These vases are most likely to appear in this year's exams:
Lydos Kolumn Krater
Exekias Kylix
Exekias Belly Amphora
Achilles Painter Lekythos
Euphronios Calyx Krater
Amasis Lekythos (Wedding)
Kleophrades Painter Hydria
Kleophrades Painter Pointed Amphora
Euthymedies Belly Amphora
Francois
Discuss Virgil’s awareness of the tragedy of war and its impact on the individuals involved in it.
Virgil, for all his apparent glorification of war as the ‘greater theme’ of his poem (in line with contemporary attitudes), has an
acute sense of the tragic plight of the individual involved in it. He provides numerous examples of innocents and soldiers caught
up in war’s spectre, describing the pain of families left behind as well as that of participants themselves. His acknowledgement
of the mistakes made by many participants in war does not diminish the pathos of their tragic deaths. Upon finishing the Aeneid,
one gets the sense that Virgil’s ultimate goal is peace, and if war provides a means to this end, it is necessary and must be
endured despite the pain it causes. Beneath the tragedy there is sometimes also an element of traditional Homeric heroism
remaining in this Roman epic.
Book Two is the first instance of war in the Aeneid – it is a narrative of a brave people cowardly butchered by the heartless
Greeks. There is obviously bias in this, but the sense of tragedy cannot be negated. This book is the beginning of Virgil’s linkage
of family relationships to death in war. Especially jolting in this respect are the brutal actions of Pyrrhus – killing Polites in front
of his father then dragging Priam through his son’s blood and slaughtering him at the altar – sacrilegious in his denial of the gods
and of family ties. We feel sympathy for Cassandra, who is destined never to be believed, as she is brutalised by Ajax. In this
book, though, we see the beginning of another side to Virgil’s awareness of the tragedy of war – the idea of individual Homeric
heroism remains in the Aeneid. Aeneas’ furor as he rushes into battle, forgetting his family, is the starting point for his later
transformation into an ideal, devoted pius Roman hero. More significant for Homeric heroism, though, is Cassandra’s lover
Coroebus, whose death to defend her has an element of nobility and bravery familiar to the world of Homer.
As well as the deaths of individual soldiers, we see the larger impact of war. There are the lines of women and children lined up
to become slaves to the Greeks, but most of all the bewilderment of the Trojans as their city is destroyed and ‘death in a
thousand forms’ befalls them at the time when they least expected it. The scene before the Greeks invade is a peaceful and calm
one, the Trojans in jubilant, inebriated vulnerability, hardly believing that the Greeks have left, but convinced enough to let their
guard down. For the reader there is a sense of terrible anticipation, as we know what is going to happen to these relieved people.
An extra dimension is added to this dramatic irony by the fact that Aeneas is telling the story in retrospect, and knows as well as
us what is about to come. War is thus portrayed in book two as something sudden, devastating, brutal and uncompromising,
driving men to desperate and terrible acts and causing them to forget the necessary observance of pietas, as in Aeneas’ initial
desertion of his defenceless family.
A more detailed description of war’s horror is provided by Virgil’s account of the war in Latium, occupying books seven and
nine-twelve. This is where Virgil is able to bring a real pathos into his accounts of suffering and death, by both the participants in
war and their families. Virgil is judicious and even-handed in his description, as he was with the Dido episode, revealing flaws
and virtues in both the Trojans and the Rutulians. The fact that he does not portray war as a virtually allegorised account of a
thoroughly righteous Good and a completely wrong Evil also increases the emotional response we have to his descriptions. This
is also intensified by the nature of his language – while in Homer we saw realistic accounts of the deaths of men with military
accuracy, Virgil tends to play down the deaths of his characters, focussing instead on sensitive and emotional explications of
tragedy and suffering.
One of the most tragic aspects of the war in Latium is that it is unnecessary, but only the reader and the gods have the benefit of
knowing this. We have already heard from Jupiter of the future greatness of the Roman nature, so we know that Aeneas must
win his war. The war was not something ordained by Fate, but rather one of the obstacles that Fate encountered on its irresistible
path to fulfilment. It was Juno who caused the war by stirring up Turnus and Amata, and as it progresses we realise its increasing
futility. Juno does also, and it is only by the end of the poem when she has acquiesced to Fate’s decrees (subject to restrictions –
the Trojans should assimilate with the Latins and lose their ‘Phrygian’ language and dress – something that was required for
verisimilitude) that Aeneas is finally able to found his city. This is after countless deaths, described by Virgil in a typically
tender and humanistic way.
One of the most memorable episodes of the Aeneid is that of Nisus and Euryalus. We have already seen their devotion to each
other in book five, and it takes on a much more serious aspect in book nine. This episode serves several purposes in terms of
Virgil’s portrayal of war – it shows tragedy, mistakes made in war’s intensity, and on the other hand heroism and glory. The
mistake of Nisus and Euryalus was greed – in their desire for spoils they became foolhardy and reckless and ended up causing
their own deaths. But Virgil’s portrayal of them is so sympathetic this fault becomes virtually irrelevant. When Euryalus is
killed, he is compared to a ‘bright flower shorn by the plow’ or a daffodil overwhelmed by rain, its head drooping. These similes
are strikingly effective in showing Euryalus as an innocent, beautiful creature destroyed by forces much stronger than he. Nisus’
devotion to him touches us, and his death after having avenged his friend’s death is strangely satisfying, and shows the sort of
attachment that Achilles may have had to Patroclus. This sense of satisfaction does not last long, however. We are abruptly
reminded of the tragedy of these young men taken before their time by Euryalus’ mother, who orders the Rutulians or Jupiter to
kill her and end the ‘cruelty of living’ without her son. Her picture of her son lost and killed in a ‘strange land’, left with nothing
of him but the sight of his severed head, is achingly poignant. A parallel is provided in Pallas’ father Evander, shocked by the
news of his son’s death, asserting that he ‘prolong[s] a life rendered hateful.’
Another technique Virgil uses to increase the humanity of the soldiers and thus increase our sympathy for them is the small
biographical details he includes. We are told, for instance, of the fondness of the gentle Cretheus for singing, the tunic that
Lausus’ mother sewed for her son, the similarity of twins whose parents regarded them with ‘sweet bewilderment’, that
Helenor’s mother was a slave who raised him secretly and he rushed off to war without permission, wielding only a weak sword
and shield, of the affection of Camilla’s exiled father for his daughter, placing her under Diana’s care and teaching her to hunt.
In this way, the individuals in war again become humanised and innocent rather than simplifications of ‘right’ or ‘wrong.’ War
is, and always has been, the plight of innocent young men thrown into a battle that is not theirs by higher powers. The gods
themselves pity these men – we are moved by Pallas’ fruitless prayer to Hercules, and the picture of the god weeping, unable to
reward Pallas’ pietas.
The influence of animal forces such as furor on these otherwise normal people is also described by Virgil, adding a further
dimension to his conception of soldiers as individuals stuck in a tragic situation. The most memorable example is Aeneas’
reaction to Turnus’ killing of Pallas. Having been with him from the beginning of the poem we have watched as he has gradually
grown to accept his destiny and transformed into a capable, pius and compassionate leader. His bout of furor after Pallas’ death
therefore is jolting to us. His reaction is somewhat surprising because he has not known Pallas for an especially long amount of
time, and this episode is designed to echo Achilles’ reaction to the death of Patroclus. His dedication to Pallas is not totally
inexplicable if we remember the circumstances in which he was placed in his care – after many years of fruitless wandering
Evander was one of the few people to offer him hospitality with no consequences. Aeneas’ actions, though, shock us deeply. We
watch as this compassionate man slaughters Magus, a suppliant who begs for his life, and takes prisoners to use as human
sacrifices, including even the priest Haemonides, helpless and conspicuous in his white robes. We are horrified when he says to
one man ‘your mother will never lay you fondly in the earth… you shall be left to the birds of prey, or plunged in waters
where…hungry fishes [will] mouth your wounds.’ If even a man such as Aeneas can be affected to this degree, it is clear what
war does to people’s natural kindness.
The involvement of Turnus in the war is also tragic. In the first instance, we feel it is unfortunate that he needed to become
involved at all. We understand that Rome must be founded and he is an obstacle to this goal, and that his insistence on fighting
Aeneas with Lavinia as a supposed motive seems unreasonable in a world that regarded women as rather interchangeable.
However, he is a rebel to a great established order that he cannot defeat, and we pity him for this. He shows himself to be a great,
fiery, accomplished warrior of the Homeric order, brave and defiant in the face of resistance. In the final book, though, he is
described as painfully and visibly youthful, his cheeks still covered in down as he sacrifices to the gods on the eve of his death.
As modern audiences, we see today’s non-conformist in Turnus and feel a sense of despair because his refusal to acquiesce to
what is expected can only end in tragedy. We must accept that his death is deserved (although its circumstances may shock us), a
repayment for his cruelty in killing Pallas, but he is undeniably an admirable and tragic figure, at once flawed and accomplished
as we all are. Some consolation is provided by the fact that the Italian ruggedness of Turnus and his fellow Rutulians will live on
in the Roman race, and that they will forsake all Eastern effeminacy and opulence.
Virgil’s awareness and consideration of war is multi-faceted and convincing. He never gives in to the temptation to simplify his
characters to those who are right and those who are wrong, instead presenting well-rounded human beings involved in a terrible
situation. He seems to approve of the ends of war – great, boundless empire, peace and prosperity – but despise the mechanics of
it. Countless individuals are killed or enslaved over the course of the Aeneid, many unnecessarily, for the war in Latium is not
stipulated by destiny. Some examples of heroism are furnished – the aristeiai of Nisus and Euryalus and Camilla. These
examples of individual glory, however, are repeatedly tempered by the pathos of many scenes. The pain of families losing
children is shown by Euryalus’ mother and Pallas’ father. Biographical details make the soldiers into individuals. Overall, war is
seen by Virgil as a great and terrible force, inscribing a select few into the annals of history to be remembered forever (‘if there
is any power in my poetry, no day shall ever steal [Nisus and Euryalus] from the memory of time’), transforming some into
uncharacteristically cruel murderers, destroying countless blameless individuals and searing their families with pain. War is not,
however, without its purpose. Rome is the result of these wars, and Virgil saw Rome as something worth fighting for, worth
dying for. A last uncertainty remains. We must remember Anchises’ words in the Underworld about the ‘arts’ of the Romans –
conquering other nations and ruling them. For the Romans, a path to glory means the loss of so many beautiful things – from
Euryalus to Cretheus, from Sylvia’s stag to the Greek proficiency in art and literature. We must ask ourselves if cold, hard
dominion over the world is a greater fulfilment than these gentler arts. This is what the tender poet Virgil asks the modern
audience, as he asked his own Romans, and it is something we must decide for ourselves.
AENEID - the big debate among critics is "Pessimists vs Optimists".
That is, was Virgil writing a "propagandist" poem which reflected his belief in the Augustan regime (whether he personally
agreed with everything Augustus did is a different matter - all the scholars are claiming is that he thought Augustus' regime was
good for Rome on a wider scale) and predicted a good end for it all, although accepting that suffering had to happen, or are there
hints of subversion in the poem, subtle suggestions that Virgil didn't like Augustus' regime so much, and saw the pain that
inhered - keep in mind the amount of suffering that goes on, and particularly the fact that Dido and Turnus (to us at least) are
sympathetic characters and probably would also have been so to ancient audiences.
Some such scholars also think that Virgil was pressured to put a positive spin on things, while in reality he thought the regime to
be a bad thing, or tyrannical in some way. Consider the political climate - Augustus was known to clamp down on those who
were against him, just look at the exile of Ovid (though exactly what Ovid wrote to be exiled we are not sure). Also remember
that Romans notoriously didn't like kings, and were under the influence of the Greek tradition of heroic tyrant-slayers and the
valourisation of "freedom". Augustus was successful, but he had to be very careful to ensure he went about things in the right
way.
Also, Aeneas is a very reluctant hero. What do we make of the fact that he, for instance, doesn't actually talk all that much, and
when he does, we don't hear him enthusiastically talking about the labours ahead of him - most of the time he's whining and/or
crying. Does that suggest Virgil is trying to say something about the validity of Rome's great mission? Or does it just show the
difference in a Roman hero versus a Christian hero, who would be all zealous? One of the important things is Aeneas'
transformation from Greek hero (self-focussed, individual glory) to new Roman hero (supposedly community focussed,
disregarding individual pleasures like Dido).
Virgil is constantly responding to the Iliad and the Odyssey, and their shadows are constantly over his poem. He has the
advantage of several thousand years of subsequent scholarship, knowledge and literature, and uses that advantage - the Aeneid is
a thoroughly learned work, alluding to everything from Catullus to Lucretius. Some say the fact it is a literary rather than oral
epic makes it less spontaneous than the Homeric epics, and more boring and bogged-down. You can make up your own mind on
that, but I like the fact he incorporates all sorts of things "Homer" (whoever Homer was/were) just could not. The Aeneid, in a
broad sense, is just a long reception of the Homeric epics.
Essay #1 – Alexander the Great – 8/8
A B Bosworth describes Alexander’s military career as “a continuing saga of heroic self-exposure?. Is this a fair assessment of
Alexander as a general and as a man?
Bosworth’s description of Alexander the Great’s military career as “a continuing saga of heroic self-exposure? certainly holds
truth to some extent. Alexander’s likeness to Gods, as well as his canny leadership and being in the thick of battle all speak for
his courage and heroism. However, the reality is that it was often Alexander’s genuine care for his Army, combined with his
outstanding skills as a general and his firm grasp of tactics that would eventually win the day over his feats of battle heroism.
Alexander was favoured by his men throughout his campaigns as a battle king that shared the hardships and suffering, both in
battle and in travel, with his troops. As well as being the leading general of the Army, Alexander was also head of the
Companion Cavalry, an elite group of mounted troops that would deliver the crushing blow to the enemy line. However, it was
his desire to display the “heroic self-exposure? that Bosworth talks of in numerous situations throughout his campaigns that
would result in several near death experiences.
