A sport is not only a national past-time, but a human past-time. From the fan’s perspective, sport captures a range of human emotion. A sport can rarely evoke pure joy or be truly tragic for spectator because its events are a natural cycle. Athletes break records, win championships, lose games and fade into the annals of history. Yet despite its temporary nature and seemingly purposeless place in society, it has held a place in every civilization in history. Since the Olympics, sport has symbolized a place where hope, trust, and honor are never lost. Cubs fans can repeatedly say “there’s always next year”, Patriots fans can worship Tom Brady, and one can appreciate the integrity of competitors like Tiger Woods. Yet the nature of sport is changing rapidly, perhaps even threatened, by the ongoing steroids scandal in Major League Baseball. Barry Bonds, former outfielder for the San Francisco Giants, has become the face of the tragedy consuming baseball. Perhaps the answer to why Bonds began using steroids is at the birthplace of sport, ancient Athens. Sophocles, an Athenian play-wright, wrote a tragedy about a king and his desire to return his kingdom to greatness. Sophocles’s protagonist Oedipus is in not athlete, but the internal conflict he faces in saving a country and the repercussions of his search for truth is eerily similar to the Bonds saga. The similarities and differences between Bonds and Oedipus’s characters and respective stories can explain Bond’s personal conflict and his role as the tragic face of baseball.
A similarity between Bonds and Oedipus is in their tragic flaws- their stubborn persistence was their eventual downfall. In 1997, Bonds had his batting average dive to an all time low of .281. The following year, Bonds bounced back and hit 37 home runs, but his accomplishments were overshadowed. While Bonds continued to dominate opposing pitchers, fellow players Sammy Sosa and Mark McGwire were chasing Roger Maris’s single season home record of 65 runs. Bonds standing in the league became to diminish compared to his competitors. Lance Williams, a San Fransisco reporter and author of Game of Shadows, a book which chronicled Bond’s steroid use, said “Bonds was astounded and aggrieved by the outpouring of hero worship for McGwire, a hitter whom he regarded as obviously inferior to himself… he knew he was on his way to the Hall of Fame… Bonds's elite status had slipped a notch. The game and its fans were less interested in the complete player…the emphasis was shifting to pure slugging” Oedipus of Thebes felt similarly about his kingdom. Once the glory of Ancient Greece, Thebes had suddenly become disease stricken and began to crumble. Oedipus voiced concern for his people and was upset by his inability to solve Thebes’s problems. In the opening of the play, Oedipus says to his people, “I pity you…my spirit grieves for the city, for myself and all of you… I grieve for these, my people, far more than I fear for my own life” (70-105). Oedipus says that he is “grieving” for the city, but only later does he show his determination to take responsibility for figuring out the problem that confronts Thebes: “I’ll start again-I’ll bring it all to light myself! Now you have me to fight for you…I am the land’s avenger by all rights…for my own sake I’ll rid us of this corruption… I defend myself…I’ll do everything” (150-163). His definite use of language-“I’ll do everything”-shows he is not casual about the issue. Jocasta, Oedipus’s wife, requests him to stop his search for when the cursed man mentioned in Apollo’s prophecy is more and more likely to be Oedipus himself: “It’s all chance, chance rules our lives. Not a man on earth can see a day ahead…Live Oedipus, as if there’s no tomorrow” (1069-1077). Yet despite Jocasta’s attempts, Oedipus continued on his search, replying “What-give up now…Fail to solve the mystery of my birth? Not for all the world!” (1160-1163). It is Oedipus’s very persistence in finding truth that leads to his collapse. His relentless questioning and search for truth is the reason he loses his kingdom and feels ashamed. Bonds situation was similar. Despite being a two time winner of the Most Valuable Player award, Bonds use of steroids was driven by a relentless desire to outperform players who were more experienced. Bonds was aggravated-a term that could easily describe Oedipus, who would not let go of his search for the truth “for all the world”.
Not only did Bonds and Oedipus share a common tragic flaw, they shared the quality of hubris, or excessive pride. When confronted by the prophet Tiresias, Oedipus refuses to respect him and demands the prophet tell him his fate: “Old man… You’ve lost your power…eyes blind as stone…You can’t hurt me or anyone else who sees the light-you can never touch me” (422-428). Oedipus refuses to heed warnings from Tiresias, which leads the prophet to comment, “Creon is not your downfall, no, you are your own” (432). Tiresias’s words are in direct response to Oedipus’s excessive pride. Bonds’s response to doctors who suggested that he might be taking steroids is similar: “Doctors ought to quit worrying about what ballplayers are taking. What players take doesn't matter. It's nobody else's business. The doctors should spend their time looking for cures for cancer. It takes more than muscles to hit homers. If all those guys were using stuff, how come they're not all hitting homers?” Bonds’s language, like Oedipus’s, shows he is attempting to scapegoat others and avoid his failures. He suggests that doctors are in fact wrong in questioning whether he is taking steroids.
