
that the gods had a specific interest in man's affairs
implied the further assumption that symbolic actions
would influence the gods. It will be shown that such
assumptions, taken for knowledge, influenced the develop
ment of tragedy.
The origin of mimetic ritual is clouded and may
never be fully known. Susanne Langor surmises that the
ritual arose from man's contemplation of sacra, or sac
red objects, and from his penchant for supplication.
Primitive thought was likely not far removed from the
dream level. Functioning as dream-symbols, certain
objects have a strong, emotional effect on the waking
mind. Charms worn by ancient Greek women going to the
altar and the scarab possessed by the ancient Egyptians
were actually dream-symbols treasured in waking life.
In contemplating the realistic presence of these sacra,
one may see how the dream is changed into reality by the
3
imaginative process. Viewing the sacra apparently induced
within the individual a certain intellectual excitement
touching the entire gamut of human emotions. The nature
of the reaction to the sacra was self-expressive; and when
groups of people formalized their reactions, the result
was ritual.1 An analysis of the ritual shows that it
comprehends knowledge, opinion, and faith. By contem
plating facts, seen in terms of cause and effect, man laid
the groundwork for opinions which would later appear in
the guise of myth and ritual. With the application of
faith, fact and opinion were fused; consequently, so long
as man's faith was intact, the ritual remained valid.
A second, more obvious aspect of the origin of mimesis
was that of supplication. The suppliant's conception
became extremely vivid when he suggested and recommended
an act to the only Being who could perform it. In their
eagerness to express their desire, the suppliants naturally
broke into pantomime. The process is described by Langor
as follows:
Representations of the act mingle with gestures of entreaty. And just as
ISusanne Langor, Philosophy in a New Key (New York: The New American Library of WorldTiterature, 195^) > pp. 132-13/f
the expressive virtue of sacra is conceived as physical virtue, so the symbolic power of mimetic rites is presently regarded as causal efficacy: hence, the world-old belief in a sympathetic magic.2
In such a process of institutionalizing opinion, one may
witness the power of faith.
According to Sir James Fraser, sympathetic magic is
based upon the assumption that "like produces like or
that an effect resembles its cause."3 Closely related
to this assumption was the associated assumption that
the animal and vegetable world were more intimately con
nected than they really are, that the principle of life
and fertility, whether animal or vegetable, was one and
indivisible. Consequently, anything that produced fer
tility in the animal world could also produce fertility
in the vegetable world. This belief implies a faith in
the unity of nature, a belief which assumes the force of
knowledge.
Observing the natural scene about him and as yet
unaware of the universal laws that govern nature, ancient
man arrived at the conclusion that his own actions would
be repeated by greater actors upon a greater stage. Pur-
2ibid., p. 135.
3sir James G. Fraser, The Golden Bough (New York: The Macmillan Company, 195^}1 pp. 12-13.
5
suing the belief that his own well-being was closely re
lated to that of nature, he feared that the same forces
which rendered the earth barren each year threatened his
own life. He, therefore, performed rituals and chanted
incantations to make the sun shine, to make the wind blow,
and to make the earth fertile.^ And however erroneous his
opinions were with regard to the process of achieving har
mony with nature, his assumption as to the importance of
discovering such a harmony was, in itself, sound knowledge.
Consequently, his assumption was, in a sense, a valid one.
With the passage of time and the concomitant acquisi
tion of new knowledge, man came to disbelieve that his own
puny efforts had actually produced the great natural chan
ges that he had hitherto imagined. Rather, he assumed the
causes to be somewhat deeper. In a more advanced concep
tion, he began to equate the coming of spring with the ac
tivities of an entity at first dimly conceived of as the
"Luck of the Year" or Eniatos Daimon.5 At one stage of
his religious evolution, this imagined Being was thought
to be theriomorphic and assumed the shape of a bull, snake,
or goat. Gradually, through steps which have been care-
4ibid., p. 373.
5jessie L. Weston, From Ritual to Romance (New York: Doubleday and Company, Incorporated,"T957)» P* 36.
6
fully traced, the Being assumed anthropomorphic aspects.^
In this period of wavering faith, later to be reflected in
humanistic tragedy, one may observe a search for more ac
curate knowledge of things and a further development of
the mingling of knowledge and opinion.
One of the most ancient of these anthropomorphic
beings, perhaps the prototype of the many gods who were
to come later, was Tammuz, who dates back to 3000 B. C.
While this god was himself subject to decline and death,
it was upon his life and reproductive energies that the
life and energies of Nature depended.7 Ishtar, goddess
of love, loved Tammuz, who was subsequently killed by a
boar. Before Ishtar restored Tammuz to life, the earth
became a desert, all fertility having been suspended.
With the restoration of the god, the earth once again
bloomed, and each year the process had to be repeated
before the earth revived.° Similarly with the later Greek
legend of Adonis, in which Astarte, goddess of passion and
fecundity, found it necessary each year to ransom her
^See Jane Harrison's Themis, A Study of the Social Origins of Greek Religion (2d. ed., Cambricfge: THe University Press, 1927}, i*
^Weston, 0£. cit., p. 41-
Horner H. Smith, Man and His Gods (New York: Gros-sett's Universal Library, I^^STT^P*^^"^*
7
lover with tears, else he and nature should not annually
be restored.^
The assumption that the god was anthropomorphic en
abled man to visualize clearly his being and to assign to
him detailed characteristics. Like man, the god was sub
ject to the vicissitudes of disease, maiming, and old age;
and since the life of nature depended upon his reproductive
powers, care was taken to prevent the god's growing old
and dying. To avert the danger, the man-god had to be
killed as soon as he showed signs that his powers were
about to fail. By killing the god, one might transfer the
god's soul to a vigorous successor before the soul had a
chance to be damaged by old age.^^
In a later phase of the ritual the god went through
a symbolic, rather than an actual, death and resurrection.
Dionysus, an important figure in this development, was
supposed to have been torn to pieces each spring and the
pieces scattered in the dust, after which his body arose
in a triumphal conquest of death. The belief that the god
possessed some of man's frailties may imply that man had
progressed to an awareness of the need for Intellectual
9ibid., p. 123.
lOpraser, 0£. cit., pp. 309-310.
and spiritual rejuvenation. The death and re-birth of the
god implies a passing from ignorance to enlightment, the
spectacle of which further suggests a close affinity with
catharsis.
To ascribe the ancient rituals of primitive peoples
as efforts merely to control nature is perhaps to over
simplify. Although there is in man's acts much of the
will to control, at the same time there is much of sub
mission to the inevitable. For instance, there was no
ritual designed to prevent the coming of winter. In the
spring, the rituals were not designed to bring forth an
immediate bountiful harvest; therefore, to some extent,
the rites dedicated the people to their necessary tasks.
Such dedication would, of course, have a causal effect on
the outcome of the harvest. Carl Jung has pointed out
that the fertility rites would transform and direct the
otherwise wasted instinctive energies of ancient peoples
into active labor, controlled and beneficial.^^ This
stage in the evolution of the myth represents an important
step forward in man's quest for knowledge. Revealed is an
increased awareness of things external to man and a growth
• Joseph Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces (New York: Pantheon Books, IT^TT, p. 3^4.
l^Quoted by Victor White, God and the Unconscious (New York: The World Publishing~Uo.7n[9STT, p. 234.
9
in self-knowledge, that is, a need for greater humility and
less pride. Such knowledge, put to successful practice in
the ancient ritual, might be termed "ironic."
It has been shown that it became necessary to kill the
god to prevent his soul's being weakened by old age or
disease. Fraser has given numerous instances of the cus
tomary practice of laying upon the backs of gods the accu
mulated misfortunes and sins of a people in order to leave
those people innocent and happy. The two practices, at
one time separate, were combined conveniently to form the
concept of the divinity as scapegoat.^3
Underlying the dying-god principle was the assumption,
almost world-wide during primitive times, that it was
necessary for one to perish so that the whole nation should
survive. A remarkable example of this assumption may be
seen in the words of the High Priest Caiaphas in referring
to the solution of the problem posed by Jesus of Nazareth:
"It is expedient for you that one man should die for the
people, and that the whole nation should perish not"; and
the comment is made that "he spoke not of himself, but
being the high priest for that year, he prophesied that
Jesus should die for that nation." (John 11:50-51). The
13Fraser, 0£. cit., pp. 667-66S.
10
suggestion is strong that it was this belief that decided
the authorities to put Jesus to death.
In the ritual of the dying god then, one may discern
the primary ingredients of tragedy. Manifest in the ritual
is the combination of what is observed and what is assumed,
that is, knowledge and opinion. Primitive man could ob
serve the orderly and continuous passing of the days and
the seasons; therefore, he assumed that some sort of nat
ural order prevailed in spite of his own seemingly irra
tional existence. Furthermore, he believed that to under
stand this order would help him both to control and to
submit to it. Because of his proclivity to imbue the uni
verse with his own characteristics, he assumed his gods to
be anthropomorphic and thereby subject to debilitation and
death—hence the mimetic rite designed to prevent such
catastrophes. With the addition of the scapegoat concept
to a later phase of ritual development, the stage was set
for tragedy. Paradoxically, the destruction of the scape
goat, like the destruction of the tragic hero, is an ex
pression not of despair but rather of human life. In both
ritual and tragedy the motif is always "The King is dead;
long live the King."
From the assumption that man has adequate knowledge
to placate and partially control the gods there is only
a short step to be taken to Greek tragedy—that of assuming
11
that man's knowledge is equal to or greater than that of
the gods. Such an assumption can be made only when one's
belief is based on egotistical opinion, therefore on ig
norance of the truth.
CHAPTER II
THE GREEK LOGOS
It was not until the fifth century B.C. that just
gods ruled over the Greek universe. In the pre-Homeric
world, while the god was conceived in terms of agricul
tural fertility, the question of a moral god did not a-
rise. When the god was dead, the people were anxious
lest the new god should by some mistake fail to be bom
and all the crops perish. In the later developments of
Greek thought, men began to view the government of the
world as evil and the lot of mankind as almost untoler-
able.
Even in these dark centuries, however, there is evi
dence that the Greeks had faith in something above the
world's government, in a principle called Moira, or Des
tiny. Though not an anthropomorphic being, Moira never
theless intervened when either the relative liberty of
men or the virtual unlimited liberty of the gods created
disorder. Beyond the jurisdiction of men and gods, Moira
assured a kind of harmony in the universe. The very con
ception of such a principle strongly suggests that a fun
damental rationalism exists in the world and further
assumes an order that is stable, and, perhaps finally,
knowable. It is significant that the Greek word for
"universe," that is, "cosmos" means also "order" and
12
13
"beauty."! Faith in Moira appears to be the first step in
the process of moving the divine world nearer the realm of
the human, of humanizing the gods, and finally in asserting
the dignity and vast potential of man. The process was
completed in the fifth century B. C , and it ushered in a
period of humanism which provided the soil from which the
first great tragedies sprang.
To Homer and Hesiod must go the credit for creating
an atmosphere out of which tragedy would eventually emerge.
According to these men, the gods were anthropomorphic, ac
tually characterized by extensions of the human personality
and subject to human weaknesses, love, hate, and jealousy.
"Zeus," said Hesiod "whose wisdom was everlasting" actually
hated the five generations of men whom he created ("The
Creation," Works and Days). In the Theogony. although
Hesiod pictures Zeus with all of his human proclivities,
his marital infidelities, and outbursts of uncouth vio
lence, the situation is somewhat different. Zeus repre
sents an intelligent, guiding principle in earthly affairs.
Ultimately, he strives to bring about justice upon the
earth, to punish lawlessness and deceit.
The plays of Aeschylus deal with the evolution of the
^Andre Bonnard, Greek Civilization, trans. A. Lytton Sells (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1962), I, I48.
14
gods and the growing importance of man. Prometheus Bound,
the first and only surviving play of a trilogy, focuses
upon the nature of Zeus and Prometheus. The conflict be
tween them directly concerns man.
As the play begins, Prometheus or Forethought, crea
tor of the human race, is brought in as the captive of Zeus.
Describing his crime, the prisoner says:
I hunted out and stored in fennel stalk the stolen source of fire that hath proved to mortals a teacher in every art and a means to mighty ends.^
An interesting motive for Prometheus' decision to steal
fire has been suggested by Gilbert Murray. Having molded
man out of clay, Prometheus then determined to put the
fire of life within him, making him more nearly like a
god, "knowing both good and evil." By giving man an at
tribute of the divine, Prometheus augments his crime.^
Prometheus must now suffer for his offense so that " . . .
he may be lessened to brook the sovereignty of Zeus and
forbear his championship of man."^
The evil nature of Zeus and wretched state of mankind
.#
^Aeschylus Prometheus Bound i trans. Herbert Weir Smyth, ed. T. E. Page, ejb al (London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1963), p. 227.
^Gilbert Murray, Aeschylus, the Creator of Tragedy (Oxford: at the Clarendon Press, 1550}, p. 22.
^Aeschylus 0£. cit., p. 215.
15
are clearly revealed in the attitude of Zeus, ruler of
mankind, toward Prometheus, champion of mankind. Besides
having hidden away fire from men and having plagued the
race with innumerable evils, Zeus had occasionally enter
tained the notion of doing away with man altogether. In
the seemingly unequal contest the crucified Prometheus,
armed only with immortality and an indomitable will, faces
Zeus, evil and omnipotent.^ Rejected by the gods, placed
far beyond man's reach, he appears desolate as he addresses
a lyric song to the forces of nature. Especially does he
appeal to his mother Earth (also called Justice) and to
the sun:
0 universal mother earth I And thou, 0, all-seeing orb of the sun I To you, I call! Behold what I, A god, endure of evil from the gods.^
Nature, represented by the daughters of Ocean and by the
sky (and by implication the earth and the sun), sympa
thizes with Prometheus; goodness and wisdom are in con
flict with brute force.
At the heart of the tragedy Aeschylus reviews man's
progress. Upon mankind, whom he found in a piteous state,
Prometheus conferred wondrous benefits.
5lbid., pp. 215-217.
^Ibid., p. 225.
16
But hearken to the miseries that beset mankind- how that they were witless erst and I made them to have sense and to be endowed with reason.7
Then, a bit later appears this observation:
...though they had eyes to see, they saw to no avail; they had ears, but understood not; but like to shapes in dreams, throughout their length of days, without all purpose thev wrought all things in confusion.8
The long list of man's achievements which follow includes
the building of housesj the domestication .of animals, and
the acquiring a knowledge of mathematics, astronomy, writ
ing, and medicine. His conclusion: "Nay, hear the whole
matter in a word, —every human art possessed by man comes
from Prometheus."9 in the process of revealing to man his
genius, Prometheus identifies himself with man's spirit.
Consequently, man is glorified, and Aeschylus would appear
to share Prometheus' pride in having raised man from ig
norance of the world's laws to a new state of knowledge.
At the play's end, Prometheus, in spite of his secret,
is overthrown but not vanquished. Still strong is his
7lbid., p. 255.
^Ibid.
9ibid., p. 259.
17
faith, faith in Moira, more powerful than Zeus, to prevail
over the irrational evil of Zeus and restore order and
harmony to the universe.^^
Although the two other plays in this connected trilogy
have been lost, enough is known to indicate the resolution
of the conflict. Zeus ultimately learns Prometheus' secret:
should Zeus consummate his love for Thetis, he will father
a son who will destroy him. Zeus gives up his plans to
seduce Thetis and releases Prometheus. In performing these
acts of renunciation, Zeus averts throwing the world into
fresh disorder and reveals himself worthy of remaining the
lord of the universe. Prometheus' character is changed
also; he lays aside his anger and pride and willingly bows
down to the new Zeus. By means of these two self-conquests,
the two gods limit their power with the view of serving
order and harmony.
It has been suggested that the Zeus of Prometheus
Bound represents beneficence and wisdom, that is, differing
aspects of the deity. Seen from this point of view, the
end of the trilogy shows these two forces, power and wis
dom, to be in conflict separately; however, when they are
united into a single nature, that nature becomes all-wise
lOibid., pp. 307-315.
Id
and all-powerful. Possibly, Aeschylus wished to show that
a god who possessed either brute power without wisdom or
else wisdom without adequate power would not be deserving
of man's faith.• '*- Gilbert Murray has seen in Zeus a god
who possesses the power of thought and the power of learn
ing by experience. Different from previous estimates of
Zeus, the god learns and acts according to his new know
ledge. The gods, not men, are perfectible.^^
Clearly then, since the Greeks created the gods in
their own image, both gods and men shared the same limi
tations bom of a lack of knowledge. But out of the suf
fering of both gods and men comes self-criticism, humility,
and new knowledge.
The theological problem dealt with in Prometheus
Bound is given fuller treatment in the Oresteia. Zeus, as
pictured throughout the trilogy by the chorus, is a friend,
a refuge, a god who has ordained that man may gain wisdom
through suffering. Opposed to Zeus are the Furies, repre
senting the ancient blood laws of a older, more primitive
Zeus. Symbolical of an old, mechanical justice, they
l^Whitney Jennings Gates and Charles Theophilus Murphy (eds.), Greek Literature in Translation (New York: Longman's Green and Company, 1961}, p. 136.
12Murray, 0£. cit., p. 10^.
19
demand an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. Because
of Atreus' crime a grim destiny appears to be bent on the
destruction of his descendants. Such a destiny is the
work not of gods, but of men, who have caused it to come
into existence and who have nurtured its continuance with
their crimes.
In the end, Orestes, last of the Atreidae, is recon
ciled with divine goodness and justice. His suffering has
not been in vain.
What the chorus says of Zeus' wisdom is ultimately
proved. Early in the Agamemnon, however, their words are
unconvincing:
...Zeus, who leadeth mortals the way of understanding, Zeus who hath stablished as a fixed ordinance 'wisdom cometh by suffering.' 13
But throughout the Agamemnon sin is punished always with
further sin, either with the consent of Zeus or by his or
der. The trouble with such a system is that there is no
end to violence; one act automatically produces another.
Sent to punish the Trojans for Paris' crime, Agamemnon
commits a series of crimes: the sacrifice of Iphigenia,
the sacking of Troy, the stealing of Cassandra, and the
13Aeschylus Agamemnon ii trans. Herbert Weir Smyth, ed. Hugh Lloyd-Jones (London: William Heinemann Ltd., 19o3), p. 19.
20
trodding upon the sacred carpet. His actions reveal that
Agamemnon is sadly lacking in self-knowledge, especially
that concerning his limitations. His blindness causes him
to be unaware of his duty toward his daughter, his wife,
his fellowman, and his gods.
In the scene between Agamemnon and Clytemnestra, with
Cassandra in the background, Aeschylus creates dramatic
irony by the juxtaposition of knowledge and opinion. Aga
memnon, flushed with victory, assumes that he knows the
will of the gods and boasts that he has fulfilled their
will:
Argos...I greet, and the gods that dwell therein who have helped me to my safe return and to the iustice I exacted from Priam's town.l4
Later, he insists that he is able to discriminate between
semblance and reality.15 For the moment Clytemnestra
keeps secret her real thoughts but later reveals them.
