Finding Freedom: Hegel's Philosophy and the Emancipation of Women 9780773574793

Citation preview

F I N DI N G F RE E DOM

McGill-Queen’s Studies in the History of Ideas Series Editor: Philip J. Cercone 1 Problems of Cartesianism Edited by Thomas M. Lennon, John M. Nicholas, and John W. Davis 2 The Development of the Idea of History in Antiquity Gerald A. Press 3 Claude Buffier and Thomas Reid: Two Common-Sense Philosophers Louise Marcil-Lacoste 4 Schiller, Hegel, and Marx: State, Society, and the Aesthetic Ideal of Ancient Greece Philip J. Kain 5 John Case and Aristotelianism in Renaissance England Charles B. Schmitt 6 Beyond Liberty and Property: The Process of SelfRecognition in EighteenthCentury Political Thought J.A.W. Gunn 7 John Toland: His Methods, Manners, and Mind Stephen H. Daniel 8 Coleridge and the Inspired Word Anthony John Harding

9 The Jena System, 1804–5: Logic and Metaphysics G.W.F. Hegel Translation edited by John W. Burbidge and George di Giovanni Introduction and notes by H.S. Harris 10 Consent, Coercion, and Limit: The Medieval Origins of Parliamentary Democracy Arthur P. Monahan 11 Scottish Common Sense in Germany, 1768–1800: A Contribution to the History of Critical Philosophy Manfred Kuehn 12 Paine and Cobbett: The Transatlantic Connection David A. Wilson 13 Descartes and the Enlightenment Peter A. Schouls 14 Greek Scepticism: Anti-Realist Trends in Ancient Thought Leo Groarke 15 The Irony of Theology and the Nature of Religious Thought Donald Wiebe

16 Form and Transformation: A Study in the Philosophy of Plotinus Frederic M. Schroeder 17 From Personal Duties towards Personal Rights: Late Medieval and Early Modern Political Thought, c.1300-c.1650 Arthur P. Monahan 18 The Main Philosophical Writings and the Novel Allwill Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi Translated and edited by George di Giovanni 19 Kierkegaard as Humanist: Discovering My Self Arnold B. Come 20 Durkheim, Morals and Modernity W. Watts Miller 21 The Career of Toleration: John Locke, Jonas Proast, and After Richard Vernon 22 Dialectic of Love: Platonism in Schiller’s Aesthetics David Pugh 23 History and Memory in Ancient Greece Gordon Shrimpton 24 Kierkegaard as Theologian: Recovering My Self Arnold B. Come

25 Enlightenment and Conservatism in Victorian Scotland: The Career of Sir Archibald Alison Michael Michie 26 The Road to Egdon Heath: The Aesthetics of the Great in Nature Richard Bevis 27 Jena Romanticism and Its Appropriation of Jakob Böhme: Theosophy – Hagiography – Literature Paolo Mayer 28 Enlightenment and Community: Lessing, Abbt, Herder, and the Quest for a German Public Benjamin W. Redekop 29 Jacob Burckhardt and the Crisis of Modernity John R. Hinde 30 The Distant Relation: Time and Identity in Spanish- American Fiction Eoin S. Thomson 31 Mr Simson’s Knotty Case: Divinity, Politics, and Due Process in Early EighteenthCentury Scotland Anne Skoczylas 32 Orthodoxy and Enlightenment: George Campbell in the Eighteenth Century Jeffrey M. Suderman

33 Contemplation and Incarnation: The Theology of MarieDominique Chenu Christophe F. Potworowski

40 Reason and Self-Enactment in History and Politics: Themes and Voices of Modernity F.M. Barnard

34 Democratic Legitimacy: Plural Values and Political Power F.M. Barnard

41 The More Moderate Side of Joseph de Maistre: Views on Political Liberty and Political Economy Cara Camcastle

35 Herder on Nationality, Humanity, and History F.M. Barnard 36 Labeling People: French Scholars on Society, Race, and Empire, 1815–1848 Martin S. Staum 37 The Subaltern Appeal to Experience: Self-Identity, Late Modernity, and the Politics of Immediacy Craig Ireland 38 The Invention of Journalism Ethics: The Path to Objectivity and Beyond Stephen J.A. Ward 39 The Recovery of Wonder: The New Freedom and the Asceticism of Power Kenneth L. Schmitz

42 Democratic Society and Human Needs Jeff Noonan 43 The Circle of Rights Expands: Modern Political Thought after the Reformation, 1521 (Luther) to 1762 (Rousseau) Arthur P. Monahan 44 The Canadian Founding: John Locke and Parliament Janet Ajzenstat 45 Finding Freedom: Hegel’s Philosophy and the Emancipation of Women Sara MacDonald

FINDING FREEDOM Hegelian Philosophy and the Emancipation of Women

Sara MacDonald

McGill-Queen’s University Press Montreal & Kingston • London • Ithaca

© McGill-Queen’s University Press 2008 isbn 978-0-7735–3375-2 Legal deposit second quarter 2008 Bibliothèque nationale du Québec Printed in Canada on acid-free paper that is 100% ancient forest free (100% post-consumer recycled), processed chlorine free. This book has been published with the help of a grant from the Canadian Federation for the Humanities and Social Sciences, through the Aid to Scholarly Publications Programme, using funds provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. McGill-Queen’s University Press acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (bpidp) for our publishing activities.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication MacDonald, Sara (Sara Jane) Finding freedom: Hegelian philosophy and the emancipation of women / Sara MacDonald. (McGill-Queen’s studies in the history of ideas; 45) Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 978-0-7735-3375-2 1. Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 1770–1831. 2. Liberty – Philosophy. 3. Human rights. 4. Family -- Philosophy 5. Women's rights. 6. State, The. I. Title. II. Series. b2948.m315 2008

193

c2007-906805-7

This book was typeset by Interscript in 10.5/13 Baskerville.

To my parents, Margaret and Norman MacDonald

This page intentionally left blank

Contents

Acknowledgments

xi

1 A Hegelian Contradiction: Seeking a Poetic Solution 3 2 Sophocles’ Antigone: A Tragic Imbalance 19 3 Hegel’s Antigone: Ethical Life in the Phenomenology of Spirit 41 4 The Philosophy of Right: A New Ethical Order 74 5 A Midsummer Night’s Dream: Antigone Reformed 98 6 Conclusion: Hegel in the Contemporary World Bibliography Index

139

145

133

This page intentionally left blank

Acknowledgments

this book grew out of my dissertation at Fordham University. Without the wisdom, prudence, and charity of my teachers Mary Nichols, David Nichols, Michael Zuckert, and Michael Davis, it simply would not have been possible. I am deeply grateful for their support and friendship. As a student at Fordham, I benefited tremendously from the conversations, arguments, goodwill, and beer shared with my colleague and friends in the Political Science Department. I owe debts of friendship and intellect to David Alvis, Patrick Bernardo, Paul Howard, Harold Kildow, Carly Kinsella, Paul Kirkland, Andy Little, Paul Seaton, Bryan Smith, Natalie and Flagg Taylor, Ann and Lee Ward, and Kristy Watson. While working on this book, I was fortunate to be a member of the faculty at St Thomas University. I cannot imagine a more hospitable place to learn and teach. In particular, I must thank my friends and colleagues in the Great Ideas program, particularly Tom Bateman, Christine Cornell, Patrick Malcolmson, Richard Myers, and Rodger Wilkie. Our conversations in various classrooms and hallways over the past few years have been of assistance in countless ways. In addition, I have to thank the numerous students whose curiosity and interest drove many classroom discussions into hallways and offices. For their particular help proofreading and completing research for this project, I thank Mark Adams, Matt Dinan, Ted Jones, Nathan McAllister, Faith McFarland, Megan Young, and Vivien Zelazny. Debbie Hudson, our administrative assistant, deserves great thanks for continued words of encouragement and assistance. I am also in debt to the editors and staff at McGill-Queen’s University Press, particularly Ligy Alakkattussery and Elizabeth Hulse, for

xii

Acknowledgments

all their help. I must also thank the anonymous readers who patiently read, reread, critiqued, and advised me. My understanding of Hegel’s political philosophy is much greater for their efforts. The many mistakes and misunderstandings that remain are my own. To my parents, Margaret and Norman MacDonald, and my two sisters, Katie and Darcie, I offer my love and gratitude for their kindness and support. For their friendship and the laughter we share, I thank Patrick, Mary and Catherine Craig. To my husband, colleague, and friend Barry Craig, I offer everything, even though it will not be sufficient to cover my debt.

F I N DI N G F RE E DOM

This page intentionally left blank

1

A Hegelian Contradiction: Seeking a Poetic Solution every reader of hegel’s philosophy perceives how heavily his thought is influenced by his understanding of history. With only slightly more attention, one learns that, for Hegel, history is a progressive force, resulting in the eventual existence of ever more rational human beings and human societies. Merging ancient teleology with modern historicism, he argues that while human nature, understood as our telos, or proper end, remains ultimately the same, it is a nature that is only truly fulfilled through the course of history’s progression. As a result, people in different historical periods have different understandings of their purposes and ends; however, all move toward an ultimately similar destination. According to Hegel, this progression ineluctably results in the freedom of all people. He describes this process most famously in The Philosophy of History, saying, “The Eastern nations knew only that one is free; the Greek and Roman world only that some are free; while we know that all men absolutely … are free.”1 Hegel thus presents history as purposive, suggesting that while all eras are rational for their time, to the extent that later periods are closer approximations of “absolute” reason, they are, in effect, superior. Prior to the consummation of freedom’s dialectic, all societies struggle with what Hegel identifies as the primary tension of political life: the tension between an objective order that is considered rational and universal and our subjective interests, which are natural and particular to us. This is one of the primary concerns of the Phenomenology of Spirit and The Philosophy of Right. 1 Hegel, The Philosophy of History, 19.

4

Finding Freedom

The problem Hegel identifies is readily apparent to all who reflect upon the tension inherent in political communities. In order to successfully govern, political communities require citizens to make sacrifices for the sake of a larger whole; these can be as ordinary as paying taxes or as extraordinary as willingly risking one’s life to defend the state and its principles. Fostering the patriotism required for these willing sacrifices is not an easy task for any political community, as it requires that we forego the fulfillment of some presumably more immediate or obvious desire for the sake of a more universal good, the benefits of which we may never concretely receive. It is this tension between our particular and subjective desires and the more universal and objective aims of the state that Hegel identifies as the root of both conflict and potential progress in political life. He traces these two perennial aspects of human life to that which he identifies as the source of all existence; according to Hegel, these two realms are interdependent aspects of absolute truth, or the Divine. The particular and thus subjective nature of the Divine, as a perfect and hence independent and self-contained entity, is freedom. As he writes, “God is the absolutely perfect Being, and can, therefore, will nothing other than himself – his own Will. The Nature of His Will – that is, His Nature itself – is what we here call the Idea of Freedom.”2 Given God’s perfection, this freedom cannot be a merely subjective characteristic. Rather, it must be perfectly rational and objective. The nature of the Divine is thus both a subjective fact of its Being and also an objective and rational truth. As a result, God’s nature does not remain particular to him but, rather, is made manifest and objective in the world. This exemplification occurs through the course of human history, whereby both the subjective natures of humans and the objective realm of human political institutions become a more complete embodiment the freedom that is the divine will.3 More simply, the objective aspect of the divine will is exemplified in human political community. States are defined by their laws and institutions. As the manifestation of human reason, rather than nature, the political community has an objective and universal existence. This, however, is not the only arena of human life. There are aspects of human life and activity that are not as obviously a function 2 Ibid., 20. 3 Ibid., 22, 25, 26.

A Hegelian Contradiction

5

of our reason, aspects of our existence that cannot be universally experienced. Instead, these experiences are often particular to individual perception, and as such, they are perceived differently by different individuals. Romantic or erotic love is a good example: just because one person finds another attractive does not mean that all others will. Emotional responses, desires, and tastes are all subjective experiences. Importantly, however, in Hegel’s view, we also subjectively apprehend and understand the Truth. My knowledge of something, while potentially a complete account of it as it objectively and externally exists, is yet something that I individually know. Inasmuch as our natures take up these two moments, objectivity and subjectivity, we mirror the nature of God. Possessing free will, we have the capacity to choose how we individually will act. We are thus particular and subjective entities. At the same time, however, we are each endowed with reason and are consequently able to discern the same universal and objective truths. We are thus also universal and objective entities. One of these objective truths is our subjective freedom. Moreover, it is our rational capacity, the basis of our participation in the universal and the grounds upon which we can freely choose one option over another regardless of our passions and desires, from which our subjective freedom stems. The two, our objective and subjective natures, are thus necessarily interdependent. To the extent that our objective political institutions are the manifestation of reason, the most rational state is one that recognizes this interdependence and permits the subjective freedom of its citizens; the most rational state endorses the freedom and subsequent rights of all its citizens. Correspondingly, the most rational human recognizes the rational basis of her subjective freedom and thus desires that which is reasonable; such a person would willingly curtail this freedom for the sake of a rational end. In such a society, the state finds willing participants in its citizens – citizens who perceive their desires to be reconciled with reason in the objective political order. This development demonstrates the full manifestation of Spirit in the natural world. However, as Hegel notes, prior to our arriving at this stage, these two aspects of human life exist in conflict. The objective political community opposes the subjective interests of its citizens and consequently denies their freedom. Alternatively, citizens deny the importance of the political community, attempting to gain complete subjective freedom – a freedom from the very limits placed on them by their own reason.

6

Finding Freedom

Recently, much of Hegel’s thought has been dismissed as contradictory. According to some scholars, he cannot be an appropriate philosophic guide for human life because of inconsistencies within his own writing. Of particular interest to this argument but by no means the only grounds upon which he is critiqued, Hegel has come under heavy criticism in feminist scholarship for his patriarchal view of women.4 Examining this particular criticism and the possible Hegelian response is especially of interest in determining whether or not his thought can remain relevant in the modern world. As we shall see, Hegel is criticized for what appears to be an arbitrary distinction between our subjective existence, as represented by women in the sphere of the family, and our objective existence, ultimately taken up by men in civil society and the state. He thus appears to contradict himself, for rather than presenting a logical integration of the subjective and the objective, he divides them in a fashion that suggests they are ultimately incompatible. For example, Jean Bethke Elshtain criticizes this bifurcation of the family and the state by arguing that insofar as men and women share a common language and meaning, both are capable of acting in the political world. Moreover, she argues, by limiting the role of women to the family, Hegel jeopardizes the existence of the state. He accords women the responsibility of training children to be citizens but does not grant them the necessary political experience to be able to educate children in civic virtue.5 Other thinkers take this criticism further, arguing that Hegel’s thought and his presentation of women is limited by the historical circumstances of nineteenth-century Prussia, a time and place in which women were confined to the family. It is on these grounds that Benjamin Barber argues that Hegel’s dialectic is inconsistent. While Hegel presents nature as the springboard for humanity’s dialectical progression, this progression does not encompass women, who are left in the realm of the natural world. To the extent that relationships of love require the reciprocal recognition of two equal people, 4 See Arthur, “Hegel as Lord and Master”; Barber, “Spirit’s Phoenix and History’s Owl”; Elshtain, Public Man, Private Woman; Geller, “Hegel’s Self-conscious Woman”; Gould, “The Woman Question”; Hodge, “Women and the Hegelian State”; Landes, “Hegel’s Conception of the Family”; Mills, “Hegel’s Antigone”; and Ravven, “Has Hegel Anything to Say to Feminists?” 5 See Elshtain, Public Man, Private Woman, and Elshtain, “Self/Other, Citizen/State.

A Hegelian Contradiction

7

women seem equal to men and therefore capable of progressing to the sphere of reason. However, with the birth of a child, according to Barber, a woman’s physical nature constrains her to a restricted role in the family. Barber explains that this inconsistency occurs because, rather than describing the ethical world as it ought to have appeared, Hegel describes it as it did appear: he does not truly follow Spirit to the finality of history but remains cemented in his own historical epoch. Therefore, although his vision of women is potentially radical, it is ultimately limited by his historical constraints.6 In a similar argument, Joanna Hodge posits that Hegel’s presentation of women, as circumscribed within the family, is historically contingent. According to Hodge, it is not in the interests of men to allow women to enter the political world, as this would diminish their own power. Nor, she argues, is it in their interests to admit this concern. As a result, men rationalize the exclusion of women, even if doing so jeopardizes the consistency of their other beliefs. Hegel is an example of this phenomenon.7 As we will see, each of these thinkers is correct in recognizing this tension in Hegel’s thought. Despite his account of the just political order as incorporating the subjectivity of its citizens, he does not allow women to freely participate in it. However, regardless of whether Hegel unconsciously or consciously gives women this subordinate role in the modern political world, a close examination of his thought demonstrates that for the logic of his own argument, as well as for the sake of the justice and stability of the modern regime, women must be accorded the same rights as men. What we importantly discover by examining this apparent contradiction in Hegel’s thought is the logical foundation for his entire argument; however, insofar as we find it for ourselves, it no longer becomes merely his argument but, perhaps more readily, our own. Thus although he does contradict his larger argument in his account of the role of women in the modern state, this contradiction serves as an entry point to his philosophy. The contradiction in Hegel’s thought concerning women thus serves as a catalyst for determining how his logic is applicable to a modern world filled with particular examples and relationships that he himself could not have fully conceived.

6 See Barber, “Spirit’s Phoenix and History’s Owl.” 7 See Hodge, “Women and the Hegelian State.”

8

Finding Freedom

More specifically, in restricting women to a role within the family, Hegel’s thought asks the engaged reader to imagine for her or himself what the outcome would likely be for such a woman, such a family, and such a state. As he himself suggests, it is not an outcome without considerable tension and possibly devastating forces within it. We are thus given, albeit unintentionally, a “way in” to understanding the necessary incorporation of the individual’s subjectivity into a political community if either its citizens or the collectivity is to flourish. If, then, we accept Hegel’s broader philosophy, though not the particular details he provides of the natures of men and women and their roles in political life, this argument follows the work of Jeffrey Gauthier and Kimberly Hutchings, who posit respectively that despite the difficulty of particular aspects of Hegel’s arguments, he nonetheless provides a viable basis not only for feminist political thought but also for the further development of the modern state in a much wider scope than his feminist critics might initially suggest.8 Relevant to this argument is Hegel’s portrayal of ethical life in two historical eras, as presented in the Phenomenology of Spirit and The Philosophy of Right. The first is a depiction of ethical life in ancient Greece and the second is an approximation of Hegel’s Prussia. Insofar as women are indeed subordinate to men in both these societies, his presentation is accurate. However, in both instances, he also implies that this situation generates tension, and we can therefore infer that it might not be fully emblematic of all history or of the most rational historical moment. In both instances, Hegel depicts the family and women, as its representative, as the potential source of tension through his use of Sophocles’ play Antigone. Antigone presents the conflict between individuals and their interests, on the one hand, and those of the state, on the other. The defender of private life, Antigone refuses to acknowledge the right of Creon, the king, to make laws that conflict with her particular good. Specifically, she ignores his decree that her brother, Polynices, be neither buried nor lamented. Creon, in turn, discounts the love that individuals have for themselves and those they see as their own. As a result, he does not expect any opposition to his heartless decree 8 Although the two accounts differ in particular details, as well as in the outcome they draw from their studies of Hegel, for a similar re-engagement with Hegelian thought, see Gauthier, Hegel and Feminist Social Criticism; and Hutchings, Hegel and Feminist Philosophy.

A Hegelian Contradiction

9

from Polynices’ family. Both Antigone and Creon pay for their limited loyalties; in the course of the play, Creon loses his son and his wife, as well as his own desire to live, while Antigone kills herself rather than wait for her state-contrived death. In the Phenomenology of Spirit, Hegel depicts the ethical world of ancient Greece and suggests that Antigone is an apt representation of this world and its problems. In this era, two institutions – the family and the state – characterize ethical life. Both institutions, as well as the individuals who participate in them, rely on the existence of the other. The political community depends on the family not only to produce citizens but to produce citizens who are accustomed to conceiving of themselves as part of a larger whole. It requires these individuals for its day-to-day governance and also to defend it in times of war. Similarly, the family requires the political community to provide it with certain essential goods, such as security, as well as a pool of potential partners to further the family’s lineage. In a fully rational world, individuals would appreciate the importance of both spheres. Instead, despite the interdependence of these two realms, Hegel insists, people in the ancient world are only defined by one of them. Assigned by virtue of their sex to one sphere or the other and not given the opportunity to experience both, people in ancient Greece do not develop individual identities. Men and women cleave to the identity of the realm to which they are arbitrarily delegated. Women such as Antigone receive validation only in the family and its laws, while men such as Creon are attached primarily to the political community. Just as in Antigone, both sexes, in Hegel’s portrayal, as well as Greece itself, suffer for their one-sided allegiance. To be truly ethical, each must recognize the whole of the ethical world and the importance of all institutions. Oblivious to the rights of the opposing side, individuals, in Hegel’s depiction of ancient Greece, necessarily, but tragically, are the authors of their own destruction. Through their actions, however, they recognize the contradiction in their attitudes, believing themselves to be ethical when they are not. They thus accept their guilt and punishment. At the same time, this ethical order is destroyed. By arbitrarily assigning roles, this society fails to recognize the subjective interests of individuals that comprise it. Hegel’s use of Antigone as exemplifying this conflict initially seems to be a good choice. However, a closer examination of the play indicates that his presentation of it is not fully accurate. Hegel adds details that Sophocles leaves out and ignores other facts that

10

Finding Freedom

strengthen his argument. His reinterpretation of Antigone has the effect of highlighting an enlarged vision of the family and its representative, women, so that this sphere is more closely aligned with the state and a resolution between the two is made easier. While Sophocles’ play heightens the conflict between the two sides, Hegel’s interpretation lessens the conflict, thus facilitating an eventual resolution. To the extent that the contradictions of Sophocles’ Antigone do not, as Hegel suggests, result in the transformation of ancient Greece, we must wonder why he uses it. Would it not be easier for him to merely discuss the problems of ancient Greece without the use of an ill-fitting literary reference? As at least a partial response, it seems that Hegel believes Sophocles’ Antigone is a good example of a perennial tension in human life, and he consciously changes aspects of it, not because Sophocles was wrong, but because it enables Hegel, at least in the Phenomenology, to indicate something about his own thought and writing. Through his creative use of Sophocles’ work in the Phenomenology, Hegel invites us to engage these aspects of his own thought more fully; he prompts us to re-examine what Sophocles actually said in light of what he himself is saying. While this possibility is difficult, if not impossible, to prove, it is also the most thoughtful way to examine Hegel’s philosophy. Otherwise, we must read him through the eyes of his valet, assuming him to be either confused or tyrannical.9 Indeed, that Hegel uses Antigone as an example in the Phenomenology of Spirit, despite the difficulties it presents, tells us that there is something about the play that is intrinsic to his argument. His use of Antigone directs the reader back to the original play, in which, contrary to Hegel’s explicit emphasis, Creon and the state eventually recognize the force of self-love, but Antigone, representing the family, never admits the importance of the state. By pointing us to Antigone, Hegel indicates that the progression of history and the alliance of individuals and the state do not occur as he initially suggests. As each of his changes serves to make the family more compliant to the state, he suggests that there is a continued tension that stems from the family, the ancient realm of our subjective desires and more specifically of 9 In The Philosophy of History, Hegel, recounting an old proverb, says that “‘no man is a hero to his valet-de-chambre’ … but not because the former is no hero, but because the latter is his valet”(32).

A Hegelian Contradiction

11

women. And this tension, at least in the ancient world, has to be creatively or tyrannically managed. Thus when Hegel turns to examine the course of Spirit in Rome, although individual subjectivity has become the formal substance of the state in the form of legally recognized persons, there is no ethical content to this individuality that reconciles the subjective to the universal. Politically, then, Rome is ruled by an emperor for whom the particular interests of his subjects, particularly when they diverge from his own, are irrelevant. As Hegel notes, “The lord of the world becomes really conscious of what he is, viz., the universal power of the actual world, in the destructive power he exercises against the self of his subjects … For his power is not the union and harmony of Spirit in which persons would recognize their own self-consciousness. Rather they exist, as persons, on their own account, and exclude any continuity with others from the rigid unyieldingness of their atomicity.”10 We thus see that although Hegel rewrites the character of Antigone as becoming compliant to the state, this compliance in the course of history occurs only in citizens who negate their subjective lives for the sake of the state or because of the tyranny of their ruler. Hegel’s manipulation of Antigone highlights Sophocles’ play. It puts Sophocles’ account into relief for us, making its details that much clearer and more poignant. In Antigone’s actions, as depicted by Sophocles, we perceive the powerful attraction of fulfilling our subjective desires, regardless of the wider and universal implications of these actions. Through Hegel’s treatment of Antigone, we come to see the powerful presence and reality of human subjectivity and the extent to which its demands must be accepted and revered for the ethical state to subsist. This argument requires that we understand Hegel’s intent in the Phenomenology of Spirit as prescriptive as well as descriptive. As we shall see in chapter 3, a number of scholars recognize his approach in the Phenomenology as intended to encourage an “active” reading of the text. It is not just that Hegel seeks to describe the progression of human cognition in its development from consciousness to absolute knowing, but he also seeks, through the course of the work, to bring the reader’s “understanding” along the same path. We are to move in and through the stages that Hegel describes the historical mind as moving through, thereby facilitating a dialectic wherein our subjective consciousness 10 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 482.

12

Finding Freedom

comes to internalize the objective nature of his text. Thus in the Aesthetics Hegel says, “This process of the spirit, taken in and by itself, is the essence and concept of spirit in general, and therefore, it entails the characteristic of being for consciousness the universal history which is to be repeated in every individual consciousness.”11 It has been argued that Hegel accomplishes this dialectic in the Phenomenology through the use of irony or logical puzzles that, to fully understand, we are forced to work through ourselves, recreating the state of consciousness he aims to describe. If this is the case, the fact that Hegel would use works of poetry to this end is particularly apt. Good poetry has the capacity to reconcile the particular with the universal in a manner that is similar to the nature of the Divine and his goal for us. By means of a poetic rendition of people, places, and events, poetry engages our particular interests and passions. Correspondingly, it leads us beyond the particular example to recognize the universal principle represented therein. For, as Hegel notes, “in art we have to do … with the liberation of the spirit from the content and forms of finitude, with the presence and reconciliation of the Absolute in what is apparent and visible, with an unfolding of the truth which is not exhausted in natural history but revealed in world history. Art itself is the most beautiful side of that history and it is the best compensation for hard work in the world and the bitter labour for knowledge.”12 Further, unlocking the argument of a piece of poetry requires our active engagement with its subject matter. The use of poetic examples would therefore be an appropriate way to engage a reader in an argument that has as its proposed outcome a recognition of the necessary reconciliation between the particular and the universal. Antigone serves as such a moment in the Phenomenology. By means of our empathy for Antigone, we come to understand the fullness of her opposition to a state that excludes her interests. We thus come to understand the full force of human subjectivity and the necessity of a state that incorporates this subjectivity within its foundation. However, Hegel argues that the ethical life of the modern state, unlike that of the ancient ethical world, recognizes the subjective interests of individuals and transforms a previous problem into its strength. Individuals see their interests and goals fulfilled in the state 11 Hegel, Aesthetics, 537. 12 Ibid., 1236.

A Hegelian Contradiction

13

and no longer oppose it. Correspondingly, by recognizing the subjective interests of individuals, the state acquires citizens with universal perspectives. Nonetheless, in The Philosophy of Right Hegel continues to use Antigone as representative of the piety of the family and the particular piety of women. The Philosophy of Right is his account of the modern rational state. If, as he argues, history resolves the tension between the family and the state, it is odd that he continues to use a tragedy in which this tension is paramount as exemplifying the realm of the family. Instead, it appears that through the continued use of Antigone, Hegel suggests that this tension has not yet been adequately resolved. The confinement of women to the family and the lack of recognition of human subjectivity even at this later stage is a continued source of conflict. Limited to the realm of the family and not experiencing the mediating force of the public world, women, as described in The Philosophy of Right, do not have their interests broadened to include the universal interests of the state. Hegel demonstrates that he recognizes this potential source for continued conflict through his ongoing use Antigone. We are therefore reminded that his project in The Philosophy of Right is to describe history and the state, not as it ought to appear, but as it actually appears. When explaining that his book aims at “apprehending and portraying the state as something inherently rational,” Hegel concedes, “As a work of philosophy, it must be poles apart from an attempt to construct a state as it ought to be. The instruction which it may contain cannot consist in teaching the state what it ought to be; it can only show how the state, the ethical universe, is to be understood.”13 To the extent that women are denied a life in the public community of the Prussian state, Hegel’s presentation of them as confined to the family is true to his project. However, this does not mean that it is the most rational form of a political community, only that it is perhaps rational for its time. Indeed, by means of Hegel’s own logic, if not his conscious intent, and through his presentation of women in this work, we can follow the lines of the argument to the necessary end of civil and political equality between the sexes. It is helpful to this argument that the very qualities that make women ethical beings in the family, according to Hegel, are also required for acting in the political sphere. 13 Hegel, Elements of the Philosophy of Right, Preface, 11.

14

Finding Freedom

If this argument is true, then much of Hegel’s philosophy can be reappropriated by the modern world. While the focus of this particular argument is the logical necessity in his thought of political equality between men and women, it is also the basis of a much larger argument in which we are forced to consciously examine different moments of human subjectivity to see where, logically, they would fall in the modern rational state Hegel envisions. If gender is no longer a necessarily rational ground for defining and thus limiting the participation of a particular group in society, how, for example, would Hegelian logic treat the rights of gays in civil and political society as well as in the sphere of the family? Importantly, however, we must note that as “democratic” as Hegel’s argument ultimately appears, it is freedom, rather than equality, that his argument ultimately stresses.14 By protecting the legitimate freedoms of citizens within the state, the community allows for the free expression of the subjective desires of these citizens and thus gains their subjective adherence to the objective order. In this way Hegel does not envision the equal fulfillment of our desires but, rather, the equal opportunity to pursue them. As a result, not all citizens will find their particular desires fulfilled, nor will all citizens be happy. But inasmuch as their unhappiness has not been caused by barriers created by the political community, they ought not to direct their frustration toward it. This, however, is only half the movement. It is not sufficient for our subjective desires to be given their free play in the political realm; rather, these desires must be broadened and modified to accord with what is objectively rational. Thus in describing the dangers of democratic politics, Hegel notes, “Nothing can be done … to help a democratic nation where the citizens are self-seeking, quarrelsome, frivolous, bumptious, without faith or knowledge, garrulous, boastful, and ineffectual: such a nation destroys itself by its own folly.”15 The “trick," of course, is that neither of these moments can occur independently of the other. In particular, the objective broadening of our subjectivity occurs, at least in part in Hegel’s view, when we perceive our particular interests as part of the larger whole. Without an objective order that recognizes the goodness present in human subjectivity, it is unlikely that people in general will recognize the 14 Ibid., §49. 15 Hegel, Aesthetics, 1199.

A Hegelian Contradiction

15

goodness of the state; consequently they will be thrown back to their subjective desires in opposition to the objective whole. In this we might think of our political orders as functioning in much the same manner as a work of poetry. They are particular objects that, for most of us, mediate a more objective truth. However, it might be argued that insofar as the modern world has not yet adequately aligned the subjective interests of women or other disenfranchised groups to those of the political community, this is an area of particular importance. Nonetheless, inasmuch as the modern era, both in Hegel’s era and ours, has progressed to the point where it is possible for the thoughtful to discern the general trend of history’s progress, it seems that romantic art as Hegel understands it is more representative of the modern political order. Indeed, romantic art, and comedy in particular, is more representative of the kind of political community envisioned by Hegel than classical art as represented by Sophocles’ Antigone. Even though Hegel tells us that classical art, including Sophocles’ Antigone, is the pinnacle of beauty, romantic art is yet a higher art form.16 While in classical art the Divine finds a form that is most adequate to its being, in romantic art this sensuous presentation of the Divine is transcended, just as the particular and sensuous lives of human beings are transcended according to the Christian account. In other words, the Divine exists for the Greeks as a spiritual ideal with which any perfect reconciliation is impossible because of the limitations of the sensuous nature of humans. The Greeks thus represent the Divine as a form of perfect beauty, a form that is external both to themselves, but also, according to Hegel, external to the true spiritual nature of the Divine itself. In contrast, through the incarnation and resurrection of Christ, Christianity offers humanity a means by which their sensuous and spiritual natures can be wholly reconciled with the divine nature as it exists in itself. As such, in romantic art, the external form through which the Divine is made manifest is now able to be fully inclusive of the natural and particular realm; it is now represented not only in what is most beautiful, but reconciled with particularity in all its forms. Aptly then, the progression to romantic art mirrors the movement to the modern liberal state where human subjectivity finds full entrance. 16 Ibid., 517.

16

Finding Freedom

Second, the ancient perspective was inherently tragic, as humans might know the Divine as their proper end, but concomitantly recognize that the reconciliation they desire and seek is impossible; while the modern Christian account is inherently comedic, since it has access to this reconciliation through Christ. While our individual ends and aims, as they exist in the here and now, will be subverted and fail, we also know that our true end is yet possible. Thus while tragedy can depict the folly of humans who are consumed with a particular desire to the detriment of their true desires, comedy is able to suggest that despite the follies of our contingent lives, knowledge of our true end displays these follies in their true light, as laughable.17 Further, in the Aesthetics, Hegel maintains that comedies are not simply optimistic, but that, in comedy, the conflicts that occur are generally resolved without the destruction of the whole. He also distinguishes modern romantic comedies from those of the ancients. Unlike classical comedies, which deal with universal and essential elements, the themes of modern comedies are individual and subjective conflicts.18 In describing modern comedies, Hegel says, “the keynote is good humour, assured and careless gaiety despite all failure and misfortune, exuberance and the audacity of a fundamental happy craziness, folly, and idiosyncrasy in general … As a brilliant example of this sort of thing I will name Shakespeare.”19 As such, Shakespeare’s comedy A Midsummer Night’s Dream provides us with a more accurate mirror to the Hegelian presentation of the state in The Philosophy of Right than Antigone and Greek tragedy. Unlike in the ancient tragedy, the interests of the characters in A Midsummer Night’s Dream collide but are ultimately reconciled without destroying the underlying social order. The Shakespearean state in Dream avoids tragedy by finding a place for human subjectivity. It is thus able to compromise over the demands of not always predictable lovers and families, including women. What is more, an analysis of the comedy reveals an interesting parallel to Antigone. For, like Antigone, A Midsummer Night’s Dream portrays a conflict between the political community and its laws, on the one hand, and the subjective interests of individuals, on the other. But this conflict concludes in

17 Ibid., 1232. 18 Ibid., 1206. 19 Ibid., 1325–6.

A Hegelian Contradiction

17

marriage, rather than death, and a happy combination of individual interests and the political order. Like a true Hegelian statesman, Theseus suggests that his ability to rule peacefully over Athens stems from his adherence to “cool reason.”20 Just as reason in The Philosophy of Right dictates that individuals consent to whom they will marry, so Theseus overrules a law that demands that a daughter must marry the man of her father’s choosing, and he thus incorporates the subjective inclinations of his subjects, including women, within the Athenian state. Further, just as individual interests are universalized in The Philosophy of Right through their inclusion within the political realm, so the young lovers of Dream ultimately demonstrate themselves to be rational and not ruled solely by their arbitrary desires. Finally, through the presentation of two female rulers, Hippolyta and Titania, Shakespeare suggests the possibility of a movement of women in larger spheres than just the family. We might question, however, whether poetry is still a valid medium for representing Hegel’s thought at this stage in history. In a state of absolute knowledge, when the nature of the divine has become manifest to human consciousness, it seems that images will no longer be necessary, as the truth will speak for itself. This appears, however, to be either an optimistic reading of Hegel or one of the many caricatures of his thought. Instead, even at the “end of history,” poetry or images seem be required for the fullest development of a people, a necessary means of enabling all people to ascend to the truth.21 We may infer that by pointing the reader to Antigone, the presentation of history in The Philosophy of Right is not a final resting point, if such a thing can even be said to exist for Hegel’s account of the natural world. Instead, a fully rational ethical life is one that recognizes the sub20 Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, ed. Holland, 5.1.6. 21 Speight has recently noted the literary progression that Hegel makes in the Phenomenology of Spirit, arguing that particular literary genres represent stages in consciousness’s development in this work. While Speight argues that Hegel points to romantic novels as explicating the final stage of this development in the Phenomenology, he also points out that in the Aesthetics, Hegel looked to a new kind of drama: the drama of reconciliation. While potentially tragic issues form the plot of such works, the end result is one of reconciliation. A Midsummer Night’s Dream offers exactly this outcome. See Speight, Hegel, Literature and the Problem of Agency, 96.

18

Finding Freedom

jectivity of all its subjects. By denying this recognition to women, the political community risks continued conflict arising from the family. A truly rational political order aligns these interests with its own. It creates a political society in which all individuals, both men and women, find their interests fulfilled in the aims of the whole. Happily, in the comedies of Shakespeare we discover poetic renditions of these principles that can act as ladders for our own understanding.

