The disconcerting manner of Euripides' Electra

Due to an unusually busy season there's been no time to talk about Euripides' Electra, which has been leading our group into a fascinating series of discussions on the strangeness of this take on the Oresteian myth over the past several months.

Still short on time, I just want to put a couple of observations here, possibly for future elaboration.

First, our group did not find reason to agree with the dim view of Electra and Orestes that major interpreters such as Kitto and Goldhill have presented. This is not to say we didn't see certain blots, or at least curiously unprepossessing features of the siblings. 

Orestes and Electra

Euripides clearly has set out to jostle our settled ideas about all of the major characters. Some note that Aegisthus and Clytemnestra have what appear to be positive traits unknown to Aeschylus and Sophocles, while Electra and Orestes have weak if not ignoble moments. This has led to a reading of the play as a melodrama, a kind of degenerate"film noir" offspring of properly tragic nobility. Euripides according to this view becomes a kind of psychological observer who moves from the model of divine mythos toward a close-up look (in Chuck Close detail) at the all too human tendencies of beings subject to time and misfortune.

While there certainly are grounds for seeing a kind of fall from the tragic sublime, it's also true that Electra seems to take sudden, unexpected shifts of perspective, beginning with the leap from the level of the plot to the magnificent choral lyrics, and again at the end, with the deus ex machina of Castor and Polydeuces.

One might look at this play as experimenting with the competing claims of high tragedy and low melodrama - as if these genres were jostling each other for dominance in tone and expressive power.

Quick note on three aspects of this curious mix:

First, the play never lets us forget that time has passed from the astonishing action of the Agamemnon. Instead of seeing Clytemnestra at the pinnacle of her treachery, we see her and Aegisthus as happily bourgeoisified upper middle class folks enjoying their prosperity. When confronted boldly by Electra, Clytemnestra is even willing to concede that she might have been out of line. Yet this very admission is so paltry, so inadequate, that it brings to mind the cliches about time's healing powers. Those who have seized power with violence and treachery are often doting grandparents -- people who seem to themselves to be basically good, beneficently meeting social obligations with hearty good will. In fact they are too degraded to comprehend their own reality.

Second, the psychological verisimilitude that makes Electra browbeat Clytemnestra about primping before the mirror might seem beneath a character who intends to kill her mother, but realistically suggestive of years of wasted, stunted life, feeding on a diet of hopeless drudgery.

The Dioscuri

What's equally striking, though, is that these emotional scenes aren't the be-all of the drama. The scene when Orestes and Electra hold each other close - as the realization of what they've done in all its hideousness sinks in - would be the perfect end to a play interested in the grim psychologization of tragic figures, but in fact it's not the end. This moment of emotional truth is abruptly truncated by the appearance of the Dioscuri, who bring a totally other level of concern into the proceedings. With broad temporal awareness Castor tells each character what they must do - and does so with a divine detachment that is light years away from the intensity of the siblings' feelings. As the audience, we experience this less as a transition than as a radically discontinuous shock -  not unlike the appearance of Medea in her chariot, above the human plane. 

As Castor ranges over the entire Trojan War, assuring us that it was all fought in error as the real Helen was never possessed by Paris in Troy, the basic effect is to put in question a full range of readerly perspectives. Electra ends with no one returning home. More than these characters is displaced -- it's the possibility of "place" itself. Instead of the instantaneous impact of recognition and catharsis, we have a kind of frothy dissipation, if not decomposition. 

The tragic heroes of Aeschylus and Sophocles arrive at truth that has some cosmic explanatory power. But what truth are we given by Castor? That the war that fathered the Oresteia was triggered by an eidolon of Helen? 

The mutual brotherly love of the Dioscuri offers a contrasting model to that of Atreus and Thyestes. After all, Castor and Polydeuces are granted eternal life, only they are trapped in a mutual exchange of perfect symmetry: each lives thanks to the other, but never do they live in the same moment.*  Electra and her brother cling together only to be irrevocably separated from each other and from Argos at the command of Castor. Does his intervention reflect cosmic order, or is it merely an arbitrary means to conclude the play?