Perhaps the first of these would be the Battle of the Granikos in 334 BC. Alexander had led his troops across the Hellespont
earlier in the year and was to have his first engagement with the Persians. While the Persians’ general, Memnon, advocated a
‘scorched earth’ policy, the Persian commanders were “nettled by his reference to inferior Persian troops?, (JR Hamilton) and
wished to engage Alexander immediately. In reality, nothing could have suited Alexander more than a pitched battle. However,
it is here that we can see Alexander’s desire for “heroic self-exposure? leading to an untimely death. Arrian tells us that the
Persians built up their wing because Alexander was so prominently displayed on the Macedonian right, thereby weakening the
Persian centre. Amyntas led a light cavalry feint on the Macedonian right. In the ensuing fracas, Alexander was, of course, in the
middle. He nearly lost his life, as Arrian tells us, to the blade of Spithridates, a Persian Cavalry commander. Both Arrian and
Plutarch mention this episode in their accounts, and also that Alexander was saved by Klietos, whom he later murdered in 328
BC.
Another example of Alexander’s heroism was the episode in the Mallian Capital in India from 326-325 BC. Arrian tells us that
after scaling the walls of the city, Alexander jumped in with only a few companions. Unfortunately, the rest of the army was yet
to follow – Alexander was now outnumbered and outgunned. However, the rest of the army was quick to his rescue, and
Alexander suffered one lung punctured by an arrow, as well as severe blood loss. This was far more serious than the Granikos –
Alexander’s injuries sustained in Mallia would have made the trek across the desert extremely arduous. Many speculate that the
sheer exhaustion suffered by Alexander after the Mallian episode may well have contributed to his death in Babylon in 323 BC.
Alexander the Great’s heroism was certainly a calculated risk. Having their leader fighting certainly would have made his troops
fight harder. However – it could also have the reverse effect. If Alexander was to die as a result of his risk taking, we can only
imagine the dismay and chaos it would cause the Macedonian Army. Alexander’s desire for heroic self-exposure is certainly a
fair assessment of him as a man, but not as a general. While Alexander’s battle leadership may well have given his troops the
fighting edge that they needed, it can be irrefutably argued that Alexander’s grasp of tactics contributed to his military success
more, and this it is not a fair assessment of him as a general.
Quite obviously, the best example of Alexander’s skill as a general would be in the Battle of Gaugamela in 331 BC. Against all
odds, Alexander crushed the Persian Army and thus had control over all of Asia. There were numerous factors against
Alexander. Seething from his defeat at Issus in 323 BC, Arrian tells us that Darius had hand-picked the battlefield at Gaugamela
as well as flattening it so that his feared scythed chariots and considerable cavalry could be put to good use. Alexander would
seemingly be unable to turn the terrain against Darius this time, as he did at Issus when he shunted Darius into a narrow coastal
plain, rendering the sheer volume of his army useless.
In light of the fact that Alexander had few territorial advantages and was ridiculously outnumbered, it is obvious that it was his
tactics that won the day for the Macedonians, and not his desire for heroism. Alexander started the battle by leading his
companion cavalry to the right, essentially taking the battle away from Persians’ own artificial battleground. Afraid of this, the
Persians followed and stretched their own line, when Alexander suddenly turned inwards and delivered a knockout punch to the
now thinly stretched Persian line. Arrian calls this Alexander’s “opportunity? – certainly one that was well taken.
The Battle of Gaugamela also demonstrates other aspects of Alexander’s tactical ability, largely his preparedness for
unpredictability, and his genuine care for his army. Alexander was ready for the scythed chariots of Darius. Arrian tells us that
troops were instructed to break ranks and let the chariots through, causing little damage to the troops. The drivers were then, as
Arrian tells us, “dealt with?. Alexander also realised the possibility of the Persians outflanking him. In preparation for this,
Alexander created one divergence from the regular Macedonian line – a rear guard. When the left wing was outflanked, the rear
guard certainly came into action. Arrian tells us that Parmenio’s left wing of the Army was being devastated while Alexander
was on the brink of victory. He had just cornered Darius and the Persian army was in ruins when he received a messenger telling
him that Parmenio was in dire need. Instead of perusing his “prey? as Arrian calls it, Alexander went to the aid of his Army.
Alexander’s leadership can also be seen as a convoluted mixture of his heroism and his ability as a general. Before Gaugamela,
both Plutarch and Arrian speak of Parmenio suggesting a night attack on the Persians. Both writers tell us that Alexander
responded with, “I will not steal victory, like a thief?. While this appears to be noble, Arrian reveals that night fighting was,
“tricky…unpredictable,? amongst other things. This is probably a more realistic stance, and is evident of Alexander’s desire to
display heroism.
Bosworth’s quote that Alexander’s military career was a “continuing saga of heroic self-exposure,? certainly holds some weight
upon an initial view of Alexander. He appears to be risk-taking, brash and somewhat reckless. However, Alexander’s tactical
skills inevitably contributed to more victories than his heroism did. His ability to pick his opponents’ weaknesses, seize
opportunities and use terrain to his advantage was unparalleled. Arrian tells us that his “passion for glory? was “insatiable?. This
is also true in light of Bosworth’s comment. Alexander’s heroism, combined with his tactical abilities led to an unstoppable
Macedonian war machine. Alexander’s desire for “heroic self exposure? is a fair comment in light of him as a man, but not as a
general.
Essay #2 – The Aeneid – 8/8
With so much of the Aeneid referring to conflict, can Virgil be suggesting that, in terms of human suffering, the cost of that
struggle was too great?
Virgil’s Aeneid initially seems like a very basic piece of literature, a fairytale saga of gods and heroes. However, upon further
examination, readers are able to view the conflict of ideals that exists, not only between groups, but within every human. In the
Aeneid, Virgil portrays the trials and tribulations of Aeneas and his followers as journeys filled with hardship and strife. Aeneas
himself is ambivalent to the true nature of his quest. However, we must take into consideration that Virgil’s world is a far cry
from our own. While most of us would argue that the burden on Aeneas’ back was far too heavy, there are forces of destiny and
fate present in the epic poem that propel Aeneas forward to his eventual goal. While human suffering is present, the Roman
audience at the time would have seen it as saddening, yet necessary, by-products of destiny.
Much of the poem centres around Aeneas’ own suffering. Clearly knowing that he has some kind of destiny to fulfil, Aeneas is
tossed around the Mediterranean for eight years before he is taken to the underworld and the true nature of his quest is revealed.
Aeneas suffers many setbacks on a personal level along the way. He loses his wife, his father, many faithful crewmates and his
lover, Dido. In Book V, Aeneas despairs as Juno has thrown up another roadblock in the form of burning his ships. Leading up
to this was the sack of his home city, attacks from monsters, terrible storms, a series of stops in the Mediterranean that were
unsuccessful, an the suicide of his lover, Dido – inadvertedly caused by Aeneas himself. Certainly, all these factors would have
broken a lesser man, but Aeneas stands strong throughout.
Despite all this suffering, Aeneas manages to be a strong leader and a generally compassionate figure at all times. In Book III, he
rescues one of Odysseus’ crewmates from a Cyclops at Etria. In Book V, he allows a group to stay at the site of the funeral
games while the “stronger? Trojans moved on. He bolsters the morale of his followers with convincing speeches and
compassion. However, he realises throughout that he has been made an “exile of fate?, and accepts his destiny. He realises that
no matter how hard he tries, no matter how many times he attempts to settle down, fate will push him out of his short lived
comfort and onwards to his destiny. Aeneas accepts this. He realises that he has a destiny to fulfil – one that has been decreed by
the Gods – and that he must accept and realise it. His unhappiness and suffering, he realises, are by-products of his own destiny,
and because his destiny is controlled by powers far greater than he, he is powerless to stop it.
Building on the idea that destiny causes the majority of human suffering; we can look to examples of those who are not directly
involved in Aeneas’ quest, yet suffer as a result of his destiny. The most prominent of these would be Dido – an African Queen
who falls in love with Aeneas and is mortified by him abrupt departure a year later, to such a degree that she commits suicide.
What is ironic is that at the whim of Venus, Cupid causes Dido to fall in love with Aeneas via his enchanted ‘son’, Ascanius.
This serves as a protection to the Trojans – they are not slaughtered by the Carthaginians upon arrival, but welcomed. This has
the unwitting effect of involving Dido, both emotionally and physically, Aeneas’ quest.
The “marriage? between Dido and Aeneas is certainly a realistic one. Both are attractive, socially suitable and lonely people.
They spend a year together, in which Aeneas falls prey to Eastern vices and luxuries – the previous hardness is all gone. That is,
of course, until Aeneas is told by Mercury that he must continue on his quest, regardless of his feelings for Dido. Aeneas tells
her that he must leave and we know that “greatly his heart grieved.? However, in his dismissal of Dido, he seems graceless and
insensitive. She reasons with him that, if he really was favoured by the Gods he would be in Italy by now. This is interesting
because Dido confuses the Gods’ concern for Aeneas fulfilling his destiny with the Gods’ concern for his own personal
happiness. The Gods rarely provide aid that would benefit Aeneas on a personal level. The aid he does receive, the clearing of
storms, the calm passages, and the shield are only present for the continuation of Aeneas’ own destiny. Unfortunately for Dido,
she has become a helpless pawn of fate – unwittingly involved to an extent where she eventually kills herself. While Dido’s
death is Virgil reiterating the unstoppable power of destiny, he also registers, albeit on a smaller scale, the effects that these
‘great causes’ have on individuals. Dido’s suffering, much like Aeneas; is largely a by-product of destiny.
The third aspect of human suffering present in the Aeneid is the suffering if the people who follow Aeneas and oppose him.
While Aeneas’ quest is favoured by the Gods and he must be alive to fulfil it, the same does not go for the rest of his subjects.
Take for example the helpless Palinurus, who was cast into the sea in order to ensure a safe passage to Italy. Aeneas finds him in
Book IV in the Underworld, marooned on the banks of the Styx for 100 years because he did not have a proper burial. Others
follow, there were the deaths if Hector and Creusa in Troy, the mutilation of Deiphobus, the crewmembers lost in storms,
Aeneas’ father, Anchises, as well as those in Italy – Pallas and Turnus are the most prominent examples. The wild callous frenzy
of killing helpless supplicants upon the death of Pallas and the convoluted mixture of pietas and furor that lead to the killing of
Turnus are inevitably and inalienably, like all other human suffering in the poem, caused by destiny.
When regarding the Aeneid, one must take into consideration the Roman perspective. While the Aenieid runs the fine line
between an epic poem and a propaganda piece, universal themes and reasons for suffering are present. Aeneas must succeed on
his quest because Jupiter wills it, and his will trumps that of all others – most recognisably that of Juno and her pawn, Turnus.
Because the need for Aeneas to fulfil his quest was so great, his own personal happiness was sidelined in favour of his destiny.
The same goes for all others who were inadvertedly involved – Dido, Turnus, Anchises and the countless others. Virgil is not
saying that the cost of the struggle is too great; the cost of the struggle is merely a by-product of destiny. Because Aeneas must
fulfil his goal, his personal happiness and the happiness of all others is considered secondary by the primacy of fate.
Scholarship English 2005 – Scholarship
Essay #1 – Oryx and Crake (8/8)
Discuss the view that there is little pleasure to be had from novels in which good finally triumphs, all problems are resolved, and
love prevails.
In Margaret Atwood’s work of dystopian speculative fiction, ‘Oryx and Crake’, it would initially seem that little pleasure is to be
held in its catastrophic ending. However, upon a thorough analysis of the events and the relationship between Snowman, the last
surviving human on earth, and the ‘Crakers’ – a race of genetically enhanced synthetic humans, a new conclusion can be
reached. While human civilisation as we know it has been razed to the ground after decades of excess, and the products of
immoral science run rampant on this new, nightmarish landscape, hope for humanity still exists in the compassionate form of
Snowman, even though his world as Jimmy has been destroyed.
The world of ‘Oryx and Crake’ is not a happy one. Society is divided between those “lucky? enough to live in “the compounds?
and those who are not. “The Compounds? are isolated, walled-in residential areas for the employees of massive biotechnology
corporations. The alternative is “the pleeblands?, vast, polluted urban sprawls, where crime, corruption and excess are all
present. However, society is not the only thing wrong with this dystopian setting – the environment has also been indelibly
tainted by the callous hand of mankind. The polar icecaps have melted, methane bubbles up from the tundra, the Asian steppes
have turned to sand and a volcano eruption in the Canary Islands has caused a tidal wave, “erasing most of the eastern seaboard.?
Conflict is present in third world countries so giant corporations can exploit their economies; “the soldiers and peasants looked
the same wherever they were. The looked dusty,? and the relentless pull and push of a materialist lifestyle drives the entire,
human dilemma.
The protagonist of this novel is Jimmy, one of the privileged few to live in a “compound?. The son of a major scientist, Jimmy
watches the ensuing chaos through a television screen, distanced both physically and emotionally from the situation. Perhaps the
reason for his apparent stoicism is his relationship with his parents – Jimmy feels distanced, alienated and, “invisible?,
throughout his childhood. His only friend is a pet Rakunk, (a cross between a racoon and a skunk), Killer. That is, until he meets
Crake.
Amidst the chaos of the future world, Crake serves as both a cause and a consequence to the problem of humanity’s excess, and
Snowman’s position in the future. A cold, calculating, psychopathic genius, Crake is the antithesis of Jimmy’s warmth and
compassion. His chief role in the novel is as the creator of the “blysspluss? pill – a potent aphrodisiac that turns out to contain a
super-contagious haemorrhagic pathogen that wipes out all of mankind, leaving Jimmy, now known as Snowman, in the terrible,
lonely future.
As well as being a genius, Crake is extremely manipulative. Similar to the heinous villain ‘Iago’ in Shakespeare’s ‘Othello’,
Crake controls Jimmy by restricting his access to the one he loves – Oryx. Jimmy has an infatuation with Oryx, a former
prostitute that acts as a teacher to for the Crakers – the synthetic humans that populate Crake’s “Paradice Dome.? While Oryx
initially seems naive, “you’re so funny Jimmy!? She is obviously involved with Crake’s machinations at a much deeper level
than Jimmy expects. When Crake releases the virus, and the world is crumbling, he returns to the Paradice Dome with an
unconscious Oryx draped over his shoulder and tells Jimmy, “I’m counting on you.? He then slits Oryx’s throat. Jimmy replies
by shooting him.