2

Sophocles’ Antigone: A Tragic Imbalance

the story of antigone is a familiar piece of western literature and needs little introduction. Denied his turn at the throne of Thebes by his brother, Eteocles, Polynices, with the help of the Argives, wages war on his native city. In battle the two brothers kill each other. Antigone opens after Creon, the new king and the brothers’ uncle, issues a proclamation that grants Eteocles the burial of a hero but denies Polynices any burial rights. Antigone, the sister of the two dead men, cannot allow this injustice to be perpetrated against her brother. Despite the king’s proclamation, she buries Polynices, believing that her duty to her family is of greater importance than the duty she owes to the state. In this play Creon is animated solely by a love for the political community of Thebes, and in fostering this love in each of his citizens, he denies the legitimacy of other potential attachments, particularly the love one would normally have for one’s family. Ultimately, however, Creon is incapable of raising his own interests to the level of the pure “objectivity” that he demands of others and, not surprisingly, he fails to achieve it in his citizens. Rather than objective, his rule becomes subjective and personal. Creon identifies himself with Thebes and equates what he perceives to be his interests with those of the city. Similarly, Antigone defines the objective order in terms of her subjective existence. Ultimately loving only herself and those so intrinsically connected to her that she can identify them with herself, she defines the world in relation to her own desires. She is thus incapable of recognizing the legitimacy of any obligation that is not grounded in what is naturally and immediately present to her, including any duties owed to the state. However, in Antigone’s attempt to live a life grounded in

20

Finding Freedom

natural immediacy, she becomes an objective, political actor in Thebes. Even her suicide, presumably an attempt to achieve absolute control over that which is her own, merely fulfills a political command.1 Both Antigone and Creon, therefore, would articulate and live the impossible. In human life, as opposed to a poetic example, the two spheres of our existence that Antigone and Creon represent are more intermingled. Normally, neither are we controlled absolutely by natural emotions and desires, nor are we capable of ignoring the demands of our desires to live a life that might be considered strictly objective. In fact, a truly rational and hence objective approach to human life would incorporate both elements of our existence. In The Philosophy of Right, Hegel suggests that the modern world accomplishes this integration by creating objective political orders that are explicitly based on the subjective preferences of their citizens. Objective laws and institutions have their foundation in the subjective desires of individuals, and consequently, these desires become more universal and objective in nature. In contrast, where Sophocles’ Antigone is a tragedy, it suggests that our private and public loves are only laboriously and imperfectly joined. Creon’s effort to ignore the ancient edicts of the family represents the exaggerated goal of all political communities. States depend on the loyalty of their citizens, especially in times of great danger, and our love of our families can impinge on our patriotic duties. The immediate and natural ties of families secure our love and affection, sometimes to the detriment of the duties we owe to the state. All political communities therefore somehow mirror Creon in their efforts to co-opt the role of families to ensure their citizens’ allegiance. However, as Sophocles knows, such an attempt cannot be completely successful. Thus while both Creon and Antigone are punished for their narrow visions, it is Creon and not Antigone who accepts his fate as punishment, recognizing that he has neglected the family he loves. His awareness, coupled with Antigone’s refusal to acquiesce to the demands of the political community, suggests that the family is a potential liability to the well-being of the polis as a whole. He is able to appreciate the demands of the family because of the pre-eminent and 1 O’Brien notes that the entire play operates by means of reversals that demonstrate the inadequacy of appearances when reality lies in their opposites. This account, however, does not take up Sophocles’ ultimate point. It is neither, for example, the immediate position presented by Antigone or her opposite, Creon, that is true but, rather, a nuanced combination that is able to reconcile both. See O’Brien, Guide to Sophocles’ “Antigone,” 2.

Sophocles’ Antigone

21

natural bonds the family holds for all humans: female or male, Antigone or Creon. The political community errs when it refuses to acknowledge this bond, as is evident in the characters’ reluctance to support the king’s decree as well as his ultimate fate. At the same time, and perhaps ironically, it is Creon’s identification with the objective political order that allows him to ultimately perceive the necessity and rationality of the family. His focus on what he would define as the rational, as opposed to the sentimental or immediate, provides him with the necessary outlook to ultimately perceive that same rationality which is present in the family. Antigone’s alignment with the subjective realm of immediacy and passion does not allow her a corresponding insight, and she never recognizes the family’s dependence on the state. Sophocles thus suggests that the political community can never fully overcome this tension, always relying on subjects whose affections will primarily lie elsewhere; nonetheless, it is the very ground that makes human beings political animals, our rationality, which allows the polis to incorporate the family within it. Antigone’s unswerving devotion to a good she defines solely in reference to herself, regardless of law or practical consequence, suggests the potential dangers that the bond of private love poses not just for the state but also for the family. Just as the state must incorporate the particular loves of individuals, including the family, so individuals must also recognize their need and the need of their families for a larger whole. Most immediately, families cannot continue to exist unless they recognize and include individuals from outside their immediate bloodlines; we see the alternative in the destruction of Oedipus’s family. Antigone’s refusal to recognize the legitimacy of the political community stems from her attachment to that which she sees as her own: her family, herself. This attachment is destructive for her, the family that it dooms, and the political community that it will ignore. Hence, as Hegel notes and Sophocles suggests, there is a need for the interests of the family to be broadened for the sake of its survival. Just as the ultimate good of the polis requires it to accept the particular and different loves of its citizens, so must individuals recognize the rational need to enlarge their loves to include the community around them.2

2 This interpretation would be in contrast to commentators who perceive the play to be about the tragically one-sided position put forward by Creon. As an example of someone who detects no criticism of Antigone’s actions in the play, see Bowra, “Antigone.”

22

Finding Freedom

It is thus easy to see why Hegel thought that Antigone exemplified the tensions of human community that are at the core of his political argument. However, and as we shall see, in his account of the play he transforms aspects of it to allow for the reconciliation of these tensions. He thus suggests a radically different account of human life and purposes than that presented by Sophocles. While Hegel presents an ultimately comedic account of the possibilities for human life, Sophocles’ vision is tragic. Thus returning to Sophocles’ original argument is of great importance. Examining Antigone on its own terms brings to light the extent of the tension that exists between the family and the state within this Greek account, but also the degree to which Hegel’s “rewriting” downplays this very point. Recovering the degree of conflict that Sophocles argues exists between the realm of the family and the realm of the state is necessary if we are to grasp the ultimately problematic nature of restraining women to the sphere of the family. As Antigone shows, this tension of political life is only exacerbated if members of the human community are constrained to a realm that is defined at its most basic level by particular interest. As exemplified in the character Antigone, the love of our own in its extreme form is a love of ourselves. We prefer our relatives, friends, and interests to others because they are ours, defined, at least in this sense, by their connection to us. However, as Antigone also demonstrates, it is impossible as a human to live a life solely in terms of this subjective love. Defined by her love of her own, she depends on the objective political community for the recognized worth of her activities. She denies its importance but ultimately depends on its existence. In her consequent death, Sophocles suggests that her stance is unsustainable not only for the maintenance of the political order but also for a fully human and happy life. As Sophocles depicts her, Antigone is defined by the fact that she is the daughter of Oedipus’s incestuous relationship with Jocasta, who is both Oedipus’s mother and his wife. This strange fact of lineage is symbolically represented by Antigone’s excessive self-love, resulting pride, and desire for honour, as well as by what she perceives as the necessity of her death. Incest here signifies an excessive love of one’s own. People generally love their families because they share a natural and immediate bond, they share the same blood, and they are, in some sense, the same. We thus love our families as extensions of ourselves. In marriage this bloodline is transformed, mixed with the blood of another. Incest,

Sophocles’ Antigone

23

as the social taboos of virtually every human society attest, can represent an obsessive attachment to our own. It is a love that is not broadened to include those who are other or different. Antigone inherits the concentrated blood of a single family, not a mixture of two bloodlines. Her devotion to her own is thus radically exclusive, and she is defined by it. Equating members of her family with herself, she protects their interests, even to the detriment of the political order of Thebes. Yet ultimately, her activities result in the destruction of the family she loves and finally herself. Throughout the play, Antigone highlights the intimacy between herself and her family members; they are her “own.”3 However, she does not consider the members of her family as her own in the mere sense of “mine” and not “yours.” The connection is more intrinsic, as Antigone notes when she describes Ismene as linked to herself.4 The nature of this tie is such that not only are the members of her family her own but their experiences are as well. Translated literally, the first line of the play reads, “My very own sister’s common head.”5 As Seth Benardete notes, Antigone depicts as common that which is most individual or unique to Ismene – her head or her mind. Sharing a common head, Antigone would consequently share all of Ismene’s sufferings.6 Thus when speaking to Ismene of the sorrows that have descended on their family, Antigone says that “there is nothing painful or laden with destruction or shameful or dishonouring among your sorrows or mine that I have not witnessed.”7 Antigone’s tie to her family is so great that she believes she has experienced all of her sister’s sorrows. She does not leave room for the possibility that there is something that Ismene has experienced which she herself has not. Just as she shares the sorrows of Ismene, so Antigone feels the pain of Polynices’ dishonour. Hence she must bury him, telling Creon that “it is no way painful for me to meet with this death; if I had endured that the son of my own mother should die and remain unburied, that would give me pain, but this gives me none.”8 3 Sophocles, Antigone, 1, 73–4, and 465–70. 4 Ibid., 1. 5 Benardete, Sacred Transgressions, 1. 6 Ibid. 7 Sophocles, Antigone, 4–6. 8 Ibid., 463–8. For an interesting account of the nature and import of burial for the Greeks, see Whitehorne, “The Background to Polynices’ Disinterment and Reburial.”

24

Finding Freedom

Antigone further emphasizes the close relationships she has with her family members by referring to them as friends. While it is easy to acknowledge that our families constitute the closest circle of what is our own, few would deny that this circle expands to include our friends. The citizens of our chosen political communities can even be considered as our widest circle of friends, as Aristotle suggests in the Ethics. Unlike members of our family, friends are usually chosen; however, Antigone equates the two. She does not choose her friends but receives them from nature. Thus she tells Creon, “I have no enemies by birth, but I have friends by birth,”9 and she asks Ismene, “Or have you failed to notice the evils from our enemies as they come against our friends?”10 Hence it becomes apparent how Antigone can so easily ignore the will of the political community: the circle of her “own” circumscribes merely her immediate family members, and she considers these people to be herself.11 Nonetheless, Antigone demands that the political community she rejects accept and honour her. And even in this, we perceive the logic in her motivation, for there seems to be an intrinsic connection within our capacity for self-love, pride, and the desire to be honoured. What begins as a seemingly self-contained emotion turns outward. In loving ourselves, it seems logical that we would insist on others loving us as well. Antigone thus loves herself, but her love has to be validated by being objectively recognized as true – others must love her as she loves herself.12 In a sense, she seeks self-consciousness as described by Hegel: what she understands to be true must be demonstrated as actually true. Her subjective understanding of herself must be objectively demonstrated as correct. Thus while Antigone 9 Sophocles, Antigone, 523. 10 Ibid., 9–10. For a discussion of Sophocles’ use of the ambiguity inherent in the word philos, see Knox, The Heroic Temper, 80–1. 11 Benardete interprets Antigone’s reference to family members as friends as implying that she is politicizing her family, suggesting that she believes she can choose who her family members are. However, Antigone’s recognition that her family members are her friends by birth makes this alternative interpretation more plausible. See Benardete, Sacred Transgressions, 12–13. 12 For an account of Antigone’s self-interest with respect to fulfilling her sense of honour through the burial of Polynices, see Blundell, Helping Friends and Harming Enemies, 109–11.

Sophocles’ Antigone

25

buries Polynices because of her great love for him, she also buries him to overcome the dishonour that Creon’s act inflicts on Polynices and, concomitantly, on her. This fact will be important later in explaining why it is that she seems insistent on facing death, the promised punishment for Polynices’ burial. More immediately, however, if we hold Antigone’s need for honour in mind, it becomes possible to explain the puzzling way in which she forgives Polynices for having killed her other brother, even though she cannot forgive Ismene for the seemingly smaller slight of refusing to assist in Polynices’ burial. In short, it seems that Antigone’s love can only be rightly extended to those family members who share her concern for personal and familial honour, even though, or perhaps even because, this quest may end in the destruction of that which they love. Polynices’ actions against Eteocles and Thebes speak of his own pride and the need to secure his honour, as well as Antigone’s, thereby. He will not be slighted by the king, his brother, but will demand what is rightfully his, even if doing so results in his brother’s death and even his own. Perhaps further, if we accept the tradition that the two brothers had agreed to alternate kingship, Eteocles’ refusal to give up the throne may be interpreted as shameful. Polynices thus restores his brother’s honour by preventing the continuation of such an act. Antigone, therefore, is capable of forgiving Polynices for killing Eteocles because he acted out of self-love, a love that may ironically extend to the brother he killed. And yet Antigone cannot forgive Ismene. The love that she has for herself and her family seems unlimited until she is faced with a part of herself, her sister, who does not share her need to honour and protect this whole. Thus when Ismene explains that she is able to act against neither Creon’s decree nor the compulsions of their own fates both as Oedipus’s daughters and as women, Antigone responds harshly.13 Further, when Ismene attempts to soften her refusal by suggesting that she will remain silent about Antigone’s actions, Antigone refuses her gesture, demanding that she hide nothing.14 Even in their last exchange, in which Ismene expresses her willingness to accept punishment alongside Antigone even though she has

13 Sophocles, Antigone, 69–70. 14 Ibid., 86–7.

26

Finding Freedom

done nothing wrong, Antigone remains steadfast: “I do not tolerate a loved one who shows her love only in words.”15 While Antigone willingly forgives her brother for attempting to conquer her homeland and for killing her other brother, she will not forgive her sister for refusing to aid in his burial and banishes her from her family of friends. Thus although she begins by referring to the members of their family as though they are common to both her and Ismene, using the pronoun, “ours,”16 once Ismene refuses to help in the burial, Antigone distinguishes between each of their relationships to Polynices by saying, “I will bury my brother, and yours, if you will not.”17 Polynices is still Ismene’s brother, but Antigone is no longer her sister. When Antigone is being led to her tomb, she notes that she is the last of those who are her “own” to descend to Hades, and she laments that she is “unwept by friends.”18 Just as we would cut off a gangrenous limb before its poison spreads, Antigone cuts off her sister. Ismene, in her eyes, does not love her family or herself, and thus would prefer to live shamefully than to die a death of honour. Instead, Ismene’s response stems in part from her desire to live. Interestingly, this is not a desire that Antigone has nor one she allows any member of her family, as their very existence is ultimately dishonourable. Ismene refuses to help bury Polynices because she cannot disobey Creon’s authority and fears the fate that would follow if she did.19 Unlike Antigone, who believes that her fate will be negatively affected if she does not break Creon’s law, Ismene believes that her fate will be worse if she disobeys Creon. And just as Antigone believes that Eteocles will forgive her for burying Polynices, so Ismene believes that her ancestors will forgive her for not doing so.20 Ismene accepts a present dishonour because she looks toward a living future in which she can be happy. Should they act against Creon’s decree, Ismene knows that she and her sister will die and that with them their future and presumably the future of their 15 Ibid., 542–3. 16 Ibid., 10, 22. 17 Ibid., 45–6. As Bernard Knox notes, although Antigone and Ismene speak in the dual form when the play begins, after Ismene has refused to help, this form does not again occur. See Knox, The Heroic Temper, 7. 18 Sophocles, Antigone, 891–4, 846. 19 Ibid., 58–60. 20 Ibid., 65–6.

Sophocles’ Antigone

27

bloodline will die as well. Her acceptance of Creon’s political rule thus strengthens her family in ways that Antigone does not. Unlike her sister, Ismene looks forward to broadening and continuing her existence and family through marriage. She knows that if her lineage is to continue, she cannot remain within the circle of her blood relatives but must marry outside of this group. It is thus Ismene who reminds us of Antigone’s engagement to Haemon.21 Antigone, however, rejects this possibility and will risk her life and those of future children by defending those who share her own blood.22 Later in the play, Ismene seems to reverse her earlier decision and is willing to share in Antigone’s punishment, even though she has done nothing wrong. One possible explanation for this shift is that whereas Polynices is already dead, and thus beyond Ismene’s perceived ability to help, Antigone still lives. Unlike Antigone, who honours the dead, Ismene honours the living. Antigone seems to strengthen this interpretation when, in refusing Ismene’s final help, she says, “Be comforted! You are alive, but my life has long been dead, so as to help the dead.”23 Unlike Ismene, who is capable of imagining both pain and joy for her family, Antigone is limited to an understanding of their negative experiences. She has experienced all of Ismene’s sorrows but none of her joys. But while Antigone asks only about the evils of their family, Ismene contrastingly replies, “To me, Antigone, no word about our friends has come, either agreeable or painful.”24 Antigone perceives only sorrow in her future and hence risking the wrath of Creon does not seem so terrible a choice. Ismene, however, anticipates both pleasure and pain, and this is a future she is not willing to risk. Antigone’s self-love, pride, and thus desire for honour may help to explain her grim outlook. As a living symbol of a contravention of the moral law against incest, her life is inherently dishonourable. Her existence, then, despite her great pride, must also serve as a source of shame. She must die to honour herself. So when Ismene refuses to court death by burying Polynices, Antigone responds that “you will be hated by me, and you will justly incur the hatred of the dead man! I

21 22 23 24

Ibid., 569. On this point, see Cropp, “Antigone’s Final Speech,” 152. Sophocles, Antigone, 559–60. Ibid., 19–20.

28

Finding Freedom

shall suffer nothing so dire that my death will not be one of honour.”25 Antigone perceives that any death will be honourable. Like her father, she will lie with her own, her now dead family; however, unlike her father, she, in doing so, will have committed a crime that is sanctioned by at least some of the gods, the burial of the dead. In this way she will reclaim some of the lost honour of her family.26 Not surprisingly, Antigone is certain that her judgment corresponds with the will of the gods. Hence she cannot imagine Creon’s decree, mortal as it is, overruling the immortal ordinances of the divine.27 However, more than just assuming that her will corresponds with that of the gods, Antigone seems to equate herself with them. She thus takes offence when the chorus suggests that she is mortal, being the child of mortals, and she exclaims, “Am I being mocked! Why in the name of the gods of my fathers, do you insult me not when I am gone, but while I am still visible?”28 Aptly, Antigone compares herself to Niobe, a woman who, when positively comparing her own worth as the mother of fourteen children to that of the goddess Leto, who has only two, loses all but two of her children to the goddess’s anger.29 Antigone, too, risks the wrath of the gods by comparing herself to them. Like Niobe, she dishonours the gods, and like Niobe, she does so out of familial pride. She thus questions their will, asking, “Why must I still look to the gods, unhappy one? For by acting piously I have been charged with impiety.”30 Like her father, Antigone is judged as savage.31 Her pride makes her think that she, not the gods, has an understanding of the whole and thereby is in control of her fate. Ismene thus criticizes her by saying that she is “in love with the impossible,” for as Ismene acknowledges, it is impossible for any human to overcome her fate.32 However, as Antigone’s response shows, this seeking is somehow 25 Ibid., 93–7. 26 See Segal, “Sophocles’ Praise of Man and the Conflicts of the Antigone,” 82. 27 Sophocles, Antigone, 450–60. 28 Ibid., 834–8. 29 Ibid., 823–33. 30 Ibid., 920–5. See also Blundell, Helping Friends and Harming Enemies, 134. 31 Sophocles, Antigone, 471–2. 32 Ibid., 90, 92.

Sophocles’ Antigone

29

fated to her by her family: “If you say that, you will be hated by me, and you will justly incur the hatred of the dead man.”33 Ismene’s suggestion is hateful to both Antigone and the dead man, whose ambiguous identity could fall to either her brother or her father, each of whom once sought the impossible by trying to transform his fate. In one sense, therefore, Antigone is representative of the purely natural and subjective. Driven by an almost instinctual love of her own, highlighted by the guard’s comparison of her concern over Polynices’ body to that of a bird whose nest has been robbed, Antigone does not recognize any good outside her immediate bloodline.34 As a result, she represents the natural in a second fashion as well. A family cannot continue if it does not branch out into the larger community at least for the sake of adding to the gene pool. Thus Antigone’s focus on her immediate family is representative of death, perhaps the most natural of all forces and the one least conquerable by our rational capacities. However, human nature is such that no one is defined solely by her subjective inclinations. In addition to the desires and tastes that are particular to us, our reason allows us to make universal judgments, and even Antigone cannot overcome this dual nature. This limitation becomes evident not only in her inevitable destruction but in her incapacity to actually live a life of pure subjectivity. In other words, in acting to fulfill her own subjective desires, she makes objective decisions and requires universal recognition for her actions.35 Most immediately, the family and the relationships within it that Antigone reveres speak a truth about human beings; indeed, even her exaggerated self-love says something true about human nature generally. We do love ourselves and our families more than the abstract political community. Our subjective inclinations are an objective truth about what it means to be human. While Antigone goes too far in denying the political community the power necessary to maintain itself, its 33 Ibid., 93–4. 34 Ibid., 421–7. By tracing similar similes in earlier Greek tragedies, Ierulli demonstrates a political intent in comparing Antigone to a bird whose nest has been robbed. This is another indication of the private/public divide that Antigone cannot escape. See Ierulli, “The Politics of Pathos,” 488. 35 For an account of the public nature of Antigone’s actions, despite Hegel’s claims for her exclusion from the realm of politics, See Butler, Antigone’s Claim.

30

Finding Freedom

citizens, and ultimately their families, she is still correct to be outraged by Creon’s denial of this fundamental attribute and obligation of human beings. Her anger, while focused against an objective political order, stands in favour of an objective truth. Antigone’s universalization of her family members is indicative of a second way in which her life is one of objectivity and not just the particularity of desire. For although she defines her own in the narrow and particular sense of those joined to her by blood, at the same time she defines that which is her own quite broadly, for it is not the individual people to whom she is related whom she calls her own but, rather, the universal relationships that they represent. She thus says, “If my husband had died, I could have had another, and a child by another man, if I had lost the first, but with my mother and father in Hades below I could never have had another brother.”36 What is important to Antigone is not who the members of her family are but that they are. As long as another person can continue the relationship, the loss of the particular individual is not as great. Hence when Creon attempts to convince Antigone of the impiety of Polynices’ action, she is able to disengage from what Polynices has done and concentrate solely on his relationship to herself, responding, “It was not a slave, but my brother who had died.”37 She must bury Polynices, not because of who he is or what he has done, but because of what he is – a now irreplaceable brother. Antigone thus universalizes and objectifies the family that she loves, and in this response we can see an interesting parallel between Antigone and Creon. Both are concerned about what Polynices is, rather than who he is; however, each defines the “what” differently. Antigone sees him only as brother, while Creon sees him only as a traitor. Moreover, while Antigone’s actions are directed solely by her selflove, as we have seen, fulfilling this love and maintaining her pride requires the recognition and honour of others. The most self-centred individual must find approval for her deeds in the eyes and loves of others. Creon dishonours Polynices’ and Antigone’s family. He does not exhibit the proper degree of respect to her, nor would he have the rest of Thebes give this respect to them. Antigone must thus acquire 36 Sophocles, Antigone, 909–12. For an interesting and persuasive discussion regarding the authenticity of these lines in Antigone, see Neuburg, “How Like a Woman.” 37 Sophocles, Antigone, 517.

Sophocles’ Antigone

31

the recognition she believes she deserves. Her actions must therefore have a certain public nature. Asserting a truth about human nature, she expects and needs others to recognize this as well. Thus in response to Ismene’s offer to keep Antigone’s crime secret, Antigone responds that she must “tell them all! I shall hate you far more if you remain silent, and do not proclaim this to all.”38 Everyone must know of her honourable work. Antigone thus presents her forthcoming death as her reward, one that she is not willing to share: “Do not try to share my death and do not claim as your own something you never put a hand to! My death will be enough!”39 Finally, parading to her deathbed, Antigone calls on the citizens of Thebes to witness her proud descent: “Behold me, citizens of my native land, as I make my last journey, and look on the light of the sun for the last time and never more.”40 Ultimately, it appears that her desires are to some degree fulfilled, for as Haemon notes, the people of Thebes recount her actions as glorious. If Antigone continued to live, the memory of this deed would fade and she would again be known as the “unhappy one and child of an unhappy father.”41 By dying now, she is revered as protecting the rights of the family and the laws of the gods. By dying now, she exemplifies the truth of familial love, rather than its aberration. The character of Antigone thus represents an attempt to live a life defined solely by natural and subjective relationships, and it shows the danger this attempt poses to the political community. At the same time, however, her incapacity to remain in the realm of the subjective and her entrance into the objective community demonstrates that the fullness of human nature must incorporate both spheres. At the very least, the love of one’s family must include individuals outside the family if it is to continue. On the same level, the family needs the broader community to fulfill some of its most basic needs, such as defence. Further, however, our self-love, as made manifest in pride and the desire for honour, requires the positing of some objective truth to be acknowledged not merely by ourselves but by others in the community around us. Antigone, in her actions and her defiance of Creon, 38 39 40 41

Ibid., 86–7. Ibid., 546–7. Ibid., 806–10. Ibid., 377–80.

32

Finding Freedom

posits claims that are universally true: the family must be revered and the dead must be buried. She expects all humans to recognize these as the good. She thus explains her actions to Creon: “nor did I think your proclamations strong enough to have power to overrule, mortal as they were, the unwritten and unfailing ordinances of the gods. For these have life, not simply today and yesterday, but for ever, and no one knows how long ago they were revealed.”42 Antigone unwittingly demonstrates that human beings are not merely bundles of subjective desires and intuitions; almost despite herself, she draws together the subjective and the objective, albeit in an uneasy balance. While Antigone is defined solely by her self-love, Creon is characterized by his love for the state of Thebes. However, just as her subjectivity partakes of the objective, so his love of the objective world is ultimately subjective. Thus although the two revere different things, the manner of their reverence is similar, suggesting that they are not as disparate as they first appear. Antigone defines that which is her own both narrowly and broadly within the family; Creon noticeably does the same, but within the sphere of the state. While it first seems that that which is Creon’s own is very large, including the entire city of Thebes, it soon becomes apparent that that it is very limited – limited, in fact, to Creon himself. Like Antigone, who equates herself with the members of her family, Creon equates his own welfare with that of the city. The welfare of individuals is secondary to that of his Thebes, and under his rule their needs are ignored. Creon begins explaining the philosophy that governs his rule by claiming that one cannot know another’s nature until one sees how he handles himself in the political realm.43 If Antigone is testing Ismene’s nature by her request to bury Polynices, then Creon’s statement serves as a suggestive contrast. While Antigone can only know someone’s nature after she has demonstrated her concern for the family, Creon says that he can only know someone’s nature after he has demonstrated his concern for the state. He illustrates his own nature by clarifying why he has made his latest proclamation: “nor would I make a friend of the enemy of my country, knowing that this is the ship that preserves us, and that this is the ship on which we sail 42 Ibid., 450–5. 43 Ibid., 175–7.

Sophocles’ Antigone

33

and only while she prospers can we make our friends.”44 Creon cannot consider Polynices a friend in the same manner as Antigone does, for unlike her, his friends are not those related to him by blood but those who are good citizens.45 Having shown himself to be an enemy of Thebes, Polynices is now an enemy of Creon. That which is Creon’s own includes good citizens of Thebes and only those family members who meet this criterion. Thus even though Creon’s right to rule rests on his blood relationships, his stance of strict objectivity prevents him from recognizing even the love of family members as a possible motive for action.46 Focused on his interest for the city, he overlooks the sometimes separate interests of families who reside therein. Not only is Creon willing to disregard his relationship to Polynices as uncle and his familial obligation to bury him, but he makes it so that no one else can perform the proper burial rituals. Moreover, he is surprised to find out that it is Antigone, a sister of the dead man, who has buried the body and not some political rival. Creon asks the guard who tells him of Antigone’s deed, “Do you understand, and are you saying correctly what you are telling me?”47 And when speaking to Antigone, he again expresses his disbelief: “did you know of the proclamation forbidding this?”48 Even when speaking in the capacity of a father, Creon cannot divorce himself from the city, for his relationships with his immediate family are dependent on their concurrence with his political judgment. Indeed, he argues, this is the only reason that people have children – in the hope that they will honour their father’s friends and harm their father’s enemies.49 It is presumably only if a child does so and thus agrees with the political will of his parent that they can be become friends.50 Not surprisingly, therefore, Creon is capable of disregarding Haemon’s love for and engagement to Antigone. Responding to Ismene’s plea to spare Haemon’s bride, Creon callously asserts that 44 45 46 47 48 49 50

Ibid., 184–90. Ibid., 209–10. Ibid., 170–4. Ibid., 403. Ibid., 446–7. Ibid., 641–4. Ibid., 645–9.

34

Finding Freedom

“the furrows of others can be ploughed!”51 Marriage is not about the respect and love that two people hold for each other, but instead is a means of creating human beings who will concur with the judgment of their father, their ruler. Thus after Haemon attempts to convince Creon that he is wrong and Antigone must live, Creon will be avenged by having her killed in front of her lover.52 Moreover, rather than admit that familial attachments such as these have some rational basis, Creon transfers blame for such “irrational” activities to a love of a universal object, money. While Antigone sees her own in the people who share her blood, Creon defines the “own” of his citizens in the objects that they possess, much in the same way, as we shall see, that he possesses the city. In this transference, Creon is not wholly irrational, for the love of money can be connected to selflove, as exemplified in greed. By obtaining large amounts of money and goods, we are better able to fulfill our particular interests and desires. Money enables citizens to think of themselves as individuals, rather than simply as parts of a larger whole. Nevertheless, money exists as a rational creation or objective means whereby our particularity is satisfied. In this sense its existence and the attraction it has for us is much less immediate and natural than that of the family. The love for members of one’s family is immediate. The love for money is mediated by our rational recognition that it can be a means for the fulfillment of our desires. In this sense, then, it is fitting for Creon to see money as the grounds upon which the particularity of his citizens manifests itself; he can only perceive the tension between our potential subjective desires and the objective good represented in the state as existing in a more formally rational institution than the family. He thus accuses both the guard who tells him the body has been buried and the prophet who tells him he has offended the gods of betraying him for money.53 The objective institution of money, rather than our subjective attachment to our families, can be the only conceivable grounds for disobeying the polis.54

51 Ibid., 569. 52 Ibid., 760–1. 53 Ibid., 293–301, 995, and 1033–40. 54 For an interesting account of the place of money in Greek tragedy, see Seaford, “Tragic Money.”

Sophocles’ Antigone

35

Loyalty to the city, however, is soon defined as loyalty to the dictates of its ruler, and Creon comes to encompass the whole political order, just as a father in a patriarchal family rules over his children. Creon’s objectivity therefore quickly becomes subjective, demonstrating that a human life which attempts to deny its own subjectivity is neither sustainable nor fully rational or objective. In his exchange with Haemon, it becomes clear that obedience to Creon’s Thebes is tantamount to obedience to the king himself.55 Consequently, he later argues, “One must obey the man whom the city sets up in power in small things and in justice and in its opposite,” for insubordination is the worst evil a city can experience.56 Creon wants unquestioned obedience from his citizens; he is therefore unable to admit their subjective interests to his city, especially when they contradict his decrees. And he is incredulous that Haemon would suggest that he take into consideration the opinions of his subjects when ruling, asking, “Must I rule this land for another and not for myself,” and “Is not the city thought to belong to its ruler?”57 Creon rules an objective political order that, to be perfect, must achieve perfect loyalty from its citizens. Thebes and all its citizens must be one. This unity, however, requires that the same desires and goals – the good of the whole – animate them. Unfortunately, however, even the most patriotic of citizens will have different interests and different ideas of the good and how it is to be obtained. Someone must therefore define the goals of the city. In Thebes, Creon will determine the interests of all his subjects. His subjective will becomes the “objective” good of the polis. Moreover, just as Antigone’s excessive love of herself leads to excessive pride, so Creon’s love for Thebes manifests itself as overt pride. Citizens who disrespect his rule do not merely express different – and perhaps more just – points of view but dishonour him instead. Hence he is outraged at all who try to reason with him, including both his son and the prophet Tiresias. Just as Antigone believes that she has the laws of the gods and Zeus on her side, so Creon’s pride leads him to view the gods as concurring with his decree. Thus Polynices, by attacking Thebes, also attacks its gods. Creon initially characterizes Polynices’ crimes to the Chorus by 55 Sophocles, Antigone, 289–91. 56 Ibid., 666–71, 672. 57 Ibid., 736, 738.

36

Finding Freedom

saying, “Polynices, who came back from exile meaning to burn to the ground his native city and the gods of his race, and meaning to drink the people’s blood and to enslave its people.”58 Correspondingly, when the Chorus suggests that the gods have shown their disapproval of Creon’s act by burying the corpse, he responds with disbelief, incredulous that the gods would honour someone who attempted to destroy their country and its laws.59 Creon therefore equates the laws of the country, the decrees he makes, with the laws of the gods. Just as Antigone’s pride leads her to dishonour the gods, so Creon’s leads to a similar blasphemy. Thus although Antigone also rightfully claims Zeus’s blessing for her act, Creon dismisses her Zeus as the “Zeus of the hearth” and the “Zeus of the kindred.”60 He does not recognize the objective and rational existence of the family. Instead, he is so oblivious to the demands of the family that he is even willing to insult the gods who honour it. Hence when Tiresias warns him that Polynices’ body is polluting their altars, Creon accuses him of trying to trick him, exclaiming, “But you shall not hide him in the grave even if Zeus’ eagles should snatch the body and bear the carrion up to their master’s throne. Not even then shall I take fright at this pollution and allow him to be buried.”61 Nonetheless, once Tiresias tells him that the city will be destroyed and that Creon’s own son, Haemon, will die as a result of his crime against the gods, Creon relents. But even in this he is not yet able to recognize any desires but his own. Although the Chorus advises him to release Antigone first, Creon, seeing that it is Polynices’ unburied corpse that is disruptive of the city’s sacrifices and hence his good, begins by burying the dead man’s body. Given objective proof of the need to bury the dead, if only for the good of the city, Creon still 58 Ibid., 198–202. 59 Ibid., 284–8. 60 Ibid., 450, 487, 658. 61 O’Brien notes the tendency of Creon to compare himself to the gods in his first interaction with the Chorus. Similarly, Bushnell notes that in Creon’s refusal to listen to the advice of those around him, including Tiresias, who presumably speaks for the gods, he makes himself a god. Fittingly, however, as the play ends, Creon prays for his death, and the Chorus ignores his pleas. See O’Brien, Guide to Sophocles’ “Antigone,” 32; and Bushnell, Prophesying Tragedy, 54–5. See also: Blundell, Helping Friends and Harming Enemies, 128–30; and Segal, “Sophocles’ Praise of Man and the Conflicts of the Antigone,” 67.

Sophocles’ Antigone

37

does not recognize the truth inherent in familial love and the subjective desires of his citizens. Hence he will put off releasing the yet living Antigone, fiancée of his son. As a result, Antigone hangs herself, and Creon must watch his own son kill himself, which in turn causes the suicide of Eurydice, his wife. With war looming on the horizon, brought to Thebes by the cities whose altars were polluted and the deaths of all members of his immediate family, Creon loses all that he might have loved, objective or subjective. The pride of both Antigone and Creon leads them to equate their judgments with those of the gods. They are punished for this presumption. Sophocles thus seems to suggest that the proper human standpoint is neither Antigone’s nor Creon’s but one that takes into account the unique nature of humans as neither utterly natural nor absolutely divine but somewhere in between. A full understanding of human nature takes into account both spheres of our existence: the particular and subjective as well as the universal and objective. This stance is demonstrated momentarily in the play by the prophet Tiresias, who understands both his natural and particular ends as well as the universal order in which he participates. Moreover, unlike Antigone and Creon, he does not believe that his will can be fully representative of that of the gods. He acknowledges his human limitations, and in so doing, he is better prepared to interpret the gods’ will. Tiresias enters the play with words of wisdom for both Antigone and Creon, saying that “we have come journeying together, two with one pair of eyes; the blind have this way of traveling with a guide.”62 Literally, Tiresias is blind and needs a guide to lead him where he is going. Ultimately, however, when it comes to the will of the gods, all human beings are to some degree blind and require the help of a guide to interpret their way. Tiresias’s blindness makes him readier than either Creon or Antigone to admit his imperfections. He must even rely on another’s eyes to help him with his art. Ironically, this incompleteness makes him more capable of knowing the will of the 62 Sophocles, Antigone, 988–90. Gardiner helpfully indicates that Tiresias is the only character to enter the stage without being perceived and introduced by the characters already present. This distinction would further indicate the degree to which these characters have lost themselves in partial visions of the whole and are unable to perceive the whole itself, or even its most immediate representative. See Gardiner, The Sophoclean Chorus, 93.

38

Finding Freedom

gods. His literal blindness saves him from being blinded by pride. Tiresias, following a guide, is a better guide than their own inclinations for both Creon and Antigone. Unfortunately, as Tiresias knows, neither is a very good student; he exclaims, “Alack! Does any man know, does any man understand how much the best of all possessions is good counsel.”63 Unlike Antigone and Creon, Tiresias interprets the will of the gods, not according to his own will, but according to the objective signs they send him. In so doing, he incorporates both nature and art, analogous forces to both Antigone’s connection to the family and Creon’s attachment to the political realm. To gain knowledge, Tiresias uses his reason to interpret the sounds of the birds as well as the product of his fire. Through the use of his art, he determines that the reason his sacrifices have been rejected lies in Creon’s actions. However, while his judgment is the same as Antigone’s, the reasons for his judgment differ. Tiresias sees that the problem is not that Antigone has been dishonoured but that the altars of the gods have been polluted; the problem is not her honour but that of the gods: “the gods are no longer accepting the prayers that accompany sacrifice or the fame that consumes the thigh bones, and the cries screamed by the birds no longer give me any signs for they have eaten fat compounded with a dead man’s blood.”64 By forcing Polynices’ body to remain unburied, Creon dishonours the gods, who no longer receive prayers or sacrifices because of their polluted altars. For Antigone, Polynices’ body is a sign of her own mortality and her lack of kinship with the gods. It is thus dishonourable and must be hidden. For Creon, Polynices’ body is a sign of his strength over nature. His subjects are mere mortals whose very existences he controls. The corpse remains in view to remind all his subjects of his dominion. For Tiresias, Polynices’ body is a sign of our difference from the gods. We are mortal and thus owe the gods respect. We must bury the body, not to honour ourselves, but to ensure that we can continue to honour the gods through sacrifices and prayers. Tiresias does not espouse the limited view of Antigone, but he incorporates its truth into the polis. As he reminds Creon, it is by his counsel that the city prospers, and his counsel admits the importance 63 Sophocles, Antigone, 1048–50. 64 Ibid., 1019–23.