The Dioscuri are a working model of the specular symmetry of image and reality, repeated eternally and without alteration. Their repetitive intersubstitution differs from the temporal degradation we find in Electra and other human characters. Suddenly appearing here, the Dioscuri foreground the literariness of not just this tale, but of any tale, no matter how "realistic" or "historical." Theater's powerful illusion reaches its apogee even as it jettisons its claim to authority. The shock of this decoupling is nothing like catharsis, but the loss of catharsis in this manner is nonetheless quite shocking.

*Curiously the relation of Electra and Aegisthus is similar. She and he are never together in the play, except after his death - when she addresses him at length, berating him for his unreal sense of himself.

Dancing with Furies: The Persuasion of the Erinyes

ἀλλ᾽ εἰ μὲν ἁγνόν ἐστί σοι Πειθοῦς σέβας;

γλώσσης ἐμῆς μείλιγμα καὶ θελκτήριον,

σὺ δ᾽ οὖν μένοις ἄν: 

But if you give holy reverence to Persuasion, 

the sweetness and charm of my tongue, 

then you might remain
 (Eum. 885-88)

With the Eumenides' scene of Persuasion, the story that began with the Watchman atop Agamemnon's roof reaches a point of resolve, if not total resolution.

The opening lines of Agamemnon speak of the desire for deliverance from the toil of a year-long watch:

Φύλαξ

θεοὺς μὲν αἰτῶ τῶνδ᾽ ἀπαλλαγὴν πόνων
φρουρᾶς ἐτείας μῆκος . . .

Release from this weary task of mine has been my plea to the gods throughout this long year's watch . . . 

The Watchman will see the cascading relay of fire that announces not just the end of Troy, but the beginning of the fall of Agamemnon. It's a roiling roller-coaster of a tale from that rooftop in Argos to the final dance of the company escorting the Erinyes to their cavernous new dwelling beneath the Areopagus.

These escorts are charged by Athena:

φοινικοβάπτοις ἐνδυτοῖς ἐσθήμασι
τιμᾶτε, καὶ τὸ φέγγος ὁρμάσθω πυρός,
1030ὅπως ἂν εὔφρων ἥδ᾽ ὁμιλία χθονὸς
τὸ λοιπὸν εὐάνδροισι συμφοραῖς πρέπῃ. 

There dress them honorably in robes dyed scarlet, and let the torches' light move on, so that this kindly company of visitors to our land [1030] may show itself clearly (πρέπῃ) afterwards in blessings that bring prosperity to men.

Appearing as a sign heralding victory, the light from Troy bears information that helps Clytemnestra set up the overthrow of the king. This cryptic light is balanced by the procession of the Furies that brings torchlight beneath the earth. In a hoped for future, the dreaded Daughters of Night will be seen "clearly" (πρέπῃ) -- not directly, but through the good things that happen to the Athenians through their beneficence.

The symmetry underscores one aspect of what has taken place: Beguiling, deceptive illumination gives way to a relation involving not signs, but something more interior, reliant on human will.

To grasp this turn in its several dimensions, a few questions need to be addressed:

• How does Athena's wisdom differ from the brilliant knowing and foreknowing of Apollo and Cassandra?
• What has to happen for the story to move from Oikos to Polis?
• How characterize the "success" of the Athenian interiorization of the Erinyes?
• What does the Oresteia mean by "Persuasion" (Πειθοῦς)

A sensible answer to these questions would require at least a book. To make some manageable headway here, let's begin with what the story tells us wisdom is not. It is not merely logic, or science, or even rhetorical skill -- all of which are possessed by Apollo.

Consider how helpful is Apollo's testimony regarding human conception. He provides a theory insusceptible to evidence, and fails to persuade even a sampling of good Athenians, let alone the Furies, of what he knows.