Thus, the grand finale of Oryx and Crake does not seem to be a happy one at all. The reader is able to draw little ‘pleasure’ from
the destruction of human civilisation and the trials and tribulations of poor Jimmy. In a few, brief moments, everyone he ever
loved in the world – his best friend, and his lover – are dead, as well as the entire human race. Good does not triumph, love does
not prevail, and Jimmy’s problems are only just beginning.
The second setting of ‘Oryx and Crake’ is a new world in itself. Jimmy, now known as Snowman, sleeps in a tree and is quite
possibly the last remaining human on Earth in the wake of Crake’s genetically engineered super-virus. He has few possessions to
his name, a dirty bedsheet, an old baseball cap and a pair of one-lensed sunglasses. However bad his past may have seemed, it
was known as “the good times? compared to what he must face now. In this nightmarish future the products of immoral science
run rampant. Genetically-engineered superweeds choke off native ecosystems. Creatures originally designed to be organic organ
factories, pets, pest control and guard animals have turned vicious in their freedom and pose a constant threat to Snowman. As
well as all this danger, the soil is “brewing with pathogens?, so the slightest scratch could mean death. As Snowman himself
says, “the entire world was now one vast, uncontrolled experiment.?
However, amidst the chaos and depravity that Snowman faces, combined with the pain and loss of his former life, we as readers
can see that hope for humanity comes from the most unlikely of places. The ‘Crakers’ are the other inhabitants of Snowman’s
future landscape. They are genetically enhanced super-humans, kitted out with a variety of adaptations to ensure their survival –
including citrus-smelling skin to fend off mosquitoes, potent-smelling urine to mark out territory, and the ability to ingest their
own faecal matter when food runs short. Snowman initially calls them “hormone robots,? due to their pre-programmed,
seemingly insincere mating rituals, but as his relationship with them develops, it is obvious that the future hope of humanity rests
with them.
Despite Crake’s best efforts to remove the “problems? of art, religion and leadership, the Crakers seem to be developing these
three aspects intrinsic to human nature of their own accord. Perhaps what is most interesting is that Snowman fuels their
curiosity with creation myths, “in the beginning there was chaos,? establishing himself as some kind of benign prophet of a new
religion with a pantheon consisting of Oryx and Crake.
This in itself is ironic, as Jimmy is delivering a backhanded blow to Crake by ensuring that his plans for humanity go amiss.
While Crake essentially erased humanity because, “you cannot expect to couple an expanding population with an expendable
food source indefinitely,? it seems that his attempts to alter human nature have failed. Snowman’s compassion, combined with
the Crakers developing their own religion – an effigy of Snowman to, “call him home? is a good example – shows is that all may
not be so dim in ‘Oryx and Crake’.
In ‘Oryx and Crake’, Margaret Atwood attempts to create a cautionary tale with a positive message, that there is still hope for
humanity, that it is not too late to turn back from the path we are descended upon. By creating a futuristic world that is
recognisable and close to our own, Atwood creates a world of nightmarish yet wholly plausible possibilities. The Trials and
tribulations of Jimmy echo the almost cathartic cleansing of the world, with hope and the possibility of a new beginning in the
form of the Crakers. Atwood is clearly showing us that amidst all the chaos, the sadness and the pain, hope springs eternal for
humanity.
Essay #2 – ‘Big Issue’ (6/8)
“The best texts go to the edge and risk falling over it.?
Discuss the extent to which a range of texts you have studied has been enriched by the risks they take.
It is true to say that some of the greatest, most provocative texts in Western literature go to ‘the edge’ of what is considered
acceptable by mainstream society, and certainly risk ‘falling off’ while doing so. Some of the most prolific literature available to
mankind is that which shocks and provokes us. In doing so, our eyes are opened to new ideas, and we are often forced to reevaluate previously held beliefs, such is the power that these texts hold.
Perhaps one of the most prolific writers to shock and challenge society was war poet Wilfred Owen. While other poets of the
First World War period such as Rupert Brooke looked to glorify war, Owen exposed the grim horror and futility. In ‘Dulce et
Decorum Est’. Owen describes a gas-attack on a band of tired British soldiers. The soldiers themselves are described as, “bent
double like old beggars under sacks?, and “drunk with fatigue?, - the mental effect of war is also present. As Owen watches one
of his comrades choking on gas, it is imprinted on him, “in all my dreams.? Another example is his poem, ‘Mental Cases’, in
which the shellshocked victims of war are shown as “purgatorial shadows?, “baring teeth that leer like skull’s teeth wicked.?
Owen attempted to show his country that behind the glorious newspaper headlines was a terrible war. To an extent, Owen’s
provocative, graphic imagery has had some effect on humanity’s coverage of war to this day – after the violence of the Vietnam
war was disallowed when cameras sent images to the television screens of the USA in the late 1960s and 70s, little coverage of
conflict has remained since – we must be content with propaganda images and generals giving reports on television.
If humanity is at its worst in war, as shown in Wilfred Owen’s poetry, then it goes to say that some of humanity’s most terrible
crimes must be those committed during wars. Stephen Spielberg’s ‘Schindler’s List’ remains to be the most prolific film to
realise the holocaust. Scenes in this film are terrible – mounds of corpses, the slaughter of Jews, and the animalistic conduct of
Nazi officers, “I mean, you’re not human in the strictest sense of the word?, paint a horrifying picture. The one bastion of hope is
Oskar Schindler, a businessman who is slowly turned from self-serving opportunism to a truly humanitarian and altruistic figure.
The message to society from both Owen and Spielberg is simple – that was is terrible. The graphic imagery in these examples,
both figuratively and visually, may well have caused many viewers to re-assess their perspectives on war. Perhaps, as these texts
show, war is not quite the glorious exercise that your government would have you believe. Both these texts share a simple
message on top of the anti-war perspective – that human life is irreplaceable, and that human suffering is not acceptable. By
taking us to ‘the edge’ in terms of what is acceptable – the graphic imagery will shock even the most hardened of the mainstream
– Owen and Spielberg convincingly prove their message, and in doing so, walk the fine line of “falling off? the precipice that
they straddle.
Another universal theme that the best literature often comes to ‘the edge’ of in terms of being provocative is the acidic social
commentary found in many texts. A perfect example is Sam Mendes’ film, ‘American Beauty’ where the protagonist, Lester
Burnham has a mid-life crisis, quits his job, distances himself from his family and takes up smoking marajiuana, weights and an
illicit relationship with his teenage daughters’ friend. While this film may not contain the brutal, graphic imagery in Owens’ or
Spielberg’s work, it creates an equally compelling message that causes it to “risk falling off?. Namely, that a consumerist society
is hollow and soulless to those who try to attain some kind of material perfection. Lester tells him wife Carolyn that, “this is all
just stuff!? and in doing so he demeans American society and materialism. This is a message that has been taken on my many
texts over the 20th Century – that the somewhat propagandist ideal of the American Dream is both hollow and false in practice.
David Fischer’s film ‘Fight Club’ echoes this, as does Arthur Miller’s play, ‘Death of a Salesman’. In ‘Fight Club’, the
narrator’s hatred of consumerism is so great that he is driven to destroy the power structures of capitalism – essentially the
means to implementing the modern American Dream. In ‘Death of a Salesman’, Willy Loman is so disillusioned by a life
wasted, “I haven’t got a thing in the ground,? in pursuit of material perfection, in this case, making sure that his sons are “well
liked? and “good all round?.
These texts do not contain the brutal violence of war, but provide an acidic social commentary. Certainly, they are not as
immediately provocative as more graphic examples, but still come close to “the edge?. Many audiences find the ideals on which
they have based their lives being dismantled in front of their very eyes disturbing. Certainly, many may find Lester’s overt
promiscuity with a teenager in ‘American Beauty’ disturbing. But these texts may well force us to re-evaluate previously held
ideas as to what is truly important in life – and the way in which they do this brings them close to the edge indeed.
Perhaps the most subversive example of texts that “go to the edge? are those which combine the extreme violence and
oppression with subtle social commentary. ‘A Clockwork Orange’ by Anthony Burgess does this. Set in a dystopian future, the
protagonist, Alex, and his “droogs? are involved in a acts of extreme, wanton violence and even rape while high on narcotic milk
– “moloko?. ‘Nineteen – Eighty Four’ by George Orwell has a similar effect. It focuses on the exploits of Winston Smith as he
attempts to rebel against the totalitarian “party? and is eventually crushed. He is tricked into hope of a, “place without darkness?,
however, this metaphor registers itself literally in the form of a torture chamber. Both of these texts paint terrible future societies.
In reality, they are possible visions of the future that the author feels may come to fruition, should humanity continue down this
path. They walk close to ‘the edge’ not only in their portrayal of violence and oppression, but also in the way in which they
criticise the way in which society is headed, and the way in which it functions at the present.
It is obvious that many great works of literature go to ‘the edge’ of what some people may consider acceptable. However, it is
their provocative value that makes them great, that makes them challenging to us as readers. Challenge does not have to be in a
positive light – these texts challenge us to re-assess previously held beliefs while being shocking and violent. Taking that into
consideration, it is obvious that some of the greatest texts risk ‘falling over’ the ‘edge’ that they straddle – and it is in doing so
that makes them great.
Essay #3 – Poem Comparison (5/8)
The two texts, ‘Circles and Straight Lines’ by Jenny Diski and ‘The Child in the Gardens: Winter,’ by Vincent O’Sullivan offer
different treatment of endings to us as readers. Diski takes a direct approach, boldly and often angrily asserting that idea of an
end in itself is false. O’Sullivan, on the other hand, takes a different perspective. He puts the reader in the shoes of a young child
– to him, the concept of an end is something frightening and uncomfortable rather than an unnecessary and hollow addition to a
life that, as Diski asserts, may well have no end.
In ‘Circles and Straight Lines’, Jenny Diski makes her position clear immediately. The piece begins with, “I hate endings.? This
is a theme that echoes throughout the piece. She tells us that, “finality is false,? time and time again, and that in accepting
finality, you are making a, “lie of what you know about the conduct of your life.? Diski directly asserts her position and
challenges the reader. She uses a series of clich©d expressions to express the false finality of endings, “the last page, the final
strains of a chord,? to name a few. With those clich©d expressions, Diski is better bale to reach out and relate to her readers.
Diski seems to disbelieve in the concept of an end because it is technically impossible in itself, for from every end, there must
spring a new beginning. Thus, if an end was indeed possible, it would be the “whistling vacancy of a storyless landscape?. She
describes endings as “false? “impossible? “a lie? – all adjectives that bring forth negative connotations. She uses the metaphor of
lines and circles – reiterating her title – to define endings. She tells us that there are two types of ends, “the satisfying circle,? and
“the straight line? – both of which she then tells us are false, for both the circle and the line “subvert? us and cause us to think
negatively of endings – of what we “crave?
Endings do seem to excite some kind of emotion from Diski – largely those of anger and indignation. She uses eloquence and
emotive language to define her case, “a metonymy? and “as if our brains are tuned to the wavelength,? but in using such
polysyllabic vocabulary she distances us from her writing – the entire metaphor of lines and circles is somewhat subversive in
itself, possibly a microcosm of the false finality of endings. Diski directly addresses the reader, confronting and challenging. She
reinforces this with the use of her angry perspective, emotive language, “a con trick?, “desire?, “fear?, and “open wound?, to get
her readers to sympathise and reason with her. However, there is also chance for confusion, but Diski triumphantly evaluates the
human condition, “what we crave? “what we are disposed to want?, “what we feel is lack.? By using language that describes
human need and desire so accurately, Diski gets us to sympathise with her take on, “a rounded closure that rings so true and so
false.?
Unlike Diski, Vincent O’Sullivan takes a different approach to the theme of endings. He is not angry in his portrayal, but rather
vulnerable and frightened. He sees an end, not as something false, like Diski, but as something unnatural. He describes an end
with a kind of hurt and shocked dejection. In this case, it is winter, bringing an end to life and greenery, but it is described as
“sudden?, the grass “dirty?, the pond “slimed?, and the trees with “bones?. All these adjectives point to loneliness and isolation.
But what contributes most to O’Sullivan’s unique perspective is the positioning of the reader in the poem. The reader sees things
from the point of view of a child while the poet O’Sullivan addresses like some omnipotent presence. No wonder then, that a
child should feel shocked and uncomfortable at entering “the fallen gardens for the first time.? For surely the rapid change and
loss of colour would have seemed unnatural and quite possibly frightening to someone so young. O’Sullivan reinforces this view
with his crafting techniques. He uses short, sharp description to evoke the child’s emotions – “everything dying at once?, “shoes
drenched?, “we must get out?, and “nothing here wants to move?. This is in stark contrast to Diski’s long, flowing sentences and
confident assertive perspective. O’Sullivan further enhances the position of the child with the introduction of an adult figure, a
“father?, who attempts to provide comfort and support, “you want him to laugh,? but is unable to in this world of “scummed
nasty paths?, and “huge cold vandaled statues?, obviously intimidating presences that the “father? figure is unable to protect the
child from. This vulnerability is in contrast to Diski’s assertiveness, but what both writers do have in common is that endings are
not good things.
Diski is assertive and confident, O’Sullivan frightened and vulnerable. Both treat the idea of endings in very different ways.
May I take you up on a few Virgilian points?
Firstly, your contention that the Aeneid lies on the boundary between epic poem and propaganda. People say this a lot. Certainly,
Virgil agreed with Augustus' ideals, but the argument can be made that he agreed with those ideals because they seemed to
corellate with his own of peace, fruitfulness, a new golden age, rather than out of any overt desire to glorify Augustus. I tend to
think that Virgil liked Augustus because he seemed to be an embodiment of the kind of the world he wanted (Virgil's Eclogues
also make the whole golden-age thing clear) rather than being a political pawn of his or anything. Certainly Virgil loves Rome,
but he also loves peace.