Agamemnon's wrongs stem from his pride (hybris); conse
quently, he is afflicted by infatuation (ate). Upon such
people the wrath of Zeus (nemesis) is visited personally.
After she murders Agamemnon, the Queen implies that she
has been the instrument of that wrath. She swears an
14lbid., p. 69.
15lbid., p. 71.
21
oath:
...this is the righteous sanction of my oath: By Justice exacted for my child. By Ate, by the Avenging Spirit, unto whom I sacrificed yon man, hope doth not tread for me the halls of fear...16
Ironically, Cassandra, the only one who possesses true know
ledge, is considered mad.
Whereas in the Agamemnon Zeus had been revealed as the
author of a blind, retributive revenge which set up an end
less chain of violence; in the Choephoi, the god appears to
be even more irrational. Zeus appears to support two con
flicting forces. Apollo, acting on the authority of Zeus,
orders Orestes to murder Clytemnestra and Aegisthus. Re
luctantly, Orestes obeys. But Orestes' murder of his own
mother incites the revolt of the Furies, who are obedient
servants of Zeus. The dilemma in which Orestes finds him
self will be resolved in the last play of the trilogy.
Meanwhile, the sight of the Furies fills Orestes with dis
may. He is not unlike Job, who cries out against a god
who punishes the faithful. But Orestes' despair, like
that of Job, is born not of true knowledge but of opinion.
Thus, as the Eumenides begins, the divine world
seems, in human eyes, to be tragically divided against
itself. On one hand, surely no justice exists if Orestes,
a man of good faith and honorable intent, may not be
I6ibid., pp. 127-129.
22
absolved of a crime which the god, Apollo, ordered him to
commit. On the other hand, there is no justice if Orestes
is freed and man does not pay for his evil deeds. Gilbert
Norwood sees a need for the divine world to effect a recon
ciliation with itself.
We are to imagine that we witness the events of a time when Zeus himself has not attained to full stature. His face is set toward the perfection of righteousness, but development awaits within him ... the jar between the Furies and Apollo, or more ultimately between the earth powers and Zeus shows that neither party is perfectly right.17
Yet, in spite of Professor Norwood's insistence that the
divine world is evolving toward a state of true justice,
it appears that Aeschylus is implying-that the heavens are
actually just and that man's progress toward enlightenment
is beset with suffering, especially so, since man presumes
upon limited knowledge, or opinion. Man's very struggling
toward the truth, virtuous in itself, engenders a variety
of opinion and suggests the absence of certain knowledge.
To lack certain knowledge is to court tragedy.
With the establishment of the Areopagus at the con
clusion of the Eumenides, Zeus' divine plan becomes appar
ent. In obedience to Zeus' orders, Athena abolishes the
ancient duties of the Furies; henceforth, as Eumenides,
l7Gilbert Norwood, Greek Tragedy (Boston: J. W. Luce, 1920), pp. 114-115.
23
they will function as champions of true justice, beneficent
spirits who protect Athens, avert civil strife, and insure
peace.
They become no longer a mechanical Law of Retribution which operates blindly; but a Law which thinks and feels and seeks real Justice.1^
The revolt of the Furies has been successful; in the end
their rights are recognized and expanded. The unfolding
of Zeus' wisdom has merely awaited the fullness of time.
Man now knows that Moira and Zeus are really one, that the
divine world, so seemingly remote, is much nearer the world
of man than had been imagined. The worth of mankind, with
his new responsibilities, has been emphasized. But the
newly revealed proximity of human and divine increases the
probability of tragedy. For even the best that man can
know of either the divine world or the human world is more
opinion than fact. An exception to this rule concerns
man's certain knowledge that he must bear the responsibil
ity for his actions. Herein lies the heart of tragedy:
man acts upon inadequate knowledge because his nature is
flawed by pride, presumptuousness, ambition, or some other
blindness. Consequently, the tragic protagonist, struggling
blindly through ignorance, suffers and learns. His new
l^urray, 0£. cit., pp. 203-204.
24
knowledge is centered on an awareness that his knowledge
is limited; moreover, it reminds him of a need for faith
if the tragic experience achieves full fruition.
Through the Chorus of Furies, Zeus gives his blessing
to man:
...may no deadly blight draw nigh to kill the fruit: may the earth foster the teeming flocks with twin increase at the appointed time; and ever may the rich produce of the earth pay the god's gift of lucky gain.19
Athena, too, echoes the sentiment.
Zeus' greatest gift to man is that of wisdom which
may be gained only through suffering. Out of wisdom comes
happiness. Athenians, now armed with a new wisdom and
fortified with a new faith, rejoice at man's new destiny.
In a general sense the struggle in Oedipus Rex arises
from the conflict between human ignorance and divine know
ledge. The gift of wisdom is reserved for the gods. Oed
ipus' conduct is based upon few facts and much egotistical
opinion. The play charts his tortuous journey from an
abyss of ignorance to a new plateau of knowledge.
It is significant that Oedipus confuses what he knows
and what he wrongly assumes that he knows. Aware that he
has been reared in Corinth, he knows that an oracle has
19ibid.,pp. 361-363.
25
predicted that one day he will be guilty of parricide and
incest. Having fled from Corinth in an effort to escape
the prophecy, he has killed several men following an argu
ment at a place where three roads meet. Then, because he
has correctly answered the Sphinx's riddle, a grateful
populace has made him king of Thebes, and has given him,
as a further prize, the widowed queen Jocasta, who is the
mother of his four children. During his ten-year reign he
has ruled both wisely and well. Such certain knowledge
has helped to lead the king into erroneous presumption.
But Oedipus's faith, equally as important as knowledge
(since faith may be a means to truth) has also led him
astray. In this case faith is a deceiver since it is based
precariously upon appearance.
What Oedipus wrongly believes he knows sprang origin
ally from fearful desire, desire to evade the prophecy of
Apollo. But successfully to escape the god's pronounce
ment would imply a bewildering conclusion: that divine
knowledge is less than human knowledge since man, by means
of his reason, can change the future. The question to be
determined is: who is god? That is, who possesses know
ledge?
A series of events has apparently proved the godlike
wisdom of Oedipus: his successful flight from his "parents,"
his intelligent solving of the Sphinx's riddle, and his
26
wise conduct of state affairs.
That Oedipus holds himself in high esteem is obvious
in his very first speech. Speaking to the Suppliants to
whom he has come to listen personally, he refers to him
self as "I, Oedipus, your world-renowned king."20 The
priest of Zeus reflects the king's opinion. Although Oed
ipus cannot be ranked with gods, he is "Oedipus, our peer
less king" and "the first of men."21 Recalling that the
king previously delivered the city, the Priest asks that
Oedipus perform the same task again.
In this first scene one of several contradictions about
Oedipus is revealed. He believes in Apollo, but he does
not believe in Apollo. Convinced that Apollo's prophetic
wisdom concerning his own affairs has been inadequate, the
king has, however, dispatched Creon to question the oracle
about the city's difficulties. In a later scene Jocasta
is equally irrational. Shortly after expressing her dis
trust in the divine, she appears with objects to supplicate
and placate her gods. Neither realizes that at once to
have faith and not to have faith reveals that both have
long since taken refuge in egotistical opinion.
20sophocles Oedipus the King i trans. F. Storr, ed. T. E. Page, et al. (London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1963), p. 7.
21ibid., p. 9.
27
Should the audience be tempted to see Oedipus as the
innocent pawn of a cruel god, the Chorus interposes, early
in the play, and chants professions of faith in the deities,
Zeus, Artemis, and Athena.22 indeed, throughout the action,
the Chorus is unchanging in its certainty of the goodness
and wisdom of the deity. At the same time, the Chorus con
tinues to express its love for and loyalty to the king.
Never does the Chorus set Oedipus and the gods in opposi
tion. Through the Chorus Sophocles appears to affirm that
beyond the world of paradoxical appearances lies another,
one of permanent, unchanging reality.
Nowhere in the play do the two worlds of appearance
and reality clash so dramatically as they do in the scene
between Teiresias and the king. Oedipus and the members
of the Chorus, each being dependent upon physical sight as
a means to knowledge, are ignorant of the truth. Teiresias
says truly "...ye all are witless."23 To Teiresias' reluc
tance to tell the truth Oedipus reacts impatiently, then
angrily. The blind seer's accusation is met with a coun
ter-accusation. But Teiresias speaks with a courage born
of perfect knowledge, as he says, "Yea, I am free, strong
22ibid., passim, pp. 19-23.
23ibid., p. 33.
2^
in the strength of truth."24; whereas, Oedipus' accusations,
reflecting pride and opinion based upon ignorance, lack any
real force. The dramatic irony of the situation rises to
a high pitch when the king scornfully contrasts Teiresias'
ignorance with his own superior knowledge. First, he
taunts the old man, who, "in ear, wit, eye, in everything
art blind."25 The king's opinion of the blind seer is re
flected in these words: "Offspring of endless Night, thou
hast no power O'er me / or any man who sees the sun."26
In emphasizing the contrast between spiritual awareness
and spiritual blindness, a symbolic method of revelation,
Sophocles heightens the dramatic intensity of the play.
Oedipus' cynical reaction to Teiresias' statement that
Apollo alone, not the seer, is responsible for the king's
doom, is dramatically ironic. Where was Teiresias when
the Sphinx held Thebes in her grip? Oedipus boasts of his
intelligence:
. . .Ij.came The simple Oedipus; 1 stopped her mouth By mother wit, untaught of auguries.27
24ibid., p. 35.
25ibid.. p. 37.
26ibid.
27ibid., p. 39.
29
Again, faith is of primary importance in the conflict.
The superior knowledge of the blind seer is derived through
intuition; whereas, Oedipus' scant knowledge comes from ob
servation and the use of human reason, each limited as a
means of truth. Oedipus' faith in his own reason is iron
ical; he is yet unaware that Apollo has created the situa
tion involving Thebes and the Sphinx, has supplied him with
the answer to the riddle, and has been the source of the
king's seeming prosperity. Teiresias rightly observes that
the accuser is guilty of his own accusations.
...thou hast not spared To twit me with my blindness-thou hast eyes, Yet see'St not in what misery thou art fallen. Nor where thou dwellest nor with whom for mate.^°
Oedipus' principal fault lies in his exalted opinion of
himself. Unaware of the limitation of his knowledge, he
presumes upon ignorance and indulges in pride. He has ig:-r
nored one of the most important Greek doctrines, one which
could be seen for centuries written on the walls of the
temple at Delphi: Know thyself. To know oneself is to know
something of all men and to realize that man's knowledge is
a small thing compared with divine knowledge. To know one
self is to recognize a law greater than oneself.
In the end Oedipus' struggle does culminate in his
2^Ibid., p. 41.
30
attuning himself with the divine law.' By blinding himself,
he renders visible the ignorance of foolish man, who judges
his prosperity by appearance. Teiresias, the blind man,
saw with the Invisible; Oedipus, the sighted man, remained
plunged in darkness, the truth about his being clouded by
the deceptions of the outer world. In taking away his
physical sight, Oedipus reveals the futility of man's dis
covering truth through the human senses, and he comes into
possession of an inner light of his own, one enabling him
to bear the sight of the world as it really is. At the
same time he affirms his liberty.
Apollo, friends, Apollo, he it was That brought these ills to pass
But the right hand that dealt the blow Was mine, none other.29
In the last scene of the play a new Oedipus appears.
When Oedipus contributed to his own misfortune, he willed
what the god had willed. Now finally his faith is restored
in Apollo. His earlier seeming greatness was founded upon
good fortune, measurable by external standards. His true
greatness is that based upon misfortune, of ordeals truly
borne, of the sadness which Oedipus has made his own. With
new knowledge, he replies to destiny and turns the enter
prise of his enslavement into the instrument of his libera-
^^Ibid., p. 123.
31
tion. The outcome is at once the triumph of faith and
knowledge over opinion. The question of god's identity
has been answered. Whether the answer can be accepted
depends upon man's ability to employ such knowledge, in
a spirit of humility, towards restraining man's self-
assertiveness.
Elements of the dying-god myth may be discerned in
Oedipus Rex. Like the crowning of the god in the spring,
the coming of Oedipus to Thebes was attended with rejoic
ing. The reign of Oedipus, like the reign of the god in
the myth during the spring and summer, was a fruitful one.
With the arrival of winter, however, the scapegoat and sin-
bearer must be sacrificed so that the community might be
saved.^ Echoed in the final banishment of Oedipus is the
ancient assumption that it is necessary that one perish for
the nation to survive. Similarily, as Christians,see in the
crucifixion of Christ a necessary antecedent to the resur
rection and the birth of new hope for men, so too in the
final disposition of Oedipus, a city is resurrected and
hope is bom of suffering. In both myth and tragedy the
ancient paradox is reiterated: out of the physical destruc
tion of the hero come man's spiritual triumph and renewed
30Francis Ferguson, The Idea of the Theater (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1949), p. 39.
32
faith in the value of human life.
During most of the fifth century B. C. the majority
of Greek thinkers had been occupied with the external
world and with the affair between gods and man. Primarily
responsible for a new orientation of philosophy during the
last part of the century was Socrates with his emphasis
upon the inner nature of man and the limits of human know
ledge .
A very early comment about the nature of human know
ledge concerns the pre-Hesiodic myth of Pandora. The six
teenth century Italian scholar, Hieronymo Cardanus, re
counts the story which he attributes to "an ancient poet."31
According to the story, Jupiter, having created the world
and all life therein, determined to establish order and a
respect for the gods by formulating a system of rewards
and punishments for man. The god ordered Vulcan to fashion
two vessels of bronze, and in one he enclosed good things;
in the other he placed evil things. Both good and evil
things were winged. However, the goddess Pandora,"...greedy
to look into the vessels,"32 allowed both good and evil
things to fly out. To the heavens flew the good things;
3lHieronymo Cardanus, Cardanus Comforte trans. Thomas Bedingfeld (London: Thomas Marche, 1573)i pp. Aiii-Av.
32ibid.
33
to Tartarus flew the evil. Remaining in the vessel of
evils was unwinged hope, and in the vessel of goods, un-
winged suspicion. Upon hearing of Pandora's action, Jupi
ter angrily threw the vessels down to earth, whereupon men
embraced them in the belief that they possessed both good
and evil. Yet, says Cardanus
...in dede neyther good nor euyl fel to any mortal man, sauing that they yt hapned vpon the better barrel found in themselues opinio of good with suspicion, & the other opinion of euill wt some hope.33
The poet suggests that a knowledge of absolute good and ab
solute evil is beyond mortal man; man's knowledge, therefore,
is severely restricted since he may opine only, never truly
know. Cardanus agreed:
I perceive that in this lyfe is nothing found yt may lustly be called good or euyll. 'I do allowe of these phylosophers as wyse, who thought that al thinges consisted in opinion.34
Because man may never really possess absolute good, he may
logically be suspicious of the seeming permanence of that
which he considers good. Contrariwise, since man may not
possess absolute evil, he may reasonably hope that the
seeming permanence of an evil situation is more apparent
than real. The idea that, behind this physical world of
33ibid.
3^Ibid.
34
seeming lies an invisible world of permanence, leads to
Socrates and Plato.
Socrates' theory concerning the limits of human know
ledge has been recorded in Plato's Apolo^jy. The first step
toward any kind of certainty consisted in following the
slogan graven on the temple of Apollo at Delphi, "Know
Thyself." Having taken this advice, Socrates concluded
that he knew only that he knew nothing. Unwilling to doubt
the truth of the oracle's declaration that no one was wiser
than Socrates, the philosopher examined the so-called wise
men of the day and discovered that they did indeed possess
technical knowledge unknown to him. The defect in the wis
dom of these men became apparent when each assumed that
because he had technical knowledge, by analogy, he also
had knowledge concerning "high matters," of answers to the
external questions relevant to man's nature and existence.
Socrates could but conclude that he was better off without
the combination of their small knowledge and their great
ignorance. The followers of Socrates were also in error,
for they imagined the philosopher to possess the wisdom
which he found lacking in others. But Apollo's meaning
was clear: Socrates possessed a certain wisdom, for the
alone had intellectual humility.35 He who truly knows
35piato The Apology i trans. Harold North Fowler, ed. T. E. Page, et al (London: V/illiam Heinemann Ltd., 19o0), passim, pp. OT-*^.
35
himself cannot be guilty of pride, the antithesis of the
cardinal virtues representing the ideal of the controlled
personality: courage, temperance, justice, and wisdom.
Plato's own notions are much more involved. Plato
believed that the senses often deceive us and tell us
nothing about the real nature of things around us. Com
pletely untrustworthy as a guide to truth is opinion, based
as it is on sensation, hearsay, and habit. True knowledge
exists in a super-sensory world and may be perceived only
by the highest part of the soul—reason. By the proper
use of reason one may perceive the invisible order exist
ing behind the perplexing kaleidoscope of changing panora
ma, which is all our senses perceive.
The creation and ordering of the universe is seen in
the Timaeus. Plato saw in the constitution of the universe
two contradictory principles. First, there is the harmon
ious, changeless pattern for whoever had the mind to under
stand. There was also the short-lived, changing mass of
concrete objects perceptible to the senses. Such is our
physical world, never at rest, always in the process of
dying or being bom—always becoming something else. All
objects are flawed by ugliness, decay, and deformities.
Plato asks
What is that which is Existent always and has no Becoming? And what is that which is Becoming always and never is
36
Existent? Now the one of these is apprehensible by thought with the aid of reasoning, since it is ever uniformly existent; whereas the other is an object of opinion with the aid of unreasoning sensation, since it becomes and perishes and is never really existent.36
The universe was created by god, the perfect ruler of the
spiritual world. Beholding the sphere of non-being, later
called matter, he found it lifeless, dark and chaotic.
God, being all good, desired all things to be like himself,
good and not evil. After viewing the spiritual world of
Ideas about him, he fashioned a physical world after the
spiritual model, combining spirit with matter and therefore
breathing into this matter intelligence and soul.37 Then
he created earth, stars, time, various gods, and all sorts
of lesser creatures to inhabit the universe.3°
Finally he poured the last of the matter into the
vessel in which he had mixed the world's soul, and from
this mixture he created a host of human souls, whom he
distributed among the stars. But these human souls were
not content to live long in this blissful state; their
kinship to the earth drew them to desire bodies, which the
36piato Timaeus vii trans. Rev. R. G. Bury, ed. T. E. Page, et al. (London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1961), p. 49.
37ibid., p. 55.
3^Ibid., passim, pp. 59-91.