The critical difference between Oedipus and Bonds is the way they deal with their failure. Oedipus takes personal responsibility for his actions, and pulls his own eyes out in frustration with himself. This act of self-mutilation is both grotesque and awe-inspiring. Oedipus’s willingness to take complete responsibility for his consequences allows us to truly admire him as a tragic figure. Had Oedipus not taken responsibility and continued to blame Tiresias, the reader could perceive him as arrogant or stubborn. Bonds, on the other hand, chose to deflect blame, claiming in court that his trainer gave him steroids without his knowledge when almost everyone is sure that Bonds knew what was in his regular injections.
Bonds refusal to admit to steroids use makes him not a tragic figure, but a player whose name evokes public anger and symbolizes the tragic fall of baseball. While the idea that Oedipus had killed his father and married his mother is repulsive to the people of Thebes, Oedipus’s acceptance opens the space for forgiveness and sympathy. Bonds’s drive and willpower to become the best player ever made him jealous of other athletes and led to his steroid use. Despite being a two time MVP, Bonds was unable to overcome his jealousy. But one should not criticize Bonds and Oedipus’s tragic flaws, but realize that the fundamental difference between them was one’s refusal to apologize. Had Bonds apologized, fans initial reaction would still have been shock. But the apology would serve as a reminder that Bonds’s use of steroids was inspired by something human-a desire to become something great. Barry Bonds represents the diminishing hope and trust in our past-time, and serves as a lesson to future steroids users.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Creon's Remorse and Release
Creon... again. Just thought he was interesting to analyze.
Years in the Underworld either gives people time to forget their lives, or to ponder them relentlessly. Those who spend time contemplating how they would have otherwise lived their lives go mad. They can only remember the consequences of the misjudgment, the tragedy itself, but the cause of the misjudgment itself is lost to time. I was becoming deranged as well, until I met the soul of an Athenian who knew my story. While in Elysium, the strange old man introduced himself as a playwright, and claimed to have written the story of my struggle with Antigone (which had apparently endured time). He recited the story to me and then left me to myself. I could reconsider my actions and how I had wronged. I understand that it was wrong to shame the gods, and I am apologetic for my actions because they cost me my wife and son. The gods had given me chances to reverse my decision with both Tiresias and Haemon, yet I spurned them both. I do not regret punishing Antigone, as she was a challenge to my authority, but instead feel remorse for my stubbornness and arrogance with which I acted and ignored appeals to reason.
My own words to Tiresias reflect my arrogance and true intentions at the time. I never intended to disobey the gods, but I became lost in my brash dogmatism: “Well I know, we can’t defile the gods- no mortal has the power. No, reverend old Tiresias, all men fall, it’s only human, but the wisest fall obscenely when they glorify obscene advice with rhetoric all for their own gain” (1155-1160). Tiresias had given me advice, but my immediate reaction was to accuse him of lying and telling prophecies for gold. My words to him were ironic, because they applied to me, not the prophet. My decision to refuse to bury Polynices was not an attempt to “defile” the gods, but a natural mistake that “all men” make. My fall came because I justified all action with a promise to defend the law. At the time I believed that an indecisive, weak leader gave way to anarchy, the “greater crime in all the earth” (752). Yet as I later learned, we must not be “senseless” (1393) to other’s advice also. Haemon also warned me not to be “so single-minded, self-involved, or assume the world is wrong and you are right” (787-793). The flaw in my leadership was not my desire to enforce the law, but rather my refusal to recognize its limits. Tiresias was not telling me that I should not have punished Antigone, but that my “pride was a crime” (1137) and that “a sense of judgment, wisdom is the greatest gift we have” (1165-1166). Tiresias himself told me that “All men make mistakes…but once the wrong is done, a man can turn his back on folly, misfortune too, if he tries to make amends” (1131-1135). I later did attempt to make amends, recognizing that I was “fighting a losing battle with necessity” (1231), but was too slow. We should be open to chances to correct our decisions, for we may never know when it is too late.