Sophocles’ Antigone

39

of nature. Tiresias needs the cries of the birds to know the will of the gods, and through this knowledge he is capable of guiding the city’s rulers and its people. Notably, it is not until after Tiresias threatens Creon with a terrible fate – the destruction of the city and therefore of Creon himself – that Creon decides to overturn his earlier decision. In acting, however, he ignores part of Tiresias’s prophecy: the threat of his son’s death. Instead, he acts to save the political order and not the realm of the family upon which it and he also depend. Thus, while he acts, Creon has not yet learned his lesson. It is not until this second fate, the death of his family, comes true, that he realizes his dependence and that of the city on nature. Through this tragedy he comes to understand the limitations of his view. Once Haemon kills himself, Creon finally admits the importance of his family and the realm of nature. He blames his own actions for Haemon’s death: “You look on kindred that have done and suffered murder! Alas for the disaster caused by my decisions! Ah, my son, young and newly dead, alas, alas, you died, you were cut off, through my folly, not through your own!”65 Just as Antigone identifies herself with her brother and the rest of her family, Creon now identifies himself with his son and his wife; their deaths make his inevitable. Learning of his wife’s suicide, he cries, “Alas, you have killed a dead man a second time! What are you saying, boy? What new message of my wife’s death, alas, alas, lies upon me, bringing destruction after death.”66 Creon dies twice, once with his son and the second time with his wife. He also notes the close relationship between a mother and son when he equates the corpse of Eurydice with that of Haemon, for looking at Eurydice’s body, Creon says, “Ah, ah unhappy mother, ah my son!”67 His realization of his errors leads him to pray for his own death: “Let it come, let it come! May it appear, the best of deaths for me, bringing my final day, the best fate of all! Let it come, let it come, so that I may never look upon another day!”68 Creon, who would earlier lord his own “immortality” over his subjects, now admits his humanity and thereby the necessity of his death.

65 66 67 68

Ibid., 1261–9. Ibid., 1288–92. Ibid., 1300. Ibid., 1328–32.

40

Finding Freedom

Unlike Creon, however, Antigone never profits from the advice of Tiresias. Led off just moments before the prophet appears, she dies never admitting her dependence on the political community; indeed, she kills herself, rather than allowing Thebes to be the instrument of her death. Sophocles thus suggests that since all humans have experience of and know the strong pull of subjective love, this pull sometimes engages us more strongly than the capacity for rational judgment. While even Creon finally admits the importance of familial love, Antigone never acknowledges her reliance on the objective political order. Thus her destruction, while tragic, is necessary. Sophocles depicts an inherent tension in human life. We are made up of a dual nature, a nature that, as this play suggests, is often in conflict with itself. Tragically, our inherent love of our own is sometimes so strong that we allow it to override rational judgment. While Sophocles does not offer a solution to the dilemma of Antigone, he lays out the problem that all political communities must confront: how can one draw one’s citizens beyond their particular and subjective inclinations so that they can recognize the objective and universal good of the whole? Hegel takes up this challenge in both the Phenomenology of Spirit and The Philosophy of Right.

3

Hegel’s Antigone: Ethical Life in the Phenomenology of Spirit hegel’s goal in the phenomenology of spirit is to depict the “manifestation of Spirit” in human consciousness and the corresponding development of our political and civil institutions. This progress is complete when what we know corresponds with what there is or when the knowledge of the subject perfectly reflects the true objective order. In other words, his goal is to raise philosophy from a mere “love of knowledge” to “actual knowing” or to raise knowledge to the level of science.1 At the moment of absolute knowing, we will have achieved what Hegel defines as self-consciousness: our knowledge will mirror the nature of Spirit, or the divine, who is the individual or particular moment of absolute objective truth and being, a complete reconciliation of the particular and the universal. As such, the divine is also fully free, for its subjective experience is perfectly taken up in what is objectively true. This same reconciliation is Spirit’s goal for humanity. As the source of the created order, Spirit is present in the natural world and particularly in human consciousness. Through the progression of history and the development of human reason, the truth of the divine nature, the truth in and of itself, is revealed and we acquire “absolute” knowledge and our own freedom. Until this goal is achieved, however, the moments of Spirit as both subject and object appear as actual divisions, and our subjective existences are perceived as in tension with the objective order. In describing this historical progress, Hegel depicts the various stages that humanity passes through on its journey to complete 1 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 5, 27.

42

Finding Freedom

knowledge. In each stage the “truth” that is initially adopted is eventually recognized as inadequate.2 Each time this recognition occurs, humanity presses forward to a new level of understanding that incorporates the previous stages in its fuller perspective. This dialectic continues until we achieve consummate knowledge. The ethical life of ancient Greece is a stage at which humanity pauses in its movement to absolute knowledge. Earlier sections of the Phenomenology of Spirit depict the development of the individual mind. However, beginning with his discussion of ethical life, when Hegel turns to Greece, he portrays the progression of humanity as manifest in concrete developments in the world.3 At this stage, human reason is objectified in the external world in the form of institutions and laws.4 The direction of humanity’s social development follows that of our intellectual development, reconciling our particularity with what is objectively true. Indeed, according to Hegel, as society progresses, the subjective interests of the individual ought to be ultimately reconciled with the common goals of the objective political order. When this alignment is achieved, humans will be truly free, for in acting to further our own interests, we will simultaneously act to further the interests of 2 Ibid., 78. 3 Ibid., 441. Norman makes the argument that the Phenomenology is really the portrayal of two historical developments. He contends that the first part of the book, up to the end of the section on reason, portrays the development of the individual. The second half of the book represents the development of society. This argument is at first compelling, as it seems to fit with Hegel’s idea that the individual cannot exist separate from his community. However, it cannot explain why certain periods in history, such as ancient Greece, are discussed in two separate places in the section that Norman argues is devoted to the sequential development of society – once when Hegel is discussing Greek ethical life and then later when he is discussing Greek religion. For this reason, Michael Forster’s argument that the Phenomenology is divided into three discussions of historical development is more compelling. He says that up to and including the chapter on reason, Hegel discusses the historical development of consciousness. In the Spirit chapter Hegel develops the history of social development, while the chapters “Religion” and “Absolute Knowing” are a depiction of the historical progression of religion. See: Norman, Hegel’s Phenomenology, 25; and Forster, Hegel’s Idea of a Phenomenology of Spirit, 296. 4 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 438.

Hegel’s Antigone

43

society. Individuals will no longer find themselves oppressed by the political realm, but will be fulfilled within it. Prior to this stage, however, our knowledge is incomplete, and resulting social organizations are therefore not fully rational, resulting in alienation between the individual and his community. In the ancient ethical world, the distinction between the objective and the subjective or the universal and the particular results in a perceived division between two objectively true laws: human law, the law of the state, and divine law, the law governing the family. Confronted with such a division, human beings favour one law over the other, and as a result, this world is untenable. The instability of the Greek ethical order occurs because it does not adequately recognize the rights of individuality. Nature, rather than reason, assigns people, according to their sex, to one of the two ethical realms. As a result, individuals do not rationally choose which of the laws, human or divine, will be most conducive to their fulfillment. Further, as we shall see, in each realm the individual loses his or her particular identity to the identity of the whole, becoming either a member of a family or a member of a state. Without the opportunity to broaden their natural perspectives and develop individual identities outside their ethical realms, humans cleave to the universal identity that nature assigns them. However, there are two ethical realms and two spheres of objective truth, and individuals in early Greek society are determined only by one. Both laws are ethical, but individuals see legitimacy in only their own. As a result, no one person is fully ethical. In the classical world, individuals’ understanding of themselves as ethical is therefore false. Ultimately, by recognizing the inadequacy of this understanding, humanity acquires a fuller self-consciousness.5 However, this development also results in the destruction of the Greek ethical order, as humans come to perceive its rational shortcomings. Hegel uses Antigone to illustrate this conflict. As we have seen, both Antigone, the defender of individuality and the family, and Creon, the representative of universality and the state, refuse to recognize the legitimacy of the other’s claim. Ultimately, this denial results in the destruction of both. However, Hegel’s depiction of Antigone is somewhat misleading. Both Sophocles’ and Hegel’s versions of the play result in the destruction of Antigone as well as Creon; however, Hegel says that 5 Ibid., 445.

44

Finding Freedom

this destruction occurs only after both characters have recognized the legitimacy of the other. While in Sophocles’ play, Creon ultimately recognizes the necessity of familial love, there is not a corresponding recognition from Antigone of the need of the state. Sophocles’ Antigone dies without ever realizing the limitation of her view, and it is this limitation that makes the play her tragedy.6 Nonetheless, for the dialectical progression of history to continue, it is necessary for both the individual and the state to broaden their views to encompass the goals of the other. Hegel’s reinterpretation of Antigone depicts an enlarged individual and familial viewpoint that supports reason’s ultimate overcoming of the division between the political community and the individual. His reinterpretation, however, poses an interesting problem for understanding his account. He uses Antigone to exemplify the division between family law and human law, despite the fact that it does not mirror the developments he wishes to portray. As a result, Hegel changes aspects of Antigone to achieve the desired effects. I argue that he uses Antigone in part ironically, because the play does not fully suit the account of history that he presents. The tension that is thus present in his account of the play is intended by Hegel as a means of engaging the reader in the development of mind that he describes. Fully understanding his account requires the reader to be aware of the original play and thus cognizant of the changes that Hegel makes. It is only by these means that the reader is able to see the conflict present in this ethical order between the subjective individual and the objective community in which he or she lives. In particular, what is highlighted by Hegel’s new account of Antigone is the difficulty of reconciling the subjective interests of individuals with the interests of the state. At this stage of political development, because of the limitations of both the political order and its citizens, the only way to reconcile Antigone or the private loves of individuals with the objective political order is to rewrite these moments after the fact. He thus concludes this section of the Phenomenology, despite his claims of Antigone’s full recognition of her need of the larger political community, by citing womankind “as the everlasting irony in the life of the community.”7 He thus uses a poetic 6 This interpretation could be in response to those commentators who view Antigone as Creon’s play. See Bushnell, Prophesying Tragedy; and Adams, Sophocles the Playwright. 7 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 475.

Hegel’s Antigone

45

example poetically to engage our understanding and push us, as readers of his work, to a new level of consciousness. The correctness of this interpretation depends on our understanding the Phenomenology as a prescriptive as well as descriptive account of the development of our thought. In other words, it seems that Hegel’s task in this text is not only to describe the process through which human thought achieves absolute knowledge but also to bring his readers to the position of being able to grasp this knowledge as well. Not only are we to understand the process that the mind takes, but our minds are to be actively involved in the process as well. Hegel thus says, “Science on its part requires that selfconsciousness should have raised itself into this Aether in order to be able to live – and [actually] to live – with Science and in Science. Conversely, the individual has the right to demand that Science should at least provide him with the ladder to his standpoint, should show him this standpoint within himself.”8 Correspondingly, Hegel begins this text by arguing against the writing of prefaces for philosophical works inasmuch as they can only state the final goal but cannot engage in the important work, which is the process or movement of thought by which this goal is achieved.9 However, he does go on to note that prefaces have at least one constructive purpose: they prepare the mind of the reader for the activity to come. “Since the presentation of a general idea in outline, before any attempt to follow it out in detail, makes the latter attempt easier to grasp, it may be useful at this point to give a rough idea of it, at the same time taking the opportunity to get rid of certain habits of thought which impede philosophic cognition.”10 An “active” reading of the Phenomenology is supported by the work of other commentators on this text. For example, Donald Verene points to Hegel’s use of irony, metaphor, and poetic works as the means by which a reader’s reason is engaged. He notes, “We have access to the ‘science of the experience of consciousness’ as Hegel calls his work in the preface of the Phenomenology through both our powers of metaphorical understanding and our powers of discursive thought.”11 Michael Buckley agrees, saying that Hegel uses a kind of 8 9 10 11

Ibid., 26. Ibid., 3. Ibid., 16. Verene, Hegel’s Recollection, x.

46

Finding Freedom

irony within the text in which the involved reader is “forced” to actively pass through the same stages of consciousness as Spirit, thereby educating himself in the process. Buckley thus argues that Hegel’s use of the term “we” throughout the Phenomenology is an ironic tool designed to pull the reader into the development of consciousness that is being described.12 Other authors highlight the specific use of poetic texts as moments of Hegelian irony. For example, David Price argues that Hegel misuses Diderot’s Le Neveau de Rameau to point us, the readers, to Diderot’s original text and raise our understanding of Hegel’s argument regarding the separateness of experience.13 Correspondingly, Judith Shklar, Suzanne Gearhart, and James Schmidt all contend that Hegel consciously changes the original works of poetry he refers to and, moreover, requires the reader to understand these changes in light of the original works.14 While I do not agree with all the specific points made by these commentators, I do believe that their general argument is compelling. Hegel’s Phenomenology not only introduces us subject-wise to his Logic; it also introduces us by preparing our intellects for understanding the Logic and his overall philosophical system. If this is true, then it would be of no surprise that his description of Greek ethical life, particularly his use of Antigone, invites and requires the active engagement of our reason. It thus would be the case that the complete account of what Hegel intends is left unsaid, left to the mind of the reader to understand for herself. The nature of Spirit as both the particular and the universal manifests itself in our ethical lives through our knowledge and corresponding political orders. It thus appears, in one sense, as divided between individual, subjective consciousnesses and objective, external orders. Nonetheless, inasmuch as human rationality and political communities are both aspects of the True, the full nature of Spirit is present in each. In other words, individual consciousness and the political order, while initially defined as being subjective and objective respectively, are perceived, upon further reflection, to incorporate both subjective and objective truths. 12 Buckley, “Irony and the ‘We’ in Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit.” 13 Price, “Hegel’s Intertextual Dialectic.” 14 Gearhart, “The Dialectic and Its Aesthetic Other”; Schmidt, “The Fool’s Truth”; and Shklar, “Hegel’s Phenomenology.”

Hegel’s Antigone

47

This initial division is significant for understanding the Greek ethical world. At this stage the political community immediately represents that which is objective, but is itself divided into the particular and universal, or divine law and human law. Correspondingly, as each of these is grounded in truth and thus representative of the full being of Spirit, each is similarly divided. On the other side, human consciousness most clearly represents the subjective aspect of Spirit, but it too is divided into subjective and objective elements in women and men, who, being each true consciousness and thus wholly representative of the nature of Spirit, are themselves divided along these same lines. The initial disjunction that appears to exist between the two moments of Spirit is therefore inadequate. Nonetheless, as we shall see, in the Greek ethical order, these divisions are initially taken as definitive, and that which is only a superficial separation between objective truth and subjective understanding becomes an element of this world’s destruction. Perhaps the clearest way to proceed is to follow each of the branches of Spirit’s development in ancient ethical Greece to pinpoint the source of tension for this community and thus the focal point of its destruction, starting with the largest and perhaps most superficial of divisions, that between the objective political order and the individual consciousnesses that confront it. Beginning with the objective institutions of the state, Hegel tells us that early ethical life is divided between the laws of individuality or divine law, on the one hand, and the laws of universality or human law, on the other.15 While human law is the external manifestation of our deliberate thought, divine law, particularly at this stage of human consciousness, while an apprehension of the objective truth, takes up those aspects of Spirit that are immediately intuited by our consciousness. Thus in the most general of terms, Hegel says, “The religious concentration of the soul appears in the form of feeling.”16 Antigone expresses both the universality and the immediacy of this form of divine law when she exclaims that “these have life, not simply today and yesterday but for ever, and no one knows how long ago they were revealed.”17 She cannot tell us how she knows the truths of divine law; their source is mysterious. Particularly, to the extent that 15 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 448–9. 16 Hegel, The Philosophy of History, 49. 17 Sophocles, Antigone, 450–5.

48

Finding Freedom

the love of our own, specifically that which we hold for family members, is natural and intrinsic to all human beings, it is in early ethical life a part of divine law. The sphere of divine law is thus identified with our subjective interests and desires, and its ethical sphere of activity is within the family. Alternatively, according to Hegel, the ability of humans to recognize their own interests and natures in others – in particular, in others who are not related to them by blood – is not immediately present in humans. We achieve this universal view through the use of our reason, and human law makes these universal truths objective facts in the world. As noted, divine law is characterized by a natural immediacy and is thus most obviously aligned with individual subjectivity.18 Unlike the state, in which individuals consciously choose to align themselves with the common whole, in divine law, specifically in the family, individuals seek to satisfy their natural desires. Being the realm in which people naturally find themselves, it is also where their most immediate interests such as shelter and nourishment are fulfilled. It is thus more explicitly the realm of individual well-being. Further, Antigone’s love of herself extends to her family because they are in some sense the same as she. She can broaden her love to include the well-being of others only inasmuch as she identifies their interests with those she perceives as her own. Thus when Ismene directly demonstrates her “difference” from Antigone by disagreeing with her, Antigone no longer sees her as part of her own. Hegel suggests that this equation among family members occurs in all families and that love of our families is ultimately an extension of our love of ourselves. We can sacrifice our life for that of a family member because the nature of our love can act instinctively to overcome the barrier that separates us as discrete people. Alternatively, the capacity to feel this love and thus act immediately for the sake of a fellow citizen is less ingrained and might have to be consciously decided and acted upon. It is often only through deliberation and choice that we, in our political communities, sacrifice ourselves for the sake of the whole, to the detriment of what we perceive as being in our immediate interests. Hegel thus says that “the ethical power of the state, being the movement of self-conscious action, finds its antithesis in the simple and the immediate essence of the ethical sphere; as actual universality it is a

18 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 450.

Hegel’s Antigone

49

force actively opposed to individual being-for-self.”19 To the extent, therefore, that individuality is fulfilled, it occurs within the sphere of the family, and not surprisingly, the moment of individuality or subjectivity comes to define the essence of family and divine law for the early Greeks. It is perhaps important here to clarify the nature of individuality as it is represented in the family in Greek ethical life and to stress that this is not the place of individual self-consciousness. Instead, the individual subjectivity that is here recognized and, to a degree, satisfied is that of our immediate self-interest or desire. It is not the rational recognition of our particular and objective existence that is required for “true individuality” or self-consciousness to develop. Indeed, as we shall see, it is in part because this immediate “beingin-itself” is neither properly recognized nor fulfilled within this ethical sphere that self-consciousness cannot be achieved at this early stage of ethical life. Rather, it is the case, even within the family, that the moment of universality or of “being-for-itself” takes precedence. According to Hegel, the ancient Greek family, to be an ethical institution, while primarily aligned with individuality, must also include the universal. In the Greek world the ethical family achieves universality through its actions. Its proper role is neither to secure wealth and sustenance nor to educate its members, as each of these activities ultimately results in a grown adult who is now prepared to leave the family and either become a citizen of the state or begin a new family. These activities do not connect the individual to the universal of the particular family but instead propel individuals to different universals.20 Correspondingly, to be truly universal, the activities of the family cannot be accidental or contingent but must occur in every instance. As all people will one day die, the one activity that fulfills these requirements and raises the family to the level of universality and to ethics is the burial of the dead. Inasmuch as death is connected to our natural existence and, as we all die, burial of the dead takes up the subjectivity that defines divine law but also has universal and thus ethical significance. In death and subsequent burial, both the individual and the family achieve universality. To the extent that an individual, particularly a 19 Ibid., 449. 20 Ibid., 451.

50

Finding Freedom

woman, is not a citizen of a state, her activities relate primarily to fulfilling particular interests and desires. As such, she does not achieve universality while alive, for, as Hegel says, “it is only as a citizen that he is actual and substantial, the individual, so far as he is not a citizen but belongs to the Family, is only an unreal impotent shadow.”21 In death, however, the individual ceases to act on particular desires and achieves a universal existence. The dead person leaves her particular existence, and without an actual and individual physical presence, she joins the community of the dead. Nonetheless, as death occurs naturally, it is not something consciously achieved. While one could argue that a person can consciously and unnaturally die, as in the suicide of Antigone, Hegel’s point seems to be that in all cases we die, not because of what we or someone else does to us, but because our bodies, being mortal, cannot withstand that which happens to us: “The wrong which can be inflicted on the individual in the ethical realm is simply this, that something merely happens to him. The power which inflicts this wrong on the conscious individual of making him into a mere Thing, is Nature.”22 Hegel thus suggests that suicide cannot be a rational and self-conscious choice but, rather, is a choice that is made without fully knowing what the individual as such actually wants. Insofar as death is not self-conscious, the universality achieved by the dead individual is diminished. People are differentiated from lower animal forms by their ability to reason and thus to control their actions. However, death reduces humans, not to equality with other animal existences, but to an inferior position, for in death people are not conscious of nor can they defend against animal attacks. The family must add the moment of consciousness to the act of death by burying the body and removing it from the forces of nature.23 The dead individual is liberated from the particularity of her desires and individuality; however, in the process, she is left to the forces of nature. The family rescues the dead person from nature, and in this way both the family and the individual achieve universality. Further, as suggested, this is an activity that is of particular importance to women. Unlike men, who become citizens of the state and achieve universality there, the individual woman can act truly in accordance with the universal only through burial. Although perhaps 21 Ibid., 451. 22 Ibid., 462.

Hegel’s Antigone

51

unconscious of the importance the act of burial is to play in their own deaths, women in ancient Greece fittingly adopt the role of undertakers while still alive. Ironically and problematically, the family, the most obvious realm of human individuality, can only achieve its universal significance and become ethical when its individual members have died. Correspondingly, the Greek state, while most obviously objective and universal, must also take up moments of the subjective. However, just as the universality of the family requires the negation of individuality, so will the state have difficulty incorporating the subjectivity of its citizens. In comparison, human law is a universal in the sense that the laws of a state represent the common aims and goals of its citizens. Like the different moments the word “now” represents, different human beings are represented by the same human law, for that which it expresses is common to them all. Furthermore, as human laws are universal human creations and mediated by human thought, they are not natural entities, and thus they are not immediately intuited and known. As the self-conscious creation of human actions that pertain to an individual’s relationship to a larger whole, human laws are ethical in Hegel’s definition. The universality of the political community is most apparent when it demands the sacrifice of the particular interests of its members. Ultimately, all states must exist as a universal essence for their citizens, and Hegel identifies the possibility of war as a logically necessary element of the state. However, in his description of the ancient Greek state, war plays a particularly significant role in the relationship of the state to its individual citizens. Although the Greek state allows individuals to isolate themselves partially from the whole by 23 Ibid., 452. Oliver argues that as the woman represents the sphere of the family, she also is the representative of nature. Thus in burying the dead, she is in effect protecting the dead individual from the feminine. However, this seems to be too narrow an understanding of Hegel’s portrayal of women. Through the act of burial, women fulfill a duty that is not in itself natural, and thus they do not seem to correspond to or at least are not able to transcend their ties to nature. Moreover, if women, in the burial of the dead, are protecting the dead from themselves, does this action not imply a level of self-consciousness that would also mean that women are not simply representative of nature? See Oliver, “Antigone’s Ghost,” 72.

52

Finding Freedom

forming allegiances with smaller groups of friends and families, it must always retain the ability to remind these smaller units of its preeminence. The state cannot allow an individual’s loyalty to himself or to a smaller group, such as a family, to override that citizen’s loyalty to the whole. This power of the Greek state exists in unobtrusive regulations or, more obviously, in its demands for the sacrifice of both the group and the individual in war: “in order not to let them become rooted and set in this isolation, thereby breaking up the whole and letting the [communal] spirit evaporate, government has from time to time to shake them to their core by war.”24 Through these means, the ancient political community reminds isolated individuals and groups that it is the true universal on which ultimately they depend. The state at this stage cannot risk that an individual’s connection to any group will take precedence over his or her loyalty to the political community it governs. War is thus the means of reminding citizens of the ultimately disposable nature of their individual existences. Regardless of whether we agree with Hegel’s account of the place of war in the modern world, his discussion of war in the ancient world is particularly striking when compared to the corresponding discussion in The Philosophy of Right. Here he says the ethical significance of war is that it permits individuals to actualize the fullness of their ethical wills. Participation in war is the means for individuals to most completely identify their subjective interests with the objective whole. While in the Greek ethical state war is a means to invalidate individual preference, it performs the opposite function in the modern world. Here subjectivity is not denied but is instead the grounds upon which the objective ends of the political community are achieved. Thus in ancient Greece objectivity seems to define the nature of the state. However, the laws that any state institutes are those of a particular government and particular nation, and in this sense, human law is also individual. Although in its own sphere the laws of a political community are applicable to all within it, these laws differ from those of other communities and thus are not universally relevant.25 Creon’s stance that his decree is applicable to all citizens of Thebes, even his own family, demonstrates the universality of

24 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 455. 25 Ibid., 448.

Hegel’s Antigone

53

human law. The particularity of this law is evident in the fact that this is not a law of all states and all governments, but instead is the arbitrary decree of one individual.26 Furthermore, just as human law encompasses an element of individuality in the shape of its particular government and laws, so it also includes that individuality in the particular individuals who relate to it as citizens and whom it governs. The state’s dependence on individuals for its existence is most evident in times of conflict.27 In war the state maintains its individuality from the encroachments of other states and does so by virtue of the strengths and talents of the citizens who defend it. However, while the political community contains both elements of individuality and of universality, in order to secure the allegiance of its particular members, its universality must be most prominent.28 In early Greek ethical life, the state must guard against the growth of independent subjectivity, as it has no means to reconcile this subjectivity to itself. Thus it requires the individual actions of its members, particularly during war, but in this it depends on the individual’s willingness to forsake this very individuality. As we have seen, the immediate division in Greek ethical life between the subjective and the objective is somewhat superficial and ultimately problematic. Neither human law nor divine law can be solely identified with either, but to the extent that one aspect, the objective, is ultimately “favoured” in each, it is a cause for resulting tension in this ethical world. A similar division and corresponding difficulty occurs in the way that human consciousness, the other side of Spirit, is divided in this era. In early Greek ethical life, nature assigns people to one of the spheres of ethics according to their sex. In The Philosophy of Right, Hegel clarifies this allocation by describing the natural differences between the sexes as physical. Presumably, a man’s greater strength directs him into the outer world, while a woman’s ability to give birth

26 Charles Taylor highlights the particular, as opposed to universal, nature of the Greek state by pointing out that it is a patriarchal order and thus reflects only the aims and aspirations of men, not women. See Taylor, Hegel, 172. 27 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 475. 28 Ibid., 448.

54

Finding Freedom

connects her more closely to the family.29 As a result of this natural division, individual consciousnesses in Greek ethical life are immediately associated with and recognize the validity of only one side of the objective order; women recognize the truth of divine law, while men perceive the rationality of human law. Nonetheless, just as each moment of ethical substance takes up both the objective and the subjective, so must the individual consciousnesses that are aligned with them. Like the Divine, which is both a particular being and thus subjective and also the whole of objective truth, human beings exist as individuals with particular tastes and desires as well as the capacity to understand objective truths. Both of these moments are integral to our fulfillment. Indeed, it is when these two coincide, when our subjective apprehension of the world and its objective existence are in unison, that we achieve self-consciousness and most aptly mirror the divine nature. In Greek ethical life, however, individual subjectivity is regarded as less important to human fulfillment. As a result ultimately of the inability of the objective sphere to take up the subjective personalities of its citizens, particularly of women, these “disregarded” individuals exist in the state as a potential source of its destruction. In the case of women, the particularity of human consciousness exists in a woman’s subjective relationships to the members of her family. As it is the natural desire for her husband or immediate attachment to her parents and children that allows a woman to identify with these people as opposed to others, it is in the consciousness of these relationships that her particular interests are present and recognized. However, this period of ethical life errs on the side of objectivity, and as a result, the capacity of women to fully participate in the subjective aspect of their consciousness is denied. Men in the ancient world are allowed to more fully participate in the divine, objective nature. For unlike women, they leave the family and acquire the universal consciousness of the state. Since men achieve the broader perspective of the political community, their ethical natures are not adversely affected by their particular relationships with individual members of their families; having been made aware of the more universal and seemingly objective goals of the political community, they come to appreciate the place that the family and its members have in light of the whole. In other words, men are not at as much risk of losing

29 Ibid., 459.

Hegel’s Antigone

55

themselves in these particular relationships because they now understand and aspire to a “higher” end, the ethical life of the state.30 Alternatively, for Hegel, women of the ancient world do not acquire the universality of the state and consequently are less able to abstract themselves from the particular persons whom they love in order to act ethically. Incapable of separating their particular attachments from what is ethically good, women are denied these relationships; they do not gain the right of desire for other human beings qua particulars, as does the more rational male: “in the husband the two sides are separated; and since he possesses as a citizen the selfconscious power of universality, he thereby acquires the right of desire and, at the same time, preserves his freedom in regard to it.”31 To be ethical, women must always attempt to distance themselves from the particular humans they love because they have not gained the rational capacity to be able to choose a higher good over these particular loves. Thus for a woman, it should not matter who her child or husband is; to be ethical, it is only necessary that she has a husband and a child and that she relates to them in this abstract way.32 Women of the ancient ethical world ought not to participate in relationships with particular people, but must think of these people in terms of the universal categories they ethically represent. The Greek ethical world thus poses an impossible task for women, given the improbability that anyone could think of loved ones merely in terms of relationships, rather than as actual people.33 However, to the extent that it is possible, this position ultimately obfuscates 30 Haemon’s actions in Antigone, however, do not bear this analysis out. He is too attached to Antigone to allow her to die at the hands of the state. He will risk the greater good of the political community to satisfy his own particular desire in Antigone. Instead, he should, as Creon notes, “find other fields to plough.” However, rather than live without her, Haemon will kill himself, thus raising the question as to whether our attachment to a broader political order can ever overcome our love for particular individuals. 31 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 457. Alternatively, Mills argues that because husbands relate to their wives, not on the level of the universal, but on the level of particular desire, the man introduces desire into the woman’s relationships and thus detracts from her ability to be ethical. This, however, does not seem to be the point. Having gained the right of desire, men are free to enter into particular relationships with their families. See Mills, “Hegel’s Antigone,” 134. 32 Ibid., 457. 33 Elshtain, Public Man, Private Women, 177.

56

Finding Freedom

women’s complete ethical development; women are not allowed to fully experience the moment of particularity that is required for them to ultimately perceive the goodness or truth of the whole. Moreover, the moment of self-consciousness within women and the grounds of their objectivity in this political era are realized only in the narrow relationship between a sister and her brother. Only a moment of self-consciousness that is sufficiently removed from the force of desire, or nature, can truly make us an object both in and for ourselves, and thus, grant us a true recognition of ourselves as rational objective beings. To become fully self-conscious, we must not just have an immediate knowledge or perception of ourselves, but we must be conscious of our nature as rational entities; we must become objects of thought for ourselves. For this realization to occur, we must come to perceive our existence in others. In families this recognition would seem to be immediately achieved in the love that family members have for one another. Such love naturally allows us to see our interests and thus ourselves in other human beings. In the Phenomenology of Spirit, however, Hegel denies that it is love which allows self-consciousness to develop. While we may recognize ourselves in others, this recognition is clouded by either the desire or the instinct upon which familial love is grounded. It is not that we rationally perceive ourselves in the being of another who shares the same rational faculty. Instead, we see ourselves in the other because of our natural connection based in either our mutual desire or the instinctual connection of blood. Real self-consciousness occurs only when the individual is free from these constraints, or at least as free as her situation in this sphere of ethical life will allow. For example, while a wife can see herself in the fulfillment of her interests and desires in her relationship to her husband, the very presence of her desire for him can hinder the rational recognition of herself as she truly is. According to Hegel, in classical antiquity this relationship is insufficient for us to gain an objective awareness of ourselves. It might be argued that the transitory nature of desire means that all married individuals must consciously choose to maintain their marriages if this institution is to have any stability and that this institution, as such, would be sufficient for the development of understanding that self-consciousness requires. This argument, however, loses its strength when we realize that the marriages being described are those of ancient Greeks. For a woman of this time period, marriage is not a choice that is made but, rather, a necessity. Thus while this argument

Hegel’s Antigone

57

is of value for the discussion of modern ethical life in The Philosophy of Right, it holds less weight here. Hegel suggests that relationships between parents and children are similarly problematic. While parents and children do not always love one another because of particular characteristics, they also do not choose to love but do so naturally for the purely contingent reason that their lives are dependent on each other. Parents see the consummation of their own relationship in a child who will eventually gain an existence independent of that which produced him, while children see their source not only as separate from themselves but as something that will one day cease to be. To a certain degree, parents and children equate themselves with each other. Their inevitable separation thus represents a division of themselves. The relationships between parents and children are therefore clouded by emotion and cannot be completely self-conscious. Instead, Hegel argues, it is the relationship among siblings, specifically and perhaps questionably between a brother and sister, in which a truly ethical universal can exist. Brothers and sisters share the same blood as a universal bond. However, they neither desire one another nor are dependent on each other; their emotional attachment can thus be ethical.34 Brothers and sisters can thus achieve the mutual recognition of themselves in each other that is required for ethical objectivity, without having this recognition unduly affected by their natural impulses. At first glance, it seems odd that Hegel limits the potentially edifying relationship of siblings to that between brother and sister and does not include the possible relationships between sisters or between brothers. However, if we take into account his understanding of the difference between men and women as well as his account of the process of human thought, we might begin to explain this difficulty. According to Hegel, the first moment of logic, of our thought, is consciousness. At this stage in understanding something, we know it as a particular entity as though absolute and complete in itself. The next stage is that of the dialectic. In the dialectic we bring to mind or compare both the initial object and its apparent negation. In this process we realize the necessary relationship between the two. Each thing, when pushed to its extreme point, becomes, or is shown to contain, its negation. We thus achieve a fuller knowledge of that which we first understood. For example, with regard to ethics, Hegel says, “‘The 34 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 457.

58

Finding Freedom

summa jus summa injuria,’ which means that if abstract justice is driven to the extreme, it overturns into injustice.”35 As an illustration of this point, to insist on my abstract right to property even when I am insane and will use the knives that are legally mine to harm myself and others would actually be unjust. The dialectic ends with our having a fuller account of the object that incorporates both previous moments. By means of dialectic, I come to understand that my right to property is not absolute or arbitrary, but is grounded in my rational use of it. If we take into account, then, the natural differences that Hegel posits as defining men and women, it would seem that a full awareness of their own natures requires recognizing the nature of the other. The dialectical moment for both the woman and the man, sister and brother, would seem to occur when they take the understanding they have of themselves as woman and man. This is a division of particular significance in Greek ethical life. In comparing themselves to their other, brother or sister respectively, they perceive their difference but also the necessary commonality in this difference. Each sees the other as either brother or sister, but when this understanding is pushed to its extreme point of definition, each must see his/her own blood, each must see him or herself. In this analysis, interestingly, we see progress of ethical life compared to earlier sections in the Phenomenology, particularly the discussion of the master and the slave. In this early account Hegel depicts a “primordial” example of the development of self-consciousness within an individual through the recognition of herself in another. In this early discussion the life of ethics has not yet developed, and thus reason has not yet been objectified in institutions and laws. There are therefore no objectively determined differences between individuals by which they can pass through the necessary dialectic to gain a fuller understanding of themselves. There is not yet the “rational” recognition of the difference between male and female. Instead, only the most immediate of natural differences is apparent – that of life or death. Thus rather than recognizing the more complicated difference of male and female and finding one’s identity therein, the only difference that can be seen to distinguish people from one another is whether they are willing to die. So while the natural differentiation made in the Greek ethical world between male and female seems primitive when measured across the development of human history, we are able to see in it the rational development of humans posited by Hegel. As we shall see, a further development in our rationality is 35 Hegel, The Encyclopaedia Logic, 81, add. 2.

Hegel’s Antigone

59

present in the capacity of individual citizens to see themselves in each other when the natural bond of blood is no longer present.36 In Greek ethical life the recognition of himself in his sister is the first step for a brother toward the more rational self-consciousness he acquires when he becomes a citizen. However, this is the only opportunity that the sister has to achieve universality, for unlike her brother, who leaves the family to become a member of the political community, the sister leaves her immediate family to begin a second family of her own. While the state and human law are deemed by nature to be the spheres of men, the family and divine law are the spheres of women. Men self-consciously align their individual desires with those of the state, but women do not. Instead, they remain in the natural sphere of the family, to which their interests are immediately and unconsciously attached.37 The relationship between a brother and sister is therefore of particular importance to women.38 A corresponding division between their particular interests and universal identity is present in the men of this period. While men in Greek ethical life are members of other associations within the state, such 36 For an account of the objective content as well as subjective action of self-determining self-consciousness, see Burke, “Hegel’s Concept of Mutual Recognition.” 37 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 457. 38 Jay Geller argues that a woman’s work within the family secures a man’s ethical being. By preserving the family, the woman preserves that sphere in which a man is able to resume his individuality. Correspondingly, in the family the man is able to fulfill his natural desires so that they do not cloud his activity in the more universal realm of the state. While it is possible that the family provides men with an outlet for their individuality that is not present in the state, I would question the extent to which it is necessary for women to remain in the family. If what is required is merely the family or the private sphere, women who leave the family to enter other ethical realms would not seem to conflict with Hegel’s purpose. In other words, it is not apparent why the sphere of the family can be preserved only by someone who remains within it and does not participate in civil or political life. Indeed, as will be noted later, it seems that the confinement of women to the family actually works to the detriment of the political community and ultimately to that of the families the state defends. Women, in this sense, are not allowed to broaden their particular interests and take into account the good of the whole; they thus are not capable of compromising their own interests for the interests of the state, but will often act in a manner that is antithetical to a state’s purposes. See Geller, “Hegel’s Self-Conscious Woman,” 179.