37
Creator ordered to be made from earth, air, fire, and
water. For a lifetime then, the soul is joined to a body
and is constituted with lower appetites and passions.39
In the Phaedrus Plato pictures vividly the earthy,
concupiscent element in man. Kan's soul is contrasted
with an angel's soul which is represented by a charioteer,
a chariot, and two white horses. Reason, the charioteer,
maintains perfect control over the horses, which rise upon
command toward the heights where dwell the eternal Ideas,
pure Beauty and pure Justice. Man's soul is also repre
sented as two winged horses, one athirst for glory, virtue,
and truth; but the other is black, evil, representing the
lower passions in man. The black horse is difficult to
manage and tends to pull the chariot down. For most human
souls the struggle to rise is too hard, and most of them
get only a momentary glance of true Beauty, Wisdom, and
Justice. Then the souls fall and lose their wings; there
after, they are clad in a human body. Occasionally a soul
will remember what it has seen and feel its wings growing
again. Sometimes a soul will see on the earth a likeness
of that which he glimpsed in the world of Ideas. VJhen
39ibid., p. 91.
3S
this happens, the soul is filled with an uncomprehending
wonderment because it does not perceive the reason for its
reaction. Learning is often remembering what one knew in
another life, but few understand this fact.^^
Only a few are true philosophers, that is, "lovers of
wisdom" as Plato calls them in the Republic. Most men love
sights and sounds; such men
...delight in beautiful tones and colors and shapes and in everything that art fashions out of these, but their thought is incapable of apprehending and taking delight in the nature of the beautiful in itself.41
Men who love the seemingly beautiful on this earth are un
concerned even when they are forced to admit that none of
the beautiful things they prize is completely free of ugli
ness. It is only the true lover of beauty who is never
content with what the eye can see, who strives always by
means of reason to discern the pure essence of things and
tp "distinguish the Idea from the objects that participate
in the Idea..."^2
^^Plato Phaedrus trans. Harold North Fowler, eds. T. E. Page, et al. (London: William Heinemann Ltd., I960),passim., pp. 47X^4^.
^Ipiato The Republic trans. Paul Shorey, eds. T. E. Page, eib al. (London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1963), v, 519.
42 Ibid.
39
Plato's theory of knowledge, ignorance, and opinion
is found in his explanation of the three stages of being.
There are two extremes: one is absolute, unchangeable, pure
being or the Idea; the other is that of complete non-being
or nothingness. In between is our world of material objects,
that neither perfectly are or are not. These stages of
being reflect three stages of knowledge. The first is true
knowledge, by which we know clearly what we can of the
world of Ideas. The second is total ignorance, the state
as regards non-being. The third is that of opinion, the
inadequate, uncertain knowledge we have of the impermanent
world of matter. Those who find themselves in the latter
group are "lovers of opinion," that is, "dokophilists,"
and cannot tolerate the existence of absolute beauty.^3
In his allegory of the cave Plato illustrates most
vividly man's struggle with opinion and knowledge. Deep
within the cave men are chained in such a position that
they see only the far end. Behind them is a fire, and
between them and the fire a wall. On the other side of
the wall men walk up and down, lifting above the wall
images of all forms of life. What they see is a shadow of
the imitation of the real; what they hear is an echo, re-
43ibid., p. 535.
40
fleeted from the back of the wall. They deny the existence
of all else. Should one of these prisoners be freed and
forced to pass through the several steps of unreality to
the outside, or reality, the process would be extremely
painful. After his ordeal of becoming used to motion, fire
light, moonlight, the sight of all physical objects outside
the cave, and finally the sun itself (the final step in
knowledge), the prisoner would yearn to communicate to his
companions in the cave all of the incredible beauties that
he had discovered and to disabuse their minds of delusion.
Yet any attempt to reveal the truth would be met with re
sistance, for the men in the cave would consider the truth
ridiculous.
...would he not provoke laughter, and would it not be said of him that he had returned from his journey aloft with his eyes ruined and that it was not worth while even to attempt the ascent? And if it were possible to lay hands on and to kill the man who tried to release them and lead them up, would they not kill him?44
Plato's belief that man is too much a prisoner of his
senses is relative to man's propensity to tragic struggle.
To arrive at even a modicum of truth, man must struggle
44ibid., vii, pp. 119-129.
41
painfully against the senses which keep one prisoner in the
realm of appearance. By means of reason one may draw near
the true world. Reason, the highest part of the soul, re
jects the evidence of the senses, and after arduous reflec
tion and study, brings man intuitive knowledge of ideal
forms, from which are fashioned the objects he takes as
real.^5
To the human being, absolute knowledge is denied.
Only after man has quit- his body may his soul, finally un
fettered, "...behold the actual realities with the eye of
the soul alone."46 He who would come nearest to knowledge
will do so when he has the least possible intercourse or
communion with the body. One should purify oneself a-
gainst the nature of the body since "...it cannot be that
the impure attain the pure."47 Thus while Plato points
out the importance of knowing and the difficulty of knowing,
he does not suggest the impossibility of knowing. Plato
had faith in man's soul to take cognizance of truth since
it once lived in the presence of eternal essences and now
45ibid., pp. 131-137.
46piato Phaedo trans. Harold North Fowler, eds. T. E. Page, et al.(London: William Heinemann Ltd., I960), p. 231.
47ibid., p. 233.
42
yearns always to return.
Like Plato, Aristotle believed that a man's happiness
or misery was directly related to knowledge. In his
Nicomachean Ethics Aristotle insists that the supreme good
to be attained by man is happiness, and that this supreme
good is an end in itself since it leads to no further desire
or activity.^° Happiness is available to all except the
morally hopeless "...since it can be attained through some
process of study or effort by all persons whose capacity
for virtue has not been stunted or maimed."49 Not dependent
upon chance, happiness, a kind of virtuous activity of the
soul, demands a thoroughly virtuous life.^^ He who would
be happy must know the nature of virtue, of which there are
two kinds:
Wisdom or intelligence and Prudence are intellectual. Liberality and Temper-ence are moral virtues. When describing a man's moral character we do not say that he is wise or intelligent, but gentle or temperate; but a wise man is also praised for his disposition, and praiseworthy dispositions we term virtues .5 ^
4BAristotle The Nicomachean Ethics trans. H. Rackham, eds. T. E. Page, et aTl (London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1962), i. 7. 1-5.
49ibid., 9. 4.
50ibid., 7. 16.
51ibid., 13. 20.
43
Aristotle affirms that man may best acquire moral virtues
by practice and habit. What is right in matters of moral
conduct is generally a mean between two extremes.^^ The
mean is "...prescribed by the right principle."53 The
practically wise man's speculations lead him to this "right
principle" which informs him that the best life may be
attained by certain actions which are intermediate between
two extremes. The man who possesses virtue (defined in the
0. E. D. as "excellence" and "manliness") also possesses
the "...disposition which renders him a good man and also
which will cause him to perform his function well."5^
Renaissance writers often equated the notion of virtue with
that of power, that is, power to make ia right choice and
power to act upon that choice. Not to act upon one's
right choice rendered making the choice futile. An example
of a tragic hero's inability to act is seen in Shakespeare's
Antony and Cleopatra. Early in the play, Antony, realizing
his plight for the first time, momentarily makes a choice.
"These strong Egyptian fetters I must break,/ Or lose myself
52ibid., ii. 2. 6-7.
53ibid., i. 1. 1.
54ibid., ii. 7. 3.
44
in dotage."55 That Antony is unable to act upon his deci
sion indicates that much of his manliness and excellence is
lost. At most, he possesses a "blank virtue" which Milton
disparaged.
I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised and unbreathed, that never sallies out and sees her adversary, but slinks out of the race where that immortal garland is to be run for, not without dust and heat.56
Concerning crimes committed in ignorance, Aristotle is
fairly positive. Involuntary acts committed in ignorance
may be forgiven unless one is responsible for his ignorance.
But the fact is that man i^ in part responsible for his
moral state:
If, then, as is said, our virtues are voluntary (and in fact we are in a sense ourselves partly the cause of our moral dispositions, and it is our having a certain character that makes us set up an end of a certain kind), it follows that our vices are voluntary also; they are voluntary in the same manner as our virtue.^
The tragic protagonist is one who lacks knowledge of
the nature of intellectual virtue. His misfortune is
55v/illiam Shakespeare, "Antony and Cleopatra," The Complete Works of Shakespeare ed. Hardin Craig (Dallas: Scott, i«'oresman and Company, 1951), I> iij 120-121.
^^John Milton, "Areopagitica," Complete Poems and Major Prose ed. Merritt Y. Hughes (New York: The Odyssey Freti,"33^), p. 72g.
57Aristotle, 0£. £it., iii. 5. 20.
45
brought about, not by some vice or depravity but "...rather
through some flaw in him."5^ Because of his error or frail
ty, he acts upon opinion, not real knowledge; the fact of
his flaw is a revelation of his inadequate wisdom, most dra
matically revealed at the moment of reversal and discovery.
A 'discovery,' as the term itself implies, is a change from ignorance to knowledge, producing either friendship or hatred in those who are destined for good fortune or ill. A discovery is most effective when it coincides with reversals, such as that involved by the discovery in the Oedipus.59
The new state of knowledge to which the tragic hero
ascends involves his knowledge of and faith in the gods, in
an ordered universe, and in man, whether individual or com
munal.
Apart from Greek tragedy and philoso|>hy, a considera
tion of the history of Thucydides reveals Greek thought from
yet another point of view. The historian's theory concern
ing historiography relates directly to his theory of know
ledge. In his opening comments he declares:
...whoever shall wish to have a clear view both of the events which have happened and of those which will some day happen again in the same or similar way - for these
5SAristotle Poetics trans. W. Hamilton Fyfe and ed. T. E. Page, et al. (London: William Heinemann Ltd., I960), 13. 2.
59ibid., 11. 2.
46
to adjudge my history profitable will be enough for me. And, indeed, it has been composed, not as a prize-essay to be heard for the moment, but as a possession for all time.60
Such a statement assumes that human nature is knowable and
that such knowledge of man may be used to explain history.
Further assumed is the notion that, although it is impor
tant to examine man in different environments, with differ
ent beliefs, man's nature is relatively stable; consequent
ly, we can hope to establish a guide for the future. Judg
ing his own work as being "a clear view" and as a "posses
sion for all time," Thucydides expressed faith in mankind's
ability to discover truth and to utilize it for his own
advantage. Implied is faith in progress.
What Thucydides did was to attempt to chart the tragedy
of Athens, first from the point of view of a participant
in the struggle and then as an observer. 'Those primarily
responsible for the wasting away of the great city-state
were its leaders, whose ideas are reflected in marvellous
speeches throughout the history. An examination of some
of the points made in certain key speeches reveals Thucy
dides' view of the relative wisdom of these leaders. Athens
60Thucydides History of the Peloponnesian War trans. Charles Forster Smith, eds. T. S. Page, et al. (London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1962), i. 22.
47
reached her greatest strength under Pericles; henceforth,
she wasted away by degrees until her ultimate fall to the
Peloponnese.
In Pericles' view Athens' great strength lay in her
democratic principles. A co-operative government of all
citizens, rich or poor, Athens, was famed for her moderation
and her unity. To her citizens Athens preferred liberty
and justice; to her neighbor she offered tolerance and
friendship.
It is true that our government is called a democracy, because its administration is in the hands, not of the few but of the many: yet while as regards the law all men are on an equality for the settlement of their private disputes, as regards the value set on them it is as each man is any way distinguished that he is preferred to public honors, not because of personal merits...for we do not feel resentment at our neighbor if he does as he likes, nor yet do we put on sour looks, which, though harmless, are painful to behold...61
Pericles' policy of moderation extended to his military
decisions. Faced with the aggression of the Peloponnese,
Pericles counseled a defensive war to be waged with courage
and with unity.
For he told the Athenians that if they would maintain a defensive policy, attend to their navy, and not seek to extend their sway during the war, or do
6libid., ii, 37.
4^
anything to imperil the existence.of the state, they would prove superior.^^
With the death of Pericles the Athenians embarked upon
a disastrous course. Abandoning faith in those very things
which had contributed to their greatness—moderation, unity,
tolerance—they followed in the opposite direction.
But they not only acted contrary to his advice in all these things but also in matters that apparently had no connection with the war they were led by private ambition and private greed to adopt policies which were injurious as to themselves and to their allies; for these policies, so long as they were successful, merely brought honor or profit to individual cit-
i izens, but when they failed proved detrimental to the state in the conduct of the war."3
Evidence that a new policy began to be followed during
the fourth and fifth years of the war may be seen in the
speeches of Cleon, a rising young politician, concerning
Mytilene, an allied city which had attempted revolt. After
putting down the rebellion, the Athenians first determined
to execute the entire male population of Mytilene and to
make slaves of the women and children. But before the decree
could be carried out, it was determined to put the question
to an assembly vote. Cleon supported the original decision,
a cruel and monstrous design which would condemn an entire
62ibid., ii, 65.
63Ibid.
49
city to a fate merited only by the guilty.^^ Cleon's speech
on the subject reveals that he had lost faith in moderation
and in reason. Declaring that the Mytilenians were guilty,
not of rebellion but of aggression, Cleon held that the
rebels had been treated too well in the past. Behind this
conclusion lay the assumption that human nature is as sure
ly made arrogant by consideration, as it is awed by firm-
ness.^5 Unlike Athenians, the Mytilenians were so inhuman
as to be incapable of feeling compassion; consequently,
none should be extended to them.^" The entire tone of the
speech suggests that the Mytilenians were evil and that
their very existence was intolerable. Moreover, to treat
them as criminals would be expedient. Therefore, he con
cluded,
...chastize them as they deserve, and give to your other allies plain warning that whoever revolts shall be punished with death.67
Although saner counsels finally prevailed in the treat
ment of the Mytilenians, during the tenth year of the war
the Athenians embarked upon a frankly aggressive, expansion
ist ic policy. The debate with the Melians reveals how ab
stract principles of justice were abandoned for the sake of
64ibid., III, 36.
65lbid., 39.
66ibid., 40.
LfBRARY
50
power and expediency. Sent to annex the neutral island of
Melas, the Athenians gave the Melians two choices: either
be annexed or be destroyed. Finding no hope in being annexed
and at most a faint hope in resisting, the Melians chose the
latter course—and failed.^^ Although the Athenians won
this battle as well as many others, they were to discover
that following a policy of "might means right" would be dis
astrous .
That Athens preferred a war of conquest and supported
those leaders who were aggressive may be seen in the debate
preceding the Sicilian invasion. Opposing the project was
Nicias, a supporter of moderation. However, the Athenians
sided with Alcibiades, a brilliant but corrupt politician,
who instilled false hopes in his followers.
Nicias stressed the folly of attacking the Sicilians
when they had not yet defeated the Lacedaemonians. To
divide one's naval power was dangerous, and to defeat a
nation which could not be ruled except with great difficul
ty was foolish. Finally Nicias was suspicious of the motives
of the youthful Alcibiades and others who saw in the defeat
of Sicily a means of improving their individual fortunes.
Nicias warned his countrymen against radicals who brand as
cowards those who vote against the war. He reminded them
6aibid., V, 85-116.
51
that few victories are won by foresight. In conclusion,
he urged that the Siceliots be left alone, to enjoy their
own possessions and settle their own quarrels.^^
The reply made by Alcibiades contains few facts and
considerable assumption. The empire has been gained, he
insisted, by Athenian readiness to assist all of her allies
who need help. To prevent being attacked, a nation often
should strike the first blow. The precise size of the em
pire could not be exactly set. In such a position,
...it is necessary to plot against some and not let go our hold upon others, because there is danger of coming ourselves under the empire of others, should . we not ourselves hold empire over other people.70
By sailing off to Sicily, Athenians would humble the pride
of the Peloponnese, who would see how scornful Athenians
were of peace. Rejecting the "do-nothing policy" of Nicias
would result in one of two things: at least the ruin of
the Syracusans or, more likely, conquest of all Hellas. On
the other hand, inaction meant decay, ruin.71
Thucydides' conclusion appears directly related to
knowledge ?.and opinion. The tragedy of Athens came about
69ibid., vi, 13.
70ibid., vi. Id.
71ibid.
52
partly because its leaders departed from the Greek Golden
Mean—a policy of moderation. The vision of its leaders,
following the death of Pericles, was clouded by pride, ex
tremism, righteous revenge, and ambition. Curiously, the
city which had produded so much great humanistic tragedy
became a victim of its own folly. Lack of faith in men
and reason gave way to cynicism and arbitrariness.
Whether the Greeks dealt with the affair between man
and gods or with man's own limitations, they emphasized
the importance of knowing, along with the difficulty of
knowing. The beginning of wisdom lay in the realization
that man's knowledge is pitifully small contrasted with
that of divine knowledge. The process of acquiring know
ledge was always accompanied by suffering. Aeschylean
characters struggled through generations of error and suf
fering before they were aligned with the divine world;
Oedipus agonized before he saw how inadequate physical
sight was in determining truth; Plato's men in the cave
showed man's propensity for error leading to consequent
tragedy. To the Greeks ignorance was of an even greater
importance than sin was to the Hebraic mind. The effect
of ignorance and sin on the two cultures was similar; each
prevented the establishment of order, comparable to right
eousness. Acting upon presumed knowledge or righteousness
53
was to court tragedy. Seeming good could well be disguised
evil.
Along with the difficulty of knowing, the Greeks
stressed the importance of faith. Even during the centuries
before Homer, Greeks had faith in a knowable harmony and
order in the universe, Moira, a faith later revealed in the
emphasis upon Logos, the rational principle behind the uni
verse. Socrates had faith that the gods had perfect know
ledge and that intellectual humility, achievable by man,
was the first step in acquiring wisdom. Whereas Plato laid
a basis of faith in the ideal, Aristotle urged moderation,
valid to the extent that man has faith in it. Finally, the
great tragedians, apart from their faith in the justness
and goodness of the gods, were confident in the nobility of
man whose ignorance made it necessary for him to suffer in
order to learn. In his struggling from ignorance to know
ledge man yet revealed his great dignity, his mighty pas
sions, and his supreme fortitude.
CHAPTER III
THE ROMAN DESPAIR
Following the brilliant age of Pericles, the Greek
spirit underwent a decided change. During the Fourth Cen
tury before Christ, the Greek mind, still possessing its
creative vigor, attempted to respond to the collapse of
those institutions in which it had had most faith: the
Greek religion and the polls, or city state. Two great
philosophies arose to fill the void: on one hand, the
Cynic and Stoic schools; on the other, the Epicurean.
Like these philosophies, the later popular movement
known as the Hellenistic Age was based upon man's aware
ness of failure. Gilbert Murray has shown that the entire
epoch was curiously touched with a kind of morbidity accom
panied by spiritual exaltation. This later era saw human
government fail in its attempt to educate and purify a bar
baric world led finally only to the corruption of those
ideals which Greece had sought to spread. The resultant
loss of hope led to individualism.