Cassandra provides another foil for Athena. Possessing the godlike ability to apprehend what is coming, she knows that she is to be slaughtered alongside Agamemnon -- but this knowledge is useless.

Cursed that she can never persuade anyone that what she says is true, Cassandra is no match for the strong personal and political might of Clytemnestra. As Simon Goldhill put it, “Clytemnestra’s persuasive force, then, is set against Cassandra’s unpersuasive truth.” (Goldhill, Aeschylus p. 53).

The awful predicament is probed even further -- the moment she received her "gift," she knew her horrible death, and moreover, knew that Apollo knew it too. Apollo can be a loyal protector as with Orestes -- but don't cross him.

The Apollonian world of brilliant sight, clear boundaries, the hard and fast quiddity of things, has a kind of fixity and finality resistant to conceiving change. Confronted by the hideous Furies, Apollo sees grotesque unreason and will not deal with it. The moment the trial ends, Apollo bolts -- no sticking around to help Athena with these seething Erinyes.

The Oresteia's challenge is not to the truth claims of knowledge, but of its utility in the public space of the polis. Put another way, Apollo's serene cognitive realm of language as ordering truth is under pressure -- something is working against its mastery, undermining its constructs, messing with its clear distinctions.

Because this is the case, the good things we make -- our human constructs -- require defending. That defense might come in varied forms, e.g.:

-- a man keeping watch (φρουρᾶς, Ag. 2) on a roof:

-- a citizens' court of Justice, here described by Athena: 

κερδῶν ἄθικτον τοῦτο βουλευτήριον,
αἰδοῖον, ὀξύθυμον, εὑδόντων ὕπερ
ἐγρηγορὸς φρούρημα γῆς καθίσταμαι.

I establish this tribunal, untouched by greed, worthy of reverence, quick to anger, awake on behalf of those who sleep, a guardian (φρούρημα) of the land. [Eum. 704-6]

-- a reverence for wisdom that makes a city a "fortress of the gods": φρούριον θεῶν (Eum. 919). This reverence derives from an awareness that all Apollonian structures can be penetrated, subverted, belied.

The Apollonian is far-seeing, in space and time. But Apollo does not see the work of the Furies, and as we've seen, has no stomach for what they do -- it's all "beneath" him.

We might tentatively say of wisdom that it is, in part, a vigilance owing to the anticipated undoing of all that is known.

Aeschylus's trajectory from oikos to polis has at least two moments:

First, moving away from the private familial domain of the oikonomos, there's the introduction of a Apollonian space where rational judgments and truth finding are used to enable judgments based on law, but based as well on the vagaries of a jury's perceptions and prejudgments.

But this illuminated space is fragile, susceptible to forces and influences that have nothing to do with reasoned judgment. A second moment is necessary -- an intervention reckoning with powers that lie outside of that Apollonian light -- something that no amount of truth, logic, or rhetorical skill will bring under control.

Aeschylus underscores the bi-polar peripeteia of persuasive power: He first gives the Furies their vehement dance of opposition to Athena's words (kommos, 778-880) then a prose patch of dialog (881-1019) followed by the increasingly jubilant choral dance once the Furies have given their assent (kommos 916-1020).

The dialog opens with Athena:

Ἀθηνᾶ

οὔτοι καμοῦμαί σοι λέγουσα τἀγαθά,
ὡς μήποτ᾽ εἴπῃς πρὸς νεωτέρας ἐμοῦ
θεὸς παλαιὰ καὶ πολισσούχων βροτῶν
ἄτιμος ἔρρειν τοῦδ᾽ ἀπόξενος πέδου.
885ἀλλ᾽ εἰ μὲν ἁγνόν ἐστί σοι Πειθοῦς σέβας;
γλώσσης ἐμῆς μείλιγμα καὶ θελκτήριον,
σὺ δ᾽ οὖν μένοις ἄν: εἰ δὲ μὴ θέλεις μένειν,
οὔ τἂν δικαίως τῇδ᾽ ἐπιρρέποις πόλει
μῆνίν τιν᾽ ἢ κότον τιν᾽ ἢ βλάβην στρατῷ.
890ἔξεστι γάρ σοι τῆσδε γαμόρῳ χθονὸς
εἶναι δικαίως ἐς τὸ πᾶν τιμωμένῃ.