I wonder if I had already come to this conclusion after the deaths of Haemon and Eurydices, but I blamed fate instead of myself for their deaths. While I seemed to have been accepting that the “guilt is all mine” (1441), my final words before I leave the bodies of my family suggest otherwise. I cried out, yelling “whatever I touch goes wrong-once more a crushing fate’s come down upon my head” (1464-1465). I accuse fate of being the cause of what has “come down upon my head”, when fate had given me chances to change in front of Tiresias and Haemon. I prayed for my death, hoping that I would “never have to see another sunrise (1452), but I was not strong enough to finish myself and truly repent. I see that Oedipus was not “passionate”, “wild”, and “[hadn’t] learned to bend before adversity”, but was able to take hold of a chance to claim his guilt and responsibility.
At first I did not realize why the young man had referred to my story as a “tragedy”. A story of a stubborn, viscous tyrant hardly seems tragic. But I answered this question when I asked myself whether my struggle with Antigone reflected my true character. I set out to make Thebes a great city, and I thought that “my standards…[would] make our city great” (214). I find both comfort and sadness in that I realize my wrongdoing, but that I had the best of intentions. My downfall was not a lack of leadership, but too much of it. Pride was just a manifestation of my desire for our polis’s greatness. I am heartened by the fact that later generations realized that I was a good-natured person at heart. My downfall is traced back to my lofty expectations and goals for myself and Thebes. I find comfort in my motives, but realize that the smallest deed is better than the greatest intention.
"So it goes"
Years in the Underworld either gives people time to forget their lives, or to ponder them relentlessly. Those who spend time contemplating how they would have otherwise lived their lives go mad. They can only remember the consequences of the misjudgment, the tragedy itself, but the cause of the misjudgment itself is lost to time. I was becoming deranged as well, until I met the soul of an Athenian who knew my story. While in Elysium, the strange old man introduced himself as a playwright, and claimed to have written the story of my struggle with Antigone (which had apparently endured time). He recited the story to me and then left me to myself. I could reconsider my actions and how I had wronged. I understand that it was wrong to shame the gods, and I am apologetic for my actions because they cost me my wife and son. The gods had given me chances to reverse my decision with both Tiresias and Haemon, yet I spurned them both. I do not regret punishing Antigone, as she was a challenge to my authority, but instead feel remorse for my stubbornness and arrogance with which I acted and ignored appeals to reason.
My own words to Tiresias reflect my arrogance and true intentions at the time. I never intended to disobey the gods, but I became lost in my brash dogmatism: “Well I know, we can’t defile the gods- no mortal has the power. No, reverend old Tiresias, all men fall, it’s only human, but the wisest fall obscenely when they glorify obscene advice with rhetoric all for their own gain” (1155-1160). Tiresias had given me advice, but my immediate reaction was to accuse him of lying and telling prophecies for gold. My words to him were ironic, because they applied to me, not the prophet. My decision to refuse to bury Polynices was not an attempt to “defile” the gods, but a natural mistake that “all men” make. My fall came because I justified all action with a promise to defend the law. At the time I believed that an indecisive, weak leader gave way to anarchy, the “greater crime in all the earth” (752). Yet as I later learned, we must not be “senseless” (1393) to other’s advice also. Haemon also warned me not to be “so single-minded, self-involved, or assume the world is wrong and you are right” (787-793). The flaw in my leadership was not my desire to enforce the law, but rather my refusal to recognize its limits. Tiresias was not telling me that I should not have punished Antigone, but that my “pride was a crime” (1137) and that “a sense of judgment, wisdom is the greatest gift we have” (1165-1166). Tiresias himself told me that “All men make mistakes…but once the wrong is done, a man can turn his back on folly, misfortune too, if he tries to make amends” (1131-1135). I later did attempt to make amends, recognizing that I was “fighting a losing battle with necessity” (1231), but was too slow. We should be open to chances to correct our decisions, for we may never know when it is too late.
I wonder if I had already come to this conclusion after the deaths of Haemon and Eurydices, but I blamed fate instead of myself for their deaths. While I seemed to have been accepting that the “guilt is all mine” (1441), my final words before I leave the bodies of my family suggest otherwise. I cried out, yelling “whatever I touch goes wrong-once more a crushing fate’s come down upon my head” (1464-1465). I accuse fate of being the cause of what has “come down upon my head”, when fate had given me chances to change in front of Tiresias and Haemon. I prayed for my death, hoping that I would “never have to see another sunrise (1452), but I was not strong enough to finish myself and truly repent. I see that Oedipus was not “passionate”, “wild”, and “[hadn’t] learned to bend before adversity”, but was able to take hold of a chance to claim his guilt and responsibility.