This sense of failure, the progressive loss of hope in the world, in sober calculation, and in organized human effort, threw the later Greek back upon his soul, upon the pursuit of personal holiness, upon emotions, mysteries and revelations, upon the comparative neglect of
54
55
this transitory and imperfect world for the sake of some dream-world which would subsist without sin or corruption, the same, yesterday, today, and forever.1
The Greek sense of failure was heightened by the eco
nomic chaos which afflicted the period. Modem scholar
ship has disclosed that life for the common man was especial
ly burdensome at this time and that any hope for betterment
in the world appeared negligible. Progressively, large
numbers of people were hindered from sharing economic or
political control. To reconcile themselves with the oppres
sive tenor of their lives, men saw two general possibili
ties: either to create an invisible new reality and there
fore to deny the apparent reality of the physical world, or
to affirm the non-existence of evil and thus to imply that
physical matter is so insignificant that it has nothing to
do with those questions which concern man most profoundly.2
In one philosophy happiness lay in withdrawal; in the other,
that of confrontation.
Representing the first of the two was Epicurus, who
founded his school of philosophical materialism in 306 B. C.
He taught that the world was created not from design, but
Icilbert Murray, Five Stages of Greek Religion (New York: Doubleday and Company, Incorporated, 1951), p. 4.
2Moses Hadas, A History of Greek Literature (New York: Colombia University">ress, 1967), p. 2457"^
56
by chance, and that it consisted of a fortuitous concatena
tion of atoms and void. As to the gods, who are also com
posed of atoms, they are unconcerned with man. When death
overtakes man, his atoms disperse; that is all. Not having
anything to fear either from the gods or from death, man is
independent and consequently at liberty to choose his pleas
ure in his own way.^
Epicurean philosophy is replete with advice for living
moderately but pleasurably. Pleasure was the highest good
—under certain conditions. One should not pursue pleasure
too vigorously, lest he encounter pain. Also, the type of
pleasure was important. So-called "dynamic pleasures"
could produce pain: for instance, sexual love should be
avoided because it is accompanied by fatigue and depres
sion; drinking and gluttony would most surely be followed
by disease. Mild pleasure such as that which arises from
friendship was desirable. He encouraged eating moderately
and simply:
I am thrilled with pleasure in the body when I live on bread and water, and I spit on luxurious pleasures, not for their own sake, but because of the inconveniences that follow them.**-
3Epicurus "Letter to Herodotus," trans. Cyril Bailey The Stoic and Epicurean Philosophers, ed. Whitney Jennings Gates (New York: Random House, 1940), passim., pp. 3-15.
4ibid., "Fragments" 43. 37.
57
Implicit in Epicureanism is faith in man's ability to
justify his existence. Such faith tends to emphasize the
dignity of the individual. At the same time the Epicurean
evinced no hope that man could arrive at true knowledge;
therefore, he did not concern himself with the problem. He
sought, rather, a simple means to make man happy, through
the enjoyment of mild pleasure, the only good. His explana
tion of the physical nature of the universe represented
merely a convenient structure upon which to support his
conduct. The Epicurean's answer to adversity suggests his
faith that man can discover a way to avoid it.
It was the Cynic, Antisthenes,a disciple of Socrates
who, in the Fifth Century B. C , prepared the soil for
Stoicism. The Cynic assumed that the world was fundamental
ly evil. To live the good life, man must necessarily with
draw from the world. The fruits of civilization — govern
ment, private property, marriage, slavery, luxury, and all
of the artificial pleasures of the senses — were more than
worthless. To ignore all externals was to be emancipated
from fear; to discover virtue, one must look within. In
their attempt to "exceed" nature, they were overpowered by
the subjective tendency.5 Their loss of faith in the ex-
5James Hastings, Encyclopaedia of Religion and Ethics (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons,"T951)j III> 382.
53
temal world, which they viewed as a welter of unexplain-
able evil, was replaced by a new faith, gained subjective
ly, in man's inner strength to overcome adversity. Con
sequently, knowledge of the external world was impossible.
An aspect of Greek thought which closely resembled
Cynicism, though somewhat more extreme, was Gnosticism.
The belief may be traced back to Pythagoras and Plato, who
had insisted that the higher nature of man needs to be de
livered of the flesh by spiritual enlightenment. Pythagoras
saw man as a kind of fallen deity, subject to all the frail
ties of error and death and in need of regeneration." Plato,
as has been shown, saw reality beyond the visible world,
whence the soul, by reason of its virtue, would win its way.
Like the later Christians, the Gnostics offered a so
lution. That which was evil about the earth was its mater
ial substance; the same was true about man. But the divine
element in man could, by means of secret knowledge, escape
from this evil and discover a way to bliss.7 In the Fourth
Gospel the apostle John uses the idea of knowledge signifi-
cantly.°
^Diogenes Laertius Lives of Eminent Philosophers I trans. R. D. Hicks, ed. T. E. Page, et al. (London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1953), iii, 32-34.
7Hastings, 0£. cit., XI, 362.
3The Gospel According to Saint John I.
59
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. (Verse 1)
In him was life: and the life was the light of man. (Verse 4)
And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory of the only begotten of th(B Father,) full of grace and truth. (Verse 14)
While the Greeks used the term "Word" or Logos to
refer to the rational principle behind existence, John spoke
of the divine mediator of creation. The use of this term
suggests the possibility that a human being may read and
understand this rational principle. An extremely interest
ing parallel of this concept may be seen in the famous
"Hymn to Zeus" by Cleanthes (331-232 B. C.).9 Joyously
proclaiming Zeus as ". . . all powerful," and "Author of
Nature," the poet speaks of the god that, —
...into harmony thou canst turn such discords And make of chaos order; for hate with thee is love. And thus by thee all things of good and evil are joined To make thy eternal Word, —still un-perceived by those Who blindly shun this truth. (11. 19-23)
Those who are ignorant, those who are borne hither and yon
"in the wake of vanity" suffer for their lack of insight
9cieanthes, "Hymn to Zeus," The Oxford Book of Greek Verse in Translation, trans. Michael Backwill, eds., T^ E. Higham and C M . Bowra, (Oxford: at the Clarendon Press, 1953), pp. 533-535.
60
into the nature of the god. The poet prays that all will
be delivered of their lack of knowledge:
Save men from all their ignorance and its distress. Scatter it from their hearts, and in In their quest for wisdom Grant them success; for in wisdom thou art powerful
And rulest justly. (11. 36-39)
As important as Epicureanism and Gnosticism were to
the ancient world, no doctrine was as influential as that
of Stoicism. Following the fall of Alexander, it swept
over Greece and later dominated Roman thought until finally
it was superseded by Christianity. Founded by Zeno in the
third century B. C , the doctrine derived its name from the
Greek word stoa or "porch" from which Zeno is said to have
lectured.1^
Although early Stoicism was fraught with many meta
physical difficulties and paradoxes, the moral theory had
wide rational and emotional appeal to its earliest adher
ents. When the passing of time saw the paradoxes become
increasingly intolerable to reason, efforts were made to
repair the inconsistencies. For some time various doctrines
were borrowed from this or that school \intil the Stoicism
lOwhitney Jennings Gates, "General Introduction," The Stoic and Epicurean Philosophers (New York: Random House, 1940J, P- XX.
61
of the first century B. C. consisted of a conglomerate of
patch-work beliefs. Not until a century later was Epictetus
able to remove extraneous accretions of doctrine and to
return to the essence of original Stoicism. Epictetus re
mains as one of the most important sources of man's present
knowledge of that philosophy.^-^
Like the Platonists, the Stoics supported the theory
of the self-sufficiency of the universe. But unlike the
Platonists, they could not accept the notion thai the cosmos
was dualistic. For if the whole were good, the universe
must be monotheistic. God was good. It follows that a
universe created by God must, of necessity, be good.l^
The Stoics conceived the universe in terms of a machine,
philosophically a materialistic monotheism. In the begin
ning all things were fire, but the world has slowly evolved
to its present state; in the future the process would be
repeated. The regularity with which the machine worked
suggested that it must be permeated with some kind of divin-
Even though their view of the universe was one of
mechanistic determinism. Stoics believed that the will was.
lllbid., pp. xxl^-xxii.
12Hastings, 0£. cit., XI, 362.
13Ibid.
62
in a sense, free. A good universe could not be tainted
with evil. Epictetus observed "As a mark is not set up
for men to miss it, so there is nothing intrinsically evil
in the world."14 in the sphere of morals, virtue was deemed
the highest good. To attain the highest good, one must live
according to reason. To live so, one must accept all events
which occur as being either good or indifferent. He who
interprets anything as evil is guilty of making an erron
eous judgment and does not live "according to nature." To
call anything evil is to misinterpret it, to employ one's
"impressions" incorrectly. It was here that the Stoic
dealt with the idea of free will. All things in the uni-;
verse are determined; nevertheless, the individual has it
in his power to use or misuse his "impressions"; or, to
put it another way, one may control his reactions to events
though one may not control the occurence of those events.
Seek not to have things happen as you would choose them, but rather choose that they should happen as they do.15
To conclude that no evil exists is to use one's impressions
correctly, to live "according to nature" in the noblest
sense. Certainly indifferent things exist, and such things
l^Epictetus "The Manual of Epictetus" in Gates, 0£. cit., trans. Cyril Bailey, 475. 2?.
15Epictetus "Discourses," 0£. cit., i. 12.
63
one may identify by concluding that they are not "in his
power." In themselves indifferent things are neither good
nor evil; hence, the only evil possible lies in the mis
interpretations of impressions; that is, that something
indifferent is good or evil, or that something good is
evil.^6
Epictetus, like Lucretius before him, attacked man's
fears since he held that the elimination of such fears
would insure that internal calm and peace of mind which is
the final desideratum. Attainment of the ideal was possi
ble only if one kept in mind that which is in one's power
and that which is not. Hastings has suggested the Stoical
assumption: "What man ought is derived from what man is."lT
The most inspiring of Epictetus' passages are those
exhorting man to self-control and those which insist that
God is in each man. Still, a kind of pessimism permeates
the entire whole, so that one is not greatly surprised
when Epictetus occasionally suggests that, after all, if
one is weary of life, he may depart it when he will.^3
There is little doubt that Epictetus' ideas influenced
the thought and character of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius.
The special appeal which Stoicism had for the emperor lay
l6oates, 0£. cit., p. xxi.
17Hastings, 0£. cit.,XI, 363.
l3Epictetus, "Discourses," 0£. cit., i. 25.
64
partly in the chaotic conditions of the period. During his
reign, disaster followed disaster. He was plagued with
wars against barbarian enemies, with a tottering economic
structure, with a violent internal revolt, and finally with
a devastating plague that swept through the empire.19
It is not remarkable that the doctrines of the two
greatest Roman Stoics were in large measure identical, since
the disciples of Epictetus were the emperor's mentors.
There are the same aspiration to serenity, the same counsel
to live independent of pleasure and pain, the same adjura
tion of indifference to fame and friends, and a similar
urging to conformity with the nature of things, assumed, in
each instance, to be good. The slight difference seems to
be one of tone: the conformity of Epicurus is that of
obedience to Nature — of a ruler who felt the burden of
office.20
Marcus Aurelius emphasized the universal brotherhood
of man. The belief rested on the assumption that the cos
mos was a vast machine, ultimately good, the parts of which
were intimately connected and interrelated. In the same
fashion human beings were joined together as brothers, all
locates, ££. cit., p. xiii.
20irwin Edman, "Introduction," Marcus Aurelius and His Times (New York: Walter J. Black, 1945), pTTI
65
fellow members of the same world city:
. . . my nature is reasonable and social. As Antonius, my city and my fatherland is Rome; as a man, the Universe. All then that benefits these cities is alone my good.21
In spite of Marcus Aurelius' attempts to be optimistic,
he betrays throughout the Meditations his difficult struggle
to adhere to the cardinal dogmas of Stoicism, especially
to keep faith with the belief that the universe really con
tained no evil. When he faced his chaotic world, torn as
it was with war, disease, and uncertainty, he must have
found it difficult to resolve the anomaly between his
theories and what he saw. No wonder, then, that he occa
sionally manifests a sadness, almost a defeatism, in spite
of himself.
Just as the performance in the amphitheatre and such places pall upon you, being forever the same scenes, and the similarity makes the spectacle nauseating, so you feel in the same way about life as a whole; for all things, up and down, are the same and follow the same. How long will it last?^^
The pessimism which plagued Romans is vividly revealed
in descriptions of Roman military glory. One must imagine
the conquering hero returning to Rome in triumph. He is
2lMarcus Aurelius Meditations trans. Meric Casaubon, (London: J. M. Dent and Sons, Limited, 1961), 6. 44. (See also 4. 4.)
22ibid., 6. 46.
66
dressed in magnificent robes, and riding beside him in his
splendid chariot is a slave who holds his crown above the
hero's head, a crown sparkling with rubies and emeralds.
The pride of Rome, he, however, does not lead the proces
sion. Foremost in the procession are the senators, followed
by trumpeters, which are in turn followed by the spoils of
war. Next come white sacrificial bulls and then manacled
prisoners, men, women, and children, their wounds showing,
their faces twisted with despair, since their throats are
to be cut before the procession arrives at the Temple of
Jupiter. Next in line come lictors, musicians, and choris
ters swinging censers. Finally, at the very rear, almost
obscured by the blue smoke of the censers, comes the con
queror. Parading his power down the Campus Martins to the
Via Sacra on his way to the Capitol, the triximphant general
appears to be the god of war incarnate. Yet amid all the
splendor and honor provided by Rome, the conqueror is the
butt of obscene taunts and coarse jests. Constantly swar
ming around his chariot, making obscene gestures are satyrs
and painted clowns dressed as wantons. They wear crowns
of gold; whereas, the victor wears only a crown of laurels.
One satyr, dressed in woman's clothes and treated with ex
treme ceremony by the clowns, curses the general more vo
ciferously than all the rest. Occasionally, she even
67
screams in his face.23
Meanwhile, in his chariot the conqueror remains tense
and nervous. Behind him stands a slave wearing a golden
crown and holding the crown of Jupiter Carolinus above the
victor's head. At brief intervals he whispers to the
general, "0 conqueror look behind you, and remember you are
mortal." After the prisoners are murdered (there being no
place for them at the sacrifice) and the oxen are sacrificed,
the victor entertains his friends magnificently. Later he
is led home with great pomp.24
Because the ceremony elaborated for the conquering
hero was re-created over and over again for many genera
tions, it apparently had extraordinary significance. With
every effort to exalt the conqueror there was a correspon
ding effort to debase him. The first citizen of the land,
he yet passed through a humiliating ordeal. While he wore
red paint on his face, a sign of his divinity, he was the
object of obscene jests, designed apparently to remind him
of his humanity. Robert Payne has described the seeming
paradox in this way:
. . . what is . . . surprising is that a public slave, and not a priest, is deputed to whisper warnings into his ! ear. The general who gives the order
23Robert Payne, Hybris, A Study of Pride (New York: Harper and Brothers, l^bO), pp. 41-42.
24ibid., p. 42.
63
for slaughter by a slave, the proudest is placed next to the humblest, and like the warning death's head in the medieval memento mori, the slave reminds the conqueror of the limping Fates who come up from behind and cut the thread of life.
In the Roman world, even at the moment of the greatest triumphs, we are made aware of the presence of inchoate fears, which tug remorselessly at the Roman soul.25
Payne concludes from his analysis of their culture that
the Romans were burdened by a primal fear and a sense of
guilt.26
Until the end of Rome's domination of classical cul
ture, her philosophy having become more and more pessimis
tic, the possibility for creating great tragedy became in
creasingly remote. Faith that man could ascertain any mean
ing or order in the immediate world gradually disappeared.
Greek thought which had once discerned an ordered universe
ultimately became sceptical of its own accomplishments.
Famham observes:
At last the main philosophies of the Greek tradition surrendered the world. They tended to find it a welter of unex-plainable evil, and in various ways they
25ibid., pp. 42-43.
26ibid., pp. 45-46.
69
discovered the good, the true, and the beautiful elsewhere, in realms which tracedv could not touch 2? tragedy could not touch.'
For the Stoic no tragedy was possible. The Stoic hero
could struggle only to know that evil was non-existent.
What men called adversity was founded upon baseless opinion,
and man could not participate in tragedy if none existed.
To dramatize the non-existent would be to court the absurd.2°
An examination of Seneca's dramatic works reveals that
they were tragedies in name only, not in essence. Possibly
nowhere else is this more glaringly revealed than in his
Oedipus. In sharp contrast to the Sophoclean version the
Senecan hero does not grow in knowledge. If anything, he
becomes increasingly ignorant. Throughout the play he cur
ses Apollo and boasts that the prophecy was not precisely
fulfilled.
As the play begins, the audience is introduced to an
Oedipus altogether different from the character created by
Sophocles. Instead of the proud Greek hero ("I, Oedipus,
renowned of all") a morbid, melancholy king appears. La
menting the fact that Fate often hides numerous ills behind
a smiling face, he deplores the unenviable role which kings
are forced to play. He implies that ambitious effort is
27willard Famham, The Medieval Heritage of Elizabethan Tragedy (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1936), p.4.
70
foolish, since Fate tends to strike down those in high
places. In his very first speech he shows his lack of
faith in ambitious effort, a Stoical notion which nulli
fies the tragic struggle.
Many worries assail the king. He feels innocent, but
he cannot forget the god's curse upon him; in addition, he
wonders whether he is somehow the author of the new dis
aster which is plaguing the city. Vainly, he prays for
death. Unlike his prototype, this Oedipus is not a noble
creature, not the "best of mortals." Even Jocasta notes
his lack of greatness as she chides him for augmenting his
worries with unmanly lamentations.^^ Oedipus denies that
he is guilty of any fear; after all, he has proved his
bravery in daring to answer the riddle of the Sphinx. He
theorizes that the Sphinx's shade is wasting Thebes in
vengeance for her death.
While the audience awaits Creon's news from the oracle,
the chorus of Theban elders appears on stage and in a long
declamatory passage deplores the fallen states of Oedipus
and of Thebes. The wretched state of the king is empha
sized in his own words to Creon, whose news Oedipus fear
fully awaits:
My trembling soul Strives 'neath a double load; for joy
^^Lucius Annaeus Seneca Oedipus, trans. Frank Justus Miller, The Complete Roman Drama (New York: Random House, 1942), Iir674-S77, iTTl
71
and grief Lie mingled in dark obscurity. I shrink from knowing what I long to know. (II, ii)
The Oedipus who repeats the foregoing is a far cry from
his Sophoclean predecessor.
The means by which Seneca's Oedipus receives the news
of his guilt reveals that either the author did not under
stand Sophocles' commentary on man's knowledge or else that
he did not consider the subject to be significant. Upon
learning from Creon the general reason for the god's dis
pleasure, Oedipus sends for Teiresias, who directs that
sacrifices and the burning of incense be administered at
the altar. Manto, daughter of Teiresias, describes the
bloody ceremony. Seneca apparently saw in this scene, and
elsewhere, an opportunity to engage in long declamations
full of weird necromancy. The scene ends with the confes
sion by Teiresias that he does not know the identity of
Laius' murderer; Creon must go and attempt to conjure up
the ghost of Laius, who may declare his murderer. In dis
allowing a confrontation between spiritual sight and phy
sical blindness, on one hand, and spiritual blindness and
physical sight, on the other, Seneca omitted an opportun
ity to contrast divine knowledge with human knowledge and
consequently to reveal the folly of determining truth
merely from physical appearance. Moreover, the later self-
blinding of Oedipus loses most of its symbolic force and
72
tends to become, at best, melodramatic.