Athena
No, I will not grow tired of telling you about these good things, so you will never be able to say that you, an ancient goddess, were cast out, dishonored and banished, from this land by me, a younger goddess, and by the mortal guardians of my city. But if you give holy reverence to Persuasion, [885] the sweetness and charm of my tongue, then you might remain. But if you are not willing to stay, then surely it would be unjust for you to inflict on this city any wrath or rage or harm to the people. For it is possible for you to have a share of the land justly, with full honors. [890]

Athena says this in response to the Furies' angry charge, repeated verbatim, that they are being deceived and humiliated by younger gods who do not possess their wisdom.

Instead of seeking to dispute their claims, she simply offers them a choice: join us, or leave us in peace.

What is it that causes the Furies to then say:

Chorus
Lady Athena, what place do you say I will have?

Athena
One free from all pain and distress; accept it.

Chorus
Say that I have accepted it, what honor awaits me?

Athena
That no house will flourish without you. [895]

Chorus
Will you gain for me the possession of such power?

Athena
Yes, for we will set straight the fortunes of those who worship.

Chorus
And will you give me a pledge for all time?

Athena
Yes, for I have no need to say what I will not accomplish.

Chorus
It seems you will win me by your spells; I am letting go my anger. [900]

Athena

Then stay in the land and you will gain other friends.

Three facets of Athenaic wisdom are on display:

1. No pulling of rank. She exercises restraint and speaks to them with deference arguably due a cranky older generation.
2. She offers them a choice and negotiates rather than dictates.
3. The tone is one of good humor and good things promised.

In brief, Athena opens the door to the polis, which comes with a power the Furies have never known - the power to choose. These automatonic beings had a mission, but it was performed without reflection or hesitation -- the vengeance of blood.

The power of Athena's Persuasion comes not with fancy words, but with this gift of choice and voice - democratically shared power in action.

This giving is an action leading to a change in status if the Furies accept. Hearing Athena's beguiling voice, they begin to use their voice to iron out the specific terms of this change. They exercise, for perhaps the first time in their archaic lives, the power to shape, to change..

Trusting a god who says she has no reason to lie is itself an act. As they work out the details, they are accepting a contract not unlike that which underlies democracy itself. The polis promises freedom of speech, thought, and action in return for choosing to live in harmony with the preservation of the polis.

Wisdom is not knowledge, nor something codified. Athena models wisdom in finding a way to work with an Other she does not control. Apollo, lord of imperial scientific understanding, would never dream of bringing these creatures into his community -- his visceral aversion would banish them. Athena brings them in, in a structured way that can benefit all concerned, but only if they each give up a portion of their power.

The operative word is "can" -- the action of wisdom is not a command or law, but a living contract that calls on both sides -- the Furies and the citizens of Athens -- to honor and respect the other.

And here's where I'd offer a different emphasis from the concluding comments of Nicholas Rynearson's fine study.* He fully appreciates how Athena models restraint throughout her act of persuasion, but seems unwilling to accept the radicality of open choice on hand.

"In effect," writes Rynearson, "Athena asks the Erinyes to become more like herself, a powerful goddess who deploys such power in service of the order defined by patriarchal rule. By accepting Athena's offer, the Erinyes willingly accede to this hierarchical order . . .. "

Such a fixed finality would please Apollo, but in a world as unstable, as darkly threatening as that of the Oresteia, stability is never something to count on. It's to be won daily, not simply by the accession of the Erinyes to a new relation with the city, but calling for a new relation of the Athenians to them.

