The Oresteia
My preferred way of engaging with books is reconstruction. These notes were created during my reading process to aid my own understanding and not written for the purpose of instruction. With that said, I’ve decided to share these unedited notes on the off chance they are helpful to other readers.
The Oresteia is animated by a lineage of reciprocal violence and the question of what could put an end to said violence. This essay will attempt to answer this question by analyzing whether Athena’s court in the Eumenides is a radical breakaway or a mere continuation of the reciprocal violence seen in Agamemnon and the Libation Bearers. First, we will investigate, through the characteristic of reciprocal violence, why it is unending and futile. Next, we will probe deeper into the mechanisms behind it to find what sustains its perpetuation. Armed with these resources, we will begin an analysis of Athena’s court.
The defining characteristic of reciprocal violence is that the rivals within it are mirror-like doubles. The radical difference from their enemies, which they perceive subjectively, is masking the true reality that they are, from the point of a neutral observer, almost indistinguishable. The mirror-like quality of the rivals comes out in the narrative of the Oresteia. The victims and the murderers are often equated, by undergoing similar narrative developments, to show their inherent likeness. Agamemnon and his murderer, Clytemnestra, die identical deaths: with their lovers of questionable legitimacy, at the hands of close family, wrapped by the same net-like garment, revealed to the audience by opening doors. Another example is when Aegisthus himself reminds the audience that he and his would-be-murderer Orestes share similar fates as exiled sons seeking paternal vengeance: “Exiles feed on empty dreams of hope. I know it. I was one” (1.1668). But the most revealing evidence comes at the end of the Libation Bearers as the chorus provides a recounting:
Here on this house of the kings the third
storm has broken, with wind
from the inward race, and gone its course.
The children were eaten: that was the first
affliction, the curse of Thyestes.
Next came the royal death, when a man
and lord of Achaean armies went down
killed in the bath. Third
is for the savior. He came. Shall I call
it that, or death? Where
is the end? Where shall the fury of fate
be stilled to sleep, be done with?
(2.1065 - 1076)
The chorus is meant to present a more neutral and objective commentary at least compared to the deeply subjective perspectives of the rivals. Thus it is significant that, in this three-fold development, they equate Orestes (the savior) with Aegisthus’ siblings (the children) and Agamemnon (the royal death), for the former is a murderer while the latter are victims. Any rival in the lineage of reciprocal violence, to whom this equation would seem utterly outrageous, can only see radical difference between self and other, murderer and victim. Thus, this equivalence is only possible from the more detached position of the chorus. From this more neutral and sober perspective, the similarity between rivals is so much greater than the superficial difference between murderer and victim as to render this equivalence legitimate.
The mirror-like quality of rivals is also revealed in the imagery of the Oresteia, particularly the imagery of snakes. After her murder of Agamemnon, Clytemnestra begins having nightmares: “She dreamed she gave birth to a snake … She wrapped it warm in clothing as if it were a child” (2.527 - 529). Evidently, the snake is a symbol for Orestes who, interestingly enough, also draws upon snake-imagery to describe his quest for revenge: “make / bloody ruin of the Gorgon inside the house” (2.835 - 836). Orestes compares Clytemnestra to a Gorgon – a mythical creature with snakes as hair. The recurring snake imagery does not end there. After Orestes’ revenge, the snakes escape the realm of mere metaphor and seemingly appear in reality to chase Orestes: “No! / Women who serve this house, they come like Gorgons, they / wear robes of black, and they are wreathed in a tangle / of snakes. I can no longer stay” (2.1047 - 1050). Through the imagery of the snakes, we see that both Clytemnestra and Orestes view themselves as human and their aggressors as snakes. Subjectively, they perceive each other with the most radical difference, but objectively they are identical in that they project the same radical difference, namely the metaphor of the snakes, onto the enemy other. Just like a man facing his own reflection in a mirror, rivals in reciprocal violence are directly opposed but identical in the mode of their oppositions.
Similarly, the mirror-like quality of rivals is revealed through the very form of the Oresteia. In the final conversation between Clytemnestra and Orestes, the poetic device of stichomythia – an exchange of single sentences between two characters – is used. This very form is mirror-like for you have sentences of similar length, on similar topics follow one after the other in rapid succession as if each sentence were a reflection of the last.
Clytemnestra: A mother has her curse, child. Are you not afraid?
Orestes: No. You bore me and threw me away, to a hard life…
Clytemnestra: Or if you do, tell also your father’s follies.
