Lecture 5: Closing "Antigone," Opening Plato's "Apology of Socrates"

To close, I want to meditate on what makes "Antigone" so compelling. There are haters of the play or any play, of course. "You only think this is good because it is old"--well, yeah. I admit old things have a certain mystique. If something was first, for example, it has a unique claim that none of its successors, not even its most revolutionary descendants, possesses. It was first. What strange power was born which had not existed? Exactly what wasn't even conceivable before?

"You only think this play is good because of so-called higher things: law and rule." Not quite. The questions "What is law?" and "Who ought to rule?" echo throughout, but they push you to the characters themselves. The theme of law brings Antigone herself into relief. Who does she feel she's fighting for? Her brother, certainly, but a dead one, and one whose memories are none too pleasant. Polyneices led an army to take over the city; he did not mind wiping away all in his path. The burial customs Antigone upholds at great risk, the higher law she invokes and confuses for love of her brother, locate a tormented woman who knows her pride and passion in her family cannot be worthless. But who or what, ultimately, does she love? Similarly, if you want to think about it at length, Creon takes a bizarre, perverse pride in doing the things necessary to establish rule, and the contradictions define his character and create his destiny.

The so-called higher things lead us back to an intense personal drama. This isn't unique to "Antigone," but it is especially vivid in this specific play. And it really forces one to think about their own lives. I didn't realize until later in life how much my own family was influenced by the terrible political rhetoric of the eighties and nineties. It turns out that if the news tells you all the time that crime will swallow you whole, you don't just believe it, but you begin to panic about everything and everyone. In like manner, if we are told that there are traitors in our midst, eager to sell out the entire country and kill us all, you destroy any basis for trust or comfort. There's no way to be at ease, not for a second. You have to be the person willing to see faithlessness and call it out otherwise you're just as bad as the traitor, too. The Chorus of Elders in "Antigone," Creon's willing backers, makes visible how lawfulness annihilates law itself. They're staring at the next generation, willing to condemn them to death.

With that in mind, I want to look more closely at Creon's misogyny. His venom toward Antigone herself may be difficult for some to properly categorize. He doesn't demonstrate any of the inner conflicts which define Macbeth, who also wants to consolidate his rule but agonizes over moral and noble ideas. Creon takes everything personally in the crudest way. Here's his explanation to the Chorus Leader why he wants Antigone (and Ismene!) dead:

This girl here was already very insolent                                           
in contravening laws we had proclaimed.
Here she again displays her proud contempt—
having done the act, she now boasts of it.
She laughs at what she’s done. Well, in this case,
if she gets her way and goes unpunished,
then she’s the man here, not me. 

Creon says Antigone is "insolent," full of "proud contempt." He's furious she's boasting, and he openly states that if she is allowed to escape punishment, his own manhood will be destroyed.

This is wild! Of course, we live in 21st century America, and all of us know people like this. We know those with power who talk this way and get away with it. For some of us, it's actually hard to see not only how unprofessional this behavior is, but that in most circumstances it does find punishment. After all, it lowers the morale of everyone with ears who is around. It is nothing but panic that the wrong person is right. Unless the circumstances are limited, talking like this creates enemies. Ismene, someone not prone to picking fights, incredulously asks Creon after this rant about his willingness to kill his son's bride.

I do need to pause for a second here. There are plenty of times I'm irritated at the attitudes of others. The wrong ones not only hurt my authority, but take away from whatever I'm trying to implement or teach. And it is difficult, in terms of establishing something, to build what you want if everyone is not on board the way you want. But the way legitimate institutions respond is by recognizing the challenge, even if options for dealing with it are limited. Creon's inability to understand what exactly is being challenged shows he is unfit for any sort of rule. Would you want Creon as your father? Or in your family in any way?

Look at how Haemon, Creon's son, approaches him. He is far too diplomatic and submissive because he understands that he is dealing with no less than a tyrant:

For me your judgments                        
and the ways you act on them are good—
I shall follow them. I’ll not consider
any marriage a greater benefit
than your fine leadership.

He knows he has to start with compliments if he is going to address his father, that Creon is panicky and uneasy. Then Creon launches into a gross, unacceptable speech that makes it impossible to give him legitimacy. Here's an excerpt which, I believe, is the point of no return. You couldn't let someone like this out in public, let alone rule a family or a nation:

A man who fathers useless children—
what can one say of him except he’s bred
troubles for himself, and much to laugh at
for those who fight against him? So, my son,
don’t ever throw good sense aside for pleasure,
for some woman’s sake. You understand
how such embraces can turn freezing cold                                     
when an evil woman shares your life at home.
What greater wound is there than a false friend?                 
So spit this girl out—she’s your enemy.
Let her marry someone else in Hades.

