Vashik, the only people who would think you a poor captain are those who would rather you steer by following the crew’s shouting than by navigating through reference to the stars!
The distinction you draw through Antigone is devastatingly sharp. Creon is the prisoner of what he 'knows'—the rigid, external logic of the state—while Antigone is the vessel for what she 'understands'—an internal, unwritten necessity that transcends the law. It’s a reminder that in tragedy, 'knowing' often leads to a dead end, but 'understanding' is what gives a character their haunting immortality. A brilliant look at the cost of true insight.
“All human conflict is ultimately theological.” (Cardinal H. E. Manning)
First, a caution: In reading Antigone, the rule I imposed on myself was to “check my priors.” We and the Athenians are almost watching two different plays; many foundational assumptions we start with are profoundly misplaced in the context of 441 B.C.
The comprehension challenge is daunting: first, we inhabit different moral and cultural ecosystems. We champion individual rights, while for an Athenian the city-state (polis) and its communal framework of identity were paramount. Second, their daily lives were “god-saturated;” it was a world of vibrant myth, where the divine was inseparable from the political, social and natural world. Finally, unlike us, they were accustomed to absorbing information by ear; they heard their world, absorbing complex plots, philosophical arguments, and emotional shifts solely through listening. Their world was a sonic experience: oral and aural, unlike our literate and visual culture.
Given those differences, dare we surmise their “takeaway” from the performance of Antigone? Of it, we know precious little; Thomas Martin, in “Ancient Greece” says “The only spectator reports on tragedy that we possess come from Plato and Aristotle, who had various axes to grind. In the case of Plato, it is a little like basing your view of the Vikings on the reports of the Christian monks whose monasteries they ransacked.” Recall that Plato, his teacher (Socrates), and Aristotle preferred “aristokratia” (meritocratic rule by “philosopher-kings”); they warned against “theatokratia,” the theater-influenced “mob rule” of Athenian democracy; for them, it was an on-ramp to tyranny. (And we think worrying about the malign influence of social media is a modern phenomenon…)
We’re speculating; so be it. Let’s at least hazard some suppositions about the audience to try and understand their contemporary perspective.
I’m afraid I raised an eyebrow at “They resemble a little child who expects to taste the flavour of an apple for the first time in their life.” On the contrary, this was a sophisticated and politically engaged audience. They (and the cast and chorus) were the primary stakeholders of the city; the contest they witnessed spoke directly to their civic responsibilities, echoing the oratorical and dialectical debates of their courts and assemblies.
Athens was a profoundly patriarchal society: the audience was likely almost entirely male. Since military service was universal, perhaps as much as 80% percent of attendees were veterans or current military members. (Contrast that with veterans representing ~7% of the U.S. adult population). Antigone was performed by combat veterans (it was an all-male cast and chorus), and viewed by combat veterans evaluating themselves, their deeds, and the consequences.
Recent estimates suggest the festival amphitheater seated ~6,000; if the adult male population was ~40,000, then 15% of that cohort may have attended a single performance. Over the course of 3-4 days, an astounding ~25-35% of that demographic would have attended the performances. Viewing was, in essence, a patriotic duty; tragedies instructed citizens by exploring critical societal, political, and moral issues.
Why does Antigone unfold like a dogmatic theological dispute? While we tend to secularize the play, for them it was profoundly theological. We see a drama of conscience; they see the cosmic order (harshly) reasserting itself and balancing human and divine law. The clash has the tonality of a religious schism: Creon and Antigone are at war over dogmatic first principles. (While our connotation of “dogma” is almost entirely negative, in ancient Greece the term was neutral-positive, representing either a belief or principle, or an authoritative public decree.)
Sophocles constructs the drama so that both Antigone and Creon are compelling, yet flawed. Both may have valid dogmas, but they can’t establish mutual comprehension and demonstrate absolute indifference to the other’s stance. Athenians initially would have seen Creon as a ruler defending a legitimate public decree, not a tyrant; nor would they have seen Antigone as a free-spirited individualist, but rather as a woman defiantly (and dangerously) performing her sacred familial duties to uphold an older, more fundamental religious law.
This is how Sophocles stress-tests “sōphrosynē,” the defining Greek virtue embodying self-restraint, moderation, prudence, piety and social accord. Sōphrosynē is, in essence, “moral sanity;” it regulates impulses and avoids excess (which Creon and Antigone have in abundance).