Orestes: Blame him not. He suffered while you were sitting here at home…
Clytemnestra: Take care. Your mother’s curse, like dogs, will drag you down.
Orestes: how shall I escape my father’s curse, If I fail here?
(2.912 - 925)
The respect towards a mother against the responsibilities of a mother, the father’s follies against the mother’s follies, and the mother’s curse against the father’s curse: each justification of the opponent is mirrored with a rebuttal of one’s own drawn from similar resources. While their positions are completely opposite, this stichomythia shows that they are identical in their participation in reciprocal violence and the resources from which they justify their violence, namely familial responsibilities and crimes. Again, it is the more detached chorus, at the beginning of the Libation bearers that make the observation that these rivals are more similar than their absolute antagonism suggests: “War-strength shall collide with war-strength; right with right” (2.461). The symmetry and repetition of “war-strength” and “right” within this sentence is indicative of the symmetry of rivals in reciprocal violence. Fundamentally, the mirror-like quality between rivals reveals that this tragedy is not animated by a collision between a radically different good and evil but rather by doubles with similar claims to justice.
Through its narrative structure, imagery, and form, the Oresteia reveals the mirror-like qualities of rivals in reciprocal violence. This is significant because it implies that this reciprocal violence has no end. For just as a narrow hallway with mirrors on both ends will see itself reflected infinitely, there will be no end to this reciprocal violence so long as no third party intervenes because each party will simply reflexively return the previous wrongdoing with interest in an unending cycle. Thus, there is a deeper interpretation of the previous quote: “Third / is for the savior. He came. Shall I call / it that, or death?” (2.1074). The very act of Orestes’ killing is, in and of itself, his “death” because it represents his full participation in this cycle of reciprocal violence. In this cycle, without third-party intervention, killing will necessarily set off a new series of events culminating in one’s own death.
Under this light of necessity, Orestes can no longer be interpreted as an active hero – another reason why he is attributed to a lineage of victims – but must be read as a passive object no different than Aegisthus’ siblings, Agamemnon, or Clytemnestra, puppeted by the logic of reciprocal violence. The chorus is equally unsure how to interpret his act of vengeance: as an active “he came” or a passive “death”. It is only active when we take the narrow subjective view of Orestes, but once we place his killing into the larger lineage of violence, his vengeance reveals passivity in two ways. Firstly, Orestes, being only one mirror in a line of many, is merely reflecting the murders of past in his own act of killing. The very word “vengeance” emphasizes reciprocation and reaction instead of agency. It is, fundamentally, a reaction. Secondly, this very act will be replicated in the mirrors of his rivals in the future, namely the Furies, and result in his ultimate passivity: death. Thus, the mirror-like quality of rivals in reciprocal violence showcases the futility of vengeance. It is futile because it is merely an agentless reaction that will bring about one’s eventual demise. At this moment, Orestes can no longer be the hero of the tragedy – another sense in which he “dies” – but a mere function of reciprocal violence. Similarly, fate itself, as manifested through reciprocal violence, becomes the antagonist par excellence in the stead of Clytemnestra. Indeed, the very next line of the poem, immediately after the chorus recognizes the passivity of Orestes and the agency of reciprocal violence, shifts the attention onto the true actor itself: “Where / is the end? Where shall the fury of fate / be stilled to sleep, be done with?” (2.1076).
With this, the second act of the Libation Bearers ends and the last act of the Eumenides begins. The defining characteristic of reciprocal violence – the mirror-like quality of its rivals – is significant because it shows the passivity, fruitlessness, and unending nature of personal vengeance. By showing this futility it forces us to interpret the trilogy not as a tale of heroic personal vengeance – for both the heroes and their opponents are stripped of agency – but as a collective overcoming of the true antagonist of reciprocal violence, to which the story now turns. But before we even have the resource to judge whether Athena is successful in this quest, we must further understand the logic of reciprocal violence.