To the next thing: is he really saying that the suffering was worth it? The pessimistic school of critics argue that Virgil is
ultimately presenting a bleak picture of human existence and saying that all this suffering doesn't achieve much in the end, and
the suffering will continue no matter what good things are achieved. Notably, see that although others (Anchises for one in bk 6,
Jupiter in bk 1) go on and on about how great Rome will be, Aeneas himself actually never says anything about how happy he is
he will be able to found Rome. He's an anti-Christian hero in this way - always moaning, whining, crying; sure, he's happy when
he's with Dido, but that's also the time when he seems to have reached the end of his quest and won't have to go on. Aeneas is
not enthusiastic at all.
These critics would also point to Virgil's intense identification with the outsider - Dido and Turnus. They especially jump on the
last scene where Aeneas thwacks Turnus around, an act done impulsively and without complete regard to pietas. The final scene
in the poem is not glorious Rome rising, but Turnus going 'ad umbras', the unnecessary destruction of a young life.
So you could construct the opposite argument - Virgil is saying that the cost was just too high for all the glory of the pax
Augusta. And upon finishing the poem I always get an impression of sadness rather than jubilation at what will be. Maybe Virgil
is even saying that empty promises for the future create pain in the present, all for nothing. It's not a happy poem, really, and
certainly though Romans loved their Rome they weren't stupid and could see as clearly as we can that fighting, strife, conflict,
even if they are for a 'greater good', may not be worth it.
Just some ex-tempore ranting inspired by my recent study of Virgil's Eclogues and looking back to the Aeneid...
But then again perhaps the markers don't like this particular line, because I ran it in my 2004 exam and missed out on OP by the
skin of my teeth. I guess it's best to always temper your observations with suitable sprinklings of orthodoxy, eg 'Virgil loved
Rome and Rome is great' etc. Original thought isn't really what they're looking for.
Discuss Virgil’s awareness of the tragedy of war and its impact on the individuals involved in it.
Virgil, for all his apparent glorification of war as the ‘greater theme’ of his poem (in line with contemporary attitudes), has an
acute sense of the tragic plight of the individual involved in it. He provides numerous examples of innocents and soldiers caught
up in war’s spectre, describing the pain of families left behind as well as participants themselves. His acknowledgement of the
mistakes made by many participants in war does not diminish the pathos of their tragic deaths. Upon finishing the Aeneid, one
gets the sense that Virgil’s ultimate goal is peace, and if war provides a means to this end, it is necessary and must be endured
despite the pain it causes. Beneath the tragedy there is sometimes also an element of traditional Homeric heroism remaining in
this Roman epic.
Book Two is the first instance of war in the Aeneid – it is a narrative of a brave people cowardly butchered by the heartless
Greeks. There is obviously bias in this, but the sense of tragedy cannot be negated. This book is the beginning of Virgil’s linkage
of family relationships to death in war. Especially jolting in this respect are the brutal actions of Pyrrhus – killing Polites in front
of his father then dragging Priam through his son’s blood and slaughtering him at the altar – sacrilegious in his denial of the gods
and of family ties. We feel sympathy for Cassandra, who is destined never to be believed, as she is brutalised by Ajax. In this
book, though, we see the beginning of another side to Virgil’s awareness of the tragedy of war – the idea of individual Homeric
heroism remains in the Aeneid. Aeneas’ furor as he rushes into battle, forgetting his family, is the starting point for his later
transformation into an ideal, devoted pius Roman hero. More significant for Homeric heroism, though, is Cassandra’s lover
Coroebus, whose death to defend her has an element of nobility and bravery familiar to the world of Homer.
As well as the deaths of individual soldiers, we see the larger impact of war. There are the lines of women and children lined up
to become slaves to the Greeks, but most of all the bewilderment of the Trojans as their city is destroyed and ‘death in a
thousand forms’ befalls them at the time when they least expected it. The scene before the Greeks invade is a peaceful and calm
one, the Trojans in jubilant, inebriated vulnerability, hardly believing that the Greeks have left, but convinced enough to let their
guard down. For the reader there is a sense of terrible anticipation, as we know what is going to happen to these relieved people.
An extra dimension is added to this dramatic irony by the fact that Aeneas is telling the story in retrospect, and knows as well as
us what is about to come. War is thus portrayed in book two as something sudden, devastating, brutal and uncompromising,
driving men to desperate and terrible acts and causing them to forget the necessary observance of pietas, as in Aeneas’ initial
desertion of his defenceless family.
A more detailed description of war’s horror is provided by Virgil’s account of the war in Latium, occupying books seven and
nine-twelve. This is where Virgil is able to bring a real pathos into his accounts of suffering and death, by both the participants in
war and their families. Virgil is judicious and even-handed in his description, as he was with the Dido episode, revealing flaws
and virtues in both the Trojans and the Rutulians. The fact that he does not portray war as a virtually allegorised account of a
thoroughly righteous Good and a completely wrong Evil also increases the emotional response we have to his descriptions. This
is also intensified by the nature of his language – while in Homer we saw realistic accounts of the deaths of men with military
accuracy, Virgil tends to play down the deaths of his characters, focussing instead on sensitive and emotional explications of
tragedy and suffering.
One of the most tragic aspects of the war in Latium is that it is unnecessary, but only the reader and the gods have the benefit of
knowing this. We have already from Jupiter of the future greatness of the Roman nature, so we know that Aeneas must win his
war. The war was not something ordained by Fate, but rather one of the obstacles that Fate encountered on its irresistible path to
fulfilment. It was Juno who caused the war by stirring up Turnus and Amata, and as it progresses we realise its increasing
futility. Juno does also, and it is only by the end of the poem when she has acquiesced to Fate’s decrees (subject to restrictions –
the Trojans should assimilate with the Latins and lose their ‘Phrygian’ language and dress – something that was required for
verisimilitude) that Aeneas is finally able to found his city. This is after countless deaths, described by Virgil in a typically
tender and humanistic way.
One of the most memorable episodes of the Aeneid is that of Nisus and Euryalus. We have already seen their devotion to each
other in book five, and it takes on a much more serious aspect in book nine. This episode serves several purposes in terms of
Virgil’s portrayal of war – it shows tragedy, mistakes made in war’s intensity, and on the other hand heroism and glory. The
mistake of Nisus and Euryalus was greed – in their desire for spoils they became foolhardy and reckless and ended up causing
their deaths. But Virgil’s portrayal of them is so sympathetic this fault becomes virtually irrelevant. When Euryalus is killed, he
is compared to a ‘bright flower shorn by the plow’ or a daffodil overwhelmed by rain, its head drooping. These similes are
strikingly effective in showing Euryalus as an innocent, beautiful creature destroyed by forces much stronger than him. Nisus’
devotion to him touches us, and his death after having avenged his friend’s death is strangely satisfying, and shows the sort of
attachment that Achilles may have had to Patroclus. This sense of satisfaction does not last long, however. We are abruptly
reminded of the tragedy of these young men taken before their time by Euryalus’ mother, who orders the Rutulians or Jupiter to
kill her and end the ‘cruelty of living’ without her son. Her picture of her son lost and killed in a ‘strange land’, left with nothing
of him but the sight of his severed head, is achingly poignant. A parallel is provided in Pallas’ father Evander, shocked by the
news of his son’s death, asserting that he ‘prolong[s] a life rendered hateful.’
Another technique Virgil uses to increase the humanity of the soldiers and thus increase our sympathy for them is the small
biographical details he includes. We are told, for instance, of the fondness of the gentle Cretheus for singing, the tunic that
Lausus’ mother sewed for her son, the similarity of twins whose parents regarded them with ‘sweet bewilderment’, that
Helenor’s mother was a slave who raised him secretly and he rushed off to war without permission, wielding only a weak sword
and shield, of the affection of Camilla’s exiled father for his daughter, placing her under Diana’s care and teaching her to hunt.
In this way, the individuals in war again become humanised and innocent rather than simplifications of ‘right’ or ‘wrong.’ War
is, and always has been, the plight of innocent young men thrown into a battle that is not theirs by higher powers. The gods
themselves pity these men – we are moved by Pallas’ fruitless prayer to Hercules, and the picture of the god weeping, unable to
reward Pallas’ pietas.
The influence of animal forces such as furor on these otherwise normal people is also described by Virgil, adding a further
dimension to his conception of soldiers as individuals stuck in a tragic situation. The most memorable example is Aeneas’
reaction to Turnus’ killing of Pallas. Having been with him from the beginning of the poem we have watched as he has gradually
grown to accept his destiny and transformed into a capable, pius and compassionate leader. His bout of furor after Pallas’ death
therefore is jolting to us. His reaction is somewhat surprising because he has not known Pallas for an especially long amount of
time, and this episode is designed to echo Achilles’ reaction to the death of Patroclus. His dedication to Pallas is not totally
inexplicable if we remember the circumstances in which he was placed in his care – after many years of fruitless wandering
Evander was one of the few people to offer him hospitality with no consequences. Aeneas’ actions, though, shock us deeply. We
watch as this compassionate man slaughters Magus, a suppliant who begs for his life, and takes prisoners to use as human
sacrifices, including even the priest Haemonides, helpless and conspicuous in his white robes. We are horrified when he says to
one man ‘your mother will never lay you fondly in the earth… you shall be left to the birds of prey, or plunged in waters
where…hungry fishes [will] mouth your wounds.’ If even a man such as Aeneas can be affected to this degree, it is clear what
war does to people’s natural kindness.
The involvement of Turnus in the war is also tragic. In the first instance, we feel it is unfortunate that he needed to become
involved at all. We understand that Rome must be founded and he is an obstacle to this goal, and that his insistence on fighting
Aeneas with Lavinia as a supposed motive seems unreasonable in a world that regarded women as rather interchangeable.
However, he is a rebel to a great established order that he cannot defeat, and we pity him for this. He shows himself to be a great,
fiery, accomplished warrior of the Homeric order, brave and defiant in the face of resistance. In the final book, though, he is
described as painfully and visibly youthful, his cheeks still covered in down as he sacrifices to the gods on the eve of his death.
As modern audiences, we see today’s non-conformist in Turnus and feel a sense of despair because his refusal to acquiesce to
what is expected can only end in tragedy. We must accept that his death is deserved (although its circumstances may shock us), a
repayment for his cruelty in killing Pallas, but he is undeniably an admirable and tragic figure, at once flawed and accomplished
as we all are. Some consolation is provided by the fact that the Italian ruggedness of Turnus and his fellow Rutulians will live on
in the Roman race, and that they will forsake all Eastern effeminacy and opulence.
Virgil’s awareness and consideration of war is multi-faceted and convincing. He never gives in to the temptation to simplify his
characters to those who are right and those who are wrong, instead presenting well-rounded human beings involved in a terrible
situation. He seems to approve of the ends of war – great, boundless empire, peace and prosperity – but despise the mechanics of
it. Countless individuals are killed or enslaved over the course of the Aeneid, many unnecessarily, for the war in Latium is not
stipulated by destiny. Some examples of heroism are furnished – the aristeiae of Nisus and Euryalus and Camilla. These
examples of individual glory, however, are repeatedly tempered by the pathos of many scenes. The pain of families losing
children is shown by Euryalus’ mother and Pallas’ father. Biographical details make the soldiers into individuals. Overall, war is
seen by Virgil as a great and terrible force, inscribing a select few into the annals of history to be remembered forever (‘if there
is any power in my poetry, no day shall ever steal [Nisus and Euryalus] from the memory of time’), transforming some into
uncharacteristically cruel murderers, destroying countless blameless individuals and searing their families with pain. War is not,
however, without its purpose. Rome is the result of these wars, and Virgil saw Rome as something worth fighting for, worth
dying for. A last uncertainty remains. We must remember Anchises’ words in the Underworld about the ‘arts’ of the Romans –
conquering other nations and ruling them. For the Romans, a path to glory means the loss of so many beautiful things – from
Euryalus to Cretheus, from Sylvia’s stag to the Greek proficiency in art and literature. We must ask ourselves if cold, hard
dominion over the world is a greater fulfilment than these gentler arts. This is what the tender poet Virgil asks the modern
audience, as he asked his own Romans, and it is something we must decide for ourselves.
“It is hard to believe Gods in heaven capable of such rancour” (Book 1)
Discuss the role of the Gods in the Aeneid. To what extent do they display human characteristics and emotions.
Virgil has chosen to write the Aeneid in such a way as to give the God's a dominant role. They are the driving force behind the
book because it is their will that causes most of the trials and tribulations that Aeneas must go through. Like in the “Odyssey”,
not all God's support the fate of the main character, in this case Aeneas. Though his fate is secure, the God's still intervene to a
great extent to try and force their will upon his life and the lives of others. This interference shows the great extent to wich the
Gods display human characteristics and emotions, though some more than others.
The Gods in the Aeneid represent conflicting forces through which the fates find their way. In Book Two of the Aeneid, Venus
reveals to Aeneas that which mortal eyes are not usually able to see; the Gods themselves bringing down the walls of Troy. This
shows the reader right from the start of Aeneas' journey that the Gods would play a major role. Once Aeneas leaves Troy with
the remants of his people, we begin to see the conflicting forces that surround him. In Book One, Juno goes to Aeolus to unleash
the winds onto Aeneas in the hope of dashing his fleet. Juno is aware that Aeneas is fated to found Rome, but she still tries to
oppose the will of the fates. This is because Rome was destined to conquer the world, but she had her sights set on her favourite
city Carthage being the centre of world dominion. In Book one Jupiter, who opposes the will of Juno, is confident of his
knowledge of the fates when he grandly surveys the future from the viewpoint of eternity, but is later baffled by the turn of
events in Latium. He had forbidden the war, but it had continued anyway. He then withdraws, leaving the fates to find their own
way. Finally Jupiter reaches a comprimise with Juno to stop her pursuing the Trojans. She agreed, but only if the Trojans lost
their name and were assimilated into Latin peoples. In the Aeneid there is no single divine will, since each of the Gods has his or
her own individual will which may conflict with that of another and may be exercised blindly in ignorance of the fates.