Creon tells us about "useless children," and then says of Antigone that she's good for nothing except "pleasure" or "embraces." He tells his son that she should "marry someone else in Hades." That we know people who talk this way and have no concern whatsoever for other people--I mean, Antigone is Creon's niece--does not establish society and government in America as healthy or functional. Thebes, the city Creon is establishing himself as dictator in, has just had a civil war. There is no real government except for him. His governance is obviously questionable; he can't handle any issue properly, much less that of his own family.

A longstanding question about "Antigone" is why it isn't called "Creon." The answer is staring us in the face. Creon translates directly into people we know: people who watch TV all day and are angry because the TV told them to be angry. They don't know how procedures, negotiating with others, and laws actually work because they don't know what power is. The ancient world, of course, lacks our sort of mass media. Creon is in the background of Oedipus' reign. While he helps Eteocles and Thebes fight off the Seven Against Thebes, he's a functionary. He doesn't lead as much as do what he's told. He keeps people in line by yelling and threatening them with violence. These are habits that can help break someone in as a soldier, but they do not translate well to civilian life.

All this, however, does not explain Creon's sheer ignorance. You'd kill your niece because you feel angry and threatened? You're telling your own son that his bride isn't worth anything? Creon is not fit for private or public life. In our world, mass media creates people like this. You can wallow in ignorance for years and not have to take anyone else seriously or confront a fact that should force you to change your life. You don't have to respect anyone because if you're ignorant in public, you can go right back home and do whatever. In the ancient world, it's different. Creon lacks any sense of honor. That is disqualifying not only for ancient thinkers, but for the culture generally. He is in the position he is in simply because he is family. There is a grave irony (no pun intended) operative in his wanting to dishonor and kill members of his family.

Then again, Creon might as well be one of the Chorus to which he constantly appeals. They're old, they're manipulated by him, the only time they are roused to anything like righteousness is when the prophet declares the wrongness of ignoring burial customs. The wrongness, in other words, of ignoring their own not-too-distant burials. Creon is still enormously ignorant. His attempt to establish his power is so selfish that it breaks from his larger self-interest. He loses everything except the Chorus and his broken attempt at law. Again, that this feels immediate and relevant 2000 years later should be screaming volumes about the state of affairs we have created. We are unable to use the law to gain a larger vision of what is right.

We now turn to Plato's "Apology of Socrates." You know a few things about this text already, before you have begun to read it. Socrates has a reputation as a wise man, a philosopher. His method is to ask "What is X?," where X can be a term like "virtue," "justice," or even "fire." It's that last idea--that Socrates might be advancing science, advancing a different understanding of reality--that is the central issue. Can traditions that seem harmless enough, can religion, be reconciled to the questions natural philosophy (i.e. science) asks?

That, as you are becoming aware reading the text, is too direct a question. There are prior concerns. Socrates himself begins addressing them at the opening of the "Apology:" how can you be sure you are told the truth? How do we use language, how should language be used? Socrates says he comes with a reputation, that he is most deceptive. He addresses that in the following way:

I do indeed admit that I am eloquent. But in how different a way from theirs! Well, as I was saying, they have hardly uttered a word, or not more than a word, of truth [alēthēs]; but you shall hear from me the whole truth.

A few remarks here to get you started thinking about this text. So the word for truth is "aletheia." The philosopher Martin Heidegger emphasizes how this is "not forgetting"--literally, "not" the river "Lethe," which you are dipped into in order to forget. It's a really neat word, one that lends itself to a philosophic if not a civic code. If you know the truth, you don't forget it.

Another thing: Is it actually possible to have an eloquence that is nothing but truth? One of the challenges of teaching is to get people away from the idea of "mic drops." Like, there are certain statistics which I do believe should create change simply by being uttered. For example: as of now, the U.S. has nearly 5% of the world's population, but 20% of the world's prison population. Saying this loud, saying it frequently, doesn't do what I would expect it to do. People don't always hear it, and when they hear it, they don't really understand what is being said. It can just wash over them while they're thinking about what they want for dinner or whether they have time to do laundry.

There is a need for rhetoric–you've got to get and keep people's attention when they don't care at all about what the truth is. Socrates starts his "Apology," um, by lying. He needs to establish a rhetoric for philosophy, for science, for a better politics and society. And that comes about by getting people to reflect on what future they want as opposed to the one they don't want. It seems like a simple ask, but the consequence in "Antigone" and the "Apology" for this is death. It turns out most people do not want to look into the future since they think they know what's there already.