In the last act of the play, just before the final
appearance of Oedipus, the chorus appears and importunes
acceptance of the negative. Stoical doctrine of determin
ism:
By fate we're driven; then yield to fate No anxious, brooding care can change The thread of destiny that falls From that grim spindle of the Fates Whate'er we mortals suffer here, Whate'er we do, all hath its birth In that deep realm of mystery. Stem Lachesis her distaff whirls. Spinning the threads of mortal men. But with no backward-turning hand. All things in ordered pathways go; And on our natal day was fixed Our day of death. Not God himself Can change the current of our lives. Which bears its own compelling force Within itself. Each life goes on In order fixed and absolute Unmoved by prayer. (V, ii)
The Oedipus who emerges at the play's end has suffered
physical defeat but does not enjoy spiritual triumph. In
stead of having attuned himself with divine law, he remains
scornful of Apollo.
0 fate-revealer, thee I do upbraid. Thou god and guardian of the oracles.
(V, iii)
Oedipus insists that he had been doomed to slay only his
father but that having caused his mother's death, he is
guilty of double parricide. His bitter words "0 lying
73
Phoebus, now have I outdone the impious fates" reveals his
lack of faith in the justice of things. He is certain only
that his absence will cleanse the city; he bids the "blast
ing Fates," "mad Despair," and "all pestilential humors"
to come away with him so that the city may live again. In
his last words Oedipus revives the ritual of the dying god.
The suggestion is strong that Seneca is closer in spirit
to the pre-Greek world than he was to that of the Periclean
age.
It has been generally shown that two great schools of
thought attempted to fill the void caused by the denial of
the Olympian religion. Epicureanism and Stoicism fought
against the growth of superstition and were for a time
successful. But, as Murray points out, man's mind cannot
be permanently enlightened by its being cleared of super
stition. He reasons:
There is an infinite supply of other superstitions always at hand; and the mind that desires such things — that is, the mind that has not trained itself to the hard discipline of reasonableness and honesty, will, as soon as the devils are cast out, proceed to fill itself with their relations.30
During the Hellenistic age, when Greek thought spread
swiftly, though superficially, over semi-barbarous popula
tions whose minds were not properly disciplined, men turned
3PMurray, 0£. cit.. p. 126.
74
toward a religion as anthropomorphic as that of the early
Greeks. Zeus and Apollo would not reward the evil nor
punish the good; neither would man do these things. The
answer they arrived at was that Chance or Fortune willed
the outcome of events. The relatively insignificant Greek
goddess Tyche became the extremely important Goddess
Fortuna.
The reason for the sudden and enormous spread of the
worship of Fortuna seems clear. A stable society tends
generally to reward the just and to punish the unjust, that
is, to lay stress on the visible chains of causation. But
in the violent and unstable Hellenistic period the way to
escape destruction seemed to be to placate Fortuna, the
strongest of the prevailing powers under the moon.31
The task of making the irrational and unpredictable
Fortuna into a reasonable and beneficent force was the prob
lem to which Boethius addressed himself. Boethius' achieve
ment was that of transforming the blind goddess into a
fictional figure embodying man^s limited hopes of temporal
prosperity as well as his fear of adversity. His ethical
doctrine is based upon his faith in the liberating power
of the human mind, which is able to estimate correctly the
31ibid., pp. 127-123.
75
limited, and consequently ephemeral, value of material sat
isfactions. His solution is based upon his concept of the
difference between human and divine knowledge. His doc
trine was to be authoritative for centuries to come.
The Consolation of Philosophy begins on a gloomy note
as the author complains that his sad hour came when " . . .
that faithless Fortune favored me with her worthless
gifts."32 To Lady Philosophy Boethius describes his unhappy
state and protests the lack of justice in the world: those
who seek to do good are punished; whereas, evil men are
rewarded.33 The poet beseeches God to make things harmon
ious on the earth even as they are in heaven:
Ruler of all things, calm the roiling waves, and, as You rule the immense heavens, rule also the earth in stable accord.34
Lady Philosophy suggests that Boethius' difficulty lies
within him, that he is ignorant of the purpose of things.
He does not know that the world is not subject to the acci
dents of chance; actually, it is governed by divine reason.
Knowledge will dispel his fears. Ignorance is his enemy:
32Ancius Manlius Severinus Boethius, The Consolation of Philosophy, trans. Richard Green (Indianapolis and New York: The Bobbs-Merrill Company, 1962), i. Poem 1.
33lbid., Prose 4.
34lbid., Poem 5.
76
It is the nature of men's minds that when they throw away the truth they embrace false ideas, and from these comes the cloud of anxiety which obscures their vision of truth.35
Finally, she admonishes him to fly from opinion, that
is, hope and sorrow, which cloud the mind and bind man to
the earth.36
In Book II Lady Philosophy observes that Boethius has
new knowledge which can be put to good use — the knowledge
of Fortune's changeable nature. Now he will have no illu
sions about the future.37 Fortime would defend herself
with logical arguments. She would say that she has done
no one an injury. Man is born naked and lacks everything;
therefore, he can never lose anything since he has never
really possessed anything. What he thought he owned was
really the possession of Fortune all the time. The wise
man is he who, when he accepts Fortune's gifts, will agree
to give up those gifts when Fortune so chooses. The blind
goddess takes pleasure in raising the low to a high place
and in lowering those who are on top. Her very mutability
should give Boethius hope that his unhappy state will im
prove. °
35ibid., Prose 6.
36ibid., Poem 7.
37ibid., Prose 4.
3^Ibid., Prose 2.
77
Happiness, says Philosophy, cannot depend upon uncer
tain things, such as Fortune's gifts. True happiness comes
from within, founded upon the rational self-possession of
one's self. To attain to such a state is to place oneself
beyond the reach of Fortune.39
In Book III Philosophy explores the subject of true
happiness and the supreme good. After having shown how
man in his ignorance wrongly strives after unsatisfactory
and transitory goals in the form of riches, honor, power,
fame, and bodily pleasures, Philosophy suggests that man
should first invoke the aid of God who is the source of
all true felicity.^0 -phe book ends with Philosophy's in
sistence that since God is the supreme good and is also
the ruler of the universe. He must necessarily direct all
things toward the good.41
Again in Book IV Boethius complains of the seemingly
puzzling fact that evil can be allowed to trample virtue
underfoot. To this complaint Philosophy replies that evil
cannot, in the absolute sense, exist. Evil is nothing, a
negation of pure being; therefore, the ability to do evil
is a weakness, not a power. Plato was right when he said
39lbid., Prose 4.
40ibid., iii. Prose 9.
41lbid., Prose 12.
7a
good always brings rewards and evil brings punishments.42
Evil men merely appear to be triumphant, and the surface
appearance of chaos is more seeming than real.
All sudden and rare events bewilder the unstable and the uninformed. But if the cloudy error of ignorance is swept away, such things will seem strange no longer.43
To Boethius' insistent query as to the nature of the
hidden cause of things, so clear to Lady Philosophy and so
inexplicable to the author. Lady Philosophy admits that the
subject is the greatest of all mysteries, one that can
hardly be explained. The problem involves the relations
between Providence and Fate, between divine foreknowledge
and the freedom of man's will. Providence is the divine
reason itself, by which all things are ordered; Fate is
that order and disposition as man may see it in the un
folding of events in time. Beholding the operations of
Fate, man tends to become confused, for human judgment may
not discern the providential order which governs those
operations.^^ Since God's Providence is wise and good,
all fortune must ultimately be good. One should keep in
mind the ultimate justness of things. That fortune which
42ibid., iv. Prose 2.
43lbid., Poem 5.
44ibid., Prose 6.
79
seems difficult either tests one's virtue and consequently
affirms one's wisdom, or else it corrects and punishes
vice. One should have faith and adhere to-the principle
of moderation in all things.^5
In Book V. Philosophy deals with the question of
chance. If when we say a "chance" event, we mean an event
whose causes are neither foreseen nor unexpected, then
chance does not exist. What people call "chance" is actu
ally an unexpected event brought about by a sequence of
causes. In God's world all is order; and, as the old phil
osophers truly said, nothing can come of nothing.^^
Boethius then raises the question of the possibility
of human choice in a world governed by divine Providence.
If the outcome of human events can depend upon the free
choices of men, these outcomes must be uncertain; therefore,
how can God, who knows all things, know these?. But God
does have this knowledge, and man has free will. Boethius
can see no way out of the dilemma.^7
Philosophy concludes that the confusion is caused by
the fact that man, with his limited knowledge, cannot
45lbid., Prose 7.
46ibid., V, Prose 1.
47lbid., Prose 3.
ao understand the perfection of divine knowledge. God's know
ledge is not limited; man's knowledge is.4a Boethius had
tried to reconcile the problem in one way only, that of
proving that foreknowledge was not fore ordination. He had
concluded that a necessity was implied. To answer the
question. Fortune introduces an analogy: one does not cause
an event to occur merely by observing that event. Simi
larly, God observes men's actions without causing them.
She insists that
. . . when God knows that something will happen in the future, and at the same time knows that it will not happen through necessity, this is not opinion but knowledge based on truth.49
The secret lies in resolving the time element, as it con
cerns God, into terms which man can understand. In God's
mind the past, present, and future are seen as an eternal
present. What eternity is to God, the present moment is
to man. Thus God's foreknowledge of men's actions is like
man's observation of an event. It follows that God's fore
knowledge does not imply foreordination.50
Philosophy holds that there are two kinds of necessity.
One kind is implied in the mere observance of an act. Such
4aibid., Prose 5.
49ibid., Prose 6.
50ibid.
al
a necessity does not extend beyond the fact that the act
observed makes necessary that the act be true. This is
called "conditional necessity" and involves universal laws
governing such things as the death of men and the rising
of the sun. From this irrestible necessity there is no
escape.51
The conclusion is that the human will remains inviolate
and that God's laws are just. Lady Philosophy counsels
resistance to vice and the cultivation of virtue. Man
should have faith that one's hopes and prayers are not
directed to God in vain.
Lift up your soul to worthy hopes, and offer humble prayers to heaven. If you will face it, the necessity of virtuous action imposed upon you is very great, since all your actions are done in the sight of a Judge who sees all things.52
That which Famham has properly called "The Greco-
Roman Surrender" was due primarily to the loss of faith in
the Homeric gods and to the despair caused by the disappear
ance of the city-state aggravated by economic chaos. Since
man's life is tolerable only if he retains faith either in
some thing or some one, mortal or divine, man was thrown
back upon his own soul in desperation.
51lbid.
52ibid.
32
The Epicureans believed that a certain kind of pleas
ure was the only good. Consequently all men desire this
pleasure, and all men ought to seek it. The happy man
would strive to eliminate his fears, eradicate his pain,
and pursue mild pleasure. His knowledge need not extend
beyond these simple rules. True knowledge, that is, know
ledge of the gods and knowledge of the universe, were beyond
man; consequently, he should not concern himself with that
which is impossible to know. The gods, who were uncon
cerned with man, lived tranquilly and serenely in their
own world. Man's great hope lay in emulating them.
The Stoic's faith was based upon his assumption that
God was the omnibeneficent, omniscient creator of the uni
verse. No real evil could exist. All of the workings of
nature were pre-determined and were essentially good.
What men call adversity is merely opinion. The happy man
would align his own will with the divine will and accept
as good all which happens. The Stoic could not conceive
of nobility of action in terms of a hero's struggle against
tragic odds. On the contrary, such struggle was foolish.
Ideally, the hero would identify himself with divine reason
by losing himself in God.
The god which Boethius imagined was decidedly anthro
pomorphic, a fact which tended to bring man and his Deity
closer together. His God was a God of love who manifested
33
himself in all creation. Boethius retained the old Stoic
notion that all fortune is really good and that human know
ledge cannot comprehend the depths of divine knowledge.
However, man's knowledge is adequate; for, by means of his
reason, man may comprehend the greatness of god and seek
faith which is the instrument of his salvation. The gloom
created by philosophers during the later classical period
was partially dispelled by Boethius.
CHAPTER IV
THE MEDIEVAL INTERLUDE
That the dominant philosophies of the early centuries
of the Christian era were based upon man's awareness of
failure has been shown. In a universe governed by chance
or mechanical necessity, paganism had all too frequently
concluded that the gods, if indeed they existed, were
either oblivious of man's plight or else malicious toward
mankind. Into this philosophical vacuum came Christianity
and a new hope for man.
Yet primitive Christianity immediately faced a most
perplexing problem. The new religion tended to substitute
divine determinism for pagan fata)lism, and the question of
man's free will appeared to remain, as before, unresolved.
To admit of man's individuality and freedom in the face of
God's omniscience and omnipotence. Christian philosophy
had to be extended.
Although the early church fathers were aware of the
need to refute pagan fatalism by means of belief in an all-
wise, loving God, they were hard pressed to maintain their
faith in man's free will. Just how difficult this struggle
was may be seen in the writings of Saint Augustine, Chris
tian spokesman for the early Middle Ages.
Based upon the notion of divine illumination, the
philosophy of Augustine is God-centered. Augustine's
34
35
thinking is not bounded by reason. Of necessity, he said,
faith must precede understanding. In his introductory
comment in On The Trinity, he avows that his purpose is
. . . to guard against the sophistries of those who disdain to begin with faith, and are deceived by a crude and perverse love of reason.1
In developing his theory of the nature of evil, Augus
tine assumed that all of God's creations were good and
that no intrinsic evil could be attached to such creations.
Evil has no real being and may be defined merely as a pri
vation or want of goodness. Such gradations are needed to
account for the harmony which God chose to introduce into
the universe.
. . . no nature at all is evil, and this is the name for nothing but the want of good. But from things earthly to things heavenly, from the visible to the invisible, there are some things better than others; and for this purpose they are ^ unequal, in order that they might exist.^
To him who cannot understand such reasoning, Augustine
would suggest that man cannot hope to comprehend God's
perfect wisdom.3
To explain moral evil, Augustine turned to the will
itself, as being the source. Because of Adam's sin, man
ISaint Augustine, "On the Trinity," Basic Writings of Saint Augustine, trans. A. W. Haddan, ed. Whitney J. Gates jfew York: Random House, 1943) II. ii. 1.
2jbid., The City of God, trans. M. Dodds, II, xi. 22.
3ibid., 21.
36
was born in ignorance and with a defective will. Man wrong
ly believes that he controls his will. It was in such a
state that Adam found himself after the fall, before God
had extended grace to him. Here man is able only to sin.
When God does give man grace, man discovers that he is in
another state in which he is able not to sin — the state
of Adam before the fall.^ In the perfect state, man is
unable to sin; for he is dead, and by the grace of God has
eternal life.5
Unable to control his will, a good which comes from
God, man is powerless to act rightly. To explain his
reasoning, Augustine suggests that one imagine a man with
out a will. To such a man the concept of righteous action
has no meaning, for to act rightly comprehends the possi
bility not to act rightly. Certainly God could not create
a man who would be incapable of righteous action. Men,
therefore, have wills which are capable of choosing rightly
of wrongly.^
Saint Augustine had his own private definition of
freedom of the will. He contended that man's will was free
only when the action chosen was good. When evil action is
4ibid., xiv. 21.
5lbid., xxii. 21.
^Ibid.
37
chosen, the will is not free; rather, it is enslaved by
some evil, perhaps passion. To enjoy what Augustine refers
to as "positive freedom" is to have escaped from the evils
of this world:
If ye continue in ray word, then ye are my disciples indeed; and ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free. (John VIII, 31, 32.)
Born with a defective will, man cannot establish con
tact with God unless he receives God's grace. But grace is
a free gift which man, a sinner, cannot, by his own merit,
deserve.7 Still, sinners are the only possible recipients.
The question arises: how then are men elected to receive
God's grace? Augustine insists that God in his infinite
wisdom makes the decision; man cannot hope to penetrate
the mystery.
Augustine apparently believed that allowing man the
means to save himself would, in effect, make God less than
omnipotent; moreover, there would be no room for God's
mercy. Yet it seems clear that to give to God the sole
responsibility of electing or not-electing is also to make
the act of not electing a source of evil, something which
Augustine could not, of course, admit. Curiously, Augustine
7Saint Augustine, "Retractions," The Problem of Free Choice, trans. Don Mark Portifex, Ancient Christian Writers, ids. Johannes Quasten and Joseph C. Plumpe (Westminster, Md.: Newman Press, 1946), i. 9. 225.
33
does not emphasize man's need for knowledge, and one must
conclude that men, living under such a pitiless theology,
cannot logically be held responsible for his state, whether
prosperous or adverse.
The path which Christianity took to discover justifica
tion for its faith in man's freedom of will was a long and
difficult one. Eight centuries were to pass before the
appearance of a theologian of sufficient stature to guide
Christianity away from the New-Platonism of Augustine. It
was Saint Thomas Aquinas, who insisted that if man were to
assume responsibility for his errors, then he must be given
the power of truly free choice. Such a power would be his
own, but it would come from God. Although he appropriated
and developed many of Augustine's ideas. Saint Thomas
Aquinas deviated on a point necessary to the establishment
of a basis for tragedy. He re-defined the province of
knov/ledge and the power of will in man. In a certain defect
of the will, that is, a lack of goodness in the will, lies
the metaphysical root of evil of action. Every being, as
such, is good. But the will, like imperfect man, also
lacks perfect goodness.^ In the freedom given to the will
3saint Thomas Aquinas, "Summa Theologia," Basic Writings of Saint Thomas Aquinas, Dominican Translation of Saint Thomas Aquinas, ed. Anton C. Pegis (New York: Random House, 1944), 1- 1* 5. 3.
39
to act or not to act, one may see the cause for the creation
of evil. Even so, the defect itself, dependent upon free
dom, is not itself an act and as yet does not create evil.
It is only when the will actually acts that evil is created.
One may consider that two moments are involved.
Evil has a deficient cause in voluntary beings otherwise than in natural things. For the natural agent produces the same kind of effect as itself, unless it is impeded by some exterior thing; and this amounts to some defect in it. Hence evil never follows in the effect unless some other evil preexists in the agent or in the matter . . . But in voluntary beings the defect of the action comes from an actually deficient will inasmuch as it does not actually subject itself to its proper rule. This defect, however, is not a fault; but fault follows upon it from the fact that the will acts with this defect.9
In propounding negation, man needs himself — and him
self alone. He uses his freedom not to consider the rule;
hence, the very moment of non-consideration of the rule
suggests the spiritual element of sin. At this moment, the
texture of being gives way. Nothingness, by its very
nature, leads to nothingness.10
From Augustine to Thomas Aquinas, one sees a shift from
Neo-Platonisra to Aristotelianism. In his theology, Thomas
9lbid., 1. 49. 1. (By "its proper rule" Saint Thomas refers to perfect reason and divine knowledge, both of which are beyond man.)
lOibid., 1. 5. 3.