The conflict of the Gods means that the combined role of the Gods is almost more important than the role of Aeneas. Aeneas can
be compared to a rag-dole, being thrown around at the will of the Gods. He does not show any individual spark, and displays
little will of his own. This contrasts heavily with the very direct manner of the Homeric heroes of Odyesseus and Achilles. Only
in Carthage does Aeneas makes a decision of his own to stay with Dido, and even then his will is overturned by the will of the
Gods when Jupiter sends Mercury to deliver Aeneas a wake up call. Furthermore, the efforts of Venus to protect her son in the
poem serve to emphasise the fact the Aeneas survives not by his own will and enterprise but because he is the chosen instrument
of Divine will. He was chosen by the Fates to fulfill a role that had been predetermined from the beginning of time, so all he
really had to do was go along and do what he was told. In consolation to Aeneas, not many others would have be able to endure
what he had to endure and still be able to lead a nation to their destiny.
The Gods in the Aeneid display human characteristics and emotions to a great extent. Each God can be seen to have his or her
own individual personality, and this influences their role in Aeneas' mission. Generally the Goddesses are more emotional than
the Gods, this comparison most clear in the figures of Jupirt and his wife Juno. Jupiter is the symbol of Rome, and as such he is
displayed as omniscient and powerful, and does not show much emotion at all. This is in line with the Roman virtues of Pietas
and their contempt for excess of emotion. In contrast, Juno is written as a very emotional type. Virgil has written her in a way
that makes her seem deceitful and vengeful. She attempts to trick Venus into having Aeneas marry Dido to stop him from going
on to found Rome, but Venus has her own plans in mind. Juno can be compared to her beloved Dido, who gets consumed by the
fires of passion and lets her self go to the influences of lust. Virgil's dislike of this excess of emotions can be seen in Dido's
dramatic fall from grace in Book four of the Aeneid. A God that held to preference to the fate of Aeneas, Neptune displayed the
characteristics that Virgil believed one should always have. He had no need to calm the winds and save Aeneas' fleet, but he did
so because it was the right thing to do. Virgil compares Neptune through use of simile to some statesman who calms a raging
crowd in some forum.
The role of the Gods in the Aeneid was vitally important. Because they did not share the same will towrds Aeneas' fate, their
influences on the poem was mixed. Some, like Venus, sought aid in the fulfillment of the Trojans' fate, while others like Juno
had plans to ruin the divine plan. While they all had some impact on Aeneas' journey, the final outcome, which was decreed
from the beginning, serves to show the remorseless power of fate that decided the future of the Trojans and the Rome to come.
(Virgil’s Aeneid)(Scholarship grade)
To what extent are the problems confronting Aeneas an image of the universal problems that concern humanity as a
whole? Discuss.
The Aeneid initially appears to be a very specific, and therefore limited piece of literature. Aeneas’ quest would clearly not be
mirrored today, and we no longer believe in anthromorphosised deities controlling our lives. But we must remember that Virgil’s
world was almost as separated from Aeneas’ as is the modern world. The continuing relevance of the Aeneid, as with many
canonical texts, is owed largely to the striking universality of its concerns. The conflicting forces within Aeneas reflect the
conflicting forces within everyone, and his epic problems contain elements which are just as problematic to all people.
The main battle that Aeneas must fight is not with the Trojans or the Rutulians, but with himself. The opposition of pietas and
furor is constantly foregrounded, and indeed Aeneas seems to develop little in his ability to conquer furor over the course of the
poem. His attempts to die gloriously defending Troy, thinking only of himself, are the first instances of furor. Later his furor
does become more tangled up in pietas – his wild, callous frenzy of killing helpless suppliants and performing human sacrifice
after the death of Pallas is triggered by the intensity of emotion for Pallas and what he represents – Pallanteum was one of the
few places on his journey to offer nothing but friendship. The killing of Turnus, endlessly debated, is a convoluted mix of pietas
and furor – he ignores Turnus’ appeals for pietas to his father, while simultaneously acting on his own pietas to Pallas through an
act which is triggered by furor. Through Aeneas’ story we see that no matter how devoted one is to others, a streak of passionate,
selfish anger always remains. This is a vital human question, and as ‘ignorant armies clash by night’ throughout history we must
question whether humankind has control over furor at all.
Even when Aeneas does act out of pietas, problems remain. The Dido episode is exemplary. Leaving her is necessary – the gods
and destiny have willed it, and Aeneas’ pietas towards his son and his glorious future dog him as he realises he must leave Dido.
But in his pietas to gods and family, he seems to lose emotion towards Dido. He is unnecessarily cold when leaving, and saying
he would have stayed in Troy and refounded it if he could choose his destiny seems graceless and insensitive. We cannot fault
Aeneas’ choice, and the Augustan age would have admired his restraint against Dido’s wild Bacchanal-esque emotionalism, but
Aeneas seems to have forgotten simple kindness. We know that ‘deeply his heart grieved’, but we wonder why he is not able to
be gentler and more human towards his distraught lover. This episode shows us that no matter how complete our devotion to
greater causes, the feelings of those the causes trample on cannot be forgotten. Here is another universal problem – when the
subduing of private emotion to public responsibility becomes too great, we risk seeming like unfeeling puppets rather than
human beings.
Aeneas’ quest also shows us how unfair and unjust life often is. Again and again Aeneas watches as virtuous, blameless people
are taken down – from helpless old Priam to Palinurus, from Dido who was only trying to escape from misfortune and hardships,
to Pallas, Nisus and Euryalus; the young Lausus and Turnus, Juno’s pawn; and countless other young warriors, Trojan and
Rutulian. In the underworld Aeneas wonders why souls would want to return to the dreary and disappointing upper world having
experienced the afterlife. Of course these people die for a reason, a greater goal, the founding of Rome and the ‘golden centuries’
of illustrious history. But in Aeneas’ own lifetime, destiny is nothing but cruel and capricious, taking down blameless victims.
Aeneas must ask himself whether the attainment of a ‘greater good’ is worth all these sacrifices, and all this pain. He must learn
an incredible kind of strength and endurance – from Carthage to Actium and the burning of the ships, to Helenus’ and
Andromache’s new settlement, he is tempted to give up his vague and difficult quest and settle to guaranteed stability. But he
does not, and this shows how strong his pietas really is. Throughout our own lives we must constantly suppress short-term
gratification in favour of a longer, greater goal – drinking leads to hangovers, speeding to crashing; not buying this stereo now
means having a house later. Aeneas’ battle to focus on the long-term is the battle of us all, and his remarkable ability to give up
happiness in his own lifetime to the happiness of many others is truly virtuous – perhaps an example to us of the benefits and
trials of self-sacrifice to a cause.
The problems Aeneas faces are problems of an epic scale, affecting the lives and destinies of millions of his descendents. Few of
us will have to face up to battles of such magnitude in our lifetimes. But contained within these grand themes are universal
dilemmas that always have, and always will, face humans. The conflict that rages between self-centred passion and duty to
others; the blind capriciousness of destiny which can seem so cruelly arbitrary; the necessity of emotion even in service of an
ideal; the sacrifice of one’s own happiness to the happiness of others – although we may not face all of these things personally,
we will definitely face some of them, and certainly we can see them in world events, historical events and events in our own
lives. The Aeneid is at its core a universal poem, and studying it carefully will tell us a lot about ourselves and the world.
To do well in Classics, you're definitely going to have to do extra reading. Check out the reading list
(www.tki.org.nz/r/ncea/classics_schol_readinglist.pdf) and start early, coz some of those books are heavy going. I read the
majority of the recommended reading for each of the topics I studied. Motivation, passion and lots of coffee help. Good luck.
English q 1 ('outstanding performance' grade)
Write an essay comparing the treatment of a harsh physical environment in the following TWO passages.
Both authors seem to share a need for a harsh physical environment in order to show them the vitality of nature – nature is
personified in both passages, shown as something very much alive – and a harsh environment is tangible evidence of this. Glen
Colquhoun does not want to ‘fix’ and sanitise nature in order to make things easier for himself, just as Steve Braunias is willing
to put up with harsh weather, as a kind of antidote to ‘too damned soft’ Auckland.
Colquhoun’s personification of the ‘physicality’ of the environment in obvious – such words as ‘armful’, ‘mouth’, ‘taste’,
‘elbow’, ‘finger’, ‘belly’, ‘heart’, ‘bones’, ‘talk’, are applied to aspects of a harsh physical or manmade environment. Almost
every stanza connects some part of the environment to some human characteristic – the window tasting the rain, the cold’s
‘finger’ touching the speaker, the walls talking of ‘the places where they stood last’, and so on, giving what appears to be
random the foresight of human rationality - perhaps showing that there is always some pattern, some reason, in environmental
harshness.
Braunias also has a tendency to personify nature. He mentions how winter ‘goes through the motions’, listing all its standard
effects. (lines 13-16) However the fact that he sees winter as being apathetic and ‘soft’ again points to a rationality and purpose
in nature and harshness. In the last paragraph he describes ‘winter as it should be’ – a ‘stern and resolute authority’ who
‘[picks]…[fights]’ with people in order to ‘make [them], sort [them] out.’ As in Colquhoun the physical environment is not seen
as something kind, but something harsh, but harsh for a purpose. Colquhoun wants to hear the walls talk, and wants to see the
‘great heart’ between the ‘bones’ of the dilapidated house, even if it means putting up with the cold, the wet, being ‘[dropped]’
by the steps. In the same way, Braunias wants to be tested by ‘stink weather’, because both authors see some purpose in this
harshness.
However there is some ambivalence in ‘Whare’ that is not fully explored in Braunias’ passage. Braunias seems to relish the
prospect of being pummelled by the big ‘heartless’ bully of winter, and sees it reasonably one-dimensionally as something harsh
being apathetic and soft – its only benevolence is its toughening up of stoic Kiwi males. Colquhoun’s personified physical
environment, however, is a more multi-dimensional ‘person’. There is something almost innocent and playful about it – the step
‘[dropping]’ him could almost be a game or a joke, and the window ‘open[s] its mouth like a child’, the simile suggesting a kind
of naivety and again like a misbehaving child the cold ‘[pokes]’ him. We can conjecture that Colquhoun’s harsh physical
environment is almost like a child that doesn’t know its own strength when it is harsh – annoying but innocent. But as well as
these childlike qualities, Colquhoun’s physical environment has some maturity – its ‘great heart’ suggests some large,
benevolent monolith, and the walls and wise and learned in their discussion of ‘another life.’ Overall it is a much kinder
character than Braunias’ brute, who ‘[sounds] the hard, clanging bell’ in a bellicose declaration of antagonism.
Both writers share an unusual and surprising view of the harshness of the environment – a relishing of its benefits and its honesty
in the face of an increasingly unnatural culture. Braunias is willing to battle the cruel winter which he sees as being lazy, while
Colquhoun has a more complex, two-sided conversation with his environment, an environment personified as both naïve and
wise, more playful and benevolent than it is brutal. Although their ways of presented the character of their harsh environment are
different, both share a refreshing appreciation of the necessity of connection with the land.
English q 2 (OP grade)
The great film director of the mid-twentieth century, Alfred Hitchcock, commented that ‘In films
murders are always very clean. I show how difficult it is and what a messy thing it is to kill a man.’
Discuss how the treatment of murder or death in specific films you have studied affects the viewer’s
overall impression of these films.
‘In a way, I’m dead already,’ says Lester Burnham at the start of American Beauty. It is a great irony that when he finally is
murdered at the end of the film, he has much more life in him than he did earlier. His murder is treated carefully, linking it to
other parts of the film and giving us the impression that even in cold-blooded murder and early death there can be beauty. The
murder of Honora in Heavenly Creatures is an entirely different story. The scene is tough and brutal – but even this does not
totally alienate us from the murderers. Heavenly Creatures is a rare case of being able to sympathise with both the murderers and
murdered, and it is a credit to Peter Jackson’s directing that this is possible.
There can be no doubt that Lester’s death comes at the happiest moment of his life. He has gone through a long journey, and
Sam Mendes sets up the murder scene as the inevitable and logical end to this journey. Throughout the film red has recurred as a
symbol for truth, beauty and freedom – from the red petals associated with the (from Lester’s point of view) young and
unconstricted Angela, to the clothing of the young Carolyn, to the light on the camera of Lester’s guardian angel Ricky. Lester’s
blood is of course also red, so it is linked to these other forms of beauty, and we realise that we should see his death itself as
something beautiful, just as Ricky ventured he could ‘see God’ when he looked at a dead bird – he experiences the same intense,
spiritual connection when he looks into the eyes of the murdered Lester, and there can be little doubt that many of the audience
will share his awed smile.
By contrast there is nothing beautiful, spiritual or wondrous about Honora’s murder. Before the event itself, we have become
increasingly tense as Jackson shows us close-ups of clocks and watches, and Pauline’s almost psychotic calm sets off Juliet’s
hand-wringing and ridiculous justifications. As Honora walks down the trail – ‘death row’ as it were, the use of Puccini’s
dreamlike and naïve Humming Chorus, slow motion, and the heightened sound of Juliet’s hand on a tree create almost a break in
the tension – it all feels so unreal, and if it weren’t for the opening chase through bush complete with point of view shots and
bloody-faced screaming, we could almost believe that Pauline and Juliet were not going to go through with the ‘moider’ plan.
But the murder comes, and it sickens us. Honora’s blood and animal screams are rooted firmly in reality, and all we see is pain
and death.
However, the reason that such a brutal murder scene does not cause us to hate Pauline and Juliet is the fact that much of the film
has not been rooted in reality. The blows of the brick are interspersed with the last of the girls’ fantasies, presented to us as black
and white sequences. In previous fantasies Pauline and Juliet had been happily united, free of Pauline’s parents. In this final
scene, however, Juliet leaves Pauline behind, and her distressed screams carry through into reality when we see a final jarring
shot of her bloody face.
In addition to these black and white sequences we had also seen their bizarre Fourth World, populated with plastecine people.