Reciprocal violence operates under the logic of reaction. That is to say, rivals in reciprocal violence always view themselves in defensive reaction to the unjustified aggressions of an opponent. Standing on top of the newly-dead body of Agamemnon, Clytemnestra justifies herself to the chorus of elders with revealing choices of words. She describes Agamemnon in the aggressive language of a “spear” while comparing her co-conspirator, Aegisthus, to “the shield of our defiance” (2.1437). Only the logic of reaction can explain the immense irony of Clytemnestra accusing a dead body of her own making, still bleeding at her very feet, for crimes of aggression. Even in her act of active killing, Clytemnestra only conceives of her side as a “shield”, a shield that does not kill or even rebel but merely “defies”. The word “defiance” focuses one’s attention on what is being resisted rather than the resistor. Clytemnestra uses it to show that the murder is only a small defensive act when compared to the enormous wrongdoings of Agamemnon which she is merely in reaction to. Indeed, the logic of reaction, when pushed to the extreme, relieves the murderer of responsibility altogether and paints violence as simply a fulfillment of past misdeeds. The same speech by Clytemnestra begins: “Now hear you this, the right behind my sacrament: / by my child’s justice driven to fulfillment, by / her wrath and fury, to whom I sacrificed this man” (2.1431). Clytemnestra relieves herself of all agency and, therefore, all responsibility by portraying the murder as merely the injustice of Agamemnon completing itself. She removes herself from the equation entirely. Of course, as a full participant in reciprocal violence, Orestes is not innocent of operating under the logic of reaction either. In his final dialogue with Clytemnestra, Orestes proclaims: ”It will be you who kill yourself. It will not be I” (2.923). And herein lies the functional purpose of the logic of reaction: to justify one’s vengeance. If one is merely acting in reaction to defend or to correct an injustice, so this logic reasons, then surely one has license for violence.
Reciprocal violence also operates under the logic of debt. That is to say, rivals in reciprocal violence always believe that the way to end violence is to repay previous violence with an equal amount of violence. This mode of thinking is exemplified when Orestes proclaims: “You killed, and it was wrong. Now suffer wrong” (2.930). Effectively, the underlying logic behind Orestes’ claim is that his mother owed a certain amount of “wrong” that now she needs to repay. In the same dialogue, he also says: “Yes, this is death, your wages for my father’s fate” (2.927). The language of debtor and collector is even more apparent here as Orestes describes her mother’s impending death as a payment of “wages” that she owes. Before this final confrontation, Orestes claimed that his mission was to: “wipe out the man stained with murder” (2.837). “Wipe out” could refer to the man, as in to kill him, but it is a more fitting action when referring to the stain. This peculiar choice of verb phrase reveals that Orestes believes murder will be adequate in achieving peace by wiping out the very stain of murder, the same stain that has animated this entire lineage of reciprocal violence. If the act of unjust violence is fundamentally an act of acquiring of debt, so this logic reasons, then surely peace will arrive once we zero out this debt when an equal amount of violence is returned.
Reciprocal violence is unending not because the twofold logic on which it operates is false but because it is only partially true. That is to say, from the perspective of one rival the logic of reaction and debt are valid: murder may be an act of defensive reaction and able to wipe out what they perceive to be past debts. But from the perspective of the other rival, the act of defense will be interpreted as an act of offense against which they now must defend and the act of clearing the balance sheet will be interpreted as an act of accruing new debt that now requires to be wiped out. This cycle will continue ad infinitum because the logic of reciprocal violence are private. Rivals do not access the equally private logic of the other until the deed has been done and it is already too late.
A motif that haunts the lines of the Oresteia is “pathe mathos”: knowledge through suffering. It makes its first appearance in the beginning of the Agamemnon as the chorus of wise men discuss: “Zeus, who guided men to think, / who has laid it down that wisdom / comes alone through suffering” (1.178). Similarly, the motif appears again in the Eumenides as the well-suffered Orestes claims: “I have been beaten and been taught” (3.276). But to fully understand what epistemic privilege suffering has, we must investigate this passage that immediately follows the wise men’s discussion of Agamemnon’s sacrifice of his daughter:
Justice tilts her scale so that those only
learn who suffer; and the future
you shall know when it has come; before then, forget it.
It is grief too soon given.
All will come clear in the next dawn’s sunlight.
(1.250 - 255)
In Greek poetry, the tilting of the scale between two rivals usually implies one’s immanent decisive victory over the other. Thus, the first line means that it is only in moments of complete victory – in this case, the moment of murderous vengeance – do those who suffer – in this case, the murdered – learn something incredibly important. The passage continues: it is only at this exact moment from the position of the victim, does some important knowledge get revealed “before then, forget it”. To grieve for Agamemnon’s daughter is to only operate under Agamemnon’s partial logic, to view the act of sacrifice as complete with no further consequences. It would be grief too soon given because his logic is not the only logic at play. There is another logic, namely that of Clytemnestra, that will further respond to and develop consequences out of his daughter’s death. The “next dawn’s sunlight” brings home Agamemnon and, more importantly, his death. What “comes clear” in this act of murderer is precisely Clytemnestra’s logic that has remained private until now, only accessible to Agamemnon when justice’s scales were tilted against him. Suffering comes from being exposed to the overwhelming force and reality of the rival’s logic, and through it, reveals the partiality of one’s own.