60

Finding Freedom

as the family, their primary attachment is to the political community, and they adopt its ends as their own. It is because of their participation in the rational state and the consequent elevation of their rational judgment that men gain the right to act freely in the particular relationships of love and desire present in the family. Their particular interests are thereby partially fulfilled. However, even the satisfaction of particularity allotted to a man at this stage is insufficient. His particular and subjective relationships are necessarily less important when compared to his objective existence as a citizen of the state. For as Hegel describes, men as citizens are individuals who self-consciously abandon their individual desires and adopt the universal goals of the state: “Reason is present here as the fluid universal Substance, as unchangeable simple thinghood, which yet bursts asunder into many completely independent beings, just as light bursts asunder into stars as countless points, which in their absolute being-for-self are dissolved, not merely implicitly in the simple independent Substance, but explicitly for themselves. They are conscious of being these separate independent beings through the sacrifice of their particularity, and by having this universal Substance as their soul and essence.”39 It is perhaps appropriate here to examine this awareness as a further stage in the development of human self-consciousness, or our recognition of ourselves as objects rather than merely as subjects in the world. As we have seen previously, in the dialectics between master and slave and brother and sister, an objective consciousness of the self was achieved in part because of an immediate or natural correlation between the two. In the fight for life, each, at least initially, recognizes in the other her or his common mortality; brothers and sisters can see themselves in the other because of the commonality of their blood. However, among citizens, this immediate bond is not present. Instead, it seems that men gain the capacity to recognize themselves as objective beings inasmuch as they perceive their shared rational position regarding the goodness of the state with their fellow citizens. At this stage men are joined in their recognition of the rational, political order, which is separate from the immediate, natural order. Thus while men, as particular citizens, represent an individual moment of the state, their particular identities as individuals are secondary, each adopting the common aims of the whole.40 The aims of 39 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 350. 40 Ibid., 461.

Hegel’s Antigone

61

the state are to become so ingrained in men that they are willing to lose everything, including their own lives, to fulfill these broader ends.41 By assimilating their interests with the goals of the state and, in particular, with the universal component of the state, men in the ancient world, such as Creon, deny the importance of the realm in which they first exist: the family. Thus, as noted earlier, although men achieve a particular consciousness within the family, the strength of their alignment with the state is such that, just as for women, the moment of male subjectivity is subverted. Human law thus primarily represents the realm of universality, while divine law represents the realm of individuality; however, in actuality each also contains the opposing element. The end result seems to be equilibrium between the two. In particular, divine law, which is protected by the family and women, needs the political community in which families and their rights, such as the burial of the dead, are secure.42 Correspondingly, human law requires the political community and men to enact it. It requires families to have children and raise them in a manner that will ensure their reliability to the state. Thus although the two spheres initially appear to be distinct, they are not as radically separate as they first appear. However, even in this theoretical account of the various moments of Spirit, it is clear that while the subjective element is present, its actual position in the whole is questionable. The consequence becomes readily apparent when this theoretical account is practically, or poetically, put to the test. Abstractly, or taken solely as a moment of objective understanding or “being-for-itself,” human and divine laws in the classical stage of ethical life exist in such harmony that Hegel says, “The ethical world is … in its enduring existence an immaculate world, a world unsullied by any internal dissension.”43 To the extent that it is through apparent opposition to each other that the two spheres of ethical life come to completion, they are not truly opposed but work in unison. While members of the state may organize themselves into particular relationships other than as citizens, it has the power and responsibility to ensure that these relationships do not tear it apart.44 In so doing, it does 41 42 43 44

Ibid., 461. Ibid., 460. Ibid., 463. Ibid., 462.

62

Finding Freedom

not wrong the individual, because the punishment is just. The only wrong which the individual can suffer is that “something merely happens to him,” and the “power which inflicts this wrong on the conscious individual of making him into a mere Thing, is Nature.”45 Although the state can punish the individual by sentencing him to death, it is the weakness of his natural physical form that causes the individual to die. Thus the family, which then buries the dead criminal, does so, not out of vengeance against the state, but against the forces of nature. It is, therefore, the same justice that is present in divine law which overcomes the arbitrary nature of the death of the individual by burying him. However, while this account is partially correct, when it is placed alongside the subjective consciousnesses of individuals within it, the moment of “being-in-itself,” this apparent harmony is quickly seen as an insufficient account of its true nature. For Hegel, this dialectical movement is aptly exemplified in Antigone. As we have seen, while in ancient Greece human law and divine law appear to exist concordantly because they balance the attributes of universality and individuality, they ultimately fail to appropriately recognize the actual rights of the individual. In the early ethical realm the individual is either a citizen, and thus part of the universal political will, or he is a member of a family, and thus not a particular person but a mother, father, or child. Hence, “This particular individual counts only as a shadowy unreality.”46 Not having an identity separate from those of their specific ethical spheres, men and women cling to their particular ethical existences as citizens and sisters. However, in so doing, they reject the legitimacy of the alternative sphere of ethics. While this refusal does not immediately appear problematic, dissension arises when either sphere attempts to overrule the intrinsic rights of the other. This conflict is most obvious in the particular example of the state refusing the right of the family to bury its dead and the family correspondingly refusing to acknowledge the right of the state to make laws. When they do so, the two spheres collide and this ethical world is destroyed. Insofar as the individual consciousness has no existence outside the ethical world, he is only truly actual when acting ethically. But to be truly ethical, the individual would have to recognize both elements of ethics, for “What is ethical … cannot suffer any 45 Ibid. 46 Ibid., 464; emphasis in original.

Hegel’s Antigone

63

perversion of its content.”47 By adhering to only one side of ethics, the individual corrupts what is truly ethical and thereby grasps the contradiction in his own nature. Hegel asserts that the two individuals, attached to only one side of ethical life but recognizing that they are not acting ethically and have instead committed crimes against ethics, will incur guilt and accept their destruction.48 This account is true even in instances in which the individual does not initially know that he is breaking a law. However, it is even more accurate when the individual knows that a law opposes his actions, but not believing the law to be ethical, he acts regardless. Thus while Oedipus is guilty, his guilt is less complete than Antigone’s since he does not know that the man he kills is his father and the woman he marries his mother. Antigone, alternatively, is well aware of Creon’s edict that Polynices should not be buried. At the same time as these individuals are ruined, the ethical order is also destroyed. Interestingly, it is not the particular individual who has committed a crime and incurred guilt, for, as Hegel has earlier indicated, the individual at this point does not truly exist. Instead, all people are so aligned with their particular sphere of ethical life that their content is not an individualized and particular content but, rather, that of the laws and customs of their sphere of ethical life. The individual thus becomes a representative of her particular ethical sphere, and her destruction results in the destruction of the whole. It is this inability to recognize the particular and individual that will ultimately pull this ethical world apart. To the extent that the political community achieves its strength by denying the sphere of the family and the rights of individuality, it acquires citizens in the form of men, but it also acquires a necessary threat in the women who protect the rights of this sphere. Women attempt to subvert the ends of the state by ensuring that men are more closely connected to the universals of the family than they are to those of the political community. Rather than citizens, women create husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers. They ignore the rights of the state because the state ignores those of the family. However, in so doing, both sides also negate a part of their own existence, for, as we have seen, both human law and divine law incorporate the primary element

47 Ibid., 467. 48 Ibid., 471.

64

Finding Freedom

of the other. Neither side is thus truly ethical but contains an inner contradiction that, when realized, results in its downfall. Hegel’s use of Sophocles’ Antigone to exemplify this conflict initially seems appropriate, for the play depicts a ruler who will deny the family its right to bury the dead and a sister who will defy the right of the state to make laws. Hegel begins his explanation of the story of Antigone by describing the cause of the battle between Polynices and Eteocles, Oedipus’s sons and heirs to the throne. He therefore extends the play both into the past by describing the cause of the battle and, as we shall see, into the future by describing the downfall of Thebes at the hands of other communities. He thus depicts Antigone as actually occurring in history, as events that have both a past and a future, rather than as a poem or a creation that is without time. Ironically, then, Hegel uses Antigone poetically, creating a new story to fit his own account. In his narrative both of Antigone’s brothers are at the age of maturity and are prepared to leave the family and adopt their proper roles in the state. As Polynices is the elder, it would seem that he has the explicit right to the title of king. However, at this stage of ethical life, human law does not recognize the relevance of the natural contingencies of the family, such as the birth order of sons. It is therefore without a standard by which to determine which of the sons will replace Oedipus.49 Eteocles has just as much right to rule as Polynices, and once he has the throne, he becomes Thebes’s legitimate king, although his obtaining power is arbitrary. Thus when Polynices disputes Eteocles’ claim to the throne and attacks Thebes in the hopes of overthrowing his brother and acquiring power himself, the ethical state does not recognize the legitimacy of his claim. Polynices, who should now adopt his rightful position as a citizen of the state, instead remains rooted in the particular relationships of the family, viewing himself not just as a citizen but as a son and a brother. He is seen, therefore, as endangering the existence of the community. Alternatively, according to Hegel, Eteocles has removed himself from the ethical life of the family and no longer perceives Polynices as a brother toward whom he should feel compassion. 49 Ibid., 286. While Gillespie argues that Hegel writes a noble lie that makes it look as though women are free when really they are subjected to men, I would maintain that the noble lie is that women can be so easily overcome. See Gillespie, “Property and Progeny,” 38.

Hegel’s Antigone

65

Instead, he sees him as a traitor to the state. “Looked at from the human point of view, the one who has committed the crime is the one, who, not being in actual possession, attacks the community at the head of which the other stood, while, on the other hand, he has right on his side who knew how to apprehend the other merely as an isolated individual, detached from the community, and taking advantage of his powerlessness, banished him.”50 When the two brothers die in battle, the community honours Eteocles, but it will punish Polynices by forbidding that his body be buried. The one-sided nature of this political consciousness thus becomes explicit. Oblivious to the rights of the particular, Creon denies the legitimacy of individuality and the family’s only ethical activity. In so doing, he invites the wrath of divine law. To the extent that the state merely punishes the individual and he dies, it is possible to suggest that the family’s activity of burial is not one directed against the state. However, when the state punishes the individual by denying him this last rite, it directly confronts the divine law that deems such burial necessary. Although Hegel does not explicitly name Creon as the consciousness of the state, his actions in Antigone correspond with the male consciousness that denies the legitimacy of the family. As we have seen, Creon is initially oblivious to the rights of the family and the ties that draw family members together. This disregard is particularly apparent in his treatment of his own son. For, as Creon notes, the only reason that men have sons is for the furtherance of their own political wills. It is thus not surprising that he ignores Haemon’s request for Antigone’s life. Haemon’s love for Antigone is not relevant, especially when it contradicts the rule of his father, the king. It is not until Tiresias, the prophet, threatens Creon’s family and, more importantly, his political position that Creon realizes his error and rushes to bury Polynices and free Antigone. On the other hand, as we have seen, Antigone’s vision is also limited, and she is incapable of recognizing the precepts of the political community. Although not particularly compassionate, Creon’s law is not without political purpose. Polynices, whether the rightful heir to the throne or not, did wage war on Thebes and threatened the lives of its citizens. By refusing him burial and leaving his body on display for all to see, Creon warns other possible enemies of the consequences of 50 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 473.

66

Finding Freedom

acting against the state. Antigone, however, is unaware of the political prudence of the law and, indeed, refuses to recognize the right of the state to make laws that would dishonour her, exclaiming, “He has no right to keep me from my own!”51 In Hegel’s view, both Antigone and Creon have one-sided visions of the ethical order, and this limitation results in the destruction of each at the hands of the opposing ethical realm.52 Hegel thus says that “this individuality has the certainty that that individuality whose ‘pathos’ is this opposing power suffers no more injury than it has inflicted.”53 Recognizing the importance of the family after having lost his own, Creon wishes for his own death, while Antigone, having disregarded human law, is led to her tomb and left to die. Initially, Hegel’s use of Antigone seems to be an appropriate choice, for both Antigone and Creon obstinately cling to their own opinion without giving any credit to the opposing vision. However, on closer inspection, it is not clear that Antigone is as good a choice as it first appears. In order for the play to fit Hegel’s historical model, parts of it must be reinterpreted; not only does his choice of Antigone serve to exemplify a stage in ethical development, but through it he also indicates the difficulty that this progression encounters. By his use of Antigone, Hegel highlights the degree to which individual subjectivity is a necessary source of tension for any state that does not recognize and respect it. Through misrepresenting the play, he obliges us to recognize the extent to which our particularity, as represented in Sophocles’ compelling character Antigone, is a true and necessary force within any political community. As noted earlier, in this stage of ethical life the most important relationship for a woman is with her brother. It is here that she achieves a 51 Ibid., 47. 52 Alternatively, Hodge argues that Hegel presents women as unquestioning of their ethical duty and thus unable to recognize the validity of the other half of ethics, and it is this limitation that forces them to remain in the family while men progress further. However, inasmuch as Hegel depicts both men and women as being short-sighted in their realm of ethics, I would argue that both sexes are initially limited, but that with the recognition of their guilt, each achieves a self-awareness that would allow them to further develop. See Hodge, “Women and the Hegelian State,” 144. 53 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 472.

Hegel’s Antigone

67

self-conscious recognition of herself in a particular other. Through her brother, she verifies her particular objective existence. With a footnote referring the reader to a line in Antigone, Hegel indicates that this relationship between brother and sister is exemplified by Antigone’s lines “If my husband had died, I could have had another, and a child by another man, if I had lost the first, but with my mother and father in Hades below, I could never have another brother. Such was the law for whose sake I did you special honour.”54 As Hegel indicates, what seems to be of importance to Antigone is not the particular people she loves and must take care of but the categories or relationships that she can be involved in. She thus appears to regard her family, excluding her brother, in terms of formal universals rather than particular people. It does not matter who her husband and children are but merely that they are. Thus while Antigone would not defy the state to bury her husband and children because she can have another husband and another child, she would defy the state and bury her brother Polynices. It seems, therefore, that she values this relationship above all others. Antigone further emphasizes her recognition of herself in Polynices by referring to him as part of herself, for she says of Creon, “He has no right to keep me from my own” and “I am his own and I shall lie with him who is my own.”55 Polynices is her own, just as Antigone is his, and what is done to one is also done to the other. Thus when she is being led to the cave that is to be her prison, Antigone says, “Ah, Brother … in your death you have destroyed my life.”56 Given that Antigone’s understanding of herself is directly tied to her brother, his death inexorably facilitates hers. This initial concurrence between Hegel’s thought and Sophocles’ play, however, is inaccurate. The particularity of Antigone’s connection to Polynices is diminished when we note that she refers to both her mother and her sister in the same possessive manner that she speaks of Polynices. Furthermore, in the quotation to which Hegel explicitly directs us, Antigone says that she must bury her brother only because both her mother and her father are already dead and she cannot have another brother. It thus is not the particular person she honours by burying Polynices but the now irreplaceable relationship that he represents. Polynices is not truly singled out for preferential treatment by 54 Sophocles, Antigone, 909–13. 55 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 48 and 73–4. 56 Sophocles, Antigone, 870–1.

68

Finding Freedom

Antigone: her relationship to her brother is not any more important to her than her other relationships within the family. Thus she never experiences her own being in that of a particular other and does not reach the level of ethics that Hegel allows women, but remains rooted in the universal of the family. Further, Antigone is a problematic example from which to argue that the relationship between a brother and a sister is devoid of desire or strong feeling. Indeed, we have only to look to the relationship between her mother and father to see a departure from the normal course of familial affection. Hegel’s use of Antigone to depict a relationship that is free from desire and strong emotional attachment suggests that even in this relationship, the ability of women in this community to be free from desire, or at least emotion, is highly questionable. In addition, Hegel says that women are naturally connected to the realm of the family because they do not self-consciously recognize their duties but only intuit them.57 Antigone seems to support this argument when she notes that no one knows where or when divine law came into being.58 However, we must question the extent to which she acts unconsciously. While it could be argued that women, when unobstructed, follow these laws naturally and unconsciously, Antigone is faced with a direct obstacle in Creon’s dictate that her brother not be buried. This ruling forces her to confront her actions and consciously choose to follow her own will instead of the state’s. Hegel himself suggests as much when he notes that Antigone “knowingly commits the crime.”59 How is it possible for her to act both unconsciously and knowingly?60 Moreover, according to Hegel, the destruction of the Greek ethical world is caused by the one-sided claims to righteousness by both 57 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 457. 58 Sophocles, Antigone, 450–5. 59 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 470. 60 On the basis of Hegel’s suggestion that women act unconsciously, Oliver argues that the work of women is to be contrasted with that of slaves. For while slaves develop self-consciousness through their work and progress, women remain unconscious of their work and get left behind. However, if we take Hegel’s suggestion that women also somehow know when they act, then we can also perceive room in his thought for the further development of women. To this end, Shapiro suggests that Hegel’s depiction of Greek ethical life is not an eternal definition of male and female nature but merely an explanation of a specific form of life. See Oliver, “Antigone’s Ghost,” 73; and Shapiro, “An Ancient Quarrel in Hegel’s Phenomenology,” 172.

Hegel’s Antigone

69

the state and the family. Creon must issue the decree that prevents Polynices’ burial because he, as male, is compelled to align himself with human law, and Antigone is compelled to bury Polynices because she, as female, must obey divine law. Through their actions they violate ethical law, which incorporates both spheres. In the case of both divine and human law, once the action has been committed, the actor is supposed to recognize not only that he has broken a law but that this law also plays a role in the world of ethics. Recognizing the validity of the other, the individual also acknowledges his own inconsistency and lack of validity, resulting in his downfall: “the ethical individuality is directly and intrinsically one with this his universal aspect, exists in it alone, and is incapable of surviving the destruction of this ethical power by its opposite.”61 For this destruction to occur, it is first necessary that each side recognize the rights of the other and his or her own guilt. Hegel thus quotes Antigone as saying, “Because we suffer we acknowledge we have erred.”62 However, this statement is not truly reflective of what Antigone says, for it is only if the gods disapprove of her actions that she will admit to having done wrong, and she is not fully convinced that they do. Hence Antigone says, “Well, if this is approved among the gods, I should forgive them for what I have suffered, since I have done wrong; but if they are the wrongdoers, may they not suffer worse evils than those they are unjustly inflicting upon me!63 She is not convinced that she has committed an injustice, and her last lines in the play reveal this conviction. Astonished at the treatment she has received, Antigone says, “Look, rulers of Thebes, upon the last of the royal house, what things I am suffering from what men, for having shown reverence for reverence!”64 Moreover, although Sophocles’ Creon finally does recognize the importance of the family, and hence the nature of his own crime, Hegel does not explicitly take up his transformation.65 61 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 471. 62 Ibid., 470. 63 Sophocles, Antigone, 925–8. 64 Ibid., 940–3. 65 Alternatively, Mills says that because Sophocles does not present Antigone as accepting her guilt, Sophocles believes her to be the superior character. However, I would argue that Antigone’s inability to admit her guilt is what makes this play her tragedy. She dies without ever recognizing the family’s need for a larger community. See Mills, “Hegel’s Antigone,” 141.

70

Finding Freedom

He thus presents Antigone as accepting her guilt when she never does, and he downplays or even ignores Creon’s acceptance of his. Hegel says that both sides of ethical activity will come to their destruction at the hands of the other; this statement is not completely accurate in the case of Antigone and is at odds with his own depiction of Creon. As noted above, Antigone does not admit her guilt but is led to her tomb certain that her actions were correct and that Creon’s were wrong. She further defies Creon and acts contrary to Hegel’s interpretation of her death by killing herself. By contrast, although Creon does call for his own destruction after he has admitted the importance of particular loves and thus acknowledges that, in effect, he meets his end at the hands of the family, Hegel indicates instead that he is destroyed by the political power of other communities. When discussing the downfall of the state, Hegel says that the revenge of divine law will come, not from living family members, but from the dead man or the “bloodless shade” who is wronged by the state. This man, in the netherworld and incapable of acting on his own accord, must find powers in the upper world to act as his avenging agent. However, rather than finding these powers in family members who ignore the decrees of the state and bury their dead, the dead man finds them in the powers of other political communities. Not powerful enough to destroy the state on its own, the shade looks not to the family but to the political realm. Hegel thus alters Sophocles’ play to meet the strictures that he argues define history’s course. However, by using Antigone rather than merely describing the path he understands history to have taken, he points us to the original play and invites us to question these changes. Given these discrepancies, we might ask why he uses Antigone at all. An answer can perhaps be found in the types of changes he Hegel makes. Insofar as each instance in which he makes an alteration has the effect of making the individual more compliant to the state, he points to the possibility that this is one area in which conflict exists even beyond what his own view of historical development suggests. In the first instance, Hegel depicts Antigone in her relationship to Polynices as rising above the natural recognition that is achieved in the other relationships of the family to one that is more rational – independent of both nature and desire. However, Sophocles’ Antigone never self-consciously recognizes herself in her particular brother

Hegel’s Antigone

71

but views even her brothers in terms of the natural universal that is ingrained in the family. Second, Hegel depicts Antigone as recognizing both the legitimacy of the state and her own guilt, something that Sophocles’ Antigone never does. Instead, it appears that she is fully aware of both the powers of the state and those of the family. She chooses the family, and thus herself, to the detriment, ironically, of herself and her family and ultimately to the detriment of the state. Finally, despite Hegel’s claim that each ethical realm must meet its downfall at the hands of the other, he does not depict the state, as represented by Creon, falling to the power of the family, although Sophocles does. In each case it appears that Hegel transforms the play so that the family is incorporated into and recognizes the importance of the political community. However, that this recognition does not occur in the original play seems to indicate that the progression from Greek ethical life does not occur as completely as Hegel would suggest; in particular, the difficulty appears to be in enlarging the views of the family to incorporate those of the state. Just as Sophocles suggests that the nature of the love we have of our own is difficult, if not impossible, to transcend, so Hegel’s implied reading of Sophocles’ play shows us the same thing. By “rewriting” Antigone, Hegel points to an interpretation of this section of the Phenomenology of Spirit superior to the one he explicitly presents. In particular, when his “new” Antigone is read in light of Sophocles’ account, the reader should be struck by the degree to which Hegel must make Antigone more compliant to the political order. His poetry, in comparison to the historic play, shows us the significance of individual subjectivity and the need of the political community to incorporate these interests as its own. From Hegel’s perspective, the overarching problem of the Greek ethical world is that it does not adequately recognize the rights of the individual; subjective freedom is not incorporated as part of this objective existence. As a person is engulfed in the universal as either a citizen or a mother, wife, and sister, the unmet needs of individuality become a destructive element in the whole. This is evident in Hegel’s treatment of the cause of the difficulty in Antigone – the quarrel between Eteocles and Polynices. While from the point of view of human law, Eteocles, once king, has legitimate power, Hegel also notes that, from an overall ethical standpoint, both brothers are wrong, since each puts his own individual being-for-self above the good of the community. Hegel thus recognizes that, while the one-sided political order views Eteocles as

72

Finding Freedom

fighting for the good of the whole, a truly ethical standpoint reveals that both he and Polynices are acting in self-interest. Hence the cause of the quarrel and the destruction of Greek ethical life stems ultimately from the fact that this ethical order excludes individual interests. Unable to recognize and somehow incorporate the individuality of the two brothers into the political order, these interests destroy themselves as well as this ethical world. “For individuality, which for the sake of its beingfor-self, puts the whole in peril, has expelled itself from the community, and is the source of its own destruction.”66 Furthermore, after the destruction of the Greek ethical order, we continue to see the antagonism between individuality and objectivity within Hegel’s Rome. Thus although the Greek ethical order ends with his claim that the individuals of this sphere have widened their ethical viewpoint and are able now to recognize the rights of the whole, rather than merely those rights that speak directly to their natures, in Rome individual citizens now exist almost in direct tension with their political communities. Romans become the bearers of formal legal rights, rights that they hold against other citizens but also the political order which must comply with them. This opposition between the objective political order and its subjects is best exemplified in the necessary movement from the Roman republic to the Roman Empire. Thus although Hegel would portray Antigone as eventually acquiescing to the ethical truth of the Theban state, her subjective desires yet remain in opposition to it, just as the subjects of Rome must ultimately be governed by an emperor and lord: “The lord and master of the world holds himself … to be the absolute person … the person for whom there exists no superior Spirit. He is a person, but the solitary person who stands over against all the rest.”67 66 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 473. Although Hegel seems here to attribute the cause of the downfall of the Greek ethical world to women, Gellar argues that even in this he makes women ineffectual. It is not the women who destroy the political order, but the brave young men they seduce to remain in the family. However, Hegel’s point here seems not to marginalize the powers of women but to show how both sides are dependent on the other – even in their destruction. Women would be ineffectual without the brave youths, but young men would not be tempted to ignore the dictates of the family if it were not for the persuasive powers of women. See Geller, “Hegel’s Self-Conscious Woman,” 182. 67 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 481. Also see Franco, Hegel’s Philosophy of Freedom, 105–6.

Hegel’s Antigone

73

The Greek ethical world fails because of its inability to incorporate the interests of its members; however, to the extent that these interests are met, it occurs in that realm and that consciousness in which individuality is most prominent – the family and women. Hegel thus says, “Womankind – the everlasting irony [in the life] of the community – changes by intrigue the universal end of government into a private end, transforms its universal activity into a work of some particular individual, and perverts the universal property of the state into a possession and ornament of the Family.”68 The family therefore becomes the source of unreflective individual particularity and the root of this ethical world’s destruction. To maintain a stable ethical existence, it is thus necessary to recognize individuality in a realm other than the family and thereby dilute its power. However, Hegel’s continued use of Antigone in The Philosophy of Right as exemplifying this particular aspect of the family seems to suggest that even in his era, the rights of the individual have not been truly recognized, and thus the love of our own continues to operate as a destabilizing agent in an order that is not yet fully rational.

68 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 475.

4

The Philosophy of Right: A New Ethical Order

as we have seen, the ethical order OF ANCIENT GREECE fails, according to Hegel, because it does not adequately recognize the right of freedom in the objective existence of human beings. The Divine is by its nature free, and inasmuch as the nature of humans corresponds with the divine substance, this freedom is our ultimate end as well. As history moves forward and the nature of Spirit progressively unfolds, humanity recognizes this as its nature and practically realizes it by means of free institutions. As a result, Spirit is fully objectified in the created order and our historical progression is complete. Insofar as it is the absolute truth, divine consciousness is in no way alienated from or constrained by what has being. Instead, there is an immediate correspondence between its consciousness of what is true and the truth itself. As such, Spirit is fully free, for as Hegel describes, “freedom means relating oneself to something objective without its being something alien.”1 As noted, in the Phenomenology he addresses the manner in which the nature of Spirit is progressively realized in human consciousness. The completion of our rational development occurs when what we know most fully conforms to the objective order. In this we also take up the freedom that defines the divine being. Our minds are no longer constrained or hindered by the presence of half-truths, but we achieve true freedom insofar as we fully grasp and recognize what is. We are not enslaved by false opinion or perception but, rather, fully understand our position in the whole. 1 Hegel, Lecture on the Philosophy of Religion, 3:171.

The Philosophy of Right

75

Correspondingly, the Divine displays its freedom in the further movement of manifesting its existence in the created, natural order. And like our intellectual development, our social development is consistent with Spirit’s external manifestation of itself. By means of our social and political organizations, we manifest the development of our consciousnesses. Thus just as we gain greater freedom with respect to our knowledge, so our political institutions reflect this movement. As our minds are reconciled with absolute truth, so are our particular interests and desires reconciled with the objective political orders we create and participate in. Hegel’s task in The Philosophy of Right is to show how this concurrence has unfolded in the modern political world. Ultimately, however, despite his recognition that the nature of humankind is to be free, this freedom is not fully realized in the modern state depicted in The Philosophy of Right.2 Hegel distinguishes between what is known and what exists by saying that “universal history … shows the development of the consciousness of Freedom on the part of Spirit, and the consequent realization of that Freedom. This development implies a gradation – a series of increasingly adequate expressions of Freedom, which result from its idea.”3 He tells us that his task is not a theoretical account of an ideal state but an account of the state as it exists. He thus explains how the existing state is rational, given that it fully manifests the degree of knowledge present in the consciousnesses of the people of this era; it is rational inasmuch as the understanding present within it is a true approximation of Spirit. This is not to say, however, that it embodies absolute knowledge but, rather, only the degree of knowledge that human consciousness at this point has attained. For as Hegel says, each state or stage in history is rational for its time: “The insight to which philosophy ought to lead, therefore (in contrast to what happens in those ideals), is that the real world is as it ought to be.”4 That 2 As Wood notes, “Hegelian theodicy says not that all is for the best, but only that the necessary course of things is for the best; and even of the necessary course of things, it says not that each stage is good, only that it belongs to the path of development which is ultimately good.” See Wood, “Does Hegel Have an Ethics?” 364. 3 Hegel, The Philosophy of History, 63. See also Hegel, Elements of the Philosophy of Right, §12. 4 Hegel, The Philosophy of History, 39.

76

Finding Freedom

the state described in The Philosophy of Right is rational does not necessitate, according to Hegel’s own logic, if not his expressed intention, that it is the fullest embodiment of human freedom. In other words, the rationality of the state described in The Philosophy of Right does not preclude further reasonable developments through which human freedoms will become more concrete.5 Indeed, Hegel points to America as the land for future development, saying, “America is therefore the land of the future. In the time to come, the center of world-historical importance will be revealed there,” but “as a land of the future it does not concern us here: for in the historical perspective we are concerned with what has been and what is; and in regard to philosophy our concern is neither with what was nor with what is yet to be.”6 He thus allows for the possibility of at least further practical developments in our political orders. The modern state Hegel describes improves upon the ancient ethical world in that it recognizes the subjective freedom of human beings and incorporates this freedom as its own foundation. As we have seen, in the ancient ethical world portrayed in the Phenomenology of Spirit, subjectivity is confined within the realm of the family, for the “positive End peculiar to the Family is the individual as such.”7 The dichotomy present between public and private ultimately leads to a conflict that destroys the whole. To remedy the situation of the ancient world, in the modern state the subjective interests of individuals continue to be recognized within the family but also through the creation of civil society and in the political order. By granting individuals the capacity to subjectively choose their occupations and, further, to participate in the political process, modernity incorporates our subjective interests into the public sphere. The modern world thus appears to resolve the 5 Ibid., 87. As Charles Taylor notes, although consciousness is capable of grasping the rational state, this does not mean that it is yet fully realized. “On the contrary, there is a great deal of further development required of the principle of rationality which was far from being embodied in all its ramifications.” See Taylor, Hegel, 426. Correspondingly, Yerkes says that “there is and can be fuller and more imaginative realization of the now already known principles of the modern state.” See Yerkes, “Hegel and ‘The End of Days,’” 357. 6 Hegel, The Philosophy of History, 90. 7 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 451.

The Philosophy of Right

77

tension between the family and the state by incorporating the family’s original role, fulfilling individuality, within the public realm. In The Philosophy of Right, however, this is not a completed solution, for while the modern state that Hegel describes includes the subjective interests of men in the wider political community, the interests of women remain confined to the family. Through his continued references to Antigone, he suggests that this limitation results in a continued source of tension between the family and the state. In this way, although perhaps not intentionally, he identifies an area for the further realization of Spirit within the world.8 The Philosophy of Right depicts the development of right in the modern world. Right, or recht, has a dual meaning: first, it is that which is correct or, in political terms, that which is just; second, it speaks of those legitimate freedoms held by individuals – our rights.9 Hegel works with the ambiguity of this term, often switching between meanings without warning. Ultimately, his play is warranted because, for him, the two meanings are simultaneously one. The protection or promotion of our rights in political societies is right or just. The justice of our political rights lies in the manner in which we take up the rational nature of the Divine. Just as Spirit is defined by its freedom, so humans are defined by the possibility of choosing or willing freely. Freedom of will makes it possible for them to deliberately choose what actions they will take. Unlike animals, our behaviour is not dictated by instinct or natural impulses; instead, we can rationally choose the good. Correspondingly, and again in the nature of Spirit, our aim is to have our intrinsic wills externalized. The ability to choose is in vain if we do not have the freedom to act on this choice. Free will is what makes us human, and free institutions are the rational means by which our wills are made concrete and explicit. In the process of obtaining this goal, the world, broadly speaking, moves among stages of political societies wherein either the objective or the subjective element is highlighted. Each of these societies is 8 A number of feminist thinkers have rightly noted that Hegel’s limitation of women to the sphere of the family contradicts his general theory of the dialectic. See Barber, “Spirit’s Phoenix and History’s Owl”; Elshtain, “Self/ Other, Citizen/State”; Hodge, “Women in the Hegelian State”; and Mills, “Hegel’s Antigone.” 9 Hegel, Elements of the Philosophy of Right, Translator’s Preface, xxxviii.

78

Finding Freedom

superseded by the next, wherein what was true about the previous account is taken up and present in the new society. In The Philosophy of Right Hegel speaks explicitly of these stages as we move through them in the modern world. However, inasmuch as this development is progressively cyclical, we can see a parallel movement in his account of the ancient ethical orders described in the Phenomenology of Spirit. In The Philosophy of Right Hegel speaks of the first stage, wherein the objective order is prominent as the moment of abstract right. Here all subjective aspects of humanity are abstracted, and individuals exist merely as bearers of rights in a formal and objective sense. Abstract right is a system of objective rules summarized by Hegel in the statement “[Do] not … violate personality and what personality entails.”10 In this stage the will establishes itself in external objects, such as property, and has rights against other individuals who are similarly determined. Although it is not explicitly stated, Hegel must, at least in part, be referring to early liberal thought as explicated by Hobbes and Locke. The theories of these thinkers are inadequate according to Hegel because they do not take people’s intentions into account. Thus they have no basis for making moral, rather than merely legal, judgments. While Hobbes and Locke would respond that it is exactly these types of judgments that they are trying to avoid, as there is no truly objective basis on which to ground moral choices, Hegel argues that human beings are capable of discerning universal moral truths. For this reason, according to him, this stage of human freedom is inadequate. This moment also corresponds to the first account of ethical life in the Phenomenology, the account that is present in Antigone. In Sophocles’ play, both the state and the family are perceived as having formal rights that the other sphere cannot infringe upon. No notice is taken of the intent of particular actors in either sphere, and the moment of subjective consciousness is thus ignored. Hence it does not matter to either Creon or Antigone why Polynices has attacked Thebes and died; instead, all that is relevant is the right of the state that he transgressed, and the right of the family that is ignored. While ultimately inadequate, the great virtue of this stage is that the objective order which predominates the whole is at least a partial reflection of that which is true, and the individual capacity to recognize this relationship is a necessary step to self-consciousness. 10 Ibid., §38.

The Philosophy of Right

79

The second stage described in The Philosophy of Right is morality. Here individuals recognize their freedom of will and, correspondingly, only admit the validity of those principles of right that appear inwardly to themselves. In the stage of morality, the will is completely subjective and recognizes no external standard by which to determine the actual “goodness” of its judgments. It is thus always on the verge of lapsing into evil – of choosing to fulfill its particular aims rather than the aims of the universal.11 At the highest level of evil, this consciousness says, “It is not the thing which is excellent, it is I who am excellent and master of both law and thing, I merely play with them as with my own caprice, and in this ironic consciousness in which I let the highest of things perish, I merely enjoy myself”12 Here Hegel refers to the Romantics, whose general philosophies are juxtaposed to the “scientific” and “objective” theories of the Enlightenment. Correspondingly, however, in the Phenomenology the moment of ethical life represented by Antigone passes away, to be replaced by the now more significant presence of human subjectivity as represented in Hegel’s account of ancient Rome, where there is no longer an immediate and passionate unity of individuals with the objective order. Instead, the objective order exists merely as a formal moment in the lives of particular individuals. Hegel thus says, “The substance emerges as a formal universality in them, no longer dwelling in them as a living Spirit; on the contrary, the simple compactness of their individuality has been shattered into a multitude of separate atoms.”13 The objective order is thus superseded by the subjective preferences of the individuals living therein. While this moment, like the previous one, must be superseded, it is yet necessary. Indeed, Hegel points to Socrates as a perfect example of a person in whom the moment of morality is appropriately made manifest. As Hegel notes, the tendency to examine oneself for standards of goodness occurs when “what is recognized as right and good in actuality and custom is unable to satisfy the better will.”14 Presumably, this is the case because the “better will” is capable of discerning what is truly rational and thus good. Hegel then suggests that this attitude may be necessary even in his time, saying, “Only in 11 12 13 14

Ibid., §139. Ibid., §140. Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 476. Hegel, Elements of the Philosophy of Right, §138.

80

Finding Freedom

ages when the actual world is a hollow, spiritless, and unsettled existence may the individual be permitted to flee from actuality and retreat into his inner life. Socrates made his appearance when Athenian democracy had fallen into ruin. He evaporated the existing world and retreated into himself in search of the right and the good. Even in our times it happens that reverence for the existing order is in varying degrees absent, and people seek to equate accepted values with their own will.”15 Although Hegel seems to reprimand those persons who do not recognize the rationality in the current order, the juxtaposition of this remark with a comment concerning when it is to be rightfully done suggests that even in his time period better wills might look to themselves for standards of truth. In ethical life, the third stage in the development of right, these two earlier stages are combined and their inadequacies are overcome. In the first stage, right is embodied in the external. In the second, it exists only in individual subjects. In the third stage, the objective and the subjective are merged, and individual agents recognize their subjective interests in the objectively ordered ethical world. As we have seen, self-consciousness or freedom, the goal for Spirit in the world, is not possible within the ancient Greek ethical order because individual particularity is not accounted for. Instead, in both spheres of ethical life, the family and the state, this individuality is suppressed. As a result, people do not recognize themselves in the fullness of the objective order, and thus there is a necessary alienation between the two. In the modern ethical world that Hegel describes in The Philosophy of Right, he suggests that this alienation has been overcome. In particular, the modern state objectively incorporates the particularity of its subjects, while the subjective consciousnesses of citizens recognize and validate the objective goals of the state. As a result, these citizens recognize themselves in the objective order. By way of this reconciliation, the modern state achieves self-consciousness. Not surprisingly perhaps, this reconciliation is both a model of simplicity and at the same time a complex interweaving of the preceding moments. Just as each stage of ethical life in the Phenomenology incorporates, albeit in an incomplete manner, the full nature of Spirit as both objective and subjective, so is the account of ethical life in The Philosophy of Right fully representative of these aspects, but with the important addition of a more complete self-consciousnesses. Thus, most 15 Ibid., §138a.