This world had no roots in reality – it was all about orgiastic sex and comical murder with no consequences. It pains us to realise
that Pauline and Juliet thought they could merge their two fantasy worlds and bring them into reality painlessly. Honora’s
murder scene shows us the devastating consequences, and it is never far from our minds how young and naïve these girls must
have been, and how dark and intense must have been their adolescent emotions. The murder scene will invariably stick with us,
and it is so shocking that it cannot but help the aim of the whole movie – to think about why they killed, and to never forget that
adolesence can be irrational and dangerous, and should not be trivialised or patronised.
The effect of American Beauty on us can be equally as powerful, but what comes out of American Beauty more than anything is
an overwhelming optimism. Lester’s acceptance of his death and reasons he gives are vital – ‘it’s hard to stay mad when there’s
so much beauty in the world.’ The treatment of his murder is not sanitised or unrealistic – there is still blood and death, grief and
pain. But the fact that it is linked to the whole message of the movie through the use of red and Ricky’s involvement means that
it strikes us as a triumph as much as a loss. Lester is reunited with the great spirituality that Ricky was so in touch with, and his
only regret – that he didn’t savour every moment of his ‘stupid little life’ and denied opportunities for connection with true
beauty until the last year of his life – must bring us a powerful message – there is so much to be enjoyed and appreciated, and
life is too fleeting and precious to waste in an anaesthitised pursuit of material happiness. The message is somewhat of a clich©,
but the way it is presented is so striking that it hits us anew.
Both American Beauty and Heavenly Creatures share a common purpose – to make us think, and to seriously consider aspects of
our world in a meaningful way. The murder scenes in each are linked with other aspects of the films and in themselves are
probably the most powerful and lasting scenes in the movies – the scenes that we will ultimately remember. The meaning
contained within these scenes shows us how intelligent and worthwhile the directors’ filmmaking is, and for all the brutality and
ugliness that inheres in the murders our overall impression of these films is positive. We think this not because these films are
joyful or relaxing or facile, but because these films can help us understand our own condition and how to improve it. This makes
them worth a thousand trite Hollywood blockbusters in their uncompromising realism and honesty.
English q 3 (OP grade again)
'Many of our old myths are threadbare. They may hold still, a little warmth on cold nights inside our
houses, but they cannot keep us comfortable when we stand and stare at the stars, knowing what
we now know about our world. We need, in whatever language and media we like best, stories
about how to be good – how to become true gods instead of worshipping false ones – to save our
souls these days.’ (Charmaine Pountney)
Discuss this statement on the responsibilities of texts in the twenty-first century in the light of a
range of texts you have studied.
If we want to ‘save our souls’, if we want to become truly good, responsible people, we must always bear in mind what has gone
before. We must see what false gods people have worshipped if we ever hope to improve ourselves. Pountney seems to want a
new kind of literature for the modern lives we lead – pale stories about ‘how to be good’. This is not necessary. Our ‘old myths’
are far from ‘threadbare’, and in fact by studying our old myths, realising the mistakes of others and being assured that we will
not repeat them by living so we do not, we can be equally as comfortable staring at the stars in our modern world as we would be
if we were exposed to the strictly relevant, moralising breed of new literature Charmaine Pountney seems to support.
Taking the words ‘old myth’ quite literally, we can examine Virgil’s Aeneid as one of these stories that can improve us as much
as any instructive modern text. The Aeneid explores ideas and conflicts that are so strikingly universal, they would seem to be
constant throughout human history. There is the conflict of pietas, or devotion to others and a Stoic taming of one’s own
passions, and furor, the self-focussed passion of love and anger. The ending of the Aeneid shows us clearly that these elements
will always be in conflict inside every individual – even the devoted hero Aeneas gives in to angry passion and cold-blooded
killing. As well as the conflict of pietas and furor there is the constant and painful battle of the rebel and the established order –
both are treated by Virgil with characteristic humanity, and we feel for the rebels Dido and Turnus as they are taken down by
irresistible forces of empire. The Aeneid in fact is a story about how to be good, and the adventures of its hero provide endless
insights into the world we live in, so different from Virgil’s.
Like Virgil, Shakespeare is one of the canonical writers of Western tradition, and the reason for this is that he can show us what
we need to do to improve ourselves – he can comfort us, improve us and save our souls as much as any text written now. Othello
is an example of how we must keep in mind the lessons of our old myths if we want to become ‘true gods’ in our world. The
reason Othello fell so dramatically was because he did not know himself. ‘Little more of this great world’ did he know that
pertained to ‘feats of broil and battle’ – love was not part of his world, only the cold military view that ‘to be once in doubt is to
be once resolved’. Othello’s story shows us that knowing ourselves is vital, but more importantly that we cannot reduce unique
human beings to one-sided stereotypes. When Othello became convinced that his marriage was ‘a frail vow betwixt an erring
barbarian and a super-subtle Venetian’, he lost his opinion of Desdemona as an irreplaceable individual, and trusted a seductive
conman and his dubious evidence over his totally innocent and naïve bride – if he had truly known her he never would have
killed her. We see in our own world the same dissemination of stereotypes, the same easy judgements. Othello’s experiences are
tightly linked with our own experiences, and again the writing of the past speaks as incisively as anything we could write today
with Pountney’s statement in mind.
Another tragic hero worth considering is Sophocles’ Oedipus. What his relentless and blind pursuit of the truth in the face of
numerable warning signs teaches us is perhaps even more relevant in today’s fast-paced, mechanised society. We take risks in
the interest of more pleasures, more speed, we live ever faster, ever more dangerously as we insist of increasing immediate
sensation. Car accidents, STDs, drug deaths are the results. Oedipus did the same – he kept on pushing the limits, kept on trying
to find out more, while ignoring with an unthinking blind rationalism all the warning signs that told him he should stop.
Oedipus’ story will never keep us comfortable, but great texts should not keep us comfortable. What Oedipus does do is tell us
how to become better people. That makes it far from threadbare.
There is no doubt that the world we live in today is drastically and completely different to ancient Greece and Rome or
Elizabethan England. But the reason the old myths have stayed with us is because they CAN help us to ‘become true gods’ even
in a vastly more complicated time. Knowing what we know now makes no difference to the universality, power and relevance of
these texts. They may not comfort us, but to be comfortable is to be at risk of becoming complacent. When we have these stories,
there is no need for Pountney’s new breed of stories. We can ‘save our souls these days’ without relying on stories written with
that purpose in mind. There is no need to worry about what we are doing today in light of what we have already done, and what
is can tell us about meeting our potential. What is will always be linked to what has been, as Marcus Aurelius said, and possibly
the most valuable thing we can do in our complicated world is take a long and critical look at what has been and how it can help
us.
Othello
Othello (c. 1604) is one of Shakespeare's most revered and frequently performed tragedies. Its enduring appeal stems partly from
its timeless subject matter—the possessive and jealous love of a husband for his wife. Set in Venice and Cyprus, the play
recounts how the respected Venetian general Othello falls victim to the treachery of his ensign Iago. Recently wed, Othello's
seemingly happy relationship with his wife Desdemona disintegrates due to the deceitful machinations of Iago, who convinces
his commander that Desdemona has been having a sexual affair with his lieutenant Cassio. Othello quickly descends into a
jealous rage and murders his innocent wife. After discovering that Iago's accusations were lies, Othello takes his own life.
Scholars have identified the principal source of the story as Cinthio's Italian novella Hecatommithi (1565), which features in
broad outline the characters and incidents that Shakespeare adapted into his tragic drama. Throughout the centuries,
commentators have been drawn to the play's fascinating figures: Iago, the quintessential Shakespearean villain whose murky
motivations for evil have remained elusive; Desdemona, a complex combination of feminine submissiveness and willful
determination; and Othello, a tragic hero who transforms from a loving husband into a jealous killer.
Critics have frequently debated Othello's character and the degree to which he is responsible for his actions. In the opinion of
some scholars, Othello possesses an essentially noble character, and his simple and trusting nature is exploited by Iago's ruthless
actions. Others, including Leo Kirschbaum (1944), contend that Othello follows the traditional pattern of the tragic hero who
comes to grief because of flaws within his character. According to Kirschbaum, Othello is “understandably human—but he is
not greatly noble.” R. N. Hallstead (1968) also attributes the murder to Othello's flawed disposition. The critic emphasizes the
Moor's “idolatrous love,” arguing that Othello's descent into uncontrollable rage results from the fact that he cannot reconcile his
idealized image of Desdemona with her sexuality. Piotr Sadowski (2003) applies psychological theory to the actions of Othello
and finds him to be a “static personality” who requires accepted rules to guide his life. According to Sadowski, when the
accepted rules are thrown into doubt, such as when he perceives that Desdemona has been unfaithful, Othello experiences
extreme turmoil. Sadowski notes that Othello, like most static figures, demands that his sense of justice be satisfied, and realizes
this through Desdemona's murder. Critics are also interested in the ambiguous and despicable character of Iago. Hugh Macrae
Richmond (see Further Reading) maintains that Iago is the central character of Othello and that his self-awareness is the key
dramatic device in the play. Estelle W. Taylor (1977) examines Iago as the initiator of the play's central irony: that illusion is
mistaken for reality. The critic notes that Iago himself becomes victimized by this misconception, as do most of the other
characters in Othello.
Despite the popularity of the Othello, commentators have been frequently disappointed with the play in performance. The play's
stage history documents that few Othellos have emerged critically unscathed, and many prominent actors have been frustrated in
their attempts to interpret the Moor's transition from noble commander to misled murderer. Geoffrey Bent (1998) analyzes the
impact that different actors have had upon the play's meaning through their portrayals of Othello. Bent focuses on two motionpicture adaptations of Othello, from 1952 and 1995, and a filmed version of the 1964 National Theatre of Great Britain
production. In his analysis of the three famed actors—Orson Welles, Laurence Olivier, and Laurence Fishburne—Bent finds that
Welles presented Othello as a sympathetic figure, Olivier played up the character's flaws and his race, and Fishburne
oversimplified the general's complex emotions. Ray Fearon's portrayal of Othello in the 1999/2000 Royal Shakespeare Company
production directed by Michael Attenborough received mixed reviews. Alastair Macaulay (2000) argues that although Fearon's
performance as Othello was good, there was “no greatness about this Moor.” Macaulay reserves his highest praise for Aidan
McArdle's Roderigo, who “listens better than most actors speak, and he speaks with absolutely characterful naturalness.”
Similarly, Paul Taylor (see Further Reading) praises the production's energy but contends that Fearon was too young to be
convincing in the role of Othello. Katherine Duncan-Jones (1999) also admires the liveliness and clarity of the staging, but finds
the “assured and charismatic” performance of Fearon as Othello to be one of the highlights of the production.
Critics of Othello are particularly interested in the play's treatment of race. Martin Orkin (1987) considers attitudes toward race
in England in the late 1500s and early 1600s and focuses on the way that Shakespeare treated the subject of race in Othello.
Orkin concludes that the playwright opposed racism and argues that Shakespeare was “working consciously against the color
prejudice” that is voiced by some characters in the play. A similar point is made by R. V. Young (2004), who claims that Othello
“highlights the danger of racial categorization” by presenting a nonwhite protagonist who embodies both noble qualities and
human vulnerability. In his 1987 essay, Anthony Gerard Barthelemy traces the transformation of Othello within the course of the
play. The critic notes that although Othello begins as the antithesis of the stereotypical black characters presented on stage in the
late 1500s and early 1600s, by the play's end Othello has tragically relapsed into “the stereotypical Moor.” Michael C. Andrews
(1973) examines the significance of the handkerchief in the play. Andrews is particularly interested in the different accounts that
Othello gives of the handkerchief's origins, maintaining that the first account is true and that the second account is false. The
critic contends that Othello changes his story in order to downplay his superstitious beliefs, which would have been viewed
negatively by the Venetians. In her feminist interpretation of Othello, Lynda E. Boose (see Further Reading) focuses on the
bedroom murder scene. According to Boose, Othello shares elements with pornographic literature, particularly in its emphasis on
voyeuristic watching and the way in which Desdemona is silenced by erotic violence.
Rhyming Aeneid
Anchises then, in order, thus begun
To clear those wonders to his godlike son:
"Know, first, that heav'n, and earth's compacted frame,
And flowing waters, and the starry flame,
And both the radiant lights, one common soul
Inspires and feeds, and animates the whole.
This active mind, infus'd thro' all the space,
Unites and mingles with the mighty mass.
Hence men and beasts the breath of life obtain,
And birds of air, and monsters of the main.
Th' ethereal vigor is in all the same,
And every soul is fill'd with equal flame;
As much as earthy limbs, and gross allay
Of mortal members, subject to decay,
Blunt not the beams of heav'n and edge of day.
From this coarse mixture of terrestrial parts,
Desire and fear by turns possess their hearts,
And grief, and joy; nor can the groveling mind,
In the dark dungeon of the limbs confin'd,
Assert the native skies, or own its heav'nly kind:
Nor death itself can wholly wash their stains;
But long-contracted filth ev'n in the soul remains.
The relics of inveterate vice they wear,
And spots of sin obscene in ev'ry face appear.
For this are various penances enjoin'd;
And some are hung to bleach upon the wind,
Some plung'd in waters, others purg'd in fires,
Till all the dregs are drain'd, and all the rust expires.
All have their manes, and those manes bear:
The few, so cleans'd, to these abodes repair,
And breathe, in ample fields, the soft Elysian air.
Then are they happy, when by length of time
The scurf is worn away of each committed crime;
No speck is left of their habitual stains,
But the pure ether of the soul remains.
But, when a thousand rolling years are past,
(So long their punishments and penance last,)
Whole droves of minds are, by the driving god,
Compell'd to drink the deep Lethaean flood,
In large forgetful draughts to steep the cares
Of their past labors, and their irksome years,
That, unrememb'ring of its former pain,
The soul may suffer mortal flesh again."
Thus having said, the father spirit leads
The priestess and his son thro' swarms of shades,
And takes a rising ground, from thence to see
The long procession of his progeny.
"Survey," pursued the sire, "this airy throng,
As, offer'd to thy view, they pass along.
