October 24, 2008
What has Athens to do with Jerusalem?(Part 1)
–Tertullian (ca. 160 – ca. 220 AD)
By Naomi Wise
7th and 8th Grade English
Tertullian famously framed this objection to studying Greek thought and philosophy: what
does it have to do with Christianity? Our church fathers have pondered this question through
the ages. Students in the eighth grade literature class at Geneva raise the same question. Why
study Greek tragedy and epic poetry? How is that relevant to the modern, teenage Christian?
This is a perspicacious question indeed, and one which we need to wrestle to the mat before we
can even crack open our books. The answer is a complex one; it deals with the establishment
of the Western canon—there is a certain corpus of literature we should know—and it provides
us with examples of the consequences of sin.
Many a teen, languishing at home, “grounded” for some infraction, understands the concept of
suffering the consequences of sinful actions. Studying Greek tragedy is satisfying at a deep
level―to perceive how human failings such as pride (hubris) can lead to great suffering. We
study Sophocles’ Oedipus the King because it was chosen by Aristotle and has become the
most famous play ever written. Sophocles was the tragedian par excellence. In eighth grade
literature students explore the fatalistic Greek notion that you cannot escape your fate in
Sophocles’ two plays Oedipus Rex and Antigone. Oedipus strained mightily to avoid his fate,
and ironically fell right into its stranglehold. Significantly, Oedipus’ impetuous character “cooperated” with his destiny. The dramatic irony of this play is that he was blind to the truth
until he physically blinded himself, and then all became clear to him. As a Greek he was
inextricably caught in the web, and learned you cannot escape your fate. Students are aware
that this differs sharply from a Christian worldview.
In Antigone the ruler Creon suffers from hubris (pride leading to destruction), and this trait
finally leads to the tragic death of each one of his family members. The title character in this
play has a tragic flaw (hamartia), which leads to her heroic death. Antigone plans to give her
traitor brother a decent burial, despite the king’s decree forbidding this ceremony. Her
stubborn pride will not allow her to relinquish this plan, and she dies for her action. Thus the
biblical injunction―pride cometh before destruction―rings with alarming clarity in our ears.
Here we need not experience this truth in reality, but vicariously, through observing the lives
of the Greeks in this play.
Tracy Lee Simmons in Climbing Parnassus points out:
The Greek tragedians from the fifth century BC shared common
roots with Homer. No other dramatic tradition seems so amply
rounded, so complete. It’s as though, while leaving room for infinite
elaboration to later generations of poets, playwrights and novelists,
Greek playwrights touched upon every human merit and foible on the
stage, setting the human psyche front and center for audiences of all
times to enjoy and contemplate. (p. 225)
Western literature began with the works of Homer, and Aristotle claimed he exceeded all
others. Greek and Roman epic poetry show the wasteful suffering that results from the ravages
of war. Homer, in The Iliad, was intent on demonstrating how heroes sought glory (time) and
honor (kleos) through their exploits in battle. It was a zero-sum game: the more glory one
soldier had, the less anyone else could get. This was the only way Greek warriors could be
remembered, and they were caught in this web—they could not escape their fates. While it is
easy to see the negative consequences of actions in this epic, there are redeeming factors too—
in observing the touching familial scene between Hector and his family, and in the heroic
sacrifice of Hector for his city. In The Odyssey, Penelope is the epitome of the faithful wife,
and Odysseus’ strenuous perseverance to return home is laudable; again and again he
overcame god-imposed and human-triggered obstacles that could delay but not deter him.
Immersing ourselves in these great works we become intimately acquainted with human
nature.
In his apologia for a classical education, Tracey Lee Simmons maintains:
An education saturating anyone in these great works of the classical
past cannot help but enhance the minds and hearts of those enduring
it. Our horizons broaden….This is an education seeking by its very
technique to strike a balance between the high promises of idealism
and the unalterable laws of human nature. (p. 228)
The question still remains: is it possible to separate the wheat from the chaff in classical
literature—replete with the strange, the idolatrous, and often the immoral? Yes. However,
wise Christians would do well to view all through the clarifying prism of Scripture. So in
eighth grade literature class we agree with Peter J. Leithart, who in his insightful Heroes of the
City of Man, says boldly: “I have attempted to view Athens from a point securely within the
walls of Jerusalem.”