The Philosophy of Right

81

broadly, the sphere of the family is representative of our immediate particularity, civil society takes on the aspect of a formal universality, and the state reconciles these two moments as self-consciousness.16 However, this is only the broadest, if not most superficial, of divisions because each of these spheres also contains all aspects of the whole. For example, the family immediately represents the moment of particularity. However, within the family the moment of particularity is present in marriage; that of objectivity is present in the ownership of familial property; and, Hegel tells us, the family achieves the final moment of self-consciousness in the education of its children.17 Even this, however, is not the last layer of division, for each of these moments within the family also takes up the whole. Of particular significance to this argument, we will look at how this complexity unfolds in marriage to further elucidate Hegel’s account. Marriage, in the most immediate sense, grows out of the necessity to continue the human species, and as such, it takes up our particularity in its most natural of forms: the yet unmediated need for procreation. Correspondingly, as Hegel notes, marriages generally begin in the subjective choice of one partner over another. Marriage thus incorporates our natural and subjective existence. Even Hegel’s perhaps practically problematic claim that it is ethically better if the choice of who is to be married is made prior to the development of desire or romantic feelings between the two in question does not negate the fact that the choice being made is a subjective preference for one individual over and against another. Indeed, it is that our subjective choices can be rational which is, in part, the crux of Hegel’s position. Nor is it the case, as we shall see, that he discounts the importance of love between members of a family, including husband and wife, as it is the love that exists between all members within the family, particularly between a husband and wife, that is the grounds for self-consciousness in this sphere.18 Instead, Hegel’s understanding of humans as rational beings who will ultimately be unsatisfied with decisions made on the purely transitory grounds of desire finally informs his argument for the rational choice of a marriage partner prior to the development of desire and love. Describing contemporary romantic dramas, he thus says that 16 Ibid., §157. 17 Ibid., §160. 18 Ibid., §158.

82

Finding Freedom

“in those modern dramas … in which love between the sexes is the basic interest, we encounter a pervasive element of frostiness which is brought into the heat of the passion such works portray by the total contingency associated with it.”19 Hegel’s point is that the objective observer of such a drama can see that there is no foundation for the portrayed passion, and the contingency of the union is such that it could as easily have occurred between any other two people. Further, without any other foundation but the contingency of desire, the “frostiness” of this relationship will inevitably be made clear, either subjectively, when the desires of those involved shift to another object, or objectively, when the so-called lovers recognize the emptiness of their union. Instead, Hegel argues that our preference for one individual over another should still be a real and substantially subjective interest and thus be the likely ground for the development of love, and yet this preference ought to have its basis not merely in our desire but in a rational appreciation of the other. Thus while even the particular choice of a marriage partner cannot be thought of in terms of pure subjectivity, as our reason informs this choice, it is still our subjective preference for one person over another that is most prominent at this moment. While marriage is in this way grounded in the subjectivity of those involved, in the actual act of marriage subjective preference receives an objective existence. The understood aim of marriage is not merely to satisfy subjective desires but, rather, to create a union in which subjective interests become secondary to the interests of the whole. As a means to this end, marriage is distanced from its physical basis through the wedding ceremony, which secures its spirituality through the use of language, “the most spiritual existence of the spiritual.”20 When such a union occurs, Hegel says, “the natural drive is reduced to the modality of a moment of nature which is destined to be extinguished in its very satisfaction,” while “the spiritual bond asserts its rights as the substantial factor and thereby stands indissoluble in itself and exalted above the contingency of the passions and of particular transient caprice.”21 By

19 Ibid., §162; emphasis in original. 20 Ibid., §164. 21 Ibid., §163; emphasis in original.

The Philosophy of Right

83

maintaining the institution of marriage, the modern ethical world transforms subjective desires into objective forms. Neither moment alone, however, is sufficient for marriage to rise to the ethical level of self-consciousness. Instead, self-consciousness occurs when our subjective love for another meets itself objectively in the institution of marriage. In other words, when one individual’s physical and spiritual desire to be united with another is objectively established, they both achieve self-consciousness. For here their subjective inclinations are not alienated but, rather, reconciled with the objective whole. Thus although such individuals “give up their natural and individual personalities within this union” and “their union is a self-limitation … since they attain their substantial self-consciousness within it, it is in fact their liberation.”22 Hegel goes on to suggest that ultimately the movement to this selfconsciousness, or the recognition of oneself in an objective other, is made possible because of the natural differences between the sexes. Thus, following his argument from the Phenomenology, he indicates that it is in the recognition of one’s difference from another – and the perceived possibility of one’s alienation from another person thereby – that self-consciousness becomes possible. In this way the natural difference that he describes as occurring between the sexes becomes the grounds for both men’s and women’s capacity for selfconsciousness within the family. However, as we shall see, this claim does not seem to follow the logic of the rest of Hegel’s argument. Nonetheless, looking just to the example of modern marriage as described by Hegel, we can see the difference between this ethical world and that presented in the Phenomenology of Spirit. In early ethical life the marital relationship is barely mentioned, let alone given any ethical significance. Women, we are told, only act ethically when they treat their husbands as universal categories and not as individual people whom they subjectively prefer to all others. As we have seen, Hegel’s reason for this is that the development of human reason at this stage, particularly that of women, is so limited that the “unleashing” of their desire for any particular person would immediately destroy this ethical era. Instead, it is only in the relationship of sister to brother that any limited kind of self-consciousness can be achieved within the ancient Greek family. Self-consciousness is only possible here because 22 Ibid., §161.

84

Finding Freedom

this relationship is not tainted by the presence of desire or too great a degree of emotion. The particularity of individuals in this realm is so “dangerous” that it is only when it is not present that their judgments can be truly ethical. The inability of the objective institutions, at the stage of ethical development described in the Phenomenology of Spirit, to recognize the subjective needs of their members, as well as the limited capacity of individuals to recognize the wholeness of the objective order, makes this early stage of ethical life ultimately untenable. It is the growth of our subjective recognition of the true and the corresponding development in objective institutions to take up our subjective preferences that makes institutions such as marriage more rational in the modern ethical world. Hence it is that in the modern world both women and men gain the right of desire and the opportunity for self-consciousness in marriage that is denied, particularly to women, in the ancient world. The change that we have described as taking place in the institution of marriage – taking up the subjectivity of individuals – is present at all levels of the ethical state described in The Philosophy of Right. Therefore it most perfectly embodies the reconciled nature of the Divine as both subject and object. As we have seen through the lens of marriage, the institutions of the modern state incorporate the interests of individuals. As a result, the family is no longer the sole haven for individuality. In the modern ethical world, people leave the family and enter occupations and classes in civil society and participate within the state, and all the while they retain their particular individuality. Consequently, the individual, and the family as its earlier, if imperfect, representative, should no longer pose a danger to the whole. One would thus assume a full reconciliation between the family and the state. However, when describing the specific nature of families in The Philosophy of Right, Hegel again refers us to Antigone and says that the opposition between the family and the state is the supreme opposition in ethics.23 By continuing to refer us to Antigone’s tragedy, he indicates that even though the modern

23 Speight notes that, despite Hegel’s views on the progression of genres of art, he strikingly continues to use tragedy to illustrate the state in Elements of the Philosophy of Right. See Speight, Hegel, Literature and the Problem of Agency, 146.

The Philosophy of Right

85

state has incorporated the subjective interests of individuals, a tension between the family and the state remains. Moreover, Hegel says, “In one of the most sublime presentations of piety – the Antigone of Sophocles – this quality is … declared to be primarily the law of women, and it is presented as the law of emotive and subjective substantiality, of inwardness which has not been fully actualized … and in opposition to the public law, the law of the state – an opposition of the highest order of ethics and therefore in tragedy, and one which is individualized in femininity and masculinity in the same play.”24 He thus raises the possibility of a continued conflict between the family and the state while discussing the different natures of men and women. He suggests that the source of the continued conflict lies in this necessary and, in his argument, perhaps irreconcilable difference. Hegel thereby indicates that the self-consciousness he holds out as the telos of a human life is ultimately beyond the limited intellectual capacities of women. Thus even in his account in The Philosophy of Right there are substantial differences between the natures and subsequent roles of men and women. Described as being capable of fully knowing the universal, men have their destiny in civil society and the state, where they achieve a unity of their particular desires with the universal whole. Women, on the other hand, are described as only capable of knowledge of the particular and are thus destined to remain within the family. For as Hegel says, “Man therefore has his actual substantial life in the state, in learning, etc., and otherwise in work and struggle with the external world and with himself, so that it is only through his division that he fights his way to self-sufficient unity with himself … Woman, however, has her substantial vocation in the family, and her ethical disposition consists in this [family] piety.”25 Thus, perhaps ironically, while the ancient ethical order erred in asking women to deny their particular loves for the sake of acquiring a universal relationship to the family, the modern state, as here described, leaves them to a realm that is defined primarily by particularity. If reconciling the tension between the family and the state requires the political community to recognize the particular interests

24 Hegel, Elements of the Philosophy of Right, §166. 25 Ibid.

86

Finding Freedom

of individuals as at least a means to broaden the interests of the individual to be inclusive of the whole, the limitation of women to the family and to a life of particularity would appear to be a contributing factor to the ongoing tension between the family and the political order.26 Hegel’s use of Antigone in The Philosophy of Right suggests, perhaps implicitly, that the grounds for this tension lie in the continued ethical division of the sexes. First, he describes a citizen’s obedience to the laws of the state by paraphrasing Antigone: “In this sense, Antigone proclaims that no one knows where the laws come from: they are eternal.”27 However, Sophocles’ Antigone makes this statement, not in reference to the laws of the state, but rather to the laws of the family in opposition to the state’s decree. Hegel himself later acknowledges this distinction when he goes on to describe ethical activity within the family by using the same line. He there says that the family is governed by “an eternal law of which no one knows whence it came.”28 Hegel thus blurs the distinction between the ethical activity of the family and that which occurs in the wider realm of the political community. By describing the laws of the state as though men obey them unconsciously, he depicts the extent to which the state and civil society have taken the place of what was once the particular power of the family. It is also now within the state that the individual finds his subjectivity recognized, and recognized in a manner that aligns it with the universality of the whole.29 However, that Hegel continues to use this statement also in reference to the particular nature of the family and of women is indicative of the extent to which the state has been unable to incorporate women into this larger realm.

26 Joanna Hodge provides a good discussion of the result for women of being excluded from working in the civil sphere. Work, she says, plays a large role in the education of citizens and allows them to distance themselves from their own particular interest. Women’s exclusion from these realms ultimately results in their exclusion from the realm of politics, as their education is not yet complete. See Hodge, “Women and the Hegelian State,” 138. Also see Ravven, “Has Hegel Anything to Say to Feminists?” 165. 27 Hegel, Elements of the Philosophy of Right, §144a. 28 Ibid., §166. 29 Hegel also uses this quotation for similar reasons in The Philosophy of History, 38.

The Philosophy of Right

87

It is fairly easy to predict how such tensions might erupt into actual conflict. If women are limited to the family, they will not gain the opportunity to broaden their interests to include those of the whole. Therefore, like Antigone, they will continue to focus on the good of the family, perhaps to the detriment of what is good for the state and its citizens. Correspondingly, and as in Antigone, without the enlarged capacity to determine what is objectively good, this limited perspective will also be to the detriment of the family and its members. Ultimately, as we shall see, it is what Hegel perceives as a fundamental difference between the rational capacities of men and women that leaves open the possibility for this continued tension in the modern ethical polis. Nonetheless, his presentation of these differences does not logically lead to the conclusions he draws. And in the end, extending Hegel’s logic beyond his explicit argument, we can see both the possibility and the need for an equal role for men and women within the political community. In The Philosophy of Right, Hegel says, “The natural determinacy of the two sexes acquires an intellectual and ethical significance by virtue of its rationality.”30 The natural differences of the sexes are, apparently, rational. Presumably, this is because these differences are the means for the generation of children; but at least in one sense, they are also the means by which self-consciousness is achieved in this initial moment of modern ethical life. Hegel says that as result of the rationality of these differences, they must also have an ethical and intellectual significance. This results in the sexes being assigned to two separate ethical spheres – women to the family and men to the political realm.31 The format of his argument is striking. Because the physical differences of men and women are rational, Hegel deduces that they must also have different intellectual abilities that result in their subsequent ethical differentiation. The implication is that the intellectual differences cannot be ascertained without prior knowledge of the physical differences. The intellectual differences do not stand out on their own; they must be deduced. If we accept for the moment that the different physical natures of men and women result in different types of “mind,” it seems strange that Hegel is willing to base an ethical distinction on characteristics that are purely natural, such as biological facts, even if they serve a 30 Hegel, Elements of the Philosophy of Right, §165; emphasis in original. 31 Ibid., §165.

88

Finding Freedom

rational end. Instead, it would be more consistent for him to argue that the ethical world should be raised above the purely contingent nature of our physical beings, just as the marriage ceremony raises our natural, yet rational desire from the level of subjectivity to the objective point in which we choose our desire. By assigning men and women to those spheres that are “natural” to them because of their physical natures, Hegel accepts a realm of immediate particularity. Women do not choose the realm of the family because they see that it is rational for them, just as men do not choose the political sphere; rather, they are assigned to one or the other because of their particular physical characteristics.32 If it were the case that the consciousnesses of women were such that they could only achieve satisfaction in the realm of the family, the seemingly ethical way for this characteristic to be demonstrated would be to open all areas of ethical life to everyone, with the subsequent result that most, if not all, women would choose the life of the family above all others. Furthermore, Hegel’s characterization of the minds of men and women as different is insufficient. He justifies the limitation of women to the family by saying, “When women are in charge of government, the state is in danger, for their actions are based not on the demands of universality but on contingent inclination and opinion.”33 It is because of their inability to recognize the demands of universality that women are thought to be better suited to a life in the family. However, Hegel’s description of the family and of marriage in particular suggests that the ability to recognize the demands of universality in these areas is paramount: “the precise nature of marriage is to begin from the point of view of contract – i.e., that of individual personality as a self-sufficient unit – in order to supersede it. That identification of personalities whereby the family is a single person and its members are its accidents … is the ethical spirit.”34 If a woman is capable of the universality required in the family, why is she not also capable of the universality required in the state? One possible response is that the universality required in the family is dependent on feeling, while that in the state is based on reason and women are not capable of this degree of rational thought.35 However, 32 33 34 35

See Arthur, “Hegel as Lord and Master,” 42–3. Hegel, Elements of the Philosophy of Right, §166a. Ibid., §163; emphasis in original. Ibid., §166a.

The Philosophy of Right

89

while marriages have their basis in feeling, ethical marriages, as we have seen, do not begin at this stage. Instead, Hegel says the most ethical marriages occur when the two parties involved rationally decide to marry first and the subjective desire to be together occurs afterwards.36 Further, he discounts the possibility that the consent of women can be ignored in favour of a more rational proxy by censuring communities in which this practice occurs. He thus differentiates the more rational world he describes from such communities by noting that such “people … hold the female sex in little respect.”37 Correspondingly, the marriage ceremony and the institution of marriage changes what is merely a subjective inclination to something much higher than feeling: “[An] … unacceptable notion is that which simply equates marriage with love; for love, as a feeling, is open in all respects to contingency, and this is a shape which the ethical may not assume. Marriage should therefore be defined more precisely as rightfully ethical love, so that the transient, capricious, and purely subjective aspects of love are excluded from it.”38 Women, therefore, are particularly well suited to making the rational decision necessary to determine to whom they will surrender their individual personality in order to create a larger whole or universal in the form of the family. And the family that they form is not based on subjective inclinations but on something more rational and ethical.39 Moreover, women are the primary educators of children within the family. Hegel initially describes this task by saying, “In the period of infancy, the mother’s role in the child’s upbringing is of primary importance, for [the principles of] ethics must be implanted in the

36 Ibid., §162. 37 Ibid., §162a. 38 Ibid., §161a. 39 As Landes points out, even the relationship of love, while natural, does contain the dialectic – a dialectic that women participate in. She says, “In love’s first moment individuality requires the denial of self. But in the second moment, the negative determination is transcended and the individual recovers himself through another, who simultaneously achieves her individuality through him”(136). This interpretation would make Hegel’s limitation of women to the sphere of the family illogical. Like men, women can transcend the specific standpoint of formal personality. See Landes, “Hegel’s Conception of the Family,” 136–9.

90

Finding Freedom

child in the form of feeling.”40 However, the general role of education in society is “raising the children out of the natural immediacy in which they originally exist to self-sufficiency and freedom of personality, thereby enabling them to leave the family unit.”41 Presumably, Hegel’s argument is that by first instilling in children the proper sentiments toward what ought to be loved or condemned, women plant the seeds of ethical life that are later rationally understood and developed. However, for this process to succeed, it is presumably necessary for women to hold these sentiments as well. If women are excluded from the wider civil and political communities, it is not clear that they will have the grounds for these necessary attachments. Without understanding why the principles that highlight the importance of civil society and the state are necessary and good, women would most likely be more inclined to undercut this education in favour of one that highlights the realm of the family. This, of course, is part of the difficulty for ancient Greek ethical life – women, having no basis in the political order, see it only as opposed to themselves. As a result, they turn the sons of this political community against it.42 If this early education is to be effective, it seems necessary for women to have more than just a formal account of it. Moreover, in the Philosophy of Mind Hegel recognizes the intellectual ability of at least some women. Here, when discussing instances of magic – that is, when an individual seems to have an inexplicable effect on the actions or thoughts of another – he says that “absolute magic” is the work of mind “itself.” While instances of this sort may seem inexplicable, Hegel argues that they may contain moments of immediacy or intuition, but they are primarily mediated by actions, words, and gestures: “This, too, exercises a magical influence on objects, acts magically on another mind.”43 He thus describes children who are influenced by the actions of adults around them and adults who are influenced by the actions and words of other adults of superior minds. As an example of the second sort, Hegel depicts the rule of a woman, notably a queen, over her husband: “a queen of France who, when accused of practicing sorcery on her husband, replied that she had used no other magical power against him than that 40 41 42 43

Hegel, Elements of the Philosophy of Right, §175a. Ibid., §175. Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 475. Hegel, Philosophy of Mind, 405.

The Philosophy of Right

91

which Nature bestows on the stronger mind to dominate the weaker.”44 Hegel therefore allows the possibility that a woman may have an intellect superior to a man. Finally, there is the potential argument that the natural differences between women and men have a demonstrably ethical, and thus intellectual, significance insofar as it is on the basis of this difference that men and women are able to achieve self-consciousness. As noted earlier, it is by means of recognizing themselves in a distinct other that human beings achieve self-consciousness. In this way, they perceive the possibility of a full reconciliation between their subjective selves and an objective other. The natural differences between men and women are presumably the necessary differentiation that allows the realization of self-consciousness. However, this particular point does not seem to follow the rest of Hegel’s logic. Men transcend the self-consciousness made possible by their recognition of difference rooted in the physical natures of the two sexes. Indeed, for the modern regime described in The Philosophy of Right to work, this movement to self-consciousness must also be made by men with other men in civil society and the state. Given that we might rightly argue that for this wider recognition to occur, men must first experience self-consciousness as it is possible in the “rudimentary” natural form that is present in the relationship of men to women. However, even if they do so, it does not necessitate that this natural difference causes a resulting intellectual difference between the sexes. Instead, it can just as easily be the case that the movement to self-consciousness in women also begins, but does not necessarily end, in the wife’s recognition of herself in her husband. Even when describing self-consciousness within marriage, Hegel uses language that seems to discount its basis within the natural differences of the sexes. Instead, he says that when one enters a marriage, it “attains its right of being conscious of itself in the other only in so far as the other is present in this identity as a person, i.e., as atomic individuality.”45 And later, self-consciousness is the “free surrender by both sexes of their personalities, which are infinitely unique to themselves.”46 Like the dialectic within civil society and in the political community, the difference required for self-consciousness 44 Ibid. 45 Hegel, Elements of the Philosophy of Right, §167; emphasis in original. 46 Ibid., §168.

92

Finding Freedom

within marriage seems be the recognition of the other as a distinct individual or personality. In the Phenomenology the master/slave dialectic is superseded by the more rational self-consciousness of bother and sister who are capable of seeing difference not just in the most broad of divisions, whether something lives or dies, but in the differentiation created by sex. In the same way this moment would seem to be superseded in the modern ethical world, as presented in The Philosophy of Right. Men and women are presumably now capable of seeing difference in the yet more rational specification of personality; they perceive as important, not the distinction between physical natures, but the distinction created by individual minds. If this is true and women are capable of seeing the difference created by the mind of another and move from this difference to their ultimate commonality with the other, then presumably they would be able to do so in those spheres Hegel reserves to the minds of men: civil society and the state. His account of the intellectual and thus ethical differences between men and women are therefore inadequate to the rest of his account of the modern world. The very capacities that he denies women are required for their participation in families, and he can even point to women who do not fit the mould he creates for them. If this is true, there does not seem to be a logical reason for the exclusion of women from the state. Thus although Hegel does continue to limit the ethical role of women, he indicates that because of the increased rationality of the age, they do gain increasing rights, suggesting, in the very least, their capacity to responsibly appropriate these limited aspects of the objective order. First, we are told that all children in the modern ethical world have the right to an education; this presumably includes both girls and boys. As noted previously, this early education is a necessary means by which children learn to reconcile their subjective desires with the common good. Hegel distinguishes between the education of women and men by saying, “The education of women takes place imperceptibly, as if through the atmosphere of representational thought, more through living than through the acquisition of knowledge, whereas man attains his position only through the attainment of thought and numerous technical exertions.”47 While this statement seems to imply a substantial difference between the 47 Ibid., §166a.

The Philosophy of Right

93

abilities of men and women, it is important to note that it actually suggests not the different capacities to learn but rather, the different modes by which the sexes are educated by society. To the extent that this implication is true, it points not to a substantial difference between men and women but, rather, to a difference in the way they are treated.48 Moreover, when discussing the education of children, Hegel says that, like all children, people under patriarchal governments “are fed out of central depots and are not regarded as self-sufficient adults.”49 Insofar as women are still ruled by men, their condition remains similar to that of all people in patriarchal societies – they are like children. However, he raises this point when discussing the education of children. Through education, children intellectually become adults. The possibility is thus present that if women were properly educated, they could also progress intellectually. In addition to the right to an education and the previously noted right to choose their partners in marriage, women at this stage also gain limited property rights. For although men are recognized as the heads of families and gain the right to work outside the home, the property that is thereby accumulated is owned by the family in common. When the family dissolves, this property is generally to be distributed equally amongst all members of the family, including women. Marriage settlements therefore exist to ensure that upon the breakdown of the family, either through death or divorce, women continue to receive the support to which they have a right.50 Hegel’s equation of the rights of men and women seems most telling when he says, “The ethical dissolution of the family consists in the fact that the children are brought up to become free personalities and, when they have come of age, are recognized as legal persons 48 See also Barber, “Spirit’s Phoenix and History’s Owl,” 13–21. Barber argues that Hegel’s presentation of women is potentially radical, but ultimately is not. He contends that Hegel believed his era to be the final development and that therefore the confinement of women to the family is a rational by-product of this evolution, regardless of their potential. 49 Hegel, Elements of the Philosophy of Right, §174a. 50 Ibid., §172. Although Hodge seems to suggest that, according to Hegel, husbands have complete control over property and may squander it at their will, the above quotation suggests otherwise. See Hodge, “Women and the Hegelian State,” 140.

94

Finding Freedom

and as holding free property of their own and of founding families – the sons as heads of families and the daughters as wives.”51 He does not distinguish between men or women with regards to their education, as owners of property, or in the eyes of the law. Instead, they are only distinguishable when he speaks of their roles in the family, suggesting that in all other spheres they might be equal. Indeed, the perceived inability of women to reach the level of universality achieved by men could possibly be caused by their confinement to the familial realm. Not given the opportunity to see their particular interests as part of the larger whole of the state, they do have see these interests satisfied in that sphere. Women thus may be protective of what they view as their own, in opposition to the rest of the ethical world. To the extent that the exclusion of women from civil and political life results in a tension between the family and the state, it seems that a fully rational and ethical order would strive to include the subjective interests of women. If the logical outcome of Hegel’s argument is the theoretical and practical equality of men and women, there arises the subsequent question of the shape and role of the new ethical family that would result. This question is particularly relevant given the degree to which, in both the Phenomenology of Spirit and The Philosophy of Right, the fulfillment of the needs of the family are dependent on the role of women within it. If it is the case that the knowledge and thus the interests of all women are not fundamentally different from those of all men but, rather, correspond at least as much as they differ, then there could be a resulting problem for the structure and place of the family in ethical life. For while, on one hand, the family in Hegel’s account is the place of women’s subjective fulfillment, it is, on the other an objective substance. Put otherwise, the family in this account not only represents the purely, or merely, subjective interests of women but has a content that is objectively true and ethically valuable. As discussed earlier, the family, as described in The Philosophy of Right, is, on one level, the moment of immediacy or subjectivity in modern ethical life. By means of the love that unites us to our families, we find a natural and immediate universal within which an immediate self-consciousness is achieved. As such, the family is a necessary 51 Hegel, Elements of the Philosophy of Right, §177; emphasis in original.

The Philosophy of Right

95

moment in the dialectic of modern ethical life. Through the natural mediation of familial love, we come to know ourselves not only as subjective beings but subjective beings capable of recognizing and freely participating in an objective order. We are thus prepared to recognize goods of a more universal and less immediate nature, such as those present in civil society and the state. The family therefore is a necessary component of human ethical development. If the truth that is apparent in the family is no longer recognized by women as central to their subjective interests, what then happens to the family in the modern ethical world? Despite the reasonable nature of these concerns, it is important to note that acknowledging the necessity of the family as an ethical institution is not the same as assigning a particular group to it because of the contingency of their sex. Indeed, given that the grounds upon which the family serves as the means for our future ethical existence is the love that is present within it, it presumably works better if women as well as men find their interests truly represented therein. For example, although, as we have seen, Hegel does argue that women as well as men should have the opportunity to choose their partner in marriage and thus find the basis of their objective unions in their own personal preferences, the confinement of women to the family means that they are not given an opportunity to financially support themselves. As a result, the choice of their partner in marriage is substantially constrained by forces other than the most rational choice for the fulfillment of their subjective interests. Women must define their choices in terms of who will be able to support them and their children. Thus although Hegel himself says that considerations of external factors, including wealth, “may have very harsh effects … as marriage is made a means to other ends,” the limitation of women to the family makes wealth a predominant factor in the consideration of whom they marry.52 The particularity of women is thus not yet fully taken up, even in the family of this new ethical order that Hegel describes. As a result, the love that should move human beings to an understanding of them as potentially self-conscious beings, and which is the basis of the family, is threatened. Alternatively, if the minds of women are not significantly different from those of men and they are given entry to the sphere of civil society and the state, then the financial constraints that may colour a 52 Ibid., §162.

96

Finding Freedom

woman’s choice in a marriage partner are lifted, and the possibility of love being the grounds of this ethical entity is heightened. Further, assume that a woman’s subjective interests do extend beyond the realm of the family, and she indeed can see her interests reflected in civil society and the political community. The result of confining her to the family can only have a detrimental affect on the love that is supposed to be its foundation. Rather than seeing in the family the means to the initial fulfillment of her self-consciousnesses, such a woman would potentially see it as a barrier to her ultimate happiness. Rather than loving the family as the means to her satisfaction, even if only partially, she could very easily resent it for the same reason. Finally, with respect to how actual obligations within the family would be fulfilled, particularly the moral education of the children, a conscious and rational choice could be made depending on the particular desires, talents, and interests of both parents and the particular circumstances in which they find themselves. While it may be the case that women will choose to put careers on hold to help raise a young family, this would be a decision that would be consciously made and thus not a source of future resentment or instability. Moreover, Hegel’s argument does not take into account the possibility that men who are forced to enter civil society for the maintenance of their family might actually prefer and be better suited to taking care of their children than their wives are. In the end, allowing individual couples and families, through a rational appraisal of their abilities and interests, to determine how the responsibilities of these communities will be met is the most likely way to achieve their members’ support and love. By pointing the reader back to Antigone, Hegel reminds us of the state’s inability to incorporate the interests of the family and, more importantly, those of the women who are viewed as its representative. Humanity has progressed to recognize the freedom of all individuals, and this consciousness is made actual within the world. Thus the subjective interests of individuals have become the foundation for ethical life. However, as is apparent in The Philosophy of Right, this progression, at least in terms of the rights of women, has not fully occurred even in Hegel’s philosophical account, let alone in the practical reality of Prussian political life of the nineteenth century. The result, as Hegel himself admits and the modern world at least implicitly experiences, is a tension between the desires of women, the stability of the family, and our satisfaction with, and

The Philosophy of Right

97

thus the strength of, our states. Women, or at least the subjectivity that they represent for Hegel, remain the persistent irony of the community. Nonetheless, to the extent that the progress he envisions as occurring between these spheres has taken place, the tension between these aspects no longer has to be tragic, and we are still advantageously placed in historical terms to be able to foresee a Hegelian comedic resolution.

5

A Midsummer Night’s Dream: Antigone Transformed While Hegel notes that the modern world is distinct inasmuch as it recognizes the freedom that is intrinsic to all its members, the actualization of this freedom is not immediate. In The Philosophy of Right he presents an account of how freedom has developed in his era. As we have seen, he believes that the modern state overcomes the tragic flaw of the ancient world by integrating its citizens’ interests and desires into its own foundation. Individuals thereby learn to broaden their interests to include those of the political community. Although Hegel does not explicitly state that this progression is yet incomplete, he tells us that the modern political order which he describes does not recognize the subjective interests of women in a sphere beyond the family. Women, confined to the family, do not learn to broaden their interests to include those of the wider community. They thus represent a possible source of tension for the modern world. Hegel acknowledges this possibility by continuing to use Antigone as representing the piety of the family and the particular piety of women. Nonetheless, as the modern state and the modern family, even as described by Hegel, have become more rational, the continued tension between the two is lessened. As noted earlier, in The Philosophy of Right both the family and the state have progressed in their recognition of the other’s legitimacy. This progression mediates any further tension so as not to result in their necessary destruction. Rather, following the logic of Hegel’s argument, if not his explicit account, new tensions in the modern ethical order should bring about further developments in the actualization of reason and eventually result in the recognition of the interests of women outside the limits of the

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

99

family. Further, according to his thought, once this occurs, human beings will find their satisfaction by acting in accordance with the aims of the state. If we accept Hegel’s general thesis that our ethical communities, as products of our rational reflection, progressively reflect a truer account of the Divine, that women have gained fuller entrance to civil and political communities suggests that this development is rational. Indeed, his perhaps infamous and often misunderstood claim that “what is rational is actual and what is actual is rational”1 suggests that the Hegelian task of perceiving in the world the continued reflection of the divine nature has not yet ended. While The Philosophy of Right depicts an ideal political community that might exist as an expression of the Divine as understood in Hegel’s era, practical developments in our own political communities, including the entrance of women into civil and political life, which reflect a more complete reconciliation between the subjective consciousnesses of citizens and their objective political orders suggest that we have progressed in our consciousness of the true nature of Spirit. Philosophy’s task now is to understand the grounds of these developments. Further, given Hegel’s own reliance on examples from works of art to mediate the development of our understanding, it seems that we are justified in seeking works of art that better reflect the Spirit as it is presently manifest. Fortunately, we find in his Aesthetics an account of where we might most appropriately look. Most broadly, it appears that in the modern world, romantic comedies, as defined by Hegel, rather than ancient tragedies such as Antigone, most truly express the Hegelian state. In the Aesthetics he distinguishes between tragedy and comedy, as well as between ancient and modern poetry. The difference, he explains, between tragedy and comedy is that in tragedy conflicting individuals are destroyed because of their limited visions of the whole, while in comedy resolution is brought about by the individuals themselves. “In tragedy the individuals destroy themselves through the one-sidedness of their otherwise solid will and character … In comedy there comes before our contemplation, in the laughter in which the characters dissolve everything, including themselves, the victory of their own subjective personality that nevertheless persists self-assured.”2 In 1 Hegel, Elements of the Philosophy of Right, Preface, 20. 2 Hegel, Aesthetics, 1199.

100

Finding Freedom

tragedy the characters are destroyed because they take their limited interests too seriously and are oblivious to the external world; in comedy the characters laugh at their flaws and persist: “this is the bliss and ease of a man who, being sure of himself, can bear the frustration of his aims and achievements.”3 The movement from tragedy to comedy is thus a movement from objective force to subjective interests – a movement that parallels the change from the ancient ethical world to the modern. A similar movement is displayed in the difference between ancient and romantic drama.4 While ancient drama and ancient comedy, in particular, begin to portray the principle of free individuality, it is not yet recognized that this freedom is the basis of human life and action. The subjectivity of individuals is depicted only in its subordinate relationship to substantial and objective aims. However, in modern romantic dramas, greatness lies not in the objective aims of the individuals but in the individuals themselves. The objective world order, rather than the sole end or antithesis of the individual, is now displayed as the setting where more subjective interests can be developed.5 It is not that the objective world is unimportant but that the individual and the objective world now complement, rather than oppose, one another. It is this shift in perspective that allows conflicts to be resolved without the destruction of the whole. Shakespeare, Hegel says, is a brilliant example of this quality, but he gives no further explanation.6 Further, as we have seen in the Phenomenology of Spirit, Hegel suggests that poetry can be an appropriate vehicle for engaging our subjective interests to the end of bringing us to a more complete understanding of the objective whole. Good poetry takes up subjectivity by presenting particular characters or situations that are designed, at least initially, to invoke an emotional or passionate response from the audience. At the same time, the particular images used can be representative of a larger universal and objective good. An audience can thus be raised by means of their subjective interest in a piece of work to rationally apprehend the more objective principle being pointed to. 3 4 5 6

Ibid., 1200. Ibid., 1205. Ibid., 1207. Ibid., 1236.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

101

Although Hegel is able to suggest the continuing tension between the family and the state through his use of Antigone, Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream is probably a more apt depiction of the resolution of this conflict as it might develop in the modern world. Unlike Antigone, which, according to Hegel, is descriptive of the ancient ethical order in which subjective and objective elements collide and ultimately destroy each other, in A Midsummer Night’s Dream these elements collide and then are reconciled, even if not perfectly.7 In this play two youths, Hermia and Lysander, are prevented from marrying by Hermia’s father, Egeus, and an Athenian law that states a daughter must marry the man of her father’s choosing. Unfortunately, Egeus has chosen Demetrius rather than Lysander. The conflict is brought to the attention of Theseus, Duke of Athens, who initially says that this law cannot be mitigated. However, by the end of the play, not only is the law overruled, but Theseus has invited Hermia and Lysander to be married at the same time as he is to marry his new bride, Hippolyta. In addition, the movement of the play demonstrates the transformation of patriarchal Athens where fathers rule daughters absolutely to a regime that includes the subjectivity of its citizens, even its daughters. Just as Hegel argues that the general solution to the tragedy of Greek ethical life is the reciprocal recognition of subjectivity and objectivity, so A Midsummer Night’s Dream reconciles the subjective desires of lovers and families with the objective political order, a reconciliation that requires a transformation of both.8 And just as Antigone is the means through which we grasp the extent of the tension of the ancient ethical world in the Phenomenology of Spirit, so A Midsummer Night’s Dream provides a way for the reader to perceive how a similar tension in the modern world might be overcome for the good of both the individuals and the political order involved. In A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Shakespeare presents the progression of Athens from a traditional patriarchy to a more liberal order. This 7 While this argument does not depend on Shakespeare having republican sentiments, for an interesting account of the possibility of republican themes in his plays, see Hadfield, Shakespeare and Republicanism. 8 Aptly, in Euripides’ play The Suppliants, it is Theseus who wages war on Thebes in order to retrieve the bodies of the men who died while waging war on Thebes and to whom Creon has refused burial. See Whitehorne, “The Background to Polynices’ Disinterment and Reburial,” 136–7.