90
Aquinas manifests an awareness of the principles of science.
He sees the material universe as one of law and order, and
he appears to urge men to use human reason for the purpose
of discovering order in life. He supports the idea that
man's intellect may justify faith and consequently confer
new glory upon God.H
When Thomas Aquinas gave equal credence to the material
reality of the universe as well as to God!s immaterial real
ity, he opened the door to extremism. On one hand, the
mystic could insist that all existence is spirit; on the
other, the materialist could argue that all is spiritless
matter. Opposing the view that the only reality is God
(and good) was the contrary view that that which is real
is the absence of God (and evil).
Thus, Thomistic Christianity in abandoning the ascetic integrity of Augustian New-Platonism was deserting a secure fortress to fight in dangerous open country. It was exposing itself to, even using the methods of, a force which was fated to grow stronger, to cause desertion from the religious ranks, and eventually to find its own logical integrity in materialistic monism.12
Yet here in the middle ground where spirit and matter,
or good and evil, continually threaten to destroy each other,
one sees the tragic mind function at its best. In such a
llFamham, 0£. cit., p. 124.
12ibid., pp. 125-126.
91
realm man adds his weight first to one side and then to the
other, all the while discovering that the contest is nobly
creative rather than hopelessly nihilistic." It is the true
tragic world, no less for the Periclean age than for the
Elizabethan, and it is to the credit of Saint Thomas Aquinas
that he helped to prepare the intellectual climate for
Shakespearean tragedy.^3
Another step in the creation of such a climate may be
seen in Boccaccio's D£ Casibus Virorum Illustrium (I365-
1370). In this long collection of stories, which recount
the crushing blows of Fortune administered to illustrious
personages throughout the ages, Boccaccio treats of the
problem of knowledge. Boccaccio would show how God (or
Fortune) has power over those in high places; then he would
reveal to princes the virtue of wisdom and moderation by
holding up to them those instances of misfortune which are
provoked by pride, egotism, and ambition.1^
To Boccaccio, princes were objects of scorn, creatures
for whom he had neither sympathy nor respect. There was,
he insisted in his "Epistle to Mainardo," no living king.
13Ibid.
l^Boccaccio, "Preface to His First Version," De Casibus Virorum Illustrium, quoted in Lydgates Fall of Princes, ed. Dr. rienry Sergen (London: Published for The Early English Text Society, by Humphrey Milford, Oxford University Press, Amer. House, Warwick House, E. C , 1924), Part I, xlvii.
92
nor emperor, nor pope to whom he wished to dedicate his
book. Because of their vices — pride, avarice, luxurious-
ness, idleness, and many other faults — all virtue was
lost; indeed, by their woeful examples they had corrupted
the common people.^^ By dispensing knowledge to princes,
Boccaccio apparently hoped to bring goodness and order out
of an evil and chaotic situation.
Although Boccaccio emphasizes, over and over, man's
powerlessness in an irrational world of chance, and while
he does not state explicitly that by following moderation
and discretion man may escape misfortune, he hints that
certain benefits may be obtained.1^
In his first story Boccaccio observes that, because
of man's disobedience and vainglory. Fortune came into
being in this world. With Fortune came all other mis
fortunes, and finally inevitable death. By nature, then,
man's life is tragic, and it is futile to struggle against
destiny. Man's hope of regaining his lost Paradise in the
life after death lies in his following the precepts of
Christ.17
15ibid., pp. xlix-1.
l6Boccaccio, D^ Casibus Virorum Illustrium, 2nd ed., 1st version. (Printed at Paris for Jean Gaurmant and Jean Petit, early loth century, N. D.), trans. Willard Famham, op, cit., pp. 34-35. (All quotations from the De Casibus comeTrom Famham, neither the original Latin nor any other English translation being available).
17Fortunae ludibrium, Fol. i verso, Famham, p. 35.
93
Boccaccio's treatment of the notion of Fortune in Book
III is reminiscient of Stoical philosophy. The fight be
tween boastful Poverty and Fortune ends in the defeat of
Fortune. As the spoils of victory, poverty demands and is
granted the following: that hereafter Misfortune be chained
to a stake in a public place so that he would forever be
unable to touch any man unless that man were foolhardy
enough to break Misfortune's chains. Good Fortune, however,
would be allowed to go an3rwhere.l^ The moral seems to be
clear: he who grapples with the world unchains Misfortune
and courts disaster. The unaspiring life is best; or, as
the Stoic said, lightning tends to hit the highest tree.
He who would be wise would learn that with ambition comes
danger.
In the stories concerning Pompey and Alcibiades Boc
caccio appears to betray an admiration for heroic struggle
in spite of the fact that he insists that the two heroes
have unbound Misfortune from the stake. Alcibia,des is un
done when he becomes overconfident of victory; Pompey is a
victim of treachery; but both have such splendid characters
that Boccaccio appears to be shocked when Fortune destroys
them.^9
13Famham, pp. 36 - 37.
19ibid., pp. 97-93. (Folio Iii verso)
94
Further evidence that Boccaccio admired worldly fame
is suggested in the humorous dialogue with Fortune in Book
VI. Having again inveighed against Fortune regarding her
fickle nature, Boccaccio suddenly seeks her assistance in
completing his book so that his own renown may be eternal.
The situation is highly ironical, for both Boccaccio and
Fortune understand that Boccaccio is guilty of doing that
which he has been warning others not to do.^^
Boccaccio's conclusion is also not in keeping with
his central thesis. He sums up by saying that one should
love God and strive after virtue; however, he insists
that one should seek honor, praise, and fame. To do these
things is to show that one is worthy of the elevation
which one achieves. Should one then fall from the heights,
one may correctly blame fickle Fortune and not himself
for his doom.21
Though he does not always say as much, it appears
that Boccaccio guardedly admits that men is at least par
tially responsible for his endeavors and that character
flaws contribute to human misfortunes.
20lbid., p. 101.
21ibid., pp. 101-102
95
Important to the development of Renaissance tragedy
were the contributions made by Chaucer.
In the Monk's Tale Chaucer continues to adhere to
Boccaccio's theory of tragedy but is less prone to attri-
bute character flaws to man's misfortune. His definition
of tragedy is simple:
Tragedie is to serve a certeyn storie As olde bookes maken us memorie Of hym that stood in greet prosperitee, And is yfallen out of heigh degree Into myserie, and endeth wrecchedly.22
As he begins his tale, the Monk warns man about trusting
in fortune.
For certein, whan that Fortune list to flee. There may no man the cours of hire withholde. Lat no man truste on blynd prosperitee
Be war by thise ensamples trewe and olde.^3
Having defined tragedy as the story of man's fall
from prosperity, and having warned man not to trust in
fortune, Chaucer goes on to show, in most of his stories,
how fortune overturns both virtuous and vicious alike.
Sampson, who "was announced" by an angel and consecrated
22Geoffrey Chaucer, "The Prologue of The Monk's Tale," The Works of Geoffrey Chaucer, ed. F. N. Robinson, second eSXtion (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, The Riverside Press, 1957), B. 3163-3167- (All references to Chaucer are from this edition.)
23Geoffrey Chaucer, The Monk's Tale, B. 3135-3133.
96
by God, was destroyed because he revealed the secret of
his strength to his wife. Adam was for "mysgovemaunce"
driven out of high prosperity to labor, hell, and misfor
tune. Rarely does Chaucer indicate any connection between
the flaws of men and their downfalls, and the feeling per
sists that misfortune has no rational cause. The excep
tion to the general rule is seen in the case of Hercules,
who is guiltless of any sin:
Ful wys if he that kan humselven knowe ! Beth war, for whan that Fortune list to glose, Thanne wayteth she her man to overthrowe By swich a wey as he wolde leest suppose.
(B. 3329-3332)
Chaucer suggests that wisdom arises from self-knowledge
and that such self-knowledge would prevent one's being
lulled into a false sense of security by fortune's flat
tery.
So, too, at the end of his tale, the Monk cautions
men against trusting Fortune: Tragedies noon oother raaner th3mg Ne kan in syngyng crie ne biwaille But that Fortune alwey wole assaille With unwar strook the regnes that been proude; For whan men trusteth hire, thanne wol she faille And covere hire brighte face with a clowde.
(B. 3951-3956)
The wise man would then not enter the world of heroic action
and lay himself open to the blows of Fortune. Like Boccac
cio, Chaucer here recommends the humble life.
97
In Troilus and Criseyde Chaucer comes nearer to human
istic tragedy, at least in the sense that the poet attri
butes Troilus' earthly disappointments to lack of knowledge.
As the soul of Troilus rises to the eighth sphere, he has
a moment of clear vision. Surveying the scene below, he
feels at first loathing for the wretched world with all of
its vsinity. Then his new knowledge turns loathing into
joy as he surveys the entire course of events in the life
which he has just departed.
And in hymself he lough right at the wo Of him that wepten for his deth so faste; And dampned al oure werk that foloweth so The blynde lust, the which that may nat laste24
Like Plato, Chaucer seems to insist that man is a prisoner
of his senses, that ansolute knowledge is denied to man
while he lives. But whereas Plato would appeal to reason
which, by rejecting the evidence of the sense, would aid
one to draw near the true world, Chaucer recommends Chris
tian faith and love as the means by which one may escape
being blinded by this world's vanity. Each reiterated
man's propensity to tragic struggle, and each insisted
upon the need for special knowledge.
More even than with Boccaccio or Chaucer, Lydgate
insisted that Fortune caused man's tragedy. Lydgate's
24Geoffrey Chaucer, Troilus and Cressida, V, 1321-1324.
93
Fortune, much like Chaucer's, is irrational, and each opines
that man's struggle in the mundane world is vain. Speaking
as a monk, Lydgate appears to say that the wise man is he
who abandons the heroic struggle. Oedipus, for instance,
was morally a blameless man. His only fault was that he
was successful in worldly affairs. Lydgate warns:
Who cljnnbeth hiest, his fal is lowest dou A mene estat is best, who koude it knowe, Tween hih presumying and bowyg dou to lowe.25
Lydgate is not sure of the root of Oedipus' tragedy, but
he gives his opinion:
In this mateer, pleyn thus I deeme Off no cunnyng but off ppynyoun: Though he wer crownyd with sceptre and diademe To regne in Thebes the stronge myhti town. That sum aspect can from hevene doun, Infortunat, freward and ful off rage. Which ageyn kynde deyned this mariage.
(11, 3494-3500)
In general Lydgate is incapable of tracing explicitly
man's misfortunes to some flaw in his character, although
he takes a firm stand against domestic vices, warning a-
gainst murder, tyranny, ingratitude, pride, covetousness,
and vulgar materialism. At the same time he often implies
that men reap what they sow, here in this life. One of the
25Lydgate, "The Misfortunes of Oedipus," Lydgate's Fall of Princes ed. Dr. Henry Bergen (London: Oxford University Press, 1924)
99
few instances in which he departs from allowing Fortune to
control man's destiny or from merely implying that men
suffer for sins, is seen in his Book V. Here he directly
asserts the formula for prosperity and adversity:
Noble Princis. . . Remembreth pleynli, yif ye be virtuous. Ye shall persevere in long prosperite, Wher the contrairie causeth adversite As this stoic afforn doth specefie Of antiochus . . .
(11. 1614-1620)
By the time Lydgate has completed his translation, he
readily repeats the above assertion. Grace and prosperity
follow virtue (Book IX, 11. 3544-3546), and in his very
last line, remembering those who find themselves undone by
Fortune, now weeping, now singing, he concludes: "Who will
encrece bi vertu must ascende" (1. 3623).
The morality play, which, it is generally agreed,
represents an important step in the development of Eliza
bethan tragedy, touches upon the problem of knowledge from
a Christian point of view. Appearing in the early fifteenth
century, the plays consisted primarily of medieval drama
tized sermons in which virtues and vices struggled for the
possession of man's soul; the later, more artistic plays,
pictured man, blinded by ignorance and sin, working out
his spiritual salvation by the light of Christian knowledge.
It is significant that in the better morality plays.
100
it is earthly man and not saintly or perfect man, who is
pictured in a world of good and evil and given free choice
to determine his destiny. In Everyman, for example, God
declares that all of His creatures have forgotten His sac
rifice. Love of worldly goods has rendered man ignorant.
Such is man's condition:
Lyu3mge without drede in worldely prosperyte Of ghostly syght the people be so blynde, Drowned in synne, they know me not for theyr God In worldely ryches is all theyr mynde.26
Told by Death that he must die that very day, Everyman
attempts to make his reckoning. The painful truth dawns
on him. Life, which Everyman had thought was given him,
was in fact, lent to him only briefly. Then, as his friends,
one after the other, abandon him — Fellowship, Kindred,
Cousin — Everyman begins to look like the hero of the
humanist tragedy. He tends toward despair when he learns
that Goods " . . . that I loved best" (1. 472), like his
own life, was also given him as a temporary loan.
Good Deeds, so burdened with sin that she may not rise
from the ground, at least gives good counsel: her sister.
Knowledge, will help Everyman to provide a reckoning. In
26Everyman, Chief Pre-Shakesperean Dramas ed. Joseph Quincy Adams (Cambridge: Houghton Mifflin Company, The Riverside Press Cambridge, 1924), 11. 24-2?, p. 2, 9.
101
following Knowledge's advice, Everyman shows that he has
abandoned the seeming good for true good. Confession read
ily accepts Everyman because, as she says, " . . . with
Knowledge ye come to me" (1. 555). When Good Deeds arises,
now cleansed from sin, Everyman weeps " . . . for very
swetenes of love" (1. 635), and is cheerful even as he
learns that Discretion, Five-Wits, Strength, and Beauty,
and indeed Knowledge will not attend him into the grave.
After communion and extreme unction are administered,
Everyman triumphantly enters the grave, accompanied by
Good-Deeds, who will be his witness. Knowledge announces
that Everyman has been saved:
Now hath he suffred that we all shall endure The Good-Dedes shall make all sure. Now hath he made endynge. Methynketh that I here aungelles synge. And make grete ioy and melody Where Euerymannes soule receyued shall be
(11. 333-393)
Everyman is saved because he does not despair of God's mer-
c y. In following the good counsels of Good Deeds and Know
ledge, Everyman demonstrates that his knowledge of God is
adequate and that he can act positively from such knowledge.
That morality plays could easily merge into tragedy
is shown in Marlowe's Dr. Faustus. In this play the alle
gorical figures of the good and bad angels contend for the
possession of Faustus' soul. Unlike Everyman, who avoids
tragedy, Faustus is author of his own tragedy because his
102
knowledge is inadequate.
In the "Prologue" the Chorus comments ironically on
Faustus' actual knowledge and upon the hero's false opinion
of his knowledge. At Wittenberg whence he did "profit in
divinity," Faustus only nibbled the fruits of learning:"The
fruitful plot of scholarism graz'd."27 And though Faustus
has not profound knowledge, he has been " . . . grac'd with
doctor's name" (1. 17) and has excelled all others in dis
puting theological matters (11. 13-19). The effect of
lines 15-20 is clear: Faustus' knowledge is scanty. Then,
to emphasize the point, the Chorus reveals Faustus' pride
concerning his "wisdom," a sure sign of ignorance:
Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit. His waxen wings did mount above his reach And melting heavens conspir'd his overthrow: (11. 20-22)
Then, believing himself "glutted with learning's golden
gifts" (1. 24) Faustus seeks forbidden knowledge:
Nothing so sweet as magic is to him, Which he prefers before his chiefest bliss. (11. 25-26)
In Scene I Faustus rejects traditional studies and
further reveals his ignorance. Asserting that he will be
27christopher Marlowe, "The Tragical History of Dr. Faustus," English Drama 1530-1624. ed. C. F. Tucker Brooke and Nathaniel Burton Paradise, (Boston: D. C. Heath and Company, 1933) 1. 16, p. 171.
103
a "divine in show," he protests the value of his studies.
Since the end of the study of logic is to dispute well and
since he has learned to do so, he rejects this study be
cause it provides him no "greater miracle" (1. 9). He
scorns the study of medicine, more important then the study
of philosophy (Ubi desinit philosophus, ibi incipit
medicus) (p. 16) because his learning has enabled him neither
to make man immortal nor to raise up the dead (11. 24-25).
Significantly Faustus abandons the study of divinity and,
in doing so, reveals his fragmentary Biblical knowledge.
Repelled by the harshness of the quotation "The reward of
sin is death" (I. i. 33) he avoids mention of the rest of
the verse which gives hope to those free from sin: "but
the gift of God is eternal life, through Jesus Christ our
Lord" (Rom. vi, 23). Similarly, he emphasizes the verse,
"If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and
there is no truth in us" (11. 40-41), but he refrains from
quoting the next verse which offers a remedy for sin: "If
we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us
our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness" (I
John 1, 9). From these verses Faustus is led to conclude
that because man must sin, he must die everlasting; there
fore the whole Christian scheme is deterministic: "What
will be, shall be - - Divinity adieu I" (1. 45)
Glibly and scornfully, Faustus has shown that he is
104
woefully ignorant of the principles of Elizabethan learn
ing, principles designed to provide man with the basis for
a happy life:
These principles included the pursuit of self-knowledge, faith in man's spiritual destiny, acceptance of responsibilities to society, and proof of wisdom in conduct. In brief,- the end of learning was to prepare individuals for better service to both God and the state.23
The cause of Faustus' ignorance is pride which blinds
him to the truth about himself and about God. To discover
the truth about these things, man should look without and
within. Typical of Renaissance thinking is the following
admonition designed to rid man of his presumptuousness.
(By looking into heaven and feeling our own ignorance, vanity, and corruption) . . . we are ledde and induced to know, that in God onely consisteth and reflteth the true light of wisdome, firmeness of vertue and certaine fulness of all good things, and the purity of Justice and Righteousnesse. From whence we learne that the knowledge of ourselves, not onely provoketh and inciteth every man to know God, but also leadeth them by the hand to finde him out . . . man never attaineth to the true knowledge of himself, untill with the eyes of faith, he beholds the face of God, and from beholding it, look into the depths of his owne heart . . . For pride is naturally borne with us . . . so we are still of opinion, that there is much wisdome.
23joseph T. McCullen, "Dr. Faustus and Renaissance Learning," Modern Language Review 1956, LI, 7.
105
righteousnesse, and holinesse in us, untill by manifest and evident arguments we are made to see our own ignorance. . . 29
Unaware that he is guilty of pride (since pride blinds
man to the fact that he is proud), Faustus does not realize
that he is alienating himself from God. Renaissance human
ists knew that the first step in the removal of pride was
Christian humility just as the first step toward the attain
ment of true wisdom was that of achieving intellectual
humility. The two following quotations emphasize the power
which humility possesses:
The only and chief remedy against pride is humilitie; for as by pride wee are banished from the presence of god so by humilitie wee are recalled unto him againe, because without humilitie, no other vertue whatsoever is acceptable in his sight.30
La Primaudaye recalled the lesson taught by Socrates:
To end this discourse, and to beat down and supress all human presumption, it shall not be amiss to insert that which Socrates said of himselfe, which was, that hee knew but one thing, that is, hee knew nothing, therein speaking trulier then he thought he had done. For a man adorned and instructed with and in so many notable sciences as he was, should be moved nevertheless to confess that he knew nothing in regard and comparison
29peter de La Primaudaye, The French Academie, trans, T. B. (London, 1633), p. 903.