These are th' Italian names, which fate will join
With ours, and graff upon the Trojan line.
Observe the youth who first appears in sight,
And holds the nearest station to the light,
Already seems to snuff the vital air,
And leans just forward, on a shining spear:
Silvius is he, thy last-begotten race,
But first in order sent, to fill thy place;
An Alban name, but mix'd with Dardan blood,
Born in the covert of a shady wood:
Him fair Lavinia, thy surviving wife,
Shall breed in groves, to lead a solitary life.
In Alba he shall fix his royal seat,
And, born a king, a race of kings beget.
Then Procas, honor of the Trojan name,
Capys, and Numitor, of endless fame.
A second Silvius after these appears;
Silvius AEneas, for thy name he bears;
For arms and justice equally renown'd,
Who, late restor'd, in Alba shall be crown'd.
How great they look! how vig'rously they wield
Their weighty lances, and sustain the shield!
But they, who crown'd with oaken wreaths appear,
Shall Gabian walls and strong Fidena rear;
Nomentum, Bola, with Pometia, found;
And raise Collatian tow'rs on rocky ground.
All these shall then be towns of mighty fame,
Tho' now they lie obscure, and lands without a name.
See Romulus the great, born to restore
The crown that once his injur'd grandsire wore.
This prince a priestess of your blood shall bear,
And like his sire in arms he shall appear.
Two rising crests his royal head adorn;
Born from a god, himself to godhead born:
His sire already signs him for the skies,
And marks the seat amidst the deities.
Auspicious chief! thy race, in times to come,
Shall spread the conquests of imperial Rome-Rome, whose ascending tow'rs shall heav'n invade,
Involving earth and ocean in her shade;
High as the Mother of the Gods in place,
And proud, like her, of an immortal race.
Then, when in pomp she makes the Phrygian round,
With golden turrets on her temples crown'd;
A hundred gods her sweeping train supply;
Her offspring all, and all command the sky.
"Now fix your sight, and stand intent, to see
Your Roman race, and Julian progeny.
The mighty Caesar waits his vital hour,
Impatient for the world, and grasps his promis'd pow'r.
But next behold the youth of form divine,
Ceasar himself, exalted in his line;
Augustus, promis'd oft, and long foretold,
Sent to the realm that Saturn rul'd of old;
Born to restore a better age of gold.
Afric and India shall his pow'r obey;
He shall extend his propagated sway
Beyond the solar year, without the starry way,
Where Atlas turns the rolling heav'ns around,
And his broad shoulders with their lights are crown'd.
At his foreseen approach, already quake
The Caspian kingdoms and Maeotian lake:
Their seers behold the tempest from afar,
And threat'ning oracles denounce the war.
Nile hears him knocking at his sev'nfold gates,
And seeks his hidden spring, and fears his nephew's fates.
Nor Hercules more lands or labors knew,
Not tho' the brazen-footed hind he slew,
Freed Erymanthus from the foaming boar,
And dipp'd his arrows in Lernaean gore;
Nor Bacchus, turning from his Indian war,
By tigers drawn triumphant in his car,
From Nisus' top descending on the plains,
With curling vines around his purple reins.
And doubt we yet thro' dangers to pursue
The paths of honor, and a crown in view?
But what's the man, who from afar appears?
His head with olive crown'd, his hand a censer bears,
His hoary beard and holy vestments bring
His lost idea back: I know the Roman king.
He shall to peaceful Rome new laws ordain,
Call'd from his mean abode a scepter to sustain.
Him Tullus next in dignity succeeds,
An active prince, and prone to martial deeds.
He shall his troops for fighting fields prepare,
Disus'd to toils, and triumphs of the war.
By dint of sword his crown he shall increase,
And scour his armor from the rust of peace.
Whom Ancus follows, with a fawning air,
But vain within, and proudly popular.
Next view the Tarquin kings, th' avenging sword
Of Brutus, justly drawn, and Rome restor'd.
He first renews the rods and ax severe,
And gives the consuls royal robes to wear.
His sons, who seek the tyrant to sustain,
And long for arbitrary lords again,
With ignominy scourg'd, in open sight,
He dooms to death deserv'd, asserting public right.
Unhappy man, to break the pious laws
Of nature, pleading in his children's cause!
Howe'er the doubtful fact is understood,
'Tis love of honor, and his country's good:
The consul, not the father, sheds the blood.
Behold Torquatus the same track pursue;
And, next, the two devoted Decii view:
The Drusian line, Camillus loaded home
With standards well redeem'd, and foreign foes o'ercome.
The pair you see in equal armor shine,
Now, friends below, in close embraces join;
But, when they leave the shady realms of night,
And, cloth'd in bodies, breathe your upper light,
With mortal hate each other shall pursue:
What wars, what wounds, what slaughter shall ensue!
From Alpine heights the father first descends;
His daughter's husband in the plain attends:
His daughter's husband arms his eastern friends.
Embrace again, my sons, be foes no more;
Nor stain your country with her children's gore!
And thou, the first, lay down thy lawless claim,
Thou, of my blood, who bear'st the Julian name!
Another comes, who shall in triumph ride,
And to the Capitol his chariot guide,
From conquer'd Corinth, rich with Grecian spoils.
And yet another, fam'd for warlike toils,
On Argos shall impose the Roman laws,
And on the Greeks revenge the Trojan cause;
Shall drag in chains their Achillean race;
Shall vindicate his ancestors' disgrace,
And Pallas, for her violated place.
Great Cato there, for gravity renown'd,
And conqu'ring Cossus goes with laurels crown'd.
Who can omit the Gracchi? who declare
The Scipios' worth, those thunderbolts of war,
The double bane of Carthage? Who can see
Without esteem for virtuous poverty,
Severe Fabricius, or can cease t' admire
The plowman consul in his coarse attire?
Tir'd as I am, my praise the Fabii claim;
And thou, great hero, greatest of thy name,
Ordain'd in war to save the sinking state,
And, by delays, to put a stop to fate!
Let others better mold the running mass
Of metals, and inform the breathing brass,
And soften into flesh a marble face;
Plead better at the bar; describe the skies,
And when the stars descend, and when they rise.
But, Rome, 't is thine alone, with awful sway,
To rule mankind, and make the world obey,
Disposing peace and war by thy own majestic way;
To tame the proud, the fetter'd slave to free:
These are imperial arts, and worthy thee."
He paus'd; and, while with wond'ring eyes they view'd
The passing spirits, thus his speech renew'd:
"See great Marcellus! how, untir'd in toils,
He moves with manly grace, how rich with regal spoils!
He, when his country, threaten'd with alarms,
Requires his courage and his conqu'ring arms,
Shall more than once the Punic bands affright;
Shall kill the Gaulish king in single fight;
Then to the Capitol in triumph move,
And the third spoils shall grace Feretrian Jove."
AEneas here beheld, of form divine,
A godlike youth in glitt'ring armor shine,
With great Marcellus keeping equal pace;
But gloomy were his eyes, dejected was his face.
He saw, and, wond'ring, ask'd his airy guide,
What and of whence was he, who press'd the hero's side:
"His son, or one of his illustrious name?
How like the former, and almost the same!
Observe the crowds that compass him around;
All gaze, and all admire, and raise a shouting sound:
But hov'ring mists around his brows are spread,
And night, with sable shades, involves his head."
"Seek not to know," the ghost replied with tears,
"The sorrows of thy sons in future years.
This youth (the blissful vision of a day)
Shall just be shown on earth, and snatch'd away.
The gods too high had rais'd the Roman state,
Were but their gifts as permanent as great.
What groans of men shall fill the Martian field!
How fierce a blaze his flaming pile shall yield!
What fun'ral pomp shall floating Tiber see,
When, rising from his bed, he views the sad solemnity!
No youth shall equal hopes of glory give,
No youth afford so great a cause to grieve;
The Trojan honor, and the Roman boast,
Admir'd when living, and ador'd when lost!
Mirror of ancient faith in early youth!
Undaunted worth, inviolable truth!
No foe, unpunish'd, in the fighting field
Shall dare thee, foot to foot, with sword and shield;
Much less in arms oppose thy matchless force,
When thy sharp spurs shall urge thy foaming horse.
Ah! couldst thou break thro' fate's severe decree,
A new Marcellus shall arise in thee!
Full canisters of fragrant lilies bring,
Mix'd with the purple roses of the spring;
Let me with fun'ral flow'rs his body strow;
This gift which parents to their children owe,
This unavailing gift, at least, I may bestow!"
Thus having said, he led the hero round
The confines of the blest Elysian ground;
Which when Anchises to his son had shown,
And fir'd his mind to mount the promis'd throne,
He tells the future wars, ordain'd by fate;
The strength and customs of the Latian state;
The prince, and people; and forearms his care
With rules, to push his fortune, or to bear.
Scholia Reviews ns 3 (1994) 10.
S. Farron, Vergil's Aeneid: A Poem of Grief and Love.
Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1993. Pp. xii + 174. ISBN90-04-09661-2. Gld 75/US$43.00.
William J. Dominik
University of Natal, Durban.
In what F. regards as a heretical departure from
modern interpretations of the Aeneid, he argues that
the purpose of the Aeneid was to present a series of
emotionally-arousing episodes. According to him, this was
what nineteenth-century scholars considered to have been the
purpose of the Aeneid, a belief consistent with the
purpose of literature to the Greek and Romans. Claiming that
scholars of the last hundred years have laboured under the
misunderstanding that the Aeneid had to _mean_
something, F. hopes to `enable readers to enjoy the
Aeneid for the reasons it was always enjoyed' (p. ix).
Accordingly, the chapters are consistent with his purpose of
demonstrating that `the Aeneid is basically a poem of
grief and love' (p. 1).
In chapter 1 (`Nisus and Euryalus') F. maintains that
the only interpretation that can be sustained by the text is
that the purpose of the Nisus-Euryalus episode (9.176-502) is
to portray an intense and tragic love. But is it really the
case that the `only important characteristic' of this episode
is the love and loyalty of the Trojan pair for each other (p.
30)? F. discusses what he deems to be the four main
approaches to the episode and rejects them all (pp. 24-26,
155-65). The third approach (p. 26, 158-60), which considers
Aeneid 9.446-49 to be ironic, is dismissed with the
argument that irony can be imposed on any passage that does
not accord with a critic's preconceived ideas about the lines
in question (p. 26). No effort is made to take into account
how the passage functions within its particular context and
the work as a whole. In fact the entire Nisus-Euryalus
episode is tinged with irony, for at the time the pair are
slaughtering the sleeping Rutulians in 9.324ff. (conduct that
is paradigmatic of Trojan behaviour in the second half of the
poem), Aeneas is surveying the future site of Rome and, as he
bears upon his shoulders the shield given to him by his
mother, takes pleasure in the various ideological
representations of Rome's destiny on it (8.730f.).
Chapter 2 (`Ancient and Modern Literary Attitudes')
endeavours to show that the main function of literature to
Vergil and his contemporaries was to depict emotional,
especially pathetic, episodes and that ancient literary
critics were unconcerned with the meaning and unity of
literary works. F. contends that the characters and
passages that pertain to the meaning of the Aeneid are
dull and uninteresting and that the Aeneid has been
regarded as a great work of literature because of its
portrayal of grief and love. The main thesis of the book is
elaborated upon in chapter 3 (`The Poem of Grief and Love'),
which maintains that the Aeneid's purpose was to arouse
the readers' emotions in order to present emotional episodes,Ô
something loved by the characters. Dido's love for Aeneas, of
course, is the supreme example of such a love in the
Aeneid. According to F., the only purpose of the
Dido episode in book 4, like the Nisus-Euryalus episode in
book 1, is to arouse pity through the depiction of a tragic
love. There can be no doubt that book 4 is concerned with the
tragedy of Dido. But is Vergil's purpose limited merely to
showing a tragic love and not to mean anything by such a
description? In extremely personal terms the responsibility
for the downfall of Dido, with whom Vergil's sympathy
predominantly lies, can be said to be partly her own, but her
tragedy ultimately illustrates in vivid personal terms the
human cost of Aeneas' pursuit of empire. Dido is a victim not
only of the gods but also of Aeneas and his destiny. She is a
sacrifice upon the altar of Rome's imperial greatness. On a
more general level F. rightly observes that virtually all
the major figures in the Aeneid die or are in some way
related to someone who dies (p. 65), but he argues that the
main purpose behind these deaths is to arouse pathos in the
poem's readers. Is this all there really is to the scenes of
human wastage scattered throughout the narrative of the
Aeneid? One can stop at the point that F. does
here or look further and observe that this human loss and
suffering is the result of Trojan efforts to found an empire
and to fulfil Rome's destiny.
F. is essentially descriptive and anti-interpretive
in his approach. He insists throughout that his view of the
Aeneid is in accordance with what Vergil and his
contemporaries expected to find and appreciate in the
literature. But his belief that modern criticism is heretical
and that to interpret necessarily means to impoverish means
that he takes little or no account of the way particular
scenes function in the work or within the entire Vergilian
corpus. Unsurprisingly, therefore, F. rarely quotes
directly from the Aeneid in support of his thesis. He
is really more concerned with what ancient and modern critics
say about the Aeneid than the text itself. As F.
himself observes in his `Postscript', the `test of any
hypothesis is whether it explains the facts better than other
hypotheses' (p. 146). If one pays close attention to the
textual details of the Aeneid and the entire Vergilian
corpus instead of pre-modern commentators such as Servius and
Donatus, who are not the most sensitive literary critics, then
the elements of grief and love assume dramatic and thematic
importance. The achievement of this book lies in its emphasis
on these elements, but little attempt is made to account for
their significance.
F.'s approach to the Aeneid and ancient
literature generally is not really all that heterodox or
radical, since it is based mainly on a disinclination to
interpret the text. Although the text has been misread and
misunderstood by ancient and modern scholars, the
Aeneid is a _readable_ text. It is only lately that
the Aeneid has been read both in terms of the
intratextual connection between events, images and scenes and
in terms of its intertextual relationship to the
Georgics and the Eclogues. The AeneidÔ
between it and other Vergilian works. This intertextuality in
fact substantiates the pessimism of the Aeneid. The
Dido and Nisus- Euryalus episodes illustrate the disparity
between the ideology of empire and its manifestations in terms
of human cost. They are certainly more than scenes of grief
and love included for their own sake.
