[Mb-civic] NYTimes.com Article: Friends, Americans, Countrymen...

[swiggard at comcast.net]

The article below from NYTimes.com 
has been sent to you by swiggard at comcast.net.


Excellent comparison of the recent debate to the climax of Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar". A MUST READ...
Peace, Bill

swiggard at comcast.net


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Friends, Americans, Countrymen...

October 3, 2004
 By STEPHEN GREENBLATT 



 

Two bitter rivals stand up to address an immense, anonymous
crowd. The rules have been set in advance: they will speak
from the same platform; they will not address each other
directly; they will limit their discourse to certain set
topics. The stakes are immensely high: no less than the
fate of the nation and of the whole world. 

Sound familiar? The scene is from Shakespeare's "Julius
Caesar," written and first performed more than 400 years
ago as the opening play in the newly built Globe Theater.
Brutus and Antony stand over the corpse of the assassinated
Caesar. Nothing will bring Caesar back. The question is the
future course of the damaged republic. 

It is worth noting that Shakespeare lived in a monarchy,
not a republic. Elizabethan society had little or nothing
comparable to what observers of modern democratic societies
call the public sphere - the shared space where competing
views on politics, economics, foreign policy and moral
values are aired. (Parliamentary debates were closed to the
public, and transcripts were strictly prohibited.) 

This makes it all the more striking that Shakespeare
depicts the world's destiny as determined by the rhetorical
performances of two men standing up at a pulpit and
speaking out to an agitated populace that demands a public
reckoning: "We will be satisfied! Let us be satisfied!'' 

The crowd wants to know why Caesar has been murdered. The
honorable, principled Brutus addresses himself to the
wisdom of his listeners. Assuming that his audience is
capable of assessing and rationally judging his actions, he
lays out a complex and seemingly contradictory argument:
"As Caesar loved me, I weep for him. As he was fortunate, I
rejoice at it. As he was valiant, I honour him. But as he
was ambitious, I slew him. There is tears for his love, joy
for his fortune, honour for his valour, and death for his
ambition." 

In the heat of the moment this is a lot for anyone to
process: how could Brutus have shifted from friend to foe?
Are his deeds the mark of inconsistency or thoughtfulness?
How could he be for and against the same man? How is it
possible to keep in focus the noble principle for which he
says he has acted? 

Antony takes a different tack. He addresses not the
listeners' heads but their gut feelings. And, weeping
ostentatiously, he puts his own feelings on display: "Bear
with me. My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar."
Never mind that anyone looking closely and coolly should be
able to see through the pretense. The wily politician
Antony manages to convince the crowd of his absolute
sincerity: "I am no orator as Brutus is - But, as you know
me all, a plain blunt man." 

His cunning speech appeals at once to his listeners' fears,
aroused by the ghastly spectacle of violence, and to their
greed. To every Roman citizen he gives 75 drachmas. The
handout, absurd at such a moment of public crisis, is
magically effective. The mob erupts and, as Antony had
calculated, Rome is plunged into a cycle of violence that
he can exploit for his own political ends. 

Did it have to end like this? What if Brutus had honed his
message more successfully? And what if the crowd had
glimpsed something in Antony's face when he did not know he
was being observed that gave away his cynical scheme? The
course of history - the collapse of order, years of
bloodshed, wasted lives and treasure, the loss of liberty -
would have been startlingly different. 

Have we learned something about listening to political
oratory that Shakespeare's "friends, Romans, countrymen"
did not know? Thursday night's debate seemed to me
surprisingly revealing. I expected boilerplate, and of
course was not totally disappointed in that, but there was
something more. To my surprise, substantive differences
between President Bush and Senator John Kerry emerged. 

One man, the incumbent, insisted again and again on the
need at all costs to avoid mixed messages. Everything for
him was reduced to an apparently simple war-making strategy
and a single enemy. The other man, the challenger, had a
more complex account of the task. He expressed commitment
to winning the war, but doubted its wisdom; he honored the
sacrifice of our troops, but lamented our relative
isolation from the rest of the world. 

And then something entirely unexpected happened: the
lengthy rulebook had called for the television cameras to
focus exclusively on whichever man was speaking, but the
networks flouted the ban and allowed the audience to see
how each candidate responded to his rival's words. The
effect was startling. 

Senator Kerry principally addressed his remarks to the
moderator, Jim Lehrer, and when President Bush was speaking
he watched attentively and jotted occasional notes. The
president, for the most part, seemed more effective at
facing the camera directly when he spoke; he understood
that the task was not to persuade Mr. Lehrer to vote for
him but to persuade the crowd. However, as many have noted,
when he evidently thought he was unobserved he disclosed an
astonishing range of emotions: confusion, annoyance and
something like rage. 

It was a revealing and unnerving sight, something like
seeing into Antony's head when he addresses the Roman
crowd. Will it make a difference to have seen what we have
seen? I believe it will. 

Stephen Greenblatt, a professor of humanities at Harvard,
is the author of "Will in the World: How Shakespeare Became
Shakespeare." 

http://www.nytimes.com/2004/10/03/opinion/03greenblatt.html?ex=1097810152&ei=1&en=50f67937e1f24c34


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