So the audience would be torn, and look to gauge which character most embodied this virtue. Creon presents himself as the embodiment of civic sōphrosynē; his argument for civic obedience would resonate powerfully, yet Antigone’s appeal to divine law is equally, if not more, powerful. The audience would likely see both as correct in their principles, but wrong in their absolutism and their distortion of sōphrosynē. R. Buckminster Fuller said "The blueprint for a perfectly functioning city, like the path of a planet, reveals that structure emerges not from brute force, but from the most efficient distribution of stresses." Maldistributed sōphrosynē has the sure-fire makings of a stressful tragedy.
Let me interrupt the regularly scheduled analytical programming to offer a cautious defense of Creon, who would have been a very frazzled man. Sophocles compressed the military and security aftermath and Creon’s ongoing duties because he knew his audience would intuitively grasp them. But Thebes had just survived “the nearest run thing you ever saw in your life" (to borrow the Duke of Wellington’s description of the Battle of Waterloo). The city-state had faced an existential threat (including the loss of its king), that, had they lost, would have resulted in “andrapodismos” (total subjugation, typically including execution of all adult males and the sale of women and children into slavery). In modern parlance Thebes and Creon had faced a “Supreme Emergency”: a term coined (by Winston Churchill in 1940) to describe moral dilemmas that arise when collective survival is imminently threatened, and ordinary moral prohibitions appear inadequate to meet the danger. Moral cleanliness becomes unobtainable because the measures necessary to avert the catastrophe may require leaders to do grave wrong. Here we have a clever deviation: Creon successfully averted the catastrophe, but the measures he decreed after victory destroyed his family and destabilized Thebes. He misused his emergency powers and unnecessarily extended the state of emergency, neglected civil repair while fixating on a corpse and grieving relative, privileged pride over prudence (a sōphrosynē violation), and succumbed to Atē (reckless folly and rash actions leading to ruin or downfall).
I suspect the veterans in the audience would also have been aghast at Creon's strategic incompetence. Letting a shattered enemy army escape to fight another day is criminal negligence. They would also know the city, while victorious, is a tinderbox, and would begin to see Creon was acting like a match. Walls are damaged, manpower depleted, and the chain of command was disrupted (the king is dead). Creon’s priority should be consolidation, repair, and vigilance, but he is stubbornly obsessed with Antigone and the maintenance of his draconian powers.
The kinetic war is over. The theological clash has begun. Now we get to witness Sophocles’s mastery as he redirects the attention of his audience of veterans. He speaks without flattering them; they know obedience and insubordination and the danger of disorder after victory. He doesn’t explain these things, he simply reorients them. To the audience, when Creon initially speaks, he sounds competent. Antigone’s masculine autonomy may be unnerving, but she warrants respect. Sophocles cleverly lets his audience settle into those impressions before he begins to unsettle them and retrain their civic perception.
Thebes won: the enemy has been decisively defeated. Yet the danger hasn’t eased; the city is about to bleed itself. The audience is watching a “victory” go terribly wrong; Sophocles is saying “You know how to fight, now learn how to listen. Hear Creon over-interpret victory and his authority, and Antigone commit (heroic) insubordination.” Imagine their growing discomfort as they watch an intractable moral dilemma only harden, know the chance of reversal is fading, and see sōphrosynē disintegrating.
Aeneas Tacticus’s “How to Survive under Siege,” a 4th century guide, captures measures that would have likely reflected the same tensions in Bronze Age Thebes or Fifth Century Athens. Above all, Aeneas fears morally motivated dissenters whose personal loyalty overrides civic order. They are not wicked; they are structurally dangerous because their motives are comprehensible, sharable, but not negotiable. Aeneas: “It is essential to devote attention to those citizens of a hostile disposition, and not to naively accept anything they support.”
Into this pressurized, traumatized polity strides Antigone, or, as I like to call her, 'The Walking Dead.'"
Corey, Do you (or anyone) know of descriptions of what it was like to attend a presentation at a 6000 seat amphitheatre? It seems to me that it would be a zoo. How well did Row 97, seats 11 and 12 hear what was said? How often did the guy in Row 36 belt out "Down in front, swine" or the elderly man in Row 3 say, "What did he say? He needs to stop mumbling.". At least they didn't hear someone's ringing cell phone or watch the kisscam.