MISC OTHELLO ESSAYS
STUDYIT OTHELLO ESSAYS
When Othello asks Iago why he has “ensnared (his) soul and body” Iago refuses to reply. Is it possible to supply a convincing
answer to this question?
The psychopathic personality is void of empathy and is innately evil. This personality generalisation fits the character of Iago in
William Shakespeare’s tragedy Othello. Iago is the perfect villain. He is a devious, scheming manipulator, and thus mesmerises
readers like no protagonist ever could. Just as he ensnares Othello, Cassio, Emilia and Desdemona in his web of malevolence, he
also ensnares us as we search for the reasons behind his calculated evil. Our search is futile. Iago has no motives for his actions
and the excuses he gives are merely weak rationalisations. He is psychotic and takes immense delight in his own ability to
manipulate others. For these reasons it was impossible for Iago to provide a convincing answer to Othello’s inquiry. Iago’s
silence contrasts his previous exploitation of language and in itself is his most unsettling gesture.
Iago is an accurate portrait of a psychopath. He is intrinsically evil, but as a psychopath, he creates excuses for his actions. His
excuses are just that, simply flimsy rationalisations that have little to do with either fact or logic. Initially Iago convinces himself
that his evil thoughts and musings are because of his professional envy. He feels that he has been unjustly passed over for
promotions and that Cassio the “great arithmetician” is unworthy of being appointed a lieutenant because he has “never set a
squadron in the field.” To begin with the reader almost forgives Iago’s scheming, because we have been provided with
justification for it. However, as the tragedy progresses this excuse transpires. Furthermore it bears no resemblance to the next
excuse Iago uses. Iago now justifies his actions with the suspicion that Othello has “done” his “office.” At this stage Iago admits
his explicit rationalisations as fictitious as he states “I know not if’t be true/ But I, for mere suspicion in that kind/ Will do as if
for surety.” By acting on “suspicion” Iago provides himself with the opportunity to do more evil. These two initial excuses are
almost immediately forgotten by Iago, who goes on to convince himself that his actions are valid because Cassio has committed
adultery with Emilia. He has a “fear” of “Cassio with” his “night-cap too.” This is another fabricated excuse based on
speculation. None of the reasons Iago provides for his evil manage to sustain themselves throughout the play; instead it appears
that Iago is searching for reasons to justify his actions. When questioned by Othello, Iago could not supply a convincing
arguement in defence of his actions because, as is now obvious to the reader, his proposed motives were merely rationalisations
and he had no true motives. The reader realises that Iago is purely a nihilistic villain who brings about the downfall of his society
through his motiveless malevolence.
Iago was not motivated by outer means. There was no jealousy, envy, or lust. Iago was evil just for the sake of evil. Iago carries
out his evil by manipulating people. Through this technique he reduces everything to his own terms, and life for the characters
becomes a perverse interpretation of reality. He is brilliant at what he does. He has a very comprehensive understanding of the
power of words, and also of the use of intonation and emphasis in speech. It his through his utilization of language that Iago is
able to succeed in his evil acts until the very final scene when his masks of deception are pulled away and the Venetian state sees
for the first time the true Iago; the Iago we have known all along. He uses language to draw his victims into his corrupt world
view. He convinces Roderigo that murder is a sensible option for self advancement, saying that Casio’s murder is “a profit and a
right.” Iago also manipulates innocent conversations between Desdemona and Cassio and convinces Othello that there is a
romance blooming between the two. He builds on Othello’s suspicion by cleverly repeating the warning that Brabantio gave
Othello about Desdemona’s tendency to betray her lovers, saying “she did deceive her father, marrying you.” Through his use of
language Iago evokes the “green eyed monster” in Othello. Iago is in love with his own skill and artistry. He takes immense
delight in his ability to manipulate others; a delight which appears to be perverse and satanic. He calls his work “monstrous
birth” and calls on “hell and night” to help him shut out the “world’s light.” He causes the destruction of Othello, Cassio,
Desdemona and Emilia, and at this stage he has reached his true potential for evil. He has reached a hellish state of nirvana.
When Iago is wounded by Othello in the final scene he arrogantly proclaims “I bleed, but am not kill’d, sir.” This is a clear
reference to Iago’s belief that he is part of a greater force of immortal evil. Through the character of Iago, Shakespeare created
one of the first satanic archetypes, in the way that Iago’s motiveless evil parallels that of the devil.
Iago has no motives for his actions; he is evil through and through; he is evil till the very end. In the final scene of Othello, Iago
has been unmasked as the villain responsible for Othello’s downfall: there is no escape for him; yet he embraces silence in
response to Othello’s interrogation of his character. He is silent because he knows that he cannot provide justification for his
actions. Iago’s silence appears to contrast his previous sharp wits and quick tongue. However, this silence does not mean that the
evil of Iago has also been silenced. Instead it confirms that Iago is intelligent and goes about his evil in a calculated manner.
Shakespeare informs the reader that in some situations silence can be more powerful then words as a method of doing evil.
Iago’s refusal to answer Othello’s demand for an explanation is similar to the way Hitler once silenced himself after the
inhumane Nazi regime collapsed. Shakespeare and Hitler were both very intelligent, and understood that it is human nature to
need to know why someone has done what they have. Iago’s silence is haunting because Othello never has the chance to
understand the reasons behind his “friends” brutal betrayal. This silence is the most unsettling of all Iago’s gestures and cements
in the reader’s minds the fact that Iago is hate and evil made physical.
Villains such as the psychopath Iago have thrilled their audiences for centuries. We are incredibly interested in these horrific
personas, which often defy the experiences of our reality and thus challenge us to identify the motives behind their villainy. In
Shakespeare’s Othello, the most evil villain in all of literature is presented to the reader. He is a perverse, motiveless manipulator
who destroys the lives of those who trust him because he is innately evil. Through Iago, Shakespeare creates a character who is
composed of sinister domination, rejoices in his ability to cause pain, and who responds to Othello’s desperate questions about
his true personality with a chilling silence.
“Was not that Cassio parted from my wife?” This quote, by the title character in William Shakespeare’s Othello, is one that is
faultless in portraying the first symptom of Shakespeare’s central theme of jealousy. Shakespeare offers this proverbial theme to
readers, not to teach us lessons for life, but to explore human nature. The tragedy of Othello offers a number of studies of
humanity, demonstrating the destructive ramifications that can come from such natural feelings, such as jealousy, if they fail to
be rationalised. The tragic results of irrational jealousy turned things into their polar opposites, suffocating and corroding
Othello’s inner thoughts and ultimately destroying the “constant, loving, noble nature” he once possessed. Through this theme,
Shakespeare presents us with scenarios in which we must examine his characters in order to discover their purpose and their
faults in the play. This then enables and motivates us to examine our own society, our nature and how we rationalise and
therefore react to different circumstances around us.
Shakespeare’s central theme of jealousy establishes Othello as a tragedy. Defined by the great Greek philosopher Aristotle, a
classical tragedy involves the hero being brought to catastrophe by some tragic flaw. Aristotle also stated that the tragic action
must evoke fear and pity. Through Othello’s tragic flaw of jealously, which evokes both fear and pity, it fulfils both of these
requirements. However, Othello’s jealousy was deviously provoked. Shakespeare makes us examine his character Iago,
Othello’s ensign, early in the play to discover his purpose. Iago’s character is designed to explore how a given part of human
nature, in this case jealousy, can merely be tapped into by a simple insinuation. It is how we process and rationalise this
insinuation that determines the outcome. For one who was “not easily jealous”, Othello quickly became a pawn in Iago’s game,
“being wrought, perplex’d in the extreme”. Analysing the intentions of “honest Iago” to take such sinister actions against a noble
Othello, shows nothing more than his own jealousy. We become aware early in the play that Iago is overlooked for a promotion
that has been awarded by Othello to Cassio, Othello’s fellow solider and friend. This, in combination with Othello’s success as a
solider, being well-respected despite being a black man and married to a young beauty, Desdemona, presents us with adequate
reasons for Iago’s innate sense of jealousy. But it is how Iago manages and rationalises this jealousy, that enables us to predict
his actions. Iago’s jealousy becomes so intense that his evil defies rational explanation. Believing that he can transform people
into animals, innocence into corruption, his evil genius turns Othello into his complete opposite; from human to monster, from
being entirely secure in his own worth to a jealous, paranoid and irrational being, ironically mirroring Iago‘s traits. Shakespeare
begins to explore a side of human nature, a darkness within all of us, which we rarely acknowledge. He begins to make us
question our society and how we rationalise given circumstances to prevent becoming enveloped in a black hole of destruction.
He holds up a mirror to our own lives to show us what we may be capable of when a quality of human nature is not managed
logically.
Jealousy was Iago’s primary motive and weapon in his fight against Othello. Iago’s devious manipulation of Othello and his
insinuating comments to Othello about his wife’s infidelity with Cassio, unleashed, what would be Othello’s tragic flaw, which
would ultimately destroy him. Iago was merely the messenger, tapping into a side of human nature that Othello possessed but
could not understand nor control. Iago, pretending loyalty to Othello with “I follow him to serve my turn upon him”, sowed
seeds of doubt in Othello’s mind. Shakespeare uses his language as an important use of imagery, as Iago arouses “the green-eyed
monster” of jealousy “which doth mock the meat it feeds on”. We are once again forced to examine Iago’s purpose in the play;
there is no Othello without Iago. It is Iago who shapes Othello’s character into what we see and hear. He draws out his inner
fears by merely tapping into and attacking his vulnerability, a quality unseen by his fellow people, to uncover his instinctive
feeling of jealousy. With Iago’s deceit, we sympathise with Othello, questioning our own vulnerability and capability to be the
manipulated or the manipulator. However, we realise that Iago does not force Othello’s actions. He simply plants a seed. He
proves Shakespeare’s point that by continually supplying and fuelling Othello’s jealousy with simple, effortless insinuating
comments, “look to your wife, observe her well with Cassio”, it would be the element that would eat away and destroy him,
slowly and painfully. Again, Shakespeare holds up the mirror to our own society, this time, to make us explore, realise and
understand the destruction course we are on if we neglect to rationalise other’s words, actions and motives. In today’s
technological society, a mere text or post on an internet site bearing false information born of jealously, can eventuate in
destructive outcomes.
It is the later actions of Othello that change our opinion of him as we examine his faults and purpose in the play. It was not only
Iago who contributed to Othello’s fatal downfall. Othello himself, failed to manage and rationalise his jealously, evidently
foreshadowing the tragic outcome of this play. With no more than the verbal sayings of Iago, Othello never attempted to
ascertain facts for himself. Failing to confront Desdemona with her supposed infidelity, question her alleged lover or find
credence to Iago‘s insinuations, fuelled his jealousy. This allowed Iago to capitalise on Othello’s present state of mind. Providing
Othello with an item which, to him, could be considered solid proof, would keep fuelling Othello’s jealousy. This was
accomplished through a simple handkerchief. Given to Desdemona by Othello, this white, pure handkerchief had a significance
of fidelity, love and innocence and was closely tied to Othello’s past. Once Iago placed this absurd piece of ‘evidence’ in the
hands of Cassio, Othello was driven demented by it.
Continuing to examine Othello’s purpose in the play, leads us to say that we could consider Othello to be merely a victim in
Iago’s irrationally jealous, evil quest to destroy him. However, it is clear that Othello has been created by Shakespeare to
compliment Iago’s character, continuing his exploration of human nature from the opposing viewpoint. Exploring the
repercussions of a dark but prominent element of human nature requires a character who has never needed to look into himself
before. Othello’s life of being only a matter of “the big wars/That make ambition virtue” makes him an essentially simple man,
thus fulfilling this requirement. Through Iago, an occasion is provided for Othello to look into himself, but he can not name nor
understand the quick, powerful jealously that we can see has been uncovered. We observe the events and decisions in this
scenario as completely irrational. However, with this scenario, Shakespeare makes us examine our society and our natural
reactions to such circumstances. Human nature tells us that jealousy is a bitter, painful and poisonous feeling, and although it is
entirely natural, it causes us to make impulsive decisions that may seem reasonable at the time but are completely irrational. We
are forced to examine the occurrences in our society of fatal impulsive decisions where jealously is a main cause. Even as
children, the concept of jealousy is presented to us in stories such as Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Her step mother,
jealous of her beauty, poisoned Snow White.
With the ability to stand back and put Othello’s position in perspective, we would, of course, be of the rational advice to confront
the source and establish the facts. However, Othello, who is far past rationalisation, does not see the situation in its entirety. He
confuses outward appearances with inner worth. Instead of moving from outward evidence to inner conviction, he does the
opposite. His inner conviction, in which he believed that Desdemona must have been unfaithful, is then shifted to external
evidence of the handkerchief, an absurdist piece of proof that Othello could not see it for what it truly was; a handkerchief. His
belief of his wife’s infidelity was now solidified in his mind, despite the protests and pleadings from the offenders at hand,
Desdemona and Cassio. Shakespeare’s central theme of jealousy results in his title character killing the most innocent soul in the
play, “a maid so tender, fair and happy”, Desdemona. The pathological behaviour of Othello in his jealousy, brings us to
question; how do we control a natural human quality if we cannot recognize it and see the destruction it is causing?
Jealousy proves to be a central theme in Othello, prominent from the very beginning until the final moments in the play. It is this
theme which influences the actions of both Iago and Othello, consequently resulting in the predicted destructive ramifications.
As Othello’s jealousy augmented and intensified throughout the play without rationalisation, it constantly made us examine
human nature within our society and how the presence of innate feelings if unearthed, could have a crucial influence on our
thoughts and choices we make. It is only after Othello unjustly kills Desdemona that he stands back and puts the events into
perspective in order to realize the truth. Unable to live with this innate feeling, now guilt and sorrow, Othello makes his final
choice of “killing myself, to die upon a kiss”.