In like manner, Clytemnestra could only access this revelation right before her death. She hears the shriek of Aegisthus and asks her attendant for information: “Follower: I tell you, the living are being killed by the dead ones. / Clytemnestra: Ah, so. You speak in riddles, but I read the rhyme. / We have been won with the treachery by which we slew” (2.886 - 889). Only through the suffering imposed by her rival can she read the “riddle” of the logic of reciprocal violence. Only through this suffering does she realize the partiality of her own logic: the murder of Agamemnon was neither interpreted as defense nor debt-clearing by Orestes. Only through this suffering does she realize the mirror-like quality, the fundamental likeness of rivals in reciprocal violence: they are slain by the exact same logic “by which we slew”.
Under the light of “pathe mathos”, it is the privacy of logic in addition to its specific contents that render reciprocal violence dangerous and unending. Since the only ones able to see beyond this private logic are the ones who suffer irreconcilable defeat – the soon to be dead – rivals are either ignorant about the terrible consequences or powerless to do anything about it.
We have now sufficiently developed the resources with which to analyze whether Athena’s court system in the Eumenides is a radical breakaway from or a mere continuation of reciprocal violence. To do so, we must examine whether the former deviates from the logic of the latter.
The logic of reaction remains intact. In the court debate between the Furies and Orestes, we are treated with another use of stichomythia that is reminiscent of Orestes’ exchange with his mother. The Furies argue that they only chase Orestes for matricidal blood, while Orestes sees his murder as merely a reaction to right his mother’s wrongs. In the rapid dialogue, both sides insist they are merely acting in reaction by exchanging dialogues like such: “Furies: kill your mother, then put trust in a corpse! Trust on. \ Orestes: Yes. She was polluted twice over with disgrace” (3.599 - 600). Similarly, the logic of debt does not make more than superficial changes. Orestes agrees to the trial by saying: “This is my case. Decide if it be right or wrong. I am in your hands. Where my fate falls, I shall accept” (3.468 - 469). What is implicit is the agreement that, should the jurors interpret his action as murder instead of defense, action instead of reaction, then Orestes will be condemned to suffer a corresponding degree of violence to pay for his debt of guilt. Debates in Athena’s court are structured such that one must paint oneself as reactionary and the other as aggressive and thus the logic of reaction lives on. Penalties in Athena’s court are structured such that one will suffer what one is determined to be guilty of and thus the logic of debt lives on. This fundamental logic of scapegoating – to find an actor to attribute all blame and severely punish – remains intact.
What is drastically different however is that these two threads of logic do not remain private. The logic of reciprocal violence is private in the sense that it tends to be hidden to the other, more powerful rival until the last minute of defiance. It is also private in the sense that it is partial: even when the logic does reveal itself, the two opposing logic of rivals have no means of reconciliation. At the end of the Eumenides, we have arrived at an, at least superficial, peace because Athena’s court system is able to resolve both characteristics of private logic and render it public. To make public is the twofold capacity to bring each rival’s perspectives to light early on as well as to enforce a singular interpretation – whether an action was aggressive or defensive, debt accruing or debt clearing – on all rivals. The former capacity is obvious as the argumentative structure of the court forces rivals to publicly declare and defend their perspectives. The latter capacity can be seen when Orestes surrenders his own judgement, and therefore his private logic, by accepting whatever fate the court decides. Similarly, the Furies also defer to Athena’s court as the ultimate arbiter: “Athena: You would turn over authority in this case to me? / Chorus Leader: By all means. We respect your merits and whence they are derived” (3.435). Athena’s court puts an end to this specific lineage of reciprocal violence not because it escapes the logic of reaction or debt but because it is able to make such logic public. However, it would be premature to conclude that the court system is a radical breakaway from reciprocal violence, for we must ask where Athena’s ability to publicize comes from. From whence are her merits derived?