102

Finding Freedom

movement requires that the state recognize the particular interests of individuals that it once denied. In Athens this change occurs through the transformation of the duke, Theseus. In contrast to those commentators who see Theseus, from the beginning of the play to the end, as an example of a just and rational ruler, we shall see that he is transformed from a ruler who perhaps unthinkingly upholds the laws and traditions of his regime, even when they are to the detriment of his citizens, to the more reasoned ruler who is evident at the end of the play.9 Importantly, this transformation will take place, at least in part, as a result of Theseus’s recognition of the importance of his own subjective desires to his happiness. In the beginning of Shakespeare’s play, Athens is ruled by Theseus and, ultimately, by Athenian fathers. These men attempt to control all aspects of their children’s lives, including their loves. This dominance is depicted in Egeus’s refusal to allow Hermia to marry Lysander and the Athenian law that upholds his decision by decreeing that fathers will choose their daughters’ husbands. It is also mirrored in the initial actions of Theseus, who admits that he did not wait for the consent of his new bride but, rather, wooed Hippolyta with his sword.10 Perhaps not surprisingly, the ruler of a patriarchal Athens acquires his bride through conquest, a point that is even more poignant when we realize that Theseus’s new bride is the former queen of the Amazons. A patriarchal Athens imposes itself not only on the women of its own state but on women everywhere, particularly those who presume their equality, if not superiority, to men. Interestingly, as we shall see through the presentation of Titania’s rule over Bottom, Shakespeare’s point is not to favour matriarchal rule over that of patriarchs but, rather, to counsel against all forms of “absolute” rule, regardless of gender. Hippolyta’s initial aversion to her union with Theseus is “delicately” indicated in her first speech. While time cannot go by quickly enough for Theseus’s desire to be wed, Hippolyta assures him that it is going by fast enough, perhaps even too fast.11 Her melancholy is necessarily heightened upon hearing of Egeus’s 9 See Rhoades, Shakespeare’s Defense of Poetry, 32–3; and Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, ed. Harold F. Brooks, cii. 10 Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 1.1.18. Citations are from the Oxford University Press edition, edited by Peter Holland. 11 Ibid., 1.1.7–11.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

103

complaint against his daughter and her groom’s response, for Theseus agrees that Hermia will also be forced to wed.12 Egeus is angry that Hermia has refused to marry the man of his choosing, but instead would wed Lysander, who has won her heart by proving his own love and himself lovable. Egeus thus complains, This hath bewitched the bosom of my child. Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes, And interchanged love tokens with my child. Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung With feigning voice verses of feigning love, And stol’n the impression of her fantasy With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gauds, conceits, Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats – messengers Of strong prevailment in unhardened youth.13

In a political order in which a woman is denied the right to consent to who will be her husband, those things that normally occur in the course of wooing are considered means of bewitchment. Insofar as it is not Hermia’s consent that is required but Egeus’s, Lysander has erred in wooing her rather than her father. He mistakenly believes that it is the love between the two to be married that is important. Lysander’s recognition that Egeus and Hermia are separate individuals, each capable of different thoughts and different loves, does not initially seem correct to patriarchal Athens. While Lysander sees two individuals in the form of Egeus and Hermia, Athenian law recognizes only one. Theseus captures the essence of this law by reminding Hermia, To you your father should be as a god, One that composed your beauties, yea, and one 12 Thus as David Marshall notes, while Theseus awaits his nuptial hour, Hippolyta is merely awaiting their solemnities – an indication that she is less than enthusiastic about the match. Alternatively, however, Brooks argues that Hippolyta is just as eager for her marriage. This interpretation, however, would seem to be contradicted by Hippolyta’s own countenance. See Marshall, “Exchanging Visions,” 548; and Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, ed. Harold F. Brooks, lxxxix, civ. 13 Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 1.1.27–35.

104

Finding Freedom

To whom you are but a form in wax, By him imprinted, and within his power To leave the figure, or disfigure it.14

As Hermia’s creator, Egeus will shape her love to match his own, and if he cannot, he can and will destroy her.15 Hearing Theseus’s response to Hermia, Hippolyta has a clear view of the principles that underlie not only her own union to Theseus but those of all of Athens. As a result, her countenance displays her displeasure – so much so that Theseus notices her unhappiness and asks, “What cheer, my love?”16 Interestingly, Hermia’s mother is not present, nor is she credited with her role in her daughter’s making. This is fitting, given the nature of this society, in which men and, more particularly, fathers rule. Mothers presumably fully correspond or bend to the wills of fathers, just as their daughters must. Further, the absence of mothers would seem to correspond with Hegel’s depiction of early Greek society. Not able to partake in the objectivity required for politics, mothers are not attendant to the scenes that take place in the city of Athens. That Hermia is present and “boldly” speaks to the duke demonstrates the uneasy balance that is thus struck. Insofar as her interests are not considered in the laws of the political community, her presence therein is a source of conflict. Egeus and Theseus can present the law to her, but it is unlikely that she will ever be fully able to determine its content, particularly given that it does not take into account the existence of her will. Thus while Hermia and all women may have to enter the public sphere in order to be formally instituted within the bonds of marriage, once they are safely ensconced within these boundaries, the gates to public life will presumably be closed.17 Importantly, the artisans twice identify themselves as their “mothers’ sons,” suggesting that the lower classes of society are perhaps more egalitarian.18 The patriarchal rule of Athens is mirrored in the forest that surrounds it. Just as the city is ruled by Theseus and Athenian fathers, so 14 Ibid., 1.1.47–51. 15 Ibid., 1.1.42–4. 16 Ibid., 1.1.22. 17 For a psychoanalytic and unconvincing account of the lack of mothers in Dream, see Calderwood, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 1–22. 18 Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 1.2.71 and 3.1.65.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

105

the forest is practically ruled by Oberon, the fairy king; just as Theseus and the laws of Athens dictate who will wed whom, so Oberon and his magic potion dictate the course of love in the woods. The forest surrounding Athens appears to represent a natural, rather than rational, political order. It could thus be argued, perhaps, that the rule of men is appropriate as it is grounded in nature. However, this would be to deny the rational and mediated grounds of political life, for in the polis, nature, while incorporated, is also transcended. Instead, for Shakespeare, this “natural” patriarchy appears to demonstrate what would be required for any individual, male or female, to have absolute power – immortal gods and magic potions. Unlike Theseus, who is mortal and limited in his abilities to overrule the original passion and desires of Hermia and Lysander, Oberon is immortal and seemingly unlimited. Representative of a force of nature, he has the capacity to perceive the foundations of our purely subjective desires and the ability to change and control them. However, as we shall see, even this does not result in justice. For while Oberon is able to rule absolutely because of his greater natural power, that he does is ultimately unjust to the “lesser beings” under his control. A second layer of Shakespeare’s critique is thus made apparent. Given the clear link between Titania’s name to the Greek Titans, as well as the influence of Oberon and Titania on the natural order, we can perhaps read the forest outside Athens as being akin to the ancient account of the older Athenian gods as the forces of the natural world. Shakespeare’s point would therefore be similar to the difficulty of absolute rule that we see in Sophocles’ Creon. For while Oberon seems to represent an objective political power, his rule, as a force of nature, ultimately is limited to his own subjective and immediate inclinations. Like Creon, an absolute ruler who does not take up the truth inherent in the subjective interests and existence of his subjects ultimately rules not according to the objective good but, rather, in accordance with a narrow, particularly defined account of the whole.19 Oberon will thus override an apparently objective duty that Titania has accepted with respect to the child of her votress for the sake of seemingly fulfilling his own desires. Further, Shakespeare’s Titans also make reference to Cupid, one of the later Olympian deities, suggesting that Shakespeare has equated, at 19 In contrast to this argument and of assistance in developing my own thought on this point, see Dinan, “The Erotic Republic.”

106

Finding Freedom

least roughly, all the Greek gods as gods of a natural realm. While the current argument cannot take this point up in detail, it is interesting to note that here he may ultimately be negatively comparing the wider ancient Greek account that he displays in the forest to the Christian account that he depicts in the Athenian state. Oberon overwrites the particular loves of others on three separate occasions. First, he makes Titania love Bottom and forget her love for the changeling boy. Second, he accidentally makes Lysander love Helena and then reverses this mistake so that he again loves Hermia. Finally, he induces Demetrius to love Helena. Although Puck informs us that the child whom Titania and Oberon are arguing over was stolen from an Indian king, Titania says that he is the child of one of her followers who, when dying, asked Titania to care for him. One way to reconcile these two accounts would be to imagine a pairing between the Indian king and Titania’s votress, with the child being the product of their union. If this is the case then Puck’s account that this boy was “stolen” from the king resembles the language of Egeus and Theseus, who would make all children the property of their fathers. Titania makes no mention of the king’s claim on the boy and suggests instead that her right to the child stems from her love of the votress, rather than any property claim on the part of the boy’s mother. Shakespeare would thus seem to suggest a difference between the patriarchal rule of Oberon and the matriarchal rule of Titania. Ultimately, however, neither is sufficient, as becomes obvious in Titania’s tyrannical rule over Bottom and her easy forgoing of the boy to Oberon’s charge. Shakespeare’s criticism thus extends to all absolute governments, regardless of regime type. Both Puck and Titania characterize Oberon as jealous,20 and it is perhaps because of this jealousy that he interferes in the love Titania holds for the changeling. He tries first to acquire the boy by suggesting to Titania that by merely giving the boy to him, their quarrel and the disquiet this quarrel has caused in nature will cease; he asks, “Why should Titania cross her Oberon? / I do but beg a little changeling boy / To be my henchman.”21 With these words, Oberon indicates that he views the boy as an object that can easily be given away. He is but a boy and not worth the trouble he is creating. These words also serve as a test of Titania’s love for the child. They are perhaps a means 20 Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 2.1.24,61,81.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

107

for Oberon to see if his jealousy is well founded. As an absolute ruler, Oberon will rule all of Titania’s loves. Thus if he is not already suspicious, Titania’s response gives him ample food for his jealousy as she informs him that her devotion to the child’s mother will prevent her from giving the child up, even if the entire fairy kingdom is being offered.22 Indeed, while she speaks about a promise she made to one of her followers, and thus an obligation that she is freely committed to, Oberon seeks, not to return the boy to the king from whom he was stolen, but to make him one of his “henchmen.” Rather than allow her to subject her desires to an objective good other than perhaps himself, Oberon would steal that good from her. However, unlike Theseus, who, when faced with the love that Hermia holds for Lysander, can threaten only punishment, death, or the nunnery, Oberon is capable of turning to magic as a means of persuasion. He sends Puck for the juice of a flower that makes a person love the next being who appears. Having applied this juice to Titania’s eyelids and redirected her attention to a new love, Oberon will persuade her to give up the boy. Interestingly, he does not use this juice to make Titania love himself but, rather, allows her to fall in love with a transformed Bottom. There is thus the possibility that, like Theseus, Oberon would like a love that is freely given and not obtained by manipulative means. Ultimately, however, his willingness to indirectly force Titania’s decision suggests that he is not disposed to risk the perhaps necessary chance that she find him most lovable. He does not allow for the possibility that her subjective preference will differ from his own. 21 Ibid., 2.1.118–121. As Hutton notes, Titania describes her quarrel as the origin of the recent storms by referring to herself and Oberon as its parents (2.1.117). Just as they are the parents and cause of the disruption in the natural realm, so Hermia’s parent and the parents of Thisbe and Pyramus are the cause of the disruption in the political realm. See Hutton, “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” 300. 22 Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 2.1.122. Nevo takes Titania’s connection to the boy perhaps too far when she argues that Titania equates herself with the boy’s mother and thus sees the child as her own. She is thus unwilling to part with him. However, there seems to be no textual proof for such as relationship, and if it is the case, then Titania’s later willingness to part with the changeling is even more surprising. See Nevo, Comic Transformations in Shakespeare, 64.

108

Finding Freedom

The defective character of the law that denies Hermia’s consent is mirrored in Titania and Bottom’s ensuing love affair. Oberon, the administrator of the love potion, corresponds to Theseus as administrator of Athens’s laws. Insofar as the potion causes only Titania to fall in love and does not take into account the feelings of Bottom, it is like the law that grants consent to the father and husband and not to the daughter or wife. The relationship, therefore, between Titania and Bottom is under the absolute control of the potion or the king who enforces it and, secondarily, of Titania or the father and husband to whom the law grants power. Titania forces Bottom to remain with her in much the same way that Hermia’s father would force her to marry Demetrius. Thus in response to Bottom’s desire to leave the forest, Titania says, Out of this wood do not desire to go. Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no. I am a spirit of no common rate, The summer still doth tend upon my state; And I do love thee. Therefore go with me.23

In such a situation, the Hermias and the Bottoms are treated not like individuals but as somehow less than human, as is aptly depicted in Bottom’s transformation into an ass. Just as Oberon rules Titania’s love, so he also uses his powers to rule the loves of the Athenian youths. Having heard of Helena’s unrequited love for Demetrius, Oberon will use the same potion to induce Demetrius to return this love. While Oberon resembles the Athenian duke by denying individuals the right to consent to whom they will love, he resembles the duke in a second way as well. For like Theseus and the Athenian law that places the fate of an individual in the hands of the father, risking the possibility that the father’s judgment may not always be correct, Oberon mistakenly places the fate of Helena in the hands of Puck and chances that he too will not make the proper choice. Moreover, we see a shortcoming in Oberon’s own judgment, as he should be aware of the risks involved in using Puck as a go-between, for, as Oberon notes, even the Olympian gods, such as Cupid, make mistakes. Cupid, we are told, aiming his arrow at the queen, misfired and instead hit the flower that, as a 23 Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 3.1.138–40.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

109

result, now provides the juice for Oberon’s potion. If Cupid can miss his target, it is certainly likely that Puck could do the same. Further, not only does Oberon’s story of Cupid not only suggest the limitations of the ancient gods, but in telling it, he also highlights the particular limitations of Puck. For while Oberon is capable of seeing Cupid’s mistake, Puck is not;24 Puck’s vision is restricted. Unlike Oberon, who recognizes Demetrius, having already seen him, Puck can distinguish between neither Demetrius nor Lysander, and this blindness results in his unsurprising blunder. Like Theseus, who is so “over-full of self-affairs”25 that he has forgotten Demetrius’s initial love for Helena, Oberon is so absorbed with his quarrel with Titania that he entrusts his work to a less capable being. Correspondingly, Oberon’s plan to acquire the child from Titania seems risky. While Titania is infatuated with Bottom, Oberon will persuade her to give up the child. Once he has the boy he will release Titania from her spell. One would expect, given Titania’s initial refusal to give up the boy, that she will not take kindly to his trickery. However, Oberon believes that when she is released, Titania will have no complaints: “I’ll to my queen and beg her Indian boy; / And then I will her charmed eyes release / From monster’s view, and all things shall be peace.”26 One possible reason for this expectation is that just as Oberon is described as jealous, so Titania is described as proud, and it seems that Oberon plans to manipulate this trait through his plot. For his plan to work, however, Titania must fall in love with an ignoble beast. For, as he says, The next thing then she waking looks upon – Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, On meddling monkey, or on busy ape – She shall pursue it with the soul of love27

and “When thou wak’st, it is thy dear. / Wake when some vile thing is near.28 24 25 26 27 28

Ibid., 2.1.157–9. Ibid., 1.1.113. Ibid., 3.2.375–8. Ibid., 2.1.179–82. Ibid., 2.2.33–4.

110

Finding Freedom

Indeed, it appears that Titania’s relief after being released from the spell and her willingness to part with the boy have to do with realizing she has loved an ass. Oberon is therefore successful, but it is not as clear that he would have succeeded if Titania had fallen in love with someone more worthy, such as a noble Athenian youth. Having Titania fall in love with an ass, and realize it, has the effect of disarming her pride, thereby distracting her from the loss of the boy. However, Oberon is not certain that she will fall in love with a beast, as is made evident in his delight when Puck tells him what has happened: “This falls out better than I could devise.”29 Although Oberon is a god, his solutions are yet somewhat dependent on fortune. He does, however, have qualities that make him a more able absolute ruler than Theseus. Unlike mortal men, Oberon, having made a mistake, is capable of reversing its effects. Thus when Puck mistakenly places the potion on the eyes of Lysander rather than Demetrius and causes Lysander to fall in love with Helena and scorn Hermia, Oberon has a second herb that will reverse the effects of the first. The ability of the fairies to mend their wrongs is further emphasized at the end of the play when Puck offers a remedy to the audience, who may have been offended: If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended: That you have but slumbered here, While these visions did appear; And to this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream, Gentles do not reprehend. If you pardon, we will mend.30

Unlike Theseus and Egeus, Oberon, when he has made a bad match, can easily solve the problem so that those affected will believe their earlier condition was but a dream. Both Theseus and Oberon administer such great power that it extends into the subjective realm as each determines who loves, or at least weds, whom. However, unlike Oberon, who is capable of fixing mistakes after he has made them, Theseus has limited power, and his 29 Ibid., 3.2.35–6. 30 Ibid., 5.1.412–19.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

111

initial ruling raises the possibility that Athens will lose two of its prominent youth to a neighbouring state, setting a precedent that others might follow. There is therefore the indication that in order for the duke’s rule to be successful, he needs the help of gods and magic potions, items that are not readily available. The inability of a mortal to rule absolutely is aptly displayed in the desire of Bottom to have similar control. Hence in the casting of the play to be staged on Theseus’s wedding night, Bottom wants to play all roles: the lover, the tyrant, and the lion, but especially the tyrant.31 Further, although Quince is the official director of the play, Bottom cannot help but offer his suggestions on what should be done. His desire to play tyrant is realized when Oberon magically induces Titania to fall in love with him and he is given the opportunity to command her forces to do his bidding. Titania thus persuades him, “I’ll give thee fairies to attend on thee, / And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep, / And sing while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep.”32 The true nature of a mortal tyrant is depicted in Bottom’s transformation into a man with the head of an ass, or a monstrosity. In this, we see what it truly means to be a tyrant. Bottom ultimately does not rule himself but instead is ruled by Titania, who, in having attempted to predict Bottom’s every desire, seems to personify Bottom’s own eros. The tyrant is thus ultimately ruled by his own desire, and just as Bottom, when his own better judgment suggests it, cannot free himself from Titania, so the tyrant is ruled absolutely by desire, even when he might wish for better things. Finally, the play within the play, “The most lamentable comedy and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisbe”, develops the outcome 31 Ibid., 2.1.14–65. Lowenthal also notes how Theseus’s decision at the end of the play to allow Hermia to choose her husband is indicative of greater freedom for women than existed in Athens in the time period depicted by the play. Correspondingly, Marshall argues that the play depicts the political subjection of women. He says, “A Midsummer Night’s Dream presents a political question: whether these women will be authors of their own characters or representations upon which the voices and visions of others will be dictated and imprinted.” However, he does not overtly depict the manner in which these women do become free individuals in the play. See Lowenthal, “The Portrait of Athens in A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” 84; and Marshall, “Exchanging Visions,” 97. 32 Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 3.1.143–5.

112

Finding Freedom

of a political rule that attempts to control the loves of its citizens. In this play, Thisbe and Pyramus are prevented from openly declaring their love for each other. While it appears that it is their parents who prevent the two from marrying, this is not explicitly stated. And although Quince casts roles for Thisbe’s mother and father, when the play is staged, these parts have been cut. Their absence would appear to be indicative of the extent to which A Midsummer Night’s Dream itself presents an argument for the overturning of an earlier patriarchal regime. Interestingly, Egeus, whom Theseus ultimately overrules, is historically Theseus’s father, showing the extent to which the overcoming of patriarchy is dependent on Theseus’s, a son’s, actions.33 Like Lysander and Hermia, Pyramus and Thisbe decide that they too will leave the inhospitable regime. However, unlike Athens, which has a benevolent fairy watching over its woods, ensuring that tragedy does not occur, the political order in which this couple live is not as fortunate. When Pyramus mistakenly thinks that a lion has killed Thisbe, there is no magic potion to soothe his grief, and he kills himself. Thisbe, upon discovering his dead body, soon follows suit. Shakespeare’s play is described as a dream, and we know that not all regimes are governed by magic beings. In a patriarchal society the outcome of crossed lovers is more likely to be the tragic deaths of Pyramus and Thisbe, or at least their successful exile, than the triple wedding that occurs in their imaginary Athens. The problem of Antigone, as Hegel defines it, is that both sides of the dispute – Creon, representing the objective realm of the state, and Antigone, representing the subjective realm – are too limited in their views.34 In Antigone this limited vision results in the tragic destruction of both characters. For a similar tragedy in A Midsummer Night’s Dream to be overcome, it is necessary not only for the objective realm, as represented by Theseus, to enlarge its vision but for the subjective realm to do so as well. However, just as the objective political order in Dream initially appears to be one-sided and limited in vision, so does the subjective sphere. This restriction is evident in the actions of three of the Athenian youths: Hermia, Lysander, and Helena. Each of these characters 33 See also Lowenthal, “The Portrait of Athens in A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” 83. 34 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 467.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

113

ignores the law that demands that a daughter marry the husband of her father’s choosing because that law does not correspond to his or her own desires. Once Theseus confirms that Hermia must marry Demetrius, die, or become a nun, Hermia and Lysander decide that they will evade this ruling and leave Athens for friendlier lands where their love is not denied.35 In their desire to fulfill their individual interests, they ignore the possible political consequences of their actions. Not only do they disregard the law of Athens, but they set a precedent for other disgruntled youths. This could result in the exile of others in similar situations but also, and perhaps more dangerously, in a general contempt for the law.36 Although not openly contemptuous, Helena’s actions also display a disregard for the law and, more importantly, reason. While Hermia and Lysander are at least concerned with the legal consequences of their love and entreat the duke to make their union lawful, Helena makes no reference to the law that would have Demetrius wed Hermia rather than herself: Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, The rest I’d give to be to you translated. O, teach me how you look, and with what art You sway the motion of Demetrius’ heart.”37

While Helena is correct that Demetrius does seem to love Hermia rather than herself, she also seems to think that she would be free to marry Demetrius if only he would change his mind. She is not concerned that her own father, Nedar, must also agree to such a match. With the obvious example of Egeus’s unwillingness to grant his consent to the marriage of Lysander and Hermia, it would seem that Nedar’s approval should at least be of interest to her. Further, Helena is so focused on her desire to wed Demetrius that she not only is oblivious to the laws of Athens but is also willing to risk her friendship with Hermia. Hence when Hermia and Lysander 35 Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 1.1.161–3. 36 Indeed, while this law is perhaps not rational, Theseus, by upholding it and the aims of Thebes’s elders, also maintains the tradition and habit that secure obedience and reverence of the law. See Rhoads, Shakespeare’s Defense of Poetry, 32. 37 Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 1.1.190–3.

114

Finding Freedom

confidentially unfold their plan to her, she immediately plots to betray their trust, despite the fact that she and Hermia were once such friends that they seemed to be joined as one.38 Helena’s interest is now so narrow that it excludes not only the political community that supports her but also her closest friend. She thus tells Demetrius of Hermia’s intended escape in the hope of somehow winning his love through this confidence.39 While Helena admits that to betray Hermia comes at great expense, presumably the loss of her friendship, she persists regardless. Finally, she not only betrays her city and her friend but also risks herself. Helena unreservedly invites Demetrius to treat her as he will, saying, I am your spaniel, and, Demetrius, The more you beat me I will fawn on you. Use me but as your spaniel: spurn me, strike me, Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave, Unworthy as I am, to follow you.40

She even admits that she will be willing to die by Demetrius’s hand.41 While Helena explains that she is confident Demetrius will not abuse her trust, it is not initially obvious that this confidence is well founded,42 for Demetrius responds, “Let me go; / Or if thou follow me, do not believe / But I shall do thee mischief in the wood.”43 Helena’s vision has become so limited that she is willing to risk everything to achieve his rather lacklustre companionship. Though with perhaps broader ramifications, a similarly limited vision is evident in the desire that Titania and Oberon hold for the changeling boy. Oberon claims to want the child to act as his henchman, while Titania says that she wants him because of the great love she holds for his mother. While neither intention is perhaps ignoble, neither Titania’s nor Oberon’s actions are without negative consequences, 38 39 40 41 42 43

Ibid., 3.2.203–8. Ibid., 1.1.246–51. Ibid., 2.1.104–8. Ibid., 2.1.242–3. Ibid., 2.1.220. Ibid., 2.1.235–7.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

115

as their fight has resulted in a general disruption in the natural order.44 While Oberon, perhaps sarcastically, suggests that Titania could mend these problems if she would only give the child up, he is also correct. If Titania were to give the child to Oberon, their quarrel would be over and, presumably, the disquiet in nature would cease. Correspondingly, Oberon could solve the dilemma if he too would relinquish his desire for the boy for the sake of the common good. Titania’s propensity to be absolute in her love regardless of the consequences is also evident in her love for Bottom. Although she earlier, and perhaps irresponsibly, says that the entire fairy kingdom could not buy the child from her, once she is enamoured of Bottom, she very easily relinquishes the child and the memory of her faithful votress. Oberon thus tells us, When I had at my pleasure taunted her, And she in mild terms begged my patience, I then did ask of her her changeling child, Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent To bear him to my bower in fairyland.45

Although the love that Titania feels for Bottom has been induced by Oberon’s magic potion, it seems that his potion merely highlights an already present tendency in her nature. For like Lysander, who, when given the potion, very easily forgets his love for Hermia, Titania also easily forgets her love for the boy. However, unlike Lysander, who, when the magic is reversed, remembers his previous affection for and commitment to Hermia, Titania does not seem to remember her attachment to the boy or the reason for her previous quarrel with Oberon. Once the effects of the potion are removed, the animosity between the two has been forgotten: Come, my lord, and in our flight Tell me how it came this night That I sleeping here was found With these mortals on the ground.”46 44 Ibid., 2.1.88–95. 45 Ibid., 4.1.56–60. 46 Ibid., 4.1.98–101.

116

Finding Freedom

Like Helena, who will give up her friendship with Hermia in her desire for Demetrius, Titania easily forgets her commitment to her votress. This response indicates the fully transitory nature of passions that are not directed toward a stable and objective good. The penultimate example in the play of subjective interests so narrow that they ultimately end in destruction is to be found in the lovers Pyramus and Thisbe. Having been denied the right to love, the two plan to give up all other ties and run away together. Their interests are so narrow that once they believe that the other has died, they kill themselves. Thisbe concludes, “Tongue, not a word. / Come, trusty sword, / Come, blade, my breast imbrue.”47 So consumed by her emotions, Thisbe will not speak and thereby disconnects herself from the voice of her reason in order to kill herself. This point is further emphasized when we note that in this passage Thisbe is speaking to herself – there is no one else there to hear her. She thus wants to destroy the possibility of self-reflection, so that nothing, not even her own will, can prevent her from yielding to her sorrow and committing suicide. Finally, after he is awakened from his affair with Titania, Bottom believing it to be a dream, decides that a song will be written about it and sung at the end of their play. The passions of Pyramus and Thisbe end in their unthinking deaths, and Bottom will serenade these deaths with a song about a bestial affair in which the passions of a queen so cloud her ability to think that she betrays the wish of a dead friend, just as Helena betrays a living one. Bottom never gets a chance to sing his song since Theseus decides he would rather see a dance. We do, however, get to hear the epilogue, spoken by Puck at the end of Shakespeare’s play. While it seems that Bottom’s epilogue will come at the end of a tragedy, Shakespeare’s follows a comedy and hints at what is necessary for a possibly tragic ending to turn comic. As we have seen, in Puck’s epilogue he, attempting to appease a possibly disappointed and angry audience, suggests that we should moderate our passion and be more forgiving of the faults of the players. He thus says, “Gentles, do not reprehend. / If you pardon we will mend.”48 The turn from tragedy to comedy requires that we control our momentary passions and allow the passage of time and presumably rational reflection to amend wrongs. 47 Ibid., 5.1.334–6. 48 Ibid., 5.1.418–19.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

117

Pyramus and Thisbe, like Antigone, demonstrate the extreme ability of humans to focus so completely on particular desires that they give up everything else, including their own lives. Preventing such a tragedy requires both an objective order that is broad enough to recognize that its success depends on the fulfillment of these desires and the corresponding broadening of subjective interests to recognize that their fulfillment depends on their correspondence with the objective good. Initially, Athenian law ignores the subjective interests of its citizens. However, when the dangers of these laws become apparent to Athens’s ruler, Theseus, he does not remain steadfast but eventually changes the law, allowing Hermia to wed the man of her choosing. Unlike Creon, Theseus avoids a possible tragedy by reasonably accepting the unavoidable desires of his subjects. A comic expression of a rule that does not deny subjectivity but finds room for it can be found in the character of Quince, who directs the play that is performed for the wedding couples. Although the presentation of Quince as a just ruler is ultimately ironic, inasmuch as he does not appear to understand the principles of his actions or reach his desired ends, he nonetheless provides us with a model of how one might govern. Thus while it is ultimately Quince who has the final say in how the play is acted, he does not refuse the advice of his actors but listens to it and, when it appears “reasonable,” uses it. Alternatively, when this advice is not “sound,” Quince, rather than rejecting it out of hand, offers explanations so that the person who offered it is not offended. The nature of Quince’s rule is immediately obvious in his first exchanges with the most vocal of his actors, Bottom. At the first meeting of his cast, Quince very amiably follows Bottom’s directions regarding how to proceed: bottom: First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on; then read the names of the actors; and so grow to a point. quince: Marry, our play is “The most lamentable comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisbe.” bottom: A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry. Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the scroll. Masters, spread yourselves. quince: Answer as I call you.49

118

Finding Freedom

Correspondingly, when at a later rehearsal it is suggested that some elements of the play may be offensive, Quince listens readily to suggestions, and when the play is performed, we see that some of these suggestions have been followed. For example, Snug announces to the audience that he is not truly a lion, in case he should be so convincing in the role that he frightens anyone. A prologue is also written, asking the audience to forgive the players if they happen to offend. Quince not only takes the suggestions of his actors on how the play should be performed but solicits their advice, thus inviting them to share in his rule: “but there is two hard things: that is, to bring the moonlight into a chamber – for you know Pyramus and Thisbe meet by moonlight,” and “Then there is another thing: we must have a wall in the great chamber; for Pyramus and Thisbe, says the story, did talk through the chink of a wall.”50 While Quince rejects Bottom’s suggestions in the first instance in favour of his own idea, he does take Bottom’s advice for the second. Moreover, while Quince sometimes rejects Bottom’s advice, he does not do so arbitrarily but only when a “better” idea is offered. Thus while Bottom suggests that the moonlight can be represented in the play by opening a casement and allowing the actual moonlight to shine through, Quince offers the suggestion that a person take on the role of the moon, and ultimately it is his suggestion that is used. That he chooses this option rather than actual moonlight is of interest as well. Rather than the moon, which is often seen as representative of mutability and change and thus of the mutability of human passions, Quince chooses to objectify the moon by having it present as a concrete character. In addition, this example serves as an indication of the education of Bottom by Quince. In the example of the moon, Bottom offers a suggestion that Quince rejects, instead proposing an idea of his own. Following Quince’s guidance, Bottom’s suggestion for the second problem, how to incorporate a wall as part of their set design, is similar to the solution that Quince offered and adopted for the first: a character will play the part of the wall. Thus although Quince has asked for advice on these two issues, it seems that he is aware of suitable devices that will solve both problems.

49 Ibid., 1.2.8–16. 50 Ibid., 3.1.42–4 and 53–6.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

119

He therefore asks for the input of others as a way of incorporating the rule of his players, leading their rule by his own. The example of the wall is also of philosophical interest. Rather than an actual wall, perhaps representative of that which is concrete and fully objective, Quince has the wall portrayed by a particular person. This has, in effect and ironically, the opposite result of bringing in the moon. While the flicker of moonlight is made more constant, the wall is made more fluid. And both are accomplished by substituting for the thing in question a particular person. Shakespeare thus comically portrays the meeting of objective truth with our particular and subjective existences, even if Quince may not fully comprehend the true poet’s pen strokes. Further, Quince deals rationally with Bottom’s desire to play all the parts. Rather than merely ordering him to play the role of Pyramus, he convinces Bottom that he is the only person who could adequately portray the hero: “You can play no part but Pyramus; for Pyramus is a sweetfaced man; a proper man as one shall see in a summer’s day; a most lovely, gentlemanlike man. Therefore you must needs play Pyramus.”51 Unlike Quince, the Athenian patriarchy initially denies individuals their consent and thus could ultimately result in tragedy. Quince’s play, while conceptually a tragedy, is ultimately comic, as becomes obvious from the comments of its audience and its initial introduction by Egeus: And “tragical,” my noble lord, it is, For Pyramus therein doth kill himself; Which when I saw rehearsed, I must confess Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears The passion of loud laughter never shed.”52

It thus appears, particularly given the comments of the spectators, that Quince’s rule fails. However, even in this he has achieved the appropriate, if unintended, outcome. Unlike the tragic, and ultimately inappropriate, story of Pyramus and Thisbe that Quince intends for the newly wedded couples, his play, by incorporating both his own particular judgments and those of his cast members, ultimately turns out to be

51 Ibid., 1.2.77–80. 52 Ibid., 5.1.66–70.

120

Finding Freedom

comic. Rather than leaving the newly wedded couples in tears about a romance gone dreadfully wrong, Quince, by allowing the particular natures of his cast to be taken up in the objective order of the play and thus transform it, unconsciously shows us how a just state might work. And indeed, that he himself cannot predict the outcome is appropriate as well. For in allowing the free reign of individual subjectivity, we also allow for the chance that what leaders might intend may not always come to fruition, and yet the play or the state still goes on. Quince thus turns a tragedy into a comedy, just as Shakespeare does here. In part, the broader transformation in Dream occurs because of a perceivable transformation in Theseus that occurs through the course of the play.53 Even as Dream begins, it is evident that Theseus is not fully in accord with the patriarchal political order he rules. Although he has conquered Hippolyta, he intends for his marriage to find its basis outside force, perhaps even in mutual love. He thus says, Hippolyta, I wooed thee with my sword, And won thy love doing thee injuries. But I will wed thee in another key – With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling.54

For the desired revelling to occur, it is presumably necessary for Hippolyta to be happy about the match. Having previously done her 53 Hutton argues that the mechanicals and Shakespeare share the same fear of frightening their audiences, which ultimately has the effect of changing both plays into comedies. The mechanicals fear that the lion and the deaths of their players will frighten the audience, while Shakespeare, whose play was also to be presented at a wedding, fears that the greater truth which is presented in his play within a play will frighten and disenchant his audience. Hutton goes on to say that what is truly fearful in A Midsummer Night’s Dream is that our lives, like the lives of Pyramus and Thisbe, are without the guidance of benevolent fairies who can make wrongs turn right. Life therefore is tragic. However, I would contend that there is another difference between the drama of Lysander and Hermia and that of Pyramus and Thisbe. Not only are there not good fairies to fix the problems of Pyramus and Thisbe, but their love is also thwarted by the absolute and perhaps arbitrary power of their parents. The political will of Theseus that overrules this power of parents in favour of individual choice could have the same effect of avoiding a tragic outcome for Pyramus and Thisbe as a fairy could. See Hutton, “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” 293–5. 54 Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 1.1.16–19.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

121

injury, Theseus now tries to make her happy. However, while it may be that Hippolyta has already captured his heart, it is not evident that he has captured hers. Theseus’s love, or at least desire, for Hippolyta is evident in his thoughts that time cannot move quickly enough until their wedding day. He also very early on calls her “my Hippolyta” and thus seems to identify himself with her in the manner of lovers.55 As we shall see, she does not use the expression “my Theseus” until he has proven himself as her own. If Theseus recognizes the unsatisfactory nature of a love that is not mutual, Hippolyta’s displeasure should spur him into action. Hence when Theseus is faced with Hermia’s unwillingness to accept the type of marriage he would also like to avoid, he does not initially relent, but he does soften the blow. As Egeus describes it, the law states that Hermia must either marry the man of her father’s choosing or die, and Theseus notes that it is not within his power to extenuate this law. However, when prompted by Hermia to restate the consequences of her disobedience, he adds a third possibility. She will either marry Demetrius, die, or become a nun: For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself To fit your fancies to your father’s will, Or else the law of Athens yields you up … To death, or to a vow of single life.56

Moreover, Theseus introduces this third option by noting its advantages: For aye to be in a shady cloister mewed, To live a barren sister all your life, Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. Thrice blessed they that master so their blood.57

While life as a nun may not compare to the advantages of having married the person one loves, as Theseus sees it, it should be preferable to an early death. As an alternative to marrying a man who may or may not be objectively good and whom one does not love, becoming a nun has at 55 Ibid., 1.1.121. 56 Ibid., 1.1.118–21. 57 Ibid., 1.1.70–4.

