Naïve Justice in the Ancient Greek Novel
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Ethics in Progress (ISSN 2084-9257). Vol. 7 (2016). No. 2, Art. #3, pp. 14-30. Doi: 10.14746/eip.2016.2.3 Naïve Justice in the Ancient Greek Novel Bruce D. MacQueen (University of Tulsa ) , [email protected] 1. Introduction It is admittedly a commonplace, but probably a useful one, to begin a philosophical discourse by dividing the problems into three main areas of inquiry: ontology, epistemology, and ethics. This division is usually attributed to the Greeks, but it is no easy task to trace it to its origins. Applying it to the dialogues of Plato might or might not shed some light on some of the dialogues and their arguments, but in many ways it seems an unnecessary distraction, especially since Plato seems bent, generally, on synthesizing the philosophical enterprise into a coherent unity. Aristotle, the perpetual analyst, in the course of discussing some problems related to dialectic, makes an important contribution to this general problem, in order to render more manageable the specific problem under discussion:Ἔστι δ´ ὡς τύπῳ περιλαβεῖν τῶν προτάσεων καὶ τῶν προβλημάτων μέρη τρία· αἱ μὲν γὰρ ἠθικαὶ προτάσεις εἰσίν, αἱ δὲ φυσικαί, αἱ δὲ λογικαί. Ἠθικαὶ μὲν οὖν αἱ τοιαῦται, οἷον πότερον δεῖ τοῖς γονεῦσι μᾶλλον ἢ τοῖς νόμοις πειθαρχεῖν, ἐὰν διαφωνῶσιν· λογικαὶ δὲ οἷον πότερον τῶν ἐναντίων ἡ αὐτὴ ἐπιστήμη ἢ οὔ· φυσικαὶ δὲ οἷον πότερον (105b25) ὁ κόσμος ἀίδιος ἢ οὔ. It is possible to distinguish by type three kinds of questions and problems: some are ethical questions, some are physical, some are logical. Ethical questions are such as this, whether one ought to listen to one’s parents or to the law, if they are at odds; logical questions are such as this, whether the knowledge of opposite things is the same, or not; physical questions are such as this, whether the universe is unending, or not (Topics 105b19-25, translation mine). Later, in Stoic philosophy, Aristotle’s “logical” questions are broadened in scope and renamed “epistemology,” and the “physical” questions, analogously, become “ontology.” This tripartite division of genres in philosophical inquiry was bequeathed, as it were, to philosophical posterity, where, as mentioned at the 14 Bruce D. MacQueen beginning, it has become a commonplace. Ontology, then, consists in a philosophical inquiry into being, while epistemology examines the nature of knowledge and the mind, and the goal of ethics is to explore behavior, or more specifically, how philosophy could or should guide moral choices. The goal of ontology is to understand being and non-being; of epistemology, to understand what is true and what is false; and of ethics, to distinguish right from wrong. The operative ethical concept called “right” in English is encompassed (though the lexical mapping is hardly exact) by the Greek δικαιοσύνη, a concept usually translated “justice” in philosophical texts, but “righteousness” in the New Testament. Herein, of course, lies the problem: where Greek authors can attribute δικαιοσύνη to either individuals or societies without any sense of awkwardness or ambiguity, it seems distinctly odd, in English, to associate “righteousness” with the character of a society (a state, a community, a city), while “justice” is, if not inappropriate, then at least slightly odd, when applied an individual – unless, of course, the individual in question is a person of authority (a monarch, an official, a judge) making decisions on behalf of and in the name of the state. It may be tempting, when considering the meaning of δικαιοσύνη in pre-Christian Greek philosophy, to ignore “righteousness” and concentrate on “justice,” but that is at best a convenient bracketing, not a solution. We should acknowledge that, in reality, neither of those two English words, “justice” or “righteousness,” is fully satisfactory to translate δικαιοσύνη: both are at best partial renderings of what the Greek word means. The problem is familiar to students of Plato. The first definition of δικαιοσύνη proposed by Polemarchus in Book I of Plato’s Republic is “doing good to one’s friends and harm to one’s enemies,” a conventional formulation that runs through much of archaic Greek poetry. When Socrates shakes his confidence in a definition that most Greek readers would have regarded as obvious, even self- evident, Polemarchus falls back on a second definition: giving back what is owed. Neither of these two definitions, to English ears, sound like definitions of “justice” at all, since these are matters of ethics – that is, determining what is right – rather than political philosophy. Thrasymachus’s definition, on the other hand (justice is whatever is consistent with the interests of the stronger) seems more public and political, which makes it, though arguably morally abhorrent, at least 15 Naïve Justice in the Ancient Greek Novel comprehensible as a definition of “justice.” If Polemarchus was attempting to find a principle or axiom that would