The “merits” which the Furies respect appears to be violence rather than wisdom. That is to say, Athena’s ability to publicize stems from violence and, more generally, power. Upon the final decision that clears Orestes of guilt, the Furies are furious and threaten Athena’s land with violence. The true foundations of Athena’s court are revealed when she threatens: “I am the only god / who knows the keys to where his thunderbolts are locked / we do not need such, do we?” (3.827 - 829). It the threat of violence rather than the actualization of justice that is able to publicize the decisions of the court. Indeed, the court is portrayed as distinctively unjust. Some of the first words from Apollo, acting as the defendant of Orestes, is to threaten the jurors that there will be consequences should they vote against Orestes and that they will be better off ignoring their oaths to vote justly: “For not even / the oath that binds you is more strong than Zeus is strong” (3.620 - 621). The court is necessarily unjust because the brother defends while the sister judges, both of whom have interests in exempting Orestes to maintain the authority of Olympian command. This partiality reveals itself as Athena casts her own vote, a mechanism that was not agreed upon or announced beforehand, and declare the tie a victory for Orestes.
It is no surprise then that the furies immediately declare: “they have wiped me out” (3.877). They promise revenge that will be “dripping deadly out of my heart upon the ground” (3.813). They lament that the “laws of the elder time, torn them out of my hands” (3.779). “Wipe out”, “tear”, “dripping” from a punctured and bleeding heart – the violent imagery reveals the violent foundations of Athena’s court and rightfully portrays the loss of the Furies as an unjust, murderous expulsion. In the end, what convinces the Furies and renders the logic public is still not justice but the more general form of violence: power. “Here is a big land, and from it you shall win first fruits / in offerings for children and the marriage rite for always. / Then you will say my argument was good” (3.836). It is significant that Athena does not order her proposal: “if you think my argument good, here are the rewards” since power and violence precede justice. The former is foundational while the latter is decorative. Athena’s ability to reconcile conflicting parties and make public private logic stems from the Olympians’ “merit” of violence and power.
It is precisely these violent foundations that render the already uneasy peace at the end of the Eumenides even more questionable. We are presented with three systems of justice in the trilogy: the justice of reciprocal violence in the state of nature without any intervention; the justice of the Furies which punishes blood killings; and the justice of Athena which decides through voting. The latter two are systems of justice designed to contain the unending logic of reciprocal violence by making their decisions public through fear. That is to say, reciprocal violence is contained by people’s fears of the overwhelming threat from the powerful authority figures – either the Furies or Athena – should they disobey the authorities’ conclusions. Athena’s rhetorical question “What / man who fears nothing at all is ever righteous” (3.698 - 699) is indistinguishable from the Furies position that if someone is free from fear “how shall such a one / any more respect the right” (3.524 - 525). Once more, we are shown the mirror-like quality of rivals: not rival individuals but rival systems of justice and institutions of power. Athena’s and the Furies’ justice are mirror-like because their ability to contain reciprocal violence stems not from the justice of their creed but the threat of their violence and the fear it instills. This is not to say that both systems are equally just, but simply to point out that these two systems are founded upon and dependent upon the same resource of violence, and thus are equally unstable. A system of justice founded upon violence is unstable in two ways. First, a more powerful system would be able to replace the current one since power is its only foundation. By equating the Furies with Athena, we must ask whether there will be a future figure that will displace Athena the same way Athena displaced the Furies. Second, if a competing system challenges the current one, neither being able to fully dominate the other, then the private logic of debt and reaction would begin operating on the societal scale and result in war since no system has enough power to publicize its own version of justice.
Athena’s court is able to put an end to any individual case of reciprocal violence under its jurisdiction and thus represents a radical breakaway from it. But it is only a mere continuation of reciprocal violence in two significant ways. First, it still operates on the logic of debt and reaction: it does not escape the scapegoating instinct of finding one party to cast guilt upon and punish. Second, it contains reciprocal violence through the equally violent means of power and fear. As a system, it is susceptible to being overthrown by being overpowered and even engaging in reciprocal violence with competing systems which it has no resources to reconcile with. In the final analysis, one would be hard-pressed to describe Athena’s court, when compared to reciprocal violence, as more just. But it is more effective in limiting violence as long as its supporters are powerful enough to inspire fear.
*The reading I have suggested here is that power is, in some sense, foundational to the good. Athena’s court is not more just (good) but only more powerful. But there is another reading that suggests the reason Athena has power in the first place is because she is good. That is to say, she can threaten the furies with power and promise rewards from worshipping mortals because mortals recognize her as good. This alternative reading suggests that the good is foundational to power.