At first I did not realize why the young man had referred to my story as a “tragedy”. A story of a stubborn, viscous tyrant hardly seems tragic. But I answered this question when I asked myself whether my struggle with Antigone reflected my true character. I set out to make Thebes a great city, and I thought that “my standards…[would] make our city great” (214). I find both comfort and sadness in that I realize my wrongdoing, but that I had the best of intentions. My downfall was not a lack of leadership, but too much of it. Pride was just a manifestation of my desire for our polis’s greatness. I am heartened by the fact that later generations realized that I was a good-natured person at heart. My downfall is traced back to my lofty expectations and goals for myself and Thebes. I find comfort in my motives, but realize that the smallest deed is better than the greatest intention.
"So it goes"
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Creon- Fatherly Figure?
In Sophocle’s Antigone, King Creon of Thebes orders that no-one bury the body of Polynices, a traitor to the state who died in battle. Antigone’s refusal to accept Creon’s laws set a series of events into motion which represent not only a clash between the state and the citizen, but also the inner-workings of a parent-child relationship. The struggle between King Creon and Antigone in Sophocle’s Antigone is uncannily similar to a fight between a parent and a child.
A characteristic that one can often remember about one’s parents is their use of language to assert their authority. While the parent has the child’s best interests at hand, he or she can express more anger than is intended, leaving behind an outrage that affects the parent’s actions and words. Creon’s anger is the result of disappointment in a child’s disobedience. He uses extreme language when Antigone’s sister, Ismene, doubts his judgment to punish Antigone: “‘Her? Don’t even mention her [Antigone]-she no longer exists’. ‘What? You’d kill your own son’s bride?’ ‘Absolutely…A worthless women for my son? It repels me’” (639-644). Parents often believe that their word is final, and that just by stating their rules the children will obey them. Because Creon’s statements are not true, and Antigone still “exists”, he must have another reason for speaking these words. Like a parent attempting to convince himself and the child that he is right, Creon is using strong language to justify his actions and convince his court that Antigone is useless. Parents and children often use strong language in fights, and the parents attempt to assert their authority by stating an extreme opinion or rule. Creon is no different than a father, venting his frustration at Antigone’s disobedience.
Creon’s interactions with Haemon demonstrate how parents assert their power in relationships with their children, and how children can lose favor with their parents. Haemon criticizes his father for being too harsh towards Antigone. Creon responds forcefully, alleging that Haemon is lecturing him: “‘So, men our age, we’re to be lectured, are we? Schooled by a boy this age’ ‘Only in what is right…if I seem young, look less to my years and more to what I do’ ‘Do? Is admiring rebels an achievement?’”(812-817). Creon perceives Haemon’s criticism as disrespectful, sarcastically asking his son if “admiring rebels” is an achievement, and whether he is “to be lectured”. By perceiving Haemon’s recommendation as a disrespectful, rebellious comment coming from a “boy”, Creon is asserting his fatherhood and power in the relationship (814). Creon’s assertion that he is the elderly, wise half of the relationship makes him like a parent asserting his authority over a child. One’s parents can often justify their actions and opinions by claiming that they have more experience or wisdom. Creon dismisses Haemon’s criticism by saying that it is just that of a child, just like a parent can dismiss a child’s dispositions and caprice as immature. Haemon loses favor with Creon as the argument continues. After Haemon leaves the scene in frustration, declaring that Creon will never see him again, Creon replies “‘Let him do-dream up something desperate, past all human limit! Good riddance’” (863-865). Creon’s statements contradict his tone before their argument: “‘do you love me, no matter what I do?’”(708). Before their dispute, Creon is seeking to validate his decision to punish Antigone, asking Haemon to support him “no matter what [he does]”. After their argument, we see a completely different picture- Creon cries “Good Riddance!” to show he does not need Haemon. The king’s change in attitude toward his son reflects how children can lose respect with their parents if they are perceived to be disrespectful.
A parent, however, can sometimes feel remorseful or regretful for their anger if they learn that it can result in resentment. It is Creon’s remorse for his anger, when he becomes aware of their consequence that makes him the true “father” of his kingdom. Much like a parent realizing that his aggressiveness may have resulted in more harm, Creon recants his actions when he learns that Tiresias’s warnings of coming disaster might be true. His ability to recognize the idea that he may have been wrong makes him less decisive and brash than a true leader, and more like an everyday father. Similar to a parent, Creon takes responsibility for his actions, but he also does not want to yield to the will of the “child” or the subject. Creon’s parental reactions to the events in the play show the reader a different perspective from which to analyze an argument between a father and his children.
"There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, the other is getting it."
~Oscar Wilde
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