30TWO Guides to a Good Life (;sometimes attributed to Bishop HiTl) (Printed by W. laggard, London, I6O4), C2.
106 of that whereof he was ignorant; namely, in moral and natural sciences, although he had applied his mind and whole study thereunto: how much more ought hee (that by reason should be far wiser than Socrates) to confesse and acknowledge that he knoweth nothing, if he hath not the understanding of devine science requisite for the salvation of his soule?31
Near the end of his opening soliloquy, Faustus reveals
his misguided intentions: he will seek forbidden knowledge
for an evil purpose. His pride has caused him to seek to
be a god.
All things that move between the quiet poles Shall be at my command. Emperors and kings Are but obey'd in their several provinces Nor can they raise the wind nor rend the clouds; But his dominion that exceeds in this Stretcheth as far as doth the mind of man. A sound physician is a mighty god: Here, Faustus, try they brains to gain a deity. (I, 54-61)
Ignoring the Good Angel's warning to lay aside blas
phemous studies of magic in favor of reading the scriptures,
Faustus is entranced with the Evil Angel's promise of power: Be thou on earth as Jove is in the sky; Lord and commander of these elements.
A bit later, after having gloried vicariously in
thoughts of his future enterprises, Faustus repeats his
disdain of philosophy, law, physic, and divinity, concluding
3lLa Primaudaye, 0£. cit., p. 904
107
"'Tis magic, magic, that hath ravished me." (I, 103).
Faustus' course is now set.
Conjuring up Mephistophilis appears to intensify
Faustus' passion for power, now aggravated by a desire to
drown himself in voluptuousness. So violent is his passion
that he remains unmoved by the terrifying cry of pain
uttered by Mephistophilis, whose anguish has made him
temporarily forget himself. Having tasted the joys of
heaven and now having found himself deprived of eternal
bliss, Mephistophilis is ". . . tortured by ten thousand
hells" (III, 32-34). Impulsively he says:
0 Faustus I leave these frivolous demands. Which strike a terror to my fainting soul.
(Ill, 35-36)
But Faustus eagerly offers his soul so that he may " . . .
live in all voluptuousness" (1. 96). As he anxiously awaits
Lucifer's reply, he will pass the time in delightful antic
ipation of things to come. Now that I have obtained what I desire, I'll live in speculation of this'art Till Mephistophilis return again.
(11 116-113)
When Faustus appears somewhat later in Scene V, his
passion is intensified. The voice he hears warning him to
abandon magic and to turn once more to God makes him hesi
tate for only a brief moment, after which his faith crum
bles and he admits he serves a new god.
103
Ay, and Faustus will turn to God again. To God?—He loves thee not— The God thou serv'st is thine ovm appetite. Wherein is fix'd the love of Belzebub
(V, 9-12)
In the brief scene with the angels Faustus reveals the
inadequacy of his spiritual knowledge: "Contrition, prayer,
repentance I VThat of them?" (V, 16) He tends to believe the
Evil Angel, who insists that these things are illusions
which make men foolish (V, 13-19). That the opposite is
true and that Faustus' worldly learning has caused him to
confuse appearance with reality would have been obvious to
Renaissance scholars, who differentiated clearly between
the two kinds of Prudence:
The first kind of Prudence may be said to be that ripeness of knowledge which men have in worldly matters, and so Machevile may be said to be a wiseman, but such wisdom is accounted foolishnesse before God, I Cor. 3, 19. And in the end intangles the owners in their owne craf-tinesse, as appears by the desperate end of Achitophell, 2 Sam. 17, 23.
The second kind of Prudence, is that knowledge which is had in devine matters touching the understanding of God's word, and the mysterie of our salvation, which is called true wisdom; . . .32
It is Faustus, then, who is foolishly excited by the pros
pect of wealth, promised by the Evil Angel. Moreover, in
his excitement he does not comprehend the significance of
such things as Mephistophilis' comments concerning Lucifer
32TWO Guides to a Good Life, 0£. cit., G 3.
109
and the pains of hell, or the miraculous congealing of his
own blood, or the appearance of the words "Homo, fuge" on
his arm. An indication of the evil depth to which he has
descended is seen in his blasphemous parody of the climax
of Christ's passion, Consummatum est (V, 73) (St. John XIX,
30).
An element which helps to sustain the dramatic inten
sity of the play up to the end is the possibility that
Faustus can at any time" atone for his sins. That all is
not yet lost is revealed in Faustus' encounter with the Old
Man. Aware, as Faustus is not, of the power of God's mer
cy and of the danger inherent in despair, the Old Man cries
out:
I see an angel hoveres o'er thy head. And, with a vial full of precious grace. Offers to pour the same into thy.soul: Then call for mercy and avoid dispair.
(XIII, 74-77)
But Faustus cannot humble himself in order to seek penance.
Not only does he not understand God's mercy, he also does
not know himself, a requisite in the process of attaining
salvation.
...this common and vulgar sentence Nosceteipsum, know thyself, is reputed and taken to come down from heaven, in regard of the excellencie thereof, because it is necessary for man to know his own ignorance, povertie and mysterie that hee may thereby humble himselfe, and seek for his owne good without himself e, and by that means be let unto
110
God, wherein consisteth his sole felic-itee. On this point dependeth the beginning, the middle, and the end of all true wisdome, nothing being more certaine, than that the knowledge of God and of ourselves, are things conjoined together, and in such maner united one unto the other, by many wayes that it cannot be easily descerned which goeth before and produceth the other.32
Faustus' slothfulness and his inadequate knowledge
have succeeded in paralyzing his will and alienating him
self from God. The sudden burst of anguished truth.
See, see v/here Christ's blood streams in the firmament I
One drop would save my soul—half a drop;
ah, my Christ I (XIV, 137-133)
is smothered first by Faustus' sudden fear of Lucifer and
then by an even greater terror of God's wrath. Having lost
faith in Christ, Faustus, in despair, is seen to commit the
unpardonable sin of permanent impenitence. Inadequate
knowledge of the true function of knowledge, of himself,
and of Christian theology—v:ith slothfulness—have combined
to destroy Faustus.
32La Primaudaye, 0£. cit., p. 902.
CHAPTER V
THE ELIZABETHAN TRIUlViPH
The Renaissance belief concerning the difficulty of
knowing derived largely from the classical and Scholastic
tradition, with later clarification being made by Sceptics.
Common to all of these schools of thought was the belief
that perfect knowledge was not of this world. Men shared
faith in an invisible, transcendent reality, but they
viewed the physical world as impermanent, incomplete, and
transitory. If, in trying to gain knowledge, man imposed
his imperfect senses on an impermanent world, he could
hope to get little more than a distorted picture of truth.
His best hope lay in imposing divine reason upon the limit
ed knowledge provided by the senses.
Sceptics insisted that the human mind, ever prone to
error, could never arrive at absolute certainty."'- Men,
says Montaigne, resemble ears of wheat which rise up, proud
and erect, when they are empty, and which, when they are
full and swollen in ripeness, grow humble and lower their
heads. So, too, learned men who have found in their ex
tensive studies nothing but vanity, finally renounce their
presumptiveness and recognize their natural condition.2
^Michel de Montaigne "The Apology of Raymond Sebonde," The Complete Essays of Montaigne trans. Donald M. Frame JWe\f York:. Doubleday and Sons, I960), II, 247.
2ibid., p. 135. Ill
112
Montaigne's metaphor brings to mind the Socratic belief
that a wise man is noted for his intellectual humility,
this humility being born of the knowledge of the difficulty
of knowing.
One major obstacle barring man's way to the truth in
volved the mind itself. Properly stimulated, one's imag
ination could create its own subjective "reality" and
blind man to true, objective reality. Montaigne observed
that "A strong imagination creates the event . . ."3
Because all men feel the effect of the imagination, Mon
taigne did not think it strange that those men who gave
the imagination a free hand and encouraged it could actu
ally suffer terror and death.^ Quoting an old Greek maxim,
Montaigne also wisely observed that men are often made
miserable by their opinions of things, not be the things
themselves.5 If that which man calls "evil" and "torment"
is not in fact evil or torment, then it is man's imagina
tion Which confers these qualities upon things. Again, if
the essence of that which man fears could enter unaided
into man's mind, then this essence would lodge unchanged
3Michel de Montaigne, "Of the Power of the Imagination," I, 92.
4lbid.
5Michel de Montaigne, "That the Taste of Good and Evil Depends in Large Part on the Opinions We Have of Them,"I,43.
113
in all men's minds. Such, however, is not the case:
But the diversity of the opinion we have of these things shows clearly that they enter us by mutual agreement; one man perchance lodges them in himself in their true essence, but in a thousand other men they are given a new and contrary essence.^
If the Renaissance man was aware of the potential power
which the imagination could unloose upon the mind, he was
no less conscious that both good and evil, always present
in man and indeed in all being, were so subtly interwoven
that each often resembled the other. Kilton was echoing a
Renaissance belief when he observed.
Good and evil we know in the field of this world grow up together almost inseparable: and the knowledge of good is so involved with the knowledge of evil, and in so many cunning resemblances hardly to be discerned, that those confused seeds which were imposed on Psyche as an incessant labor to be culled out and sort asunder were not more intermixt. It was out of the rind of one apple tasted that the knowledge of good and evil, as two twins cleaving together, leaped forth into the world.7
In insisting upon the co-existence of good and evil in all
things, Milton suggests the complexity, rather than the
simplicity, of that with which man must deal.
Finally, man must deal with another curious fact con
cerning the nature of things: evil may sometimes give birth
^Ibid., pp. 42-43.
7john Milton, "Areopagitica," Complete Poems and Major prose ed. Merritt Y. Hughes, (Nev/ York: The Odyssey Press, I557T, p. 723.
114
to good, and danger may call forth courage; contrariwise,
a superabundance of good, or misapplied virtue, can make
it easy for vice to flourish. It is no accident that
Elizabethan vnriters employed the device of paradox to des
cribe contradictory situations involving good and evil.
In the following analysis of Romeo and Juliet, two
points of view, both involving the problem of knowledge,
will be employed. It is hoped that such an analysis will
provide insights into the play heretofore not adequately
emphasized.
First, because of the long feud, the powerfully stim
ulated imaginations of the two families have created new
"realities," subjectively true but objectively false. Each
family is unaware that it is troubled not by the other fam
ily but by its opinion of that family. The confusion of
appearance with reality provides the source of the tragedy.
First to discover that the so-called Montague-Capulet
"hatred" is an imagined one are Romeo and Juliet. Tybalt
never makes this discovery, and the heads of the two houses
see the truth only at the play's end.
The second point of analysis involves the complex
nature of good and evil. In men, indeed, in all existence,
good and evil continually co-exist. In all being there is
no quality either purely good or purely evil; consequently,
the qualities found in things are diverse and many-faceted.
115
(As Plato observed, absolute good exists only in the in
visible realm of "ideas" of "spirit.") To this phenomenon
must be added the paradox that, under certain conditions,
good and evil are ..mutually productive.
Analysis of Romeo and Juliet
Appearance and Reality
The first line of the "Prologue," provides the audience
with a truth which the Capulets and Montagues cannot see.
False opinion blinds them to the fact that they are "Two
households, both alike in dignity,"^ and that the "ancient
grudge" is not between villains and saints but between
human beings very much alike. The Chorus' subsequent state
ment that only the deaths of the lovers could remove the
strife between the two families suggests the power of opin
ion and the difficulty of perceiving truth.
The conflict between the two groups of servants, pre
sented in the first scene of the play, introduces a mixed
tone. It is serious in that the quarrel brings conflict
into the streets, portending possible bloodshed. It is •:. ;
comic in that the servants have little stomach for fight
ing although they assume that they must fight if ". . . the
law is on my side" (I, i, 54). The fact that they opine
%illiam Shakespeare, "The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet," The Complete Works of Shakespeare, ed. Hardin Craig (Chicago: S^tt, t'oresman and~Trompany, 195T), p. 395. Other quotations are identifies (parenthetically) by act, scene, and line in the text of this paper.
116
that they must fight, yet are not deeply involved with
emotions such as hatred, actually emphasizes the intellec
tual problem: no one knows that there is an occasion to
fight, but most imagine there is. Opinion thus generated
becomes, from the outset, the obvious basis of action,
potentially tragic. That such an opinion requires culti
vation if it is to be sustained can be seen in the words
of Samson, who, after exchanging a few rough jests with
Gregory, remarks, apropos of nothing: "A dog of the house
of Montague moves me" (I, i, 10). In the brief dialogue
which follows, Gregory attempts to justify the pose first
assumed by Samson.
Gre. The quarrel is between our masters and us their men .
Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids and cut off their heads.
(I, i, 24-29)
The ensuing fight spreads to include Benvolio, who de
sires peace, and Tybalt, whose hatred of all Montagues
matches his hatred of peace. Even though Benvolio is only
a nephew to Romeo, Tybalt's imagination is so stimulated
to rage by any sight suggesting the Montague family that,
when Tybalt glimpses Benvolio with drawn sword, Tybalt is
seized with.fury. Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these
heartless hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.
117
Ben. I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword. Or manage it to part these men with me.
Tyb. What, drawn and talk of peace? I hate the word, As I do hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: Have at thee coward I
(I, i, 72-73)
To Tybalt's twisted mind, peace, hell, and Montagues are
indistinguishable evil. Unreality appears real. Tybalt's
confusion of appearance and reality is given special force
by his improper use of the term "coward" to describe Ben
volio. The truth is that Benvolio is a peacemaker who dis
plays no fear or want of courage in the face of danger.
Tybalt's inflamed imagination betrays him into mistaking
peacemaking for cowardice.
Again, at the Capulet's ball Tybalt furiously reacts
to the name of Montague. The very presence of Romeo con
jures up thoughts of murder. Tybalt reasons that since
all Montagues are innately evil, Romeo's attending the
ball could have been motivated by nothing other than evil. This by his voice should be a Montague. Fetch me my rapier, boy. V/hat dares the slave Come hither, covered with an antic face. To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? Now by the stock and honor of my kin To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.
(I, V, 56-61) •
Tybalt's instantaneous urge to kill, prompted by his warped
assumption of what constitutes his duty and honor, further
113
suggests his tenuous grasp upon reality. He ignores old
Capulet's remonstrance:
Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone; He bears him like a portly gentleman; And to say truth, Verona brags of him To be a virtuous and well-governed youth:
(I, V, 67-70)
Intended to soothe the fiery Tybalt, the words of old Capu-
let produce the opposite effect. Tybalt swears vengeance,
". . .this intrusion shall / Now seeming sweet convert to
bitter gall" (I, v, 93-94).
Tybalt's antipathy, now directed against Romeo in par
ticular, continues unabated throughout their final meeting.
Still rankled at Romeo's visit to the house of Capulet,
Tybalt seeks out his supposed enemy and says bitterly,
Romeo the hatred that I bear thee can afford No better term than this-thou art a villain.
(Ill, i, 64-65)
By this time Romeo has matured philosophically to the extent
that he realizes that Tybalt does not hate him personally; rather, Tybalt hates his own distorted image of Romeo.
Romeo denies being a villain^ and says truly, "I see that
9it has been suggested that the use of the term "villain" in this play reveals more about the character using it than it does about the one to whom it is applied, that avoidance of using the term indicates maturity. In this scene Tybalt uses the term three times (11. 64, 67, 76); Romeo uses it once (III, 1, 130), and it indirectly seals his fate; Juliet uses it many times up to her maturity scene (III, iii, 71-106) and never again. See Lawrence E. Bowlin^^, "The Thematic Framework of Romeo and Juliet," PKU, 1949, LXIV, 210-211.
119
thou know'st me not" (III, i, 63). Mercutio, who has long
been annoyed by Tybalt's foppishness, fails to understand
the truth in Romeo's statement: Tybalt is not really insul
ting Romeo, but rather his own opinion of Romeo. Romeo
himself is not involved. But since Mercutio is convinced
of Romeo's "vile submission" and because he is angered by
Tybalt's arrogance, Mercutio challenges Tybalt and dies.
The shock of Mercutio's death momentarily blurs Romeo's
clear vision. Romeo's sudden, explosive language,
Away to heaven, respective lenity. And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now I
(III, i, 123-129)
followed by his reference to Tybalt as "villain," clearly
indicates that Romeo, too, has briefly abandoned reality.
Now Romeo sees Tybalt in terms of evil. Appearance and
reality having become confused, Romeo kills Tybalt and
seals his own doom. Ironically, a moment later when Romeo's
moment of unreality has passed, Romeo correctly pronounces
judgment upon himself: "0, I am fortune's fool I" (III, i,
141).
Significantly Mercutio glimpses the truth just before
he dies. Three times he cries out "A plague o' both your
houses'." (Ill, i, 95, 102, 111); and he concludes with a
final remonstrance:
They have made worms meat of me: I have it And soundly too: your houses'.
(Ill, i, 112-113)
120
The blame must be shared by the two houses; forgotten is
the fact that a Capulet has been the instrument of Mercutio's
undoing.
The arrival of Lady Capulet some moments after the
fight provides yet another example of a character's being
made miserable by opinion of a thing rather than the thing
itself. The Benvolio she envisions is a creature of her
troubled imagination. Rejecting Benvolio's calm and truth
ful account of the fight; she re-creates the event and
accuses Benvolio of falsehood.
He (Benvolio) is a kinsman to the Montague; Affection makes him false; he speaks not true: Some twenty of them fought in this black strife. And all those twenty could but kill one life. I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give; Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.
(Ill, i, 131-136)
Ultimately Paris, too, falls victim to the power of
his imagination. Throughout most of the play, Paris is
seen as a sane and noble young man, a "gentle youth" as
Romeo calls him (V, iii, 59). His brief association with
the Capulets, however, has apparently led him to opine as
they do, for he is tortured by his opinion of the Montagues.
Seeing Romeo at the tomb, he immediately concludes that
this "haughty Montague" has come to do shame to the bodies
of Juliet and Tybalt. Paris' use of the epithets "vile
121
Montague" and "condemned villain" mirrors the confusion in
his mind. The truth of Romeo's gentle entreaties cannot
penetrate the mask of opinion which obscures Paris' reason.
The final meeting between the heads of the two families
contrasts sharply with their first encounter. Confronted
with the truth of their folly, they stand humbly on a new
plateau of knowledge. They cannot deny the truth of the
rebuke delivered by the Prince:
Where be these enemies? Capulet I Montague 1' See what a scourge is laid upon your hate. That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love. (V, iii, 291-293)
While saddened by the turn of events, especially the
deaths of the two lovers, the old men are no longer tortured
by their opinions of each other. False opinion has dis
appeared and with it the ancient feud, source of the trag*
edy. Out of physical destruction has come spiritual tri
umph based upon knowledge and a new faith.