explain what is right, Thrasymachus is at least trying to say what is just – assuming, of course, that δικαιοσύνη in fact means simply “justice,” which is precisely the point at issue here. The assumption can hardly be forced. The transition from Polemarchus to Thrasymachus as Socrates’ interlocutors raises the problem of what δικαιοσύνη really means, without solving it. In Book II, then, Socrates proposes to search for the essence of this particular virtue in the soul, by expanding the scale of inquiry to the level of the city. This maneuver can seem almost indefensible to a critically-minded English speaker, but it makes much more sense if we accept that the Greek word which Socrates and his friends are out to define is a single concept that can be manifested in both public and private life. In other words, δικαιοσύνη is both justice and righteousness, public and private “rightness,” rolled into one. The purpose of this article is to examine, from an ethical perspective, an apparently trivial topos of the ancient Greek novel: the “trial scene,” in which one of the protagonists is accused of a crime and put on trial, but ultimately prevails against a determined prosecution. Specifically, I will present here three such episodes, which diverge from the model just described, in ways that serve to shed some particular light on the meaning of δικαιοσύνη itself, in both its public (civic) and private (personal) senses. Before this will make much sense, however, we shall need to go, as Socrates puts it, “by the longer road.” In a famous passage from the Poetics (1452b – 1453a), Aristotle considers the types of plots that should be considered properly “tragic.” He rejects as untragic any plot which brings a good man (ὰνὴρ ἐπιεικής) from good fortune (εὐτυχία) to bad (δυστυχία), or conversely, one that brings a bad man (ὰνὴρ μοχθηρός) from bad fortune (here, ἀτυχία rather than δυστυχία) to good (εὐτυχία); he also rejects a third alternative scheme, when a genuinely bad man (σφόδρα πονηρός) incurs fully deserved punishment, since such a plot might be edifying (φιλάνθρωπος), but inspires neither pity nor fear, and is thus not tragic. This line of reasoning leads him to the famous definition of the tragic hero, which he presents as a middle point (ὁ μεταξὺ τούτων): that is, a man not preeminently virtuous or just, who is 16 Bruce D. MacQueen brought from good fortune to bad, not by innate wickedness, but because of some flaw or mistake (δι´ ἁμαρτίαν τινά). After some development of this argument (with particular attention to Euripides), Aristotle then takes up what he calls the “double structure,” which is to say, a plot that simultaneously brings the virtuous to good fortune and the wicked to bad fortune. This paragraph (often overshadowed completely by the “tragic flaw” discussion that immediately precedes it) requires closer attention here: δευτέρα δ᾽ ἡ πρώτη λεγομένη ὑπὸ τινῶν ἐστιν σύστασις, ἡ διπλῆν τε τὴν σύστασιν ἔχουσα καθάπερ ἡ Ὀδύσσεια καὶ τελευτῶσα ἐξ ἐναντίας τοῖς βελτίοσι καὶ χείροσιν. δοκεῖ δὲ εἶναι πρώτη διὰ τὴν τῶν θεάτρων ἀσθένειαν: ἀκολουθοῦσι γὰρ οἱ ποιηταὶ κατ᾽ [35] εὐχὴν ποιοῦντες τοῖς θεαταῖς. ἔστιν δὲ οὐχ αὕτη ἀπὸ τραγῳδίας ἡδονὴ ἀλλὰ μᾶλλον τῆς κωμῳδίας οἰκεία: ἐκεῖ γὰρ οἳ ἂν ἔχθιστοι ὦσιν ἐν τῷ μύθῳ, οἷον Ὀρέστης καὶ Αἴγισθος, φίλοι γενόμενοι ἐπὶ τελευτῆς ἐξέρχονται, καὶ ἀποθνῄσκει οὐδεὶς ὑπ᾽ οὐδενός. Second [viz. in order of preference] is the structure that some call first, the one which has a double structure, like the Odyssey, and ends in the opposite way for the better and worse characters. It seems to be first because of the weakness of the theaters: for the poets give the audience that which they demand. This is not the same pleasure as from a tragedy, but rather something similar to comedy: for there, those who are bitter enemies in the myth, such as Orestes and Aegisthus, come out as friends at the end, and no one is killed by anyone (Poetics 1453a, translation mine). The kind of plot Aristotle seems to hold almost in contempt here, as though it were simply pandering to ἀσθένεια, is something I shall call here, for convenience’s sake, “naïve justice.” Good things happen to good people, and bad things to bad people, and all is well in the world (though this is always so much easier to do in fiction than in reality). For the present purposes, then, I propose to examine this problem, not from the perspective of standard philosophical discourse, but rather from a perhaps unexpected source: the ancient Greek novels, the popular literature of late antiquity. Philosophers, traditionally, do not listen much to the vox populi, but there are times, pace Socrates or Aristotle, when there may well be something to be learned from the “weakness” of the masses. 17 Naïve Justice in the Ancient Greek Novel The ancient Greek novels – five of which are extant – are a product of the last centuries of pagan Greek literature, from the first to the fifth century CE, and until rather recently have not been the object of much serious study.