Roger, what a great question. By all accounts the acoustics were marvelous, with excellent speech clarity, good loudness, and avoidance of echoes by careful positioning of actors. There are two studies cited in “Theatrocracy” by Peter Meineck that address acoustics: “Acoustic diffraction effects at the Hellenistic amphitheater of Epidaurus: Seat rows responsible for the marvelous acoustics,” and “On the acoustics of Greek and Roman theaters.”
Research, reconstructions and modeling have shown that the architectural design of the amphitheaters exemplified excellent Greek engineering specifically employed for spoken drama, enabling nuanced dialogue and volume to carry effectively. This included natural hillside amplification, stone reflections, and seat geometry. Positioning on a sloping hillside provided natural amplification and even sound distribution. The curved rows focused sound toward the audience while minimizing external noise. Sound was reflected from the hard orchestra floor (originally packed earth, later paved) and the narrow stage building, which boosted direct sound without delay or echo. The corrugated stone benches helped amplify and distribute higher frequencies (the speech-relevant range). Performers used large-mouthed masks and positioned themselves to optimize reflections and avoid echo issues.
One last note with respect to voice projection: The cast and chorus would have been generally comprised of young to middle-aged men (in their prime, 20-40s). They had to be physically fit for the demanding singing, complex dancing, and movement in heavy costumes for hours. The historical sources point to canvassing of gymnasia, religious associations, and social networks to find men with the right physical, vocal, and musical aptitude. I’m guessing if they had drill sergeants, they would have had an advantage at the casting call…
Vashik, I am humbled (once again) by your analytical insights. In this segment, I was attracted to understand the conflict among Antigone, Ismene, and Creon by applying Larry Kohlberg’s theory of moral development.
While there a number of creditable theories of moral development, Kohlberg’s theory seems to be most influential in explaining that Reason is the most potent factor in how individuals develop a sense of right and wrong. Other theorists explain moral development through variations in temperament or cultural background. More recently, Haight suggests that moral development is based on one’s immediate emotional reactions.
Kohlberg seeing moral development across six stages.
• Stage 1 Punishment: Right and wrong is determined by what is punished.
• Stage 2 Naïve Reward: Right and wrong is determined by what is rewarded.
• Stage 3 Good Person: Right and wrong is determined by the approval or disapproval of significant others.
• Stage 4 Rule Follower: Right and wrong is determined by society’s rules and laws.
• Stage 5 Social Contract: Right and wrong is determine by society’s rules, which are viewed as fallible rather than absolute.
• Stage 6 Universal Ethical Principles: Right and wrong is determined by abstract ethical principles emphasizing equity and justice.
Using Kohlberg’s framework, I think it is fair to say that Ismene is on Stage 4 and Antigone is on Stage 6. When an individual at Stage 4 (Ruler Follower) interacts with someone at Stage 6 (Universal Ethical Principles), there is a clash between the "letter of the law" and the "spirit of justice."
The Stage 4 Perspective: Ismene
For Ismene, morality is defined by maintaining social order. She believes that for a society to function –for their own personal protection- everyone must follow the rules without exception. No one is above the law. If Antigone breaks the law, she is disrespecting the system that protects them all.
Ismene sees herself as a weak social member and she must work to respect the Creon’s authority to prevent a challenge to her intrapersonal weakness. She likely believes that if everyone broke the law because they thought they had a good reason, society would collapse. Her spineless motives are subject change not because of her beliefs, but because of her fears.
The Stage 6 Perspective: Antigone
Antigone follows internalized ethical principles that transcend specific laws. These principles (like human rights, equality, or dignity) are universal. For Antigone, Creon protects injustice, and she seeks to respect a higher law by challenging the Creon, and accepting his wrath. She seems to enjoy being in his face.
Dynamics of the Interplay
Antigone encourages "Civil Disobedience" and she seeks to break a law to protest an underlying injustice, while her sister sees that act as highly dangerous. Ismene does not see Antigone as above the law. By breaking the law, Ismene sees Antigone is disrespecting the system that protects her (Ismene). If some harm befalls another, nothing can be done: It will be ultimately for the good of the order. Yet, since fear drives Ismene, her loyalties are fluid. We simiply need to wait.
Vashik, the only people who would think you a poor captain are those who would rather you steer by following the crew’s shouting than by navigating through reference to the stars!