122

Finding Freedom

least the advantage of an actual objective good as the proper end for an individual’s desires. Yet even in this third option we see the shortcomings of Theseus’s position. To become a nun is to entirely devote or make subject one’s personal desires to this objective whole. To become a nun is, in a fashion, to bypass the possibility of mediation with the good by means of a relationship with another person and instead to forge a direct connection with the good itself. For some, this end and life might take up the particularity of their desires, but for others, it suggests that the particularity of desire is altogether unimportant, if not dangerous. Given that Hermia’s original inclination is to marry Lysander, we can probably assume that, despite her later modesty, becoming a nun is not among her initial choices. Hence while Theseus has suggested to Hippolyta that he will “wed her in another key,” even with this initial concession to Hermia, he is not off to a very good start. For as we noted earlier, his response leaves Hippolyta less than pleased.58 Theseus would win her love, but he cannot do so while he denies the love of others. While he does not immediately see the incongruity of his actions, Hippolyta does. She has been wooed by Theseus’s sword and has witnessed his arbitrary rule over the loves of others. He must therefore prove his sincerity, and to do so, he must recognize in others the same desires that he himself holds. In this way he will demonstrate that he knows love is not something that can be coerced. It seems that Theseus learns this lesson, although we do not see the process through which it occurs, for he and Hippolyta do not reappear until after the conflict between Lysander and Demetrius has been resolved in the Athenian woods. When they do re-emerge, however, Theseus has the opportunity to demonstrate his worthiness to Hippolyta. At first it seems that this will be accomplished through a display of his hounds, but the chance act of stumbling upon the four youths gives him an even better opportunity. Initially Theseus plans to impress Hippolyta with the baying of his dogs, whose cries cannot be matched in all of Greece. Surprisingly, his pride in his hounds does not seem to be diminished by the fact that they are not very good at what they are supposed to do, pursue game. The beauty of their song is more important than their slowness in pursuit. Theseus maintains animals whose objective use, 58 Ibid., 1.1.122.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

123

hunting, is slight but whose subjective use, the pleasure felt in listening to them, is great. He thus accepts, at least in this regard, the validity of something that may be subjectively pleasing. The music of the hounds is also important. Each hound bays at a different pitch, and as Hippolyta notes, the result should be discord. However, when all the dogs are baying together, the end result is a better harmony than that which is achieved through the baying of one dog alone. Theseus’s hounds thus represent an Athens in which the different subjective attributes of humans are allowed their free play, the end result being a stronger regime. Theseus therefore asks Hippolyta to judge the quality of his hounds and ultimately the quality of his nature. We never discover, however, whether the dogs are a sufficient proof for her, for a second and even better example of his changed nature presents itself. While Theseus calls on Hippolyta to judge what she hears, what she has occasion to hear is not the music of his hounds but, rather, his decision to allow Hermia to marry Lysander, as it is at this moment that they discover the sleeping youths. At first Theseus appears prepared to enforce his earlier decision, for he asks Egeus if this is the day that Hermia is supposed to make her choice. However, in the course of listening to Demetrius and Lysander recount what they know of the night’s events, he reconsiders. Although Lysander is unable to explain exactly what has happened, his confession that he and Hermia entered the woods with the intent to leave Athens must suggest to Theseus the dangers of the ancient law.59 Egeus is unable to understand the broader ramifications of Lysander’s confession and immediately demands that he be punished, for they would, Demetrius, Thereby to have defeated you and me – You of your wife, and me of my consent, Of my consent that she should be your wife.60

Theseus does not immediately respond, and in part this delay could be because he perceives that Egeus’s response is short-sighted,

59 Ibid., 4.1.150–2. 60 Ibid., 4.1.156–8.

124

Finding Freedom

especially in light of Demetrius’s disclosure that he no longer loves Hermia but Helena.61 Prior to Demetrius’s transformation, Theseus is in the position of having to thwart the love of either Lysander or Demetrius. Faced with this choice and a father who demands that the ancient laws be maintained, he chooses in favour of Demetrius. Now, to uphold the law would result in offending not one but both young men and the women who love them. Furthermore, Lysander’s example has already shown Theseus the consequences of such a ruling – the departure of two of Athens’s noble youths with two others in pursuit. Recognizing that to narrowly insist on the prerogatives of the objective order would detrimentally affect this order, Theseus includes the desires of his subjects therein and finds the resulting political realm strengthened. He therefore notes, Fair lovers, you are fortunately met. Of this discourse we more will hear anon. – Egeus, I will overbear your will, For in the temple, by and by, with us These couples shall eternally be knit.62

Theseus demonstrates to Hippolyta that he recognizes that matters of love are not properly in the sphere of political control. It is not clear that a demonstration of his slow but harmonious hounds would have been as an effective ploy to gain her admiration and love, but this decision is. Thus in the next exchange we see between Theseus and Hippolyta, he has become “[her] Theseus,” thereby indicating that he has won her love.63 Moreover, while Hippolyta earlier believed that time moved too quickly, now while she waits to consummate her marriage, she grows weary with time, at least as it is presented in Quince’s play.64 Hence although Theseus claims he does not believe the strange story of the lovers, he is willing to admit their love to his regime:

61 62 63 64

Ibid., 4.1.169–75. Ibid., 4.1.176–80. Ibid., 5.1.1. Ibid., 5.1.245.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

125

More strange than true. I may never believe These antic fables nor these fairy toys. Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends. The lunatic, the lover, and the poet Are of imagination all compact.65

Despite his inability to understand both the story of the lovers and what determines which pair of lovers is ultimately a good match, Theseus does recognize that for Athens to prosper, the particularity of love must be accepted.66 Correspondingly, just as he rejects an arbitrary law that denies individual consent in love, so he also denies an arbitrary social order that ignores individual merit when it is not coupled with a satisfactory birth. It is apparent throughout the play that Athens is composed of a hierarchy of classes. Puck mistakes Lysander for Demetrius because of his Athenian garments, but he does not mistake any of the actors in the play to be staged for the duke’s wedding for the noble youth. Similarly, when Quince names the players and their parts, he identifies each with the trade they perform, but there is no mention in the play of what Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, or Helena do.67 There is therefore a division between at least the tradesmen and the upper class, and presumably, this is a division that is dependent on birth rather than merit or choice.68 When he is given the opportunity to choose the entertainment for his wedding night, Theseus’s interest is piqued by a play of seemingly contradictory moments: lysander: “A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus And his love Thisbe: very tragical mirth.” 65 Ibid., 5.1.2–8. 66 Ironically, as Miller notes, the willingness to accept both the rational and the irrational is comically depicted in Bottom’s matter-of-fact acceptance of the fairy realm. See Miller, “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” 260. 67 Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 1.2.16. 68 Yachnin argues that it is by means of comedy, particularly mirth, that Shakespeare suggests political and social tensions between the classes might be overcome. See Yachnin, “The Politics of Theatrical Mirth.”

126

Finding Freedom

theseus: “Merry” and “tragical”? “Tedious” and Brief”? – That is, hot ice and wondrous strange black snow. How shall we find the concord of this discord?69

Theseus is capable of discerning the beauty in his discordant hounds, and he also recognizes that by admitting the discord created by the different subjective interests of his citizens, his regime will emerge concordant. Thus although he is warned that those who are involved in the play are merely Athenian workers, Theseus will hear it nonetheless.70 He notes, Where I have come, great clerks have purposed To greet me with premeditated welcomes; Where I have seen them shiver and look pale, Make periods in the midst of their sentences, Throttle their practised accent in their fears, And in conclusion dumbly have broke off, Not paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet, Out of this silence yet I picked a welcome, And in the modesty of fearful duty I read as much as from the rattling tongue Of saucy and audacious eloquence.71

Theseus admits the tradesmen to the Athenian court and will judge their merit, not on the basis of their birth, but on their abilities. Shakespeare depicts one final way in which Theseus’s rule integrates subjectivity even though Theseus himself may not know it. His ability to solve the problem of the quarrelling lovers depends in part on the work of Oberon, the fairy king, and his magic potion. Without the work of Oberon and his “fairy toys,” Demetrius would still love Hermia and Theseus’s decision would be more difficult, as it would result in offending not just an Athenian elder but one of its passionate youths.72 The degree to which the duke’s rule is dependent on the “divine” is displayed by the fact that the play closes with the fairies blessing the lovers’ marriage beds:

69 70 71 72

Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 5.1.56–60. Ibid., 5.1.72–5. Ibid., 5.1.93–103. Ibid., 5.1.2.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

127

Now until the break of day, Through this house each fairy stray. To the best bride bed will we, Which by us shall blessed be.73

In their blessing of the newly wedded couples, the fairies also bless their unborn children and protect them from any of nature’s deformities: And the blots of nature’s hand Shall not in their issue stand. Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar, Nor mark prodigious such as are Despised in nativity Shall upon their children be.74

By incorporating that which is subjective or natural, Theseus has also protected his regime from the negative effects of nature.75 73 Ibid., 5.1.390–3. 74 Ibid. 75 Conlan presents an interesting and more pessimistic reading of the end of Dream which looks to the learned audience’s knowledge of the classical end of Theseus’ marriage to Hippolyta and the tragedy of their son, Hippolytus. While this reading does contradict aspects of my argument, it also sheds further light on Hegel’s argument. If we accept Theseus’s speech at 5.1 as dismissive of “fairy toys,” rather than as his acknowledgment of the limits of his own understanding, then we see a picture of Theseus as less accepting of the subjective passions of his subjects than this argument has suggested. In this case, the blessing of the fairies at the end of the play can be read, as Conlan suggests, as a perhaps fitting “curse” of chaste Hippolytus, who in dismissing the powers of Aphrodite, comes to a tragic end. This, Conlan argues, is a political message to the chaste Elizabeth, who might too be dismissive of the powers of Aphrodite and “fairy toys.” See Conlan, “The Fey Beauty of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” Alternatively, Mikics argues that it is by means of poetry, as representing by the fairies’ magic, rather than politics that the resolution in Dream is accomplished. Thus Shakespeare vindicates his own art. While in some sense, this is an adequate interpretation of the relationship of poetry to political realities that Hegel might be inclined to agree with, it does not take up the actual transformation of Theseus in the play. Nonetheless, even this, we must note, is accomplished by the poet’s pen stroke. See Mikics, “Poetry and Politics in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

128

Finding Freedom

Just as the objective realm must broaden its vision to include the subjective interests of its subjects, so individual subjectivity must also be widened to recognize the rights of the objective world. While Theseus must recognize Hermia’s right to choose her husband, the lovers of the play must also recognize the rights of the state and of reason. Although Bottom notes that “reason and love keep little company together nowadays,”76 part of the movement of the play is the reconciliation of these two factors. The first example in the play of a person who does not allow her subjective interests to overwhelm her decisions is Hippolyta. As noted earlier, she does not seem very enthusiastic about her upcoming marriage to Theseus. Nonetheless, she does seem prepared to accept it, and there is no indication that she will follow the other crossed lovers into exile. Rather, Hippolyta seems to have resigned herself to her fate, even though it is not one that she would have chosen. Having lost the battle, she accepts the political consequences, even when they conflict with her own desires. Unlike both Thisbe and Pyramus, who, when thinking that they will have to live without their beloved, kill themselves, Hippolyta seems to have no inclination to end her life, even if it has not turned out as she had planned. Ironically, both Hermia and Lysander, who attempt to subvert the law and leave Athens for friendlier lands, also present a vision of reasonable lovers. When we first see them, the two youths are trying to avoid not the convention of marriage but merely the convention of a marriage to someone they do not love, a seemingly rational motivation.77 Furthermore, although Hermia has heard from her father the consequence that she will face if she does not marry Demetrius, she asks the duke to confirm that what she has heard is true: “I beseech your Grace that I may know / The worst that may befall me in this case / If I refuse to wed Demetrius.”78 This response is in sharp contrast to Antigone, who having heard somewhere that the penalty for burying Polynices is death by stoning, takes this for granted even though it is never confirmed by Creon and ultimately is not the manner in which she is punished. Moreover, Hermia asks to know the worst that could occur if she does not marry Demetrius. She thus implies that betraying Lysander’s love may not be worth every cost, and 76 Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 3.1.130–1. 77 Hutton, “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” 291. 78 Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 1.1.62–4.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

129

one cost that she is perhaps unwilling to pay is death. While she resigns herself to the lesser punishment of life as a nun, it is not as clear that she would willingly have died for her lover. Thus reconciled with her choice, Hermia counsels Lysander: If then true lovers have been ever crossed, It stands as an edict in destiny. Then let teach our trial patience, Because it is a customary cross, As due to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, Wishes, and tears, poor fancy’s followers.79

Although Lysander responds by saying, “A good persuasion,” it is evident that he is not persuaded at all. Rather than bearing their trial patiently, he immediately suggests a plan which, if successful, would mean that they could be united.80 Lysander urges Hermia to disobey her father as well as the law and leave Athens, and thus he seems to reject the objective world order. Nonetheless, his plan is not entirely irrational. Unlike Pyramus and Thisbe, who have no further plan than to meet at Ninnus’s tomb, and unlike Helena, whose plan to win Demetrius by making it possible for him to prevent Hermia’s escape is incomprehensible, Lysander’s plan is well thought out. He has a place for them to go where they will be assured not only of a warm welcome but also of sufficient income to meet their needs: I have a widow aunt, a dowager Of great revenue, and she hath no child. From Athens is her house remote seven leagues – And she respects me as her only son.81

Not being able to satisfy his desires, Lysander is willing to subvert the law, but like Hermia, he will not do so rashly. Moreover, once Lysander and Hermia have left Athens and the boundaries of their political and “objective” lives, they do not completely abandon the conventions of this life in their new-found freedom. When the pair get lost in the woods and Lysander suggests that 79 Ibid., 1.1.150–5. 80 Ibid., 1.1.156. 81 Ibid., 1.1.157–60.

130

Finding Freedom

they rest for the night, Hermia insists that they maintain the customs of modesty and sleep separately, even though Demetrius has earlier warned Helena of the forest’s dangerous animals: But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy, Lie further off, in human modesty. Such separation as may well be said Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid.82

And even though it is Lysander who proposes that they sleep near each other, he does not insist and accepts Hermia’s decision.83 Ironically, it is because they obey the dictates of modesty and convention that Puck is able to mistake Lysander for Demetrius and turn his love from Hermia to Helena: This is he my master said Despised the Athenian maid – And here the maiden, sleeping sound On the dank and dirty ground. Pretty soul, she durst not lie Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy.84

Puck, however, is a fairy and a being of a wholly natural order; he is thus oblivious to the laws of convention and reason that govern human life. Finally, when the duke awakens Lysander and Hermia, and it has become apparent that their plan was not successful, the couples do not lie about their intentions but readily confess and seem willing to accept the consequences. Hence Lysander confusedly begins to admit, I cannot truly say how I came here, But as I think – for truly would I speak, And, now I do bethink me, so it is – I came with Hermia hither. Our intent Was to be gone from Athens, where we might, Without the peril of the Athenian law – 85 82 83 84 85

Ibid., 2.2.56–9. Ibid., 2.2.62–4. Ibid., 2.2.77–83. Ibid., 4.1.147–52.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

131

While these lovers are “fortunately met,” it did not have to turn out so favourably, as Egeus’s angry response suggests.86 Although apparently ready to subvert the law, Lysander and Hermia, once caught, are prepared to face the consequences for their actions. Correspondingly, despite the movement of the play from the objective Athenian order to perhaps the more subjective order of the forest, the quarrel between the lovers remains quite tame. Thus although Demetrius warns Helena of the danger she incurs by continuing to follow him, he never follows through on his threats. Furthermore, it is not until after the two men have been transformed by Oberon’s potions that they seem serious about their threats to fight each other. Prior to this transformation, both men seem content to argue the issue in words and bring their debate to the duke. Thus while Lysander, after having been anointed with the potion, may be ready to battle his enemy in love, he knows that he is unable to harm Hermia, even if he no longer believes he cares for her: “What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead? / Although I hate her, I will not harm her so.”87 Finally, despite the apparent hatred of the two men for each other, even when their anger has boiled up to the point of physical combat, they quickly weary of this instinct, and both go to sleep before finding their enemy. Even Helena, who seems entirely abandoned to her desire to be with Demetrius regardless of the price, becomes more rational when faced with what she believes is the mockery of her three friends. While she was prepared to be treated as Demetrius’s dog and risk even physical harm, when she is presented with the unlikely situation of the love of both Lysander and Demetrius, she becomes aware of her previously foolish behaviour and attempts to regain her dignity: This sport well carried shall be chronicled. If you have any pity, grace, or manners, You would not make me such an argument. But fare ye well. ‘Tis partly my own fault, Which death or absence soon shall remedy.88

After she has given up all connections to the objective order to fulfill her love for Demetrius, the spectacle of her friend’s mockery suggests 86 Ibid., 4.1.153–4. 87 Ibid., 3.2.268–70. 88 Ibid., 3.2.240–4.

132

Finding Freedom

to Helena the impropriety of her actions, and she, of all the youths, is the only one who will freely leave the forest and her Demetrius to return to the safety of the political life she had earlier given up: “O weary night, O long and tedious night, / Abate thy hours; shine comforts from the east / That I may back to Athens by daylight.”89 In A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the tragic ending of “Pyramus and Thisbe,” as well as that of Antigone, is thus avoided. As we have seen and as Hegel argues, this development requires a broadening of the objective order to recognize and take up the subjective and natural spheres, starkly represented here by Oberon’s rule of the forest and more moderately by the lovers. Correspondingly, the subjective interests of the citizens must also widen. Neither stability nor actual justice could be achieved if only Creon were to recognize the validity of familial life, as at some point the state requires the sacrifice of our and Antigone’s particular interests. In Dream this recognition is achieved as the characters move to rationally align their subjective desires with the good of the objective whole. In short, the movement from tragedy to comedy requires both the expansion of the objective world to include individual subjectivity and enlarged subjective preferences that recognize and accept the rational interests of the objective realm. In this transformation both the individual and the state are fulfilled.

89 Ibid., 3.2.431–3.

Conclusion: Hegel in the Contemporary World

the movement of history as portrayed by hegel results in societies in which human freedom is progressively recognized and realized. As we have seen, however, this political freedom is not the unlimited ability to do what we want but includes a shaping or education of our desires. Political freedom, according to Hegel, is only achieved when we, finding our interests protected within the state, also discover our fulfillment in serving the political community; this freedom requires both a state that recognizes and defends our liberty and individuals who see that their liberty is satisfied when they act for the good of the whole. In A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Shakespeare aptly depicts how the tragedy of Antigone is to be avoided. Without an Oberon, the absolute rule of Creon cannot occur without destruction. Moreover, even though Oberon manages to avoid the practical results of tragedy inasmuch as no one dies as a result of his actions, he is only able to achieve this outcome by means of a tyrannical power so absolute that it conquers not just our actions but also our wills. Mortal rulers cannot always judge what is best for their subjects, and even when they can, there is no guarantee that their subjects will agree and act in accordance with their choices. Mortal rulers, seeking to mimic the power of Oberon but lacking supernatural abilities, can only resort to force. The injustice of such rule is yet another form of tragedy. Instead, by allowing people the freedom to make their own decisions about matters that do not adversely affect the state, rulers such as Theseus and Quince make their states stronger by gaining the allegiance of their citizens. Theseus thereby gains an alliance with the Amazons through his happy marriage to Hippolyta, as well as a youthful

134

Finding Freedom

citizenry who respect his rule. This result becomes evident in Theseus’s exchange with Lysander after their respective weddings: theseus: Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth. Joy, gentle friends, joy and fresh days of love Accompany your hearts. lysander: More than to us Wait in your royal walks, your board, your bed.1

Most importantly, in the context of this discussion, A Midsummer Night’s Dream shows a regime in which the original patriarchal order is overturned in favour of one in which the wider interests of its citizens, particularly women, begin to be recognized. At the start of the play, Athens represents a patriarchy, and although Hippolyta is a queen, she is a foreigner and arrives in Athens conquered by Theseus. However, by the end of the play, he understands that for his own marriage to be satisfying, it must rest on the consent of his bride. Correspondingly, he realizes that the stability of the political regime depends on the political consent of his citizens, even its daughters. He thus overrules the ancient law that subjects a daughter to a marriage of her father’s choosing and allows her to make this decision herself. Even before Theseus’s transformation, however, Shakespeare indicates the objective justice of the proposed equality between men and women. In the casting of roles for Quince’s play, Bottom suggests that he can just as easily play Thisbe, a woman, rather than Pyramus, a man, and the preceding discussion between Quince and Flute suggests that the only obvious differences between men and women are beards and the largeness or smallness of their voices. Furthermore, like the male actors who have to play female parts in “Pyramus and Thisbe” as well as the actors who in Shakespeare’s time would have staged A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Helena interchanges roles with Demetrius to become the pursuer rather than the pursued. While she suggests that this is not an activity that women are made for, it does not prevent her from trying. She thus indicates that this is not an unbridgeable difference between the sexes. Hermia also takes part in a type of role switching. In her relationship with Lysander, she seems more capable than her lover of subordinating her desires to the laws of the political regime and thereby being the 1 Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 5.1.27–31.

Conclusion

135

better citizen. Hence while it is Hermia who faces the greater political consequences for her illegal love of Lysander, she reconciles herself to her punishment and counsels him to do the same. It is Lysander who devises their plan of escape. Similarly, once they are in the Athenian woods, Hermia upholds the political and moral conventions of their city and insists that they sleep separately. Finally, Shakespeare presents us with the example of two female rulers – Titania and Hippolyta. Titania seems to hold the same amount of power as Oberon. Both have subjects who more or less obey them, and both seem to have the ability to affect nature. However, Oberon has one advantage that Titania does not, and this is the charmed juice of a particular flower. It is only through the use of magic that Oberon is able to overcome Titania’s will and foil her affection for the changeling. And as we have noted, Oberon’s successful use of this potion is dependent more on chance than on any skill he has in ruling. Furthermore, although Oberon is a male character, he represents a classical feminine form of power. Thus while Titania is overruled, it is a feminine power that overrules her. Correspondingly, while Hippolyta initially appears as the conquered, Theseus’s actions for the rest of the play seem to be directed at winning her approval. Physically, she may have been incapable of capturing him, but her presence has a noteworthy and just effect on his rule, thus indicating that he too has somehow been caught. Indeed, it seems that this is part of the difficulty for ancient Greek ethical life – women, having no basis in the political order, see it only as opposed to themselves. As a result, they may turn the sons of this political community against it.2 Hence as the state reconciles itself with the subjective desires of its citizens, including women, these citizens are able to reconcile their desires with the objective order of the state. Titania, recognizing that her well-being, or at least her pride, depends on the apparently greater magical power of Oberon, abandons her desire to keep the boy. The Athenian youths, finding their freedom protected within the state, willingly return to it and to its laws. And Hippolyta, garnering the respect of her husband, Athens’s ruler, also learns to respect his rule, even when she initially disagrees with it. This response is best exemplified in her reaction to Quince’s play. Having heard Egeus’s condemnation of the mechanicals’ talents, Hippolyta would 2 Hegel, Phenomenology of Spirit, 475.

136

Finding Freedom

prefer not to see it. But she submits to Theseus’s judgment and in the end appears to be glad that she did, saying upon Pyramus’s death, “Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.“3 Although in the beginning of Dream, it seems to be Hippolyta who must teach Theseus to admit the discordance or the subjectivity of his citizens if he is to find concord, in the end it is Theseus who must remind Hippolyta of this lesson. Shakespeare thus indicates that their relationship is now indeed mutual, with both rulers learning from the other. Further, the example of “The most lamentable comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisbe” shows that Athens’s citizens largely recognize that their true freedom lies not just in reconciling themselves to the political order but in acting as part of this community. The tradesmen of Athens find satisfaction in performing for the duke, who recognizes them according to their talents and not their births. There is thus the indication that human freedom lies not merely in doing what we want but in understanding what we want in relation to the requirements of a broader whole. A Midsummer Night’s Dream therefore is an apt representation of the modern era depicted in The Philosophy of Right, for in the play the earthly freedom of human beings is fulfilled only in the political realm. However, this play is but a dream, for in it, with the help of a magic potion, everyone except Egeus, who is conveniently silenced by the playwright’s hand, exits happily. Yet without a love juice that translates Demetrius’s love, at least two characters would be unsatisfied. Merely basing political rule on consent is not enough to ensure everyone’s happiness. Fairies and love potions, as comically presented by Shakespeare, or a recognition of our divine end, as argued by Hegel, are required for this outcome. Indeed, as Hegel notes, it is ultimately our dissatisfaction with the external form of romantic art that points to this art’s greatest strength. While ancient art is able to aptly present the Divine in as a concrete and beautiful way as possible, no form of art, including romantic art, is able to adequately present the true spiritual nature of the Divine or our reconciliation with it. It is thus in our perception of what is either missing or pointed to by romantic art that enables us to engage in the inward movement that is required for the satisfaction of our Christian end, as Hegel envisions it. He thus says,

3 Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 5.1.284.

Conclusion

137

In classical art, spirit dominated empirical appearance and permeated it completely because it was in this that it was to acquire its complete reality. But now the inner life is indifferent to the way in which the immediate world is configured, because immediacy is unworthy of the soul’s inner bliss. External appearance cannot any longer express the inner life, and if it is still called to do so it merely has the task of proving that the external is an unsatisfying existence and must point back to the inner, to the mind and feeling as the essential element.4

A skeptical reader leaves Dream unsatisfied – the happy ending of the lovers is highly unlikely, given that it requires a strange blend of ancient gods and fairies. But as Hegel would argue, the thoughtful reader might perceive this dissatisfaction as an invitation to a deeper understanding. It is of course unlikely that fairies will ensure that all loves are requited, and just as unlikely that rulers will becomes as reasonable as Theseus. But if we see the fairies as representing another realm and a truer and more satisfying end wherein our happiness is ultimately dependent on the grace of God, then the play reaches a good Hegelian conclusion. Similarly, one can skeptically examine the modern political realm and declare Hegel’s position to be disproved. Even in modern liberal states, individuals seem to consistently prefer their own subjective ends, often to the exclusion of any larger good. And thus it might appear that Sophocles was ultimately correct. Even despite this evidence, however, Hegel firmly stands his ground. Just as the external form of art points us to a fuller understanding and deeper sentiment of our actual divine end, so our political worlds are similarly and necessarily imperfect. The political end Hegel describes in The Philosophy of Right is not the one he ultimately prescribes for us, as our true end lies presumably in a heavenly city. Nonetheless, through our experience and understanding of this political world, just as through our experience of good art, we are able to better understand and take up the end that is most proper for us. Moreover, Hegel would argue that by means of the progression of history and of our individual consciousnesses, we are able to create more just and satisfying earthly cities. Even though the modern regime is unable to requite all of our loves, the dissatisfaction that occurs because of this limitation no longer ought to be directed against our regimes and thus does not subvert them. Recognizing the need to reconcile individual interests and desires with those of the state, wise rulers, unable to 4 Hegel, Aesthetics, 527.

138

Finding Freedom

depend on fairies to ensure proper outcomes, leave these decisions and their positive or negative consequences to their citizens. Citizens, finding their freedoms protected by the state, are more willing, when necessary, to relinquish their subjective desires for the good of the whole. Consequently, possible tragedies might become comedies. Yet inasmuch as the interests of women are not fully incorporated within the political community Hegel presents, history, at least on this score, appears to remain a work in progress. Although this is a difficulty that is nearly overcome in the contemporary world, many would argue that a true equality of men and women has not yet been fully achieved. Correspondingly, we can point to other areas of life where the rights of minorities are not even as recognized as those of women. And, more generally, the overall dissatisfaction that seems to exist with respect to current political regimes would seem to suggest, in light of Hegel’s thought, that we have not yet obtained the freedom appropriate to our mortal existences. While this last problem indicates some difficulty with the political order in which we live, it also perhaps speaks to the narrowness of our account of what is in our interests. If Hegel is correct, then we again come to the conclusion that history is not yet “complete,” as our subjective interests have not yet broadened to the point that we take interest in political life and see our good fulfilled while working within it. It would thus seem that a re-evaluation of Hegel’s thought is required. And we should perhaps turn to more fully examine his thesis that the “end of history” will result in a political order in which the interests of both the community and the individual are realized – a community that is stable because the subjective desires of its citizens and individuals are reconciled with it and a citizenry whose subjective desires are satisfied only when they take up the broader concerns of the whole. The progression of history as portrayed by Hegel ultimately “concludes” in a society in which all people are free. This freedom is not merely an unlimited ability to do what we want but includes a shaping or education of our desires. Real political freedom is only achieved when we, finding our interests protected within the state, are interested in serving the political community. This freedom requires both a state that recognizes and defends our liberty and also individuals who see that their liberty is fulfilled when they act for the good of the whole. And it is through this political freedom that we might more generally perceive the freedom that Hegel envisions as ultimately awaiting us.

Bibliography

Adams, S.M. Sophocles the Playwright. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1957. Arthur, Christopher J. “Hegel as Lord and Master.” In Socialism, Feminism and Philosophy: A Radical Philosophy Reader, ed. by Sean Sayers and Peter Osborne, 27–45. New York: Routledge, 1990. Barber, Benjamin. “Spirit’s Phoenix and History’s Owl; or The Incoherence of Dialectics in Hegel’s Account of Women.” Political Theory 16, no. 1 (February 1988): 5–28. Benardete, Seth. Sacred Transgressions: A Reading of Sophocles’ “Antigone.” South Bend: St. Augustine’s Press, 1999. Bennett, Larry J., and Wm Blake Tyrrell. “Sophocles’ Antigone and Funeral Oratory.” American Journal of Philology 111, no. 4 (Winter 1990): 441–56. Bloom, Harold, ed. William Shakespeare’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” New York: Chelsea House Publishers, 1987. Blundell, Mary. Helping Friends and Harming Enemies: A Study in Sophocles and Greek Ethics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. Bowra, C.M. “Antigone.” In Sophoclean Tragedy, 63–115. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1944. Brinkman, Klaus. “Hegel on the Animal Organism.” Laval théologique et philosophique 52, no. 1 (février 1996): 135–53. Brown, Jane K. “Discordia Concors: On the Order of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” Modern Language Quarterly 48, no. 1 (1987): 20–41. Buckley, Michael. “Irony and the ‘We’ in Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit.” Clio 31 (2002): 279–300. Bungay, Stephan. Beauty and Truth: A Study of Hegel’s Aesthetics. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987. Burke, Victoria. “Hegel’s Concept of Mutual Recognition: The Limit’s of SelfDetermination.” Philosophical Forum 36, no. 2 (Summer 2005): 213–20.

140

Bibliography

Bushnell, Rebecca W. Prophesying Tragedy: Sign and Voice in Sophocles’ Theban Plays. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1988. Butler, Judith. Antigone’s Claim. New York: Columbia University Press, 2000. Calderwood, James L. A Midsummer Night’s Dream. New York: Twayne Publishers, 1992. – “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” Shakespeare Quarterly 42, no. 4 (Winter 1991): 409–30. Conlan, J.P. “The Fey Beauty of A Midsummer Night’s Dream: A Shakespearean Comedy in Its Courtly Context.” Shakespeare Studies 32 (2004): 118–72. Cropp, Martin. “Antigone’s Final Speech (Sophocles’ Antigone 891–928).” Greece & Rome 44, no. 2 (October 1997): 137–60. Dallmayr, Fred R. G.W.F. Hegel: Modernity and Politics. California: Sage Publications, 1993. Dinan, Matt. “The Erotic Republic: The Platonic Regime in Shakespeare’s Greek Plays.” Honours thesis, St Thomas University, 2006. Dunn, Allen, “The Indian Boy’s Dream Wherein Every Mother’s Son Rehearses His Part: Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” Shakespeare Studies 20 (1988): 15–32. Elshtain, Jean Bethke. Public Man, Private Woman. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981. – “Self/Other, Citizen/State: G.W.F. Hegel and Jane Adams.” In Meditations on Modern Political Thought: Masculine/Feminine Themes from Luther to Arendt, ed. Jean Bethke Elshtain, 71–84. New York: Praeger Special Studies, 1986. – “Sovereignty, Identity, Sacrifice.” Social Research 58, no. 2 (Summer 1991): 545–64. Forster, Michael N. Hegel’s Idea of a Phenomenology of Spirit. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998. Foster, M.B. The Political Philosophies of Plato and Hegel. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1935. Franco, Paul. Hegel’s Philosophy of Freedom. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1999. Gardiner, Cynthia. The Sophoclean Chorus: A Study of Character and Function. Iowa City: University of Iowa Press, 1987. Gauthier, Jeffrey A. Hegel and Feminist Social Criticism. New York: State University of New York Press, 1997. Gearhart, Suzanne. “The Dialectic and Its Aesthetic Other: Hegel and Diderot.” Modern Language Notes 101, no. 5 (December 1986): 1042–66. Geller, Jay. “Hegel’s Self-Conscious Woman.” Modern Language Quarterly 53, no. 2 (1992): 173–99.

Bibliography

141

Gillespie, Michael. “Death and Desire: War and Bourgeoisification in the Thought of Hegel.” In Understanding the Political Spirit: Philosophical Investigations from Socrates to Nietzche, ed. Catherine H. Zuckert, 153–79. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988. Gillespie, Robert. “Property and Progeny: Education, Command and Patriarchy in Hegel’s Thought.” Women and Politics 15, no. 2 (June 1995): 37–51. Gould, Carol C. “The Woman Question: Philosophy of Liberation and the Liberation of Philosophy.” Philosophical Forum 5 (1973–74): 5–39. Hadfield, Andrew. Shakespeare and Republicanism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Hall, Jonathan. “Sexual Politics in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” In Anxious Pleasures: Shakespearean Comedy and the Nation-State, 98–115. Madison: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1995. Harris, Errol E. The Spirit of Hegel. Atlantic Highlands, nj: Humanities Press, 1994. Hegel, G.W.F. Aesthetics: Lectures on Fine Arts. Translated by T.M. Knox. 2 vols. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975. – Elements of the Philosophy of Right. Translated by H.B. Nisbet. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991. – The Encyclopedia Logic. Translated by T.F. Geraets, W.A. Suchting, and H.S. Harris. Cambridge: Hackett Publishing Company, 1991. – Lectures on the Philosophy of Religion. Ed. Peter C. Hodgson. Translated by R.F. Brown, P.C. Hodgson, and J.M. Stewart with the assistance of H.S. Harris. 3 vols. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984–87. – Phenomenology of Spirit. Translated by A.V. Miller. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977. – The Philosophy of History. Translated by J. Sibree. New York: Dover Publications, 1956. – Philosophy of Mind. Translated by A.V. Miller. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971. – System of Ethical Life and First Philosophy of Spirit. Translated by H.S. Harris and T.M. Knox. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1979. Herbert, T. Walter. Oberon’s Mazed World. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1977. Hodge, Joanna. “Women and the Hegelian State.” In Women in Western Political Philosophy, ed. Ellen Kennedy and Susan Mendus, 127–57. New York: St Martin’s Press, 1987. Houlgate, Stephen. Freedom, Truth and History: An Introduction to Hegel’s Philosophy. London: Routledge, 1991.

142

Bibliography

Howard, Skiles. “Hands, Feet, and Bottoms: Decentering the Cosmic Dance in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” Shakespeare Quarterly 44, no. 3 (Autumn 1993): 325–42. Hutchings, Kimberly. Hegel and Feminist Philosophy. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2003. Hutton, Virgil. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream: Tragedy in Comic Disguise.” Studies in English Literature, 1500–1900 25, no. 2 (Spring 1985): 289–305. Ierulli, Molly. “The Politics of Pathos: Electra and Antigone in the Polis.” South Atlantic Quarterly 98, no. 3 (Summer 1999): 478–95. Jacobs, Carol. “Dusting Antigone.” mln 111, no. 5 (December 1996): 889– 917. Kainz, Howard P. Hegel’s Phenomenology, Part i: Analysis and Commentary. Alabama: University of Alabama Press, 1976. – Hegel’s Phenomenology, Part ii: The Evolution of Ethical and Religious Consciousness to the Absolute Standpoint. Athens: Ohio University Press, 1983. Kennedy, Judith M., and Richard F. Kennedy. A Midsummer Night’s Dream. London: Athlone Press, 1999. Kiernan, Victor. Shakespeare: Poet and Citizen. London: Verso, 1993. Kirkwood, G.M. A Study of Sophoclean Drama. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1958. Knox, Bernard M. The Heroic Temper: Studies in Sophoclean Tragedy. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983. Kowser, Mohammad. “Lacan’s “Antigone”: A Case Study in Psychoanalytical Ethics.” Theatre Journal 42, no. 1 (March 1990): 94–106. Landes, Joan B. “Hegel’s Conception of the Family.” In The Family in Political Thought, ed. Jean Bethke Elshtain, 125–44. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1982. Lowenthal, David. “The Portrait of Athens in A Midsummer Night’s Dream." In Shakespeare’s Political Pageant: Essays in Literature and Politics, ed. Joseph Alulis and Vickie Sullivan, 77–88. Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 1996. Lucas, George R., Jr. “A Re-interpretation of Hegel’s Philosophy of Nature.” Journal of the History of Philosophy 22 (1984): 103–13. Marshall, David. “Exchanging Visions: Reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” elh 49, no. 3 (Autumn 1982): 543–75. Mikics, David. “Poetry and Politics in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” Raritan: A Quarterly Review 18, no. 2 (Fall 1998): 99–119. Miller, Ronald F. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream: The Fairies, Bottom, and the Mystery of Things.” Shakespeare Quarterly 26 (1975): 254–68. Mills, Patricia Jagentowicz. “‘Feminist’ Sympathy and Other Serious Crimes: A Reply to Swindle.” Owl of Minerva 24, no. 1 (Fall 1992): 55–62.

Bibliography

143

– “Hegel’s Antigone.” Owl of Minerva 17, no. 2 (Spring 1986), 133–52. – Women, Nature, and Psyche. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1987. Neuburg, Matt. “How Like a Woman: Antigone’s Inconsistency.” Classical Quarterly 40, no. 1 (1990): 54–76. Nevo, Ruth. Comic Transformations in Shakespeare. London: Methuen, 1980. Norman, Richard J. Hegel’s Phenomenology: A Philosophical Introduction. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Company, 1991. O’Brien, Joan. Guide to Sophocles’ “Antigone”: A Student Edition with Commentary, Grammatical Notes, & Vocabulary. London: Feffer & Simons, 1978. Oliver, Kelly. “Antigone’s Ghost: Undoing Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit.” Hypatia 11, no. 1 (1996): 67–90. Pelczynski, Z.A. “The Hegelian Conception of the State.” In Hegel’s Political Philosophy, Problems and Perspectives: A New Collection of Essays, ed. Z.A. Pelczynski, 1–29. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971. Peperzak, Adriaan. “The Foundations of Ethics According to Hegel.” International Philosophical Quarterly 23 (1983): 349–65. Price, David W. “Hegel’s Intertextual Dialectic:. Diderot’s Le Neveu de Rameau in the Phenomenology of Spirit." Clio 20 (1991): 223–33. Ravven, Heidi M. “Has Hegel Anything to Say to Feminists?” Owl of Minerva 19, no. 2 (Spring 1988): 149–68. – “A Response to ‘Why Feminists Should Take the Phenomenology of Spirit Seriously.’” Owl of Minerva 24, no. 1 (Fall 1992): 63–9. Reyburn, Hugh A. The Ethical Theory of Hegel: A Study of the Philosophy of Right. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1921. Rhoades, Duane. Shakespeare’s Defense of Poetry: “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” and “The Tempest.” Westport: Greenwood Press, 1986. Ring, Jennifer. Modern Political Thought and Contemporary Feminism: A Dialectical Analysis. New York: State University of New York Press, 1991. Rosen, Stanley. G.W.F. Hegel: An Introduction to the Science of Wisdom. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1974. Schmidt, James. “The Fool’s Truth: Diderot, Goethe, and Hegel.” Journal of the History of Ideas 57, no. 4 (October 1996): 625–44. Seaford, Richard. “Tragic Money.” Journal of Hellenic Studies 118 (1998): 119–39. Segal, Charles Paul. “Antigone: Death, Love, Hades and Dionysus.” In Tragedy and Civilization: An Interpretation of Sophocles, 152–206. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1981. – “Sophocles’ Praise of Man and the Conflicts of the Antigone.” In Sophocles: A Collection of Critical Essays, ed. Thomas Woodard, 62–85. Englewood Cliffs, nj: Prentice-Hall, 1966.