990 ἐκ τῶν φοβερῶν τῶνδε προσώπων
μέγα κέρδος ὁρῶ τοῖσδε πολίταις:

From these terrible faces 

I see great profit for these citizens;

The faces of the Furies still hold terror. They exit draped in scarlet (not unlike Agamemnon) but their power to instill fear is not by any means given over.

The contract requires both parties to reciprocally and trustingly act and never stop. A wise citizenry will continually fear and honor the Furies, even as they yield good things to those wise enough to keep faith.

There is much more that could be said, but this is way too long. A last support for my argument that the Oresteia moves to a position of joint resolve, not unlike a truce (not unlike the truce that ends the Iliad):

Take the final lines of the text we have, which has variants:

σπονδαὶ δ᾽ ἐς τὸ πᾶν ἐκ μετοίκων

Παλλάδος ἀστοῖς. Ζεὺς ὁ πανόπτας

οὕτω Μοῖρά τε συγκατέβα.

ὀλολύξατε νῦν ἐπὶ μολπαῖς. (Eum. 1044-47)

Smyth:

Peace endures for all time between Pallas' citizens and these new dwellers here. Zeus who sees all and Fate have come down to lend aid—cry aloud now in echo to our song!

Sommerstein:

Speedily enter your home;  

thus Zeus the all-seeing and Destiny

have come to the aid of Pallas' citizens.   

Now raise a cry of triumph to crown our song!

Lattimore:

There shall be peace forever between these people 

of Pallas and their guests. Zeus the all-seeing

met with Destiny to confirm it.

Singing will follow our footsteps.

According to Sommerstein, the text here is "desperately corrupt," so any translation will be something of a desperate act, but here goes: there is no word in versions  of the Greek that I have seen that means "peace." The word that some translators recognize is σπονδαὶ - which, according to Liddell and Scott, signifies a libation, and a truce:

σπονδ-ή , ἡ, (σπένδω)

A. [select] drink-offering, of wine poured out to the gods before drinking, “σπονδῇσι θύεσσί τε ἱλάσκεσθαι” Hes.Op.338; οὐ σπονδῇ χρέωνται [οἱ Πέρσαι] Hdt.1.132; “ἦν δὲ κἀμπέλου σπονδή” S.Fr.398; σπονδὴ θεοῦ a drink-offering to a god, E.Cyc.469; “ἔγχει δὴ σπονδήν” Ar. Pax 1102, cf.Antipho 19.128; περὶ σπονδὰς καὶ κύλικας εἶχον were engaged in feasting, Hdn.4.11.4; of the rites of hospitality, D.19.189.

II. [select] pl., σπονδαί a solemn treaty or truce (because solemn drink-offerings were made on concluding them, D.S.3.71;) 

The relation of the people of Athens to the Furies is linked to the kind of libation poured to signify a truce. The procession of the Furies would then enact that libation, pouring itself at every moment in ongoing recognition, not of peace, but of entering upon this negotiated relation.

Athenaic wisdom will act in faith, with good humor, but it will exercise a vigilance owing to the anticipated undoing of all that is known.

Finally, Lattimore gets the prize for the last word, μολπαῖς: it can mean song, but Liddell suggests it can also mean dance, rhythmic movement:

μολπ-ή ἡ, (μέλπω)
A.dance or rhythmic movement with song, Od. 6.101, Il.18.606.

Ending the Oresteia with a word that combines song with motion would seem sweetly beguiling, fitting the open-ended movements of wisdom in action.

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Note: I've not fully addressed one question that was asked: What does the Oresteia mean by "Persuasion" (Πειθοῦς)? Part can be inferred from the argument above, but I'll try to offer a more formal response in another post soon.

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*RYNEARSON, NICHOLAS. “Courting the Erinyes: Persuasion, Sacrifice, and Seduction in Aeschylus's ‘Eumenides.’” Transactions of the American Philological Association (1974-2014), vol. 143, no. 1, 2013, pp. 1–22. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/43830250. Accessed 23 May 2020.