Oh Gemma! You're so generous and kind!
The distinction you draw through Antigone is devastatingly sharp. Creon is the prisoner of what he 'knows'—the rigid, external logic of the state—while Antigone is the vessel for what she 'understands'—an internal, unwritten necessity that transcends the law. It’s a reminder that in tragedy, 'knowing' often leads to a dead end, but 'understanding' is what gives a character their haunting immortality. A brilliant look at the cost of true insight.
Thank you Ozy! I am blown away by this play. Rewires my brain. And it is just 60-70 pages long.
Great introduction Vashik!
Thank you so much Donna!
Thank you for this. You have shared something precious with us
“All human conflict is ultimately theological.” (Cardinal H. E. Manning)
First, a caution: In reading Antigone, the rule I imposed on myself was to “check my priors.” We and the Athenians are almost watching two different plays; many foundational assumptions we start with are profoundly misplaced in the context of 441 B.C.
The comprehension challenge is daunting: first, we inhabit different moral and cultural ecosystems. We champion individual rights, while for an Athenian the city-state (polis) and its communal framework of identity were paramount. Second, their daily lives were “god-saturated;” it was a world of vibrant myth, where the divine was inseparable from the political, social and natural world. Finally, unlike us, they were accustomed to absorbing information by ear; they heard their world, absorbing complex plots, philosophical arguments, and emotional shifts solely through listening. Their world was a sonic experience: oral and aural, unlike our literate and visual culture.
Given those differences, dare we surmise their “takeaway” from the performance of Antigone? Of it, we know precious little; Thomas Martin, in “Ancient Greece” says “The only spectator reports on tragedy that we possess come from Plato and Aristotle, who had various axes to grind. In the case of Plato, it is a little like basing your view of the Vikings on the reports of the Christian monks whose monasteries they ransacked.” Recall that Plato, his teacher (Socrates), and Aristotle preferred “aristokratia” (meritocratic rule by “philosopher-kings”); they warned against “theatokratia,” the theater-influenced “mob rule” of Athenian democracy; for them, it was an on-ramp to tyranny. (And we think worrying about the malign influence of social media is a modern phenomenon…)
We’re speculating; so be it. Let’s at least hazard some suppositions about the audience to try and understand their contemporary perspective.
I’m afraid I raised an eyebrow at “They resemble a little child who expects to taste the flavour of an apple for the first time in their life.” On the contrary, this was a sophisticated and politically engaged audience. They (and the cast and chorus) were the primary stakeholders of the city; the contest they witnessed spoke directly to their civic responsibilities, echoing the oratorical and dialectical debates of their courts and assemblies.
Athens was a profoundly patriarchal society: the audience was likely almost entirely male. Since military service was universal, perhaps as much as 80% percent of attendees were veterans or current military members. (Contrast that with veterans representing ~7% of the U.S. adult population). Antigone was performed by combat veterans (it was an all-male cast and chorus), and viewed by combat veterans evaluating themselves, their deeds, and the consequences.
Recent estimates suggest the festival amphitheater seated ~6,000; if the adult male population was ~40,000, then 15% of that cohort may have attended a single performance. Over the course of 3-4 days, an astounding ~25-35% of that demographic would have attended the performances. Viewing was, in essence, a patriotic duty; tragedies instructed citizens by exploring critical societal, political, and moral issues.
Why does Antigone unfold like a dogmatic theological dispute? While we tend to secularize the play, for them it was profoundly theological. We see a drama of conscience; they see the cosmic order (harshly) reasserting itself and balancing human and divine law. The clash has the tonality of a religious schism: Creon and Antigone are at war over dogmatic first principles. (While our connotation of “dogma” is almost entirely negative, in ancient Greece the term was neutral-positive, representing either a belief or principle, or an authoritative public decree.)
Sophocles constructs the drama so that both Antigone and Creon are compelling, yet flawed. Both may have valid dogmas, but they can’t establish mutual comprehension and demonstrate absolute indifference to the other’s stance. Athenians initially would have seen Creon as a ruler defending a legitimate public decree, not a tyrant; nor would they have seen Antigone as a free-spirited individualist, but rather as a woman defiantly (and dangerously) performing her sacred familial duties to uphold an older, more fundamental religious law.