144

Bibliography

Shakespeare, William. A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Edited by Harold F. Brooks. The Arden Shakespeare. London: Routledge, 1983. – A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Edited by Peter Holland. Cambridge: Oxford University Press, 1998. Shapiro, Gary. “An Ancient Quarrel in Hegel’s Phenomenology.” Owl of Minerva 17, no. 2 (Spring 1996): 165–80. Shklar, Judith. “Hegel’s Phenomenology: The Moral Failures of Asocial Man.” Political Theory 1, no. 3 (August 1973): 259–86. Siebert, Rudolph J. “Hegel’s Conception of Marriage and the Family: The Origin of Subjective Freedom.” In Hegel’s Social and Political Thought: The Philosophy of Objective Spirit, ed. Donald Phillip Verene, 177–214. Atlantic Highlands, nj: Humanities Press, 1980. Sophocles. Antigone. Translated by Hugh Lloyd-Jones. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1994. Speight, Allen. Hegel, Literature and the Problem of Agency. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001. Steinkraus, Warren E., ed. New Studies in Hegel’s Philosophy. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1971. Steinkraus, Warren E., and Kenneth I. Schmitz, eds. Art and Logic in Hegel’s Philosophy. Atlantic Highland, nj: Humanities Press, 1980. Swindle, Stuart. “Why Feminists Should Take the Phenomenology of Spirit Seriously.” Owl of Minerva 24, no. 1 (Fall 1992): 41–54. Taylor, Charles. Hegel. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975. Taylor, Marion A. Bottom, Thou Art Translated. Amsterdam: Rodopi nv, 1973. Verene, Donald Phillip. Hegel’s Recollection: A Study of Images in the “Phenomenology of Spirit.” Albany: State University of New York Press, 1985. Whitehorne, J.E.G. “The Background to Polynices’ Disinterment and Reburial.” Greece & Rome 30, no. 2 (October 1983): 129–42. Wood, Allen W. “Does Hegel Have an Ethics?” Monist 74 (1991): 358–85. Yachnin, Paul. “The Politics of Theatrical Mirth: A Midsummer Night’s Dream, A Mad World, My Masters, and Measure for Measure.” Shakespeare Quarterly 43, no. 1 (Spring 1992): 51–66. Yerkes, James. “Hegel and ‘The End of Days’: Philosophy, Religion and Hope.” Thought 56, no. 222 (September 1981): 353–66.

Index

Absolute. See Divine absolute knowing, 11, 41, 45, 75. See also consciousness; reason; selfconsciousness abstract right, 78 Adams, S.M., 44n6 Aesthetics, 12; classical art vs. romantic art, 15–16, 100, 136–7; comedy vs. tragedy 99–100. See also poetry America, 76 Antigone (play), 8–9, 19–40, 112; abstract right, 78–9; as classical art, 15–16, 100; in contrast to A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 16–17, 99– 101, 132, 134; desire in, 19, 22, 30, 32, 36–7, 68, 70, 72; Divine, 28, 31, 34, 35–6, 36n61, 37–9; in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 12–13, 17–18, 77, 84–7, 96, 98– 101; family, 19–22, 22–4, 24n11, 25–31, 33–6, 39, 44, 47–9, 65–70, 86–7; Hegel’s manipulation of, 10–12, 43–5, 66–73, 86; human nature in, 29, 31, 37, 40; individuality, 23, 30, 32, 34, 43; love, 8, 10, 19–21, 22–5, 27, 29–31, 32–5,

36–7, 40, 44, 48, 65, 67–8, 70, 71; marriage, 22–3, 27, 34; natural in, 20–1, 22, 29, 31, 37, 68; objectivity, 19–21, 22, 24, 29–32, 34–6, 37–8, 40, 112; particularity, 21–2, 29–31, 34, 37, 55n30, 67–8, 70; in The Phenomenology of Spirit, 9– 12, 43–5, 46, 62–72; reason, 29, 35, 38; the state, 8–9, 12, 20–1, 32–7, 38–40, 43–4, 64–5, 67, 71, 78, 96; subjectivity, 11, 12, 19–21, 22–4, 29, 31, 32, 34, 35, 37, 40, 105; as tragedy, 13, 20–2, 44, 71, 99–101, 112; universality, 11, 29, 30, 32, 34, 37, 43, 67–8, 71. See also individual character names Antigone (character), 8–9; in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 77, 78, 86–7; forgiveness, 25–8; guilt, 63, 69–70, 69n65, 71; honour, 22, 24–8, 30–1, 38; limitations of, 20, 21, 27, 29; objectivity of, 19– 20, 24, 29–32; opposition to the state, 19–21, 23–4, 40, 43–4, 65– 6, 86–7; in The Phenomenology of Spirit, 9–11, 43–4, 47–8, 50, 63, 65–72; relationship to death, 22,

146

Index

25, 26–9, 31, 50; relationship to family, 19–20, 22–4, 29, 30, 38, 67–8, 70–1, 86; relationship to the gods, 28, 31, 38; selfconsciousness, 68, 70; subjectivity of, 19–22, 24, 29, 31–2, 44, 48, 66, 70–2, 86–7, 112, 117, 128; suicide, 20, 50. See also Antigone (play) Aristotle: friendship, 24 art. See poetry Barber, Benjamin, 6, 77n8, 93n48 Benerdete, Seth, 23 Blundell, Mary, 36n61 Bottom: as an ass, 108, 111; epilogue of, 116; ruled by Quince, 117, 120; ruled by Titania, 102, 106, 107, 108, 110, 115–16; as tyrant, 111 Brooks, Harold F., 102n9, 103n12 brother/sister: in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 56–60, 66–8, 70–1, 83–4 Buckley, Michael, 45 Burial: in Antigone, 20, 23n8, 25, 26, 33, 36, 38; in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 49–51, 51n23, 65, 69 Burke, Victoria, 59n36 Bushnell, Rebecca W., 36n61, 44n6 Butler, Judith, 29n35 Calderwood, James L., 104n17 children, 7; Creon’s understanding of, 65; in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 57. See also education Christianity, 15–16; as comedic, 16 civil society, 90; in ethical life, 76; as objective, 81; as subjective, 86 classical art: beauty of, 15; comedy, 16, 100; distinct from romantic,

15–16, 99–100; purpose of, 15; as tragic, 16. See also comedy; poetry; romantic art comedy, 125n68; ancient vs. romantic, 99–100; relationship to tragedy, 16, 99–100, 116, 120, 132. See also classical art; A Midsummer Night’s Dream; poetry; “Pyramus and Thisbe” Conlan, J.P., 127n75 consciousness, 17, 17n21, 50, 96, 137; in dialectic, 11–12, 57–8, 61, 62, 65, 73; Divine, 74; division between men and women, 53–5, 65, 73, 88; as historically progressive, 74–5, 76n5, 99; as subjective, 78, 80, 99. See also absolute knowing; reason; self-consciousness contemporary ethical life, 7, 14, 17, 80; as dissatisfactory, 137–9; family in, 94–7; as portrayed in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 101–2; women in, 87–92, 98–9. See also modern ethical life; Greek ethical life Creon, 117; in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 78; friendship, 32–3; guilt, 69–70; and money, 34; objectivity of, 19, 21, 32–3, 52, 112; in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 10, 43–4, 52, 61, 65–6, 69–71; pride of, 35–6; relationship to family, 8, 10, 20, 21, 30, 33–4, 36, 37, 39, 61, 65–6, 69–71; relationship to the gods, 35–6, 38; relationship to the state, 9, 19, 20, 32–3, 37, 39, 69–70; as representative of human law, 65, 69; subjectivity of, 19, 32, 35–6, 105; as tyrant, 35– 6, 105

Index

crime, 63; and Greek ethical life, 69 Cupid. See A Midsummer Night’s Dream death: Antigone, 22, 25, 26–9, 31, 50; Creon, 36n61, 39; as natural, 29, 49–51; in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 49–51 Demetrius, 110, 131; magically transformed, 106, 124, 126, 136; to marry Hermia, 101, 108, 113; social class of, 125 democracy, 14 desire, 20; aligned with the state, 98–9; in Antigone, 19, 22, 30, 32, 36–7, 68, 70, 72; in contemporary ethical life, 88, 96, 98, 137–8; in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 84, 85–6, 88, 89, 92, 96–7, 98; in marriage, 56–7, 81–3, 89; in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 101, 102, 105, 107, 111, 112–17, 122, 124, 127–32, 133–6; for money, 34; as objective, 5, 14, 20, 107, 122, 127–32, 133–6; in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 48–50, 55, 55n31, 56–7, 59–60, 59n38, 83– 4; in self-consciousness, 75, 83; as subjective, 5, 10–11, 14–15, 16– 17, 20, 29, 32, 105, 112–17; in tragedy, 16; tyranny, 111. See also love; subjectivity dialectic, 3, 6, 42, 44, 62; in consciousness, 11–12, 41–2, 57–61, 89n39, 91–2; in the modern state, 91–2, 95–5 Diderot, Denis: Le Neveau de Rameau, 46 Dinan, Matt, 105n19 Divine: as absolute truth, 4, 41, 54; in Antigone, 28, 31, 34, 35–6,

147

36n61, 37–9; in art, 15–16, 136– 7; as freedom, 4, 41, 74–5, 77; manifest in ethical life, 4, 17, 74– 5, 77, 99, 137; nature of, 4, 12, 41, 46, 54, 77, 84. See also divine law; Spirit divine law: Antigone as representative of, 47–9, 65–6, 66–70; and burial, 49–51, 61–2; Creon’s opposition to, 65–6, 68–70; in Greek ethical life, 43, 47–51; objectivity of, 49–51, 53, 63, 71; relationship to human law, 61–4; in sphere of women, 43, 47, 50–1, 53–9, 63; as subjective, 43, 48–9, 53, 63. See also human law divorce, 93 education: of children, 6, 81, 89– 90, 96; in Greek ethical life, 49; in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 118– 19, 136; of women, 86n26, 92–3 Egeus, 101, 112, 123–4, 131, 136; as patriarch, 103–4, 121 Elements of the Philosophy of Right: Antigone, 12–13, 17–18, 77, 84–7, 96, 98–101; desire, 84, 85–6, 88, 89, 92, 96–7, 98; family, 8, 13, 76–7, 80–4, 84–97, 98, 101; freedom, 75–6, 80–5, 98; history, 6–8, 13, 75–6, 78–80, 96–7, 98–9; individuality, 13, 76–7, 80, 84; love, 81–3, 85, 89, 90, 94–6; marriage, 81–4, 88–9, 91–2, 95; men, 77, 84, 85–6, 87–94; morality, 78–80; natural in, 81, 83, 87–8, 91, 94–5; objectivity, 78–80, 82–3, 88, 91, 92, 94, 95; particularity, 79, 80, 81–2, 84, 85–6, 86n26, 88, 94; reason, 76, 82, 83, 88, 99;

148

Index

self-consciousness, 80–4, 85, 87, 91–2; Spirit, 75, 77, 79, 88; the state, 6–7, 12–13, 19, 75–7, 76n5, 80–1, 84–8, 91–2, 94, 96, 98; subjectivity, 12–13, 20, 76–7, 78–80, 81–4, 85, 88–9, 91, 94–5, 98; universality, 13, 17, 20, 78–9, 81, 85– 9, 94–5; women, 8, 13, 77, 77n8, 83–4, 85–96, 86n26, 89n39, 98 Elshtain, Jean Bethke, 6, 55n33, 77n8 employment, 76, 95–6, 125 The Encyclopedia of Logic, 46 enlightenment, 78–9 equality, 14, 125, 136; (in)equality of women, 6–7, 9, 13, 14, 17, 53– 6, 59, 77, 85–96, 98–9, 134–6 Eteocles, 19, 25, 64–5, 71–2 ethical life. See contemporary ethical life; Greek ethical life; modern ethical life Euripides, 101n8 evil, 79 family: in Antigone, 19–22, 22–4, 24n11, 25–31, 33–6, 39, 44, 47– 9, 65–70, 86–7; in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 8, 13, 76–7, 80–4, 84–97, 98, 101; in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 17; in Phenomenology of Spirit, 9–11, 43–4, 48–51, 51n23, 51–2, 54–7, 59, 59n38, 61–2, 71, 72n66, 73; men’s position in, 20–1, 33–4, 39, 54–5, 55n31, 59, 59n38, 60–1, 64, 69, 96; as natural, 20–1, 22, 24, 24n11, 29, 34, 48, 51n23, 70– 1; as rational, 20, 21, 29, 31, 34, 36, 49–51, 70–1, 81–3, 88, 94–5; relationship to the state, 6, 9–10,

18, 20–2, 29, 31, 73, 81, 84, 85–6, 94–7; as subjective, 6, 49, 73, 76, 81, 94; women’s position in, 6–8, 13, 18, 22, 51n23, 54–9, 59n38, 63, 68, 73, 85, 86–94, 89n39, 95– 6. See also divine law; subjectivity fate, 25, 26; Antigone, 28–9; Creon, 20, 21, 39; Ismene, 28 Forster, Michael N., 42n3 Franco, Paul, 72n67 freedom: as abstract right, 78; Divine nature, 4, 41, 74–5, 77; in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 75–6, 80–5, 98; human nature, 3, 5, 41, 74–5, 77, 80, 138–9; in marriage, 80–5; in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 111n31, 123–7, 133–6; as morality, 79; in poetry, 100; political, 5, 14, 71, 74–6, 77, 111n31, 123–7, 133–9; as reason, 41, 74–5, 77, 133–4, 135–6, 137–8; relationship to equality, 14, 134–5; as self-consciousness, 41, 54, 56–9, 60–1, 80, 83–5 friendship: according to Antigone, 24, 24n11; according to Creon, 32–3; in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 116 Gardiner, Cynthia, 37n62 Gauthier, Jeffrey, 8 gay rights, 14. See also freedom; human rights Gearhart, Suzanne, 46 geist. See Divine; Spirit Geller, Jay, 6n4, 59n38, 72n66 gender. See men; women Gillespie, Michael, 64n49 God. See Divine; Spirit

Index

Greek ethical life, 8–9, 42–3, 46; divine law, 47–51; family, 43, 47–51, 56–60, 66–7, 73, 79, 83–4; human law, 43, 51–3, 64–5, 79; instability of, 43, 53, 62–4, 71–3, 79; men in, 53–4, 58, 59–61, 63– 4, 66n52, 68–9, 68n60, 70, 72n66, 83–4; the state in, 43, 51– 3, 60–1, 63–4, 70; unity of, 61–2; women in, 51n23, 53–9, 59n38, 63–4, 66–7, 66n52, 68–9, 68n60, 72n66, 73, 83–4, 90, 104. See also contemporary ethical life; modern ethical life guilt, 63, 66n52, 69–71, 69n65 Hadfield, Andrew, 101n7 Haemon, 27, 31, 33–4, 35, 36, 39, 55n30, 65 Helena, 125; equal to Demetrius, 134; friendship with Hermia, 113–14, 116; irrationality of, 112, 113–14, 116, 129; loved by Demetrius, 106, 108, 109, 124, 130, 131–2; loved by Lysander, 106, 110, 131–3; as objective, 131–2; as rational, 131–2; social class of, 125; as subjective, 112, 113–14, 116 Hermia, 110; equal to Lysander, 134–5; friendship with Helena, 113–14, 116; loved by Demetrius, 126; loved by Lysander, 103, 106, 115, 122–3; marriage of, 101, 102–4, 117, 121–3; modesty of, 129–30; objectivity of, 128–31; in a patriarchy, 101–7, 105–6, 108, 110, 111n31, 120n53, 121–2; social class of, 125; subjectivity of, 112–13

149

Hippolyta, 101; conquered, 102–3, 103n12, 104; equal to Theseus, 135; loved by Theseus, 103n12, 122–4, 134; marriage of, 102–3, 103n12, 104, 120–2, 133; as queen, 135; as rational, 128; reconciled to Theseus, 135–6 History: culmination of, 3, 7, 13, 17–18, 41, 74, 133, 137–8; divine nature, 4; in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 6–8, 13, 75–6, 78–80, 96–7, 98–9; human nature, 3; natural, 12; in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 42n3, 44, 70; and poetry, 15–18, 84n23, 100; as progressive, 3, 4, 10, 15, 41–2, 44, 74, 77–80, 130, 133; as rational, 3, 8, 41, 75–6, 96–7, 137–8 Hobbes, Thomas, 78 Hodge, Joanna, 7, 66n52, 77n8, 86n26, 93n50 honour, 24, 65; Antigone’s , 22, 24– 8, 30–2, 38, 66, 67; Creon’s, 33, 35–6, 38; dishonour of Polynices, 23, 25; Ismene’s, 25–7; objectivity of, 31–2. See also pride human nature, 4–5, 29, 41; as freedom, 5, 41, 74–5, 77; as objective, 4–5, 29, 31, 37, 99; as rational, 5, 41, 77, 81, 99; relationship to the Divine, 4, 41, 47, 54, 74–5, 77, 99; as subjective, 4–5, 15, 29, 31, 37, 41, 74, 88, 99; as teleological, 3, 41, 74–5, 99. See also men; women human law, 43; in Antigone, 65–6, 69, 71; as particular, 52–3, 61; relationship to divine law, 44, 53, 61– 4; as the sphere of men, 54, 59; as universal, 47–8, 51–2, 53, 61

150

Index

human rights, 5, 14, 71, 74–6, 77, 78, 108, 111n31, 123–7, 133–4. See also freedom Hutchings, Kimberly, 8 Hutton, Virgil, 107n21, 120n53 Ierulli, Molly, 29n34 immediacy, 90, 137; in Antigone’s actions, 19, 20, 22, 47; of divine law, 48; in the family, 94. See also individuality; objectivity; particularity; subjectivity; universality incest, 22–3 individuality: in ancient Rome, 11; in Antigone, 23, 30, 32, 34, 43; in the Divine, 41; in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 13, 76–7, 80, 84; in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 16–17, 103, 113, 120, 128, 132; in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 9–10, 42n3, 43, 47–51, 51–3, 54, 55–61, 59n38, 62, 65, 69, 71–3, 76, 80; in poetry, 100; as reconciled to universality, 9, 20, 21, 42, 44, 80, 84, 128, 132, 137–8; as self-consciousness, 49, 54, 56–9, 60–1, 89n39, 91–2; as self-interest, 49; as subjective, 5, 8–9, 16, 43, 45, 71–2, 137. See also immediacy; objectivity; particularity; subjectivity; universality injustice. See justice irony: in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 12, 44–6, 73 Ismene: Antigone’s relationship to, 23, 25–6, 26n17; as different from Antigone, 26–7, 28–9; honour, 27; marriage, 27

Jocasta, 22 justice, 7, 58, 77, 132; in Antigone, 35; in contemporary ethical life, 137–9; injustice, 19, 69, 133; in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 105, 134; in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 62. See also freedom; human rights knowledge. See reason Landes, Joan B., 6n4, 89n39 Locke, John, 78 love: in Antigone, 8, 10, 19–21, 22–5, 27, 29–31, 32–5, 36–7, 40, 44, 48, 65, 67–8, 70, 71; as contingent, 82; in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 81–3, 85, 89, 90, 94–6; as ethical, 6–7, 17, 81–3, 89, 94–6, 128–32; of families, 20–1, 21–6, 31, 33–4, 36–7, 44, 47–8, 55–7, 60, 65, 67–8, 70, 81, 94–6; and human nature, 29, 94–5; of knowledge, 41; in marriage, 81–3, 89, 96, 103–4; in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 16–17, 101, 102– 4, 105–10, 112, 113–17, 120–2, 120n53, 124–5, 128–32, 137–8; as natural, 29, 48; as patriotism, 19–20, 32–5; in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 41, 44, 47–8, 55–7, 60, 67–8, 70–1; as reciprocal, 6, 120–1, 137–8; self-consciousness, 81–3, 89n39, 94–6; self-love, 8, 10, 19–21, 22–5, 27, 31, 71; as subjective, 5, 16, 19–21, 29, 35, 40, 81–3, 101, 113–17 Lowenthal, David, 111n31, 112n33 Lysander: confession to Theseus, 123–4, 130; as equal to Hermia, 134–5; escaping Athens, 113,

Index

128–30; love of Helena, 106, 110, 131–3; love of Hermia, 101, 102, 103, 105–7, 110, 115; as rational, 90, 128–31; social class of, 125; subjectivity of, 112–13 marriage: in Antigone, 22–3, 27, 34; choice of partner, 93, 95–6; Creon’s understanding of, 34; in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 81–4, 88–9, 91–2, 95; as ethical, 56–7, 81–4, 88–9, 91–2; in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 17, 22, 27, 102–4, 103n12, 104, 112–13, 120–2, 128, 133–4; in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 56–7, 83; and selfconsciousness, 81–4, 91–2. See also love Marshall, David, 103n12, 111n31 master/slave dialectic, 58, 60, 92. See also self-consciousness matriarchy: in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 102, 106 men: in Antigone, 65–6; as comparable to women, 6–7, 14, 84, 93, 94, 134–6; in contrast to women, 6, 50, 53n26, 54–5, 55n31, 57–9, 59n38, 62, 63, 64n49, 77, 83, 85, 87–94; in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 77, 84, 85–6, 87–94; in the family, 54–5, 60–1, 84, 94–7; in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 134–6; in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 9, 47, 50, 53n26, 54–5, 55n31, 57–9, 59–61, 59n38, 62, 63, 64n49, 66n52, 72n66; as political beings, 6, 60–1, 62, 63, 77, 85–6, 88. See also women A Midsummer Night’s Dream: changeling boy in, 114–15; as

151

contemporary ethical life, 16–17, 101–2; Cupid in, 105–6, 108–9; desire in, 101, 102, 105, 107, 111, 112–17, 122, 124, 127–32, 133–6; as a dream, 136–9; as egalitarian, 104, 134–6; fairy kingdom, 104–11, 131; freedom in, 111n31, 123–7, 133–6; hounds, 122–3, 126; individualtity, 16–17, 103, 113, 120, 128, 132; justice, 105; love in, 16–17, 101, 102–4, 105–10, 112, 113– 17, 120–2, 120n53, 124–5, 128– 32, 137–8; magic in, 105–11, 115–16, 136–7; marriage in, 17, 22, 27, 102–4, 103n12, 104, 112–13, 120–2, 128, 133–4; matriarchy, 102, 106; mothers, 104; natural order, 105–6, 115, 127, 130, 132; nunnery, 121–2; 101– 12, 117–32, 134–5; particularity, 106, 117, 119–20, 122, 125, 132; patriarchy, 102–12, 133; progression in, 101–2, 112, 116–17, 133; reason, 17, 102, 113, 116, 117, 125, 128, 137; reconciliation of subjective and objective, 16–18, 98–132, 117–27, 136–9; the state, 16–17, 101–12, 117–27, 133–6; subjectivity, 16–17, 101–2, 105, 107, 112–17, 122–3, 128– 32, 135–6. See also individual characters Mikics, David, 127n75 Miller, Ronald F., 125n66 Mills, Patricia Jagentowicz, 55n31, 69n65, 77n8 modern ethical life: civil society, 76, 81, 84, 86n26, 92, 93; division of sexes, 8, 12–13, 77n8, 85–94,

152

Index

86n26, 93n48, 98–9; education in, 89–90, 92–3; family, 76–7, 81– 6, 87–9, 91–2, 94–5; manifestation of the Divine, 46–7, 74–5, 98–9; as reconciling subjective and objective, 12–13, 74–5, 98–9; the state, 75–7, 80, 81, 84–6, 87–8, 90, 92; tension in, 9, 12–13, 75, 85–7, 93–4, 98–9. See also contemporary ethical life; Greek ethical life money: in Antigone, 34; and marriage, 95–6 morality: in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 78–80 See also contemporary ethical life; Divine; freedom; Greek ethical life; justice; modern ethical life; self-consciousness nature, 5, 17, 34, 75; in Antigone, 20–1, 22, 29, 31, 37, 68; death, 49–50, 62; difference between the sexes, 43, 58, 68, 83, 87–8, 91; in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 81, 83, 87–8, 91, 94–5; family, 20–1, 22, 48, 51n23, 54, 56–9, 59n38, 70, 81, 94–5; in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 105–6, 115, 127, 130, 132; in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 43, 48, 49–50, 51, 51n23, 53–4, 56–7, 58–9, 59n38, 62, 68, 70; self-consciousness, 50, 77; as subjective, 3, 6, 15, 22, 29, 31, 48, 81, 94–5, 105–6, 127, 132. See also individuality, particularity; subjectivity negation, 57–8 Neuburg, Matt, 30n36 Nevo, Ruth, 107n22 Niobe, 28

Norman, Richard J., 42n3 nun: in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 107, 113, 121–2, 129 Oberon: compared to Theseus, 105, 108–10, 126, 135; as jealous, 106–7; limitations of, 108–10; as natural, 105–6; subjectivity, 105– 7, 114–15; as a Titan, 105–6; as tyrant, 105–8, 133; use of magic, 107, 110, 126, 135 objectivity: in abstract right, 78; in Antigone, 19–21, 22, 24, 29–32, 34–6, 37–8, 40, 112; divine nature, 4, 41, 46, 54, 74–5; in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 78– 80, 82–3, 88, 91, 92, 94, 95; in the family, 29–30, 94–5; human nature, 4–5, 40, 41–3, 46, 54, 74– 5; marriage, 82–3, 88, 95; in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 101– 12, 117–32, 134–5; and money, 34; in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 43–4, 46–7, 49–53, 54, 56–60, 59n36, 61, 67, 71–2, 74, 84; in poetry, 99–101; as political, 5–6, 19–21, 22, 34–6, 40, 42–3, 47, 75, 101, 105, 112; reconciled with subjectivity, 5, 14–15, 20, 29–30, 36–7, 41–3, 46, 54, 61, 74–5, 80, 99–101, 117–27, 127–32, 133, 135; in self-consciousness, 41, 56– 60, 59n36, 67, 91; in tension with subjectivity, 5–6, 40, 43, 46–7, 54, 71–2, 74, 84, 87, 112, 116, 124. See also immediacy; individuality; particularity; subjectivity O’Brien, Joan, 20n1, 36n61 Oedipus, 22, 63, 64 Oliver, Kelly, 51n23, 68n60

Index

parents. See children particularity: in Antigone, 21–2, 29– 31, 34, 37, 55n30, 67–8, 70; divine nature, 4–5, 15, 41, 46, 54; in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 79, 80, 81–2, 84, 85–6, 86n26, 88, 94; in the family, 54–60, 55n31, 59n38, 64–5, 67–8, 81–2; human nature, 4–5, 37, 41–2, 46, 75; in logic, 57, 67–8; in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 106, 117, 119–20, 122, 125, 132; in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 11, 43, 44, 46– 7, 49, 50, 51, 52–3, 53n25, 54– 61, 55n31, 59n38, 62, 64–8, 73, 79, 80, 83–4, 85–6; in poetry, 12, 15, 100; in politics, 52–3, 53n26, 60–1, 65–6, 85; as reconciled with the universal, 14–15, 21, 29–30, 75, 80, 102, 119–20; as subjectivity, 3, 30, 50, 88, 117; in tension with the universal, 4, 22, 43, 44, 49, 51, 62, 73, 79, 83–4, 94, 95, 96. See also immediacy; individuality; objectivity; subjectivity; universality patriarchy: in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 102–9, 120, 133 Phenomenology of Spirit: Antigone in, 9–12, 43–5, 46, 62–72; brother/ sister, 56–60, 66–8, 70–1, 83–4; burial, 49–51, 51n23, 65, 69; children, 57; death, 49–51; desire, 48–50, 55, 55n31, 56–7, 59–60, 59n38, 83–4; family, 9–11, 43–4, 48–51, 51n23, 51–2, 54–7, 59, 59n38, 61–2, 71, 72n66, 73; history, 42n3, 44, 70; individuality, 9–10, 42n3, 43, 47–53, 54–61, 59n38, 62, 65, 69, 71–3, 76, 80;

153

irony, 12, 44–6, 73; love, 41, 44, 47–8, 55–7, 60, 67–8, 70–1; marriage, 56–7, 83; men, 9, 47, 50, 53n26, 54–5, 55n31, 57–9, 59– 61, 59n38, 62, 63, 64n49, 66n52, 72n66; natural, 43, 48, 49–50, 51, 51n23, 53–4, 56–7, 58–9, 59n38, 62, 68, 70; objectivity, 43–4, 46–7, 49–53, 54, 56–60, 59n36, 61, 67, 71–2, 74, 84; particularity, 11, 43, 44, 46–7, 49, 50, 51, 52–3, 53n25, 54–61, 55n31, 59n38, 62, 64–8, 73, 79, 80, 83–4, 85–6; poetry, 12, 15, 100; reason, 42, 42n3, 43, 44, 45, 48, 50, 58, 60; self-consciousness, 43, 49, 49n23, 54, 56–9, 59n36, 60–1, 66–8, 68n60, 83–4, 92; Spirit, 41, 42n3, 46–7, 52, 53, 61, 80; the state, 9– 12, 43, 44, 47, 50, 51–3, 59–61, 59n38, 61–3, 65–6, 66, 68–71, 73, 80; subjectivity, 9, 10–11, 12, 43, 47–51, 52–4, 59n36, 60–6, 70, 71, 73, 84; universality, 11, 43, 47–53, 55, 55n31, 57, 59, 59n38, 60–3, 69, 73, 83; women, 8, 9–10, 47, 50–1, 51n23, 53n26, 54–9, 55n31, 59n38, 62, 63, 64n49, 66n52, 68n60, 72n66, 73, 83, 90 Philosophy of Mind: rationality of women, 90 poetry, 12; comedy, 100; comedy vs. tragedy, 16, 99–100; as a form of mediation, 99–100; in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 44–6, 71; the state as an example of, 15. See also classical art; romantic art political community. See state Polynices, 19, 64–5, 128; Antigone’s relationship to, 23, 25–6, 30,

154

Index

67–8, 70–1; burial, 25, 29, 36–7, 63, 69; Creon’s relationship to, 33, 36; dishonour of, 23, 25; Ismene’s relationship to, 26–7; political rights, 65–6, 71–2, 78; pride, 25; as subjective, 71–2 Price, David W., 46 pride, 22, 24; Antigone’s, 27, 28, 30; Creon’s, 35–6; objectivity of, 31; Polynices’, 25; Tiresias’, 37–8. See also honour property, 58, 78, 81; rights of women, 93–4 Puck: epilogue, 116; limitations, 108–9, 130 Pyramus, 112, 128; as subjective, 116–17 “Pyramus and Thisbe,” 111–12; as comic, 119–20; equality between the sexes, 134; production of, 117–20 Quince, 110, 112; education of Bottom, 118–19; as a just ruler, 117– 20, 133–4 Ravven, Heidi M., 86n26 reason: as absolute, 3; in Antigone, 29, 35, 38; in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 76, 82, 83, 88, 99; in the family, 21, 82; human, 3–5, 29, 41, 50, 83; in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 17, 102, 113, 116, 117, 125, 128, 137; in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 42, 42n3, 43, 44, 45, 48, 50, 58, 60; process of logic, 57–8; in the state, 5, 43, 48, 58, 60, 102, 128, 137; of women, 7, 83, 85–94. See also objectivity Rhoades, Duane, 102n9, 113n36

right. See freedom; human rights; justice romantic art: beauty of, 15; comedy, 16; as dissatisfactory, 136–7; purpose of, 15–17. See also classical art; poetry romanticism: morality of 79 Rome: ethical life of, 11, 72; morality of, 79 Schmidt, James, 46 Seaford, Richard, 34n54 Segal, Charles Paul, 36n61 self-consciousness: in Antigone, 24, 68, 78; as the divine nature, 4–5, 41, 43, 54, 80; in contemporary ethical life, 96; in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 80–4, 85, 87, 91–2; as human nature, 5, 41–2, 54, 80, 85; logical movement of, 56–8; master/slave dialectic, 58, 60, 68n60, 92; in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 43, 49, 49n23, 54, 56– 9, 59n36, 60–1, 66–8, 68n60, 83– 4, 92; in Rome, 9. See also Divine; freedom self-love. See pride Shakespeare, William, 16, 100. See also A Midsummer Night’s Dream Shapiro, Gary, 68n60 Shklar, Judith, 46 social classes: in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 104, 125–6 Socrates, 79–80 Speight, Allen, 84 Spirit: in contemporary ethical life, 99; in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 75, 77, 79, 88; as freedom, 41, 74–5, 77, 80; nature of, 11–12, 41, 46–7, 74–5; in the

Index

Phenomenology of Spirit, 41, 42n3, 46–7, 52, 53, 61, 80; in poetry, 12. See also Divine state: in Antigone, 8–9, 12, 20–1, 32–7, 38–40, 43–4, 64–5, 67, 71, 78, 96; in contemporary ethical life, 14, 16; in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 6–7, 12–13, 19, 75–7, 76n5, 80–1, 84–8, 91–2, 94, 96, 98; love of, 4, 20–1, 35; men in, 54, 59–61, 59n38, 68–9, 85, 91; in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 16–17, 101–12, 117–27, 133–6; as objective, 4, 6, 19, 43, 47, 51–2, 61; in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 9–12, 43, 44, 47, 50, 51–3, 54, 59–61, 59n38, 61–3, 65–6, 66, 68–71, 73, 80; relationship to family, 9–11, 12–13, 20–2, 31, 33–4, 38–40, 61, 63, 71, 77, 80–1, 85–7, 96; relationship to individuality; 44, 52–3, 61–2, 66, 70, 76, 80–1, 98, 101–2, 117–27, 133–4; women in, 6–8, 50, 54, 63, 73, 85, 87, 88, 91–2, 94, 134–6 subjectivity: in Antigone, 11, 12, 19– 21, 22–4, 29, 31, 32, 34, 35, 37, 40, 105; in contemporary ethical life, 14–15, 94–6, 99, 138; divine nature, 4, 5, 41, 46; in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 12–13, 20, 76–7, 78–80, 81–4, 85, 88–9, 91, 94–5, 98; in the family, 10–11, 21, 22–4, 47–51, 61, 66, 81–4, 85, 88–9, 94, 98; human nature, 5, 29, 37, 41, 54; in marriage, 81–4, 88–9; in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 16–17, 101–2, 105, 107, 112–17, 122–3, 128–32, 135–6;

155

and money, 34; in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 9, 10–11, 12, 43, 47– 51, 52–4, 59n36, 60–6, 70, 71, 73, 84; in poetry, 15–16, 71, 99– 100; as rational, 29, 37, 81; relationship to objectivity, 5, 10–11, 14–15, 20, 29, 32, 41–2, 46, 54, 80, 86, 94–5, 101, 117; relationship to politics, 3, 5–8, 12–15, 19, 21, 31, 34–5, 40, 42, 53, 60–1, 66, 71, 76–7, 94, 98; self-consciousness, 41, 80, 82–3, 91. See also immediacy; individuality; objectivity; particularity; unversality suicide, 50. See also death Taylor, Charles, 53, 76n5 Theseus: compared to Oberon, 108–9, 126–7; as egalitarian, 125; hounds, 122–3; as a just ruler, 17, 124–6, 133–4; limitations of, 105, 107, 109–11; love of Hippolyta, 102, 122–4; as objective, 102, 112; as patriarch of Athens, 102– 4; subjectivity of, 102; transformation of, 102, 120–7 Thisbe, 112, 128; as subjective, 116– 17 Tiresias, 36, 65; burial, 38; pride, 37–8; prophecy, 38–9; relationship to the Divine, 37, 38 Titania: pride, 109–10; as queen, 135; reconciled to Oberon, 134; relationship to changeling boy, 106–8; relationship to Titans, 105; rule over Bottom, 102, 107, 108, 110; subjectivity of, 114–16; as tyrant, 106, 108; votress of, 105–7 Titans, 105

156

Index

universality: in Antigone, 11, 29, 30, 32, 34, 37, 43, 67–8, 71; divine nature, 12, 41, 46; in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 13, 17, 20, 78–9, 81, 85–9, 94–5; in the family, 30, 32, 49–51, 55n31, 57, 59, 59n38, 60, 88–9; human nature, 5, 29, 37, 78; money as, 34; in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 11, 43, 47– 53, 55, 55n31, 57, 59, 59n38, 60–3, 69, 73, 83; in poetry, 12– 13, 16, 100; in politics, 3–4, 60–1; reconciled to particularity, 20; in the state, 43, 47–8, 51–3; in tension with particularity, 4–5, 11, 43, 55, 62–3, 86. See also objectivity Verene, Donald Phillip, 45 war: in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 52; in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 51–3 Whitehorne, J.E.G., 23n8, 101n8 women: in Antigone, 68; in contemporary ethical life, 14–15, 98–9;

as different from men, 6–7, 47, 53n26, 54, 58, 83, 85–94; education of, 86n26, 92–3; in Elements of the Philosophy of Right, 8, 13, 77, 77n8, 83–4, 85–96, 86n26, 89n39, 98; as equal to men, 7, 14, 93–4, 134–6, 138; in the family, 6–8, 9–10, 13, 18, 22, 50–1, 54–9, 55n31, 59n38, 62, 66n52, 68, 73, 77, 83–4, 85, 88, 94, 98; in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 17, 102, 104, 111n31, 134–6; in the Phenomenology of Spirit, 8, 9–10, 47, 50–1, 51n23, 53n26, 54–9, 55n31, 59n38, 62, 63, 64n49, 66n52, 68n60, 72n66, 73, 83, 90; rationality of, 87–91; as a source of tension, 6–8, 10–11, 18, 22, 54, 59n38, 63, 72n66, 73, 86–7, 94, 135. See also men Wood, Allen W., 75n2 Yachnin, Paul, 125n68 Yerkes, James, 76n5