Good and Evil
Reference to the complex and paradoxical aspects of
good and evil, usually described in terms of paradox, are
found throughout Romeo and Juliet. However, for the pur
pose of analysis, emphasis will be placed upon the char
acters of Romeo and Juliet and their growing awareness of
the complexity of things. Their progress toward maturity
122
can be described in terms of their progress from innocencel^
to knowledge.
Surely the most eloquent commentary concerning the
paradox inherent in man as well as in all nature, wherein
good and evil co-exist, is made by Friar Lawrence. Noting
the curious fact that womb becomes tomb,
The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb; What is her burying grave that is her womb,
(II, iii, 9-10)
the friar observes that no man is totally good or purely
evil. It is beyond man to arrive at any absolutes in this
life. In man, in nature itself, good and evil are combined;
the important consideration is degree. Good is a relative
quality, and the goodness of a thing depends upon its
proper application. Otherwise, good becomes evil. Contrari
wise, the reaction to vice could produce good:
For naught so vile that on the earth doth live. But to the earth some special good doth give. Nor aught so good that strained from that fair use Revolts from true birth stumbling or abuse: Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; And vice sometimes by action dignified. V7ithin the infant rind of this small flower Poison hath residence and medicine power:
lOThe term ''innocence" is used not in the Puritan sense of meaning freedom from knowledge of evil. Rather it is used in the Greek sense of having inadequate knowledge of the complexity of things, a vacuous unfortunate state opposed to the Greek ideal "to know."
123
To this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Two such opposed kings encamp them still In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will; And where the worser is predominant, Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. (II, iii, 17-30)
A hint of the paradoxical nature of the tragedy, seen
in its totality, is found in the "Prologue." In stating
that the lovers "Do with their death bury their family
strife" (1.3), Shakespeare appears to say that out of the
physical death of good comes the death of spiritual evil
and the consequent rebirth of spiritual good.
Until - his experience with Rosalind, whom he wrongly
fancies he loves, Romeo has theoretically never encountered
complexity. Upset and puzzled when his affections are
spumed, Rome.o believes wrongly that an unnatural situation
exists; therefore, he creates an unnatural existence to
cope with the problem. By day he keeps within and " . . .
makes for himself an artificial night" (I, i, 146); only
at night does he venture abroad. Rosalind already knows
that Romeo is in love with the idea of love, that is, with
the highly idealized object of his imagination; moreover,
the audience is presently made aware of the authenticity of
Romeo's "love" when^Romeo describes his feelings in the
extravagant language of the sonneteer. His speech is full
s
124
of inappropriate imagery; the superabundance of oxymoron
alone attests to the superficiality of Romeo's feelings:
Why then, 0 brawling love I 0 loving hate I 0 anything, of nothing first create I 0 heavy lightness I serious vanity ! Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms ! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health I (I, i, 131-135)
The irony is that Romeo unconsciously touches upon truth.
Love is certainly paradoxical, something in which good and
evil come together.
Once again, by indirection, Shakespeare utilizes ma
terial which appears to be primarily emotional but which
actually furthers an intellectual perception of the basic
problem: a clash of opinion and knowledge. Mercutio's
satiric bantering with the seemingly love-sick Romeo not
only prevents the dramatic action from bogging down in
utter sentimentality but also makes the perceptive spec
tator or reader the more aware of the co-existence of good
and evil, a fact frequently ignored by those who merely
opine, but grasped by those who, like Friar Lawrence, know.
Romeo's learning process begins when he first beholds
Juliet. Earlier he has reacted to Benvolio's advice, "Ex
amine other beauties" (I, i, 234), with disbelief. To ex
amine other beauties would be, in the opinion of Romeo, to
enhance Rosalind's beauty by comparison:
Show me a mistress that is passing fair. What doth her beauty serve, but as a note Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair? (I, i, 240-242)
125
The impetus which has impelled Romeo to attend the Capulet
ball arose out of Romeo's unhappy experience with Rosalind.
Directly out of seeming unhappiness then has come happiness.
Having learned this first lesson, Romeo is not troubled (as
Juliet is) at the prospect of being love with an enemy's
name.
Only upon one occasion is Romeo troubled by a name -
his own. When Friar Lawrence informs Romeo of the Prince's
sentence, Romeo approaches despair. To Romeo the situation
in which he finds himself is totally evil. Friar Lawrence's
insistence that things are not so simple as they seem, that
there is much good in the sentence, is rejected by Romeo.
To the priest's admonition "This is dear mercy and thou
seest it not" (III, iii, 23), Romeo disagrees, "'Tis torture
and not mercy-"' (III, iii, 29). But the friar knows that
the wisdom provided by philosophy can protect one from the
harshness of banishment.
I'll give thee armour to keep off that word; Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy. To comfort thee though thou art banished.
(Ill, iii, 54-56)
In Romeo's opinion, however, philosophy is inadequate to
the task since philosophy cannot do the impossible.
Yet 'banished'? Hang up philosophy Unless philosophy can make a Juliet Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom. It helps not, it prevails not: talk no more. (Ill, iii, 57-60)
126
Yet philosophy does triumph as a consequence of the friar's
long speech to Romeo. Central to his speech is the holy
father's reference to Romeo's ignorance, to his inability
to see all sides of the situation. Lacking clear vision,
Romeo is less than a man, one whose reason is lost in un
reasonable fury:
Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love. Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both Like powder in a skilless soldier's flask Is set a-fire by thine own ignorance And thou dismember'd with thine own defense. (Ill, iii, 130-134)
The friar continues, fearful that Romeo cannot see his sit
uation in its totality.
What, rouse thee, man I thy Juliet is alive. For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead; There thou art happy: Tybalt would kill thee, But thou slew'St Tybalt; there thou art happy too: The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend And turns it to exile; there art thou happy: A pack of blessings lights upon thy back; Happiness courts thee in her best array; But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench. Thou pout'St upon thy fortune and thy love: Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her,
(III, iii, 135-147)
Romeo's first reaction to the Prince's sentence has been
immature and hysterical, motivated as it is by ignorance.
127
With new knowledge supplied by the friar, Romeo, buoyed up
with new hope, calmly determines to act upon the good
father's advice. So reasonable is Friar Lawrence's argu
ment that even the old nurse is impressed. Her impetuous
compliment,
0 Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night To hear good counsel: 0 what learning is'. (Ill, iii, 159-160)
sums up the general Renaissance belief regarding the power
of knowledge in action.
Having learned much about the wholeness and complexity
of things from Friar Lawrence, Romeo never again entertains
simple and partial views. Romeo has been shocked to find
unhappiness arising from his affection for Rosalind, an
affection which should have produced felicity. But by the
time Romeo visits the apothecary, he is no longer aston
ished to find good and evil or other contrasting qualities
contrarily mixed in one substance. Indeed Romeo now tends
to think in terms of paradox. Only the immature tend to
see good as eternally glorious and poison as something
dark and evil. Gold can be more poisonous than poison, and
poison may be more beneficial than gold in that it may
transport one out of a wretched existence. "There is thy
gold," says Romeo to the apothecary,
worse poison to man's souls Doing more murders in this loathesome world
123
Than these poor compounds that thou may'St not sell I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food and get thyself in flesh Come cordial and not poison, go with me To Juliet's grave; for there must I use
thee. (V, i, 30-36)
Romeo's thinking more nearly resembles that of Friar Law
rence, who has insisted that poison and medicine might well
reside in the same flower.
Unlike Romeo, whose experience has prepared him to
accept the fact that he could love an enemy, Juliet is con
fused by the possibility of discovering love in one whom
she has been taught to hate. Told by the nurse that Romeo
is a Montague, Juliet exclaims: My only love sprung from my only hate I Too early seen unknown and known too late I Prodigious birth of love it is to me That I must love a loathed enemy.
(I, v, 140-143)
Juliet does not yet know that Romeo is a "supposed foe,"
which the chorus makes mention of in the "Prologue" to Act
II. Moreover, she is yet unaware that the transcending
power of love will reveal the truth to the lovers by "Tem
pering extremities with extreme sweet" (1. 14).
In the balcony scene Juliet begins her progress toward
understanding. Her first discovery is that she has been
hating a name, not people: "'Tis but thy name that is my
enemy" (II, ii, 33). Overjoyed at this new knowledge.
129
Juliet proceeds to oversimplify the situation in a new
direction. Referring to Romeo as "fair saint" (II, ii, 61),
"gentle Romeo" (II, ii, 93), "f^ir Montague" (II, ii, 93),
and "god of my idolatry" (II, ii, II5), Juliet wishes
finally to chant Romeo's name:
Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies. And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine With repetition of my Romeo's name.
(II, ii, 162-164)
Juliet's use of such terms reveals ironically one aspect of
the problem of knowledge. Far from being a saint, Romeo is
after all only a man, with man»s faults. Her use of highly
idealistic terms suggests that she does not yet comprehend
the complexity of things.
In Act III truth finally comes to Juliet. Still
thinking of Romeo as a "fair saint," Juliet is shocked by
the nurse's news that Romeo has killed Tybalt. Lapsing
momentarily into her old way of thinking, she suddenly
sees Romeo as evil disguised by a fair seeming exterior.
0 serpent heart, hid with a flowering face I Did ever dragon keep to fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant I fiend angelical I Dove-feather'd raven I wolvish-ravehing lamb ! Despised substance of divinest show I Just opposite of what thou justly seem'St, A damned saint an honorable villain I
130
0 nature, what hadst thou to do in hell V/hen thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh '.
(Ill, ii, 73-32)
Juliet's departure from reason is only momentary. Moments
later she is able to admit that good and evil co-exist in
Romeo. This new knowledge gained, she refers to Romeo
merely as "my husband." Tybalt is no longer her "villain
cousin"; instead, he is merely Tybalt. In this scene
Juliet reaches full maturity, for never again is she
blinded by simplicity.
In the tomb Romeo's imperfect understanding of the
true situation which has brought the two lovers together
leads him to abandon hope of any prospect for their being
reunited to enjoy their love on earth. But one after the
other, each of the lovers perceives the ultimate in know
ledge of good and evil: that death, normally thought of as
man's greatest enemy, can provide the means whereby they
may arrive at the good toward which love has impelled them.
This good is a union, inseparable and eternal. With the
poison, which he has termed a "cordial," Romeo drinks a
toast to his love:
Thou desperate pilot now at once run on The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark I Here's to my love I (V, iii, 117-119)
Similarly, Juliet sees the poison as a "restorative" (V, iii,
166) and not poison; moreover, her instrument of death is a
131
"happy dagger" (V, iii, 169). Death, life's greatest
enemy, represents the lovers' only hope; consequently, they
welcome death.
Finally, during the reconciliation scene, old Montague
and old Capulet, who have agonizingly learned a lesson from
their offspring, share common knowledge of good and evil.
Both men realize that their reasons for feuding were imag
inary: they represented appearance, not reality. Each
regards the other as "brother," not "villain." Each under
stands that the love, or acceptance, thus effected is a
real good which has been bom of their supposed hate.
Although the cost has been fearful, its being tantamount
to ending each family, the old men appear to accept as good
the evil of death that has taken their heirs. They will
erect monuments not only to ehe memory of the lovers but
also the importance of knowledge symbolized by their
troubled lives and needless deaths. In possession of new
knowledge, old Montague and old Capulet understand, humbly
accept, and transcend the situation.
CONCLUSION
Since ancient times man has been preoccupied with the
problem of knowledge. Primary elements in this problem
have always been observation, opinion, and faith. When
primitive man witnessed the orderly procession of days,
seasons, and years, he believed that he perceived a rational
principle ordering existence. Combining this observation
with opinion, the offspring of hope and fear, early man
engaged in mimetic ritual for certain reasons: to aid his
god who was the principle of life in his struggle with the
opposing principle of death; and at once to control and to
submit to divine forces. The concept of the scapegoat
which grew out of the dying-god myth assured the re-birth
of the god and the regeneration of the seasons. Their
thinking becoming increasingly complex, primitive men be
came aware of paradox: death, life's great enemy, could
assure the coming of new life; physical destruction could
give birth to spiritual triumph. From mythic origins, then,
came the seeds of paradox which would in time provide the
bloom of tragedy.
During the great Periclean age, Greeks became acutely
aware of the obstacles barring man from knowledge. From
the human point of view the Prometheus of Aeschylus seems
to have right on his side; but such a view, based on false
132
133
opinion, clashes with divine standards of justice and
morality. Failure to understand that ultimately the heav
ens will be just, Aeschylus seems to say, is unjustifiable
human pride; for the Zeus who emerges from the conflict is
both wise and powerful. Moreover, being better aligned
with Moira, he is more deserving of man's faith. The
added ingredient in the Oresteia is the spectacle of the
scapegoat Orestes, who, though he must suffer because of
ancestral and personal guilt, emerges with new knowledge
and new faith.
That man's attempt to perceive knowledge solely
through his sense is futile is nowhere more vividly shown
than in Sophocles' Oedipus Rex. v;hat little knowledge that
man has should be employed in a spirit of humility. Be
cause man is not the measure of all things, he should re
strain his self-assertiveness. In portraying the triumph
of faith and knowledge over mere opinion, Sophocles, like
Aeschylus, points to the complex and paradoxical nature of
good and evil: out of blight that is Oedipus' life emerges
a new Oedipus and a new Thebes.
Man's inaccessibility to absolute truth, implied in
Cardanus' version of the Pandora myth, is frequently em
phasized in Plato's works. Socrates, too, in displaying
faith in a transcendent reality remote from mankind.
134
suggested intellectual humility as the first step in acquir
ing what little wisdom man may possess. All were struck by
mankind's propensity for error and by the contrast between
human and divine knowledge. Aristotle, while agreeing
generally with the principles outlined by his predecessors,
was somewhat less mystical. Although man cannot approach
the ideal, he can at least gain a measure of happiness and
knowledge by seeking to live the virtuous life, the ideals
of which are moderation, justice, courage, humility, and
reason. The entire Greek experience taught that man was
an inherently ignorant creature who could improve his state
only by means of suffering; however, such suffering could
call forth the best that man was capable of; his dignity,
his nobility, his great passion, and fortitude.
When faith in the old gods of Homer disappeared,
philosophers of the Hellenic period retreated into subjec
tivity. Convinced that knowledge of the cosmos was beyond
man, the Epicureans ignored what they believed was unob
tainable. The ideal state of man was one of mental certi
tude, they believed; and they had faith in man's ability to
attain this state. The happy man should have knowledge
enough to limit the scope of his ambition: first he must
withdraw as much as possible from the irrational physical
world; secondly, he should enjoy mild pleasure. Like the
135
Epicurean, the Stoic too abandoned hope in comprehending
the physical world and the ways of God. Unlike the Epi
curean, however, the Stoic had faith that God and there
fore all of God's works were good. Believing that what
ever happens is good and that man cannot control his fated
destiny, the Stoic concluded that man's happiness lay in
his ability to control his reactions to events. Knowledge
lay in man's acceptance of the operations of nature. Such
a philosophy allowed men no hope for betterment in the
future, and it ruled out the possibility for tragic- action.
Pessimistic as such philosophies were, they did not
approach the nadir of despair attained by the worshippers
of Fortune. Members of this cult, at one time widespread
in the Roman world, believed that the universe was a welter
of unexplainable evil; consequently, they worshipped the
irrational. Their assumption that there existed no logical
rules of causation made the question of knowledge super
fluous .
In spite of the prominence of such philosophies, the
fact remains that there were always men who believed in the
order and harmony of the universe. Representative of these
men was Cleanthes who affirmed the existence of the Logos,
the cosmic rational principle which men can understand.
Concurring with Cleanthes' faith in man's ability to know
136
was Boethius whose attack against Fortune clearly revealed
that philosopher's faith that men's reason is adequate to
comprehend God's goodness. With faith, said Boethius, man
could look beyond deceptive appearance and perceive the
broad outlines of reality. Like Aristotle, Boethius em
phasized the need for virtuous living.
Christian doctrine, as practiced throughout most of
the Middle Ages, bore the imprint of Saint Augustine's in
terpretations. Augustine did not attach great importance
to the acquisition of human knowledge since he believed
that the question of man's election was in God's, not man's,
hands. This Christian fatalism, which differed little from
pagan fatalism, dominated Christian thinking for some eight
centuries. It remained for Saint Thomas Aquinas, who, in
extending Christian theology, gave man a measure of free
will and some responsibility for his actions. In stressing
the belief that man's knowledge may justify faith. Saint
Thomas Aquinas conferred upon man a new dignity. In aban
doning Augustinian Neo-Platonism for Thomistic Aristotel
ianism, Christian thinkers inadvertantly opened the door
which would one day admit Shakespearean tragedy.
Belief in the value of human knowledge was a belief
shared by Boccaccio, Lydgate, and Chaucer. At various
times each admits that he dispenses prudent advice to great
137
men in order to assist them in wresting goodness and order
out of evil and chaos. Great men could avoid the pitfalls
of pride, egotism, and ambition by turning to Christian
love and humility. In pointing out the dangers which attend
those who engege in heroic struggle and who exert ambitious
effort, these writers inveighed against the very type of
conflict out of which great tragedy arises.
Nearer in essence to the tragic spirit but still lack
ing the form thereof were the morality plays, which later
merged into tragedy. The hero in Everyman, for instance,
is at first confronted with an essentially tragic situation.
Told of his imminent death, abandoned one by one by his
friends, Everyman approaches despair. But the hero is
saved because he heeds the advice of Knowledge; and, his
will and faith still strong, he repents and is delivered
from the forces of evil. A contrary story is told in Mar
lowe's Faustus, a play which retained features of the
morality play. Lacking knowledge of the function of know
ledge, lacking knowledge of himself and. of Christian the
ology as well, Faustus presumptuously believes that the
contrary is true. Deluded by the simplicity of things,
Faustus becomes aware of the truth, of the complexity of
things, only when it is too late. Finally, his will weak
ened by sloth, Faustus commits the unpardonable sin and is
doomed.
133
Utilizing ideas taken from both the Classical and
Christian traditions. Renaissance writers emphasized the
importance of knowing along with the difficulty of knowing.
Sceptics, like Montaigne, insisted that the human mind is
highly prone to error. An over-stimulated imagination,
for example, can create its own subjective "reality," which
may bear no resemblance at all to truth, or objective real
ity. Troubled then by the appearance of things rather than
by the things themselves, man may choose a destructive plan
of action. A second problem further involved man's simpli
city of mind - the nature of good and evil. The mind tends
to see all men and all things as either totally good or
totally evil; the truth is that both good and evil co-exist
in all being, and the important consideration is degree.
Finally, that which is primarily good or primarily evil
will not always necessarily produce good and evil respec
tively. The wise man knows that good and evil are rela
tive, that the application of good and evil can determine
the nature of the consequences. False opinion based upon
ignorance of the truth provides the motivation for tragic
action in Romeo and Juliet.
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