This is how Sophocles stress-tests “sōphrosynē,” the defining Greek virtue embodying self-restraint, moderation, prudence, piety and social accord. Sōphrosynē is, in essence, “moral sanity;” it regulates impulses and avoids excess (which Creon and Antigone have in abundance).
So the audience would be torn, and look to gauge which character most embodied this virtue. Creon presents himself as the embodiment of civic sōphrosynē; his argument for civic obedience would resonate powerfully, yet Antigone’s appeal to divine law is equally, if not more, powerful. The audience would likely see both as correct in their principles, but wrong in their absolutism and their distortion of sōphrosynē. R. Buckminster Fuller said "The blueprint for a perfectly functioning city, like the path of a planet, reveals that structure emerges not from brute force, but from the most efficient distribution of stresses." Maldistributed sōphrosynē has the sure-fire makings of a stressful tragedy.
Let me interrupt the regularly scheduled analytical programming to offer a cautious defense of Creon, who would have been a very frazzled man. Sophocles compressed the military and security aftermath and Creon’s ongoing duties because he knew his audience would intuitively grasp them. But Thebes had just survived “the nearest run thing you ever saw in your life" (to borrow the Duke of Wellington’s description of the Battle of Waterloo). The city-state had faced an existential threat (including the loss of its king), that, had they lost, would have resulted in “andrapodismos” (total subjugation, typically including execution of all adult males and the sale of women and children into slavery). In modern parlance Thebes and Creon had faced a “Supreme Emergency”: a term coined (by Winston Churchill in 1940) to describe moral dilemmas that arise when collective survival is imminently threatened, and ordinary moral prohibitions appear inadequate to meet the danger. Moral cleanliness becomes unobtainable because the measures necessary to avert the catastrophe may require leaders to do grave wrong. Here we have a clever deviation: Creon successfully averted the catastrophe, but the measures he decreed after victory destroyed his family and destabilized Thebes. He misused his emergency powers and unnecessarily extended the state of emergency, neglected civil repair while fixating on a corpse and grieving relative, privileged pride over prudence (a sōphrosynē violation), and succumbed to Atē (reckless folly and rash actions leading to ruin or downfall).
I suspect the veterans in the audience would also have been aghast at Creon's strategic incompetence. Letting a shattered enemy army escape to fight another day is criminal negligence. They would also know the city, while victorious, is a tinderbox, and would begin to see Creon was acting like a match. Walls are damaged, manpower depleted, and the chain of command was disrupted (the king is dead). Creon’s priority should be consolidation, repair, and vigilance, but he is stubbornly obsessed with Antigone and the maintenance of his draconian powers.
The kinetic war is over. The theological clash has begun. Now we get to witness Sophocles’s mastery as he redirects the attention of his audience of veterans. He speaks without flattering them; they know obedience and insubordination and the danger of disorder after victory. He doesn’t explain these things, he simply reorients them. To the audience, when Creon initially speaks, he sounds competent. Antigone’s masculine autonomy may be unnerving, but she warrants respect. Sophocles cleverly lets his audience settle into those impressions before he begins to unsettle them and retrain their civic perception.
Thebes won: the enemy has been decisively defeated. Yet the danger hasn’t eased; the city is about to bleed itself. The audience is watching a “victory” go terribly wrong; Sophocles is saying “You know how to fight, now learn how to listen. Hear Creon over-interpret victory and his authority, and Antigone commit (heroic) insubordination.” Imagine their growing discomfort as they watch an intractable moral dilemma only harden, know the chance of reversal is fading, and see sōphrosynē disintegrating.
Aeneas Tacticus’s “How to Survive under Siege,” a 4th century guide, captures measures that would have likely reflected the same tensions in Bronze Age Thebes or Fifth Century Athens. Above all, Aeneas fears morally motivated dissenters whose personal loyalty overrides civic order. They are not wicked; they are structurally dangerous because their motives are comprehensible, sharable, but not negotiable. Aeneas: “It is essential to devote attention to those citizens of a hostile disposition, and not to naively accept anything they support.”
Into this pressurized, traumatized polity strides Antigone, or, as I like to call her, 'The Walking Dead.'"
More to follow.
Corey, Do you (or anyone) know of descriptions of what it was like to attend a presentation at a 6000 seat amphitheatre? It seems to me that it would be a zoo. How well did Row 97, seats 11 and 12 hear what was said? How often did the guy in Row 36 belt out "Down in front, swine" or the elderly man in Row 3 say, "What did he say? He needs to stop mumbling.". At least they didn't hear someone's ringing cell phone or watch the kisscam.
Roger, what a great question. By all accounts the acoustics were marvelous, with excellent speech clarity, good loudness, and avoidance of echoes by careful positioning of actors. There are two studies cited in “Theatrocracy” by Peter Meineck that address acoustics: “Acoustic diffraction effects at the Hellenistic amphitheater of Epidaurus: Seat rows responsible for the marvelous acoustics,” and “On the acoustics of Greek and Roman theaters.”
Research, reconstructions and modeling have shown that the architectural design of the amphitheaters exemplified excellent Greek engineering specifically employed for spoken drama, enabling nuanced dialogue and volume to carry effectively. This included natural hillside amplification, stone reflections, and seat geometry. Positioning on a sloping hillside provided natural amplification and even sound distribution. The curved rows focused sound toward the audience while minimizing external noise. Sound was reflected from the hard orchestra floor (originally packed earth, later paved) and the narrow stage building, which boosted direct sound without delay or echo. The corrugated stone benches helped amplify and distribute higher frequencies (the speech-relevant range). Performers used large-mouthed masks and positioned themselves to optimize reflections and avoid echo issues.
One last note with respect to voice projection: The cast and chorus would have been generally comprised of young to middle-aged men (in their prime, 20-40s). They had to be physically fit for the demanding singing, complex dancing, and movement in heavy costumes for hours. The historical sources point to canvassing of gymnasia, religious associations, and social networks to find men with the right physical, vocal, and musical aptitude. I’m guessing if they had drill sergeants, they would have had an advantage at the casting call…
Vashik, I am humbled (once again) by your analytical insights. In this segment, I was attracted to understand the conflict among Antigone, Ismene, and Creon by applying Larry Kohlberg’s theory of moral development.
While there a number of creditable theories of moral development, Kohlberg’s theory seems to be most influential in explaining that Reason is the most potent factor in how individuals develop a sense of right and wrong. Other theorists explain moral development through variations in temperament or cultural background. More recently, Haight suggests that moral development is based on one’s immediate emotional reactions.
Kohlberg seeing moral development across six stages.
• Stage 1 Punishment: Right and wrong is determined by what is punished.
• Stage 2 Naïve Reward: Right and wrong is determined by what is rewarded.
• Stage 3 Good Person: Right and wrong is determined by the approval or disapproval of significant others.
• Stage 4 Rule Follower: Right and wrong is determined by society’s rules and laws.
• Stage 5 Social Contract: Right and wrong is determine by society’s rules, which are viewed as fallible rather than absolute.
• Stage 6 Universal Ethical Principles: Right and wrong is determined by abstract ethical principles emphasizing equity and justice.
Using Kohlberg’s framework, I think it is fair to say that Ismene is on Stage 4 and Antigone is on Stage 6. When an individual at Stage 4 (Ruler Follower) interacts with someone at Stage 6 (Universal Ethical Principles), there is a clash between the "letter of the law" and the "spirit of justice."
The Stage 4 Perspective: Ismene
For Ismene, morality is defined by maintaining social order. She believes that for a society to function –for their own personal protection- everyone must follow the rules without exception. No one is above the law. If Antigone breaks the law, she is disrespecting the system that protects them all.
Ismene sees herself as a weak social member and she must work to respect the Creon’s authority to prevent a challenge to her intrapersonal weakness. She likely believes that if everyone broke the law because they thought they had a good reason, society would collapse. Her spineless motives are subject change not because of her beliefs, but because of her fears.
The Stage 6 Perspective: Antigone
Antigone follows internalized ethical principles that transcend specific laws. These principles (like human rights, equality, or dignity) are universal. For Antigone, Creon protects injustice, and she seeks to respect a higher law by challenging the Creon, and accepting his wrath. She seems to enjoy being in his face.
Dynamics of the Interplay
Antigone encourages "Civil Disobedience" and she seeks to break a law to protest an underlying injustice, while her sister sees that act as highly dangerous. Ismene does not see Antigone as above the law. By breaking the law, Ismene sees Antigone is disrespecting the system that protects her (Ismene). If some harm befalls another, nothing can be done: It will be ultimately for the good of the order. Yet, since fear drives Ismene, her loyalties are fluid. We simiply need to wait.